#i guess this counts as canon divergent too

[emily-mooon]

Imagine if Stacey and Neil actually met in high school except they didn’t go to the same school: they met through Kid Chameleon.

One night, Scott brings Stacey to one of their shows and it just so happens that Stephanie (or Steph) brought Neil with her.

Since they were both the youngest people there (Neil’s 17, Stacey’s 16 till December), they decided to talk to each other and they hit it off.

Stacey also develops a bit of a crush on Neil and would always ask Scott if Steph was going to bring her brother with her again, as she wanted to see him and didn’t know if there was another way.

Then one morning, she discovers that they take the same TTC bus and from then on they talk before and after school and become sorta friends. At this point, Neil also starts developing a crush on her.

Things stayed like that for about two months until Neil and his mom moved places (as I agree with the headcanon that the Nordegraf siblings have divorced parents) so they would no longer take the same bus in the morning or after school. They still have Kid Chameleon shows to meet up and talk at right? Ha ha wrong cause at New Years, the famous break up between Scott and Envy happens which in turn, also breaks up the band.

That whole break up was the nail in the coffin that strained Neil and Stacey’s kinda friendship. They didn’t have the others phone number cause they were both too shy to ask and also cause they both kept forgetting.

There also wasn’t a whole ton of opportunities to ask either of their siblings for their phone numbers so they just gave up and went on with their lives.

But then why didn’t they recognize the other in the like three times there were in the same room together? Easy answer: Stacey was distracted by everything around her to even notice Neil, who in turn, was slowly disappearing into the crowd and fully did by the time it was Lisa’s going away dinner.

So when they see each other again properly at the Chaos Theater, something clicks and they fall back into where they once were two years ago. To them it felt like a decade, but no it was just two years. They catch up on what they missed in the others lives on the walk home.

After that these dorks start dating cause the feelings were still there, just buried deep, left dormant, and forgotten. They came back but slightly different as people change.

[kiwi-bitchez]

The Girlfriend Experience

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie doesn’t think he’s cut out for dating. Self-resigned to a life of one and done hookups, you’re determined to make him see that he has the capacity to be a worthy companion… for when the right girl comes around. Fake Dating AU, classic corny fic for a fav corny troupe, Stranger Things canon divergent ofc, 18+ smut (see warnings below), big dick energy but also slightly emotionally unavailable!Eddie, yada yada yada, you know the drill. 

Content warnings: AFAB reader with she/her pronouns, use of y/n, alcohol, smoking the devil’s lettuce, mention of panty stealing, food consumption, semi-public sex, fingering, PIV, Dom-ish!Eddie, oral (m and f receiving), pierced dick Eddie because I said so!, unprotected PIV sex, hair pulling, mild angst but nothing too angsty just like one heated conversation and Eddie feeling a little worthless but happy ending I promise

Word Count: 20k ahhhhhh!!!

A/N: Thanks to all those who comment and reblog! Your feedback and engagement makes my heart soar and keeps me motivated to write this filth! Sorry for the gargantuan length, in very-me fashion I always ending up writing one behemoth fic every so often rather than just separating it out into chapters. Also, realizing after the fact that I use the brand name ‘Goodwill’ a lot in this fic, which maybe not everyone might know is a thrift store, not sure if that’s just an American thing or not but figured it was worth noting. 

“I guess I’m just not boyfriend material, ya know?” Eddie shrugs.

“Don’t say that, Eds,” your eyebrows pinched together, “different qualities are important to different people. Not everyone is looking to date a Steve, or a Brian, or a whoever. I’m sure someone is out there looking for an Eddie.”

“It’s not that,” he shot a look towards Steve, who, despite your analogy, was unfortunately everyone’s type and the textbook definition of boyfriend material.

“I just don’t think I’d be very good at gooey romance stuff, or even like, passable boyfriend behavior. I mean, look at me, I hardly take care of myself, I’m loud, I have no money, I’m basically every dad’s worst nightmare, do I need to keep going?”

“The nightmare thing can actually be a bonus,” Steve chimes in, “the whole bad boy persona can be a huge draw for most girls.”

“Sure Steve,” Eddie’s voice grows exasperated, “I’m the mysterious bad boy until they realize I’m a huge loser who runs not one but two dungeons and dragons groups. Real fuckin’ attractive I’m sure that is.”

“Shows you’re committed to something…” you trail off when his eyes tell you to stop coming up with a positive spin for every excuse he gives. 

This whole discussion had started because of something that happened at the bar last night. A small group of you decided to meet up for drinks, your usual group of pals. It was a Thursday, so the bar wasn’t too busy. Your friends all squished into a booth in the corner, chatting and catching up over a plate of shared nachos, when Robin started making frantic gesture at you and Steve.

“Please just say what you’re trying to say instead of this elaborate charade,” Steve makes a few mocking hand signals back at her.

“Okay, one at a time, and keep it subtle,” her voice lowered to a whisper, for some reason, “over at the bar, some girl is totally flirting with Eddie.”

You and Steve both turn around. “I said not at the same time!” She whisper yells. 

There was, in fact, a pretty girl with shiny hair and glossy lips doing a half fake laugh and pressing her manicured hand to Eddie’s bicep. You whip back around to find Robin with her mouth hanging open in a “can you believe this is happening” way. 

“Good for him,” Steve swivels back around too, “She’s pretty hot.”

You return to your nachos, pretending there wasn’t a ping of jealousy in you. Eddie was your friend, that had been made abundantly clear.

When Robin introduced you to all her friends from high school, you had easily gotten along with all of them. You especially got along with Eddie. He was funny, authentic, abrasive at times, but a truly good person at his core, creative, protective, you could go on.

After getting to know him a bit, and developing a budding crush, you had made a few passes at him. Nothing too forward, just small compliments here and there, open ended offers to hang out that never lead anywhere.

It’s not like he flat out rejected you, but any feelers you were putting out to see if there was potential there were met with him looking past your flirtatious intent and just being his goofy, friendly self. He treated you exactly the same way he treated everyone else, which was awesome, except for when it wasn’t. 

“Oh no,” Robin’s gaze was not subtly fixed on the unfolding scene at the bar, you and Steve watched her face drastically shift from confused, to a cringe, to an eye roll.

Still half whispering, as if Eddie could even hear your corner of the bar, “He’s totally blowing it. DON’T both turn around at the same time again.” 

“Okay, so,” she starts before either of you can even confirm that you want to know, “she was totally laying it on thick, like you could see it from all the way back here. And he must have said something off putting, cuz all of a sudden she like went cold on him and pranced away. Shhhhh, okay okay, he’s coming back.”

She was acting as if she wasn’t the only one gossiping. You and Steve were innocent bystanders in all this. 

“WHAT was that?” She immediately blurts out when Eddie returns to his seat, fresh drink in hand. 

You and Steve share a side glance to sigh at Robin’s inability to be subtle, god bless her. Eddie shifts around awkwardly and lets out a forced dry laugh, taking a long sip from his drink before facing the wrath of a curious Robin. 

“Oh, that,” he gestures to the bar as if she could be asking about anything else, “some girl. Not sure.”

“Not sure? Eddie she was FLIRTING with you,” Robin all but yelled, causing Steve to scan the bar to see if the girl in question had landed somewhere within earshot. 

“I know that,” he hisses, “She just… wasn’t my type…”

“Okay sure, hot girl in a tube top and no bra isn’t your type, riiiiight,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“It’s just,” Eddie was so over this inquisition, “she asked if I wanted to get coffee.”

You, Steve, and Robin all give him a blank stare, trying to decipher what he could possibly have against getting coffee with a hot girl. 

“That’s like,” he gets defensive, detecting the wall of confusion facing him, “something people do on a date. Coffee is serious, and I’m not a very serious guy.”

“What do you mean ‘coffee is serious,’ coffee is like, as casual as you can possibly be?” Steve’s tone now emulated Robin’s from earlier, half whispering, half yelling, all scolding towards his friend. 

“That’s just not really my speed. Coffee dates and flowers and hand holding and all that,” he was avoiding eye contact with all three of you, “Yeah, she was hot, sure, and maybe if she had been like ‘hey lets go fool around in the bathroom’ then I wouldn’t be here having this lame ass conversation with you three. But I don’t do coffee dates, so I’m not gonna waste her time and pretend like I’m that sort of guy when I’m just not.” 

“Well good on you for not leading her on, cuz I’m sure you could have agreed to the coffee date and still gotten lucky in the bathroom,” Steve mumbles, and you smack the back of his head lightly to scold him. 

“So you only date girls who’ll fuck you in a bar bathroom the first time you meet?” You redirect your now equally scolding energy to Eddie.

“No!” He runs his hands through his hair, “I don’t date. Anyone, really. At all. Ever.”

“Oh,” you think for a minute, realizing in your few years of friendship you never had seen him with anyone, or heard him mention a romantic interest of any sort. 

Leading you to your present conversation, you and Steve continuing to question Eddie on his decision to reject the hot tube-top girl at the bar and why he felt like coffee was such a scary commitment. 

“You guys know me,” he continued to defend his stance, “If I took that girl out for coffee she probably would have picked some fancy hoity toity place and I wouldn’t know what anything on the menu meant, I’d probably spill something or like, get crumbs everywhere, and the bill would be way more than two coffees should be. It would have been a waste of both our time.”

He was staunchly refusing eye contact with the two of you, knowing he’d be met with something along the lines of pity. 

“Fine, we’ll drop the subject,” you shoot a look to Steve, “but I just need to make sure you understand that not every girl likes expensive coffee, or flowers and handholding, or whatever your expectation of girls and dating is. There’s plenty of girls who have similar interests to you, who feel the same way about PDA and mushy romance stuff that you do. You do know that, right?”

“Of course I do, y/n,” you could practically feel his eyes rolling at you, “but girls like that sure as fuck aren’t here in Nowhere, Indiana. Even if she was, I’m sure I’d still find a way to fuck it up given that I’ve had exactly zero serious girlfriends and the closest thing to a date I’ve ever been on is when you me and Steve pooled our ski ball tickets to win that ugly stuffed turtle.”

The memory of what you had all agreed to be the world’s ugliest stuffed animal caused all of you to crack a smile. Steve had silently agreed to change the subject, not wanting to dig Eddie any deeper into his pit of self despair. 

Steve’s mouth was half open, about to suggest that the three of you have a smoke and watch one of the rental movies he brought over, the words just about to escape him when you harshly cut off any chance at ending the pity-party.

“Date me!” You exclaim, without much thought. The shocked look from both boys caused you to rapidly back pedal , “You can date me, as practice!” You said it as if it was the simplest concept in the world. 

When met with gaping mouths and confused stares you continue on, “You and I can be fake boyfriend-girlfriend for like, a month, and I’ll tell you everything you do wrong, and like generic do’s and don’t’s, so that way the next time some hot girl hits on you, you can be all like ‘Coffee isn’t really my thing pretty lady, but I’d be down to get drinks sometime’,” you did a silly impression of Eddie’s voice, and then switched to a high pitched one to impersonate what you assumed the girl at the bar sounded like, “and then she’d be all like, ‘Oh yeah that sounds greaaaaat, getting coffee is just like, a generic catch-all thing that most people say when they want to get to know someone better, but you can buy me a drink’ and then the two of you will ride off into the sunset and it’ll be great.”

Still no reply.

“It won’t be all romantic and gooey, I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. It’d be a way for you to get some honest feedback and catch up with the stuff most people have to learn the hard way.” 

“I suppose you are the most brutally honest person I know,” Eddie doesn’t sound convinced. 

Steve just looked between the two of you with eyebrows raised, not knowing if giving his opinion on the matter would be appreciated or not. “I guess I would’ve appreciated someone telling me that most girls don’t want to be asked out with a pickup line from a John Hughes movie, would have saved me a few dozen rejections.”

“I’m pretty sure Robin did tell you that…”

“I don’t know y/n,” Eddie scratches his head. 

“It’ll be easy. Ask me out.”

“Huh?”

“Ask me out, for practice, ask me out on a date like I’m a pretty girl you met at some metal show or a DnD convention or something like that,” you stand in front of him with your hands out as if to prompt him to say something. 

“Will you go out with me?” He sounds more like he’s asking himself if he even wants to be asking the question.

“No.”

“What the hell!” He throws his hands up.

“I said no because that wasn’t a very good effort. Go out where? To do what? You’re asking me, a pretend stranger, out on a date Eddie, not if I want to go have a smoke with you.”

“Ughhhh,” he spun around and tried to get some sympathy for Steve, who unfortunately was on your side with this one. 

“A compliment or two doesn’t hurt as well,” Steve added, deepening Eddie’s groan. 

“Hey pretty stranger lady,” his voice was laced with sarcasm, but at least it wasn’t disdain, “you seem really…” he hesitated to find his words, “cool? Would you like to come see my band play this weekend at The Hideout? We-“

“No,” you cut him off.

“WHA-“

“Eddie, you can’t ask a girl to watch Corroded Coffin play for your first date with her, that’s like date four or five material, no girl wants to go sit by herself at a bar to watch some guy she just met play an hour of heavy metal. She would have to know you a little bit more for that to feel organic. Pick something more generic, like coffee.”

“I think you seem cool, would you like to get coffee with me?” it all came out as one monotone mumble from him. 

“Sure,” you wait for him to lift his head up to make eye contact with you, “But coffee isn’t really my thing, maybe we can go out for drinks?”

“Oh fuck off,” he flopped back onto the couch next to Steve. 

“See, now we have our first fake date, and then you can ask me to be your fake girlfriend, and then you’ll be so comfortable with emotional vulnerability that you can find a real girlfriend to take on real dates.”

“Yeah, I suppose it could be beneficial,” Eddie was slowly coming around to the idea. He knew that he was oddly charismatic at times, but he was just always too self conscious to follow through with the whole romance thing.

This maybe wasn’t a bad idea, because he knew you weren’t the kind of person who would make fun of his hobbies, or put him down if he slipped up, the sorts of things he was always afraid of girls doing. Sure, he’ll agree to the girlfriend experience. 

After a night of movies and pizza with Steve fake-third-wheeling, you made sure Eddie knew that the fake-date was actually happening, that the two of you would go out for drinks this weekend as your first official practice date. 

After giving it a bit of thought, you realized that you and Eddie had never hung out alone. In your feeble attempts at flirting with him all those months ago you had invited him to have movie nights or grab a bite to eat, but he always showed up with Steve and or Robin in tow.

As the night of the fake-date rolled around, you’d be embarrassed to admit it to him, or Steve, who didn’t care to hide how skeptical he was about this whole idea, that you went through your normal pre-date routine. You took some extra time on your hair and makeup, exfoliated in the shower, chose an outfit you felt confident in, added a few spritz of perfume for good measure too. 

Eddie rolled up in his van, only a few minutes late, but a few minutes was very impressive compared to his typical chronic tardiness. The two of you agreed to just grab some food and drinks at your usual spot, considering you and Steve openly agreed that it would be a good first date spot in theory. 

“Hey,” he reaches across the center console to pop the door open for you, “you look nice.”

It took you a second to register as you settled into the passenger seat, and then whip around with your arm outstretched to give him a high five. He scrunches his face at you.

“High five me Eddie, that was really good! I know you usually open the door for me anyways, but the compliment right away, A+,” you flop your hand down to gently slap his, still gripping the steering wheel. 

“Don’t patronize me, y/n,” deep down he knew you weren’t trying to talk down to him, and deep down he hadn’t even given complimenting you a second thought, he really did think you looked great in your date get-up. 

On the ride over to the bar, the two of you discuss some logistics. Considering all of this is just practice dating, you don’t expect Eddie to pay for you, but you explain that in theory if he had been the one to ask you out then he should be the one to pay for the first date. 

“To me it’s less of a gender thing and more of a who asked out who thing, but I know some people would abide to the stereotypical ‘the man always pays’ standard, which is why you’d just have to be honest on date like two or three about what you enjoy doing and what sorts of things are in your budget. You can still have fun and be thoughtful without spending a lot of money.”

He asked a few questions, like if he should have gotten you flowers for a first date, or what he should do if someone asks to go to a fancy restaurant that he surely couldn’t afford. You tried your best to give solid advice, but always reminded him that every person is different and every relationship is different, so all he can do is be honest. 

You take up a spot at the bar and both order for yourselves, splitting some fries and slipping into some easy conversation. 

“Am I supposed to, like, beat someone up if a guy tries hitting on you in front of me or something like that?” you nearly choke on your drink at his question. 

“Eddie, no,” you answer, also questioning, “why the hell would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “My buddy Jeff was with his girlfriend at this punk show before they were even together, and some guy made a creepy comment to Amanda and Jeff just decked the guy in the face. He say’s that’s what made her want to date him, cuz he defended her honor or whatever.”

“I guess that’s sort of circumstantial, but I prefer my dates to not engage in any sort of violence,” you sip your drink, “even if it’s for my honor. I’d like your face a lot less if you were all bruised up.”

“Well I never said I would get hit,” the two of you were laughing a bit now.

Over a few cocktails you went over some first date etiquette with him. PDA and being touchy, how to follow her lead and gauge if she’s the type who wants everyone at the bar to know you’re together, or keep it strictly platonic to start. How far of a grip on the leg is too far up, that sort of thing.  

“So if she does something like this,” you fake laugh a bit too loud and, lean into his personal space, and then run your hand from his slender down his arm, “that doesn’t necessarily mean she wants to fuck you, but it’s pretty close. You’ve at least got a green flag to get a little closer to her, tell her she looks nice, maybe offer to buy her a drink.”

“I know how to tell if someone finds me attractive, y/n, I’m not stupid,” he said casually, “obviously that girl the other night was hitting on me, I’m not blind. I wasn’t going to ask to buy her a drink or try and get lucky in the bathroom because I was out with my friends. I can find a quick fuck in a bar on my own time. I was having fun with you guys, I wasn’t going to abandon all of you to talk to some stranger, even if she was hot.”  

“Oh,” you processed his comment, “Steve would be happy to know he ranks above tube-top girl.”

“Steve would be happy to be above tube-top girl in any context,” he jokes. 

“You really just find random girls in bars to fuck?” You question, not in any sort of judgmental way, just curious. 

“Not specifically, I guess I did make myself sound like some serial bar-bathroom type of guy. I never really had girls interested in me when I was in high school, at least the first four years of it. Then when we started playing regular gigs at The Hideout it was a little easier to find girls who were interested, but it was always that they were more into fucking some guy who could play guitar and was in a band, so it usually just always happened on-site, probably cuz they had an actual boyfriend or husband to go home to. Girls think I’m fun. Which isn’t untrue, I do enjoy a romp in the Hideout bathroom, or the back of my van, or wherever we end up.”

“So that’s what all those blankets are back there for,” you say with a fake scowl, referring to his van set-up. 

“Not exclusively! They make a cozy nest for smoking blunts and listening to tapes too!” 

You return to your drink, trying not to think too hard about the girls that Eddie brings to bar bathrooms or his van or wherever. 

“I just find the energy of those situations very different from like, talking and getting to know someone. Fucking is easy. I’m not interested in ruining that by adding emotions and the looming feeling like sex is contingent on me acting a certain way or checking a certain number of boxes for someone.” 

He shrugged, and you could understand where he was coming from, sometimes a quick fuck or hookup could be cathartic and easy. But it also saddened you to think that Eddie believed he had to get in and out before the person on the other end got the chance to know him. 

Moving away from the subject of his inability to be emotionally vulnerable, the two of you practice some cheesy ‘first date’ questions as you had called them. As your drinks started to settle into your system you were having more fun being silly with him, pretending to be a stranger on a first date. 

“When’s your birthday?” You ask, twirling your drink straw with your finger and making some fake flirty eyes at him to accentuate the facade of asking him a bunch of questions you mostly knew the answers to. 

“August 9th,” he flips his hair over his shoulder, joining in on your fake ostentatious flirting. 

“Oh my gosh, a Leo! This will never work out, cuz I’m an asparagus…”

The two of you nearly fall out of your bar stools laughing, realizing you meant to say Sagittarius. 

“Okay, let’s get you home Asparagus,” he helped you up, having kept his drinking to a minimum so he could drive you home. 

“Wait, wait,” you grabbed his arm as the two of you exited the bar, “can we go back to your trailer?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “that’s a little presumptuous for a first date missy.”

“No, no, this isn’t girlfriend y/n asking, just regular friend y/n, who thinks it would be a lot of fun to smoke and watch a movie without Steve there spewing all his annoying fun facts, like, we get it, you read the little insert inside the tape while you were bored at work!”

Eddie did agree that the idea of packing a bowl and watching a few movies with you didn’t sound too different from what his plans would have been otherwise, so he agreed, as long as you promised not to give him any dating advice while hanging out as friend y/n and not girlfriend y/n. 

Although you promised to try your best, you immediately started lecturing him on t-shirt borrowing and the potential weight that could hold in a relationship when he offered to give you some more comfy clothes to change into. 

“It’s important to know!” You emerged from the bathroom in one of his oversized shirts and a pair of boxers, “Some girls are very touchy about it. Any shirt you lend her to sleep in, you have to be willing to sacrifice for life.”

“For life?!” Eddie finishes making a bowl of popcorn for the two of you, swallowing his words when he sees you in his clothes, an unidentifiable emotion rising in him at the sight of you so cozy and integrated into his space. 

“Well maybe not life,” you plop down onto the couch, “but do NOT ask for it back. Most girls will give it back once it stops smelling like you.”

“If she gets my shirt, can I have her underwear?” He asked without thinking, the weed he had just smoked with you hitting him a bit too hard in that moment. 

“Oh my god,” you squeal and bury your face into a pillow, “la la la la, pretending like I didn’t hear that!”

“I’m just saying!” He laughs at you, now curled up into a ball, “fair is fair, right?”

“I guess it depends on the girl,” you mumble. 

“So I’m guessing not you, by your reaction.”

“Eddie!” You smack him with a pillow, “I don’t know, no one’s ever asked!”

“If my girlfriend isn’t going to ask before stealing my shirt for an indefinite amount of time, I think that gives me panty privilege.”

“Wow Eddie, if I had known you were such a perv I would’ve reconsidered being your fake girlfriend,” you say sarcastically, with no real judgement behind it. The idea of him wanting to steal your underwear dampens them ever so slightly. 

“Don’t worry babe, I won’t do anything pervy to you unless you ask nicely,” he shoots a wink at you, which you meet with an eye roll and a turn away to hopefully hide the heat rising in your cheeks. 

The two of you carry out your platonic movie night as planned. You suppressed any urge to note on his actions from a romantic lens, and he ignored the itching desire to sling his arm around your shoulder or pull your legs into his lap to get more comfy on the couch. 

“Can I sleep here Eddie,” you ask after movie two, “too sleepy to move.”

“Sure, I can take the couch and you can have my bed. It’s been a minute since I washed the sheets but it shouldn’t be too bad…”

“Nonono,” you mumble, “Your legs will totally hang right off the end of this thing. I’m conked out anyways, I can crash right here I promise.”

“Ignoring that you’re my fake girlfriend, I’m not letting you sleep out here on this lumpy thing. You’re taking the bed, no arguments.”

He helps you up from the couch, letting you keep the blanket that’s wrapped around you, snaking his arm underneath it and pulling you from the couch by your lower back. You were slightly taken aback by his assistance, body still limp from your relaxed state, your torso easily arching into his. Your arms fly up to grab his shoulders, steadying yourself with an awkward giggle. 

“In the real world, a time like this would be good for a first kiss,” you make note of your closeness, the way he swept you up off the couch and held you steadily as you made your way to your feet. 

“I know that, y/n,” his face was closer to yours than it had ever been, making your words hitch in your throat. 

“Well, I’m just saying,” you turn your head to avoid the tension, “I’m sure the way you kiss your bar-hookups isn’t the way most girls who’re looking to date you long term want to be kissed for the first time.”

‘Oh yeah? And how do you presume that goes?” He kept his hand planted on your lower back.

You pretend to act wildly drunk, throwing yourself at him and letting your limbs go a bit heavier than they already were. “Ohmygod guitar man, I’ve had like, six dirty Shirleys, please finger bang me in the bathroom,” you slur your words and let your tongue loll out the side of your mouth as if to lean in for the world’s sloppiest and most uncoordinated kiss.

“First of all,” his voice was very serious, “I don’t hook up with girls who are too inebriated to stand, let’s get that straight. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t even have our first fake kiss like this on account of the drinking and smoking, gotta make sure you’re in the right headspace. Secondly,” 

He spins you around and quickly backs you up against the wall that stood a few feet behind the couch. His hand sliding up in between your shoulder blades, blanket now slumped around your waist, his other hand suavely cupping the side of your cheek, His hips angled into yours, pinning you back against the vinyl, almost collapsing back into it. 

He pressed against you, not aggressively, but enough to let you know that if you were to try and squirm away he had the capacity to keep you right where he wanted you. He accomplished this all in one elegant motion, leaving you a bit dazed.

As you started to snap into reality, he moves his hand from your cheek down to grab your chin in between his thumb and the knuckle of his pointer, angling your face directly up at him. 

“If you were some girl in a bar, it would be like this.”

The moment before your brain turned to absolute mush, you silently cringed at the thought of what you must look like, mouth hanging open, eyes glassed over, body instinctively sinking into his touch. Pathetic, you were sure of it. 

Sure, Eddie did think you looked a little helpless, but he also thought you looked perfect. Exactly as he had imagined you to in this situation. Of course he had thought about you before, like that.

Of course he had felt an immediate spark with you when you had first met. But he never flirted back, or lead you on, because as much as he was attracted to you and enjoyed your company, he knew that it wouldn’t work out. He wasn’t relationship material, and you were the picture perfect girlfriend that he didn’t deserve. 

He spoke directly into your parted lips, mouth hovering just far enough away to toe the line of ‘holy shit, is he going to?’ But no, as he made very clear, he wouldn’t kiss you under these conditions. He had made his point, and slowly backed off and let you find your footing. 

As soon as he was sure that you were steady, he backed away and started down the hallway. 

“I might have an extra toothbrush stashed away somewhere, let me look…” he ducked into the bathroom, leaving you stunned in the kitchen, head swimming and your stomach traveled up into your throat. 

He was teasing you, he must be. That was his little way of getting back at you for thinking you could give him dating advice. If he was unsure about his capacity for romance, he was going to make sure you knew he was more than capable in other ways. Understood. 

You shook your head, weeding through your inner monologue of how he could possibly look at you like that and then just walk away. Your shock gave him just long enough for you to to not notice him splashing cold water on his face in the bathroom while he “looked for a toothbrush.” 

The two of you decided to ignore the lingering tension from the events in the kitchen, not a peep of fake-girlfriend talk from you for the rest of the night. He did find you that toothbrush, and the two of you moved through a too-easy domestic routine of getting ready for bed. 

You told him that you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you knew he was cramped on that couch, and that you were fine with sharing a bed. You mumbled something about  getting around to bed sharing etiquette at some point anyways, and sleepily pulled him into being your little spoon. 

Eddie lay there, trying not to twitch or fidget, relaxed as best he could into your cuddled form thinking about how horrible of an idea all of this was. He was convinced all it would take is roughly ten more minutes of you burying your face into his hair and making cute little sleepy noises for him to fall irreversibly in love with you. 

But what was he supposed to do? Move and wake you up? Never. 

You rolled around enough in the night to wake up in a less intimate position than when you had fallen asleep. You knew Eddie was a deep sleeper, and took it upon yourself to creep out of bed and back into your day clothes, make a pot of coffee, and watc a bit of TV before he roused and joined you in the living room. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He rubbed the crust from his eyes and was pleasantly surprised to see you had brewed a whole pot of coffee to share. 

“You looked so peaceful and cozy,” he shook his head at you, as if that was no excuse for letting him sleep an extra forty minutes.  

After a slow morning, he agrees to drive you home. 

“So this is the part where I say ‘Eddie, I had such a wonderful time on our date. I’d love to do it again sometime.’ And then you agree and tell me when you’re free. It’s best to be super direct and make plans to get together again soon, cuz then it’s not an awkward who’s-gonna-call-who-first sort of thing.”

“Uh-huh…” he stares at you blankly. 

“But for our sake, let’s just agree that I’m in charge of planning our next date. Okay? I’ll do it from the perspective of what I think most girls would enjoy, so you can steal it for the future. I’ll call you later.” 

You hop out of his van before he can agree, and leave him with a “Thanks for letting me stay over!” As you bound away from his view. 

He squeezed his eyes shut the moment he caught himself checking your ass out as you walked away, and let his head rest down on the steering wheel. He was fucked. How the hell was he supposed to tell you that you needed to stop being his fake girlfriend without disrupting the homeostasis of your friendship?

On one hand he could lie and say he doesn’t want your advice, making you think he didn’t enjoy your company, which was entirely untrue. On the other hand he could tell you the truth, and you would never be friends the same way again. 

He drove home with the music too loud, and patiently awaited your call later that evening to iron out the details of your second fake-date. 

Per your instructions, he let you pick him up this time with the argument that you were the one taking him out this time. He didn’t know what you had planned, but let himself fall to the mercy of whatever you had decided was an exemplary date fore him to ‘steal in the future’. 

You picked up two coffees and rolled up to the trailer park, popping a mix-tape he had made you ages ago. 

“Hey, I thought we said no paying for each other with fake-dating,” he objects to the coffee sat in the passenger cupholder, some abomination of mostly cream and sugar, the way you know he likes it. 

“Yes, that’s true, but you smoked me up the other night, and this coffee was like a dollar fifty, so don’t worry about it,” you give him a look that tells him to drink the damn coffee and not sass back, to which he complies, even though he smokes you up expecting nothing in return about every other weekend. 

The two of you sip away and listen to Eddies ‘must-know-to-be-my-friend’ mixtape and arrive shortly at the strip mall across town. This was a regular weekly stop for both of you, the strip of connected stores containing the Goodwill, a pet store, the pharmacy, and grocery. A pretty mundane collection. 

“Okay, what are we doing at Greg’s?” Eddie gestures to the grocery store, the back of his mind running through the grocery list he’s been making for this week anyways.

“What’s the perfect date?” You ask, and answer for him, “a romantic picnic. But gathering supplies is half the fun. Picnic food supplies at Greg’s, some pills to get fucked up at the pharm, some turtles or something to let loose into the wild from the pet store, and then hats, cups, blanket, etcetera from the Goodwill.”

He turns to you with the most bewildered stare, which sends you into a fit of giggles.

“Okay, I’m joking about the pills and the turtles,” you nudge his arm, “but won’t it be sweet to get together some picnic supplies and then drive out to lookout point? We can still swing by the pet store to check out the ferrets though.”

To Eddie, the idea of a date involved him doing something he didn’t want to do, some awkward small talk, and spending money on shit he truly thought was useless. This didn’t sound half bad. You would “work backwards so the food purchases come last” according  to your reasoning, and he followed you in tow without any arguments into the Goodwill.

“So I’m thinking…” you start to wander into the aisles of used clothes and knick knacks, “maybe a blanket? A basket would be sort of corny, but if we find one for cheap I don’t see why not. Surely two glasses for drinking, and maybe some sun hats?”

Swiveling back around to see a half stunned Eddie, who was still processing how in the hell this was your idea of a romantic date, you grab his hand and pull him to the bric-a-brac section. 

After it got through his thick skull that the same place he had uncomfortably tried on new pants throughout his growth spurt, and picked up his daily-worn leather jacket, had the same potential to provide some silly, cheap, used items to add some flair to this picnic. 

Silly and cheap was right up Eddie’s alley. The two of you picked out mismatched champagne glasses, one with the engraved name of a couple who got married in 1943 and the other a flashy rose color with baby angel carvings dancing around the sides. 

You luckily find an on sale beach blanket, and the two of you pick out some very goofy sun hats. A floppy farmers hat for you, and a bedazzled trucker hat spelling ‘hot mama’ for Eddie.

Through the midst of your giggles and debate on whether you should buy a wooden bench to bring out to your picnic destination, Eddie found himself having a really good time with you. 

As promised, you visited the pet store and checked out the ferrets and fish and geckos. 

“If you could have any pet, what would you want?” You asked him, noses pressed against the chinchilla enclosure. 

“Jaguar,” he said, a little too quickly.

“For real, dummy,” you knock your hip into his.

“I don’t know, we never had enough space or extra money for pets growing up, so maybe someday if I had enough room for it to run around I’d like a dog or something,” he tells. Eyes still transfixed on the chinchilla behind the glass. 

“I can see that,” you imagine Eddie with some mutt from the shelter, wrestling around and giving it lots of scratches behind the ears. 

Skipping the pharmacy, you pop into the grocery store and assemble what may be the world’s most eclectic picnic. 

“That’s the definition of a picnic, I’m pretty sure,” you explain after Eddie insinuated that the gingersnap cookies you grabbed, along with grapes and a block of cheese, wasn’t exactly a meal, “you know, just a smorgasbord of whatever we want!”

