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munsonsmixtapes · 23 days ago

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Billy Doesn't Know

virgin!Eddie x experienced!fem!reader

summary: You and Billy have been hooking up and it isn't until you sleep with Eddie that you realize what you really like.

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) grinding, sub!Eddie, dom!reader, Billy just generally being a dick but that’s not new, use of pet names all by reader (baby and good boy) hurt/no comfort

100% based on the song "Scotty Doesn't Know" by Lustra

part two

You pull up to Billy’s house, for some reason dreading seeing him. You don’t know why, though. You’re kind of over him and his attitude, but there’s something that keeps you coming back. You feel a pit forming in your stomach as you head up the steps to the house. You honestly feel so sick and you know exactly why. You’re becoming tired of Billy and the kind of guy he is and have wanted to break things off for a while. That’s the whole reason why you’re there, but you’re contemplating turning around and heading back home.

You’re scared to tell him the truth. You’re afraid of what he might do, especially when he finds out why you’re breaking things off with him. Not only is he a complete dick to not only you, but everyone around you, but you’ve also just gotten bored of him. Well, that and you’ve found someone else. Someone who you knew actually wanted to be with you, unlike Billy.

As soon as you knock on the door, it’s ripped open and you’re pushed against it just like always. You don’t even know what he’s doing, that’s not why you’re there and he knows it. His hand reaches for the buttons of your jeans anyway and you’re quick to stop him.

“Wait,” you put your hand on top of Billy’s, preventing him from going further. He pulls back to look at you, frustration clear on his face which isn’t uncommon for him. It seems like he always has some sort of stick up his ass.

“What,” he spits. There’s a fire in his eyes, and not the one you’re used to, this look is murderous and for once, you’re not scared. God forbid Bill doesn’t get what he wants for once.

“Can’t we just talk?” He lets out a laugh at that, moving away from you completely. Talk? The only kind of talking that Billy does is dirty talk.

“Talk,” he laughs harder. “We don’t talk. We either fuck or we don’t.” That’s something that bugs you about Billy. He never wants to just have a conversation like a normal person. He’s always quick to try to fuck you. And even when he does talk to you, it’s always got sexual undertones and you don’t like that. The more you think about it, the more you realize that he doesn’t really have any redeeming qualities. Sure, he’s stupidly hot and knows how to fuck, but that’s pretty much it. He doesn’t have anything else going for him and that’s so disappointing to you. He could do and be so much more, but he’s not and he won’t. He’ll just continue to be a pig for the rest of his life.

“Well, right now I don’t want to.” That strikes a nerve and you can see it. If there’s one thing that he hates is being told no. Especially when it comes to being denied sex. Because the only person Billy cares about is Billy. He’s way too in love with him to think that anyone could possibly hate him.

“You’re a fucking bitch, you know that?” He moves over to the back of the couch. He wants the word to hurt you, but it doesn’t. He’s called you that so many times that it’s lost all of its meaning.

“Well, so are you,” you retort and you swear you can see his lips twitch, wanting to say something but he holds back for whatever reason. “You can’t just make me fuck you, Billy.” He could, but he’s not going to do that. Because as much of an absolute dick Billy could be, he’d never fuck a woman without her consent.

“Get the fuck out,” he points to the door, but you’re still standing there, your arms crossed over your chest.

“Fine.” You turn to leave, but he speaks up before you can.

“Hey,” he says and you turn around, hoping for an apology, but you know you’re not going to get one.

“What,” you snap, angry at him for being mad at you since you didn’t do anything wrong. But Billy will say differently. Hell tell you that you should have just fucked him, but that makes you even more angry. Maybe one of these days you’ll actually have the guts to leave him for good.

“There’s a party at Nancy’s on Saturday and we’re going.” Billy is always wanting to crash people’s parties but that’s where you draw the line. No way are you letting him crash your friend’s party. And no way are you bringing him as your plus one. You’re going to this alone. And maybe you’ll fuck someone in the Wheeler’s guest bedroom just because you can.

“Nancy doesn’t like you.” Nancy really doesn’t like him. She even told you not to bring him.

“But she likes you and I’m your plus one.” You hate that he just claims things like that. Giving you no say in the matter. You don’t like being told what to do.

“You hate everyone who’s going to be there. You just want the free booze and to fuck someone in the Wheeler’s guest bedroom.” You’re right and Billy doesn’t like that you know him so well. He doesn’t like how close you’ve gotten. If he was in his right mind, he’d tell you that he didn’t want to see you anymore. And he should, but he doesn’t because he can’t.

“Right on the money, doll. You’re not as dumb as you look.” He’s told you the exact opposite on multiple occasions so now you know he’s just trying to get under your skin. He loves pissing you off. It always makes him unbelievably hard and now he’s going to have to rub one out when you leave.

“Fuck you, Billy.” He doesn’t like that the words sting as much as they do. They feel like a stab to the heart, especially since they’re coming from you. Especially since it’s his fault you’re acting like this.

“Oh, but you already have,” he winks, taking another drag. You should’ve known he was going to respond like that. He’s always thinking dirty. Sex is always on his mind. “Now get out.”

“Oh, so you can call one of your other hookups?” He won’t and you know that. He’ll just jack off to the thought of nothing but you.

“Yep,” he collapses onto the couch. “you’re boring me.” He takes another cigarette from his jacket pocket before lighting it and taking a drag. “I’ll just call Stacy or Jackie.” He blows the smoke into the air and you stand there, trying to not look so pissed off even though both know he’s full of shit.

“Fine, I guess I’ll just leave then.” You give him one last chance to make it up to you, but he seems pretty stubborn tonight.

“Good.” He doesn’t even bother to look up at you. “We’re done here.”

“Fine.” For once, you’re actually glad he’s kicking you out. You can’t stand to look at him anymore as all it does is make you angry.

“You’re getting the weed,” Billy tells you as he tosses a twenty dollar bill your way. Ever since the two of you had gotten close, you had been the designated person to buy the weed and whatever other drug Billy wanted for the party he was going to. You haven’t even actually been invited and he still expects you to help him out just because the two of you are sleeping together.

“Why me?” You asked as you stuff the cash into your bra even though you know exactly why.

“Because you’re hot.” It’s more than that, though. But you don’t want Billy to know exactly how Eddie feels about you. That will just create a mess and you don’t want to give Billy yet another reason to hate Eddie. “And that freak always sells it to you for significantly less than it’s worth.”

He’s already been calling him a freak just like the rest of Hawkins and you don’t understand why they’re all so horrible to him. He seems to just be misunderstood.

“Or it’s because Eddie doesn’t like you and refuses to sell to you because you’re a dick.” That’s very true, you had heard the words from the metal head himself and don’t blame him one bit for it.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he spits, standing from the couch and grabbing hold of your arm. It’s moments like this when you wonder why you’ve been spending so much time with him. You want to cut ties, but you’re scared of what will happen if you try. It’s not unlike Billy to get violent when things don’t go his way.

“Or what?” You spit back. “You know you won’t hurt me so I don’t even know why you try to threaten me.”

“The party’s at seven. Be ready. And wear something slutty.” You know exactly what’s going to happen next. Billy’s going to pick you up tomorrow and you’re going to act like nothing happened. That’s what you always do. You don’t have it in yourself to stay mad at him for long. Especially when he can be so sweet sometimes.

“I’m actually going alone.” You emphasize the word to piss him off but he couldn’t give less of a fuck right now. At least, that’s what he’s telling himself. “So have a good night, Billy. And while you’re falling asleep alone tonight, remember that this is your fault. It’s always your fucking fault.”

Really, the only reason why you’ve stuck around for so long was because of Max. She had become like a little sister to you and you felt the need to protect her from her older brother. You’ve seen just how horribly he’s treated her since he didn’t seem to mind yelling at her in front of you. Some days, you’ll come over just to spend time with her. When Billy’s at work, you’ll take her out for ice cream or shopping, just so she knows that she has someone who was on her side.

“Get out,” he says, letting go of your arm and pointing towards his front door. Of course you had angered him. It seems like he always has a temper of some sort. You know where it comes from, but still don’t think he deserves to treat you or anyone else like that. And you make sure to let him know that, not afraid to stand up to him if you have to.

“Gladly.” You head towards the door and pull it open, making sure to slam it once you go through it.

You mutter to yourself all the way to your car, even as you’re getting in it. Once inside, you turn on the ignition and the music from the station you had turned it to blasts through the speakers and you feel like your ears are ringing because of how loud it is.

Once the shock wears off, you turn the volume down and open your glove box, on the hunt for one of your mix tapes. Once you find one, you flip it over and notice that it has your name scrawled across it with the number three next to it in the messy handwriting you’ve become so familiar with.

You put it in and turn up the volume as you nod your head to the song, absentmindedly heading in the opposite direction of home. You don’t want to go there just yet. And before you know it, you’re pulling into the all too familiar trailer park, parking once you pull up to the trailer with the familiar van outside it.

You’re still angry at Billy so you’re not sure why you’re even there. You need to let off some steam, but you’re not sure that this is the place to do it. You’re not even sure that Eddie would be into what you’re thinking. He was just a friend after all and you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by telling him that you wanted to fuck him nor the fact that you had been crushing on him for quite some time.

But you get out of the car anyway, heading to the door and knocking on it. A string of curse words can be heard from the other side, followed by a very loud “shit!” and a loud clatter. You step away from the door as it opens and there’s Eddie on the other side, dusting off his jeans while simultaneously looking like he’s out of breath.

“Are you okay?” You ask as you step closer to him, reaching out to touch him, but he backs away. He can’t let you do that without wanting more. He wants to kiss you, maybe even more. Definitely more, but he’s not going to do anything about it. He can’t. Not if he wants to keep you as a friend. And it’s not like you’d want to fuck Eddie “the freak” Munson anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just tripped.” He doesn’t want to tell you that he watched your car pull up from the window in his living room, hoping that you had been there for him even though he knows you aren’t. Because he’s just your dealer and nothing else. That’s all he ever is and that’s all he ever will be. It all just makes sense that way in his mind.

Eddie’s not the kind of guy people marry or date. He’s the kind of guy people fuck just to get it out of their systems then swear him to secrecy because they’re too embarrassed to tell anyone that they’ve actually fucked him. Not that he’s fucked anyone anyway. And it’s not by choice, it’s just-who would want to do all that with him? He’s a freak, a nobody in everyone’s eyes and he hates that he thinks that badly of himself but he can’t help it.

But if he’s being honest, though he’d never admit it, you’re the only one he’d want to be his first. He knows you’d be nothing but sweet and encouraging, but he’ll never bring the idea up to you. He can’t. It’s far too embarrassing and there’s no fucking way his shy, awkward self would ever get the guts to ask anyway. Not for lack of trying. He wants to, he wants to so badly, but how can he do that when everyone avoids him like the plague?

And he knows that you’ll run from the hills if you ask, terrified to ruin what the two of you have, your friendship having already become very important even though it had only been a few months. And he absolutely can’t risk losing the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He just can’t.

“Are you sure?” You ask, resting your hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze and Eddie swears he can feel the warmth of your skin through his shirt, hating himself because he’s wondering what they would feel like elsewhere-god, when had he become so needy for someone else in that department? His lotion, sock, and his hand usually did the trick, but now he kind of wants you to do it for him.

“I’m fine,” he steps away, fear very evident in those pretty brown eyes and now you’re really worried about him. You step closer and now you’re both in the kitchen and he’s backed up against the sink, really grateful that you can’t read his mind, because you surely would leave if you could.

Your hand reaches up and runs through his hair, giving his scalp a scratch and he leans into your touch, his eyes closing as he hums, loving the way it feels. He wants you to pull on it as he fucks into you hard and deep, the prettiest moans falling from your lips.

“What’s going on, baby?” You ask, your voice so soft and gentle and Eddie doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve someone as wonderful as you. “You’re not behaving like yourself.” He wants to lay it all out on the table right there, to tell you how crazy you’ve been driving him and just how often you’ve been the star of his late night fantasies, just how many wet dreams he’s had about you.

“I can’t tell you,” he says as his eyes open, turning his head to the side because he can’t look at your pretty face anymore, but your hands move to his cheeks, turning his head to face forward, but he still won’t look you in the eye.

“You can tell me,” you encourage, your voice still soft, trying your best to tread lightly. His eyes finally look into yours and you swear that his are misty. Your thumbs rub back and forth across his cheeks, trying your best to comfort him, trying to figure out what it is that he’s so upset about.

You press yourself against him and if you can feel his rock hard cock you don’t say anything. You just pull him into a hug, catching Eddie completely off guard but eventually, he wraps his arms around you, burying his face into your neck. He takes a deep breath and gets a whiff of your perfume that he immediately finds intoxicating.

You can hear him mumble something against your skin, but are entirely unsure what he had been saying, wanting him to repeat it. “What was that, baby?” You ask, your hand moving up to stroke his hair, but he doesn’t answer you, his face curling further into your neck as his hands crumple your shirt in his fists.

“You can tell me,” you assure him. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, especially not around me.”

He then pulls back to look at you, slowly, his embarrassment trying to take over but he chokes it down. He gulps then looks you right in the eyes, his boring into yours and now you’re on the edge of your seat, so interested in what he has to say.

“I-” he cuts himself off then takes a deep breath before starting again. “I want you to kiss me.” His voice is so low that you almost don’t hear him, but when you finally understand what he’s saying, you let out a laugh, and not because you thought it was funny but because you thought he was so goddamn adorable.