Admittedly, Eddie had considered a handful of pretzels and a beer to be dinner on more than one occasion, so he couldn’t argue with you. Quickly catching your drift, the two of you picked out an assortment of snacks and some ingredients for pb&j sandwiches. 

“I thought picnics were supposed to be classy?” Eddie holds up the Wonder bread and bag of potato chips with a look that suggested his question was rhetorical.

Your response was simply to raise the, admittedly cheap, bottle of champagne you grabbed to accompany with your meal, more for the irony of drinking the bubbly liquid out of your new used glasses with your sticky sandwiches than anything else. 

You pack your supplies into a tote bag, not having found a suitable basket at the thrift store, and drive across town to a dirt paved road that leads to a nice lookout point with a view of the lake. 

“Let’s walk down the path a little bit, but not too far,” you grab the blanket and tote bag from your trunk, motioning for Eddie to put on his ‘hot mama’ hat and carry your other auxiliary supplies, “I do not fuck with bugs.”

“I’ll protect you,” Eddie puffs out his chest, making you both giggle.

“From bugs?”

“Yeah, I’ll punch a mosquito right in the face, to defend your honor and all that.”

“I know I told you not to do that, but a mosquito might be the exception to the rule.”

You found a nice little clearing not far from the car, a spot that still had a nice view but was a bit more secluded. Eddie sat pressed right up next to you, making your sandwich ‘to be a proper gentleman’ but simultaneously spilling a glob of jelly onto your leg.

“Shit,” he doesn’t think twice before leaning down and slurping the grape flavored blob off of your bare knee, tongue poking out and licking the spilt jelly from your skin.

“Eddie!” You squirm away, barking out a surprised laugh. 

“What! Your knee is clean, wouldn’t want to waste perfectly good preserves, or a napkin.”

You feel your skin tingle where his lips had touched you, for only a moment, but you still felt it. He was so confident and casual in his movements, not having any hesitation to grab your hand or brush your hair out of your face. It wasn’t under the guise of fake romance, he had always been like that. Not touchy, per se, just sure of himself. You’d never seen Eddie do anything half assed, that’s for certain.

After the conversation you shared the other night, you were unable to stop your mind from wandering to thoughts of what Eddie does with those girls in bars, if he touched him with the same confidence and sureness he put into everything else he did. 

It was wrong to let your mind go to such dirty places about someone you considered a friend, but you couldn’t manage to feel any guilt. He had offered that information freely, so who were you to punish yourself for staring a little longer at his fingers, conjuring up the context in which he’d bury them inside you against some grimy bar bathroom. 

The date was all peanut butter smiles and bubbly laughter that floated up into the trees. Silly, yes, but neither of you could deny there was something sweet, maybe even romantic about it. A cheap meal in the woods shared between two friends in ill-fitting fifty cent hats, but an undeniable touch of romance lingered nonetheless. 

Eddie started to realize that maybe the whole dating thing wasn’t as uptight and scary as he had initially thought. It could be easy and fun, with the right person. And fuck, if he could even imagine doing this with anyone but you. 

Like most things Eddie did, he did not consider any potential consequences before acting. You looked so pretty sitting there in the sunshine, sipping from your cheap ‘Martha & Dave ’43’ glass, a few sandwich crumbs dotting the corner of your mouth.

What else was he supposed to do other than lean over and wipe them away with his thumb, stroking your soft cheek and feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. 

“You had some,” he uses his other hand to motion at his own mouth, “and I suppose this is the sort of moment where I’d ask if I can kiss you.” 

You find yourself a bit dumbfounded, his big stupid hand on your cheek and those big stupid puppy dog eyes unrelenting in making everything he says seem so genuine.

“Are you?” You find your voice, only half embarrassed at how shy it comes out.

“Am I what?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Yeah,” his answer comes out in a way that insinuates that he never meant anything other than that, that he was always asking to kiss you, he wasn’t asking in theory, in another universe, in the context of advice. 

“Okay,” you found yourself behaving like Eddie, not really thinking of consequences before your words and actions spoke on behalf of your instincts.

Everything so far had been so easy. Your fake first date at the bar, curling up next to him in a haze, making up stories about what sort of people donated the fake palm tree or the Garfield mug at the Goodwill, imagining Eddie running around a yard with a puppy, lounging in the grass and eating your assorted picnic snacks. It was all effortless.

Suddenly, being kissed by Eddie sucked the ease from your lungs and sent your mind spiraling into a cacophony of bells and whistles and giant swirling red flags. If this is how he kissed you, casually across some half eaten peanut butter sandwiches, you’d spend the rest of your days yearning to know how he kissed someone with true intention. 

Of course, his intentions were all there, but the lingering knowledge that all of this was happening under the umbrella of “you giving him advice” or “helping practice for the next girl” poisoned any true feeling he poured into it. He cupped your cheek, soft, let his lips press into yours delicately for a moment before he felt your breath hitch, opening his mouth just enough to deepen the kiss and capture your lower lip fully. 

He was more careful, gentle, methodic with his movements and so receptive to every little signal your body gave him, it was unlike any first-kiss, heat-of-the-moment-kiss, in-the-throws-of-passion-kiss, any of it. Like hell you’d ever tell him that, inflate that big ego that fuels his snippy comebacks at you, but Jesus, was it remarkable. 

While at war with yourself internally, your heart was on the precipice of exploding in your chest from the way he snaked his hand into your hair and pressed his forehead against yours to catch a breath. You suck in a sharp breath and feel that stupid cocky smirk creep up onto that pretty mouth of his.

“’S that sufficient for a first kiss?”

“Fuck offfff,” you were still a little out of breath, smacking his chest and flopping back down onto the picnic blanket, throwing your arms up and rolling your eyes at him, “if you’re so damn confident, maybe we just should fake break up, cuz you don’t seem like you need my advice.”

“Nooooo,”he slumps down next to you, burrowing his head under your arm so he can pop up right next to your face, “I’m learning a lot, I promise! This date was so fun, and cheap! I would have never thought any of this could be remotely romantic. I’m hopeless, y/n, look at me.”

He wriggles around and gives you a big fake pout, “If left to my own devices I would probably do something horribly embarrassing or off-putting, like…” he digs his head into the crook of your neck and blew a fat, wet raspberry right into your skin, making you yelp and squeal, but his position half on top of you pins you down. 

“See!” He pulls up for air, you were in a fit of screaming giggles, “I’d go right in for a kiss and just,” and he does it again, leaving you gasping for air, trying your best to tickle his ribs to get him off of you, but not minding the close contact by any means. 

“Now I’m not so sure,” he pulls back to give you a minute to catch your breath, “it seems like you enjoyed that, so maybe survey says I should pull that move on the ladies.”

Your airy laughter subsided, but he stays half pinning you down to the blanket and the lumpy grass underneath.

“I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I’m not grateful for your help,” he says earnestly, catching your gaze, “it’s just… this isn’t what I need help with.”

As his statement is processing, you find his lips back on yours, his torso pressed flushed with yours and his wild mane of hair coming down to curtain around your head. He doesn’t take it too far, but kisses you as earnestly as he had before, giving your lip a slight drag with his teeth and running his hand up from your hip up the side of your ribcage, leaving you arching slightly into him by pure instinct.

Before your head got too dizzy again, before you could really throw yourself into it and say fuck it and kiss him back the way you secretly wanted to, he pulled back.

“That.” his voice was even, you hated how needy you felt and how even keeled he could be milliseconds after stealing the air from your lungs, “It’s the rest of it,” he threw his hands up and gestured to all the food and knock knacks around you, “it’s this stuff that you make seem so easy, so forgive me if I lay it on a little thick when we get to the parts I’m actually good at.”

“Just,” you sat up a bit, grounding yourself and formulating a response despite your brain looping the past twenty seconds back infinitely, “don’t do that again.”

“Okay,” he sat back and popped a grape into his mouth, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you knocked his knee with yours, struggling to articulate how you felt without showing too much of your hand, deciding to just be candid, “I just- I liked that a little too much if you know what I mean. And this is strictly business, or education, maybe?”

“You liked it when I pinned you against the wall the other night,” he said matter of factly, “I think you liked that a little too much too, and you still took me on this fake educational business date.”

“Yeah, well, you caught me,” you threw your hands up in defense.

“Which one is it though?” He asks and you don’t quite understand, “are you a sweet kiss on the picnic kind of girl, or an up against the wall kind of girl?”

“That’s none of your business, as far as fake-dating is concerned,” you say a little too quickly, “and no you can’t have my panties.”

You say it with a smirk, but he doesn’t press any further. He turns and does that Eddie-thing he’s so good at, just changing the subject and shifting the vibe completely away from what might have been a stale moment or awkward pause. He starts asking if you like green or purple grapes better, going off about how he used to put them in the freezer as a kid. 

The remainder of your date went without a hitch, of course. You picked away at your picnic until the sun started to set, and once the sky started turning purple you made your way back to the car. The drive home consisted only of easy conversation and no further mention of the kiss, well, kisses that had transpired. He hopped out of the passenger seat with a ‘thank you’ and a ‘see ya later alligator.’ 

A scalding hot shower, a restless night of sleep, and too many cups of herbal tea the next morning did nothing to quell the noise in your head that blasted those moments over and over. You couldn’t stop picking apart whether he had thought about it for even a millisecond, and felt embarrassed that you could think of nothing else. 

It was simply an amplified version of what your whole friendship had been up until this point. You silently admiring him and wishing he would look at you the way you looked at him, and settling for friendship over heartbreak. 

Pushing it aside to the best of your ability allowed you to get through your week, but you had the lingering feeling that the next time you saw him would strike you with warm cheeks and a scrambled mental state.

Guilt had started to seep in at the corners of your mind, but you reminded yourself that you shouldn’t punish yourself for having romantic or sexual thoughts about someone you simply found attractive and compelling, it was your actions that would determine the validity of your guilt. 

“Long time no see, loser,” Robin hollered from the pool table across the bar, where she was likely kicking Steve’s ass. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you shrug off your coat and plop down at their regular booth, knowing her jabs were entirely empty. You notice Eddie’s leather jacket hung up by the wall, and scan the bar to find him ordering a drink. 

There was a silent mutual understanding that you’d keep the fake dating thing to a bare minimum when out with your friends like this. Even though Steve was well aware, and therefore Robin was too, you figured tainting your social time with the performance of romance is the exact reason Eddie turned down the girl at the bar in the first place. 

“For the lady,” Eddie waltzes over and hands you a drink.

“Oh, thanks,” you take it with a confused smile, “you didn’t have to do that.”

“You bought me coffee last weekend,” he sat across the booth from you, “plus I’m trying to get better at buying drinks for pretty girls, right?”

You remind him that he doesn’t have to keep tabs on things like coffee, but you appreciate the gesture regardless. As per the past few times you’d been out with your friends, you expected him to put a pause on the flirting, but it seems to be bubbling over tonight. You weren’t complaining, but admittedly the arm around your shoulder or the noticeable way he checked you out when you got up to refill your drink took you by slight surprise. 

Sneaking in to claim the always occupied dart board for a challenge against Eddie while he uses the restroom, you keep your eyes on the corner of the bar to signal him over once he returns.

“You need a partner?” A man suddenly appears behind you, a little closer than you’d like but the bar was crowded, so you’ll let it slide. 

“Oh, I was just waiting for-“

“Let me fill in until your friend gets here, we can get you warmed up, yeah?” His tone wasn’t too pushy, but you didn’t love the look he gave you when making that comment.

Awkwardly staggering for a second, unsure weather to just agree or tell him to fuck off, “He really should be just a minute-“

“Or maybe less,” Eddie comes up right behind you and pulls you possessively into his side.

Your head whips up to see him with a devilish smile, his hand on your waist and the fire behind his eyes telling his guy to get lost.

“Oh, sorry man,” the guy starts backing away with an apologetic look.

“Yeah, better luck next time, pal,” Eddie snakes around to take the guy’s spot in front of the dart board.

He had his darts in hand and took his stance to start the match, gesturing for you to do the same. 

“What was that,” you ask with a slight joking tone, but seriously curious.

“What?” He doesn’t make eye contact and instead throws the first dart, “I’m not allowed to get fake jealous?”

“You’re allowed to feel any fake emotion you want, I guess,” your tone is somewhere in between a joke and a question. 

“You’d feel fake jealous if I was getting blown in the bathroom by some chick rather than playing darts with you, I bet.”

“Okay,” your tone shifts to defensive, “getting blown is very different than some guy asking to play darts with me.”

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” Eddie turns to face you, having thrown all his darts, “for real.”

A moment lapsed where you didn’t register that your mouth was hanging open in disbelief, the look in your eyes Eddie immediately clocked as lust and bottled up to store away for a later time. 

“I knew the scary dog thing would work,” his ‘i-told-you-so’ tone rubbed you the wrong way, but he wasn’t wrong, “you said girls weren’t into that, but you totally looooove that I defended your honor.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit, I said girls wouldn’t be into it if you punched him,” you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know, babe, I think you liked the whole ‘back off of my woman’ act.”

You mumble out a ‘whatever’ and let him have this win, which he was clearly reveling in, trying to focus instead at beating him at darts. 

“Just don’t pull shit like that on a first date, acting too possessive off the bat is a huge red flag for a lot of women.”

“I thought we weren’t doing dating advice tonight?” You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s got that stupid sarcastic smile.

“Yeah I thought so too,” you fail at your attempt to beat him in darts, as well as your attempt to not flirt back with him. 

He insists on collecting all the darts, picking up the ones haphazardly strews across the floor from failed attempts to hit the board. 

“I’m no pro or anything, but I think you’d hit the board a lot more if you fixed your stance.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you flip him the bird and take back your red tipped darts. 

As you steady your arm to aim your first shot he comes up behind you and grabs your hips, causing you to let out an unexpected squeak. He adjusts your stance, not aggressively, but with some force, twisting your hips and using his big combat boot to sweep your foot around so you stood more sideways. 

“You’re standing straight on,” he backs up, allowing you to secretly catch your breath, “and all your shots are veering to the right. If you plant your feet more angled you’ll hit the board.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, miss on purpose to show him he’s full of shit. You flippantly toss the dart, not trying particularly hard, and it hits. Not a bulls-eye or anything like that, but a lot closer than your previous attempts had been. 

“Good girl,” he comments, leaning in to breech your personal space just enough to make your blood boil.

You drop the remainder of the darts in your opposite hand onto the floor and whip around to face him, half jokingly smacking him on the shoulder. 

“Oh my god, fuck off!”

You’re met with his trademark shit-eating grin.

Truthfully, Eddie hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off you all night. He’d spent the night after your picnic date with his hand in bis boxers, squeezing his eyes shut and remembering the little gasp you had made when he grabbed your waist, the hum in your throat that bubbled up when he kissed you pinned against the blanket, that night and every night since. 

“Oh, you don’t like that?” that joking tone he uses to cover up what he actually wants to say. 

“Shut up, you know I do,” you didn’t even try to stifle your reaction, knowing it was his intent to get under your skin.

“How would I possibly know that,” he playfully looks up at the ceiling and around the bar, hands clasped behind his back now, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“You better cut that shit out, unless you plan on doing something about it,” you manage the most assertive tone your wobbly insides could muster, a little shocked at yourself for actually saying what you were thinking. 

“I’m not much of a planner,” he gracefully takes a stance next to you and rips all three darts, not great shots, but all hitting the board, “I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy, you know that.”

“Well your pants better make up their mind if you’re playing boyfriend tonight or not,” your insinuation was heavy but you had fumbled your hand, and he had already seen all your cards at this point, so there was no reason to bluff.

“The real question is,” he leans in, his imposing figure crowding your space in a way that made your head spin, “do you want me to play boyfriend? Or do you want me to play guy who fucks your brains out in the bar bathroom?”

Your eyebrows pinched together for a millisecond, and before he could decipher your expression you grabbed his hand and started storming through the crowds hoarded by the bar. Why the hell a seedy downtown bar has a single stall family bathroom with a changing table is beyond you, but you drag him inside and slam the lock down behind you. 

“You’re not allowed to treat me any differently after this,” you start to fall into the sinkhole of oh my god what the hell is about to happen, but are cut off by him pressing you against the closed door the exact way he had handled you against his kitchen wall that night weeks ago. 

“Not unless you want me to,” he doesn’t hesitate to get his mouth on yours, immediately pulling your mind from wondering what the vague sticky substance on the door pressing into your back could be. 

“I mean, you’re not allowed to fuck me and then never talk to me again,” you say in between moving lips and tongues, giving him a moment to bury his face in your neck, "Promise me."

“Oh don’t worry about that,” he pulls back, “we can go get coffee tomorrow and you can give me a full performance review. Promise.”

Your annoyed eye roll quickly turns into them fluttering shut as he licks a stripe up to the junction behind your ear that has you melted into a boneless puddle between his pressing hips and the door. He drags his teeth across your lobe while leaning into you with a black denim clad thigh.

“Why don’t we make a deal,” you let out, voice breathy and unfocused. Before he can even pull back to reply you continue, “if you’re half as good at this as you claim to be, and can make me cum in this dingy bathroom, I’ll let you take me back to your trailer and you can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”

He was leaning in to seal the deal with a kiss before he could even process your request, because yes of course, a million times yes he’s taking this deal. Despite the rouse of you playing bar hookup for the night, and despite the idea of bringing you back to his place and finally doing what he’s wanted since the day he met you absolutely terrifying him, he nods and kisses you. 

It’s electrifying. His confidence only spurs you on to kiss him harder, grip his hair a little tighter, say the things you would only imagine in the deepest parts of your mind. The feeling of his grin against your lower lip and his fingers quickly unbuttoning your jeans fuels your fire. 

“You sure you know what you’re getting into,” he mumbles playfully, pulling you away from the wall with a gasp and leading you over to the tiny built in counter against a mirror by the sink. 

“Well I’m certainly not letting you fuck me against any of these sticky surfaces,” you note as you’re lifted onto the counter covered in mystery substance, “and I think you need to earn it.”

Of course it was no surprise to you that Eddie was good with his fingers. You probably could have told anyone that long before this impromptu bathroom hookup. Egging him on and challenging him in a way you were sure he wasn’t used to was well worth abandoning your assumptions. 

“Oh yeah? I think, if you’re lucky, I’ll earn it more times than you can count before the night’s over,” he positioned himself in between your legs, pressing your torso into the mirror behind you as he leaned in for another heated kiss. 

He pulled your ass to the edge of the counter, and looped his thumbs into the waistband of your unbuttoned pants. You were quick to assume that he’d yank the fabric right off your legs, preparing to lift your ass from the counter to assist.

Eddie paused, pulled back and gave you a look that asked ‘you’re sure about this?’ and when a dreamy smile spread across your cheeks he melted into you with a kiss that turned your stomach inside out and made your pussy flutter.

He snakes a hand from its grip on your torso down into your unbuttoned pants. You arched up into his touch, wanting to urge him to get on with it and get your pants and underwear out of the way, but appreciating how much he seemed to be reveling in feeling you for the first time. 

“So fuckin wet,” he mumbled against your lips, his fingers only feeling up your cunt from outside your underwear. He pressed the fabric into your slick center, following the path up to your clit and then teasingly back down to where your panties were soaked through.

“You weren’t lying when you said you liked this a little too much,” he’s rolling his hips ever so slightly against your spread thigh as he rubs your clothed pussy, his teeth sinking into your lower lip as he moves the material aside and sinks two fingers right into your wet cunt with ease.

You were sure that you’d retrospectively have a million quippy compacks that come to mind, but in this moment it was impossible to come up with words when his fingers were buried inside you, still, just letting you squeeze around them, and his hard cock straining against his jeans nestled against the inside of your thigh.

He slowly drags his finger’s up from your hole to your clit, and you let out a whine of desperation as he fully removes his hand from your damp underwear. 

Before you can manage the breath to tell him to please, for the love of god, get on with it, he brings his fingers up to his lips and gives them a long suck, never breaking eye contact with you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs out and presses his forehead against yours, “I might like that a little too much too.”

Protests and urging words catch in your throat as he yanks down your pants and underwear with one quick pull, not even needing you to lift your ass off the counter more than it already was. He was methodical and moved with intention, folding up your pants neatly and shoving your soaked panties into his back pocket, shooting you a wink. 

“Eddie, please,” your overdue complaints are finally bubbling over. You hardly finish your plea before his face is buried in your neck, and his fingers are sliding right back into your needy hole. 

The top of your head rests against the mirror behind you, exposing your neck and arching your back into his touch. He sucks and nips at the soft skin between your collar bone and ear, all while letting his two middle fingers pump slowly into you.

“Mmmm,” he mumbles into the crook of your jaw, “such a good girl for me, perfect pussy squeezing my fingers so tight, can’t fuckin wait to feel you soak my cock.”

Nearly orgasming at his words alone, your eyes flutter shut and you let out a moan of his name as he lets his thumb drag circles across your clit. “Eddie, please, just like that, I-”

“Oh, suddenly she’s not questioning my abilities?” he says with a biting smirk, “What was that about me not being half as good as I think I am?”

“Fuck,” you want to raise an eyebrow and shoot something back, hold out and make him work for it, but after hardly two minutes of his fingers rolling inside you, hooked up to drag along that perfect fucking spot, you had no choice but to feed his ego and let him win. 

“You wanted to make your little deal,” he pumps a little faster, making your head loll to the side and mouth hang half open, “I’ll sweeten it for you, babe. I say we can get this pretty pussy to come twice all over my fingers before anyone even knocks on this door.”

“Yes,” is all you can squeak out, “yes, please.”

If Eddie was being honest, he was a few half-thrusts into your thigh short of coming in his own pants from how hot you looked. Your eyes glassed over, pretty lips parted and gasping his name, perfect cunt sucking his fingers in. 

The hand not occupied by your gushing cunt slid up to cup the side of your cheek, forcing you to look into his fiery eyes. “Feel’s good?” he questions, knowing the answer and not expecting a verbal response.

He drags the pad of his thumb up to your parted lips, running it along your plush bottom lip and dragging it down a bit, relishing in how under his spell you were. His thumb slips into your mouth and you immediately wrap your lips around it and suck. 

“Good girl,” his thumb on your clit is rubbing more focused circles, “suck on that and keep your voice down, don’t want the whole bar knowing what a good little slut you are for me.”

Jackpot. 

A muffled moan around his thumb and the spasming of your inner walls signaled that you were hitting your peak. He drags the spit slicked digit from your lips and quickly replaces it with his lips and tongue, kissing you with fervor as he feels you ride out your orgasm on his hand. 

“Mmmmmmm” you moan, somewhere between a pleading whine and a sigh of satisfaction into his lips as his fingers don’t let up. 

Under different circumstances you would tell him to slow down, give you a minute to catch your breath. Eddie was stubborn, this you knew, and he had already made it abundantly clear that one orgasm wasn’t going to be enough. 

He pulls back from your lips, loving the sharp intake of breath you swallow as your cheeks continue to flush and eyelids keep fluttering. 

“So fucking good, came all over my fingers,” his gaze locks in on where his hand was buried into your cunt. “Gonna give me one more?”

Of course you would, whether it was up to you or not. He did slow up for a second, just enough for you to regain your grip on reality before he started curling them up again. 

“Eddie,” you whine out, eyes nearly crossed and unable to focus your attention on his face, hands, anything other than his boner poking into your inner thigh, “wanna feel you.”

The hand formerly gripped tight onto the edge of the counter snakes forward and pulls his hip into you, a permanent indentation of his stiff cock molding against your skin. 

“Not yet baby,” he rolls his hips forward, giving you a delicious feel of how it would be if he was inside you, but instead pushing his fingers a touch deeper and then pulling his hips away, “one more and then I’ll take you home. You’re gonna let me ruin that perfect little cunt, right? That was the deal?”

“Yes,” you gasp out, his other hand moving from your hair down to rub fast tight circles on your clit, the other hand still pumping steadily inside you.

“That’s right, I know this pussy is gonna take me so well. You’re already drooling for my cock, so fucking perfect.”

You feel it building up again, that sacred double orgasm that only ever came during your alone time in the shower or when you were so desperate for release that your hand didn’t stop after the first, but never with another person, never like this. 

His smile nearly touched his ears at this point, pulling back to take in all of you as your eyes screwed shut and thighs threatened to break his wrist at how fast they snapped together. 

Hitting you like a punch to the gut, your abdomen tightened and released rapidly, air sucked from your lungs and his hand working you through it between your clenched thighs. 

Yeah, maybe this was a bad idea. 

If you were in a cartoon, stars and chirping birds would be swirling around your head as you slowly came back to reality. He gave you some space, and begrudgingly gave you pack your panties after you hand out your hand and gave him a stern look.

“I’m gonna go tell the others that you aren’t feeling great and I’m taking you home,” he makes sure you’ve pulled your pants back up before unlocking the door, “Take your time, and I’ll meet you at the van, okay? I’ll grab your stuff.”

“Yeah,” you still feel a little flustered, looking back into the mirror and smoothing down your hair, “thanks.”

He shoots you a wink before slipping out, giving you a moment to collect yourself and splash some cold water on your face. Okay, so you’re doing this. 

Any nagging feelings that this might ruin things or that he’s only teasing you because of your arrangement are quickly squished down into a deeper compartment of your brain, overtaken by the post orgasm bliss and wandering thoughts of what might happen next. 

You peek your head out of the bathroom door, and slink your way to the back door without passing your group table or a stray Steve or Robin. The fresh air equalizes your buzzing thoughts, and you spot Eddie, already in the driver’s seat of his van. 

“You good?” He asks as you hop into the passenger seat. You won’t let him have the upper hand, just because he made you come twice in under ten minutes. 

“Yeah,” you gather as much assertion as your voice will project, “You good?”

“F’course,” he starts backing up, you internally roll your eyes at the way his outstretched arm muscles and curved neck make your stomach flutter, “Just wanted to make sure I passed the test.”

You sit in silence, not wanting to give into the cocky game he clearly wants to play, yet know that he’s entirely correct in his assumption that he’s driven you completely crazy. Once he’s on the main stretch of road, finally rolling to a stop at a red light you let your hand migrate across the center console, dancing its way into his lap. 

As you hoped, his cock was still half hard and apparent underneath his jeans. You let your hand draw circles next to it, loving the little twitch you get when you run your nails against his thigh. 

“Easy there, tiger,” he lets out a huffed laugh, with just an edge to his tone that suggested you were getting yourself into something you’d soon regret. 

“C’mon Eds,” you let your head fall on the corner of the headrest, gaze angled over at his tight grip on the steering wheel while your hand dancing around the bulge in his pants, “you’ve been pushing this thing against my thigh for the past twenty minutes, forgive me for wanting a better feel.”

You put on a pretend pouty face and flash him your best puppy dog eyes to ward off any incoming snippy comments from him. He rolls his pretty eyes at you and silently bites the inside of his cheek as you feel up and down his lap, grazing his growing cock with each pass. 

“Forgiven,” through gritted teeth, he squeezes his eyes shut as your fingers circle around his head, now taking visible form beneath his black jeans. He internally reprimands himself for losing focus on the road, and zeroes his concentration on getting back to his trailer as fast as this van can take him. 

You have your fun watching him wiggle in his seat, feeling his thigh muscles clench under your palm every so often. You weren’t full on jerking him off over his pants, but you were certainly relishing in the feeling of his dick getting harder and harder with each occasional pass of your hand.

He parks diagonally across the lawn in front of his trailer, not giving a shit where the van ends up as long as it’s stopped. He wanted to dash around the vehicle and scoop you out of your seat, throw you over his shoulder and take you inside to continue with whatever this evening had in store for you.

The second his hand stalled on the clutch, shifting the van into park and taking a moment to let his mind wander to what would happen once he got you inside, you were already halfway out the van and skipping up the steps to his front door. 

Entering his trailer, you start taking off your coat and shoes, trying to act as normal as possible. Your facade of keeping it cool entirely shatters when he enters behind you, calmly clicking the door shut and patiently waiting for you to finish unlacing your boots.

You remain crouched down, darting your eyes up at him, deciding against being a brat and undoing your laces as slowly as possible to keep him waiting. Any caution you had was long swept away by the wind, and he’d taken control in your little bathroom tryst, so it was your turn to say fuck it and just do what felt right. 

And in this moment, there was only a few quick movements and about six inches of space between you and Eddie’s semi-hard dick. One shoe was only half off, haphazardly kicked behind you as you pivoted onto your knees and had your hands moving eagerly up his tensing thighs.

“Can I?” Your question was half formed and he was already nodding. 

You’d teased him enough on the ride over, you wanted him, now. Pants quickly unbuttoned and blue checkered boxers pushed down to his knees, and you were about to go feral and just go for it when a silver glimmer adorning his thick cock caught your eye.

Your mouth was already half open, but your jaw nearly unhinged and hit the floor when the pierced head of his dick falls out of his boxers and lands at your eye level. 

Unmoving, mouth agape, you look up to make eye contact, ripping your eyes away from the shock of two silver balls on his cockhead. He knew it was nice, he wouldn’t have bedazzled it if it wasn’t, but the look you were giving him sucked all the unwavering confidence from his body for a split second, suddenly feeling weak in the knees at the sight of you slowly sicking your tongue out, not making any contact but waiting. 

He took the base of his dick in his hand and gave it a few precautionary strokes before angling it down and slapping your wet tongue with the tip a few times. 

You were two and a half seconds away from being entirely fucked out. If he pulled away and asked you to crawl on all fours to him, you’d do it without a second thought.

You let him slide his cock gently against your outstretched tongue a few times before coming to your senses and wrapping your lips around him, moving your hand to replace his and move against the length that your mouth couldn’t yet reach. 

All it took was a few steady bobs of your head, hand twisting and eyes still focused upwards on his face, to have him biting his knuckle and looking up at the ceiling to ground himself to try and not bust on the spot. You love this, of course, seeing him visibly spiral paired with the salty taste of precum already leaking from him. 

The hand not jerking him off comes up to the back of his hip, gently pushing against him in tandem with the movements of your head, encouraging him to shallowly thrust into your mouth.

“Jesus fu-“ he grunts out, not wanting to overestimate your encouragement, but unable to keep his hips from rolling forward slightly with the push of your hands and the bob of your lips. 

After an unexpected snap of his hips that sent his cock sliding into the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, a pang of guilt struck through him for pushing too hard. That was, until you let your head pull back a touch to catch your breath, but a long string of spit connected your lips to his cock, and a wild smile broke across your face that nearly sent him to the moon. 

You dove back in and pushed his cock all the way into the back of your throat, going so far that your nose pressed into the patch of dark curls that sat above his perfect dick. Focusing your breathing through your nose, you make a point to constrict your throat a few times until you feel him twitch inside you.

Pulling off with a gasp for air, you notice his eyebrows pinched together and gaze locked on you. 

“I like how these feel,” you comment, letting your pointed tongue dance around the metal balls on his tip.

He shudders and you clench your thighs at the sight of his stomach muscles tensing up when your tongue makes contact with the underside of his head, right where it meets the shaft. 

“If I let you fuck my mouth until you come, are you still going to be able to give it to me in a bit, or are you a one and done kind of guy?” You ask with a playfully teasing tone, but genuinely want to know if you suck him off to completion if the night will be over or not. 

“Fuck,” he spits out, more blood rushing to his cock at the idea of coming down your throat, “I’d fuck you all night if you’d let me babe.”

Half a second doesn’t pass before his cock is back in your mouth, hips shakily moving forward with your movements, gaining confidence as you flicker your eyes up at him through your lashes, the glimmer in them telling him he can take what he wants. 

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he comments to himself, “takin’ it all.” 

“Mhmmm,” you hum around him letting your tongue roll around his tip each time before he pushes his cock back down your throat. 

“You think you can get away with teasing me like that? That shit you pulled in the van back there, you think it’s cute to try and get me all riled up?”

You nod, tongue out and saliva coating your lips and chin. You could tell he was close by the way his words came out staggered, and his hips started snapping towards you in a new tempo, like his body was chasing it. 

Grunts and moans pulled from his chest fill the space mixed with the hums of satisfaction you let out while you take him deeper and faster. Moving in for the kill, you carefully slip your hand up in between his legs, cupping his balls, trying your best not to startle him. 

“Oh fuck,” it was a pitch of his voice you’d never heard before, a new tone especially reserved for the moments before orgasm, “you’re gonna make me fuckin come, y/n, y/n, I’m…”

The feeling of his balls constricting in your hands cues the warm wash of come sputtering down into your throat.

Getting the feeling he’d appreciate a bit of a show, you continue to jerk him off and pull off his cock slightly, letting the tip balance onto the tip of your tongue and the rest of his load spills out into your open mouth, some landing around the corners and onto your lips. 

“Christ, y/n,” his chest is heaving, his eyes finally pulling from you to squeeze shut for a moment. 

Once you’re sure he’s looking at you again you swallow down the salty white substance and lick the excess off your lips. You take his head back into your mouth, sucking just enough to clean off the tip and lap up any stray drops. He’s sensitive, you can tell, so you stop torturing him and place a final kiss right in between the two metal balls. 