“You’re so cute,” you reply, your arms wrapping around his neck as you push yourself into him once again. “If you want to kiss me, then kiss me, baby.”

He stays quiet for a moment, pursing his lips as if he’s thinking. Then the words that follow truly shock you. “I don’t know how,” he says, his voice still small and god, you just want to pull him into your arms and hold them there forever in order to protect him. This was the guy that everyone was so afraid of? He was nothing but precious and you didn’t understand why the entirety of Hawkins seemed to hate him.

“You’ve never kissed anyone before?” You ask in shock, moreso surprised that no one has wanted to kiss him. That’s something that isn’t computing in your head in any way shape or form. And thinking about the fact that he wants you to be his first warmes your heart. You’re nothing but honored.

“No,” he shakes his head before lowering it. You hate that he’s so embarrassed by it all. There’s no reason why he should be as everyone goes at their own pace and it’s not his fault that no one wants to kiss him. Well, no one except for you.

“Well I’d be honored to be your first,” you reply, watching those pretty brown eyes widen.

“You’d really kiss me?” He asks as if he can’t possibly conceptualize it. And he can’t. Up until now, everyone had made it clear that they wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole, that he’s a freak, that he’ll just end up alone.

“Of course I would,” you nod furiously, a wide grin on your face and Eddie’s convinced that you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

“What if I suck?” It’s so cute that he cares so much, wanting to make the experience enjoyable for you.

“You won’t,” you assure him. “Because I’m going to teach you.”

“But what about Billy?” The name makes you freeze, your blood already simmering, but not quite to a boil yet. Why does he care so much about Billy?

“What about Billy, Eddie?” the words come out more harsh than you anticipate and you find yourself feeling guilty as he leans back, afraid.

“Aren’t you two together.” You let out a loud laugh as if you genuinely find the whole thing funny. You and Billy? Billy couldn’t be a boyfriend if his life depended on it. He’s told you as much more times than you can count and you’re beginning to wonder why you ever wanted him to be that in the first place.

“Not even close. We just fuck sometimes.” There’s a feeling rising in the pit of his stomach and he’s unsure what it is. All he knows is that he hates that Billy is able to get into your pants whenever he wants, especially acts like-well, Billy. What’s so special about him, anyway? Why does he get all the girls when he acts like an asshole? Is that why Eddie’s unable to get any? Because he’s too nice?

“So you’re not-”

“Completely unattached,” you cut him off, leaning forward so that your lips ghost over his, brushing against them and Eddie’s eyes flutter shut and you let him take the lead, wanting him to do whatever he wanted, wanting him to feel comfortable.

His lips press against yours gently in a featherlight peck as his hands move to hold onto your arms, feeling his hands shake against the sleeves of your shirt and your heart is about to burst as how absolutely adorable he is. You think he’s going to deepen it but he pulls away before you’re ready, his hands still shaking like leaves.

Your eyes open and you can see the pink in his cheeks, his lips parting as if he’s going to say something and you know he wants to. He always wants to speak and you think that’s your favorite thing about him. You love that he talks to you differently from his other friends. That he feels like he can tell you things he’s afraid to tell other people.

“How was that?” He asks, chewing on his bottom lip as you subconsciously twirl one of his curls around your pointer finger.

“That was perfect,” you respond with a soft smile and watch his eyebrows furrow in confusion. You don’t know why he’s so confused. Consent is so important to you and you’d never want to do anything that made him uncomfortable.

“Can I-” he licks his lips as he pulls you closer. “Can I try again?”

“Of course you can,” you nod and he leans forward, his hands still gripping your shirt as he pulls you in. His lips capture your bottom one and just when you think he’s going to go for it, he pauses, his eyes wide as it finally hits him what he’s doing.

You take the lead now, your lips moving against his still ones as he stays frozen, his shoulders locked up right by his ears. But as he slowly follows you, he finds himself melting into you, realizing that it’s not nearly as complicated as initially thought. In fact, it’s so easy, especially when you’re doing a lot of the work.

Your lips are just as soft as he was hoping and he wonders what they taste like, what flavor the sticky lip gloss you’re wearing is. But can’t get himself to go for it, not yet. He just wants to kiss you for now, not quite ready for a makeout session for yet.

You pull away before he’s ready and he feels his cock twitch when he sees your lip gloss smeared, knowing that he was the one to make it look like that. He goes in for more but you’re quick to put your free hand against his chest to hold him back.

“Hold on,” you say. “I just want to tell you a few things before we continue.” He nods and waits for you to speak again. “First off, you need to breathe, baby. Can’t have you passing out on me,” you giggle. “And I don’t know why you were so nervous before. You’re a natural.”

You watch his cheeks blush, that bright red color that always makes you want to pinch them. Before you can register what he’s doing, he’s on you again, this time more rough, his hands clutching onto your shirt for dear life as he kisses you stupid, making you feel dizzy.

Your hands slide into his hair as your tongue swipes along his bottom lip and he slowly opens up, letting you inside. It tangles with his and you hear a loud moan fall from his mouth, feeling yourself getting even more wet. You grab onto his shirt and pull him even closer to you, backing the two of you out of the kitchen as your kisses get even more heated.

Your lips taste like that artificial strawberry flavor and even though Eddie hates that flavor normally, he can’t get enough. It’s intoxicating and he needs more, his tongue sliding into your mouth as your lips wrap around it, giving it a suck, pulling another delicious moan from his mouth.

You find yourself in the living room, your hands moving into his hair, giving it a tug, causing his head to fall back, giving you a perfect opportunity to press your lips to his jaw, moan after moan tumbling from his mouth as his legs start to feel like jello, causing him to fall onto the couch. You can see his cock tenting in his pants and you feel your slick trickling down your leg as you thought about having him deep inside you.

Before you can stop yourself, you straddle his waist as your lips find his, your hands grabbing hold of his own as you move them to your hips, your hands sliding into his hair again as you fingers dig into his scalp, taking what you want from him as he’s pliant under your touch.

You begin to grind against him and Eddie swears that he’s died and gone to heaven. And when your mouth lands on his neck and your lips suck on it-god, he’s going to come right there. He can feel it. He’s gonna let you do this all night if you want to, addicted to the feeling of your mouth on his neck.

And he really does come when your teeth scrape along the sensitive spot, a loud moan falls from his lips as he orgasms for another person for the first time. And god is this so much better than all of the dates he’s had with his hand.

“That’s it, baby,” you coo. “Just like that. You’re doing so good.” He’s realizing now that he has a major praise kink, wanting, needing you to do more of that.

“More,” he whines as you continue to grind against him, and that mixed with how you’re scandalizing his neck is making him overstimulated, but he hardly cares. He’s so high off of his orgasm that he doesn’t give a single fuck. In fact, he’ll let you do whatever you want to him, knowing that you’ll be gentle and caring the whole time.

“Relax, baby. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, hm?” You pull away from him, your lip gloss smeared all across your face now. Eddie’s pupils are blown wide as he stares up at you, his head tilting to the side like a little puppy, giving you a full view of the hickey forming on his neck. “Gotta be a good boy for me if you want your treat.”

“I can be a good boy,” he nods furiously as his eyes get even wider, wanting to do whatever he can to please you. “I can be such a good boy you have no idea.”

You continue to grind against as his fingers dig into the stripe of skin that had been exposed by your shirt riding up. Your hands move to the button of his jeans and you look up at him, making sure that it’s okay if you continue.

“Do it,” he nods. “I trust you.” You can see in his eyes that he’s telling the truth, but you have to be sure. You’d hate it if he was only telling you that because you wanted it.

“You really want me to be your first?” You asked, your grinding coming to a halt as you looked him in the eyes, leaning closer to see if he was lying out not.

“More than anything,” he replies, the words coming out more desperate than he intended, his eyes pleading as he looks up at you. They’re now filled with lust and now you know he’s telling the truth so your hands unbutton his jeans as he removes his shirt, his tattoos on display. God, he’s even hotter than you imagined.

You remove yourself from him as his pants come off while you take off your socks and shoes, moving slowly as you catch how he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you whole. And god do you want him to. To bury his head between thighs and eat you for dinner until the early morning so he could have you for breakfast and all the way to lunch and then for dinner again.

You then decide to give him a show, thinking that he’s earned a treat for being such a good boy. You begin stripping off your clothing as slowly as possible, starting with your pants, unzipping them then sliding them down your legs then tossing them to the side.

You then move on to your shirt, pulling it over your head in one swift motion before moving to stand in front of Eddie, pointing to the couch cushion.

“Lie back,” you tell him and he situates himself to lie against the cushions of the couch and you feel yourself getting soaked as straddle his waist, watching him underneath you. He’s so shy and cute and you feel honored that you’re the one he wants to take this big step with. “I just want you to know that just because you give consent doesn’t mean you can’t take it away. If I do something you don’t like or if you want to stop because you’re not ready. Don’t be shy to let me know. I want you to feel safe,” your hand reaches up and caresses his face. “I want you to feel comfortable.”

“I understand,” he nods. “I-I appreciate you being so gentle with me.”

“I’ll always be gentle with you,” you press a kiss to his lips. “Unless you as me not to,” you wink and swear you feel Eddie’s cock twitch against your cunt.

“Take it off for me, will you baby?” You ask and his hands move higher until they reach the back of your bra and you can tell he’s struggling but he eventually gets it, the bra falling between you, your tits on display. Eddie’s staring at them and you don’t have to ask to know what he’s thinking.

You remove yourself from him and hurry to your purse for a condom before taking off your panties and wait for him to do the same with his boxers. Once he’s fully naked, you can’t help but stare down at his cock, surprised by the sheer size of the thing. Who knew that Eddie Munon was packing? You certainly didn’t.

“You’re so big,” you say as your hand wraps around him and he lets out a gasp. “Think it’s all gonna fit?” You ask and Eddie just gulps. “I guess we’ll have to find out,” you smirk.

“Guess we will,” Eddie breathes and you let go of him, opening the condom and putting it on him before your hands rest on his shoulders as you get on top of him again, sinking slowly onto his cock, both of you letting out moans as you did so.

His hands move to your waist as you ride him slowly, not wanting to do too much too fast since it’s his first time. Yours had been nothing but perfect as it had been with Billy. You still remember it like it had just happened even though it had been over two years ago. He was nothing but rough, only wanting to fuck you because he was obsessed with taking your virginity. Like he had a point to prove. And in typical Billy fashion, he didn’t care in the slightest if you enjoyed it, only trying to fulfill his own sick fantasy and that was it.

But with Eddie, you wanted to make sure that it was something he enjoyed, something he looked back on fondly whenever it came to mind. And even if he didn’t enjoy it and asked you to stop, you still hoped it worked out with whoever he had his first time with.

He bucks his hips against yours and you can see on his face that he’s unsure if that’s what he’s supposed to be doing. But by the way you’re moaning and whining he thinks it is. He really doesn’t even know what he’s, just following what he had seen in movies and the occasional porn he had watched when he was sure that Wayne would be home late.

“That’s it baby,” you encourage. “Just like that, such a good boy.” Your words seem to unleash something in him because he’s bucking his hips as hard as he can, moving so fast that it’s hard for you to keep up. And it’s not because he wants to, not at all. It almost seemed like he had a point to prove, that he was trying to show you that he could do it hard.

“Hey, hey,” you push him against the cushions, trying to get his attention. “Slow down, hon. What’s your rush?”

“I just-” he cuts himself off, bringing himself back down onto the cushion, his eyes widening as he’s realized that he’s been caught. “I’m just trying to keep up with Billy, I guess.” He says the words lamely and his voice is so small that you swear you can hear your heart actually break.

“That’s what this is about? Eddie-” you try to gather your thoughts, one of your hands moving to stroke his hair. “Baby,” you sigh, lowering yourself onto him, resting your forehead against his. You feel a tear trail down your cheek and immediately wipe it away, not wanting him to see it, but he does anyway.

He wipes the other one that follows then pulls you in for a tender kiss, his hands moving up and down your back gently as a way to soothe you. You realize then that you’ve finally found someone who cares about you. That cares enough to try and fuck you the way that you like it.

“You’re so sweet,” you mumble against his lips before pulling away. “But that’s not how I like it.” Now you’re the one to shrink into yourself, feeling all of your feelings towards Billy piling up, eating away at you.

Your stomach twists and before you can stop yourself, you’re off of him, gathering your clothes and getting dressed at record speed, Eddie hurrying to do the same, but he can only be bothered to put on his boxers. He’s so confused and hurt that now he’s the one who’s crying. God, he’s fucked up again.

Eddie’s hot on your heels as you get to the door, snot now running down his nose because of how much he’s crying. Why is everyone always leaving him? He really thought you’d finally be the one to stick, but he guesses he’s wrong. You’re just going to go back to Billy. He knows what he’s doing, after all.

You hurry to your car and slam the door closed, hearing the mixtape he made for you blasting from the speakers. And just when he’s about to close the door, his eyes catch yours and even though he can’t see very well in the dark of the night, he swears that he can see you crying too.

He slams the door to his trailer shut then hurries to his room, making sure that door is closed as well before he throws himself onto his bed, throwing the covers over himself as he cries himself to sleep. He’s so hurt that that’s all he knows what to do when he feels pain. His dad always told him that crying was for pussies and now that he wasn’t around, he could cry as he damn well pleased.