You thought of asking him if the piercing hurt, or maybe make a comment about the two matching tattoos on his hipbones, ink of his you’d never seen until now. Before your brain can jump from swallowing his come to making post-nut chit chat, he’s yanking you up off your feet and wrapping you in a searingly passionate kiss. 

In your past experience most guys wanted you to drink some water or brush your teeth after they came in your mouth, at least before kissing you. Not Eddie. The way his tongue immediately slipped into your mouth, you almost believed he was trying to get a taste for himself. 

“C’mon,” he whispers in between slotting his lips with your, “Bedroom. Now.” 

He takes your hips in his hands and spins you around, causing a surprised yelp to bubble up from you, making him chuckle behind you as he walks you down the hall, keeping his hands on your sides. 

You knew where you were going, there were only so many doors in his tiny trailer, and you’d been here plenty of times before, but you liked the feeling of his hands pushing you forward, guiding your movements and steering you down the hallway into his room. 

Before your knees can hit the bed he spins you back around and captures your lips in another heated kiss. His hands trail up your sides, letting his fingertips slide beneath the hem of your shirt and push it upwards until your ribs were exposed. He pulls away from your face, leaving you leaning back into him, not wanting the kiss to end. 

“Up,” he pinches the sides of your shirt in his hands, and signals with his chin that he wants you to lift your arms, which you comply. 

It slides up and off of you, his hands quickly darting back to unclasp your bra, seemingly without even trying. This makes you roll your eyes, but the realization that you’re bare before him eclipses the thought of making a snippy remark about what a man whore he is. 

Flat palms caress your sides and move up to cup your breasts, his tongue pressing into the side of your neck. 

“These too,” his thumbs dip into your pants, managing to wiggle under the waistband of your panties as well. You’re going to do it yourself, but he gently pushes you back onto the bed, letting you flip back into the unmade blankets. 

“I wanna see you,” he pops your pants button and waits for a nod before sliding your pants and underwear down your legs. 

In between the blowjob and now, he’d tucked himself back into his pants, pulling his boxers and jeans back up, still unbuttoned, but covering him back up as his cock returned to a half hard state, unlikely to stay that way for very long considering how things were going. 

The scene of you now sprawled out onto his bed, naked and needy for him, and him standing above you, basically fully clothed, had a flood of lust traveling south between your thighs.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous,” you burned under his intense gaze, raking down your body and soaking in the image of your skin laid out against his flannel plaid sheets. 

He crawls over you, letting his body melt into yours, the center seam of his jeans pressing against your soaking core, just as it had when he had you pressed up against the door of the bar bathroom.

Rocking gently against you, you feel his cock already starting to harden again. His tongue moves against your neck, hands roaming freely against your skin, arching into his touch. 

His breath was heavy against your lips, he was already starting to lose himself, and he knew he wanted to make you come with his tongue at least once before his dick came back out, but it was already pulsing between his legs, growing rock solid with every little whimper that came past your lips. 

Your fingers intertwined themselves into the tresses of his long, messy hair. You use your new grip to pull his face as close into yours as your bodies will allow, smushing his nose up against your cheek and foreheads plastered together. The weight of his body on yours, and the lovely rocking motion of his hips against yours stopped as he pulled away and hooked his arms under your knees. 

He slides off the side of the bed, feet returning to the carpeted ground and yanking your body to the edge of the mattress. You let out an unexpected giggle, body limp like a rag doll, moving wherever he wanted you. 

He leans back over to give you another deep kiss, teeth dragging against your lower lip and tongue sliding gracefully against yours, before he slides his mouth down, stopping to lap up at your nipples for a moment, not letting any part of your skin go untouched as he takes his time moving down to where you want him most. 

Wiggling around on his mattress, your body is begging him to get on with it, but he loves to make you squirm. He takes his time licking up your hip bones, kissing from the innermost part of your thigh all the way down to your knee, and then back up the other side. He even takes a long moment to suck a dark purple bruise into the meat of your thigh, biting down on the flesh and licking over the skin to soothe it, noticing how your back arched a little when he bit down harder. 

“Please Eddie,” your voice is hardly above a whisper, whimpering and whiny.

“All you had to do was ask nicely,” he has that too-cocky tone again, but it’s long forgotten once his tongue is buried in between your thighs, lapping up the excess of wetness already pooled there.

“Ohhh,” you let out a moan, sucking in a sharp breath and allowing your body to relax under his focused touch. 

His hands push up from your ass to the crooks of your knees, moving your legs back to either side of you, strong palms finding their resting place on the backs of your thighs, keeping your legs spread wide open for him while he buries his face deep in your cunt. 

“You-“ the start of a compliment, or maybe a request, escapes your lips but the sudden harsh suck of your clit into his mouth has you speechless and moaning, “Mhmmmmm, uhhhhhhh.”

The sloppy wet sounds of him making out with your pussy are enough to drive you wild, your hands originally balling his sheets in your fists quickly move to the top of his head, resting atop his mop of messy curls. 

“Y’can give it a tug,” the first half of his statement spoken directly into your pussy, “I don’t mind a little pain.” He shoots you a wink and keeps his eyes locked on you as he lets his tongue lap a fat long lick up your slit, and then leaning back down to encourage you to tangle your hands into his hair. 

Coming to either side of his head you grab two points of purchase, locking your fingers in at the roots and feeling him hum into your cunt when you grabbed it a little tighter. 

Your hips start to quiver, so he brings one hand from your thigh up to your lower stomach, pinning you against the bed, and still keeping you spread open with the other. 

Working a steady rhythm against your slick center with his lips and tongue, he can tell he’s found the spot you like most by your open mouth and tight eyebrows.

“Ohmygod,” your chest starts moving with heavy breaths, you can’t bear to keep yourself up any longer and flop back down flat onto the mattress, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. He lets go of his anchor on your tummy and returns his hands to your thighs, allowing your hips to wiggle and wriggle against his face to chase after your own pleasure. 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” one glimpse of his big brown eyes looking up at you and his nose pressing deliciously into the spot above your clit has your head reeling, “please don’t stop, fuck.”

Rather than reply, he just continues to devour you at that steady pace, your thighs almost snapping shut around his head . 

“Uh huh, right there, oh fuck Eddie I’m gonna-“ 

A strangled moan rips from your throat and your back arches off the mattress, his hands quickly come to wrap around your thighs and keep your center held closely against his face. He’s pulling your hips flush with his face, despite your spasming torso and gushing core. 

As your orgasm peaks, your hips angle themselves to push up deeper into his face, and he uses his leverage against the backs of your thighs to lift your ass, the entire lower half of your body now off the mattress and sliding backwards as he keeps his moving tongue glued to your clit. 

He climbs up onto the mattress as you slide back, the grip he had on your legs was sure to leave a sore memory of him unwilling to let your coming pussy away from his face. 

When he finally pulls away, your hand pushing at his forehead to prevent overstimulation, both of you gasping for air, his knees are propped under your thighs, and your hips are propped up right at perfect level with the bulge in his pants. 

“Fuck me,” you say through catching your breath, not as an expletive but rather a demand, “Eddie, I need you to fuck me,” your voice was whiny and desperate. 

“This okay?” he starts pulling his dick from its constraints in his unbuttoned jeans, not even shoving them halfway down his thighs before he had that pretty pierced dip dragging through your open and ready folds. 

“Yes, inside, please,” you were chasing after his length, while he tossed his shirt off. He teasingly ran it up and down your slit before sinking into you, collapsing down to press your lips into a kiss to swallow your moans as he slid the whole thing in slowly, making sure to take his time and fuck you right. 

He grabbed the back of your neck and pressed his forehead to yours, finally sheathed all the way inside you and stilling for a moment to relish in the feeling. Pulling back so he can watch your face as he pumps his first few thrusts, he knows he’s beyond fucked. 

“So fucking good,” you slur out, eyes almost crossing from how deep his cock was hitting your insides.

“Yeah? This pussy’s god damn perfect, fucking made for me,” he articulates each thought with a snap of his hips, “suckin’ me right in.” 

“Wait, can we,” your voice had a little more weight behind it unlike the airy moans he’d grown obsessed with in the past forty minutes.

He pulls back, and rather than finish your thought you slip him out of you and roll over, shuffling up the bed and positioning yourself face down ass up, knees spread and back arched. 

“You think you can handle it?” he asks jokingly, swatting your ass playfully and then landing a second, harder smack on the flesh when he notices you pussy clench around nothing at the sensation of him spanking you. 

“Want you to fuck me hard,” you mumble into his pillow, wiggling your hips a little bit to jiggle the fat of your ass, “I know your cock is gonna feel so fucking good in me this way, wanna feel that fucking piercing back in my throat from the other direction.”

“Jesus Christ, y/n,” he was genuinely a little shocked at your words, slowly learning that your freak side might match his. 

You expected to feel his cock slam into you once his hands came to spread your ass apart, but instead the mattress dipped and he was licking another fat stripe from your clit all the way up past your second hole, running this back a few times until you were moaning into the pillow and thighs were tensed up from the attention he was giving you.

“Sorry babe, just needed another taste,” he pushed the head of his dick into you, and moved the first few inches agonizingly slow into your soaked hole. 

“Eddie please, need it, need you,” he loved that his sheets were balled up in your fists, using the tension of the material to bounce yourself back onto him. You only manage to slide back down about three quarters before he’s tightly gripping your hip and pulling out half way again. 

“Tsk tsk tsk, you need to learn to be patient, pretty girl,” he’d thrust it an inch of so, and then slowly pull back, making you whine and start to feel tears bubble up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Want it so bad,” your cheek laid flat against his pillow, and you could catch a glimpse of him behind you out of the corner of your eye if you craned your neck a bit. You sounded so desperate, but you knew he liked it, liked hearing how badly you craved him. 

He starts moving in and out of you, firm grip on your ass never wavering. Restrained grunts left his mouth as he fucked into you, causing your eyes to practically roll into the back of your head. He leans down to place a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, despite how viciously he's pounding into you. His head cranes down to your shoulder, his hand coming up to brush your hair out of your face. 

As his long fingers move your hair away from your eyes, you push your head back into his hand, not wanting to lose contact. He tentatively runs his hands up into your hair, taking a soft grip on your roots.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers, “you like it rough?”

“Yes,” you manage to squeak out, “fuck, pull my hair, spank me, do whatever the fuck you want to me, please.”

His vision practically goes black with this new unrestricted passion, allowing himself to thrust into you as hard and as deep as his hips would propel him, twisting your hair in his grip and pulling you up from your laid position, quickly letting your hands jump to his headboard to support you as your head was pulled back. 

You tried to bounce back onto his cock, wanting to feel him as deeply and wholly as your bodies would allow, but you could hardly keep up with the pace he had set. 

Your ass bouncing against him and the occasional glance he caught at your fucked out expression spurred him on to fuck you even harder. He had your hair pulled back so tight that your back was pressing flush up with his chest every so often, and he took the opportunity to snake an arm around you and hold your chest up flat, his other hand moving down to rub frantic circles on your clit.

“You’re gonna make me come like this,” you manage to croak out, voice hoarse from the harsh bend in your neck. 

“Nuh uhh, no,” his voice was gruff and commanding, right into your ear and sent a shiver down your spine. 

He pulled out of you fully, and had you flipped around flat on your back again before you could even open your mouth to complain. 

“Need to see that pretty face when you come on my cock,” he lines himself up with you again, pushing into you and making a mental note of how the bulge of his cock looked pressing up from the inner part of your lower stomach. 

And of course, your face screwed up in pleasure, puffy lips and sweaty brow, slack jawed and panting his name would be something Eddie wouldn’t be able to forget even if he tried.

His thumb found its way to your clit to pick up where he had last left you, steadily building to an earth shattering orgasm. Talking you through it, knowing you were close by the vice grip your walls had on his dick, in between grunts he spilled out some “good girl”’s and “right fuckin there, that’s it.” 

When he felt your thighs tense up, and the muscles in your neck strain against the soft skin he’d previously had his lips all over, he knew you were nearing the finish line. 

“So fucking perfect, feel so good wrapped around me,” he managed to sweet talk you without altering the pace of his hips, “That’s it, come on my cock, give it to me.”

With that, your body can’t help but throw itself over the edge of pleasure. A deep grunt rattles in your chest, and you lose all sensation other than the wild pulsing in between your legs. You can’t be bothered to worry about what your face looks like, or if your thighs are squeezing him too hard, you only feel the riptide of an orgasm shattering through you. 

The animalistic noise that Eddie grunts out, his wild gaze locked on your face only makes your body shake with pleasure even harder. He had that instinct that most men lacked, to keep the exact pace and motion when your orgasm hit rather than speed up or slow down, it was a gift, a talent. 

Of course he wasn’t going to change a thing about what he was doing, look at you. You were so fucking perfect, shaking and coming all over him, those sweet noises and the beautiful squelching between your thighs. He’d rather die than change a single thing about this moment. 

He stilled only when you paused to catch your breath, and within seconds was flipped over by the power of your thighs onto his back.

Unexpectedly, you began to ride him, trying to match the pace he had earlier set. The aftershocks of your orgasm still washed through you, but you seized the moment to get him right where you wanted him. This angle was different, deeper and more connected. You roll your hips and bring your hands up to his hair, foreheads pressing together once again. 

“You’re making me feel so fucking good,” you manage to breathe out into his lips, he quickly comes to the realization of what’s happened and shifts the angle of his hips to hit you even deeper. 

“I’d give you everything, if you’d let me,” he doesn’t let a single thought pass in his mind before the words slip out, “always.”

Your lips capture his in a kiss that has far more emotion behind it than two friends play-dating and fucking for fun. His hands come up to grasp your cheeks, your hips continue to roll down into his with purpose. 

“I’m- Where-“ his words are hardly intelligible in between breathless kisses, but you know what he means. 

“Inside, please, need all of you inside me,” you try to keep your voice steady so he hears you loud and clear, wanting to give him the exact attention he had paid to you, “Please Eddie, come inside me.”

His hands travel down and guide your hips to fuck down onto him one, two, three times before he’s groaning in your ear and letting out the prettiest and most vulnerable sounds you’ve ever heard form him. 

The swell of his cock inside you makes you drape your head into his neck, focusing on riding out his orgasm and making sure he was twitching in the aftershocks of his orgasm before you let up. 

When you felt his grip on your hips tighten, signaling that he’d had too much, you sink all the way down one final time and let your body lay limp on his, pulsing cock still filling you up. 

His chest rose and fell harshly with his recovering breaths. You could feel his heartbeat pulsing up through the spot on his neck where your ear laid on his sweaty skin.

Silently awaiting the inevitable tap on the shoulder, the slow pull out and post-sex cleanup process, you try to savor every passing moment. But it doesn’t come. Eddie wraps his arms around your midsection and holds your limp body close to his, letting his cock start to soften inside you. 

You nearly fall asleep like that, all wrapped up in him, until you recognize that you should pee and clean up to avoid a UTI. You slip off of him, and hear a disappointed groan from him. He makes cute grabby hands at you as you cross the room, making you roll your eyes, but something deep inside you flip flops with how sweet he’s being, so caring, so unlike the picture of himself that he had painted for you. 

You give him a wet hand towel to clean up the remnants of your activities, and slip back into bed with him per his insistence. You doze off for a while, until the rising sun peeking through his blinds catches your eye, striking you with the sudden decision to stay and face the music or leave and let it settle. 

You’d already regretted it, but weren’t ready to have the “hey, so I know we had fake boyfriend-girlfriend sex, but I actually really like you so what should we do about that?” conversion with him, so instead you take the cowardly path and tiptoe out of his room in the early morning hours, leaving behind your underwear on his nightside table with a scribbled note saying to call you. Hopefully that was enough of a signal. 

Apparently not,

Days pass, and no call. 

It was all starting to get to your head. While you had gone through the stages of being nervous that you had done something wrong, that he was avoiding you to spare you the rejection, thinking he regretted what had happened and didn’t want to face you, who was so obviously into him it was painful, you’d just now turned a new leaf. Fuck that. If he was too much of a coward to call you, you'd hope he'd at least give you the decency as a friend to tell you the truth, you deserved to be angry, and you deserved a response. 

After stewing in your feelings for longer than felt healthy, you just get in your car and start driving to his trailer. If this all blew up in your face at least you wouldn’t have to keep biting your nails and waiting for the phone to ring. 

Three deep breaths, and a quick moment to gather your thoughts, and suddenly your body acted on instinct, putting the car in park and walking up to pound three concise knocks on his trailer door. 

“Just a second,” he hollered from inside, giving you a few seconds to be stricken with regret for showing up unannounced without a plan on what exactly to say. 

“What do you- oh, y/n,” he was in a pair of plaid pajama pants that hung low on his hips, shirtless and hair still damp from a recent shower, “uh, hey?”

“Oh, hey,” your tone was laced with annoyance, “I left something here last week and I’m here to get it back. If you don’t mind.”

“What- oh,” he’s a second too slow to realize you mean the underwear you had purposefully left behind with that note. The note telling him to call you. Which he never did. 

You were left standing on his porch steps, arms crossed and shooting daggers out of your eyes while he stood there in the doorway, an apparent guilty expression plastered on his face while he rocked back on his heels to buy some time to figure out what to say. 

“You don’t have to invite me inside, if you can just grab them and give them to me, and I’ll be out of your hair,” you say flatly, recognizing if he does as asked then this might be the last time you speak to Eddie Munson. 

“No, no, uh, you should come in,” he steps aside to let you in, “we probably shouldn’t have this conversation on my front steps.”

Avoiding eye contact, feeling an overwhelming mix of anger, confusion, and betrayal, you step inside and don’t make any effort to move into the space. You just stand by the door and give him an expectant look. Either he could go get the underwear, or he could grow a pair and say something to you. 

“I, uh-“ he looked so defeated you started to feel bad for using such a pointed tone, but then you remembered the days and days that passed without hearing from him, “I’m sorry, that I, y’know…”

“Yeah, well I don’t really care if you’re not looking for any post sex recap conversations, because you’re obviously pretty sure of yourself in that department,” the words flew out before your mind could even conjure them up, “but you fucking promised me that you wouldn’t do this, so can I please just have my underwear back and I won’t bother you again.”

He runs a hand through his hair letting out a deep exhale and searching the ceiling for words, “I know, I-“

You cut him off, your thoughts were ripping through you now and you were going to say your piece whether he asked for it or not, “You said you wouldn’t pull this shit with me, but I guess our friendship isn’t substantial enough for you to see me any differently than you do every other girl you throw away after you’ve gotten what you want. You clearly don’t want any more advice and you clearly don’t want to be my friend, so please, just give me my shit so I can go.”

“That’s the fucking thing y/n, of course I don’t want to be your friend,” his gaze still fixed on the ceiling.

At this point you were seconds away from just storming out, letting him keep your underwear as some twisted little trophy for breaking your heart. 

“Yeah, crystal clear Eddie.”

“Being your friend is already hard enough, and I knew this shit was a bad idea, the whole trial-girlfriend thing. But how the fuck was I supposed to say no to that? The girl of my dreams offers to do all this no-strings-attached romantic shit, I’d be the dumbest man alive to turn that down.”

You just give him a blank stare, your scalding anger twisting into a more confused frenzy of bees swarming in the pit of your stomach. Eyebrows pinched together, you just stare at him until he finally makes eye contact with you. 

“And yeah,” he goes on, letting all his words out like a big exhale in the same cadence that you had just hurled all your angry words at his, but his tone was filled with guilt as opposed to rage, “maybe we let it go a little too far, but I would never say no to you, I couldn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t know what the fuck to say to you after, but that’s exactly the reason I’m not good enough for you. The more we kept that fake dating shit up the worse it was gonna get, so I’m sorry, but I can’t keep spending time with you like that, because it’s starting to fucking hurt.”

“Hurt,” you say with a dry laugh, which almost scares him, “YOU’RE hurt? Give me a fucking break Eddie. I know you don’t see me that way. So what, you’re too scared to hurt my feelings? You’re doing a wonderful job, keep it up.”

“What the fuck do you mean, not see you like what?”

“Don’t pretend to be dumb Eddie. When we first met I tried so hard to get your attention, asking you to hang out, and you always blew me off. It’s fine that you don’t want to date me or whatever, but at least just tell me that, don’t fuck me like I’m special or something and then toss me aside. I deserve better than that.”

“Yeah, y/n, you do,” his voice was no longer guilt stricken, and was on the same straightforward plane as your last responses, “you deserve so much fucking better than me, that’s why I could never let anything between us happen. I don’t call girls back. I’m rude. I don’t take care of myself, let alone others. I like to smoke, and drink, and get head from girls in bar bathrooms and never learn their names, and that’s not the kind of person that a girl like you dates. I’m a fun quick fuck. You’re the kind of girl that after three dates he’ll already have a ring picked out. You’re everything, and I’m nothing, so forgive me for sparing you of that.”

Your bones are frozen and the beat of silence gives him the opportunity to spin on his heel and start down the hallway, presumably to get your panties. 

Snapping back into it, you let out a louder than expected, “Hey,” and you start following him, not taking long to catch up to him in his bedroom. 

“You,” you point a finger at him, and start to feel the rage bubble up again, “don’t get to decide that you’re unloveable. And you don’t get to tell me what kind of girl I am. Have you ever considered that maybe the reason you’re so lonely and miserable is because you choose to be? You don’t get to decide what I deserve, I do. And I really fucking like you Eddie, so forgive me for acting like it.” 

You snatch your underwear off his bedside table, and give him a look, not fueled by anger or resentment, but empathy. 

“I’m going to leave. And if you don’t want to see me again, that’s fine, but if you do, you can call me. Goodbye Eddie.”

You feel out of your own body, floating above it all and rewinding the conversation over and over, body on autopilot taking you home while your soul stayed behind and relived his words over and over, unsure if you feel better or worse than when you showed up. 

Days pass by again, and you take his silence as more of a response than anything he had said to you during that conversation. You try not to wallow, but you feel scattered and distraught, at both the prospect of losing Eddie and having to deal with your shared friends, would they allow you to dance around each other, or would they flat out choose him and shut you out? Would group nights out bowling suddenly just turn into the occasional one-on-one coffee with Robin? 

Until suddenly, on a random Tuesday afternoon when you've gotten home from work and are relaxing on the couch in your pajamas, three knocks are at your door.

At this point you figured it was over. He hadn't called and he'd made no effort to continue the dialogue. So a thought of Eddie doesn't even cross your mind in between the couch and opening the door.

And there he is.

In a suit, slightly descheveld in Eddie fashion, and holding a slightly wilting bouquet of flowers. Posture straight and brave face, but expecting your brutal edge upon answering the door nonetheless.

"Hey?" you're somewhat at a loss for words answering.

"Hi," he seems like he's running lines of a play in his mind, "I was hoping we could talk."

You reluctantly let him in, and he hands the flowers to you, as if it was a normal occurrence for him to bring you such a gift.

"First off," he starts, hardly breaching your living room entrance before starting his apology, "I regret the way we last left things, and I'm sorry for leaving you waiting for a response."

He flicks those big brown eyes at you and you can't help but give him the benefit of the doubt, he always was so sincere with his words.

"You're amazing. And although I'll remain adamant that I don't deserve someone like you in my life, I've been thinking a lot about what you said, and I'm sorry that tried to tell you how to feel."

You remain stoic at your seat on the couch, watching him shift his weight and bare his soul to you.

"You're perfect. Nice, funny, sexy, brave, all of it. And if you're willing to give me a chance, I don't know why the fuck you would, but if you are, I want to put aside all my bullshit and try this out, if you'll have me."

He stood there for a moment, letting you take in his request, bouquet in hand and suit adorned.

"And I owe you a few dates, for real."

As hard as you want your exterior to be, a smile cracks through.

"Okay, but know I don't fuck until the third date, at best," you jab, breaking his nervous exterior and visibly relieving the tension from his shoulders.

"I'm somewhat of a refined gentleman myself, so that won't be an issue," he bows and extends a hand to you.

You pull him down by the hand onto the couch with you, wrapping him up in a deep kiss. He was worth it, and you both knew it was worth the shot to try.

[sanguineterrain]

window pains | jason todd

Summary: He's got a habit of coming in through the window. You want him to start staying... and using the door. 

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: injured Jason Todd (he's okay dw), angst, pining, mentions of Jason's death.

A/N: sooo.... i guess i'm a dc girlie now. just a reminder that every character i write will always be 18+!!! this is probably canon divergent but we make our own canon.

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

the divider

"Can't you enter my apartment like a normal person?"

"You know who you're talking to, right?"

"You're getting blood on my carpet, Todd."

It doesn't really matter. He'll come back and scrub it out as soon as his ribs are whole. And fuck if he's not good at getting blood out of surfaces. Jason Todd ought to start a housekeeping column. 

You catch his limp as he climbs over the windowsill. It almost topples him, but he gets to the couch before it does. He doesn't make a sound. 

That had freaked you out the first few times he'd stumbled through your window. Once, he came with part of a windshield wiper impaled in his shoulder. He'd lain on your couch so still and so quiet, you'd thought Red Hood had croaked in your apartment. Which would not have been a good look for you. Or maybe it would. Depends on who you ask. 

Sometimes you want to tell him to make sounds. To hiss and grunt and complain. To grab your wrist so you'll slow down as you pull thread through flesh. 

But it's not your place to request such a thing. You don't know where you reside in Jason Todd's life, but it's not somewhere where you can request to hear him hurt. 

Outwardly, his injuries aren't bad-looking. He takes off his helmet and tosses it somewhere under the coffee table. You offer a hand to help him lie down on the couch—he doesn't take it. 

"Jesus Christ, Jay." You suck in a sharp breath and peel back his bloody suit. "What'd you do?"

"Took a midnight stroll in the Botanical Gardens. Why, what'd you do?"

You frown, eyebrows pinching in the center of your forehead. Jason's stomach is mottled with purple and red bruises. There's a sticky gash right above his hip. A knife. Or a sword, maybe. Apparently, swords are commonplace in Gotham. 

"How'd they get you?" you ask. 

It's a rule-break. Jason's number one policy: don't ask questions.

You always do. Even when it was new, this… thing between you two, you'd ask. Who were they? Why did they hurt you? Did you hurt them back?

The last one, you always know the answer to. 

"There were, like, ten of them," he says. "Cut me some slack, will ya?" 

He has a cut across his lips. A ringed finger that caught on his skin, you guess. You wonder if he'd wince if you kissed him. If he'd wince at the pain or the kiss itself. If you'd know the difference. 

Rage suddenly cuts through you. It makes your hands careless, cruel; you pull the bandage around his waist too tight. Jason coils up slightly. 

"Jesus—ever heard of bedside manner?" he asks, looking at you through his lashes. 

"Ever heard of not breaking into someone's apartment and making them patch you up?"

"I don't make you," Jason says easily. "You wouldn't do it if you didn't want to."

That only increases your rage. Because he's right. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be. You'd have kicked him out four first aid kits ago if you minded. 

You yank down his shirt and pack up the kit. Jason shifts on the couch. A sliver of skin above his waistband is still exposed. You have to turn your head to force your gaze away. 

"No bandaids?" he asks. "All my cuts'll be exposed to the elements."

"You can put them on yourself." 

His cheek could use one. And his eyebrow. You're not in the mood. 

Jason doesn't say anything in response to that. You get up to put the kit back under the sink. 

"Can I crash here?" 

"Do what you want," you say, suddenly exhausted. Like it's you who just went six rounds with Gotham's scumbags.

You peek over the kitchen counter when you hear rustling and the couch springs squeak. Jason leans heavily on the arm of the couch, reaching for the window. You walk over and stand in front of him. 

"What're you doing?" you ask. 

"You want me to go," he says flatly. "So I'm going."

"I didn't say that, I said—"

"I can read between the lines." 

"If you could read between the lines as well as you think you can, we wouldn't be in this situation," you say. 

"What situation?"

You turn your head. "Nothing."

Jason steps towards the window. You block him again. 

"What is the matter with you?" you ask. "You're injured. Lie down."

"I'm not your responsibility," he says, glaring. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not. And since you're allergic to using the door, you don't have a choice."

Jason's eyebrow rises. "Are you saying you'd physically prevent me from leaving?"

You lift your chin. "If that's what it takes."

"Hm. Can't tell if your confidence is stupid or brave."

"Lie the fuck down, Todd."

His lip curls. "I don't stay where I'm not welcome."

Sometimes you forget how young he is. Not that you're not also young, but, well… you don't feel your youth as acutely as other people your age might. It's something you two have in common. 

Here, in the gritty glow of Gotham, you are reminded that Jason Todd died once. Before he finished school. Before he fell in love. 

Your stomach churns every time you see that Y-shaped scar on his torso, strapped over him like a chain. 

"I didn't say that you're not welcome," you say. 

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to."

He sags against the couch and it occurs to you that he's as exhausted as you feel. 

"Can you just—" You touch his bicep. He winces even though there's no injury there. "Can you just lie down?" 

You stare at each other for another minute. Slowly, Jason lays down. His eyes are alert instead of heavy with sleep. Instantly, you feel guilty for making him think he has to be cautious around you. His hand curls protectively over his stomach. 

"Do you want a blanket?" you ask. 

He squints. "It's August."

"I know, I… I thought maybe the blood loss made you cold." 

"'M fine. Perks of being risen from the dead." 

You watch him get settled for a minute. He shifts his weight to his uninjured side and meets your gaze. His eyes are gray in the weak light. 

"You're tired of me," he says. 

Your head snaps up. "No, I'm not."  

"You are."

"I'm not tired of you, Jay."

You see it. The fear. He thinks this is the last time you'll let him in. He doesn't know you can't lock him out. You won't. 

You get up and go to get the kit from the sink again. Jason follows your movement the whole time. His face scrunches in confusion when you sit in front of the couch and unzip the kit. 

You pull out the tiny red bandaids. You'd bought them as a joke, initially. It had made Jason laugh and that had been reason enough to keep buying them. And then he let you actually put them on.

You peel the adhesive off of one and gently stick it on his cheek. He blinks at you, thick, dark lashes kissing the corners of his eyes. 

"I'm not tired of you," you say softly. 

"I'd be tired of me." 

"You keep this city safe. How could I be tired of Gotham's defender?"

Jason scowls and turns his head into the cushion before you can put the second bandaid.  

"I'm not its defender. The others protect this city a hundred times better. Nightwing does it with a smile on his face."

"I like that you go out there even when it's hard, Jay," you say. 

He doesn't respond. You lean in, so close that you can count the freckles on his neck. 

"Can I finish putting the bandaids on?" you ask. 

"I don't need 'em."

"You do. You need another on your forehead."

"It'll heal fine without it."

Your shoulders bunch like a cat on defense. You grab his cheek (gently, always gently) and his head whips to yours in surprise. 

"Jason Todd, I am not tired of you. I'm tired of the fact that you only come by when you need fixing."

He scowls. "I never asked you to fix me. If you want me to leave, I'll leave."

"I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay!" you burst. 

Jason scoffs. "No, you don’t. I'll overstay my welcome real fast."

"Maybe I care about you on purpose!" you say, voice rising. "Maybe I didn't stumble through a window; maybe I walked through the door and bought the bandaids and learned how to stitch wounds because I wanted to."

He suddenly looks overcome by grief. The agony in his face startles you. 

"I don't know how to use the door anymore," he says quietly. "All I do is stumble through windows."

Your hand slips off of his cheek. Jason closes his eyes; they fly open when you stick the second bandaid above his eyebrow. 

"You can come in any way you want to," you say, face an inch away from his. "As long as you come back to me."

His gaze darts to your mouth. You don't kiss him hard. He breaks anyway.

You avoid the right side of his mouth entirely, not wanting to pull at his cut. Jason shudders into your mouth. You cup his pulse through his neck and it quickens.

His eyes are wet when you pull away. His chest heaves like he's been swinging through the city. 

"I wanna try to use the door," he says. 

You touch the bandaid on his cheek, humming. 

"Then I'll leave it unlocked." 

[luvf4ngz]

HOT LOVE ON THE WING - jason todd.

Descripton: You’re not upset about your most recent breakup; you’re just upset you have no one to fuck anymore. Good thing your Shakespeare loving best friend, Jason, has a solution to that.

Contents: This Bad Boy Is PACKED With Shakespeare References, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cheating (Not By Jason Or Reader), You And Jason Are Absolute Fucking DORKS, Good Friend Jason Todd, Best Friend Jason Todd, Self-Indulgent, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Female Reader, HEAVY Banter, Hair-pulling, Vaginal Fingering, Squirting, Overstimulation :), Pet Names, Praise Kink, Dacryphilia, Soft Jason Todd, Dom Jason Todd, Missionary Position, Doggy Style, Cowgirl Position, Nipple Play, Spanking, Rough Sex, Dumbification, Fucked Stupid, Unrealistic Sex, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Spit/Drool, Goofy Giggly Sex, But Also Hard and Fast Sex, Jason Destroys Your Spiderman Panties :(

Word Count: 3131

Author's Note: If it wasn't obvious from the tags this is a repost from my AO3 hehe. This is genuinely my favorite fic I've ever written, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do :) <3

“It’s okay, pretty girl. You can take it, can’t you? You made a big show of defying me earlier, put your money where your mouth is - right?”