So he stays like that for the rest of the night until he falls asleep, the events of the night replaying over and over as he tries to figure out what he had done wrong. He had done too much, that was for sure. He was just trying to do what he thought you liked and that caused you to leave. He had fucked up and fucked up bad. He knew that much. He was definitely going to remember his first time but not for the reasons he was hoping. He supposed that he really was just Eddie “the freak” Munson and that was something that would never change.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson hurt/comfort #virgin!eddie munson

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hellishjoel · 6 months ago

Text

on call

7.5k / pairing: cardiothoracic surgeon!javier peña x resident surgeon f!reader

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summary: Javier Peña - a shark of a surgeon - is the head of Cardiothoracic Surgery and you're on his service for the week. After letting you take lead on a risky surgery, you crave what else he can teach you. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), doctors performing surgery but no gore, medical talk (open heart surgery performed, mention of aneurysms and paralysis), both Javi and reader are surgeons, implied but unspecified age gap (Javier is an attending surgeon, reader is a resident surgeon), sex in an on call room (rooms in the hospital where the staff can catch some zzz's), swearing, size kink, praise & degradation kink with accompanied dirty talk, competency kink, (un)affectionate pet names, fingering, oral cleanup (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie reader is described having hair and wears surgical scrubs, but otherwise (I believe) no physical description, no use of y/n A/N: FYI the only knowledge about hospitals or doctors I know is from Grey's Anatomy, so expect some drama and inaccuracies! beta’d by the lovely @thetriumphantpanda! spanish assistance by the talented @undercoverpena! banner made by me!

Any doctor will tell you that smoking cigarettes has a well-documented history of negative health risks.

Smoking can significantly increase the risk of various health problems, including cardiovascular diseases, lung cancer, respiratory issues, and, most importantly, to a surgeon, how delicate your tissue is. It shreds during stitching, falls apart in between gloved fingers, and increases the risk of infection.

So why does Javier Peña, the Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, smoke?

Probably because he thinks he’s God. Galavanting through the surgical wing in his dark navy scrubs. The attending flirts with every nurse who passes his eyeline, sweet-talks his residents, and charms each patient he consults.

Beneath all that, he was a ruthless shark of a surgeon. Driven to the point of recklessness. Stealing surgeries out from under fellow doctors, commandeering ORs, and always proving to be the smartest in the room. He knew when to bark and, more importantly, when to bite.

Javier Peña was a piece of goddamn work.

The operating room is the only time he’s silent. Espresso eyes narrowed on the surgical field, fingers succinct and persuasive like he’s giving the most delicate organ in the world a compelling speech: to live, to keep beating, to pump blood until it simply cannot.

He’s impressive, really.

Standing on the opposite side of the patient on the table, watching him work, you nearly forget how handsome he is behind his mask. If you weren’t such a great resident, you’d be more impressed by his looks than his hands.

But his hands… they were brilliant.

Peña was steady. Every movement is filled with confidence; they don’t stutter or flinch. He operates with wonderful dexterity, switching between both hands, neither more dominant than the other. Instrumental and graceful, like a maestro conducting a large orchestra.

This was his stage, the surgical instruments were his props and everyone in his OR was simply an extra. He was a star; everyone knew it. But no one knew it more than you, his third-year surgical resident on his cardio service for the week.

His years of training bleed through his expertise, and shine in a way that makes you remember why you signed up for so many years of medical school, dropped top dollar on an education to get you here, and then granted residency at one of the finest hospitals in the country.

You were good. Peña was great.

As his resident, you must prove nothing but useful. He’s not a natural teacher, the way his brain drives allows no one in his passenger seat. But you’re keen on declaring on cardio, and you’ve been the resident by his side for most of this year. He doesn’t need your help. He can do this all by himself, so all you can do is prove yourself useful.

You must anticipate his needs and next move, watching him progress from step one to final completion.

But this surgery was unexpected. Unplanned. Most heart surgeries end up being accidental, arising from complications during a routine surgery. The patient on the table before you was scheduled for a general procedure but began presenting with heart issues during the operation.

Peña performs an aortic arch replacement. He starts with a #10 blade, making an incision along the sternum to access the aortic arch.

“Retract all this tissue,” he mutters.

It takes you by surprise because his OR is radio silent. He talks in his head, not to you, ever.

“Me?”

“Are you really asking me that?” His tone twitches with irritation, but you do as he asks before he can disregard and bury your anticipation. It allows for more exposure, and he’s back to work. He cannulates the patient for CPB, working through the right atrium and then the aorta.

“Proper placement?”

You nod before you remember he’s still staring down at the patient’s heart. “Yes.”

Doctor Javier Peña is the commander of his OR. Which makes you all the more confused as to why he decides to put you in the driver’s seat. Or rather, the hot seat.

“Okay, we’re going to arrest the heart using cardioplegia purposely. What’s next?”

Your mouth is going dry; it takes you a moment to find your words. You should know the answer, even without having prepared. He just makes you nervous. “We need to use myocardial protection techniques to minimize… ischemic damage?”

His eyes snap up, glaring, cold as ice. “Are you asking me? Or are you telling me?”

You force down the lump in your throat and take in a shaky breath. “Telling?”

He cocks his eyebrow in annoyance.

“Telling.” You say more confidently, nodding before he sighs. He wanes his options in his head before his eyes start to soften. He must feel at slight ease talking to a resident who isn’t a fucking moron.

“Okay. You’ll deliver the cardioplegia solution and monitor its function.”

You let out a breath of relief, perhaps too big of one, because Peña smirks and tuts at your shift in breath.

“You’re not a complete waste of space in this surgical program after all. Congrats.”

After willing yourself to bite your tongue, you watch him proceed with the arch repair. He returns to silence as he carefully dissects the aorta, amber eyes admiring each of the strong branches like that of a great oak tree.

“Name them.”

Eyes meeting his over the operating table, Peña waits. He’s testing you, pushing you towards greatness or failure. He wants to see where you fall—if you’re worthy to be in his OR, opposite of him, learning under his greatness, or if you’re a waste of his time and talent.

“You’re a third-year resident, I knew this by my second,” he grinds, “all the books I’ve seen you read in the cafeteria should have told you this. Name them.”

He watches you, it wasn’t just in your head - the magnetic stare you can feel from across the room that makes the hair on your arms stick up. He watches, he knows you’re capable. “Not gonna get by just on looks here, Doctor.”

Dragging your eyes away from his intense stare, you loosen your jaw and line your fingers over each strong branch, starting at the trunk of the tree. “The left subclavian artery, left common carotid artery, the innominate artery-”

Peña raises his gloved hand, seeing the gentle smear of blood along his fingertips and palm. “Stop.”

Your eyes squint heatedly, feeling your chest tighten. “I can finish, I know them-”

“Stop, damn it,” he barks louder, his eyes shifting away from yours and across the room. He wasn’t listening to you; he was listening to the heart. Doctor Peña tilts his head to the monitor, watching the heart shift its beats. “Doctor, identify the pathology.”

You shift on your feet, the nerves throughout your arms leave you feeling shaky. Something was wrong. “The aortic arch, it shows…” Closing your eyes helps you focus, ignoring the crowd in the overhead gallery, forgetting the patient on the table just for a moment, and only listening to the beat on the monitor.

“Pretty girl, not so smart,” he taunts with a shake of his head, the beeping on the monitor pitching louder and echoing hauntingly through your ears. You wished this room would swallow you whole, but that would be you admitting to cowardice.

Peña takes a deep breath and looks between you and the monitor, “Alright, come on, open your eyes,” he instructs, guiding your hand off the retractor and along the heart’s wall. “What do you see?”

The commanding tone in his voice brings you out of your head and back to the patient. The room wavers and it goes silent. You don’t hear the erratic beeping of the machines, you don’t see the movement in the gallery. Doctor Peña is in front of you, calm and focused. Because he trusts that you know what’s wrong.

The aortic wall bulged out of its normal shape. It looked weak, stretched out, thin, and nearly translucent. You see the saccular protrusion, lips parting at the discovery.

“He’s—was there an aneurysm? He had an aneurysm?” you ask with more panic in your voice than you had hoped. It must have been during the patient’s original procedure earlier in the day before you and Doctor Peña even scrubbed in. “We can’t do a repair or a replacement of the arch. We have to stop everything--”

“So what are we gonna do, Doctor?” He probes, piercing dark eyes on you. Suddenly, your height shrinks, and you feel only a few inches tall under his gaze. He’s so much older and wiser, and all you can do is panic. “What, you can't figure this out yourself? Four years of medical school, internship, and residency, don't fucking disappoint me now. Tell me how we fix it.”

Our brains hold endless files of knowledge. A doctor is not only supposed to keep files on how to perform a procedure but also what to do if one is horribly failing. But your brain only knows panic because until you become a brilliant surgeon, all you know is fear.

“Should we page neuro? A-A neuro consult, his blood flow isn’t reaching his spine. He might be paralyzed.”

Peña scoffs and shakes his head, “Hoping someone else comes to save you and fix your problems? What if I wasn’t standing here? You’re on your own, kid.” he spews, focusing his headlight back over the heart. “We don’t call neuro, the patient can’t wait that long. Come on,” he whittles away your confidence, fire in his eyes. “Come on!”

You can’t seem to control your anger, feeling it ween down to something brittle and broken. You snap. “Doctor Peña, respectfully shut the hell up. We’re gonna fix the aneurysm sac.”

“How?” He’s quick on the whip, and it feels like your lungs might give out. “Come on, smart girl, tell me how.”

“You’re-You’re gonna use the sac to bring blood back to the spinal cord. He’s only paralyzed because the aorta isn’t able to send blood to his spine. You replace the aorta with a Dacron graft and rebuild the aneurysm into a second aorta.” It’s spoken with half confidence, but your eyes are fiercely stubborn.

“Its only job is to send blood to the spine,” he mutters in agreement, hands already at work.

“Like the freeway being blocked by traffic, you take a side road. Or, in this case, you’re building the side road.”

He momentarily pauses his hands, pretty brown eyes searching yours. He stares you down longer than anticipated, and suddenly, the air feels charged. Heat tingles up your spine, and you find yourself challenging his stare.

You deserve to be in this OR. You’re good, but Peña is great. And you will be great once you learn more from him. Him and his stupid fucking- brilliant hands.

“I’m not building the side road; we are,” he corrects, and he asks the scrub nurses to give him the supplies for constructing the graph.

Finally, his cheeks perk up, and a small smirk hides under his mask. “Suction, Doctor. Prep some 6-0 of prolene. We’re gonna need it.” Peña spends the next few hours teaching you how to reroute the aneurysm and restore blood flow, allowing you to reconstruct and place the graph.

You and Peña are a well-oiled machine. He lets you take the lead under his supervision. It’s impossible not to scream inside your head about this moment. You feel like you’re floating, no longer panicking. Your fingers weave with an indescribable amount of delicacy. It feels like braiding hair, the way your fingers know where to move, the muscle movements natural despite never having done this procedure before.

What a fucking high. And you’ve always been such an adrenaline junkie.

Once word got out around the hospital that Peña was doing this incredible and unexpected surgery, the gallery was all standing and fighting for room to glance out the over-viewing window. And you were there, across from him the entire time. Every surgeon in your class is sitting in the gallery, damn jealous of you.

Peña watches you close up the patient and says nothing; you were perfection.

You huff loudly upon completion, watching as Peña wipes his forearm across the sweat on his forehead. You despise him in this moment. Thankfulness fights your need for social justice. He can’t talk to you like that, belittle you, squish whatever confidence you had left. But you’re exhausted now and don’t feel like snapping in front of half the hospital.

“We won’t know if he has full function until he’s awake. Page neuro and tell them they have a post-consult waiting for them.” His voice drips with exhaustion, rolling out his shoulders as he speaks, and you can’t help but watch as the broad muscles move under his shirt, tan skin now visible after the medical gown has been removed.

Trailing behind him out of the OR, you strip your surgical gloves, gown, and mask in the trash as you try to calm your adrenaline. It never stopped beating; your heart, the strong and beautiful organ that it was, never stopped pounding. You can hear it in your ears, in your pulse, even thudding excitedly against your neck.

It beat for your ambition, it beat for Doctor Peña. He’d never see you as his equal. Hell, he’d never see anyone as his equal. But today, he taught you. And you can’t think why. He has barely done his duty all year despite working at a teaching hospital where the residents are nearly quizzed on the minute by their attendings.

Peña didn’t think anyone was worth his time, but he saw something in you today. Despite being thankful, you can’t help the anger you feel bubbling up as he smirks at you from down the hall.

“What the hell, Peña?”

Oh shit.

The head of neurosurgery stomps down the hall in his navy blue scrubs, graying hair tucked under a scrub cap decorated by EEG waveforms. His eyes are narrowed on Peña, pointed finger at the ready.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Your patient goes into paralysis and you don’t think to page me?”

Peña merely shrugs and sets his hands on his hips. “I did think to page you. And decided not to.”

The head of neurosurgery scoffs in disbelief, raising his voice to a shout. “You’re too fucking- cocky for your own good! I could have done an assessment, they could gotten spinal cord ischemia- and a third-year resident of all people performing that surgery? What the hell were you thinking?!”

Fuck. Now you were brought into this, and standing at the end of the hallway couldn’t be farther away. Peña was as solid as stone, heat didn’t faze him. “She had it under control. She was perfect.”

Perfect.

Neuro seems to smirk lightly, brain doctors who love to play mind games. “You two screwin’ around in the on-call rooms, too? Is that why you let her in on that surgery a fifth year couldn’t even perform? You pull that shit again, and I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

Peña steps closer, narrowing his eyes on the short little man whose bark was louder than his bite.

Neuro stutters for a moment, his posture shrinking. You can’t help but smirk, almost a little lightheaded at the way he steps in to protect your credibility. Peña was a dangerous surgeon to stick around with. His arrogance, next to his skills in the OR, could be taught by accident.

Neuro grabs onto a slipping rope and sniffs as he glances around at the onlookers in the hallway. “Don’t think I won’t tell the Chief about what happened today. You and her are on thin ice.”

Peña smirks and pats his shoulder in a futile manner, pulling loose his scrub cap and running a hand through his jet-black tresses. “She had it under control. I wouldn’t have let her do anything she couldn’t handle. And if you talk about her like that again, I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out.”

Peña’s already walking away, back to the angry little man.

Your stomach bubbles with something unfamiliar, slipping behind the elbow of the wall and taking a shaky breath. You can’t feel anything besides the buzzing in your brain and the tremble in your hands.

Doctor Javier Peña was defending your fucking honor.

In Javier’s eyes, any surgeon can walk into an operating room and follow the procedure's already-written steps. They can rehearse, practice, and prep all they want. But the beauty of surgery was that it was both a science and an art.

The heart was such an intricate, unpredictable thing. Healthy one minute, broken the next.

Javier loves to read, but only for the plot twist endings—the ones you don’t see coming—which add richness to the story and make you fall deeper into the mystery.

That’s why he loves the heart because it isn’t easy. It’s a challenge. He also loves that hearts make him feel special because not everyone can handle operating on a heart. That’s why people choose easier specialties. Cardio was hardcore. Javier was hardcore.

Despite how difficult a cardio surgery can be, the surgeon must be gentle. Going too fast leads to mistakes.

As if driving on black ice, you can’t twist your wheel too fast, or you’ll spin out and crash. He was like that during his internship, even into his residency, but he carried raw talent that no one else could compare to. He was the star of his class, a surgeon who felt like he was more than a doctor, more than a God. A preacher to the soulless, a guide to the lost. He was his patient’s light at the end of the tunnel. He saved their fucking lives.

In his eyes, heart surgeons needed to be sharks. He never met a shark who wasn’t fierce and damn near evil. It’s critical to success; to be a shark in the water, eager to see crimson.

You were no shark—not yet. But your drive, dedication to the art, and willingness to work with him set you apart. He knows he’s not easy. But he’s never liked easy anyway.

Javier slowly slumps down onto the edge of an on-call bed, smacking the light switch so damn hard that he thought he broke it. The room sinks into darkness, a velvet blanket of blue from the slight night sky slipping past the blinds.

He was exhausted after today, the hours of his day stolen by back-to-back surgeries. His back ached, and his knees were screaming at him. But the comfort of a bed wasn’t all that he craved.

You were brilliant, purring like a kitten whenever Javier stroked your ego. A younger colleague impressed him for the first time in months.

God, you were young. What—ten years his junior? More?

His face fell into his hands, heat flushing into his stomach at the thought of you.

When he’s in surgery, the heart is all he can think about. But your eyes were on him for hours, watching him, learning from him—God, the things he could teach you.

Suddenly, the door clicks open, and light floods the room, causing Javi to drop his head and squint.

“We need to speak, Doctor Peña,” your silken voice evokes a sense of long-lost courage.

You’re the last person who should be in his on-call room.

He groans and stands, eyes cast on your hand still nervously caught on the door handle. “Not now.”

“Yes, now,” your voice wavers as you click the lock and cross your arms. His eyes drag over your body, hugged by the comfort of your soft blue scrubs. He can tell it’s taking everything in your body to control your temper, as he is still technically your boss. “You can’t just belittle me in front of the entire OR. No more calling me princess, no more calling me pretty. I’m a lot more than those pathetic superficial names, and you know it.”

Javier runs his fingers down his nose, mutters something incoherent, and plants his hands on his hips before curtly jerking his head expectantly. “I said not now.”

“You push me, you push me around, you push me in the OR, you just don’t stop-”

He snaps.

“I push you to be great!” His brown eyes nearly turn obsidian as he locks you in his gaze. “You’ll be a better doctor when I’m done with you. You should be thanking me.”

You scoff indignantly and throw up your hands in frustration. You’re so fucking cute when you’re upset. “Thanking you?”

“Yeah. Thanking me. My ass is on the burner because I let you perform that surgery.”

“The one not even fifth-year residents could perform?”

Peña pauses, his jaw shifting from left to right as he glances at the room's corner. “You heard all that, huh?”

There’s a lull, one that signifies you both know that he stepped in to defend his choices in the OR; specifically defending you. He watches as you slowly nod, pulling your hand off the doorknob and crossing your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t have to do that. Now it looks like you favor me. I’m gonna get chewed out by the other surgeons, not to mention my entire class is going to think I’m sleeping with you.”

Pena shrugs and purses his lips. “Let ‘em.”

He watches as your lips part, taken aback by his words. After a few doe-eyed blinks from you, the room falls out of focus, and it doesn’t feel like he’s standing in the hospital anymore.

Javi imagines you in places he shouldn’t. At his place, in his apartment. On the couch. In his bed. He thinks about how different you’d look in the light of day, your body curved by jeans or even a sundress if the weather allowed. He’d be privy to the freckles on your back and shoulders, the dips of your hips, the slope of your body he wants to memorize with his eyes closed.

But fantasizing wasn’t enough.

“Let ‘em,” he mutters, low, and enclosing the space between your bodies. “If they already think that, let ‘em. Fuck ‘em.”

Your face visibly softens, and your head naturally leaning into his hand that rests on your cheek.

“I want you to teach me,” you whisper to him. And it’s so fucking soft, so sweet dripping from your lips, almost whining with need.

He slowly nods as the room falls silent, Javi’s opposite hand coming to your hip, flushing your body against his.

“Okay, cariño, I’ll teach you.”

“Teach me,” you plead again, your chest heaving with anticipation. His eyes fall to the way your breasts protrude with each breath you take in your scrubs. The emotion that stirs in the room is enough to start a full-blown hurricane.

Javi’s hands fall to the hem of your top, and you raise your arms swiftly, so pliant to his touches. But that’s your job, to anticipate his needs.

The sight of your skin alone is enough to make his shoulders tighten, seeing you all pretty and exposed. A knot begins to grow in his stomach. But no, you weren’t done yet.

“Please, Doctor Peña,”

No, don’t fucking beg.

“I want you to use your hands and teach me.” Insistently, your fingers dip into your scrub bottoms, his eyes catching the pretty black band of your panties before the material is pooled on the floor.

You stand there with soft eyes, wide and expecting. The longer he stands here, not touching you, it damn near looks like he’s hurting your feelings. But he’s not stupid enough to leave you abandoned.

“Fuck,” he grunts, closing the distance in a matter of a second, his hands on your hips as he yanks your body into his firm front.

The kiss is tangled and heated, desperate and needy, so different compared to the subtle dance you both played before. But now it’s so obvious the pure need that consumes you both.

Your small fists clutch his broad shoulders, and you moan into his mouth purely at the muscle built into his toned body. He licks into your mouth, and all he can think is how fucking sweet you taste. And how your pussy probably tastes just as sweet.

Your fingers blindly reach for the light switch, flicking them off and sinking you into midnight once again.

Javi tuts and shakes his head, breaking the kiss as he glares down at you. “You wanna see my hands work, cielo? Then you gotta watch.” He mutters as he flicks the switch back on, guiding you into the lower bunk of the on-call beds.

He likes the way your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his neck, fingers gentle at first before clutching at the hair on his nape.

Javi lets out an unexpected moan into your mouth as his body slots perfectly between your legs. His rough and calloused hands explore the smooth skin of your outer thighs. He squeezes and cradles the flesh with the perfect balance of strength and delicacy, the coarse hairs of his mustache scratching your skin as he presses kisses over your exposed breasts.

He craves every breath that you take because of him, because of his actions. Your reactions are honest and instinctual, watching as you bite down on your lip because God forbid anyone saw you sneak into his room.

Javi’s fingers are just as you expect, expertise as he unclips your bra with ease. He snatches away the black material, your nipples sensitive to the cool air as they peak under his eyeline.

“Christ,” he mutters, his hot mouth on them in an instant. His tongue circles them meticulously before he suckles, lifting his head and watching as your breast is tugged into his mouth. A whine slips past your lips and he feels your legs tug tighter around his waist. It’s enough to get him hard, the way you won’t let him go, because this feels way too fucking good to stop.

“Doctor Peña-”

“Javi,” he mutters upon letting your nipple go with a pop, moving to the other and showing it just as much affection, letting his teeth gently nip at the sensitive peak. “So fuckin’ pretty, princesa,” he mutters before sucking on a spot just above your breast, a place to mark his territory.

You gasp at the feeling of his hot mouth on your skin, goosebumps flooding to his touches. You glance down through barely-open eyes as the skin changes color, from red to a soft purple as he draws blood to the surface. His teeth marks are still there even after he leaves, a smirk on his face as he slips lower to between your legs.

“Javi, please,” you muster up, trying to regather air in your lungs.

He shifts to his knees, one arm straight and hand planted beside your head as he hovers over you, the other finally slipping between your legs. Your lips part as he slowly swipes two up your center, seeing what makes you tick.

His smirk widens as your eyes roll to the back of your head, biting down on the plush of your lower lip again to conceal a moan that surely would have slipped. He spreads you, letting his thumb pads delicately circle your clit experimentally. “So fucking wet for me.”

Just as a moan emits, his hand is clamped over your mouth.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he degrades, your eyes wide as the circles continue achingly. “Into my hand, baby girl, don’t want anyone else to hear you. Just me.”

Your thighs begin to tremble as his thumb experiments on you, and you realize he’s learning. Everything is about learning for him. He learns and studies the heart, now he’s studying what makes you fucking soaked for him.

The slow circles are enough to get you going, but as he continues to pick up the pace, he realizes you need more more more.

His thumb moves faster and surfs the edges, it makes you twitch under him. His smirk widens as two of his fingers glide up and down your wet center, your hips nudging upward with neediness.

“Wanna hear you,” he mutters, but you’re so scared to let out a peep. In this fog, you can’t even remember if you locked the door, and now your heart is pounding against your chest, the beautiful muscle that it is.

“Come on,” he says goadingly, pushing two fingers into your entrance. Your eyes blow wide as you let out a soft sigh into his palm, followed by a wimpy whine. “Give it to me,” he mutters as his fingers start to move through your tight heat. He’s trying to find it, working himself deeper and deeper, curling them just right and finally-

His hand clamps harder down on your mouth as you let out a loud cry, eyes shutting hard as your body writhes against him. You leak out against his fingers, hearing them squish with your arousal as he smirks. “That’s fuckin’ right, feels so good to let it out, doesn’t it? You can gimme more,” he encourages, and you don’t think you fucking can.

But he works against you so feverishly, the combination of his thumb on your clit and fingers fucking your entrance, once the seal was broken, it was hard to contain it.

“Fuck!” You cry out as he scissors you open, separating his fingers and forcing your entrance to work itself wider for him. The noises are obscene, soaking his fingers as he continues to plunge so deeply into you. Your hand shakily reaches up to the bicep bulging beside your head, nails sinking into his tan flesh.

His movements have your thighs beginning to shake as he searches, still learning, looking for that one spot that has you breathless. Then it fucking sucks the air from your lungs.

You gasp against his hand and clutch his wrist desperately, feeling him massage the sweet, spongy part inside of you that has sparks going off at the base of your spine. Your eyes begin to water at the overwhelmingness of it all, him and his stupid fucking perfect hands.

“Javi,” you pant against his mouth, because something indescribable is building. Your back arches against his body. He doesn’t even need to look at what he’s doing, he’s so distracted in watching you unfold.

Finally, it’s all too much, and he’s got you in the palm of his hand. You can’t help but bite into his palm as you sob against his hand, his fingers so perfect inside of you, leading you to the crescendo of your orgasm. The build leaves you lightheaded, your thighs twitching against his hips as he purrs your name.

“Just wanna little taste,” he mutters as he finally slips his hand from your mouth, still feeling the burn of your pretty bite. His chest lands on the mattress, and you sit up a bit to allow him space.

Javi’s arms wrap around your legs, hands now on your inner thighs as he helps spread you open. You whimper, still so sensitive that you nearly twitch away as he moves in. “Aww, come here, sweet girl. Know you taste so good, don’t you?”

You weakly nod and sink back into the mattress, your eyes falling closed as he slowly sponges kisses to your warm inner thighs. Your hole still puckers for the loss of his fingers, a groan leaving his throat at the sight. He teasingly flicks his tongue against your twitching clit, and it’s enough to make your entire body seize.

“So fucking sensitive,” he mutters adoringly, spreading your labia and letting his tongue flush against the juices that soak his tongue. He audibly grunts against you and works slowly to clean you up. His eyes meet yours, and he reads your wrecked face instantly.

You let out a hesitant moan, your fingers tiredly weaving into his dark locks and nails gently scratching along his scalp. His mustache tickles your clit and you try to breath through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

He was right, his hands were fucking perfect. Look at the way he learned your body, what it was chasing after, how it could be healed with his touch. You only with to give him the same.

You sit up off your elbows, and he looks up at you with your arousal sitting silkily across his mustache. You cup his jaw, and he sits up with you, your mouth landing on his. You taste yourself, and it almost makes you shy, knowing Doctor Peña has tasted you. More importantly, made you cum with nothing more than his fingers.