You threw open the door to his dorm, instantly honing in on his bed and diving into the soft plush. Jason is sitting at his desk, looking up at you from his book with a roll of his eyes at your dramatic entrance. 

“Well, hello to you too.” His tone is dripping with sarcasm, but his smile betrays his facade. “It’s nice to see you again, stranger. How long has it been, hm?” He teases, his words alluding to the fact that you’ve been spending less time with him lately in favor of being with your “new boy toy” - as he put it.

You let out a hum into the comforter before moving to your side to properly look at him. “Well I think you’ll be very happy to hear that I’m all yours again, Todd, so there’s no need to be jealous.” You cheekily reply. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyebrows knit together in confusion. You thought it made him look adorable.

“I broke up with my ‘boy toy’, as you so politely called him.” You giggled out, using your fingers as quotation marks for emphasis. 

“What!? What happened?” Jason’s eyes widened at the news you so casually dropped.

“Apparently he’s been cheating on me for some time. My friend showed me some pictures of him shoving his tongue down some girl’s throat at a party so I broke it off with him this morning. Anyways, what’s been going on in Jay-Land?” You grin widely as you gaze at him from the bed.

Your attempt at changing the topic of conversation went unsuccessful. 

Jason sat up from his spot, setting his book down before hurriedly making his way over to you, settling down beside you on the bed.

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t I seem okay to you? I’m just fine, dude.” You tried to reassure him, your voice unwavering and relaxed as your eyes followed him.

“I mean, I guess; but I thought you really liked him.” 

“It seems like you want me to be sad over this. What do you want me to say? ‘Tears seven times salt burn the sense and virtue from mine eyes!’” You gasp out the line dramatically, bringing a hand to cover your heart and the other to wipe non-existent tears from your face, before bursting out into giggles. 

“Don’t you go quoting Shakespeare at me! That’s my role in this friendship!” Jason playfully nudges your shoulder as a wide grin breaks out on his own face.

“The Jason doth protest too much, methinks.” You do your best to put on a snooty tone, but your laughter prevents it. 

“Oh, shut up.” 

Another round of cackles start up between the two of you, and you both relish in the comfortable silence that falls after. 

“You know,” You start, breaking the silence and making Jason’s head turn towards you. “There is one thing I’m sad about.”

“What?”

“His dick game was mad good.” You say with an extravagant sigh. “I’m gonna miss it.” You fake a few sniffles.

“Aw, come on now. There’s other dick out there.” 

“Nah, it’s too much work. I’ll just have to survive without it for now. ‘But I have that within which passeth show; these but the trappings and the suits of woe.’”

“I can’t believe he’s got you so cock-drunk that you’re quoting Hamlet.” Jason tsks out in false disapproval. “He’s not good enough to be depressed for.”

“He’s not, but the sex definitely was.” 

“It couldn’t have been that good.”

“It was.”

“Not better than what I could do though.”

“Ehhhhhh…” You squinch your face together in overplayed disbelief, causing him to fix you with a sharp glare and a hurt gasp. 

“Is that a challenge?” He smirked, his eyes narrowing in competitiveness. 

“I know it not ‘seems’.” 

“You cheeky motherfucker.” Jason smiles out before grabbing your waist and throwing you further up the bed. It causes you to let out a startled yelp as Jason moved to hover over your body.

“Oh? You gonna prove it to me, Todd? You must be overcompensating for something if you get this riled up over such a small comment. You know, if you wanted to fuck me - you could have just asked.”

“Funny, I was about to say the exact same thing.” He leans in to bite your neck, making your body jolt against his.

“Hey! Play nice, Todd.” You scold, slapping his shoulder before wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I’m ever so sorry, madam.” He fake pouts before attacking your face with kisses. 

“Stop!” You squeal out, giggles erupting uncontrollably from the ticklish sensation. You move your hands to his chest, pushing him away from you. “Are you ever gonna get on with it, or are you just gonna keep messing around?”

“That’s a fair thought: to lie between maids’ legs.” 

“Ugh, it doesn’t sound as good when you do it.” 

“Excuse you? I’m a Shakespeare quoting champ!” 

“You’re awfully defensive today, Todd.” You note with a grin. 

“Keep talking, princess, see what happens.” He jokingly warns. 

He pulls back from you to pull his shirt over his head, before going to tug at his pants. You follow after him, sitting up to discard your own clothing. Once you both are left in your underwear, Jason pushes you flat against the bed again. 

“Spiderman panties. Cute.” 

“Shut up. It’s not like I planned for this to happen.” You grumbled out at his observation. You forgot about them and your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“Mhm, sure, sweetheart.”

Jason starts planting sloppy kisses on your skin, trailing his way down your body until he’s reached your waistband. He shuffles down the bed and lies down between your legs, leaning in to snatch the fabric of your underwear between his teeth and ripping it off your legs. 

“Jay! I liked that pair!”

“My bad, princess, I’ll be sure to buy you some new ones.”

“Better still be spiderman.”

“I’m more Team Cap.” He disserts before gripping your thighs and dragging your core closer to his face; the back of your calves rest on his shoulders. 

His eyes drag down your glistening pussy before he lets out a loud wolf whistle at the sight.

“Ew, Todd!” You laugh, trying to kick him for the action but the hold he has on you is too tight to allow movement. 

“What? I’m just appreciating the view.”

He dips his head down, tongue flicking at your hooded clit before he wraps his lips and around the bud and sucks. He feels your thighs tighten around his head as your own tilts up to let out a loud moan. He replaces his tongue with his fingers, expertly working the nub in circles as he peers up at you. 

Your head is turned to the side, eyes clenched and lips spilling shaky whines. 

‘A damn nice sight’, if he did say so himself.

He continues to stimulate your clit with his thumb, pressing his tongue to your dripping hole to lap up your arousal. 

“Fuck, Jason! You really know how to put the money where your mouth is,” You mumble into the sheets, hips bucking up every once in a while from the pleasure. 

Jason grips you tighter, preventing you from moving. He briefly looks up to note “I think you’ll find I know how to use my mouth quite well”, before moving to continue eating you out.

His actions are faster, more feverous. His tongue runs up and down your sex, your slick coating his taste buds. He savors it - lets out a deep hum that reverberates through your pussy and up your spine, sending shivers through your body. He sucks and slurps at you, so passionate that you swear you can feel your soul escaping through your cunt. The wet smacks do nothing but turn you on more, your thighs pressing closer to his head and acting as earmuffs. 

Your hands move from their place bunched in his sheets to his hair, tanging the dark locks between your fingers and instinctively tugging. It causes a low groan to tear from his throat, the bass and depth of it fueling the uncontrollable hot ache in your stomach. That only makes you want to do it again. The second tug makes a sound that’s akin to a growl, before Jason pauses his movements to stare up at you.

“Careful, princess. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.” 

It’s a sight to behold. Jason: heaving, eyes blown, his face shiny from your smeared slick. His mouth is open, panting - his gaze refusing to leave contact with yours. There’s mischief glimmering in the depth of his eyes. 

You don’t reply - only smirk, and yank his head closer to your sex again. 

“Oh, you’ve done it now.” 

His hand moves from your clit to your dripping hole, two fingers pushing their way inside you. His lips reattach to your clit as he starts to move his fingers - fast and rough and leaving you no time to adjust to his intrusion. 

“J-Jesus fuck!” He can feel your thighs twitching, can feel your fingers gripping onto his hair hard in response, and it only spurs him on more. 

His palm smacks against your cunt with each hit, splattering your slick. His fingers move at an unfathomable speed, pads searching for that one spot inside you that will make you see white. 

You’re whimpering and whining above him, senses overwhelmed at Jason’s rough ministrations. It’s too much: the pressure building inside you. It feels like you’re on the edge, senses ready to fall into a never-ending pit of endorphins and fear and exhilaration. There are fireworks inside you, lit and ready to burst and fry all of your sensibilities. 

Finally, it happens - what Jason’s been waiting for. With a slightly tilted angle of his hand and a curl of his fingers, he finds it. He knows because you suddenly tense up; because you let out the most angelic, strung-out moan he’s ever heard; because your walls clamp down on his fingers and a jet of tangy, sweet liquid hits his awaiting tongue. 

God he wishes he could watch you cum over and over and over. He’s gonna think back to this moment when he’s fucking his fist in the future - that’s for sure. The view of you - back arched, eyes teary. The sensation of you - warm and wet and tight against his digits. The sound of you - desperate and high pitched and wailing out his name. He wants it all burned into his brain.

“Jason, Jason!” Yeah, that’s the sound of heaven alright. “Jay! Stop! I came- I can’t!”

Hm?

Oh. He hasn’t stopped pumping his fingers inside you. Oh, well.

“It’s okay, pretty girl. You can take it, can’t you? You made a big show of defying me earlier, put your money where your mouth is - right?”

God, you’re shaking. You look like a leaf shivering in the wind, or a cat left out in the rain. Your eyes are glossy and teary and fuck. You look so beautiful falling apart for him. 

Your brain is in shambles, screaming and begging for a reprieve. It’s dizzying, the assault of your sensations. All you can hear, think, feel is Jason.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please!”

“Come on, princess. Just let go. Just one more for me, yeah?”

You can’t tell if the second orgasm hits you like a train or slowly drowns you in its weight. Maybe a mix of both - a crashing of a tsunami that simultaneously relieves your ache and steals your breath. 

You’re sobbing, trembling, gasping for breath and trying to regain feeling from the clouds that seem to have replaced your nerves. 

“You did so well.” Jason cooes. He’s sitting up, suckling your juices from his fingers like you were a decadent 5-star meal.

He moves to lay down beside you, pulling your body to curl into his, back to peppering your cheeks with chaste, affectionate kisses. 

“Fuck, Jason.” You heave out, still slightly out of it. 

“Was that okay? Did I get carried away?” He questions softly, concern lacing the green in his eyes. 

“Yeah, no, that was great.” You quickly reassure him. “I just- wow. I need a moment.” 

He chuckles quietly before holding you close to his body again. “So? Did I exceed your expectations?”

“Don’t get cocky. Hubris was the downfall of Macbeth.” You shuffle closer to him. “Speaking of cocky, is that a dagger - or are you just happy to see me?”

“I’m always happy to see you princess,” Jason croons. “but I am extremely rock hard right now, too.”

Your hands drift down his body, sensually tracing every muscle from his chest to his pelvis, before tugging off his boxers.

You swing your body on top of his, straddling his waist as you begin pumping his cock. 

“Well then” You start, positioning yourself on top of his awaiting member, “O’ happy dagger, this is thy sheath…”

You start to sink down on him as you finish the quote, your words trailing off into a wanton moan. 

“I’d yell at you for saying something so stupid if you weren’t fucking squeezing my cock right now.” Jason manages to huff out. His teeth are gritted, eyes shut as he tries not to cum at the sensation of you wrapped warm and tight around him. 

His large hands settle on your waist as yours plant themselves on his chest for support. 

“You have to admit, it’s clever wordplay.” You mewl, mind fuzzy from the sensation of his dick stretching you out. 

Tingles shoot up your body as the pain dissolves into a delicious fullness. You crave friction, your very core feels like it's aching for it. In fact, you think you’ll go insane if you don’t start moving right now. 

You carefully lift your hips up, before dropping back down again, repeating the motion over and over until you’ve built up a somewhat regular rhythm. 

Moans ceaselessly flow from your lips, interspersed with mumbled swears and curses.

Your head is tipped forward, your hair falling into your face. Jason’s hand comes up to brush it back behind your ear, before gently cupping your cheek.

“You feel so good baby, fuck.” He grunts.

His other hand comes up to undo your bra, releasing your tits to him. Both palms move to cup them, kneading at the soft flesh before working your perked nipples with his fingers. 

You still your movements with a whine, too confounded by the assault of stimulations you were feeling. That doesn’t mean that you’re not still desperate and yearning, though. Your thighs do their best to rub against each other, trying to chase friction despite your inaction. 

It’s only as you rest that you feel how sore your legs have become, enough that you let out a pitiful mewl. 

“Is my pretty baby tired?” Jason muses, while he’s still pinching and rolling your sensitive buds. 

“Mhm,” You moan out in reply. 

He quickly rolls the both of you over, laying you down onto your back again before flipping you onto your stomach. 

You quickly shuffle onto your knees, arching back against him in wait. 

“Good girl,” He laughs out. His palms rub against your cheeks, squeezing the flesh there before pulling back and giving it a slap. 

It earns him a broken moan from your throat, and the view of your ass shaking in desperation.

It only makes him laugh again. “Have some patience, naughty girl.”

He spanks you again, and you keen so high-pitched and pretty that he can only relent to your demands. 

Jason grips his cock and guides it to your wet folds, sliding it up and down before finally pushing in. You welcome him easily, pussy molding perfectly to his thick cock. 

A hand settles on your waist while the other tangles into your hair. He yanks your head back as he starts fucking you hard and fast. 

His hips smack hard against your ass with each thrust, slowly turning the skin there sore and heated. His cock is bullying its way in and out of you, the tip knocking against your sweet spot with a force that repeatedly knocks the breath and thoughts out of you. 

Your eyes are rolled back, brain melted, as drool drips from your lips. 

Chants of “fuck” and “Jay” are the only sounds your mouth remembers how to make now. 

“Just keep saying my name like that, sweetheart.” Jason pants out. 

He can’t believe how good you feel around him. You’re so warm and wet that his cock glides in and out so easy, making it effortless for him to abuse your poor cunt. 

The hand in your hair guides you up to him, back pressed against his sweaty chest as he tilts your head and leans in for a kiss. 

It’s messy with your spit and drool, both your movements uncoordinated and sloppy. 

He fucks up into you all the while, gravity allowing him to hit harder and deeper inside you.

He can feel that you’re close again - your body is twitching against him, your cunt beginning to spasm. 

The hand on your waist reaches to rub quick and hard circles against your clit, and you’re gone.

Your whole body shudders as you soak his cock, before going limp is his hold. It’s an intense buzzing sensation that overtakes you, settling deep in your veins until you’re trapped in a pleasing static. Your head is submerged in sticky syrup that makes it hard to think, so you just indulge in the calming weight of it. 

Jason pulls out and gently maneuvers your dazed body back to the bed, hand working himself to completion before finishing on your stomach - his warm cum splattering on the skin as he lets out a husky grunt.

He stays there, catching his breath for a few moments before he disappears to the bathroom while you come down from your high, washing his hands and grabbing a damp towel to bring back to you. 

He wipes you clean before poking your cheek until your gaze refocuses on him.

“How was it?” He cheekily smirks. 

“I certainly died a lovely death in thy lap,” You chuckle.

“If you can still quote Shakespeare I didn’t fuck you dumb enough.” Jason frowns.

“Awh, cheer up, you big baby.” You reach out to pat his head endearingly, “I change my mind; your dick game is definitely better.”

“YES!” Jason fist-pumps like he just scored a touch-down and you smile at how stupid he looks. “Okay, now you go pee.” He shoos you away. “I’ll change the sheets and we can watch reruns of Gossip Girl again.”

“I would not wish any companion in the world but you.” You fake tear-up, wiping your eyes before giggling the whole way to the bathroom. 

Thank you so much for reading! A comment or reblog is much appreciated. Have a great day <3

- sumi ☆ミ

ミ☆ masterlist

[joelmillers-whore]

I'll Be Here In The Morning

summary: after a heated argument, you try to go to sleep alone, but joel knows you can’t and he doesn’t like not sleeping next to you. he comes back and the next thing you know, the two of you can’t keep your hands off of each other.

Recommended Song(s): Sweater Weather - The Neighbourhood

Word Count: 4.2K

Series or One-Shot

Warnings: 18+ explicit, minors DNI, joel x female!reader, no mention of Y/N, no outbreak, slight relationship insecurity, they have a fight but it’s not shown, SMUT, joel calling reader darlin’ because why not, joel reassuring them and being sweet, also age gap i guess, canon divergent, praise kink, unsafe sex (don't be like joel, use a condom)

A/N: hey ya’ll! this is my first TLOU fic and i am so excited to post it here (also my first time posting on here). i am an AO3 user through and through but i thought it was time to broaden my horizon so to speak. i was so overwhelmed with how many of you wanted to see this type of fic, so please don’t hesitate to tell me what you think or request anything you want to see. i’ll try to get to it/ i’m trying to be more active. i’m not sure if my asks are open so let me know if that works lol. anyway, i hope ya’ll enjoy this!!

Slamming the bedroom door behind you, you crossed your arms over your chest. You were angry, furious even, mostly with yourself but also with your boyfriend. Anger was coursing through your veins, pumping white-hot rage through them that made your chest constrict when you thought back to the petty fight you’d had with Joel not ten minutes ago.

It was mindless, stupid bullshit but you’d gotten angry over it anyway. You weren’t even a hundred percent sure just how it started, but you did know that you had been a simmering pot, ready and waiting to explode. So you had needed to get out of there, away from him. You didn’t fight with Joel often, even though your clashing personalities would beg to differ. When you did get angry though, there was no holding either of you back. 

You and Joel each had your own way of dealing with anger and most times, you chose to walk away, not wanting to accidentally say the wrong thing or to say something hurtful that you didn’t mean in the heat of the moment. So, here you were. In the bedroom. Fighting back against your racing heart and rising body temperature.

You had come back home after a long day on your feet and something mundane had set you off, and Joel just happened to be in the line of fire. Before long, you and Joel had gotten into it and not in the fun and sexy way you found yourself always wanting from him, regardless of what kind of mood you were in. 

You thought back to the argument and how dark and endless Joel’s eyes had looked, how they seared into you when you were fighting, keeping you locked in and firmly in place. A shiver ran up the length of your spine as you imagined how he had crossed his arms, clearly in frustration, but how even when you were angry, you hadn’t been able to look away from his broad chest or how the material of his shirt had been pulled so tautly over his bulging muscles, making you bite your lip.

That annoying little flutter in the pit of your stomach made you groan in exasperation because even when you were upset with him, you couldn’t deny the sexual chemistry you and Joel had. 

You shook your head, trying to shake yourself from your lust-induced daydream. You were overtired from work and clearly still reeling from an argument that you hadn’t been expecting to come home to. You glanced over at the clock; it was later than you had realized it was. How long had you and Joel been fighting for?

The all too familiar feeling of regret settled into your bones. You hated fighting with Joel, with the one person you considered to be more of a family to you than your actual family. But what was done was done and there was no going back now. 

Neither one of you held onto anger for long, both of you deciding a long time ago that if either one of you were still angry in the morning over what had transpired the night before, you would agree to sit down and hash it out. That rule had probably saved your relationship more than once, and anger between the two of you never lasted for more than two days at most.

Rolling back your shoulders, you held firm to the idea that holding onto what you had said and dwelling on it wouldn’t help you now, so you thought about something else instead. You thought about how your muscles ached and how a migraine was slowly forming. The only cure that could help you now was sleep. 

You knew that come the morning you and Joel would be back to bickering lovingly with each other and laughing over breakfast, just like how it always turned out. He was bound to forgive you, you hoped. But what if this fight was the one that tipped him over the edge? What if when he left, he wouldn’t come back?

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach like a thousand-pound boulder. You bit back the sting of tears and honed your hearing, listening for anything in the darkness that enveloped you. Disappointment manifested quickly when you heard nothing, except for your harsh breathing. Fuck.

You had fucked up royally, laying into him like that. And he wasn’t even there so you could fix it, there was really nothing you could do at the moment. You debated for a minute about calling him but you decided against it. He needed time to cool off— you both did. And you wanted to give him that time. 

With a heavy heart, you started getting ready for bed. Maybe if you went through the motions, pretended like everything was fine, and sped through the night, Joel would be there when you woke up, smirking like you were his whole world again. So you rid yourself of your clothes and changed into something more comfortable; one of Joel’s shirts that went down to your knees and some sleep shorts. You lifted the hem of the shirt to your nose and inhaled, getting lost in the scent of him that still lingered.

It was warm and clean with a faint hint of coffee. It was Joel to the core and you rubbed your thighs together when you thought about how that scent crowded you when you and him made love, or when you had first started seeing each other, you had stayed up during a rain storm and just talked for the whole night, staying awake on black coffee and powdered donuts. 

Mindlessly, you climbed into bed and settled in, trying to fall asleep despite the gnawing feeling in your gut. You sighed heavily, flipping over the pillow and then fluffing it, repeating the motions until you made your head spin. You never could sleep alone. Even before you had met Joel, you hated it. And right now, you hated it even more, especially when you reached over to his side, feeling for him.

But there was nothing there except the coldness of the sheets. You grew annoyed at yourself for how needy you felt without him snuggling next to you, his body heat warming you up better than any blanket could. You wanted Joel here, not anywhere else. And he knew it, which was why he almost never left you to sleep alone if he could avoid it. Almost never. Until now. 

You closed your eyes and tried to count sheep, thinking that it could help. You tried not to concentrate on how alone you felt or how you missed him so much it hurt. Counting sheep must have helped because before you knew it, you found yourself in a dreamless sleep, tossing and turning for the majority of the night. Your ears pricked up when you heard a noise, thinking you heard the bedroom door open. You stiffened, attempting to remain calm and closing your eyes tighter.

Whoever it was moved around in the dark, their shadow fidgeting with the dresser before they climbed into bed next to you. They nudged themselves closer to you and relief washed over you when you recognized their scent. It was Joel. He came back. Just like he always did. 

He shuffled his body closer to you, his solid front melding to your back, as his face snuggled into the crook of your shoulder, just how you liked it. It confirmed that he was there and he wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. 

“You still mad?”, Joel mumbled, his Southern drawl coming out gruffer as he tried to keep his voice low. He nuzzled your shoulder deeper, planting a soft kiss there. 

You shook your head, as best as you could in the position you were in. You were well past the anger stage. And right now, you just wanted him beside you, with you. Right here. You felt Joel’s growing hardness rest against your back and a dull throbbing started in your cunt, making you squirm. 

“I thought you weren’t coming back”, you croaked, the shroud of darkness acting as a shield against how scared you were at the thought of Joel not coming back at all. 

Joel held you tighter, his arms flexing as he wrapped them around you in the same way you were used to. His gesture of keeping you close was more of a comfort to you than any of his words could. You craned your neck slightly, trying to make out the expression that was on Joel’s face, but it was hard.

The bedroom was mostly dark except for a tiny sliver of moonlight that shined through the window, and even then, it was tough. You could make out the tiniest of details in the low light; like the imperceptible way that his eyebrows creased when he was focused on you, or how you could tell that he was still smiling because of the way his eyes crinkled, despite being unsure of your mood. God, you loved this man. 

Joel was there for you and you let out a tentative and shaky breath, grateful that he came back to you. You let any remaining tension drain from your body, and shifted your hips, which earned you a sharp groan from Joel, his hand flying to hold your hips in place. 

“I’ll always come back to you, darlin’”, his voice was gruff and came out strained. His hot breath fanned over your ear, “Always”. 

“Promise?”, you asked, grinding back into him again. It was the last confirmation you needed and then you would drop it, let the argument fade away. 

You could hear the smile in Joel’s voice, “Promise”. 

The tightness that had been sitting on your chest was no more and you were feeling bold, and a little more than turned on. The idea that Joel would always come back to you made you wet, and you rubbed your thighs together, trying to alleviate some of the pressure you felt between your legs.

As if sensing your arousal, Joel’s hand wrapped around your middle, pulling your ass flush with his erection, his hand splayed across your clothed stomach, holding you to him. 

You felt his short stubble run along the side of your neck, and your jaw, the abrasive sensation making your pussy flutter with the idea of that stubble rubbing against you harshly, until you were swollen and red down there. 

“Baby...”, Joel protested weakly, his half-hearted attempt at drawing out the tension between you two. But there was tension and it was a string that was being pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment. 

You grabbed Joel’s hand that was on your stomach, guiding it lower and lower until you stopped at the waistband of your sleep shorts, your chest on fire from your choppy breathing. 

“Please, Joel”, you whined, grinding your ass back into him and moving your hips in slow circles, spurring him on. “I want you to make me feel so good like you always do”. 

You were back to guiding Joel’s hand past the waistband of your shorts, into your underwear where he could feel how wet you were for him. He groaned, the vibrations from it making your skin tingle. An almost non-existent fuck was whispered as Joel’s hand found your soaking cunt, his deft fingers sliding through your folds.

When you removed your hand from his, letting him take charge, he hesitated. But when his thumb found your clit and you moaned, throwing your head back, he continued, not stopping for even a second. 

“This good?”, he asked, as he teased your hole with his thick digit, pulsing the finger in and out, just enough to taunt you with pleasure and then rip it away when it felt too good. It was frustrating but you figured you somewhat deserved it for the fight from earlier. 

You hummed, “Mo-more”, and you bucked into his hand, gyrating against it as you searched for more friction. 

Joel sucked the pulse on your neck hard and you groaned, your head rolling to the side in pure ecstasy as he licked the spot when he pulled away. Fulfilling your command, he continued to work you over, work you to the edge. Your moans mixed with the sound of his finger, which soon became two fingers, pumping into you, a squelching emanating from you with every pump.

He was stretching you out, trying to prep you for his cock. Even this far into the relationship you needed some prep, he was that big. But you wouldn’t want it any other way. You loved his size and his girth and how deep he could go. 

“Can you come for me, darlin’?”, Joel asked, as a groan slipped past his lips. 

You flinched when his fingers curled, bringing you back to the moment as a tingle started low in your belly, the pressure building and building until it was too much, it was all too much. 

“Fuck—”, you cried, cutting yourself off as your orgasm slammed into you, making you see stars. It was searing and hot and violent. 

Your hips stuttered as they rocked into Joel’s hand, finding comfort in the fact that he was still lazily pumping into you, helping you ride out the aftershock. 

“That’s my good girl”, he praised, thumb whispering over your swollen clit. You whined from the added pressure, feeling another orgasm start to build. 

You had just cum and yet Joel was ready and willing to give you another one. Even when his engorged cock was nestled into your back, twitching with the need for his own release. He wanted— no, needed to give you your pleasure before he could seek out his own. Joel teased your clit again, pinching it as you yelped.

He removed his hand from your underwear and brought it to his mouth. You still weren’t facing him but you could hear the obscene sounds coming from him as he licked and sucked his fingers clean of your juices, not letting a drop go to waste. Fuck, you were so turned on already it was positively insane. 

Joel gripped your waist and turned your body toward him, positioning himself so that he was slotted in between your legs, his upper body resting on his forearms, so as to not crush you with his body weight. Both of your chests were heaving at this point as another shot of excitement and arousal shot through you.

You brought a hand to Joel’s cheek, thumbing over his scruff and savouring this tender moment between the two of you. 

“I’m sorry”, you said, swallowing your nerves. 

In the softness of the moonlight, Joel’s eyes glimmered when they looked down at you. It wasn’t quite lust or amusement in them, but something else, something closer to love and adoration.

He dipped his head down and kissed you. It was tempered and subdued but sweet as he licked your bottom lip, asking for entrance into your mouth. You granted it to him, letting him explore your mouth like it was the first time. A swallowed-up moan left you and Joel pulled back. 

“Me too”. 

It was simple and yet he meant it with his whole heart, you were certain of that. Picking up where you left off, Joel palmed your breast through your— his shirt, making you tremble beneath him. He pinched your nipple and it made you arch your back off the bed, both to escape and chase that feeling. 

“Let’s get this shirt off, hmm?”, Joel mused, playing with the hem of it. You nodded and lifted your upper body off of the bed as he helped you out of it, tossing it somewhere behind him. 

“Your turn”, you said, almost breathlessly, and Joel obliged. He sat up on his knees and stripped himself of his own shirt. 

You couldn’t help but pause and appreciate him and his physique. He wasn’t insanely built like an athlete or someone who stuck to a strict diet all so that they could get a six-pack. Joel’s body was sculpted from years of manual labour and although some might not be turned on by a broad chest and a toned stomach, you certainly were, and you were enamoured by it.

Your hand seemed to have had a mind of its own because you were raking your fingernails along his chest and stomach, drawing a line all the way down to his waistband. You watched as his muscles tensed from your touch, his eyes snapping shut like he had to concentrate on restraining himself.

Your hand remained on his waistband, your index finger playing with the dark line of hair that led all the way past the pants and to the straining member, you knew awaited you. 

“If you don’t quit staring at me like that, darlin’, this might be over before either of us want it to be”, he drawled, quiet and low. 

Your eyes snapped to his, which were dark and endless pools filled with lust. He looked like he was ready to devour you and your thoughts came to life when he gripped your thighs forcefully and spread them apart, making quick work of peeling you out of your shorts and drenched panties. 

Joel groaned above you, “Such a pretty pussy, and ‘s all for me, ain’t she?”. He bit the tender flesh of your inner thigh, making you jump. But you didn’t go very far, his grip on the back of your thighs holding you close to him and keeping you in place. 

You wiggled your hips, trying to get him to hurry up, “All for you”, you whine. 

Joel chuckled, but didn’t tease you for much longer, answering your silent prayer as he dove into your cunt, lapping and sucking like he was a man starved. You writhed beneath him as he continued, not letting up as he brought you to the edge of another orgasm. 

“How you feelin’, baby?”, Joel asked, as he came up for air. You nodded fervently, feeling like you could die if he didn’t continue what he was doing. 

He chuckled as he went back in, the vibrations making your head swirl and your toes curl at the sensation of his tongue fucking into you. You were so close it hurt and Joel could tell.

He shushed you before bringing his thumb to your clit and massaging it in tandem with his tongue, making you mewl and bury your hands in his short hair, pulling at his scalp as you begin to grind yourself on his face, practically riding him as you chase your high. 

“I’m gonna—”, and you do. 

You cum hard and quick, this orgasm ripping into you like a hurricane. The blinding wave of pleasure had all of your inhibitions clouded, as a light buzz started coasting through your body, leaving you sated. Your mouth is agape, a mix of a whimper and a shrill moan escaping you. 

You felt as though you had just run a marathon, your body was on fire and yet there was a calm as you came down. You revelled in the aftermath of your orgasm, feeling drunk off of it. There was a slick layer of sweat that coated your whole body, but you didn’t seem to care. Your mind was quiet as you listened to your breathing, your heart hammering below the surface.

Running a hand through your hair, you felt the mattress dip when Joel shifted his body weight, his beard glistening with your slick. You reach down and grab his face with both hands, bringing him to your lips. You groan when you taste yourself on him, the tang fueling your growing desire to be filled deep with him. 

Joel murmured something against your lips but you couldn’t hear, your heart beating too loudly. “What?”, you asked. 

“I need to be inside of you”, he whispers again, and you moan as he ruts into your bare core. 

“Then do it”, you said, looking at him through hooded eyes. 

Joel bit his lip, shaking his head as he stripped out of his jeans and then his boxers. His dick was thick and angry, the tip a bright red as it leaked pre-cum. You followed a drop with your eyes as it trailed down the shaft and you licked your lips at the sight. 

Joel chuckled, the noise shooting straight to your needy core. You sat up slightly, reaching out for his cock but he stopped you, “Not tonight, sweet thing”, he stated, “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to last if you start suckin’ me off”. 

You keened at his words, desperate for some sort of relief. You snaked your hand from the pillow all the way down your chest, rubbing your nipple as you moaned, Joel’s eyes never leaving you. His eyes on you felt right, like you were putting on a show just for him, and in a way, you were. He watched your hand slide lower down your stomach and finally disappear between your legs. 

“Goddammit”, Joel hissed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, “What’d I just say?”. 

He ripped your hand away from your aching cunt, pining it above your head as punishment. You let out a choked sob, “Please...”. 

Joel’s cock twitched against his stomach at your plea, and he released you. He gripped his length and tugged harshly, letting beads of pre-cum dribble all over his hand.

You watched him throw his head back as he panted above you, finding a rhythm. As you opened your mouth to whine and tell him that you needed him, he grabbed the back of your legs and folded you in half, thrusting his hard cock into your pussy. 

The force of him slamming his cock inside of you without much warning was enough to make you cry out. You couldn’t focus on much more than the pleasure that he could provide. It was as if you could never be fully satisfied, not when it came to Joel. You would always want him as desperately as he wanted you, each and every time. His hips snapped into yours, almost to the point of pain as he set a demanding pace, burying himself deeper and deeper into you. 

“So”. He grunted with a thrust. “Fucking”. Another snap of his hips. “Needy”. Thrust. 

Joel was never one to deny you, and you knew that. You might have been needy but he was willing to give you whatever you needed. And most times, all you needed was him. Him and that fucking delicious cock. So, he made sure he delivered you another orgasm. You chased your release, the desire striking you like a bolt of lightning— fast, powerful, and all-consuming.

It started in your toes and rushed in. Joel’s thick cock pumped in and out of you hungrily. He was both providing you with another orgasm and trying to find his own release. Each thrust was more punishing than the last, each angle hitting the right spot, and guiding you both to your release. 

“That’s it, baby”, he groaned, manhandling you until you were basically straddling him, his hands on your back, holding you steady.

“Can you gimme another one?”, Joel purred into your ear as he fucked up into you, his hips losing their rhythm and you knew he was close. 

“I’ll try”, you said, snaking a hand in between your bodies, and rubbing your cunt in time with each pound of his hips. 

“That’s it, you’re doing so good”. 

He barely finished his sentence before you were shaking in his arms, finding your orgasm from his praise. 

Drunk on only two orgasms, you didn’t even know what you were saying at this point, too sensitive and too sated at the same time, “Mmm, love when you make me come”. 

Joel laughed with adoration as he continued fucking you, chasing his own release. “And I love makin’ you come, darlin’”. 

You felt your walls clamp around his cock, milking him for all he was worth. With a final few pumps, he groaned, letting his head fall against your shoulder. Joel tensed slightly and his body shook as he deposited ropes of cum deep into you.

Your head lolled to the side, feeling his body grow slack against yours. His was flush against you, trying to control his breathing as you did the same, your arms wrapped around him as you stroked his back. 

A long moment of comfortable silence passed before he lifted his head up, scanning your face. You smiled tiredly at him as he kissed you, letting the bliss wash over you both.

Joel kissed your forehead and slipped out of you. You in turn whined at the loss of being full of him. Your limbs were heavy as you melted into the mattress, feeling Joel collapse next to you. His arm drifted around your waist, pulling you into his side. 

He kissed your temple affectionately, “‘m sorry about our fight”. 

You nodded, snuggling closer to him. “I know”, you bit your lip, contemplating your next words, “I just worry that one day we’ll really get into it and you’ll never come back”. 

Joel stiffened for a moment, before he turned to you, whispering into your hair, “You don’t need to worry ‘bout that ever, darlin’. Because I’ll always be here in the morning”. 

[navybrat817]

Dark and Light

Pairing: Winter Soldier x Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You learn the real reason why Hydra wants to keep you.

Word Count: Over 2.65k

Warnings: Threat of dubcon/noncon, minor character death, violence, canon divergent, captivity, brainwashing, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: It's been almost 3 years since the last part of Soldat and Sparrow. Are you lovelies still interested? ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @silkholland . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The cell they kept you in this time was larger than your last. It didn't make it any less uncomfortable. The thick gray walls surrounding you made the room suffocatingly quiet and hollow. You only knew the color thanks to the singular lightbulb in the center of the ceiling, too high for you to try and make a weapon out of the glass. Without windows, you didn't know it was dark or light outside.

There was no escape, but you couldn't give up hope.

It was maddening not knowing the time of day as you played the waiting game on the worn mattress in between meals and sleeping. The screams of your lover played on a morbid loop in your mind and you had to will yourself to not let tears surface. Other than temporary relief for your emotions and aching heart, crying would do you no good. It never did.

What you needed to do was focus.

The man on the bridge.

He triggered something inside of the Winter Soldier. Something Hydra wanted to keep locked away. But what was it?

Bucky. He called him Bucky. He knew him. But how?

Two hard knocks on the door pushed the thought away before it swung open. Narrowing your eyes as Brock walked in, you wondered if he could’ve been a good man in another life and fought for the people who needed it most the way he pretended to. This wasn’t that life though. He chose his side.

The wrong side.

“You know, I don’t get it,” he said, crossing his arms as he stood in the doorway. He didn’t hide the lust from his eyes as he looked you over. “I mean, the Asset does his job well, but it’s like he forgets all about being a soldier when he’s deep in your pussy.”

“What can I say? I guess my pussy’s just that good,” you sneered, not in the mood for his taunts or anything else.

“Is that right? Maybe he should fuck your ass next to get the stick out of it,” he snapped back. “Or are you too stuck up for that?”

Pierce had a range of prostitutes lined up to satisfy his soldiers, but Brock didn’t hide how pissed off he was that you were “given” to the Asset after that fateful training day. He claimed it was special treatment. He dropped the issue almost as quickly as it was brought up, which led you to believe he was either reprimanded or given something to shut him up.

“Is that what bothers you, Rumlow? That I'd rather fuck him than you?” You asked, tilting your head as you regarded him. “And just so we’re clear, I’ll never want you.”

Brock clenched his fists as he took a step forward. “You really are a fucking-”

“Let her be,” a melodic voice ordered behind him, making you stiffen as he moved out of the way.

The doctor, or Doc as most called him, stepped into the room with a kind smile on his face. Unassuming in stature, you knew better from the start than to judge him by appearance. The man was a snake in the grass ready to spread his venom to unsuspecting victims.

“How are you?” He asked.

You kept your eyes on him as he moved closer, doing your best not to show any emotion. The doctor somehow made you more uncomfortable than Rumlow and that said something. “How do you think I'm doing?”

“Hmm. Not well, I'm sure.”

“You guessed correctly,” you said.

You didn’t know why he bothered asking. Maybe he thought he was better than the others because he didn't physically hurt you. If anything, his indifference to the evil around him made it worse. It told you that he either justified or accepted it.

Either way, he disgusted you.

“Don't worry. You'll have the Soldat back soon and I’m sure you'll feel all better,” he assured you.

“You wiped him,” you reminded him, your voice cracking.

His screams echoed in your mind again, your heart aching as you tried to block it out. When pain knocked on the door, it didn't wait for an answer. It broke it down and made itself at home. But in the pain Hydra inflicted, the soldier found solace with you and you found the same with him. The light for each other within the darkness.

While you failed to protect him and couldn't stop what they did to his mind, you had to believe you’d help heal his soul once you had him back.

“We did indeed as we have many times.”

You knocked his hand away as he tried to place it on your shoulder, your stomach turning from his words. “Don't touch me.”

He held his hands up in surrender as he took a step back. “I mean no harm.”

“All of you mean harm,” you whispered.

The Soldat was your only bright spot in this nightmare. Ironic that he thought you were fire, bright and warm. The truth was you burned because of him. He was your eternal fuel that made the flames grow.

“I only want what is best for you,” Doc argued, his eyes void of any emotional depth behind his rimless glasses.

“Liar,” you whispered.

An exasperated sigh left his lips. “Now, now. I really do want what’s best for you. Don't you realize how important you are?”

“I'm not important,” you said. You never were. “Pierce made it clear that I don't have a purpose.”

But if that was the case, why were you still alive?

The doctor's chuckle made your blood run cold. “That's what he wants you to think. You see, the more they cut you down and make you question your worth, the easier it becomes for you to comply. Because by that point you’re so desperate for survival you'll do what is asked of you,” he explained, pushing his glasses up. “Yet you still only comply to an extent. It’s rather fascinating.”

He stared at you like you were a bug under a magnifying glass. And wasn’t that what you were to him? An experiment or something for him to study? “I haven't complied. I won't.”

“Oh, but you have,” Brock chimed in. You almost forgot he was still in the room. “Those missions you completed. The lives you took.”

Bile rose in your throat as images of violence and blood flashed in your mind. They would haunt you for the rest of your days. “No, I didn't want to hurt anyone.”

“Of course, you didn't. It’s as I said: desperation. You did what you had to do to survive,” the false sympathy from Doc grated on your nerves. “Don't let the weight of those souls wear you down. They were meaningless. But you? Oh, you are meant for more.”

He attempted to touch you again, but his hand moved toward your stomach this time instead of your shoulder. “I said don't touch me!” you snapped, scrambling backward to put distance between the two of you. As much as you wanted to hurt him, Brock was still there and could do a lot of damage.

The doctor pressed his lips together before he smirked. “Pierce and Rumlow are right. You have a hold on him. Even with his programming and orders, it all comes back to you,” he said, your body going rigid. Where was he going with this? “And it’s you that we want to carry his child.”

Your stomach churned again, but you weren’t sure if it was more at the thought that he wanted to force a child on you or that he’d try and force your soldier to impregnate you. “Care to repeat that?”

“You’re going to carry his child. You’re going to give birth to the perfect soldier. And you’ll keep doing so,” he said slowly like you were a petulant child, standing tall and proud as your mouth fell open in horror. “You’re the perfect incubator.”

Your stomach sank as you looked between him and Brock, wishing it was a sick joke. “No, I won't.”

“You think you have a choice?” The doctor questioned nonchalantly, like he was asking what you wanted for dinner. “And do you think the Asset needs to remember exactly what you mean to him to fuck you? I guess we'll see if he does. Science versus instinct.”

The room became eerily silent as the doctor gave you his first genuine smile since he walked in. You struggled to get your bearings and process the words. That was why you were still alive. They were going to make you an incubator. Force your soldier to breed you. They would take another choice away from him. And raise your children in captivity.

In Hell on earth.

“Well, that shut the bitch up,” Brock chuckled.

Before you could think, you launched yourself from the bed. The doctor’s eyes widened as you tackled him to the ground, unable to brace himself as you landed the first blow to his face. You straddled his waist, the second hit knocking his glasses away as fury rushed through your veins like a wildfire. He didn’t try to fight you off.

You could’ve cried. Screamed. Anything to keep him from making his twisted plan a reality.

The sound of a gun cocking stopped you from hitting Doc a third time.

“I won’t kill you,” Brock said, your fist frozen in the air as you looked toward him. Your chest heaved as you stared down the barrel of the gun. “But I’ll make it hurt if you don’t get up.”

“Go ahead,” you said through clenched teeth.

The doctor coughed, but held up a hand. “No shooting,” he croaked as you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “No harming her.”

Brock’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. “She can still lie down and take a cock if-”

None of you could have foreseen the metal hand punching through the wall. Before you could blink, the hand closed around Brock’s shoulder and pulled him through, his cry of pain silenced almost immediately by the sound of a gunshot. The doctor beneath you was long forgotten as you scrambled to your feet just in time to see your soldier step into the room through the hole, his face obscured by his typical mask and goggles.

But you felt his gaze on you as he stood like a dark angel ready to avenge you.

Hope launched into your chest like a shooting star as you smiled. “Soldat,” you whispered.

He came for you. Found you. But the star that filled your heart quickly faded when he didn’t move toward you or say “Sparrow”.

The dread grew stronger when he holstered his gun and took out his signature knife.

Was this the beginning of the end?

The doctor smiled as he wiped the blood from his lap and slowly stood up. “You really think he’s here to save you? Oh, no. He just doesn’t want any competition near his breeding partner,” he taunted as your eyes stung. “Back from your assignment early, Soldat? Good. Now you can complete your mission.”

The Winter Soldier tilted his head before he took a step forward.

You remained rooted to the spot, casting your fear that he’d force himself on you aside. “Bucky,” you said, using the name you heard. His real name. A tear rolled down your cheek when he flinched and tightened his fingers around the handle. “I’m not going to fight you. Or hurt you. Do you know why?”

Another step forward, your heart pounded as you stood as still as a statue. “Why?” He asked, the word clear to you through his mask.

The tears flowed freely as he stopped in front of you and slipped his goggles off, your heart breaking when he dispassionately looked at you. “Because I’m your Sparrow. Remember? My fire burns for you and you only,” you told him and pointed to your chest. You needed him to remember. “We swore we’d be free together. Somehow.”

“Don’t listen to her. Breed her and be done with it,” the doctor ordered.

The soldier’s brows furrowed before his metal hand came up around your neck, not squeezing or bringing you any harm.

But it felt like a warning.

“You won’t hurt me,” you breathed out, placing your hand on his arm as you kept your panic at bay. “They won’t break me. And I won’t leave you,” you promised, echoing his words when he took you the first time. “I’m yours.”

No matter what they forced him to do to you, he would never be to blame.

The doctor had the gall to smack the flesh arm when he made no move to shove you down on the bed or remove your clothes. “Finish your mission. Now.”

“It’s okay,” you mouthed.

Somehow, it would be okay.

“My mission…” the soldier began mechanically, not taking his eyes off you as he plunged the knife into the doctor’s jugular. You weren’t sure you could breathe. “Is to keep my Sparrow safe.”

An intake of air caught your sob as the metal hand fell away, the doctor collapsing as he tried in vain to stop the blood from leaving his body. It was useless. And a kinder death than he deserved.

“Hail,” he gurgled, his fingers stained red. “Hydra.”

“Just shut up and die,” you snapped as your soldier ripped his mask off. “Soldat,” you said, softer, almost crying all over again.

“Sparrow,” he whispered.

There was nothing gentle or sweet in the way pressed his lips to yours, but it was warm and safe as he pulled you against you. Your arms slipped around him as you returned the kiss, your cheeks still wet from crying. For a second there, you thought you’d lost him. For once, fate decided not to be cruel to you.

It brought you back together.

“I’m sorry I couldn't get to you sooner,” he said when he allowed you a moment to breathe, quickly scanning as much of you as he could. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, I’m okay. I just thought…” you trailed off with a shake of your head. “You came back to me.”

But how?

“I’ll always find you, Sparrow,” he said, touching your cheek as your heart swelled. “Steve helped me remember a lot of things. Including you.”

“The man on the bridge? You saw him again?” You asked before an alarm sounded, the blaring force echoing in the room.

“Yes. And his friend is sending reinforcements, so we need to go,” he said over the noise, nudging the doctor’s body with the toe of his boot before he stepped on his glasses.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

Where could you go since you no longer had a home? You had so many questions, but understood that you’d have to wait for answers. Getting out of there in one piece was your priority.

“Somewhere safe,” he answered, fear flickering in his eyes for a moment. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” you promised without hesitation. And anything else you had to offer him.

The next kiss was one of gentleness, relief, and thanks. “One thing before we leave.”

“What’s that?” You asked as he took your hand.

Love and determination filled his eyes as he glanced back at you and put a gun in your other hand. “We burn it down.”

You could hardly contain the fire inside you as you smiled. “Together.”

You didn’t know what the reinforcements would do or what would await you once you got out. It didn’t matter. Your soldier found his way back to you and you would follow wherever he went. The two of you would finally leave Hydra behind.

In a pile of rubble and ash.

But you’d find out soon enough that the man on the bridge wouldn't let your soldier go either.

I'll try not to let so much time pass before the next update. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[selencgraphy]

— 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄

PAIRING: loki laufeyson x f!asgardian!reader

TAGS: bestfriend!loki, idiots in love, loki using magic, canon divergent, fluff, some cursing

A/N: oh man i wrote this sooooo long ago too. it's an old one that i deleted bc i was revamping my acc but i went back to reread it and realized i just had to bring it back! happy reading <3

WORD COUNT: ~1.3k

masterlist || request box <3

"Loki?"

He hummed in response. "If you could go anywhere in the Nine Realms," you started, "where would you go and who would you take with you?"

After a long day, the two of you had settled in the grass behind the palace, taking the time to relax, enjoy each other's company, and stare up into the sky. He turned to face you with a small grin already painted across his face. "What are you smiling about?"

"You already know my answer. Well, half of it anyway."

"Oh come on, don't be like that! Just tell me."

He took a second to think about it. Another grin grew on his face. He leaned in as if he was going to whisper it to you and said, "Why don't I just show you?"

With that, he shot up and put out his hand. As soon as you took it, he pulled you close to him. "The Bifrost is quite far for a walk, why don't I just..."

As he spoke, suddenly the two of you already seemed to have made it to the entrance of the Bifrost. "There."

"I don't think I'll ever get used to you doing that."

As time had passed over the years, Loki had become better at controlling the magic that Frigga had shared with him. One of the things he learned was how to conjure fireworks which he always used to make your day. Teleportation was his latest feat and he took advantage of it. When you both entered, you were greeted by the gatekeeper, Heimdall. "Your royal highness. My liege."

"Let me guess, you saw us coming?"

He hummed in response. "What can I do for the two of you today?"

Loki turned to you and gave you a quick smile before he approached the gatekeeper, whispering something into his ear. Heimdall quickly nodded and inserted Hofund to open the Bifrost. As you moved towards the entrance of the portal, Loki turned to you, grabbing your hand. "Hold onto me, love. I don't want you to fall out by accident now, do I?"

Before you knew it, the two of you were gliding up through the Bifrost, the colors glistening all around you. A look of astonishment growing on your face which made Loki's heart swell in his chest. Suddenly, you were on solid ground again, burn marks from the Bifrost scorched into the ground beneath you. "Loki," you started, taking in the new environment. "Where are we?"

"Midgard," he replied, a small smile on his face. You were speechless. You never imagined Midgard to be this… beautiful. When you learned about the Nine Realms, Midgard had been described as a place unappealing to visit and that the Midgardians were rude creatures that don't know how to do anything but create chaos. You always joked that it was the perfect place for Loki with him being the God of Mischief and all. But this? Wherever Loki had taken you seemed to be the complete opposite.

Unlike Asgard, the seemingly end of their world wasn't just space, it was water and in the distance was a beautiful skyline of orange and blue. As you took in the sight before you, Loki couldn't help but admire how amazed you looked. He had taken a trip here once before with his brother, Thor, so he was less taken aback but seeing the look on your face made this visit feel more meaningful—not that it wasn't already. Breaking the silence, Loki leaned in and whispered, "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Loki, this is-"

As you turned to face him, he offered his hand, asking for you to take it once more. "Come on," he insisted, "There is so much more that I want you to see."

The second your hand met his he quickly turned around and set off in a sprint, dragging you right behind him. Over the sounds of the crashing waves, you yelled, "Loki! Where are you taking me now?"

"Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do but what does that have to-"

Before you could finish you found yourself in another environment once again. "Fuck, Loki!"

All he did was laugh back at your shock at the teleportation. He continued to run with your hands still interlocked but as you took in more of the sights of the new area you realized it resembled the area behind the palace just immensely larger. A field of grass with flowers everywhere, only a massive tree in sight. Both yours and Loki's hair flowing in the wind as you sprinted through the field.

Once you came to a stop, the both of you took a second to catch your breaths. Taking a seat next to the tree, you took a similar position like how you were laying back on the field in Asgard, Loki quickly following suit. Suddenly, he turned and took you into his arms and began to violently tickle you. "Loki, stop! No," you squealed.

Coming to a stop with the tickling, he continued to hold you in his arms. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Just for being my friend for so long and allowing me to bring you here. I thought you would have left me when you found out that I was, well, not Asgardian."

"Of course, Loki. You think I'd pass up the opportunity to be friends with a prince of Asgard?"

He sat up, jokingly displaying a shocked expression on his face. "Is that the only reason you're friends with me?"

You quipped, "Why else would I be?"

As he took his place back onto the ground next to you, you went on to say, "I'm glad we're friends too, Loki. I can't imagine being best friends with anyone else."

"Not even my brother?"

"Not even your brother," you ensured.

Staying in silence for a second, he quickly broke it and said, "I know we just got here but there is one more place that I want you to see."

Taking your hand once again, you expected him to teleport immediately but he quickly added, "Close your eyes."

"Hmm and why should I?"

"Just trust me."

Reluctantly, you shut your eyes and you felt the two of you teleport. Immediately new sounds and smells filled your senses. With your eyes still closed, he helped you up and guided you to his desired location. "Just a little bit further and... there. You can open your eyes now."

Once your eyes opened, you were met with buildings and lights underneath you. "Wh- Where are we?"

"This is something the Midgardians call the Eiffel Tower. It's this triangular shaped structure similar to the palace but much less attractive."

"Oh, please," you laughed as you lightly shoved his shoulder. You leaned over the railing, further taking in its beauty, Loki taking his place next to you.

"You asked if I could go anywhere where I'd go and with whom," he started without breaking his gaze downwards to the buildings. When you turned to look at him he continued, "I don't care where I end up as long as it’s with you."

"You sap!"

"Hey," he retorted. "I'm being serious."

"I know," you whispered, blush creeping into your cheeks at the sentiment.

You took a second to take in the sight before the two of you before Loki spoke again. "How about you?"

"Hm?"

"Where would you go and with whom?"

Meeting his gaze, you leaned in, closing the space between you. "Anywhere as long it's with you," a smile growing on your face as you basically repeated his answer back to him.

"Oh, who's the sap now!"

The two of you laughed it off and continued to look onto the city in front of you. "Hey, the sights here on Midgard are fascinating but just you wait until you taste their food."

Your eyebrows raised in intrigue. “Really?”

He nodded and offered his hand once more, already glowing in green with magic. "Can't we just walk down?" you whined.

A mischievous grin grew on the god's face. "Now where's the fun in that?"

[arabaka]

both laios and reader learning to kiss w eachother and laios gets needy and touchy 😭🩷

and if I cried?

imagine you're childhood friends too... (keep in mind I haven't finished the series so this might be canon divergent) maybe you give each other an innocent peck in your adolescence, just to see what was the big fuss, only to pretend it wasn't a big deal when you parted.

the subject comes up around the campfire, the two of you much older now, though with just as little experience as you both had back then. everyone else has gone to bed, leaving just you and laios with your thoughts.

"did you mean... what you said? earlier?" laios has to clear his throat, the redness that sweeps his face made more intense by the flickering flames in front of him.

there was only one thing he could be referring to: kissing. it came up when marcille spun a web of her latest dream, where she had envisioned a scenario that seemed straight out of a fairytale. a "mysterious" lover (though everyone had a pretty good guess who this was), true love's kiss, and a happy ending.

you had giggled, remarking that you haven't even been kissed in your dreams, much less in real life. everyone else had moved on from the discussion, but not laios.

"o-oh, that? yeah, of course... I mean, unless you want to count the one when we were kids?" your chuckle is a tad on the sheepish side, your own cheeks starting to heat up.

"n-no, no, of course." laios nearly parrots your response, fiddling with his fingers. a quietness settles in the air, his mind and yours racing with ways to fill in the silence. but you didn't need to fret your pretty little head about it because laios was about to take the plunge, ask you if you wanted to try again.

you said yes, a little too fast for your liking but you won't have to worry about words for long.

the first kiss is as clumsy as the first, your lips and his pressed together with little finesse. you're both still as boards but determined to try again. laios' hands rise to cup your face, his golden gaze searching yours for... desire.

he holds you, from your face to his waist, until you both get the hang of it. your lips move languidly against his until it becomes second nature. you hear laios' breath hitch, a soft whine in his throat when you kiss him again.

you had your first kiss with him that night, but it wouldn't be your last.

[moonstruck-writing]

Title: Rooftop Pairing: Hajime Umemiya x reader | Wind Breaker Rating: M CWs: fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, suggestive memories and heavy flirting, aged-up Umemiya, canon divergent, AU, teacher!Umemiya, reader-insert, Umemiya calls you "princess" once but there are no gender mentions, second person pov Summary: Umemiya finally has time to spend on his crops, and you accompany him on a summery Sunday morning. Word count: 1k A/N: I never would’ve guessed I’d like Wind Breaker but here I am, obsessed…

A quick sweat drop slides down Umemiya’s temple, but he is too busy weeding to notice. He keeps his crops healthy, but the summer holiday has involved much more work than anticipated. So now that it’s a Sunday and he has finally advanced enough in his tasks, he is taking a much-needed breather on the rooftop.

You are sitting down in the shade, under the same pergola Umemiya built during his high school days. Now that he is a teacher in his alma mater, you can’t help but daydream about the magnificent projects he must be building now, too.

“Babe, come see the peppers!” His voice carries well in the open air, strong and solid, yet cheerful. How does he look when he’s teaching? You walk towards him and wonder if the troublesome teens who seek refuge in Fuurin find shelter in his strict yet loving personality. “We can have some tonight!” The excitement seeps through the wrinkles that are forming around his eyes.

Crouching down next to him, you observe how he harvests the green peppers with the ease that comes with experience. There’s a blinding smile on his slightly tanned face, and suddenly you feel you can exhale more deeply. Maybe Umemiya is right after all. Maybe the answer to finding more joy is all in cultivating your own food.

When he finally puts the basket down, he turns towards you and quickly leans in to peck you on the cheek.

“Ume-sensei, how dare you break the rules like this?” You feign surprise. “You are a model for the students!”

The relaxed smile is almost teasing on his lips, and you can’t tell if he’s amused by your performance, or if he simply enjoyed the surprise kiss. “I couldn’t resist.”

“You’re trying to tell me that, surrounded by all your beautiful and luscious plants, you’re getting distracted by me? Pssh—”

“Always,” he interrupts. “I can’t wait to go home and eat these peppers. And then eat you, too.” You hit his arm before he can think of winking. “What? You know it’s true.”

The glimmer in his eyes tells you he is up to no good, and before you can think about it further, Umemiya moves and sinks his teeth into your exposed shoulder. It’s a light bite and he lets go quickly, but not without caressing your skin with his lips.

“Is this why you were happy I wore a tank top today?” You look at him with half-lidded eyes. He simply shrugs, and the gesture seems to make him look younger. “Get ready for revenge when we get home.”

“You know I love having your marks all over me.” Umemiya’s confident words make memories float in your mind’s eye. His bare torso covered in love bites. That one time you left lipstick stains all over his face and he insisted on not wiping it off until bedtime. How he went as far as teasing you about placing a mirror next to the bed. Recalling that time makes you even more aware of how hot it is on the rooftop. “Do you want a cold treat to freshen you up, princess?” As if he read your mind, he starts walking away into the shade under the pergola.

You follow him and once you’re sat down on one of the cushions, you realise there is a small cooler you’ve never seen before. He opens it and hands you two popsicles.

“Choose the one you prefer. I’ll wrap up quickly.” Before he has even finished the sentence, he runs to finish taking care of his beloved crops and tidy up.

You unwrap one of them and sigh as you feel the ice melting and cooling your tongue. Observing Umemiya’s swift actions, you unwrap the other one when he’s approaching you and hand it to him.

He takes your hand and takes a bite off the popsicle, making some ice break into smaller pieces and fall on your hand.

“You’re making a mess, Ume!” You laugh as you see a watery drop sliding down his chin. “Take the popsicle already.” He obliges, but before you can pull away your hand, he takes it with his free hand and licks off the remaining bits of ice. “You didn’t bring tissues, did you?”

“We don’t need them.” You roll your eyes at the goofy smile he’s giving you.

You finish the treats when a soft breeze starts greeting the greenery. As you get up and face away from him, Umemiya suddenly gets a wicked idea.

“Eep!” You yelp the moment you feel a wet and cold sensation on your exposed nape. Turning around quickly, you see Umemiya licking his lips. “Did you just lick me?”

“My tongue’s still cold, right?” The smile he has plastered all over his face is even bigger than before. You pout and use the popsicle stick to boop him on the nose. He quickly moves his head and bites it, preventing you from hitting him again.

“What’s going on?” You inquire, arching an eyebrow. Umemiya can be playful, but even if it’s the weekend, you’re still at his workplace.

“I told you, didn’t I? You’re always on my mind.”

You quickly turn around to make sure the rooftop is as empty as when you two came in. Then, before Umemiya can react, you place a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Payback,” you whisper, and giggling, you turn around and start running towards the door. It takes Umemiya a few seconds to process what you just did, seconds in which his mouth opens slightly, and the popsicle stick he had bitten off your hand falls to the floor.

“Payback…?” He mutters, the word activating something inside his brain. Scrambling to pick the stick up the floor, and grabbing the cooler, he starts running after you. “I’ll give you payback!”

Your laughter mixes and dissolves in the summer air, and for a second, his beloved plants shine brighter and healthier than ever.

Comments, tags, reblogs and likes mean a lot and they help me keep writing! Anon feedback is also welcome.

Masterlist | AO3

Please do NOT repost. Reblogging is okay! Characters belong to their rightful owners, the plot and content here belongs to @moonstruck-writing

[venusbyline]

Smart ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 17, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Cat Adams x female!reader

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: gun play + dubcon

— summary: Cat Adams manages to escape from the restaurant and kidnaps you as a way of emotionally torturing the other members of the BAU, especially Spencer Reid.

— word count: 2.2k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 17th day, BAU agent!reader, dark!Cat, gun play, dubcon, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, kidnapping, degradation, rape/non-con elements, non-consensual bondage, non-consensual drug use, dry humping, dry orgasm, dacryphilia, crying, sadism, curse words, ambiguous/open ending, implied reader death, Spencer Reid mentioned, Maeve Donovan mentioned, minor Spencer Reid x reader, past Spencer Reid x Maeve Donovan, dom!Cat, sub!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917

— crossposting: AO3

"I guess I overestimated you, princess..." Cat purred in your ear, her velvety and husky voice tickling the back of your neck as you tried to move away from those red lips. Away from the handcuffs and ropes that kept you trapped on that bed improvised in some abandoned and hidden basement. "To be honest, I expected more when I chose you."

"Let me out. Right now, Cat Adams!" You screamed with all your fury, as if hoping that the echoes could attract the attention of someone passing by, even though your recent entry into the BAU was enough for you to know that no Unsub would be so stupid as to hide somewhere within easy reach. No Unsub would do something stupid like that, much less the smart and manipulative Cat Adams, her cruel smirk pulled from ear to ear when she watched you squirming, trying to free yourself from all the bonds that held you there. So vulnerable and at her mercy.

Your half-naked body arched upwards as you remained with the insistent exasperation, before shouting angrily again, stopping moving when you realized that every movement worsened the discomfort in your skin. You had trained for so long to become a BAU agent, you had trained so much to be prepared for possible kidnappings... And yet no theory or practical test did justice to the true panic of being half-naked in front of your kidnapper, a dangerous killer.

"Why I'm almost naked, Cat? Are you also a rapist now?" The questions came before you could rethink whether they could put you at more risk than you already were. Annoying Cat was not a smart strategy and you knew it.

"I'm not a rapist. And I haven't touched you without your consent while you've been unconscious for the past two days."

Cat's words left a bitter taste inside your mouth. Two days? You were unconscious for two whole days and did not even realize it? What the hell... That did not make any sense. You remembered chasing Cat and suddenly feeling something being jabbed into your neck, but then you could not remember anything else. It was like something or someone had put you in a deep sleep like a fucking Disney princess.

"You drugged me?"

A laugh came from her thick lips, colored by burgundy red lipstick. "That's my good girl. See? It wasn't so hard." She said, running her hand over your face and making you squirm, while you thought of something to curse her with, but could not get past stupid stutters. "It's nothing too intense, I promise. It won't give you an overdose."

You looked at her in disbelief. No matter the amount of dose, she had drugged you and kept you there for two fucking days as if you were the perfect fucking victim for her. A little dog, tied there and receiving a pat on the face, content with so little that it was depressing. "You really drugged me? B-but... Why? You could have just killed me or-"

Cat interrupted you with an obvious answer. "Okay, but where would all the fun be if I did that? If I didn't emotionally torture the BAU team with your kidnapping and make you suffer during the process?" Thinking from the perspective of a crazy psychopath, it was a valid point, but you could not help but keep your eyes wide, the words feeling like daggers in your chest, your confused mind still trying to assimilate the situation. "When I changed the plan to focus on you instead of Doctor Reid, I thought you were more... Smart."

The look on your face as she ran her hand across your neck made her laugh once again. Cat could feel how her breathing quickened, your chest moving up and down, your breasts pressed against your white bra. She saw how dilated your pupils were, despite the mental fatigue and sedative effects of the drugs. "But I still think you can be of great use. From what I gather, Reid's quite shaken due your kidnapping."

You frowned at what she was saying. You did not want to worry Spencer. You did not want to worry your friends. And you knew that was exactly what Cat Adams was causing. Using your ties to your co-workers to probably bargain for her own freedom. Or almost so.

"And what's your plan? Keep me trapped here forever? No one's going to give you what you want, Cat. No matter how hard you try to bargain with my team. You know the law doesn't work like that." You mumbled tiredly, but looking at her with contempt. Cat's sarcastic gaze disappeared for a few seconds, while she took a deep breath, now looking at you with a certain anger.

It was scary to say the least. You took one more look at her. She was still sitting on the free part of the bed, her big eyes analyzing you from top to bottom, just like you were doing too. Even though Cat was wearing a black dress that highlighted her perfect curves, your attention shifted the moment she bent her body to get something from under the bed, close to her.

"You're right... I can't play house with you forever." She scoffed, voice hoarser than before.

Your chains rattled as Cat stood up. If it were not for that disturbing situation, you might have gotten aroused by the sight of her ass in the tight fabric, but you could not think about anything else, you could not do anything other than struggle as you watched Cat place a camera resting on top of the chair that she had used to sit on most of the time she watched you during your sleep over the last few days. "Why are you gonna start recording?"

"Are you scared of me?" Cat said, finally turning to you, the smirk returning when she picked up the gun that was resting on the floor. Stupid fucking question, you thought. But you did not find yourself able to say anything for now. Anything you tried to say would come out more like whimpers or pathetic stutters. You would not be able to utter any decent sentences and looking even more stupid in front of Cat Adams was out of the question. "Don't be so fragile, princess. Where's all your smart ass that I witnessed after I managed to trick the BAU and escape from that restaurant? Where's all that angry screaming when you finally woke up?"