The opportunity to touch his body is one you didn’t realize you craved, small palms moving down his front. On instinct, he parts from your kiss and pulls his scrub top off. And God, you were right with every assumption.

You knew he worked out, all cardio Gods adhere to the rule of working out to keep the heart muscle strong, but this was a different kind of strong. He was a Greek marble statue, all arms and toned chest and a waist you could easily tangle your legs around.

“Jesus,” you breathe out.

Javi smirks confidently, his large hands cupping your face once more and tangling his tongue with yours. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your hand to his upper thigh, coasting your hand along until you feel his shaft protruding against his scrubs.

“Take ‘em off,” you whisper.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” He asks confidently, forcing a grunt out of your mouth as you tug against the hem.

“Telling. Now off with them.” You command.

He tuts as he stands from the mattress. “That’s my girl,” he mutters proudly, circling his thumbs along the waist of his scrubs before pushing them down, briefs included, stepping out of the material that pooled around his feet.

You slowly raise an eyebrow, your lips parting at his size. No wonder he was so cocky. You sit at the edge of the on-call bed and he steps forward knowingly.

“S’okay, pretty girl. Just wanna make you feel good.”

You stubbornly shake your head and take his hands, guiding him closer as your doe-eyes meet his melting brown ones.

“I can do it.” Wrapping a hand slowly around his length, your other hand rests on his thigh to allow some security.

He takes in a slow breath, his eyes growing heavy as you spit along his length.

“Fuck,” he mutters as his large hand gently comes to rest on the back of your head, fingers intertwining in your hair as he begins to clutch them possessively.

It felt so good to be the one in charge, to be his guidance. He wants you so badly, your hot mouth wrapped around him, begging for his own release just as you were.

You sponge kisses along his length, watching him almost in a taunting way, because you know he’s going to fall apart before you. Flatting your tongue and sticking it out, he grunts at the sight. Leaning forward, you take him in your mouth. Your tongue circles his beady tip and you get to enjoy the taste of his pre-cum on your tastebuds.

He’s salty and musky, hours after a long surgery and it tastes divine. All man. All Javier Peña.

Javi’s breaths are getting faster as you begin to bob your head, taking him inch by inch until you felt comfortable enough to really go for it.

“Such a fucking- overachiever,” he grins, your nose brushing against the coarse hair along his base as your eyes clench closed, choking around him but not letting off. “Holy fuck,” he moans. Your nails sink into his thigh and he hisses, your one and only reminder for him to stay quiet. He pulls off with a pop, leaving you pouting as you stroke over his impressive length. He twitches in your hand and he’s so heavy in your palm.

“Don’t want anyone to hear us, Peña,” you remind as you break to give kisses along his thigh where your nails created crescent moon shapes.

“Got me so close, baby. Don’t wanna cum yet, though.”

You pout but ultimately leave him with one last kiss to his shaft.

Javi can’t seem to get enough of your kisses, tracing his tongue along your bottom lip as he moves you back onto the mattress once more. Your fingers glide down his body, feeling the ripples of his muscles that you hope stays engrained in your mind forever.

Even if it’s just a one-time thing, you wouldn’t mind storing the way he makes you unfold so effortlessly, caring to learn your body and its cravings.

“Please, Javi,” you whimper against his mouth, feeling the warmth of his body slipping between yours once again, and it feels like a home. “Need you.”

He nods breathlessly against you, propping up the pillow behind your head. You’re not sure why it gives you butterflies, taking care of you more than just sexually. But he pats the pillow a few times nonetheless and centers it to the back of your head, not stopping until you’re smiling up at him.

Your hand cradles his jawline, thumb gliding across his chin before his mouth is back on yours. His lips part as your gasp enters his mouth, feeling his hand guide his tip from your clit to your leaking entrance.

“Wet all over again,” he mutters against your mouth, but acting surprised is pointless.

“Uh huh,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting him envelop you fully.

Javier listens to you, reads your body language. He feels you grow tense as his tip nudges at your entrance, feeling your legs tighten hesitantly around his waist.

Your hands are soft on his back, moving along the carved muscles and following their runs like wild rivers. Perhaps it is a way you calm your nerves, touching his warm skin relaxes your walls. He’s able to push onward.

“Jesus- Javi,” you whimper, letting him sink his length fully into you until he bottoms out in one thrust that leaves him groaning. The pillow he’s laid down for you is held by his fist, the veins down his arms bulging against your head.

“Fuck, that’s it,” his chest rumbles, Javi starting to find a rhythm as he guides his length in and out of you.

The first couple of strokes are dragging, aching. It’s hard to breathe and your nose brushes against his neck.

Javier is so lost in the feeling of you, your tight little cunt squeezing repeatedly around his cock. The hand not holding him up runs up the side of your body, first on the outside of your thigh, then moving upwards to squeeze your ass in his large palm. You moan into his ear, and he does it again, both of you smirking against the kiss. Then he’s on your hip, following the pretty curve before he wraps his arm on the underside of your body, cradling your shoulder.

It’s like a seatbelt clicking in, gasping as you feel him lock you into place. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, Javi coming to rest his forehead against yours as he begins to snap his hips.

With the change in pace, the energy becomes charged with something less delicate. It’s like you were witnessing Javier’s two-sided personality, trying to learn and teach, and now, the arrogant, cocky shark.

The drag, once painful, now feels heavenly, the ache becoming a sedative that has you cooing for more. He’s more relentless now, hips snapping into yours that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your jaw points to the ceiling, and he sees the opportunity for his lips to latch onto your neck.

At the height of sensitivity, you feel everything. The sweat trickling down your temple, his teeth carving marks on your neck, your breasts pressed against his toned front; he’s all encapsulating.

You whine as you squeeze around his cock, his hand on your shoulder pressing harder into your skin. He keeps you there, pounding into you, the coarse dark hair grinding against your clit so perfectly. Your core tightens, and you feel your second orgasm begin at its crest. He must be close, too, because he’s driving into you with ferocity.

“Javi,” you cry against his neck, your nose brushing against his tousled hair, “I-I can’t.”

Javier shakes his head and moves the hand on your shoulder down between your bodies, finding your quivering clit and adding pressure to the small ministrations he starts on. His lips move to your ear, placing a kiss against the outer shell.

“You can,” he demands in a stern tone, his hot pants fanning against your face as his aquiline nose nudges your cheekbone, “you can give me another one, cariño.”

He wants to see your star explode. See you dissolve before him into a million tiny sparks, fizzling into the night sky so he can take your beauty in fully, from inner soul to outer exterior. You were slipping into the void before him like a firework bursting.

“Fuck, I can,” you pant, your head dropping back onto the pillow as heat slips down your spine and your vision goes dark.

You squeeze his cock repeatedly as your orgasm surges through you, back arching off the mattress and your legs tightening around his slim waist. He can feel your pulsing clit against the pad of his thumb, feeling you gush around his dick as his balls slapping against your core grow slick with your arousal.

From below, your vision is hazy, and he looks so fucking handsome. The surgical mask doesn’t do him justice.

“You can come inside me,” you whisper as you lean in and nibble his earlobe, hearing him grunt at your comment.

“Christ,” he mutters, “you have no idea what you do to me.” Javi gently tugs on your lower lip before he distracts himself with your kisses. His snapping hips begin to lose their rhythm, becoming more sloppy and erratic.

He was chasing the feeling, distracted by how perfect you were for him today.

The vein along his temple bulges as his desperate espresso eyes meet yours. All he needs to see is that little smirk of yours, and it sends him over the edge.

His jaw drops, and a silent moan wants to slip out desperately, but somehow, he’s able to conceal it with low grunts of something that resembles your name.

You begin to feel his warmth spread through your core, making your insides fuzzy. He trembles; you both do. It feels like he comes for forever, but frankly, you don’t want it to stop.

This feeling sits still inside you, humbles you, and centers you with the universe. Your life is hectic, and for one hour today, you’re not running around from one room to the next or getting chewed out by the senior doctors. This was the perfect stress relief; Javier Peña was a damn good break.

His strong body collapses over yours, and any residual strength he has left is being held by a tiny string that keeps you from being crushed.

He lays on his side, shoulder blades pressed against the cold cinderblock wall. He buries his hand in his face, and you wonder if he regrets what he’s done.

Did he?

“Thanks,” you whisper, reaching blindly for scrubs and accidentally tossing on his scrub pants in your orgasmic haze.

“For what? And those are mine. You can have them in a few years when you’re an attending.” He hums, smirking as he pulls the sheets up to cover his lower half.

You scoff and pull off the pants, switching out for your own after you clasp your bra behind your back.

“For the lessons.”

He watches you change, slipping your shoes back on and fixing your hair in the mirror. You try to ignore the feeling of his come slipping out of you, your legs as wobbly as a newborn calf.

“Yeah? What did you learn?” He cocks an eyebrow and blindly reaches for a pack of cigarettes on the windowsill, propping open the window a few inches.

Your eyes scan over him slowly as you tighten the tie on your scrub bottoms, a slow smirk gradually growing on your lips.

“I know why you smoke.”

Ignoring his intrigued face, you flip off the lights and leave his on-call room in a midnight blue film. The heavy door inches open, light shedding through and inching into the darkness. It clicks closed behind you just as your pager goes off, seeing that there is a message coming through for your newly reconstructed aortic arch patient.

“Shit,” you mutter.

The door swooshes open behind you, and Peña reappears dressed in his navy scrubs, surging past you. His shoulder knocks yours on the way out, and you can’t help but scoff.

“Let’s go. Pick up the pace,” His voice is raspy and tired, but you keep his stride as you work your way towards the intensive care unit.

Doctor Peña glances back over his shoulder, his smirk mirroring your own.

Even a shark has its vices. Perhaps after tonight, you’re Javi’s.

main masterlist | notifications blog if you enjoyed the read, commets and reblogs are super appreciated!

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apclyptc · 1 year ago

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DUMB— chris sturniolo x reader

synopsis: reader is smart and top of her class in college. chris however, is not too interested in her intelligence.

warnings: full on smut, swearing and also drinking/smoking, use of the pet name baby, use of the word slut, dumbification, oral (f! receiving), unprotected sex

“hit her from the back she can’t do nothing but yell,

and she smart as fuck i got this bitch straight out of yale”

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Ever since you were younger, you seemed to have a gift for memorising and holding information. Because of this, people assumed you studied constantly.

Obviously, you did study. But it wasn’t like you didn’t have a social life. You enjoyed college parties like any other person would.

So when a guy in your class invited you to his frat house for a party, of course you didn’t refuse.

The only thing was, this guy just happened to be Chris.

He was in your social studies class, usually sat at the very back with a couple of his friends in the lecture. You knew of each other, having shared mutual friends from other classes. You’d never really spoken to him one-to-one, mainly because he was always socialising with pretty much everyone, and while you weren’t shy, you also weren’t a huge fan of jumping into conversations with people who all knew each other prior.

It also didn’t help that Chris was the most attractive man you had seen in college, or maybe in your life.

You were good at hiding it, but he made you nervous. Of course, when he invited you to his fraternity house, you faked an air of confidence so you didn’t weird him out.

“Hey, it’s Y/N, right?” Chris began, and when you affirmed with a nod he continued, “I’m throwing a party tonight, you should come.” He threw a smile in your direction, and you pushed down the immediate feeling of giddiness before answering.

“Yeah sure, sounds good. When does it start?” You asked nonchalantly as you could.

“Around 10. You can come whenever, it will be on way into the morning anyway.”

“Great. Am I good to bring a couple friends?” You replied, not wanting to walk into a party alone.

“Yeah that’s fine with me. Ask your friend Lola, my buddy Nate has a thing for her. Just don’t tell him I told you that.” He smirked at you.

That smirk. You wished you could see that smirk while he was hovering over you as he sla—

“Lola, yeah! I’ll bring her along with me.” You snapped out of your less than decent reverie and gave Chris a response.

“Perfect. I’ll see you there, Y/N.” He gave a quick glance up and down your body before turning and walking away from you.

It was then you realised, you had absolutely nothing to wear. Plus, since Chris just personally asked you, you decided you may as well dress as hot as possible.

Y/N: hey lola, frat party tonight?

Lola: do u even have to ask??? usually it’s me dragging u to these things

Y/N: true lmao. i’m gonna need to borrow something from ur closet

Lola: ooooh why, do u need smth slutty?

Y/N: maybe

maybe i was personally invited by the party thrower

Lola: who

Y/N: chris 😇

Lola: GIRL-

ok ok i’ll give u the sluttiest thing i can find

come over later and we can pick something out for u

A couple of hours later once you were finished at college, you headed to your best friend Lola’s dorm.

You two had spent what seemed like hours choosing each other’s outfits.

“By the way, a little birdie told me that Nate has a thing for you.” You eyed Lola up, knowing she had a soft spot for him.

“Oh, really? That’s interesting. Totally unrelated but would you still happen to have that box of condoms I gave you for secret santa last year?” Lola gave you a suggestive look, raising her eyebrows.

“Of course. Already put two in my bag.” You both laughed.

You arrived at the party at 11:27, mainly because no one turns up to a party on time, but also because Lola took a ridiculous amount of time to get ready.

You met up with a couple of girls from the dorms opposite Lola, seeing as they were also invited.

As soon as you arrived, you were immediately shown to the kitchen where an array of bottles were displayed.