Cat continued, not waiting for an answer. "You look pathetic like this. I don't usually kill women, but you're annoying me... If I had known about that, I would have kidnapped your pretty boyfriend instead of you."

Your eyebrows furrowed, both at the insults and her obvious interest about Spencer. "He's not... He's not my boyfriend." You argued, deciding to add when you noticed Cat's curious face. "Not officially, at least."

Her giggle echoed through the basement. "Good to know. He'll like knowing you specified me that..." She pointed at the camera that was recording the two of you, the angle perfectly catching your vulnerable form tied to the bed. The realization of this made you try to bend your legs to avoid further embarrassment. It was ridiculous that you were shy for the members to see your underwear. You would probably already be dead by the time they could see that recording, it was not like a dead person's dignity was taken into consideration. "He loves you?"

Her question caught you off guard. It was random and invasive. Just no more invasive than the way she sat down next to you on the mattress again, her long fingers playing with the skin of your thigh and the other hand occupied with a gun, sliding it around your waist and giving you goosebumps.

You did not know what to answer. Yes? No? Maybe? Sometimes you thought so, when he was venting to you, letting you stroke his hair after cases, when he brought you coffee to your desk or fucking you hidden in the office...

However, sometimes you also thought not. When he still talked about Maeve all the time, when he distanced himself after a nightmare, when he refused to name how he felt about you...

Spencer was complex as hell. And that was exactly why Cat's question had destroyed you. If she asked you about your feelings for him, you could tell her that you had fallen in love with him at first sight, ever since you joined the BAU team a few months ago. But Cat definitely already knew that too.

"I... I think so. At least I choose to think so." You muttered after a while, finding the strength not to sound as pathetic as you feared.

Cat's gun moved down a little further, finding the front of the fabric of your panties. You did not move at first, trying to ignore the sudden urge to rub yourself against the cold barrel. Your clit was so sore, so...

"So needy." Cat scoffed as she watched how you bit your lip and closed your eyes to deal with the whole situation. "He hasn't fucked you in a few weeks."

You hated how right she was even when she was having fun at your expense, at the expense of your suffering. The answer was right in front of her... the way your thighs shook, your mind wandering between anger and self-loathing, your eyes squeezed shut in a weak attempt to distract yourself and not show her how affected you already were. Cat did not need to ask if she was right. She knew she was. And that was the worst part.

Even if you did not want to admit it, your body was needy. Ever since you and Spencer got into an argument before he went to the restaurant undercover as a potential customer and to try capture Cat Adams. It was supposed to be the perfect plan, but Spencer was so deep in thought about you and your stupid argument that he could not focus on the case. He could not focus on the Unsub in front of him. Cat had messed with his mind as well as yours. She had already found out enough about the BAU to know that there was something going on between you and the other agent. Knowing that Spencer would move mountains to try to find you, even if it was too late.

He could not lose you like he had lost Maeve. He could not go through all this again. He would not take it. Not after being so cruel with you.

"Why did you guys fight?" Cat increased the pressure of the barrel against your clit, making your back adjust upwards with an almost desperate cry when she suddenly changed the circular movements to movements from top to bottom, the chosen rhythm being a little more intense than the previous one.

You could lie. Make up any excuse, any fake outburst to avoid letting her know so much about you or your situationship with Spencer. But what would be the point? You were already having your first and last dance with the Devil. If you were going to die at the hands of Cat Adams, what mattered least was whether or not she would know your vulnerabilities. Nothing mattered anymore, she was going to kill you anyway, even if you confessed or not.

"Maeve." The name of Spencer's ex-girlfriend caused an instant chuckle from Cat. It was obvious. It was obvious that she would find this funny. She remembered Spencer telling her about the woman's murder. "He... He said he wished-" You cut yourself off as Cat slid the fabric of your panties down, the cold air of the room hitting your core before she went back to stroking the swollen bud, another giggle echoing between the walls when she heard the moan coming from your lips after she lowered the gun to your hole, not enough to fuck you completely. She was just teasing your wet pussy.

"What did he say he wished?" The question came in a mocking tone, her mouth moving down to your neck, leaving you with purple hickey marks and the red stains caused by her lipstick.

"Spencer said he wished he could trade my life for Maeve's. He would rather I die if it meant Maeve could come back."

Cat was silent for a while, despite raising the object until it was on top of your clit again, rubbing the gun against your pussy as new thoughts invaded her mind. Your moans became louder and more desperate, your back writhing and your legs shaking when you moaned in the most tearful, needy way she had heard in her entire life. No one had ever sounded like this before, so hungry for any touch that could distract you from the reality of what was happening. That you were kidnapped by Cat Adams and might not have long to live.

While your body contorted with Cat's kisses moving up from your neck to your jaw, you finally turned your face to look into her eyes, seeing her pupils dilated, her gaze now cold. Not with you, you could feel it. She did not seem that much crueler than before, at least not directly towards you. As if a switch had turned in her mind for some reason. "He'll regret his words, princess. Don't worry." Her free hand caressed your cheeks and an almost soft smile appeared. "I promise I'll make sure your death haunts Spencer until the end of his days."

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter one: southern nights

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ only, MDNI), nothing explicit in this part but future parts will be

series summary: 

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 4.4k

warnings: NO USE OF Y/N, NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), mild alcohol use, mentions of food/eating, pet name (sweetheart), polite southern manners (*cough* sir *cough*), feeling familial and self pressure

“I can see a truck pulling up now! C’mere, see if you can get a glimpse of them. You’ve got better eyes.”

Your mother is standing at the side of the picture window in your living room, attempting to stealthily get a good look at the new neighbors moving in next door. Her hand waves you over from where you’re standing at the bottom of the stairs, disheveled from the sleep that is still fogging most of your brain.

You definitely have to be half asleep because you comply with your mother’s urgent pleas, the bottoms of your bare feet sticking to the humid wood floors. You are fresh-air people, as your mother says, leaving all the windows and doors open for as long as humanly possible in the summer. It only lasts for the first few weeks of warmer weather, and eventually, everything gets sealed up and the house becomes a frigid ice box with the way your parents crank the air conditioning. Peeling your feet off the floor one last time, you stop in front of the glass.

Standing next to your mother, fully visible in the open window, you study the moving truck that’s pulled into the driveway adjacent to yours.

A local company. Must already be from Austin.

Behind the massive truck, a navy blue Ford pickup that you don’t recognize coasts down the asphalt, getting thrown into park in front of the lawn of the vacant house. Two men, maybe early thirties if you had to guess, climb out of the driver’s side and passenger seat, already talking over each other.

The one at the passenger side has dark brown, nearly black hair that looks just long enough to need a trim and frames his face with curls. Fairly tall, firm build. The white ribbed tank top that he’s wearing hugs his torso underneath the green shirt thrown on over it, buttons undone. He has a shit-eating grin on his face about something that must have been said, hand banging on the side of the car before he walks back towards the bed to grab a cardboard box out of it.

The other, the one that’s come out of the driver’s side, looks a bit older than the passenger. Much more cropped, but still messy, lighter brown hair sweeps down onto his forehead, the back of it curling up slightly at the nape of his neck. Definitely could use a haircut, too, but the bedhead is endearing. A hand reaches up to scratch at the trim beard and mustache that he’s sporting, the facial hair framing his strong jaw nicely. His eyebrows are furrowing in frustration or annoyance, or maybe a bit of both while his head shakes back and forth at whatever his companion joked about. He makes the grumpy stare charming, and you suddenly have the thought that you’d like to know if he’s always got that crease in his brow or if that’s only reserved for the man who was unpacking the truck now. The muscles in his biceps flex as he shuts his door, t-shirt pulling taut over his chest as he steps to open the rear door, a grin growing on his face.

Out from the backseat pops the most adorable little girl you’ve seen. Looks to be about seven or eight years old, maybe, with tiny, sweet features and dressed in a lilac shirt and denim Bermuda shorts. She’s got voluminous, kinky curls that show off natural highlights in the Texas sunshine. She’s giggling and giddy, reaching for the man who opened the door to help her down from the raised truck. He scoops her up, a shriek of laughter coming from the little girl as he slings her over his shoulder. More muscles flex in his back as he carries the weight easily, walking back to the bed of the pickup to grab some bags out of it to bring inside.

So tunnel-visioned on the vignette of family life playing out in front of you, you didn’t even think that you could be seen. A voyeur of your street, you forget that your curtains are drawn, the window is open, and a large pane of clear glass is the only thing in front of you. As if he could feel the burn of your stare, the eyes observing his movements, the man carrying the little girl turns towards your house. His stare catches your own that was already trained on him, a friendly smile plastered to his face as he raises the hand holding the girl in a short wave.

Mortifying. The first impression that your new neighbor, your attractive new neighbor, had of you was you, standing in ratty cotton sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt, hair falling out of the hair tie at the back of your head. Heat warmed your cheeks and the back of your neck at the embarrassment of being caught, and of being caught in this outfit.

Your mother next to you erupts in laughter, turning away from the window as you grumble under your breath about that interaction being her fault. Trudging back up the stairs to get ready for the day, annoyance is still twisted in your expression. You skip back down the stairs to the kitchen, dressed and hair fixed up, skidding into the open room to see your dad at the table alone, the newspaper in his hand with the job listing page already pulled out and set at your usual spot.

“Morning, kiddo.”

“G’morning, Dad.”

Sliding into the wooden chair at the kitchen table, you start to look over the listings in search of a summer position to occupy your time at home before you start your last year of university in the fall. There are a few postings for dogwalkers, hostesses, and waitresses that you’ve already seen or applied to in the last week. A couple of bartending jobs catch your eye, thinking about the tips to be made, but your thoughts quickly deflate when they require state licensing.

A huff of disappointment rolls from your lips when your mom comes back inside through the door to the garage, an artful smile pulling at her lips. She’s looking directly at you, the expression making you uneasy in anticipation of whatever news or plan she’s concocted. Your mother meddles, in the most loving way possible, but she can’t help but stick her nose in everyone’s business. So the next words out of her mouth really shouldn’t surprise you, but they do make your stomach turn with newfound anxiety.

“So, I just met the new neighbors. Well, one neighbor and his daughter, I guess. The Millers. His name is Joel, and his daughter’s name is Sarah, she proudly told me she was seven years old and starting the second grade in the fall. The other guy we saw was his brother that he introduced me to, Tommy.”

You’re currently rereading the same job listing over and over again to avoid looking at your mom, feigning disinterest as you nod slowly at what she’s saying. At the same time, your nerves zip in excitement at knowing his name now, and you bite your tongue to ask your mom to continue, knowing she’d tease your eagerness.

Instead, you let her tell you about the rest of the brief interaction, recalling whichever neighborhood Joel had said they moved from and how he and his brother have lived in Austin their entire lives.

“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you both,” your mom addresses your father for the first time in the conversation, the call to his attention making him lower the newspaper to look at her, a silent nod getting her to continue, “I invited them over for a barbecue tonight to take a break from moving in and have a nice meal after their long day. I’m gonna need you to run to the store for me, and I’ll have to get to cleaning the house…”

Your mom’s plan for the day and list of chores trail off in your ears as a buzz muffles it. Your hot neighbor was coming over to your house, tonight, and you were going to have to face him after being caught blatantly staring.

How great for you.

The sliding screen door pulls shut behind you with a woosh and a click, returning to its pathetic job of keeping insects out of the house while letting the slightly cooler evening air in. Foamy flip-flops smack against the weather-worn oak wood deck as you shuffle over to the large silver grill that your dad commands. Steel wool scrapes against the metal grates of the inside; your dad’s bent over to get better leverage to clean all the burnt bits off.

The beach-themed melamine platter weighs heavy in your hands, covered with burgers, hot dogs, and brats - plus a couple of veggie burgers - to the point where the design of crustaceans and shells in the waves and beach towels laid out on the sand is completely disguised.

“I didn’t ask what they like to eat, so I got everything I could think of! You can’t assume these days with all these new folks moving to Austin, I’m trying to be considerate,” is what your mother said to you when you asked if she was planning to feed the whole block or a small army with the amount of food that was going on the grill. 

Don’t even get started on the sides.

You set the platter piled with meat on the webbed black iron patio table to the side of the grill, shuffling over to stand at the edge of the deck, overlooking the chlorine-blue pool water that shines in the slowly fading sunlight. Your parents had installed the in-ground pool the first summer you’d been home from college, jokingly claiming it was their way to make sure you came home every summer, and your brother, Chris, too when he went away to school a short two years after you.

To be honest, it may have been a joke, but it was definitely part of the reason you came back each summer. That, and you just felt more yourself, more at ease at home. It was your comfort zone, but after spending every school year pushing yourself out of your comfort zone academically and socially, you always wanted to return to the warm, sun-soaked home that you grew up in. Maybe that made you more dependent on your parents still, maybe your friends saw it as immature, but you knew what you wanted to do, and you weren’t going to suffer over break just to seem like “an adult” like your friends thought they did.

“You gonna go for a swim, kiddo?”

Your dad’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, focusing your eyes back from the wide aperture they had fallen into as you stood mesmerized by the water moving down below you. Clearing your throat, you cross your arms over your chest as you turn back to your dad at the grill, the clicks of the gas burners lighting aflame while he twists the dials at the front.

“Maybe later. Once this attempt of Mom’s to get the first gossip on the new neighbor is over.”

Your dad laughs softly at your lightly satirical joke at your mother’s expense, shaking his head and giving you one of those looks that says ‘just do as your mother says like you always do.’

“Well, you can relax plenty later. Just be on your best behavior for the neighbors, will ya?” He laughs at his own comment, the sarcasm coating the request he’d made. You’ve never made waves in your family, in your friend group, in your neighborhood. Always known as the “sweet girl” to your older neighbors, the “golden child” to your peers and your family. Your initially reserved nature gives everyone the impression that you are a polite, kind Southern belle. If only they could read minds.

Flip flops thwacking with each step as you cross the deck again, slipping inside through the sliding door. Skating past the kitchen quickly before your mom can rope you into helping with more preparation, you take the stairs two at a time to get up to your room to get ready.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said that there was a small part of you that was excited to meet Joel. The majority of you burns with embarrassment and is dreading having to face him after getting caught in your voyeurism this morning, but with how attractive he was, it could be a bit fun to have him as a neighbor next door.

Which is why you’re standing in front of your full-length mirror, hair fixed up from the state it was in when he first saw you and a short, light blue sundress on. Eyelets and embroidery covered the dress, the square neckline was framed by cap sleeves. It was modest enough to keep your intentions for dressing up hidden from your parents, but it was revealing enough to make you feel confident to face your hot neighbor for an official introduction.

The next half an hour is spent following your mom’s instructions, most of them being silent points of her finger while she’s absorbed in another task. Every so often you make eye contact with Chris through the patio door, him in the middle of the same treatment from your dad out by the grill.

At one point, your mom is so tunnel-visioned that when you finish the last assignment she’d given you, you slip out to where your dad and brother are now lounging in the chairs around the table on one side of the deck. The metal scrapes against the wood as you pull out one and take a seat, sighing gratefully when Chris passes you a beer from the cooler next to him. The cap twists off with a hiss and a pop, the water from the melted ice dripping onto your chest. As you tip the bottle to your lips and dab off the water before it runs down your skin to the neckline of your dress, the Millers walk up the steps at the side of the deck, tumbling greetings over each other.

Your dad stands, your brother behind him as they take a few steps to meet Joel and Tommy halfway. Polite handshakes are exchanged while you get up out of your seat, beer left on the table to go get the embarrassment over with.

Sarah stands shyly next to her dad, her little shoulder completely encompassed by her dad’s hand as she looks up at all the men around her starting to talk about the latest Astros game. You smile softly at her and give her a wave as you move to stand with everyone, a slight smile growing on her face at someone acknowledging her. She steps away from her subtle hiding place next to Joel, the movement causing Joel to glance down at her before his eyes turn up to you.

A friendly smile ticks up one side of his mouth, brown eyes speckling with caramel highlights as he squints in the sunlight to take a step forward and reach out his hand to you.

“I’m Joel, the new neighbor.”

You give him a firm, polite handshake with a warm grin attached to it, nodding your head. 

Please dear God, or whatever is out there, don’t let him mention this morning.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir. Hope today hasn’t been too much of a nightmare moving in.” Nerves bubble in your stomach, but you can’t help but feel them turn to butterflies when his eyes darken ever so slightly at the word ‘sir’, hand quickly falling out of yours and resting back on Sarah’s shoulder as he clears his throat quietly.

“Hasn’t been too bad, right bug? You wanna introduce yourself?” His eyebrows raise encouragingly to his daughter and the nickname warms your heart, watching as Sarah grows more confident to stand up straight, a smile on her face.

“My name’s Sarah,” she directs towards you and then turns to her dad, waving him to crouch down to her level so she can whisper at the not-so-subtle kid's volume, “What do I say after that?”

Joel chuckles lightly and whispers back to her quietly enough for you not to hear. He stands up straight again, watching Sarah.

“It’s nice to meet you, miss!” she turns to Joel again, beaming proudly, “Is that right?”

He nods and looks back at you as you laugh softly, a wide smile on your face from the adorable and incredibly polite greeting Sarah’s given you. His own smile pulls larger as you bend down to be at eye level with her, warmth emanating from you introduce yourself just as Sarah did and fall into conversation with her.

She tells you all about her last school year in the first grade, her favorite toys, and how excited she is for her summer camp. The two of you have moved to sit next to each other on the outdoor couch, your drink forgotten next to you as you listen to the bubbly seven-year-old.

Joel and Tommy stay in conversation with your dad and Chris near the grill, standing around in a semi-circle and making small talk about sports, weather, and the sturdiness of your deck. Joel and Tommy mentioned having a contracting business together, and your dad ran with it, asking them every question under the sun about the longevity of the build that was done a few years ago.

Your mom comes out to join them for a bit, sitting with you and Sarah as you talk with each other before she gathers all the meat fresh off the grill to bring inside and finish setting up everything.

A few more minutes pass before your mom pops her head out and calls everyone in to make a plate. You stand up and wait for Sarah to climb off the couch, following behind her bouncy curls. Everyone’s made it through the door ahead of you, except for Joel as he lingers to wait for his daughter. One of his hands finds her head as he carefully ushers her inside, turning to you with a sincere look in his eyes.

“Thanks for keeping her entertained. She loves to talk, doesn’t really get that from me,” he drawls out, his accent a bit thicker than yours. You shake your head, waving a hand at him to dismiss him.

“She’s the one keeping me entertained, I’m surprised I’m not boring her with my lack of summer plans to discuss. She’s very excited for day camp,” you chuckle quietly, still standing less than a foot from Joel at the sliding door. You can smell the body wash he must’ve used in the shower before coming over, fresh eucalyptus and birch mixing with the richer cedarwood and bergamot of what you assume is his cologne.

“Oh, yeah. Big time. She was begging me to sign her up finally this year and it made sense with my work schedule getting busier. But, still, thanks for hanging out with her.” He nods toward the door, gesturing for you to walk in ahead of him. His hand hovers behind your back as you step in ahead of him, fingers brushing your dress lightly before he quickly pulls them away.

You stand to the side to let the guests go through to get their food first, Joel helping Sarah put everything she wants onto a plate while balancing his own. Tommy happily starts eating what’s already on his plate halfway through the line, earning a jab in the side from his older brother. Once everyone’s gotten what they wanted, you all pile back outside to the deck to sit around and eat.

The table isn’t large enough for everyone, so it ends up being your parents, Chris, and Tommy sitting around it while you, Joel, and Sarah sit around the patio lounge set. Sarah happily sits on the ground at the coffee table, you slipping a cushion down for her to rest on before sitting in one of the chairs across from the couch.

Joel’s settled next to his daughter, facing you as he wipes his mouth with his napkin.

“So, uh, your dad said you’re going into your last year at TCU? What’re you studying?”

“Public Relations and Advertising. I’m hoping—”

“She wants to move to Boston!” Sarah interjects with a mouthful of hotdog bun.

Joel looks at her with a gently reprimanding look, “Bug, please don’t talk with your mouth full. ‘S not polite.”

He turns back to you after patting his daughter’s curls, lips curled up to one side.

“Boston, huh? What’s all the way up there?”

“Not here,” you laugh softly, shrugging your shoulders as you stab a piece of potato salad with your fork, “I love Austin, don’t get me wrong, but living here my whole life and going to school only three hours away in Fort Worth feels like I haven’t seen much outside of Texas. Plus, there’re some good agencies up there and it’s not as scary of a move like New York or Los Angeles would be.”

Joel nods in understanding, speaking up after he finishes a bite, “I get that. Haven’t lived anywhere but Austin my whole life, but I can understand wanting to experience new things.”

You might be imagining things, but you swear you can hear his voice drop deeper in the last half of his sentence. It sends a flutter between your legs, and the back of your neck burns with chagrin.

Conversation continues to flow easily between you and Joel, and Sarah, too. Your parents don’t ask you to help clean up because you’re so invested, laughing quietly at his subtle humor and smiling widely when Sarah adds in her commentary or tells a story.

Tommy and Chris join you all on the lounge furniture, falling into a wider group discussion of neighborhood politics and what fun things you and Chris got up to when you were around Sarah’s age.

Joel’s eyes stay trained on you whenever you're speaking, even glancing at you when you’re both listening to someone else. The eye contact from him stirs your stomach and hitches your breath, your own stare avoiding his when it gets a bit too intense.

Hours are consumed quickly, the twilight blue skies dimming your backyard so that only the porch and string lights illuminate the deck. Low light and the late hour have soothed Sarah to sleep, her small frame tucked into Joel’s side. He keeps a hand on her back while she rests, everyone looking at her tenderly.

Joel asks you and your mom if you know of any other neighbors with young kids that are going to the park district day camp for the summer, wondering if there’s a possibility to carpool or arrange some care for Sarah when he’s got a busy schedule.

Not knowing anything yourself since you don’t live here full time anymore, you turn to your mom and watch as the gears turn in her head, eyes lighting up with an idea.

“Actually, haven’t you been looking for a summer job, honey? Maybe you could nanny Sarah! Drop her off when Joel can’t, pick her up every day, and watch her until Joel gets home from work. That is, if you’d be interested in that, Joel.”

Your mouth opens and closes as you try to stutter out a response, feeling a bit flustered at your mom’s out-of-the-blue suggestion. Plus, you aren’t sure you could manage to work for your hot neighbor and to see him often; it was one thing to have a crush and pine freely from afar, but spending time in his house? Seeing him every day?

Your thighs press together as your mind races with thoughts about more of Joel in all aspects.

Being the ever-so-polite Southern daughter you were raised to be, you turn to Joel with a glittering smile and nod despite the stomach acid creeping up your throat with your nerves.

“I’d love to help out if you need it. Spending my summer with Sarah would be fun.”

At your confirmation of the offer, Joel pauses for a moment to look down at his sleeping daughter, heading swinging back to you with a boyish grin on his face.

“Guess that solves my problem then. Think you can start next week? Her first day is Wednesday.”

Arrangements are made with Joel as the Miller crew gets ready to leave, your own family have said their goodbyes and retiring inside to clean up after the night. Joel and you stand on the deck next to the stairs that lead to your side yard and over to their house. He shifts on his feet, passing Sarah from his arms to Tommy’s for his younger brother to get her home.

Joel’s arms stretch up briefly, giving you the slightest peek at the bottom of his stomach when his t-shirt lifts. Saliva floods your mouth as the thought of kissing there when you’re on your knees for him passes through your mind quickly. 

Stop thinking about him like that. Yeah, he’s hot but he’s also now going to be employing you.

“Thanks again for offering to nanny, Sarah. She’s gonna be real excited when I tell her in the mornin’. You sure you don’t wanna take the out now?” His hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, a coy smile on his face.

“It’s really no problem at all. Like I said, I think it will be a fun summer.” 

There’s no hidden meaning to your words, but for some reason Joel drops your stare after you speak, glancing down at his boots before he raises his head again, his smile a hint wider.

His drawl coats the words as he replies, “Well, it’s definitely gonna be somethin’, sweetheart.”

Joel turns on the heel of his boot, bounding down the short staircase and over toward his yard. He looks back once, a short wave raised towards you as he calls out a ‘goodnight’ to your frozen frame on your deck.

The front door of the Miller house clicks closed and you finally exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. Slow movements carry you inside and up to your room, flopping down to your bed on your back. One had rested on your stomach filled with butterflies, the other over your heart to feel the quickened rhythm.

Joel was right, this summer was definitely going to be something. And you were eager to find out what exactly it could be.

series taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @clingontolife @elizabeth01585 @wandaandellie @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @livinxdeadxgrl @sw33tp1xie @starsandsaints07 @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @whydontyoysaynodoja @beee-haw @shmaptainshmerica07 @jenna-mcgraw19 @whore-4-pedro @spursgirl14-blog @katifefe @joelmillerswifu @itsgiorgiaz @soph55 @grapejuicesny @wild-hearts-runfree @youcancallmeelle @lisa-ru @jupitren @ziggy-star @miaispunk @oneofutoo @starkovli @thatgeminigirlx @marchai @bunnyskisses @houseofballoonsth @casual-obsessions @pedro-pascal-lvr @bimbodolls-world @burningnerdchild @tuquoquebrute @mrsvedder12 @estelivi28 @helllsent @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @angie2274 @owod3 @pedrostories @pedroholicx @theelishad @johnwatsn

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

hi!! just read both of your wrecker works and rineicbeijcwjkdjs LOVED THEM!! wrecker’s my fav of tbb and i really feel like he needs more love😭 i'm gonna be checking out some of your other works later lol

anyways i saw that you were taking requests, so i went through your prompt list and saw two that caught my eye. they're 24. “You need to wake up because I can't do this without you.” and 18. “I almost lost you.”

i was wondering if you could write something with those prompts for wrecker please? like tbb + reader were able to rescue omega, crosshair, and tech (i am believer in tech surviving season 2 finale), but the reader got seriously injured during the rescue and is now in a coma. wrecker would be the one to say the prompts and it would be angsty like wrecker thinking the reader might die. but please let this end happily.

other than those details i trust your writing skills and process for anything! take your time writing, there's absolutely no rush!! and again your writing is soooo awesome!!😊😊

Well hello there!

I'm so glad you enjoyed those fics, and thank you for popping this request in - so sorry it's taken me so long to write it! I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope it hits the spot 😁

I guess it's also technically canon divergent now S3 is out, haha 😅

Through the Darkness

No one said rescuing the rest of the Batch from Mount Tantiss would be easy - you just didn't expect it to go like this.

Pairing: Wrecker x F!reader

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: canon typical violence, reader in a coma for a bit, little bit of angst, but also dashes of hope, happily ever after.

Translations: sarad - flower

Hemlock has his hands on you, his blaster pressed to your temple. The sounds of fighting cease. Dead TK Troopers litter the floor. Wrecker and his siblings freeze, slowly lowering their weapons.

Your back is pressed to Hemlock’s chest, and there isn’t a clean shot at him.

“Anyone moves and your dear liaison will pay the price,” Hemlock states.

Rage flows through Wrecker. You were in danger, too far for him to grab and shield, and he had no idea what to do. He glances at his siblings – Omega curled against Hunter’s side with weariness painted on her face, Tech leaning heavily against Echo for support as his body protests the prolonged time standing. Crosshair had peeled off from the group earlier, searching for what or who none of them was sure. They were all back together again. A family again. He wasn’t about to let Hemlock take you from them.

Shakes start in your thighs, slowly creeping up your body until your arms and hands tremble, too. You’ve been in dangerous situations before, had your life threatened before - but you’re certain Hemlock would do it. The man is crazy and will stop at nothing to get his hands on your family. The sound of his verbal back and forth with Hunter is like white noise.

The slightest movement in the rafters above catches your attention, and your eyes dart up. Battered and bruised, Crosshair has found a vantage point and a rifle. Those hawkish eyes meet yours, and a silent conversation is shared. You do the maths. There’s only one way out of this. Thank the Maker you still trust him, even after everything.

You give an almost imperceivable nod, knowing he’ll catch it. You flick your gaze to the others, taking one last look, just in case. Echo, who’d joined you all near the end of the war and had so seamlessly slipped into the fold of your family. Tech, worse for wear after his fall on Eriadu, but with that same solid determination in his eyes. Hunter, the man who’d welcomed you into the squad all those years ago, listened when you shared your thoughts and didn’t make a fuss when you broke terrible news to them about the next mission. Omega, trying to hide her fear through bravery – so much for a young girl with such a pure heart to endure. And Wrecker, the imposing force of a man who’d always put himself between you and danger, who reached for you at every opportunity and consoled you when things had gotten too much – the man you’d quietly loved for some time.

With a shaky breath, you close your eyes, placing all your faith in Crosshair. The quiet sniper who’d at first sneered at you and flicked toothpicks in your face before he’d thawed out and helped perfect your aim, taught you how to use his rifle, and what to look out for when scouting.

The sound of his shot reverberates around the hanger, and milliseconds later, searing pain tears through your shoulder, pulling a piercing cry from your lips. Legs giving out, you crumple, welcoming the cold durasteel you hit.

You don’t know if they all made it out, but you pray they did.

Wrecker hasn’t moved in weeks, refusing to leave you alone. The memory of you being shot won’t leave him; the sound of your agony is stuck on repeat. You’d been in bacta for what felt like forever, the shiny skin on your shoulder a testament to its healing power, but it wasn’t enough to wake you from the coma you’d slipped into. Pabu’s only Doctor had insisted on removing you from the tank once your physical wounds had healed, transferring you to a standard medical bed.

Crosshair’s shot had torn through your shoulder, but the angle had been perfect. Wrecker hadn’t expected any less from his little brother. The bolt had exited you and entered Hemlock, hitting him straight in the chest. A kill shot. That hadn’t killed you. Or so Wrecker hoped. Even if you woke, your shoulder would likely ache for the rest of your life, and your arm would not be as strong as before.

The sound of the door opening pulls Wrecker’s gaze from your prone form and across the small room in Pabu’s clinic. Crosshair slides through the crack in the door, thin lips pressed together, brow pinched. He visits often, guilt in his eyes every time he looks you over. You might’ve okayed the shot, but it still tore at the sniper’s soul to have hurt you.

“Nothing?” Crosshair rasps, sticking close to the door as he glances between you and his brother. He’d never admit it, but fear was starting to settle in his gut. If you didn’t wake…

“Nothin’.” Wrecker confirms, shoulders slumped. “Been talkin’ to her. Doc said she might be able to hear us. Not that it’s doin’ much good.” He sighs, gaze shifting back to you. “Told her we all got out okay. That you and Tech and the kid are alright. Don’t want her worryin’.”  

Crosshair makes a slight noise, acknowledging his brother’s words as his gaze lingers on your prone form.

“You stayin’ a bit?” Wrecker asks, using one foot to push out the spare chair at his side – the rest of their siblings often visited, too.

Hesitating, Crosshair lets out a small sigh as he moves across the room, lowering himself silently into the chair. He hadn’t stayed before, preferring to flit in for any news before disappearing. It hurt too much to see you this way, knowing he’d caused it. That and he was still working through everything that had happened during his time with the Empire, trying to fix his relationships with his siblings. But Wrecker needed him, so he’d stay.

You’d always hated the dark.

The shadows surround you, pressing in from all sides. Yet amidst the inky darkness, you find yourself standing in a solitary spot of light, its glow offering a semblance of warmth amidst the chill of the void. The lights kept appearing, and you’d learned quickly that when a new one glistened on the horizon, you had to run for it before the light you were already standing in disappeared. 

You’d lost track of how many lights you’d chased so far. 

Each one varied in intensity – sometimes brilliant beacons, other times mere flickers barely piercing the gloom. Yet, regardless of their brightness, they all held a magnetic pull, drawing you forward with an unyielding force. And each time you reached one, a brief respite washed over you, a fleeting moment before the next journey into the unknown began.

Scanning the horizon, you spot another light starting to beckon, its faint glow a promise of safety. With a heavy heart, you know what you need to do.

Taking a deep breath, you burst into a sprint. Each step forward is a battle against the darkness, its tendrils reaching out like icy fingers, eager to drag you into its embrace. Goosebumps prickle your arms, heart pounding as fear gnaws at your insides, but a stubborn determination fuels your movements. You can’t afford to falter, to succumb to the darkness, not after everything.

Worry lingers at the edge of your consciousness, a constant reminder of uncertainty. What lay beyond the lights? Will you ever find your way back to the world you once knew? The questions taunt you, echoing in your mind relentlessly the longer you spend here.

Yet, a glimmer of hope remains amidst the fear and uncertainty. Though the darkness threatens to overwhelm you, there must be a reason for the light. There has to be something causing it. Blessing you with it. Giving you these small moments of respite and keeping you in one piece. 