Vodka, whiskey, rum, tequila and practically any spirit you could think of, were decorated around the kitchen.

You grabbed two cups, one for you and Lola, and filled it with vodka and soda.

“Hey, I think I see Nate and Chris over there.” Lola points behind you through to the games room, where lo and behold, Nate and Chris were playing what looked like an intense game of beer pong.

The two of you walked over to them, Nate noticing you first.

“Hey! Come help me win the game, Lola.” He gestured for her to play with him.

Chris had then turned around to see you, that smirk appearing yet again.

“You gonna help me?”

You took a quick swig of the contents in your cup before joining Chris at the table.

“Atta girl. Nice of you to bring Lola for my bro.” He spoke in a low voice so that only you could hear.

“Chris, stop flirting and throw the damn ball.” Nate teased, and you felt your cheeks grow red.

Chris threw the ball into the cup closest to him, the object landing into the beer and making a splash.

“Drink up, fool.” he glanced at you to make sure you were watching.

After a while, you had enough to drink to give you a confidence boost, and were now invested in the game of beer pong.

It was down to one cup each, and you had to make the final shot.

“Come on, Y/N,” Chris spoke from behind you, “you got it.”

It was too hard to concentrate with his voice so close to your ear, and his body so close to yours. You threw the ball, but it narrowly missed the cup.

“Yes! Chris you’re a loser!” Nate laughed at his best friend across from the table, throwing his arm around Lola who had locked eyes with you as he did this.

‘Don’t forget the condom’, you mouthed to her playfully, and she winked, pointing to her pocket.

Nate and Lola had then disappeared together, leaving you alone with Chris.

“Sorry I missed the cup.” You joked.

“Apology accepted. You wanna smoke with me?” He pulled out a perfectly rolled joint from his pocket.

You weren’t a huge smoker, only joining with Lola occasionally when you felt like unwinding.

Nevertheless you agreed, deciding you may as well since you were at a party.

Chris lead you upstairs into his room. Your eyes immediately glanced around the room, taking in its appearance.

Chris sat on the edge of his bed, and you followed.

“Could you get my lighter, it’s in the top drawer over there.” He pointed to the bedside table at the wall, and you grabbed the device, passing it to him which he thanked you for.

“Lola and Nate seem to hit it off.” You spoke.

Chris held the joint between his lips, lighting it before replying, “he’s down bad for her. Has been for a while.”

You giggled to yourself, knowing Lola felt the same about him. It was a good feeling for you, because you knew Nate was a nice guy.

“They’re a good match. Nate’s a good guy for her." You responded, watching Chris take the first hit of weed and exhaling the thick smoke.

“Yeah? Is that what you’re into? Nice guys?” He asked you, taking another hit before passing it to you.

You took the joint from his hand and inhaled.

“I guess. I think I prefer someone more… unpredictable.” You had Chris in mind as you answered. You had yet to figure out why he invited you here himself, since you didn’t know each other that well.

“In what way?”

“I don’t know, someone I can’t figure out. I like to be kept on my feet, someone like Nate is easy to understand because he’s straightforward. Which is great for Lola, she deserves someone who is like that.” You thought about all the past few guys Lola had a thing with. They weren’t that nice.

You passed the joint back to Chris who had his eyes trained on you as you spoke.

“So you like the tension, not knowing when or if someone wants you.” He tried to understand.

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice when it’s easy. But..” You trailed off.

“It’s more fun not to know.” Chris finished your trail of thought as if he knew the feeling.

“Exactly.”

A comfortable silence sat between you, passing the joint back and forth until it was gone.

“I have a question.” You asked, breaking the silence.

Chris tapped the joint out on his bedside table, and brought his attention back to you, “Go ahead.”

“Why did you invite me here? I mean, it’s not that I didn’t want to come, it’s just that we haven’t really talked much.” You asked, needing to know.

Chris chuckled.

“I thought it was more fun not to know?” He smirked, using your own logic against you.

“Come on! Tell me.” You persisted.

Chris leaned in closer to you, and you could swear your heart was beating out of your chest.

“I always see you in class,” He began to explain, continuing to close the gap between you, “sitting close to the front, answering all the questions. You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?”

The tension was palpable, and you felt yourself grow wetter as his low voice penetrated your ears.

“I want an answer.” He demanded.

“I- I guess so.” Your voice wavered, all of a sudden finding it hard to speak.

“I’ve always wanted to see how long it takes until I can make you speechless.”

And it surely didn’t take long, because in moments his lips were on yours.

It was as if every guy you had dated never existed, the feeling of Chris kissing you overrode any experience you had thus far.

His left hand rested on the back of your neck while his other hand took the opportunity to roam around your body, from your thighs to your chest, until it landed on your waist.

Your hands swiftly made their way to his arm and hair, while deepening the kiss he had started.

In a quick movement he lifted you onto his lap, letting both his hands find purchase on your waist.

With your arms wrapped around his neck, you slowly moved your hips rhythmically, earning a soft grunt from him.

Pulling away, he spoke, “You want to do this?”

You nodded, before asking the same of him.

“Do you?”

That same smirk that sent you reeling reappeared again.

“Does this answer your question?” He grinded his hips upwards into you, allowing you to feel his growing hard-on.

A whine escaped from your lips.

“No more talking.”

You reconnected your lips to his, the energy of the room turning into heated passion.

Chris’ hands slowly dragged down to your ass, kneading them with roughness.

You whined again, unable to stop any sounds from leaving your mouth.

The sound of the ongoing party downstairs could be faintly heard from inside the room, but you paid it no mind. You couldn’t, not while Chris had all his attention on you.

He briefly paused to take off the top you were wearing, and then resumed with his skilled tongue, sliding against yours. He took you off his lap, not separating from you for a moment as he laid you down on your back.

“Such a smart girl in class,” he pulled his shirt over his head and threw it behind him, “Does anyone know that you’re really just a little slut?” He kissed your neck, then your jaw.

“I need an answer.” Chris demanded again, and you rubbed your thighs together in want.

“No.” You breathed.

“No, what?” His hand glided up your thigh, separating them.

“I’m not a slut.” You managed to find words.

“So if I reach in between your legs, right now, you won’t be dripping for me?”

You knew you were.

A hand snaked through your skirt, pulling aside your underwear, and he slowly dragged a finger down your pussy.

“I’ve barely touched you. Do you want me to? Want me to touch you right here?” His finger, coated in your slickness, inched its way inside, just enough for you to feel it, but not enough to satisfy you.

You bucked your hips up, trying to feel something, anything.

But Chris pulled his hand away, causing you to whine in frustration.

Luckily for you, he wanted to feel you so badly, he couldn’t tease you for long. He grabbed the hem of your skirt, pulling it down your legs and threw it in the same direction as his shirt.

“I want to hear you. You love opening that mouth when we’re in class.” And with that, he pulled your underwear aside and attached his mouth straight to your throbbing clit.

All you could do was moan and writhe in his bed as he delved into your wet cunt, licking up all the arousal like a starved man.

Your hands flew to his hair, tugging on it desperately. The vibrations from the groan that left his mouth sent waves of pleasure tearing through your body.

Chris’ hands dug into the flesh of your thighs as they instinctively tried to close around his head.

“Fuck, right there!” You moaned loudly as his tongue dove inside your hole.

One of his hands left your thigh and drew circles on your clit, causing you to arch your back at the white-hot pleasure you felt from his ministrations.

Chris could feel his dick pulsate through his pants at the sounds you were making. He needed to feel you.

“You want me to fuck you, huh? Fill you up good?” He asked, and you knew by now he wanted an answer.

“Please, please, please.” Were the only words you could muster, too high on the feeling Chris had given you with his mouth.

He wasted no time on giving you what you were begging for, quickly discarding his pants and boxers, along with your bra and soaked panties.

Lining himself up with your entrance, he slid his dick over the slick of your pussy and pushed the tip in.

Your eyes had shut in anticipation, but when he made no attempt to move you opened your eyes to look at him.

He had waited until you made eye contact with him before pushing his entire dick inside you.

You both moaned at the full feeling, your walls contracting around him.

After a few seconds, Chris began to move.

Thrusting in and out at a slow pace as if to torture you, he shuddered, revelling in the feeling of your tight cunt.

“Fuck, feels so good baby.” You whined at the pet name, bringing his face down so you could kiss him again.

He started picking up the pace after this, your tongues smashing together in absolute need.

“Faster, faster.” You babbled, drunk off the sensation of his cock piston in and out of you.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you dumb?” He grunted, loving how you could barely string full sentences together.

“Yes, yes, please. Need you deeper.”

The dirty words spilling from your mouth caused him to moan, and he flipped you onto all fours.

“Wanna see that pretty little ass bounce while I fuck you.” He muttered as he entered you yet again.

His pace was relentless, his balls slapping against you from the way he was pounding deep inside you.

You were just making sounds as you tried to say “Harder, faster, more,” but the words couldn’t form properly.

“The slut wants more? Can’t even speak but you’re begging for more?” He taunted you from behind.

You felt a sharp slap on your ass, followed by a soothing rub directly after. You practically yelled as Chris’ hand came down, your cunt convulsing.

“Knew you’d like that,” he slapped your cheek again, “Can feel you squeezing around me.”

You could feel the knot in your stomach unraveling, and you knew you wouldn’t last longer.

“Chris, gonna cum.” You managed to speak between moans.

“Come on baby, need you to cum while I’m inside you.” He groaned, trying to hold his own release off.

His words guided you right to your orgasm, shaking and crying while you came.

“Fuck, you want my cum inside you? Want me to stuff you full?” His pace was losing rhythm, chasing his orgasm while simultaneously overstimulating you.

“Mm, cum inside me. Want to feel it.” You cried, thrusting into him so you could feel more of him.

“So good, feels so good. Oh, I’m gonna cum inside of you,” Chris rambled, “Gonna fill you up with it.”

His moans were uncontrollable, spilling out of him as he relished in the warm feeling of your pussy.

“Cumming.” He grunted, as ropes of his cum spurted out, coating your insides until there was nothing left.

You both took the time to catch your breath, as Chris pulled out of you with a shaky sigh.

“Let me get you a towel.”

You turned onto your back once more, trying to comprehend the mind blowing sex you just had while dozens of people were partying downstairs.

Chris came back with a towel, cleaning the both of you up and passing you your underwear back.

“Hey.” You finally spoke, tired from all the stamina you had just burned.

“Hey.” He replied back to you.

“That was… amazing.” You sighed.

“Yeah, it was fun.”

You weren’t sure if he wanted you to leave now, or if you were supposed to stay, so you opted to do nothing.

“Let me take you on a date.” He announced, and you laughed.

“Don’t you think we’ve done this all a little backwards?”

Chris smiled and brought your head to his shoulder.

“I guess I’m just unpredictable.”

You then remembered you didn’t even use the condom you brought with you. You’d have to make your first date with Chris a trip to the pharmacy.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

a/n haha…. always wear a condom, kids!

hope you enjoyed my first oneshot.

send me any requests you want me to write! i think i’m gonna do an nsfw alphabet next, for chris and matt too

#Spotify #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo oneshot

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lovecla · 1 month ago

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TAKE YOUR PAIN AWAY | quinn hughes.

chapter eight:

➴ chapter warnings: smut (softdom!quinn, slight degradation, oral sex—m. receiving, protected sex, p in v, praise kink, overstimulation), aftercare, mentions of shitty brother.

➴ word count: 4.9k

💌 from me to you: jesus christ who wrote this!! it wasn’t me!! i swear!

౨ৎ

2024, MAY.

“THIS DOESN’T even look like a pancake, Quinn,” laughing, you stare at the weirdly shaped pancake Quinn had just finished flipping.

“Bella, your mom is being annoying. Tell her to leave me alone.” Quinn talks to Bella like a dad would to a daughter, baby voice and all. Bella, just like the traitor she’d become ever since she met Quinn, barks at you. “Good girl, aren’t you?”

“You are the worst, both of you,” you point at them, sitting on the stool and watching Quinn cook the worst looking chocolate chip pancakes you had ever seen. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I introduced you to her.”

“You were just doing the inevitable. B and I were meant to be.”

You stick your tongue out and roll your eyes.

It was Saturday, eight a.m. and the sun was already shining bright outside, making you and Quinn wake up an hour earlier so you could go for a walk in the forest surrounding the cabin.

“You used to make the most perfect looking pancakes. What happened?” You bicker, smirking when he frowned, looking down at his monstrosity pancake.

“I think they look fine. You’re just too demanding.”

He placed four of the ten pancakes he managed to make in front of you, giving you a kiss on the forehead without saying anything. You liked whenever he did things just because he wanted to.

You cut a piece and slid it into your mouth, almost biting your tongue because they tasted amazing, just like seven years ago.

He looked at you with expectant eyes and even though you wanted to mess with him a little more, those puppy eyes made it hard for you to go any further.

“They’re amazing, babe,” the pet name slipped out of your mouth like you had called him that way your entire life. “You’re still the best chocolate chip pancake maker ever.”

He smiles, eating a bite of it himself and speaking after swallowing. “Do I get a kiss for making the best chocolate chip pancakes ever?”

You pretended to think, tapping your chin with your finger. “Umm. I guess? Maybe. Let me think about it for a bit.”

He chuckles, grabbing your neck and kissing you himself. The kiss tasted like coffee and chocolate, sweet yet bitter, dreamy either way. Kissing Quinn never got old. His tongue caressed yours, the firm grab he had on your neck making you whimper softly.