You keep going. One foot in front of the other.

A shove yanks Wrecker out of sleep, and the big man jolts awake with a small yelp.

Crosshair snickers, leaning back in his seat, drawing his hand back towards his chest. “Sleeping on the job, vod.” He can’t help but jibe, his smirk melting into a frown at the sound of Wrecker’s stomach growling. “When’s the last time you ate?” He asks. He hadn’t wanted to wake him, seeing him finally getting some rest, but the sun was high in the sky now, and Crosshair knew it wouldn’t be long until Omega and Hunter swung by.

Blinking, Wrecker’s mind takes a moment to catch up with the fact he’s awake. “Urm, yesterday? Maybe?” He guesses, not really sure. The days were starting to blend together.

With a huff, Crosshair stands, long legs unfolding. “Will get you something. Can’t wither away before she wakes.” He mutters, grateful for the opportunity to leave and not have to sit any longer in silence with his feelings – he’d done enough of that for the day.

With a slight nod of appreciation, Wrecker watches as Crosshair heads out the door, hearing the gentle click of it shutting behind him. Hand wiping over his face, Wrecker shifts in the chair, stretching a little. But he can’t avoid the inevitable forever, and although it pains him, he looks you over for what feels like the millionth time. 

Despite his imposing stature, he feels powerless.

He hadn’t been able to protect you - the woman he loves. He’s loved you since the moment he first met you in the hanger of a Venator, as you’d been assigned to him and his brothers as their liaison. You’d offered them a smile that had rendered him speechless, and his booming laughter had then filled the hanger when you’d quipped back at Crosshair as he'd sneered about them not needing a babysitter.

You kept them on their toes and blended in so seamlessly with their chaotic lives.

Without an audience, Wrecker clears his throat, leaning forward in his seat to gently take your tiny hand in his much larger one. “I hope ya can hear me, sarad.” He starts, voice mellow. “Been a few weeks now since we got ’em back.” He’s not sure how much you’re aware of, if the passing of time is something you’re experiencing. “Cross was just here. Finally sat for a bit. Think he feels guilty.” Wrecker pauses, brows furrowing, face pinching. “I feel guilty. Should have protected ya, kept ya close.” Wrecker’s voice cracks a little, emotion seeping through. 

“We’re all here, though. Ain’t leavin’ ya, no matter what. Can’t wait for ya to wake up and tell us all how much trouble we’re in.” He chuckles softly, a hint of sadness in the sound. “Just...ya need to wake up ’cause I can’t do this without you.” He admits, a well of emotion pressing down on his chest.

Wrecker’s words hang heavy in the air, the weight of his emotions palpable even in the silence of the clinic. He wishes he could shake this feeling of helplessness and do more than just sit by your side, waiting for a sign of life. But for now, all he can offer is his unwavering presence and a steady stream of conversation, hoping against hope that somewhere within your subconscious, you can hear him.

Keep going. You need to keep going.

The darkness claws at you, desperate to slow you down and draw you into its embrace. But the light grows closer with every step you take, with every thud of your heart as you race forward. Amidst your footsteps echoing in the void is the faintest whisper of something familiar.

No.

Not something.

Someone.

“Wreck!” You cry out into the darkness, feet faltering for a second as you recognise the deep voice. The darkness tries to take advantage of your momentary hiccup, but with a yelp, you pick up your pace. The hope that lingers in your heart explodes. As you draw closer to the light, Wrecker’s voice comes into focus. “Ain’t leavin’ ya, no matter what.”

With renewed determination, you push yourself harder, every muscle in your body screaming for rest, but you refuse to give in. The light grows brighter, its warmth now palpable against your skin.

And then, just as you’re on the verge of stepping into the light, a sudden force knocks you off balance, sending you sprawling onto the cold, hard ground. Panic grips your chest as you scramble, desperate to continue your pursuit.

But the darkness has other plans, closing in around you like a suffocating blanket, obscuring the light. Amidst the coldness creeping through your body, you cling to the memory of Wrecker’s voice, a lifeline in the darkness.

Body straining, you crawl forward, ignoring the pain and exhaustion, determination burning bright within you. You don’t belong in the darkness. You belong in the light. With them. With him.

Straining, you reach out an arm, trembling fingers skimming the edge of the light as Wrecker’s voice comes through loud and clear. “…ya need to wake up ’cause I can’t do this without you.”

The darkness recoils. 

With a final surge of strength, you propel yourself forward, breaking free from the suffocating grip of the void. The light envelops you, wrapping you in its warm embrace as the shadows recede into the distance, getting further and further away. Relief floods through you, tears of joy mingling with sweat on your cheeks.

Head tilting back, you look up at the light, a bubble of laughter escaping as you bask in the glow. Eyes fluttering shut, you savour the moment. Yet this time, when you open your eyes, there’s no darkness or blinding light anymore. 

You blink. Once. Twice. The soft hum of medical equipment fills the air. And there, beside you, is Wrecker, head bowed, the weight of his hand wrapped around yours. 

Everything seems to freeze except the frantic thudding of your heart. “Wreck…” You whisper, your voice hoarse from disuse as you dare to hope you’re back. Really back. 

Wrecker’s head jolts up at the rasped sound of his name, his good eye widening as he meets your gaze, your name falling from his lips as his features crumple, a heaving sob of relief escaping him.

You slowly sit up, wincing at the ache that shoots through your shoulder. It’s still tender, but the pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming flood of emotions that wash over you at the sight of Wrecker’s tear-streaked face. 

You reach out, cupping his cheek in your hand, the warmth of his skin grounding you in reality. “I’m here.” You murmur softly, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re trying to convince yourself or him.

Wrecker’s grip tightens around your hand as if afraid you might slip away again if he lets go. He leans into your touch, his words catching in his throat momentarily before he stands, leaning over the bed to envelop you in an embrace, protective yet gentle, conscious of your shoulder. “You’re back.” He murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “Thought I almost lost ya.”

Weak but grateful, you return his embrace, feeling the warmth of his presence washing over you, grounding you in reality. A lump forms in your throat at the thought of him worrying about you, thinking he would lose you. “Not going anywhere, big guy.” You reassure him, sniffling as you try to keep a lid on your emotions. “The others?” You ask cautiously, dread curling in your gut. 

“All made it,” Wrecker confirms, arms slowly uncurling from around you as he sits back in his chair, hand scooping up yours so he can maintain some contact. 

Your dread is swept away and replaced immediately by relief; this time, you don’t bother holding back your sobs.

“No cryin’, pretty girl. Please.” Wrecker’s heart aches at the sight, his free hand moving to cup your face and wipe away the tears.

You smile through your tears, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions. Wrecker’s touch is like a lifeline. “Sorry.” You manage to choke out between sobs, trying to reign in your feelings. “Just...so relieved.”

Wrecker offers you a tender smile. “No need to apologise, sarad,” he murmurs softly, his voice filled with warmth and reassurance. A bolt of courage has him leaning forward to gently kiss your forehead.

As Wrecker’s lips meet your forehead, warmth seeps through you, chasing away the last remnants of the dark coldness. He pulls back a little, his gaze meeting yours, and the air feels electric. Without a word, you lean forward, closing the distance between you as your lips finally meet his in a soft, tentative kiss. 

And you realize that amidst the chaos and darkness, love has always been the guiding light, leading you back to where you belong.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf @isaidonyourknees

Sign up to be tagged in my future fics.

[lightseoul]

this with hawks or katsuki 😭🗣https://youtube.com/shorts/nAARZhCZydk?feature=share

link

a/n. OKAY first of all, i apologize for taking so long to respond to this ask! second of all, i modified the prompt from it being a childhood friends to lovers trope to an au where reader is bakugou's long-term sidekick of two years, just so that we won't diverge too much from canon! (part 2)

word count. 1.4k

"hey, dumbass."

you look up from the mission report you've been sticking your nose in for the past half hour. "i thought i told you to stop calling me that."

at that, he smirks. "you'd rather i call you 'extra'?"

"i'd prefer it if you called me by my hero name, Mr. Dynamight."

his eyebrow twitches at the sound of his moniker. "i thought i told you to stop calling me 'mister'."

you shrug. if he's playing the game, you will too.

"well," you cock your head to the side, "tough luck, huh?"

you drop your gaze back to the document before you can catch the infamous scowl that is indubitably directed at you. not that you're actually comprehending anything, though.

lately, being around the pro-hero has made it almost impossible to focus on your work.

which is stupid, because he's your boss and your his sidekick. focused, flawless teamwork is supposed to be the point.

what's more, the physical sensations are getting dangerously near the what-you-would-exprience-if-you-were-smitten area: sweaty palms, racing heartbeat, and your eyes darting towards wherever he is in a room.

or...you could just be scared of him, right? if there's anyone who can trigger your fight-or-flight mode, it's bakugou katsuki.

"you're lucky your my sidekick," he sneers.

you dare not look at him. you can almost feel him sporting that boyish smirk, and you know your heart can't take that.

what the fuck.

"hey, extra."

you look over your shoulder only to see bakugou decked in his hero gear, covered in dirt and grime from the day's work—eyebrows furrowed. you ignore him, directing your attention back to the front, where you're walking towards.

but he pipes up with: "i'm talking to you!"

you scoff. spinning on your feet to face him, you shoot him a glare. "would it really kill you to just call me by my hero name? heck, i'd even let you call me by my first name!"

at that, bakugou's eyebrows shoot up so minutely. "you serious?"

"does it look like i'm joking?" you ask, exasperated.

a few seconds pass before he responds.

"well, then," he shifts on his feet like he usually does. "i guess i'll call you Y/N."

your stomach flips at the sound of your name tumbling from his lips. you mentally chastise yourself before saying: "okay."

"great."

you're staring at your ceiling; the clock reads 2:34 AM.

with a huff, you turn to your side, feeling awake now more than ever.

the past week has been grueling—on top of the back-to-back missions that you had to work on with bakugou as his sole sidekick (he refuses to add another one, says the candidates are all just extras), you had to deal with these confusing feelings, which, no matter how much you try to extinguish them, will not go away.

it's affecting your performance now, too. one particular stealth mission forced proximity between the two of you, and you almost blew it with how you freaked out at having bakugou only a few inches away.

luckily, bakugou didn't say anything about it.

but a part of you—the part that's struggling so much because of him—wishes he did.

you're in his office when you decide to drop the bomb.

"the fuck is this?" he gestures to the document in front of him.

you steel yourself. it's now or never.

"it's my resignation letter," you say as calmly as you can.

a whirlwind of emotions dances across his features, before it turns into an all-too-familiar scowl. "what?"

"i'm resigning," you repeat.

"i heard you," he spits, "i just couldn't believe such ludicrousness can come from your mouth."

at that, you can't help but scoff. "even until my last day here you're still trying to pick a fight with me?"

"who said i'm trying to pick a fight?" he counters.

"i am!" you exclaim.

you contemplate whether or not to tell him he's been doing so ever since your first mission together, ultimately deciding against it. the last thing you need is to add anger to the long list of emotions you feel around your boss.

adoration and longing are already a huge pain in the ass.

"look," you lower your voice in an attempt to be civil. "i signed a contract which says i have the right to terminate my employment anytime, provided that i give you a heads up and a proper resignation letter."

you point to the document in front of you, "well, here it is."

before bakugou can even get a word in, you spin on your heel and march towards his office's exit.

your phone is ringing.

you hit pause on the Netflix show that you're currently binging before lifting your phone to your ear. "hello?"

"hey, Y/N?"

"that's me."

"oh hey!" the man on the other side of the line says again. "this is kirishima."

kirishima as in red riot kirishima? "hi," you parrot back lamely. "what's up?"

"i know this is a tall order," he starts, "but would it be possible for you to pick bakugou up? he's super drunk and asking for you."

your breath hitches. you must be hearing things yet you can't refrain yourself from prodding. "asking for me?"

"yeah. we have denki as our designated driver but bakugou refuses to go with him. he just keeps mumbling your name."

"you can drive, right?" he asks when you don't say anything.

"um, yes." you say, unsure if admitting it is the right decision.

"then please pick your ex-boss up," kirishima pleads, "he's refusing to go with anyone but you."

kaminari and kirishima are the ones that haul bakugou up to the passenger seat when you arrive nine minutes later. sure enough, bakugou, who's dressed to the 9s that it's fucking ridiculous how good he still looks, reeks of alcohol.

once they got him situated and secured in his seat belt, they circle the front of your car and knock on your window, which you promptly open.

kirishima's sheepish when he says, "we owe you one, bro."

"yeah," kaminari adds, "sorry for calling you up this late."

you smile at their genuineness, "it's no problem. i guess i can do him one favor after resigning so abruptly."

"why did you resign?" kaminari asks almost immediately.

"dude," kirishima chastises the man. bakugou remains passed out beside you.

"sorry," kaminari rubs the back of neck. "it's just that you guys were such a good team together."

"yeah," kirishima joins in. "we used to say you were the key to him becoming number one. you guys were that good together."

despite yourself, your face flames at his words. "yeah, well..."

"we understand if you don't want to talk about it, though," kirishima says.

"we're just a bit bummed out that you parted ways," kaminari adds. "he liked you a lot."

that earns him a slap on the arm and a pointed look from kirishima.

your heart is now thrumming at a ridiculously fast pace.

"well, we better go," you change the topic.

"of course! sorry for keeping you," kirishima says before proceeding. "oh, and here's his address."

turns out bakugou is heaver than he looks.

you're standing outside the car thinking about how to haul him up to his unit alone—with the passenger door wide open—when he stirs awake.

almost instantaneously, your heart picks up its pace.

"bakugou?" you try, voice small.

his eyes dart open when he realizes he doesn't know where he is. he looks panicked as he looks around, until he spots you and visibly stills.

"Y/N."

your stomach flips—again—the second he utters your name. "i'm here."

"where am i?" he asks groggily.

you glance toward the building behind you. "we're at your place."

it takes him a moment to register what you just said, brain probably still foggy from the alcohol.

"can you stand?" you ask after a few seconds of silence.

he shakes his head. "i don't want to go yet."

"but you're drunk," you reason. "you have to sleep it off."

bakugou doesn't say anything in response. he merely studies your face—or is trying his best while drunk—and you find yourself hoping he can't feel the warmth emanating from your face.

but when he does say something, it knocks you off your feet and pulls all the air out of you.

"i want to kiss you right now."

tagging. @katsukis1wife @rinalou @loverboyrin @brunnetteiwik

as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated! ˖⁺‧₊

[silverzoomies]

Honeysuckle

peter Maximoff x reader smut

chapter 2: later gator

warnings: female reader (sorry), sex pollen, aphrodisiacs, overstimulation, shameless smut, rough sex, kissing, porn with (slight) plot, canon divergence

word count: 5142

a/n: to anyone who reads, thank you for enabling my deranged bullshit,, ilysm

some more notes regarding canon divergence: idfk where peter's house was originally supposed to be set (in dofp). but in this fic, pretend it's in westchester. got it? good. also, i love the concept of pietro being his birth name so much, i had to throw it in,,

chapter 1 here.

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

You showed up to Peter’s (his mom’s) doorstep a little less than an hour later. 

Now, Peter personally thought you could’ve been a lot quicker about it (what if he was dying?? Like, yeah, he sort of was). Whether he thought this because of his natural impatience, or his rambunctious, horny brain; he couldn’t tell. But Peter knew he didn’t have any right to complain. Considering the-uh…circumstances. You were the one doing him a favor.

Even if you didn’t necessarily know about said favor yet.

Raising your fist to knock at the front door, your knuckles didn’t get a chance to make contact. In less than a nanosecond’s time, you found yourself behind an entirely different door. The door to the basement. Peter’s basement (well, technically, his mom’s. But let’s ignore the logistics, he thought).

The door slammed shut behind you with an abrupt rattle. Your back was pressed hard against an amalgamation of Star Wars posters covering it, as Peter kept you trapped before him. And you stood at the very top of the basement stairs. A large hand of his clasped over your mouth, just in case you felt the need to freak out. At least his mom wasn't home to overhear anything if you did. Thank the high powers for impromptu, grocery trips.

His toned, shirtless body idled a little too close to yours. Leaning into your personal space further than he normally would. Peter was perched one or two steps down from you, keeping his head tilted up. He blinked with a dark, half-lidded gaze. And he stared into your questioning eyes with a heavy intensity. You were caged in. With his other hand next to your face, pressed flat against the door.

Peter panted breathlessly. He was an exasperated mess of burning heat and steaming sweat. Sweat which reeked of a sickly sweet smell you didn’t recognize. And you assumed it to be…perfume? Or something? You really couldn’t guess. Whatever it was, it threw you for a loop. As the sweet scent met your nose, a pleasant chill surged along your spine. Peter was so intoxicating.

Peter’s cheeks burned the brightest shade of red you’d ever seen on him. And you noticed, in his eyes, Peter’s pupils appeared impossibly big. Both were a stunning, black abyss of carnal desire.

You didn’t seem to pick up on that desire, however.

“Hey.” Peter huffed with a casual, lazy smirk. Breathless when he spoke. As he pulled his hand from your mouth, a subtle, lingering sweetness clung to your lips. You furrowed your brows, giving him a confused look. “Uhm…hi?” You shook your head, smiling uneasily with a laugh, “Are you, like, okay, dude? You look like a mess! What was up with that text, by the way? Are you sick?”

Peter blinked in a hazy, sweltering daze. And he promptly shook his head. He impatiently drummed his speedy fingers with the hand pressed against the door.

“Huh? Nah, I’m-...I’m totally bitchin’, babe. Just-” A pause, and Peter’s bright blush spread to the tips of his ears, “Actually…if I can keep it real fer a sec? I’m-uh…I don’t really feel like myself right now.”

His statement made you even more concerned. He could tell in the way your expression shifted. Your brows pressed together further, and your worried smile fell into a small frown. The rational part of Peter’s brain ached with shame, his heart twisting at the sight. The last thing he wanted to do was worry you.

But the spicier portion of his brain found your innocence way more arousing than it should’ve been. Peter slapped himself internally. Chill out, dude. Don’t be gross.

“What do you mean? Not yourself? You seem fine to me. A little sweaty, and maybe a little tired. But otherwise…” You forced a lighthearted smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair, “Same ol’ Peter.”

Peter’s heart raced to roadrunner speed in his chest, pounding rapidly. God, you were too cute. With his bangs hanging messily in his face, he let his eyes roam across your features. So soft, and so nice. An echoing voice in the far, dark recesses of his rampantly horny mind screamed at him. Begging Peter to take you right then and there on the basement stairs.

But Peter was conscious enough, that he cringed at himself for even daring to consider such a warped thought. 

“It's nothin’. Don’t worry ‘bout me, kay? Probably just comin’ down with somethin’.” He lied, feigning a chillaxed grin, “Like ya said, same ol’ Peter.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, shifting your weight from foot to foot. If the look on your face was anything to go by; Peter knew for sure, you could see right through his bullshit. Aside from the fact that you knew him well enough? At the moment, Peter was as transparent as the shattered glass he left on the floor of Hank’s lab. 

Peter guiltily dropped his gaze from your face, and to your belly. But as his eyes dragged slowly downward, he instantly regretted this action. Prior to this moment, Peter hadn’t noticed what you were wearing. He’d been in too quick a rush to drag you into the basement. 

A tight, crop top hugged your upper body, leaving your belly exposed. The mere sight of your bare skin almost made him bust a nut in his sweatpants. Peter swallowed hard, and that honeysuckle sweetness sank down his throat. He coughed, and drummed his fingers a little faster against the door.

“Uh huh? Are you sure?” You asked, reaching up to brush Peter’s bangs out of his eyes.

At that moment, a hot, sticky wave of sexually charged static shot through Peter’s veins. He dropped his head, the messy fluff of his hair meeting your tummy. With both hands now pressed to the door on either side of you, Peter’s fingernails dug into it. He huffed a desperate laugh, and shook his head.

“Toooootally aces, babe.”

You rolled your eyes with a playful, but concerned scoff.

“Hey, Peter, seriously. Talk to me, okay? What’s wrong?”

Your tone was as sweet as the sugary taste on Peter’s tongue. Enough to give him a toothache. And in a comforting gesture, totally innocent; you brought a gentle hand up to his shoulder. Your palm rested there without flinching, even despite the feel of his sweat under your skin.

“Jeez! Honey, you’re burnin’ up! Are you sure you’re not, like, really sick?” You pressed.

Peter felt the soft touch of your hand to the top of his head. Your fingers carded through his slightly damp hair. The tickling sensation of your fingertips sent tingles down his spine. And Peter’s body set itself ablaze. These were simple touches. Your fingers in his hair, your other hand lightly squeezing his muscles. Nothing too suggestive.

But his horny, addled mind reacted instantaneously. The very second Peter sensed your fingers were close, he sucked in a harsh, ragged breath. And as you made contact, he visibly shuddered. His fingernails dug themselves deeper into the door, leaving tears in the posters there (major apologies to Luke Skywalker and the gang). Peter raised his head from your belly.

And finally, he looked up into your eyes again. Or, at least, he tried to. Immediately upon seeing your pretty face, his gaze dropped straight to your lips.

“Shiiit…lovesick, maybe...” He tiredly blinked, huffing another breathless laugh, “Damn…yer really pretty, y’know that?” Peter’s teeth dug into his lip, as he subconsciously leaned an inch closer into your space. Your heart skipped several beats in your chest, and your eyes widened. The cutest blush flooded your soft cheeks as you gasped. And Peter’s dick twitched painfully beneath the fabric of his grey sweatpants.

“Dude…what??” You asked, barely audible. Scoffing in disbelief, you giggled, “Yeah, okay, somethin’s definitely wrong with you, man. Need me to call a doctor?” And you muttered under your breath, “ Or a mental ward, maybe? ”

Peter snickered in response, his smile spreading wide and showing teeth. The corners of his mouth pressed up into his dimples. And he shook his head, embarrassed beyond all human comprehension.

Another searing wave of horny torment swarmed Peter. And this one stung like hell. Peter’s cock throbbed with an ache he couldn’t ignore, even if he tried. He exhaled shaken breaths, reeking that thick, sweet scent. And without intending to, Peter rocked his hips forward. His bulge lightly brushed against your leg.

You squeaked with a gasp, tilting your head down. And realization seemed to dawn on you suddenly, as you noticed the shape of Peter’s hard dick in his sweatpants.

The softest, little “Oh… ” was all you could muster.

Peter bolted from the stairs before you could say anything else. He quickly paced in circles through the basement. Slow enough, this time around, that he didn’t appear as a blur. Just himself, in all his sweat-drenched, obvious boner glory. His cock bounced under his sweatpants as he moved. And you had to wrestle with god himself to resist staring at it. Maybe you understood the level of stress Peter was under. Because you saved him the humiliation, and failed to mention his situation aloud. “Y-uhm…You gonna be okay?” You asked, your voice somewhat hushed. “Me?? Hell if I know! Probably!” Peter threw his hands up as he rushed around, expelling his pent up energy, “Look, I’m, like, really sorry, babe. I shouldn’t’ve-...it’s just-...I’m goin’ through a majorly weird thing, and I need-” He stammered awkwardly over his words, stopping himself with a frustrated groan.

Stepping slowly down the stairs, you came to a halt as your tennis shoes reached the basement floor. You rubbed your arm for self-reassurance, shyly looking around with an intake of breath.

“You need what? Please don’t be afraid to talk to me, dude. I’m not gonna think less of you or anything.” You spoke with a tender insistence.

Only, your sweet words flew right over Peter’s head. Straight out the basement window. Later, gator.

Peter was too busy stopping dead in his tracks, his eyes giving you a not-so-subtle once over. And the image he took in, made it ultimately harder for Peter to resist his instinctive, lustful needs.

Standing in his (his mom’s) basement, looking so vulnerable, you avoided Peter’s gaze. The crop top you wore hugged your figure a little too tight. Showing off the swell of your tits, with a collar that hanged way too low to be modest. Long, thin sleeves covered your arms. Peter shamelessly let his eyes trail even lower. Past the soft, exposed skin of your belly. Skin he wanted to mark with his teeth and cum. And down to the short skirt - Peter had to do the mother of all double takes just then - hanging over your smooth thighs. And were those thigh-high socks covering your legs, or was he just hallucinating some sexy mirage? 

Your knees bumped together as you shifted your weight, your skirt fluttering with the movement.

Somebody call 9-1-fucking-1. Alert every doctor in the Westchester area. Because Peter might’ve actually gone straight into cardiac arrest. If he were to die right now? After seeing you, looking like that? Totally worth it. Amen.

“Peter? Did you hear me, honey? Is there-...I mean…is there anything I can do to help?”

Peter didn’t, for the life of him, expect you to say something like that.

Your eyes oozed innocence and genuine kindness. And Peter wanted to roll his eyes over it. You were so ridiculously nice in the face of an awkward situation. The apples of your cheeks burned hotter with every word you spoke. And though you may not have understood what Peter was going through, you offered your help anyway. Your lashes fluttered as you blinked. Subconsciously, you swiped your tongue across your lip to wet it. And again, your sock-clad knees knocked together with the adjustment of your shy posture.

Peter fought with all his mutant might to ignore another, painful influx of heat washing over his body. But ultimately, he failed. Miserably.

“F-Fuck-” He choked.

His dilated eyes flew open wide. A fwip, and Peter appeared in front of a nearby wall, hunched over next to a Ninja Turtles: Turtles in Time arcade machine. He kept his back towards you. And through the sheen of his sweat, you could see the way his muscles flexed. His body twitched, hips subtly bucking forward. Peter braced himself with a hand against the wall, groaning a series of soft noises into his other palm.

So,-uhmmm...maybehetotallyjustblewaloadinhispantsorwhatever. No biggie.

“Peter?? Holy shit-” you called.

Worried for his well being, you quickly raced towards him. And with a low grumble of a sound, Peter banged his head lightly against the wall. Mortified and supremely embarrassed, he slowly turned, pressing his back to the wall. You were much closer now. Close enough that Peter could reach out and pull you into his body if he wanted to. And he did want to. He wanted to so fucking bad. The very last remnants of his self control told him not to.

Time to bite the silver bullet, and face the music; so to speak.

Peter placed a trembling hand on your shoulder, the palm of it massive. And you jumped at the rough strength of his touch. Peter sighed, shaking his head. He avoided your gaze. And in his eyes, he carried with him a heavy, exhausted weight. The kind of tiredness you could see from a mile away. Peter knew he probably looked like a disgusting wreck.��Not his most attractive, he had to admit.

Little did he know, you thought he looked drop dead gorgeous like this.

He hesitated before speaking, struggling to let the words slip off his sugary tongue. Once Peter finally opened his mouth, he rushed through his explanation in rapid succession. And the only reason you understood, was because you’d been around Peter for a long enough span of time. Luckily enough (or unluckily, depending), you’d become accustomed to his speedy, speech patterns.

“IIIIIIIIII fucked up real bad, babe. Like, really really bad. In Beastie’s lab. There were these nerdy, science chemicals, y’know? He’s always got stuff like that lyin’ around. Which, if you ask me? Is totally hazardous. Amiright? And I may have knocked some over. Because I was goin’ too fast and I wasn’t payin’ attention. Classic me, right? Pffbbt. So, anyway, I breathed in some, like, pink stuff. Kinda tastes like - you ever try honeysuckle as a kid? It tastes like that. It’s really sorta nostalgic. Reminds me of when I was- Uhm -sorry, I’m totally off track here. So-uh…ever since that happened? I’ve been stuck like this fer hours. And I’m not gonna lie to ya. It hurts. And it’s all hot ‘n stuff. Uh-”

You interrupted his nonsensical ramblings with a wave of your hand. As if suggesting you had a thought to add. Peter tried to ignore the way your blush spread down to your neck. And any thoughts he had about dragging his tongue sloppily across it, were shoved back down into frisky hell. Where they belonged.

“Uhm. S-...So, did you try-” You started. And Peter already knew ten thousand years ahead of time, what you were about to suggest.

“Beatin’ my meat? Yeah. Only a dozen times.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Peter let out a long, awkward sigh. The exhale of it wavered with the shuddering of his overheated body, “I think-...y’know, if I had to guess? Just throwin’ whatever thoughts out there. Darts on a board. Fwoo -” He made a throwing motion with his hand, “I think I just need to-uh…like…pfffbbt… bang ‘er whatever, y’know?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. ” Peter sighed once more, throwing his head back against the wall. Clearing his throat with an unrelaxed cough, he continued, “Soooooo …ya think we could…I dunno…I don’t wanna…fuck up things between us more than I already ha-”

Peter was fast.

But even whilst carrying the oh, so sacred speedster gene, he didn't see you coming. Lost in a heated, sex-crazed haze of confusion and hesitation; Peter was completely caught by surprise when you interrupted his words with a bruising kiss. For a fraction of a second, his rational mind ran through a million questions at lightspeed. Why the heck would you kiss him? Did you have feelings for him? Were you only trying to be nice? What did this even mean to you? Did it mean anything? But before he could register a single one, his carnal instincts took over.

With the inhumanly fast beating of his heart, came fuzzy, blistering, hot desire. Peter’s cock swelled his pants, the veins intertwined through it pulsating with every beat. He growled into your mouth, kissing you in a filthy, sloppy blend of teeth and tongues. You drank down the sweet, honeysuckle taste on his lips. Thirsty for it, as if swiping your tongue across them would bring you infinite serenity.

A beat passed.

Peter had you in his bed in an instant. The ultra-fast movement shook you to your core, leaving you a little dizzy. There wasn’t a single moment to catch up, before Peter’s lips enveloped yours all over again. He kissed you with wet, deep desperation. Moaning hot puffs of air through every, abrupt pause between kisses. Your fingers rushed to graze across the skin of his chest, over his toned torso. Peter allowed you only a meager moment to feel the bump of his abs under your fingertips, before he suddenly moved.

Rolling you around swiftly amongst the sheets, Peter frantically searched for more physical contact. Desperate to be as close to your body as he could. The heat coursing through his veins heightened to a scorching blaze with your every touch. Your hands in his hair. Your lips and tongue against his. Peter let his own, trembling hands roam all over and down your body. A body he’d admired in secret for far too long a time, he now realized.

But now? You were here. In his bed. Melting into a hot, submissive puddle underneath him. And Peter, in an impatient, concupiscent state of mind…found he just couldn’t fucking hold back anymore.

“I’m sorry, baby. Fuck, I gotta have you. I gotta feel your pussy around me, babe. Please-” Peter whispered hotly into your lips, moaning with swirls of his tongue.

"P-Peter ~" You mewled his name, and he fell even weaker into your kiss.

He pulled away for a beat, his lips coated in sticky, sweet saliva. Peter jerked the collar of your crop top down, along with anything underneath. One of your tits popped out with a bounce, the nipple hardening upon exposure to the air. He palmed at your breast, leaning down to harshly sink his teeth into your neck. Peter's tongue traveled up to your ear, where he whispered with a whine.

“Look at this hot fuckin’ body. You been hidin’ all this from me? This whole time?” His thumb flicked your nipple, vibrating with a soft, superspeed buzz, "You got some bomb as hell titties, baby."

Those mild vibrations against your tit pulled quiet moans out of you. And you giggled at Peter's comment, bashfully shaking your head as you pulled him up for another kiss.

"No shit, they've been there the whole time, dumbass. All you had to do was ask." You breathed into his lips. And Peter huffed a hot laugh, lightly nipping your lip.

"Woulda asked sooner, had I known." He breathed, humming a low moan, " Sooooooo much sooner."

None of your clothes were pulled from your body. Peter was in too much of a rush to get his dick inside you. His speedy-fast brain sent itself straight into auto-pilot. There was no controlling his actions from this point onwards. Bye bye, rational thought. And using all the strength he had, Peter forced your legs apart. He threw both of your shoe-clad feet over his sweaty shoulders.

Peter’s hot fingers darted down to push your panties aside. And the instant his eyes gazed upon your righteous, angelic pussy; he choked out a whine of relief. Something instinctive. A sound he didn’t even mean to make. 

Shoving the front of his sweatpants down, Peter hastily grabbed his enlarged, aching cock. You glanced down curiously, just to have a sneaky peek at your best friend’s dick. And at the sight of it, you audibly gasped. Your cunt immediately reacted, weeping an onslaught of slick heat just for him. You also, just so happen to notice the thick, sticky cum coating his length. Which meant, Peter had quite literally creamed his pants sometime in the last five minutes or so. Your entire face lit like a match, colored strawberry red at this realization. And you couldn’t help but wonder what must have triggered such a strong reaction in him. That pink stuff Hank’s cookin’ up in his lab must be out of this world.Not a single word of warning was given, as Peter shoved his swollen, needy cock as deep into your pussy as it could go. Using his cum as lubricant, he forced his way quickly through your tight walls. Hitting your cervix in an instant. Hot, breathy moans smelling so sweet, rang out from above you. As Peter began relentlessly pounding you into oblivion. 