“Yeah. Sweet.” He confirms after separating your lips.

You finish eating breakfast together, going upstairs so you could change into something lighter and appropriate for a hike. You put on your favorite white sports bra and leggings before putting on your Nike shoes and moving on to put your hair up in a ponytail.

While Quinn got ready, you put on some dog shoes for Bella— completely unnecessary but she looked so damn cute with them— and put on some sunscreen on her nose so she wouldn’t get sunburn.

“Why does she have nicer shoes than I?” Quinn moves behind you, while you were taking pictures of Bella looking cute.

“Because she’s mommy’s sweetest thing. Aren’t you, baby?” You talk with her, using your best baby voice and kissing her face all over.

Quinn laughs behind you. “The day you actually become a mom will be the end of everyone. Just think about how spoiled your kid will be.”

You get up from the floor, raising your brows at him. “The day I ‘actually become a mom’? Excuse me. I gave birth to Bella.”

He stares at you like you’re the craziest human being who ever walked on earth and smiles, placing a hand on your waist.

“Let’s get going then, mommy,” he jokes and you smack him on the chest, calling Bella and grabbing your water bottle.

The forest surrounding your cabin wasn’t much of a big forest, it was more like a bunch of trees lined up with a path in the middle, and you actually preferred it this way, because it was less creepy than going around in dark, deep forests with little to no light.

You and Quinn walked in silence for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s company and the view, Bella walking ahead of you both, smelling every plant she found on her way.

You could see the lake from where you were and you smiled, feeling happy and peaceful.

That was the best thing of being around Quinn Hughes.

He was calm, and gentle in a way you don’t see much in men anymore. Your last boyfriend, one of the male models who worked with you in LA, was genuinely the definition of what a man shouldn’t be.

At first, Richard was all you could ask for and more. He understood your fears as a young, inexperienced model in her first big girl job and took care of you.

But then, you started to get big, bigger than him. He started complaining about the parties you went to, the dinners, your relationship with Nicholas— a gay man and your friend— and the outfits you wore.

Then he got extremely pissed at you when you got to be the cover of British Vogue, something he’d been wanting for his entire time at IMG. You remember how he yelled and told you you were trying to be better than him, and how you would never outshine him.

You thought about explaining to him that you could never outshine him because you worked for different brands and different people— hell, he was a male model and you were a woman. How could you outshine someone who didn’t even work in the same modelling industry as you?

So you broke up with him, another thing that hurt his ego and made him cry and beg in front of you, pleading for another chance, which you, dumbly, gave it to him.

Only for him to break up with you a week later.

After that, and after another nightly session of stalking the Canucks Instagram page, looking at pictures of Quinn for more time than it should be normal, you gave up and admitted that, unfortunately, you wouldn’t find anyone as good as Quinn.

“How do you think Jack and Luke are doing?” You ask after a while, genuinely curious.

“They’re fine. They asked about you,” he says, casually, making you smile.

“I miss them.”

“You can always call them, you know…” he suggests. “They would love to talk to you.”

“I don’t know…” you start, feeling unsure. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

Quinn frowns at you. “Why would you be a bother?”

You stare at him, forgetting for a second who you were talking to. This was Quinn, talking about Jack and Luke. But for a second, you thought—

“Madison, why are you calling me in the middle of the night?” Peter sounded angry, making you flinch.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you whisper, holding the phone with your shaky hands. “I just miss you. It’s been a while since the last time we spoke.” A while meant seven months.

“Do you think I have the time to sit here and chit chat with you?” He scoffs. “I’m a doctor, Madison. I have a real job, I don’t sit around all day bothering people, taking pictures of myself for other people to see.”

“You know mom chose this job for me…” You try defending yourself, pointlessly.

“Is this a fucking therapy session? I don’t give a fuck, Madison. I need to go back to sleep. Bye.”

He turns the phone off before you even processed what he had just said to you, letting yourself cry for the millionth time since you moved to Los Angeles.

“Maddie?” Quinn’s voice brings you back to the present, making you blink fast and realize you were standing in the middle of the path, Bella sitting beside you and Quinn looking worried.

Great, now I’ve ruined the hike.

“I’m fine, sorry,” you smile, not letting it reach your eyes. “Just… well. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he wraps his hand around yours, pulling you closer to him. “Are you okay, baby? Was it something I said?”

This time your smile was genuine. Quinn never judged you for your accidental mood swings, the ones you tried so hard to hide from him; instead, he just tried to make you feel better.

“No, I think I just miss the boys,” you tell a half truth, liking how Quinn’s hand completely covered yours. “Are you sure they won’t be upset if I call them?”

“Look at your mommy, Bella, asking dumb questions,” he tried to mimic your voice, earning a slap and a giggle from you. “They won’t, baby, I promise. They miss you just as much. You’re family.”

“Ew, don’t say that!” You joke, making a disgusted face. “We just kissed each other on the mouth. That’s weird.”

“Yeah? Well, and I’ll do it again.” His phrase is the only earning you get before his lips are glued to yours again, both of you smiling and almost ruining the kiss.

Bella interrupts you both when she barks, making you seperate yourself from Quinn and smile at her, hands still intertwined with his.

“Bella, we made a deal: I give you that strawberry cookie you like so much and you let me kiss and make out with your mom. What are you doing?” Quinn frowns at Bella while you stare at him, fake angry.

“I’m never letting you be alone with her again. Strawberry cookies? She doesn’t eat sugar!”

“Well, maybe not with you. But she won’t get any more cookies if she gets on my way again.” He tells her and she barks back at him, resuming her walking.

You smile, giggling as they both start bickering with each other, while Quinn makes empty threats.

He would make a great dad, you think, as you watch him take care of Bella, giving her water and snacks he prepared for her behind your back.

You had been walking for a while, chatting about everything and anything, when you felt a single drop of water on your arm. You looked up, watching as the blue sky from before turned into a cloudy, greyish shade.

“We better head back,” you tell Quinn, stopping suddenly and calling Bella. “It’s going to rain.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s just a little cloudy.” He grabs your hand, making you start walking again.

“Quinn, look up. I just felt a drop of water on my arm and it’s cloudy as hell. Let’s go.”

“Maddie, you’re just not used to Vancouver’s crazy weather. It’s not raining.” He stubbornly said.

“You—”

You don’t even get to finish, the rain deciding to make its way down faster than you thought. Heavy yet quick drops of rain fell down on you, Quinn and Bella, getting all of you soaking wet.

“What the hell,” he shouts over the sound of water hitting the floor and quickly turns around, taking you with him. “This is your fault, I hope you know that.”

You watch Bella running in front of you, mesmerized by the fact that she knew the way back. “How is this my fault, Hughes?”

“It just is!” He shouts, making his steps faster. “It wasn’t going to rain. I checked the weather.”

You laugh, not even bothered with the fact that your hair was wet, your clothes were wet, your skin was wet.

“Well, at least it's summer rain, so it should be over in a few minutes,” you say, watching the cabin still a bit far from you. “I hope we still can go to the lake tomorrow.”

“We will,” he guarantees, even though none of you are sure of it.

You get to the cabin after a few minutes and just like you predicted, the rain stopped. Bella was soaking wet just like you and Quinn, and the first thing you did after removing her little shoes was making sure she was as dry as possible, since she didn’t let you use a hair dryer or a towel. Thankfully, it wasn’t cold, so it wasn’t an issue for her to be a little bit wet for a few hours.

You went upstairs, finding Quinn already in the bedroom you were sharing with him, shirtless and with a towel in his hands, drying his somewhat long, gorgeous hair.

You stood there for a minute, watching his body. Quinn had always been fine, that you were sure of, but this was your first time seeing him half naked after seven years— every time you’d made out with him, the only thing he removed were your shirt and panties and his boxers. And even when you were both young, he made sure not to get naked in front of you, because he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.

If the thought of getting uncomfortable over shirtless Quinn was something possible in the past, it sure as hell wasn’t now. All you wanted to do was get your hands all over his body.

You snapped out of it, walking inside the room. “Bella didn’t let me dry her entirely. I hope the owners don’t kill me for letting a half-wet dog on the couch.”

“I highly doubt it,” Quinn removes the towel from his face and smiles at you, before dropping his eyes to your chest for a second.

You get curious and looks down at your chest too, feeling mortified when you realize that your once white, perfectly not transparent sports bra was now just a wet piece of clothing, as transparent as a wet shirt, showing your tits to everyone who wanted to see— Quinn Hughes, in this case,

Quinn didn’t look bothered by it, but the fact that he had looked… it had to mean something, right?

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been intimate with you before. After that first night at his house, where he fingered you until you came on his couch, you both got each other off on different occasions.

But, for some reason, you never talked about going further, which sometimes left you wondering if he didn’t want it, because you certainly did; Quinn shoving himself inside of you was a very welcome thought.

Maybe now it was time for you to find out if he wanted it, or not.

Pushing your shyness to the side, you let your hair down, combing the wet strands with your fingers. “Do you mind if I change here real quick?” You bat your lashes at him, praying he would say no.

And he did, shaking his head at you and resuming drying the rest of his body.

You turn around, removing your leggings first, sighing with relief because wet leggings were the closest thing to hell you had on earth. Then, you moved on to your bra, letting it fall with a wet thud on the floor, moving around like you were alone in the room, grabbing the towel you brought with you and drying yourself, aware that Quinn’s eyes were on you the entire time.

It was weird only because your teenage horny fantasies were finally coming to life. You remember being nineteen and thinking something was wrong with you because whenever you got off, it was Quinn’s face you imagined on top of you.

And it was weird, because you weren’t even friends anymore. And even if you were, getting off to your best friend isn’t something you should do.

You are both grown. Intimacy between the two of you wasn’t anything new.

But now, as you dried your tits with the towel and pretended you didn’t feel Quinn’s heavy presence surrounding you, you realized that this was something much bigger, different from the other times.

Quinn was looking at you like a man looked at a woman.

“Madison,” he calls you, voice an octave deeper.

You lift your eyes and stare at him, still pretending that you weren’t doing anything.

“What are you doing?”

Damn you, Quinn Hughes, for seeing right through my bullshit.

Still, you decided to play dumb. “What do you mean? I just told you I needed to change.”

“Yeah, change. Not stand in front of me with fucking tiny ass panties and tits out for everyone to see.”

You drop the towel on the chair beside the bed, watching as his eyes run up and down your body, making you feel like a little deer standing in front of a wolf.

He also drops his, and it’s your time to stare at his body, particularly at the tent formed in front of his shorts. He looks huge, and the worst— best—- part is that you already know he is.

“Come here,” he orders, softly, and you’re quick to do as he says. “Wouldn’t expect a girl as sweet as you to act like a whore.”

You bit your lip, already regretting your past actions. You liked when Quinn was mean to you, but you liked so much more when he praised you for being a good girl. His good girl.

“Don’t say that,” You mumble, shaking your head.

He clicks his tongue, lifting his hand and gently running his finger over your tits. He mindlessly draws invisible lines, circling your nipples and playing with your boobs while you hold back your moans.

“Why not, hm?” He squeezes your right nipple between his index and his thumb, making you open your mouth slightly. “I always said you were well behaved, sweet; I told you you’re my sweet girl, but maybe I was wrong?”

You shake your head, trying to speak despite his hold on your nipple.

“No, you weren’t,” you breathe. “‘M sweet, I swear.”

He hums, moving on to your right tit, doing the same thing he did seconds ago to the other one. “I don’t know about that, Maddie. Sweet girls don’t undress in front of men the way you did.”

“I just—”

“If you need me to take care of you, all you have to do is ask. You have done it before, what made you stop now?”

You look away, embarrassed. Maybe the fact that Quinn hadn’t fucked you yet wasn’t his doing, it was yours.

“Look at me when I talk to you, baby,” voice steady and firm, he orders, removing his hand from your chest and gently holding your chin, forcing your eyes to stare at his. “Now answer my question, pretty.”

“I just need you,” you whisper, squeezing your thighs together, embarrassingly wet, and not only because of the rain anymore.

“You have me. I am right in front of you.”

You shake your head, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I want you. I want you i-inside me.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head. “Is that so?”

You nod, hoping and praying that he’d finally give you what you want. And fast.

He stepped back, making you almost cry with how cold you felt. Then, he locked the bedroom’s door and walked back at you, kissing your lips feverishly.

His tongue entered your mouth and his hand gripped your wet hair, roughly. His other hand pushed you back, making you sit on the bed. He steps back again, and just when you were ready to tell him to get closer, he removes his wet clothes, standing naked in front of you.

Quinn was pretty, just like the rest of him. He was thick and big, precum leaking from his red, slightly swollen tip.

“Will you show me how much of a good girl you are and get me ready for you?” He asks, and even though you know it’s rhetorical— he knows how much you enjoy having him inside your mouth—, you nod eagerly, tilting your head up and staring at him. “Go ahead, pretty.”

You take him with your hands, giving the tip a small lick before putting it inside your mouth, tongue caressing the tip like you knew he enjoyed.

Sucking Quinn off was something that you never thought you’d like so much, but turns out you’re always very eager to do so. The heavy weight of his dick inside your mouth, the difficulty to breathe while he fucks your mouth gently, the doubled attention because you didn’t want to risk hurting him with your teeth.

How he holds your hair with his right hand and how he places his left hand behind your neck, tilting your head in the right angle and shoving himself deeper inside your mouth.

How he moans loud and deep, how he praises you for being so good, for sucking him off like a pro, for being able to fit his entire length inside your mouth.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” he says, quickening his pace.