Your pussy was the holiest of holy sanctuaries. Fucking outrageous.  

“Fuck! Fuck, that’s it! God, baby, yer so tight. So fuckin’ wet-” Peter spilled every word, with no filter.

"P-Peter~! Ah! You feel so good, Peter~" You moaned. While plunging his cock into your dripping cunt, Peter dropped his head. Silver hairs pointed out in every direction, his bangs covering his eyes. And he posed a timid thought aloud.

"Pietro." His humid breath tickled your ear, "P-Please. "

If you could blush any further, you would have. Pleasant, tickling goosebumps erupted across your skin. Biting your lip, you frantically nodded. Your hands traveled to his hair, where you gently grabbed the sides of Peter's head to pull him up. You met his eyes with an adoring grin.

"Fuck me, Pietro. Please, fuck me fast. As fast as you wanna go, baby. I'm all yours." 

Peter nearly came, and you felt the veins of his cock vibrate against your walls as he fucked you. You threw your head back, whining with a coquettish squeak. 

Fucking you missionary wasn’t enough.

Peter hit all those spots inside you that made you squirm needily underneath him. But he wanted - no - needed to be even closer. He so badly wanted to hold you against him, while he made mindless, risky, speedy love to your perfect, little pussy. His thoughts were all the more amorous, as he felt the way your plushy walls squeezed around his cock. Choking out a groan, Peter took to pulling you with him. As he rolled around in a flash, adjusting positions.

“Gimme just a sec, princess.” He breathed.

Finally, at long last, he found something perfect. And so fucking close. Peter spooned you on the bed, wrapping his muscular arms tightly around your body. His muscles strained under his burning skin as he held you in a firm grip. And with his chest pressed to your back, he kept fucking you. Peter’s pulsating cock stretched you open so wide, pumping into your cunt at a faster pace.

Like, super speed fast. Fast enough to be so overwhelming, you couldn’t think straight (you were brainless on his dick at this point, honestly). But not so quick that he’d hurt you.

One of his big hands traveled down to your skirt, which he lifted up over your ass. Peter pressed himself even closer. Letting his pelvis meet the soft, bounce of your ass cheeks as he fucked you fast and hard. Only because you asked so nicely, and not at all because you had him completely pussy whipped. Burying his face in your neck, he inhaled your scent. And Peter peppered your skin in wet kisses.

He was close to his peak. Peter could feel it. These last, several, miserable hours had all been building up to this very moment. Dozens of nut-busting sessions later. This was definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, exactly what Peter needed. And for you to be the one to give it to him? Talk about a major fucking score.

Peter’s moans became even more desperate, more akin to pathetic cries the closer he got to release. His body flared up in a steaming heat, bracing itself for oncoming ecstasy. And Peter thrust his cock into you faster.

Faster. Faster. Faster. So much fucking faster.

“T-Too fast! Too fast, Pietr-I can’t! Please-” You suddenly cried, your cunt clamping down on Peter’s cock even tighter. If he didn’t slow down, you were surely going to squirt around his dick. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I can’t stop, babygirl. J-Just gimme- fuck, why are you so fuckin’ tight?? Fuck -just gimme one more second, please- ”

Your pussy fluttered, pulling his cock in deep. And Peter found it then. The cusp of his agonizing, excruciating journey through rampant, horny torment. A number of things helped guide him over. Your cute, broken squeals of pleasure were the first. Peter never would have guessed that anything could make you moan like that. But, fuck, he wanted to lock the sound of your cries deep into his core memory, for the rest of his days.

“Keep going, Pietro~! You’re- ahh -so fast, you’re gonna make me cum, baby!” 

Your movements further spurred him on. Peter was completely thrown, as you met each of his thrusts with the rocking of your hips. Your ass jiggling with every bounce against his pelvis. So soft. Even despite the overwhelming speed of Peter’s thrusts, you kept going for his sake. As though you couldn’t get enough of his cock. And Peter swore to himself, he would worship the ground you walked on once this was all over.

“I-I’m cumming Pietro! Cumming just for you! FUCK!!” You cried as your eyes rolled back. Your body erupting into a brainless, blissful, quivering mess of orgasmic euphoria.

Okay. Yeah. Peter was totally gonna make you his religion after this. 

“Yeah? Gonna cum fer me, babygirl? Please cum fer me. Please -” He moaned.

Peter felt the gummy walls of your cunt squeeze him in a vice grip. And he shut his eyes tightly, emitting an obscene, filthy moan. A hot gush of your slick sprayed from your pussy with each thrust of Peter’s cock. Staining his bedsheets and coating his thighs. 

The final nail in the coffin was the moment you turned your head just so. In your own, overstimulated, post-orgasmic daze. You pressed your cheek to Peter’s in a gesture of reassurance. A silent indication that you weren’t suffering too much as he fucked you at mach speed. Peter felt his heart flutter, much like a hummingbird, at the closeness. 

Maybe he really was in love with you. Maybe he wasn’t as influenced by boner plague as he thought.

A metaphorical coil tightened deep in Peter’s gut. Pleasurable, buzzing tingles bolted through every one of his nerves. Finally, the coil snapped. Something like a volcanic eruption of blistering, syrupy ecstasy freed him. Releasing Peter from the shackles of hard cock disease. One, last plunge of his thick cock in your cunt, and Peter lost it.

He spilled his sweet, sweltering cum so deep in your pussy; you could’ve sworn you felt the heat pooling in your belly. Peter filled you up with everything he had, until there was nothing left to give.

The wavering burns that once infected Peter’s body, finally began to subside. At long last.

Peter was left with a massive headache, and painfully sore muscles. And because he was so incredibly exhausted; he didn’t pull himself away from you. Nor did he pull out. For whatever reason, he couldn’t. Peter wanted to stay there. Buried deep. Pressed against your back. Forever, if you let him.

A blissful wave of sleepiness hit Peter like a truck. And a dopey grin spread across his face. Showing off those dimples again. Peter’s dark eyes fell half-lidded, the smokey rings around them so much more evident. He dropped his head to the pillows, his hair fluffy and tousled across the fabric of them. In his sleepy, mellow haze; Peter let out the dorkiest of giggles.

“Wow…wow- fuck…I can’t believe you actually let me do that, babe…holy shit…” He laughed in breathless disbelief, "You're a goddess."

As if priding himself on what he’d done to you, Peter thrust his hips upward. Just one more time for good measure. His softening dick remained buried between your slick walls. And his face scrunched up at the overstimulation of this movement alone. Peter eventually stopped altogether, instead choosing to nuzzle his nose into your back. Breathing in your scent.

“I think I’m in love with you.” He tiredly confessed.

Through your own exasperated pants of air, you scoffed. Laughing breathlessly at Peter’s unprompted statement.

“Please. Be serious, dude.” You huffed playfully, “You’re not in love with me. You were just really fuckin’ horny, Pietr-...Peter.”

You felt him shake his head, before he buried his nose further into your back. And he hummed in content.

“Mmmmm. No, like, I’m bein’ deadly serious, baby. Totally legit. We shoulda done this wayyyy sooner. Yer really hot ‘n stuff. And yer so cool. And so nice to me all the time…” Peter pulled you tighter against him, “ Call me Pietro again. I like the way it sounds when you say it.”

A pink hue - pink like the lab substance that started this entire, degenerative ordeal - flooded your cheeks. You brought a shaky hand to Peter’s hair, letting your fingers lightly massage his scalp.

“Pietro.~” You teased in a sultry, sing-song voice, “Y’know Hank’s gonna rip you a new one the next time he sees you, right?” The only response you got, were Peter’s soft snores. An echo of the first nap he’d taken since he was a small, troublesome child. Annoyed in the most affectionate of ways, you dropped your head to the pillows. And as carefully as you could, you pulled yourself from Peter’s cuddly grasp. His soft cock withdrew itself from your pussy with your movement. You shuddered, feeling a tingle that raced all the way down to your toes. 

Before tip-toeing to the basement bathroom for a shower, you took one last glance at Peter. Your best friend in the entirety of the expansive cosmos...who also just gave you the best dicking of your life. Lying there peacefully, quietly snoring. Looking a handsome goddamn mess. In his sleep, you noticed his fingers twitch. Another way for his body to expel pent up energy, you guessed.

Leaning over the bed, you placed a feather-light kiss to his forehead.

“Watch where you’re goin’ next time, dipshit.” You whispered with a soft smile.

[asavt]

Something I wanted to try and do that I've been working on these past few days.

Some months(? ago I watched Nezha(2019) and after listening to FightSong like... a thousand times I was plagued with ✨thoughts✨! Wanted to try to do something like a "fake" project of sorts...

Some more thoughts about this under read more~

Explaining a bit more in depth of the idea because it's been plagging my mind for some time now (it's been marinating there and every time I listened to that song it would just gain more flavor).

Post-movie, canon divergence I guess?? Maybe?? Does it counts as an AU?? idk. The main points are that

1: Ao Bing technically betrayed his family and I was wondering if he would ever try to go back with them (would they or his father even allowed), I'm guessing not. I'm taking the path of him never going back home.

2: Nezha, after years have passed and people around him passed away (I guess), decides to try and use his other form (the one where he??? looks like a teen??? even when he's like three in the movie??? deities are confusing sometimes tbh). He's been practicing his control over this form, so far it's good. Sometimes he will revert back to the child-like one too.

3: It's been CENTURIES. Things changed, the place where they live would be closer to a modern-time city.

4: They don't allineate with anything. Like, no heaven, no dragons no demons. They go around doing what they believe would be right.

I am so willing to find a way to do a short animation with the song if this recieves enough attention. When would it be done or how clean would it look is another thing... But I would like to try if you guys are interested!

Also I should do this with other thoughts I have too. I have too many...

[lovemadethemdoit]

Hangster FIC RECS (complete fics only!) 🤠💘🐓

There are some high-quality long fics in this fandom and I’m sharing my faves with you because I’m nice (and selfish and want these authors to write more fics, duh.). Promise me one thing though? If you read a fic off my list and love it? Leave a comment for the author. They’ll be PSYCHED and write more. Possibly.

Okay, let’s go. More than 30 hangster fics for you to read. 😍😍😍

Under the cut. Feel free to reblog this post far and wide to energize this fandom, too!

********* wanting (18641 words) by bottledyarn

Additional Tags: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Internalized Homophobia, Pining, Banter, Slow Burn, Getting Together, First Kiss, Suicidal Thoughts, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Needs a Hug, Canon Timeline, Canon Compliant, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Emotionally Repressed, 5+1 Things, Sort Of, 6+2 things, Jake can't emote and I can't count, Character Study

Summary:

Six times Jake Seresin assumes Bradley Bradshaw is something he can want but can't have, and how he learns the truth.

--

Jake Seresin is very good at a few things. Flying, obviously. Pissing people off. Wanting things he can't have.

But he's never been very good at dealing with Bradley Bradshaw.

During the mission, Jake is just trying his best to be better.

***

hold me through the shakes (7477 words) by spiritsontheroof

Additional Tags: Hurt Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Mentally, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Canon, Pining Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Exes, Getting Back Together, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Nightmares, Canon-Typical Violence, it's like. lightly discussed, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary:

Bradley spills hot coffee on his hand three days into their post-mission leave.

It’s not until he can’t get the bandage over the blister that he realizes his hands are shaking.

***

I Long For You (To Hold Me Ardently) (10265 words) by perishablealex

Additional Tags: POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Canon Compliant, Light Angst, Pining, Kinda?, Smut, Getting Together

Summary:

“We don't have to talk about it.” His eyes dart away from Bradley’s face, afraid that they will betray just how much he wants to talk about it, that they will reveal the vulnerability Jake feels in that moment, caught in a momentary suspension of time. The moment feels unreal with the golden light pouring over piano tiles long forgotten in his childhood, the man at his side that feels close enough to reach but not quite hold, the way that time stretches like molasses, sweet yet torturously slow and thick.

“I think we should, don’t you?”

Or: Rooster and Hangman sleep together after the mission without realizing that it may not have been meaningless for either of them.

***

No One Can Find The Rewind Button (71073 words) by FabuMazX

Additional Tags: Mpreg, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Slow Burn, Accidental Pregnancy, Mentions of miscarriage, IceMav are the best granddads

Summary:

It was only one night. But that's all it takes, isn't it?

Bradley and Jake are on good terms since the mission. Friends even. But they're not together, not like that. So why the universe decided to force them together with an unexpected surprise is anybody's guess.

***

something to be sheltered (19075 words) by MayWilder

Additional Tags: Found Family, Post-Mission, Meet the Family, Beau "Cyclone" Simpson is a Softie, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Needs a Hug, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Daddy Issues, Married Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Temporary, no beta we die like goose, Father-Son Relationship, Light Angst

Series: Part 2 of Feels Like Home

Summary:

“My wife has asked that you join us for dinner tomorrow night,” Beau says carefully.

“Your wife, sir?” Jake’s brow furrows. “Why would she like to meet me?”

“She thinks its important that my mentee sees a healthy work-life balance.”

“I’m your mentee?” Jake teases, smirking lightly. “And you talk about me enough that your wife wants to meet me?”

“You can continue to be a pain in my ass,” Beau sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “Or, you can take the offer of a free dinner with a beautiful and intellectually stimulating woman.”

“Oh, I definitely want to see this side of Cyclone,” Jake grins. “Domesticated.”

“You’re bordering on impertinence.”

“Me? Never.”

“Let’s go back to when you respected me and my position.”

Jake appears to settle down, but only slightly. He clears his throat and squares his shoulders. “I’d be honored to attend dinner with your family, Admiral. Just tell me a date and time.”

*** or, Beau Simpson didn't mean to adopt a fully grown naval aviator, but, you know; shit happens.

***

flames look beautiful (if you forget what they can do) (8359 words) by Ravens_Words

Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Protective Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Protective Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Protective Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Idiots in Love, Getting Back Together, Background Relationships, Hints at IceMav, Hints at BobNix

Summary:

Bradley Bradshaw returns to consciousness with a gasp, hand going to his side, where a searing pain makes itself known.

  "-ster, hey," Jake snaps, holds his face in both hands and forces him to look his way, "breathe."

  Bradley does as he's told, as painful as it is, and his vision clears somewhat. Jake's crouched beside him, concern etched on his face, and what happened comes back to him in flashes.

  The mission going sideways at every possible turn, seeing Jake's plane get shot down in the sky, the less than smooth emergency landing in the woods that followed.

***

Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away? (48614 words) by LoveMadeThemDoIt

Additional Tags: Jake Seresin Has Daddy Issues, Homophobia, Emotional Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Found Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jake POV, Bradley POV, Protective Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, Protective Javy “Coyote” Machado, Protective Natasha “Phoenix” Trace, Self-Denial, Jake “Hangman” Seresin Needs A Hug, Threats of Violence, Blackmail, Homophobic Slurs, Dissociation, Training Accidents, Jake is in the hospital at some point but he’ll be fine, Bradley makes sure Jake gets sleep, navy inaccuracies, Closeted Character, a dusting of IceMav, Beau „Cyclone“ Simpson is a softie, First Time, Anal Sex, Bottom Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, Post-Canon, Gay Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Bisexual Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Bad Parents, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Self-Worth Issues, Happy Ending, Slow Burn, the movie plot is maybe three paragraphs at the beginning but this is POST-CANON

Summary:

Jake has no illusions he’ll come back from this mission. He’s the best fighter pilot the Navy has got on staff and this is not his ego talking. He’ll fly the mission, and it’ll be a shit show, because none of them have even managed to fly the simulation in the way they need to.

In his weaker moments, Jake wonders if his father is how he’s gotten this gig.

***

baby, I'm howlin' for you (87473 words) by hangmanbradshaw

Additional Tags: Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Supernatural Elements, Full Shift Werewolves, think teen wolf meets twilight meets vampire diaries, Vampires, Witches, Werewolf Hunters, it's got all the things, they can shift but any romance stuff happens as humans fyi, Slow Burn, POV Alternating, Protective Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Possessive Behavior, also there's alphas and stuff but it's not abo, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Arranged Marriage, kind of, Also this takes place in like a medieval setting a la game of thrones, rut but not the sexy kind more the cuddly kind, Hand Jobs, Smut, Mating Bites, Accidental Voyeurism, Kinda, Top Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Bottom Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary:

His smirk widened. He may not have been happy about this, but he could appreciate that Bradley gave as good as he got. “I am good, Rooster. I’m very good.”

Bradley stared at him, expression battling between annoyance and what appeared to be a slight amount of amusement and intrigue. Jake continued, “Say, how does a werewolf get the nickname Rooster anyhow?”

Bradley raised an eyebrow. “That’s none of your business.”

Or

The Wolves & Foxes AU

***

When you're ready (45445 words) by The_Splendid_Wren

Additional Tags: I know you all saw it too, Idiots in Love, Hangman is actually not a dick, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rooster POV, Father-Son Relationship, Maverick is just trying to make Goose proud, Phoenix is a bro, Lots of staring into the scenery, Eventual Smut, Finally I have a reason to obsess over Top Gun again, References to Canon, Post-Canon, did i mention Hangman is a momma's boy?, not beta read we die like men, Slow Burn, Homophobic Language, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Therapy is good for everyone

Summary:

After the suicide-mission-that-wasn't the pilots of TOP GUN go their separate ways to enjoy a much earned week of leave. Rooster is set to spend his time with Maverick in an attempt to rekindle their familial relationship but it gets complicated when unresolved trauma from nearly dying keeps him from truly opening up. With a host of other issues like his unknown next assignment and his feelings for a rival paralyzing him, he truly has no idea how he ends up at the Seresin ranch house in Austin, Texas with the object of his desires right in front of him.

Or, Rooster is suffering PTSD and his friends and family try to help him. Whether that's getting therapy or confessing his very deeply buried feelings remains to be seen.

***

I will love you, dear, forever (17574 words) by FlowersOnMyMind

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Alpha Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Explicit Sexual Content, Jake loves Bradley so much, Dagger Squad, Found Family, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Pining, mentioned icemav - Freeform, brief bobnix, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Pining Jake

Summary:

"Do you have someone to take care of you?" Jake asks.

"Are you offering, Seresin?"

"Are you asking, Bradshaw?"

or

Jake and Bradley help each other through their ruts and heats.

Jake pines.

***

You Love Him, and No One Else (50269 words) by Sceld

Additional Tags: Pining, LIKE TOO MUCH, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, just a collection of tropes because I Am Cringe, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mostly Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, oh yeah and lots of it, very gay, derogatorily, Family Issues, Idiots in Love, idiots in general honestly, i hate it too don't worry, First Dates, but unofficially, Bad Cooking, Meeting the Parents, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Past Child Abuse, not graphic though, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Baking, Hopeful Ending

Summary:

��I’ve got it,” Jake offers, holding his hand out, but Rooster only tuts disappointedly.

“What kind of host would I be if I made you carry your own bag?”

Jake blanks on a response, his mouth twisting into a smile without his permission. Rooster turns to where Jake can now see the Bronco. Its engine is still running, and it’s warm inside when Jake closes the door behind him, clicking on his seatbelt by feeling along while he stares intently at the glove compartment in front of him, waiting while Rooster puts his bag in the boot. He doesn’t feel as weird as he thought he would, as he probably should. Every conflicting feeling from the F-14 is returning in waves. He’s helpless to resist the pull of the tide. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

 or;

Jake's apartment floods and his only other option is to stay with the last person in the world he wants to spend time with. Shenanigans ensue.

***

there's money for the taking (and the happiness we all deserve) (64769 words) by thegeckbros

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Age Difference, it's 10ish years, Past Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Power Dynamics, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Casual Sex, author built a very elaborate world for like no reason, Tags May Change, Humor, or at least i like to hope, Explicit Sexual Content, Daddy Kink, like it’s a sugar DADDY au so it comes w the territory but still it’s there and it’s heavy

Summary:

“So, what, one of the richest dudes in New York wants to be your sugar daddy?”

“Kinda?” Jake sits back up, straightening up and turning his body towards Javy. “He doesn’t want like sex or anything. He just needs someone to pretend to date so his uncle and PR team get off his back about his reputation.”

or

a sugar daddy au in which jake is a struggling law student, bradley's a billionaire, and they weave a tangled web

***

Speak Softly, Love (67000 words) by Renai_chan

Additional Tags: Mafia AU, Iceman is a Mob Boss, Bradley is his heir, Icemav adore Jake, goose and carole are alive because i said so, Violence, Blood and Injury, tags to be updated as I go, Tattoos, Suit Kink, Lingerie, Rimming, Polyglot Bradley, Gun Violence, Revenge

Summary:

Jake leaves behind his crappy life in Texas and moves to California. There, he meets Bradley, a gorgeous man who works at a charity helping the homeless. They fall in love, and everything is sunshine and rainbows until he learns that Bradley is, in fact, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, heir to the empire of his godfather, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, who rules the underbelly of Los Angeles with ice-cold ruthlessness. Suddenly, Jake find himself embroiled in the dangers of the LA Mafia

***

Forever your begonia (17576 words) by MerielTLA

Additional Tags: Idiots in Love, Enemies to Lovers, Secret Crush, Secret Admirer, Flowers, Language of Flowers, Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a Little Shit, Texan Jake "Hangman" Seresin, no beta we die like goose, Jake needs some romance in his life, Rooster is bad at feelings, unrequired required love, Emotional Constipation, This came out of nowhere, don´t blame me, Ice is alive, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives

Summary:

“This is not for me.” Mickey grinned like a fucking maniac as he held out a small envelope for everyone to see, pointing at the signature in it.

Jake.

The blond felt his world tilt as he frowned at the offending four letters of his name. What. The. Fuck. He pulled the card away from the other´s hand as he looked at the fancy lettering in horrified amazement.

“Oh my GOD! Bagman has an admirer?!” Paybay yelled

or

Jake Hangman Seresin had never gotten flowers...until he did.

***

hanging on to ambiguity

(34033 words) by

haridwar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Lifeguard Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Surfer Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, First Aid, Head Injury, Mutual Pining, Protective Javy "Coyote" Machado, Protective Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Miscommunication, they're bad at talking again, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV Multiple, Breaking Up & Making Up, Implied/Referenced Sex, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives, Married Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Drunkenness, drunk Jake is a mess, Natasha "Phoenix" Trace is So Done, Hurt Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Daddy Issues, Parental Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Unhealthy Relationships, you might not like Bradley in this one (but you can still love him), Hospitalization, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, everyone gets therapy

Summary:

an accident on the beach, a lifeguard to the rescue, and the repercussions of an unexpected reunion

***

it seemed so natural, darling, that you and I are here (20181 words) by haridwar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Pilot Bradley Bradshaw, Las Vegas Wedding, Accidental Marriage, Drunken Shenanigans, Memory Loss, the inherent awkwardness of having a crush on the guy you're married to, Javy "Coyote" Machado is a Good Friend, Bradley gets his own Javy to hang out with, Sexual Content, Jealous Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, POV Alternating

Summary:

“Did we really do this?” Bradley asked. It was the first thing he had said since Jake’s brainwave and Jake was not a fan of how upset he sounded. “Are we- did we get married?”

or: what happens in Vegas...

***

you were almost too much for me (9648 words) by haridwar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Bodyguard Bradley, Past Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw/Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Returning Home, Post-Break Up, Love Confessions, Jealous Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Wealthy Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Arguing, Reconciliation, Hopeful Ending

Summary:

Jake’s ex works for his father and that complicates things when he heads back home after The Mission ***

Men Like Us (41265 words) by DancingDisaster

Additional Tags: Breaking Up & Making Up, Getting Back Together, All aboard the Bradshaw-Seresin Shitshow Extravaganza, Idiots in Love, Ice Lives By Popular Demand, A romantic dramedy about two Idiot Flyboys

Summary:

Seresin men love with reckless abandon. It’s put every man before him in the ground.

Jake refuses to be buried.

He flies like he has nothing left to lose (he doesn’t), a one man army (he is), leaving everyone else in the dust (so they don’t leave him). Admiral Kazansky claps him on the shoulder, says he expects great things from him, and Jake’s smile is feral as the rest of his flight school cohort looks on in disbelief.

Hangman, they all say, like Jake’s entire personality was a long con, and he ranks first in class.

Rooster doesn’t look at all.

(They've got history spanning the better part of a decade and they are absolutely, positively not over it.)

***

like shooting stars (12737 words) by bottledyarn

Additional Tags: Fluff, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Anxious Jake "Hangman" Seresin, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Texas, Texan Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Getting Together, Soft Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Post-Canon, Just a little pretend relationship, as a treat, Only One Bed

Summary:

“Well," the gate agent said. "Only uniformed military members and their spouses can board priority, but—”

“That works out,” Bradshaw said, his voice tinny and distant in Jake's ringing ears. “Because this is my fiancé.”

If Jake hadn’t been able to choke down a piece of toast this morning, he thought he might be light-headed enough to just pass out right then and there.

--

Jake is trying to fly home for Thanksgiving and not have a panic attack on the airplane. Bradley is trying to skip town and spend the holiday in a mountain cabin to distract from another Thanksgiving alone. Between the two of them, they might both get where they need to go.

***

learning steps (20530 words) by vannral

Additional Tags: Friendship, Getting Together, Oblivious Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Idiots in Love, Pining, POV Outsider, Instructor!Bradley, Teaching, Protective Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Students, Reunions, Eventual Sex, Happy Ending

Summary:

”So, an instructor?”

A straight hit. Bradley shifts uncomfortably on the leather seat and clears his throat. ”… Yeah.”

In which Bradley becomes an instructor after the mission, Jake keeps showing up to his classes and his students are very curious about their dynamic.

***

unsportsmanlike conduct (16871 words) by ginnydear

Additional Tags: alternative universe, NFL, Enemies to Lovers, Bickering, Minor Injuries, Sexual Content, tweets as a plot device, everyone's alive because I say so

Summary:

He didn’t expect there to be highlight reels of him and Jake Seresin arguing and jawing at each other after their first game against each other. His Uncle Mav’s recorded it, saying it’s the beginning of his long, successful career - to have a rival.

 Bradley thinks it’s a pain in the ass.

 or - the hangster nfl au

***

one foot left, and then we're going down swinging (15944 words) by SaintClaire

Additional Tags: Dagger Squad, I put Hangman through the washing machine, but he's fine he comes back out, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives, this is my sand pit, Found Family, life affirming kissing but everyone's pants stay on, for now, attempted abuse of barnyard poultry (not by Hangman), the horse lives, uhhh I don't think this is whump because I kiss it better, but if not let me know, damn good piloting skills, everyone has emotions

Summary:

“I’m still here.” he says, because it helps Bradley to be reminded sometimes. For all he’ll mouth off about Jake never shutting up, the sound of Jake’s voice can get him to drop the rigid set of his shoulders and relax, sit a little easier in the cockpit. “Still on your wing, Roo, just a little further away than normal.”

Jake gets shot down on a mission, tracker blown to smithereens and on his own in enemy territory. The thing about Hangman is that he might be a damn good pilot but that means he comes with the bloody-mindedness to see his shit through. He's got a family to get back to.

***

all my roads lead back to you (17094 words) by liadan14

Additional Tags: Secret Relationship, Secret Marriage, nonchronological storytelling, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Needs A Hug, Jake Seresin Needs A Hug, Communication via interior design, Accidental Marriage, the inherent romanticism of joint financial decisions, Alternate Universe: they weren't exes during the movie, they were just very bad at being a couple, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Size Kink, Jake pavlovs Bradley into having a size kink, just trust me on that last one, outsider pov, Relationship Reveal, Polyamory Negotiations, implied threesome, Implied past Icemav, Current Mav/Penny, Maverick about extremely unhealthy relationships: it was acceptable in the 80s, Penny and Bob are vying for the only braincell in the team championship

Summary:

“Where does this leave us?” Bradley asks eventually.

Jake snorts. “In what way?”

Bradley shrugs. “I don’t know. Emotionally, physically. Legally.”

Jake thinks he might be dizzy. He hasn’t drunk that much tonight, but he has been wondering about the answers to that question for a long time. Finally talking about it…it barely even feels real. “Let’s start with the last one,” he says. “That sounds like the easiest part.”

“Well,” Bradley says gamely. “Legally speaking, I think we’re, like, one piece of paper away from being married.”

***

never had a heart to mend (3735 words) by un_familiar

Additional Tags: Miscommunication, Cheating, (but not really i swear), Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, sorry this took a month to write thats embarrassing, Post-Canon, what do you call pining when youre already dating them, sorry about this (lying)

Summary:

Bradley won’t stop looking at him with concern, laying kisses on his bare back and asking softly, “Are you okay,” until Jake wants to scream You know what you’re fucking doing to me, but he can’t or he won’t and he’s never felt this helpless in his life. The best he can manage is a soft, “Just tired,” turning back into Bradley’s embrace and thinking God, just let me keep this.

***

of a feather (2501 words) by lilgreyarea

Additional Tags: Kid Fic, Halloween, Trick or Treating, Fluff, Post-Canon, Getting Together, (kinda), idk it’s just cute fluffy nonsense

Summary:

jake and his three-year-old daughter, sophie, run into bradley while trick-or-treating

***

The death of piece of mind (27595 words) by MerielTLA

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives, Rooster is bad at feelings, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Amnesia, I blame the title song, Protective Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Injured Rooster, no beta we die like goose, Miscommunication, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, It was supposed to be heavier but it evolved on its own, Hangster, sereshaw, IceMav, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon

Summary:

Last time he had seen Jake, had been fourteen months ago. More than a year since Bradley had escaped, like a coward, and had completely lost contact with the man his body missed with a strength that terrified him. The man that had been there for him as he had woken up, disoriented and scared. The man that had taken care of him, as he fought against his ruined leg and a fucked-up mind.

The one he had abandoned, at the first chance he got.

The man that was his husband, the one he didn’t remember.

 Or Bradley left after losing his memory and forgetting his relationship with Jake, but now he has begun to remember and it's time to get his hubby back. ***

How do you like your coffee? (23355 words) by WaffleToaster

Additional Tags: Memory Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Accidents, Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Smut, Sex, Established Relationship, Developing Relationship, Injury Recovery, Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Summary:

Javy receives the first call after Jake makes an emergency landing on the tarmac and Bradley has to deal with the complications that arise.

“Do we get along now?”

“We do, yes. We’re.. good friends.”

“That’s good. Cause you seem like a nice guy, Rooster.” ***

lover be good to me (18920 words) by haridwar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Baker Bradley, Long-Distance Relationship, Birthday Fluff, like literally so much of it, this one is super birthday centric, Strangers to Lovers, Married Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, as per usual, Parental Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Soft Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Sex Toys, Relationship Reveal

Summary:

Jake picks a random coffee shop to go be pensive in when he receives a birthday card he doesn't want and things turn out better than he ever could have imagined

***

you hang me up, unfinished (with the better part of me no longer mine)

(13140 words) by un_familiar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Getting Together, Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Character Study, javy is the best friend ever, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Jealousy, eventually, complete and total abuse of italics, Pining, the absolute minimum research went into this, do not look too closely at it!, Jake Is A Menace All Of The Time, javy and natasha are sick of them!, Miscommunication, Eventual Fluff

Summary:

There are a million things standing between Jake Seresin and his soulmate–gender, Jake’s tendency to overthink and run his mouth, the fact that his soulmark is high up on his ribs, hidden, the bruises his dad leaves, but the biggest one is probably the simple fact that he has no idea how to love. ***

Got to Make It on My Own (14196 words) by Renai_chan

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Bradley, Omega Jake, Alpha Javy, Accidental Bonding, Drunk Sex, Ex-Somethings, One Night Stands, The Inherent Dubiousness of ABO, Platonic Sex, Javy is the BEST Bro, Marking, Biting, Bonding, Being an asshole as a coping mechanism, Jealous Bradley, Knotting, Idiot Men who Don't Communicate, Angst, Happy Ending

Summary:

Jake and Bradley spend one night together under the heavy, heavy influence of alcohol. It does not go well. But it goes worse for Jake than it does for Bradley because he wakes up with a bonding bite and his new alpha nowhere to be found.

When they're recalled for a special training detachment eight years later, Jake finds out that Bradley doesn't remember giving him the bite at all and Bradley finds out about it for the first time.

It still does not go well. ***

the long way home (5982 words) by nocturnelight

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Canon, Parental Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Parental Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky & Pete "Maverick" Mitchell Raise Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives, Married Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Needs a Hug, Healing, Therapy, And love communicated through scrambled eggs

Summary:

Jake and Bradley had come in late last night and settled into the guest room of Maverick and Iceman’s beach house. Jake had driven them both up at Pete and Tom’s insistence after Mav’s voice on the phone and Jake’s hand running up and down his back hadn’t been enough to get Bradley to stop shaking when he’d woken up screaming from a nightmare.

He's hoping being there will be good for Bradley, maybe finally get him to talk about how he's been feeling. Because Bradley's the one who's bottling everything up.

And Jake is perfectly fine. He swears.

ENJOY READING! LEAVE COMMENTS FOR THE WRITERS. WOHOO!!