You hollow your cheeks, tightening your mouth for him and watching as he rolled his eyes to the back of his head, eager to come. But just when you thought he would give you what you want, and come deep into your throat, he pulls back, cock wet with saliva— your saliva— and runs his fingers through his hair, pushing them out of his face.

You hold back a whine, desperate to show him how good you were.

“So pretty,” he says, wiping your wet, swollen lips with his thumb, wrapping his mouth around it after he’s done. “I want you to ride me.”

You nod, not sure if you knew how to. You had never been on top of anyone before, but if Quinn wanted you on top of him, you weren’t the one who was going to rain on his parade.

He kisses your forehead before moving around and sitting on the bed, resting his back against the headboard. He pats his thick thighs, silently asking for you to sit there. You promptly do as he asks, sitting on top of him, just a few centimeters away from his dick.

He plays with the little bow in front of your panties before removing it from you, lifting your hips just enough to get it out of his way.

You were sitting naked on top of your childhood best friend, captain of the Vancouver Canucks, Quinn Hughes. And you were wet, so wet that you were afraid you’d leave a wet spot on his thighs.

He shamelessly stares at your pussy, lifting his thumb and lightly touching your clit, making you bite your tongue, the taste of copper filling up your mouth.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he smirks. “And it’s all for me.”

He sounded proud and that made you happy.

“I want you to open the bedside table drawer and get a condom for me, can you do that?”

You pout, already doing what he said. “You’ll make me do all the work today.”

“And you think I’m wrong? You think you deserve princess treatment today?”

Yes, you immediately answered in your head, not saying it out loud though. Deep down you knew that if you did, you’d only make things worse for you.

You open the condom package, not even bothering to ask how he knew it would be there, and wrap it around his cock, jerking it off with your hands once, and then twice.

Quinn stared up at you, sapphire eyes full of lust and danger.

“Fuck yourself on my cock, baby.” He ordered, making you whimper.

You lifted your hips slightly while you wrapped your right hand around his dick, sinking slowly, feeling your hole stretching around his cock.

With this position, you could feel that he was deep inside you, and you couldn’t tell if it made you feel better or worse. It’d been months since your last time and your ex wasn’t nearly as huge as Quinn is, so you were a little bit overwhelmed.

“You’re b-big,” you hiccup, sliding further. “I can’t—”

He caressed your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Do you want to stop, sweets? We can take it slow.”

“It’s been a while,” you whisper, stopping for a second so you could… breathe.

“I can tell,” he almost hisses, running his hand down your body. “You’re so fucking tight, Madison. You’re squeezing me to death.”

You both moan loudly as you finally get his dick all the way in, your ass meeting his thighs. Your insides were burning with the stretch, and you felt so full you could swear he was in your stomach.

“Fuck.” He groans, touching your clit again, making your first tears start to fall.

It was too much, but at the same time, it was just what you needed. It was overwhelming, not only because it was your first time fucking someone in months, but because you had known Quinn since you were eleven. Your affection for him ran deeper than for anyone else’s.

He rubbed your swollen clit while he pushed his torso up and kissed your lips. You let out a moan because his dick slid the slightest bit out of you, and when you broke the kiss, it got all the way in again, hitting your right spots.

“Come on, baby. Make me proud.” He whispers, gripping your waist hard and lifting his hips up while you lower yours, both moaning at the same time.

You placed your hands on his chest, searching for support before quickening your pace, watching as he planted his feet on the bed and pounded into you with force.

If you thought that making out with him was good, having sex was definitely better. His hands were working hard and fast on your clit while he pounded inside you, fucking you deep and keeping you full.

Quinn Hughes fucked you like he played hockey: to win.

Your moans were loud and you were so greatful the cabin was in the middle of nowhere because no one could hear your screams.

“My sweetheart. Make me come, baby,” Quinn knew that pet names, especially the ones with a possessive pronoun in front of them, did it for you, so this time wasn’t any different. “Maddie.”

Your name on his lips was what made you keep going, fighting the tears running down your face and the pain in your thighs. You wanted Quinn to be proud, you wanted him to want nothing but you.

You wanted Quinn Hughes to yourself, even if it were for a short period of time.

“I’m so close, baby, you’re squeezing me so well,” he licks his lips, rubbing your clit as you ride him. You can feel the exact moment where he comes inside the condom, and you clench around his dick harder, watching his head fall back on the pillow, sweat drops running down his face.

You whine, happy because he came and frustrated because you hadn’t. You were about to complain when he turned you around, his dick still nestled inside you, making you lay back on his chest, your back glued to his front.

“Hold your thighs back for me, sweetness,” he orders, making you hold the back of your thighs until your knees are almost touching your chin, completely exposed for him. “There you go.”

He pounds back into you, quick and steady, making you shiver. His hand, the one that wasn’t holding you in place, finds your aching clit, rubbing it furiously, wanting nothing more than making you come. Your lower belly felt weird, hot and cold at the same time, and you knew you were about to come.

“Make a mess for me, sweets,” he whispered in your ear, and what could you do besides what he asked you to?

You came, mind numb and shaky thighs. The room became silent, your mind as light as a feather, and your thoughts all over the place. The overwhelming feeling of wanting to be his consuming your body like a drug.

“Baby?”

Quinn’s voice sounded distant, like he was a thousand miles away from you. Your tongue sat heavy inside your mouth, and you were slowly falling asleep.

“P-proud?” You hear yourself ask, barely acknowledging his low, tired chuckle.

“Of course, baby.”

Suddenly you’re awake and inside water, which scared you for a few seconds.

“Sh, it’s just water, baby, calm down,” you hear Quinn’s soft voice behind you, now clearer and closer to you. You look down, seeing a sea of smelly bubbles and feeling Quinn’s thick thighs around you, only then realizing he was inside the huge bathtub with you, and you were laying on top of him. “Hey there, baby. You got me scared for a second.”

“Sorry,” you say, your voice cracking mid word.

“No need to be sorry. Was it too much?” He asks, and you could almost taste the concern in his voice.

“No,” you shake your head, welcoming the warm water around you. “No. It was perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re always so good to me, Maddie,” he whispers, running his hands up and down your arms, touching you everywhere. “I can’t get enough of you.”

You chuckle, wanting to tell him that you felt just the same.

“You’re unreal,” he kisses your cheek, and you snuggle closer to his body. “I’m glad you came back to me.”

Your heart stops beating for a second inside your chest, and it feels heavier now. Because being his was all you ever wanted to be, but the only thing you realised after being with him, is that you aren’t the right person for Quinn Hughes.

And it hurt.

taglist: @hischierswhore @ru-kru @alwaysclassyeagle @he6rtshaker @nope-i-am-done @nngkay 🤎

#quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes angst #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes x model!fmc #quinn hughes x fem!reader #TYPA #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey #nhl fic

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the-boy-meets-evil · 1 year ago

Text

you're mine | c.sc

you thought you had finally gotten the upper hand on seungcheol. you were wrong. pairing: idol!seungcheol x fem!reader genre: idol!au | smut, pwp rating: explicit | minors DNI warnings: this is mostly just smut so take that how you will, reader is kinda bratty, scoups is possessive, slight dom undertones (? idk i don't usually write this), swearing, kissing, biting, marking, restraints, sensory deprivation (blindfold), fingering, brief mention of a hand job, slight nipple play, use of a pet name (baby, pretty girl), oral sex (f. receiving), vaginal penetration, protected sex, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything word count: ~3.5k

a/n: idk what to say, this kind of got away from me lol. credit/blame to @seungkwansphd for putting the idea in my head and scoups for whatever bullshit he was on in macao. it was supposed to be a drabble and this isn't what i'd normally write so go easy on me. unbeta'd and mostly unedited. thank you to my baby @playmetheclassics / @classicscreations for the last minute banner and divider!

You’ve never been much of a brat with anyone else. It just isn’t something that crossed your mind. Why would you want to rile someone up on purpose? Why would you want to get under their skin just to see their response? Why would you want to do the opposite of what they asked? So no, it hasn’t crossed your mind.

Until Seungcheol.

Until you met the man that made you want to cause problems. The man that made you discover a lot of things you didn’t know about yourself. The man that had you from the moment he told you that he was going to go easy on you. You didn’t realize then, but you were fucked. Talk about being in over your head.

He really did start easy, in hindsight. And he let you get away with things you didn’t even realize. Thought you had the upper hand, actually. How many ways can one person be wrong? You don’t have the answer beyond knowing it’s a lot.

You love the moments that Seungcheol lets you think you’re in control. You know now that’s all it is. Pretend. He’s always the one actually pulling the strings. And you’re always the one trying to press his buttons, press your luck, gain some ground.

Today’s test? You want to mark him up. You want to leave your claim on him, but you know you can’t make it obvious. Don’t feel like you can push his buttons quite that hard. So even though you want to mark up his neck, you settle for his chest. You keep telling him that it’s getting too big anyway. Just who is he trying to impress?

Seungcheol is lying in your bed, one arm tucked behind his head and eyes closed. You know he’s not asleep, though, know he’s just enjoying a minute of peace before he has to leave and return to the chaos. And you know now is the best time because he really does have to go soon. It’s the best time to be able to get him and win, even if just for a moment, because there’s a lot of things he’ll do. A lot of things you still haven’t learned. But he’ll never be late. Never miss a schedule or leave his members waiting.

So you adjust your position under the premise of stretching, not really sure if he buys the act but also not really caring. You push yourself up and quickly swing a leg over his thighs, feel them clench under you quickly as you’re settling on top of them.

“And just who are you working out for?” you challenge, quirking an eyebrow.

“I don’t hear you complaining,” is his only answer as he opens his eyes to look up at you.

“Maybe I don’t want everyone else to see how good you look,” you pout.

“Maybe you should behave yourself then,” he retorts and you huff.

“I’m pretty sure you prefer it when I don’t,” you say.

You lean forward to kiss him before he can answer, lips meeting softly as his hands move up your thighs to grip your hips. He’s anchoring you to him and you know he’s mentally counting how much time he actually has. But you don’t want to give him that chance, don’t want to give up the tiny bit of control this position and the element of surprise have given you. You get the smallest bit of satisfaction when you break the kiss and he follows your lips. It’s not the time to get distracted, though, not now. So you kiss down his neck, suck just enough to earn a hiss out of him without it being enough to leave a mark. Not there at least.

When you get to his chest, the muscles in his thighs tighten again. On purpose, you think, to distract you. It’s hard to ignore too, especially when his hands grip your hips harder. When you can tell he’s trying to throw you off.

“Baby,” he whines and you know that whine, know that it’s designed to distract.

All you do is hum against his chest as you continue to kiss across it and down his stomach. His moans are low, the kind that really get to you. The kind where you know he’s enjoying himself even if he’s not fully in control. You kiss back up to his chest and can feel his breaths as you go.

“What are you going to do now, baby?” he asks. You hear the confidence in his voice. The confidence that usually makes you stutter.

Not today, though. You suddenly suck the skin of his chest into your mouth. Seunghcheol hisses in the most satisfying way at the combination of pleasure and pain. His fingers dig into your skin where they hold you in place, making you hum into his skin. It just makes you keep going, managing to suck two marks into his skin before his alarm goes off.

Without needing to be told, you slide off of him and allow him to get out of the bed. You know he doesn’t want to leave, but you know he’ll be back. Know that he’s got to keep to his schedule or he won’t be able to come over at all. After he’s pulled his shirt back on and gathered his things, he comes to stand in front of where you’re sitting at the edge of the bed. His kiss is soft, at odds with yours from moments ago.

“Listen carefully,” he whispers into your ear in that low voice. “I expect you to be waiting in bed when I text you that I’m headed back.”

“Is that so?” you challenge.

“Yes, pretty girl,” he says.

“And if I’m not?” you press.

“You’ll find out,” he answers.

That alone sends a shiver down your spine. You always want him to come back, never feel like you’ve had quite enough, but this is something even more. You’re looking forward to it.

The text comes a little later than you’re expecting saying that he’s on his way back over. And it comes without an apology for the lateness (though Jeonghan had texted you earlier to let you know things were running long). No, this text just comes with a reminder that expects you to be waiting for him in bed. He’ll let himself in.

It gives you too good of a chance, one you don’t want to pass up. He’s expecting you to listen, especially after you marked him earlier. But you’ve been waiting for this. And you’re not going to listen.

Ten minutes later, you hear the key turn in the lock and you sit further back into the couch wearing only one of his t-shirts he’s left behind and underwear. Maybe you’ll get to see a little of his control slipping.

His eyes are on you the second he’s through the door, narrowing at the open defiance. Seungcheol is serious as he regards you sitting there. It’s like he’s waiting for you to break first and confident you will. It makes you fidget a little in your seat, which seems to be enough for him.

“I asked you to be waiting in bed,” he says.

“I know,” you respond without missing a beat. “I guess I’m not so good at following directions.”

“And what do you think I should do?” He’s more so asking himself the question than you.

“Whatever you want,” you answer anyway. He raises an eyebrow.

“Careful what you ask for, pretty girl,” he warns.

“I think I can handle it.” It comes out just as bold as you mean for it to.

“We’ll see about that,” he says without missing a beat. “Follow me.”

Every part of you wants to protest, wants to keep pushing him further to see what happens. But your curiosity is also piqued and you really want to see what it is that he’s planning now. That must be why you let the intrusive thought win and follow him back into your bedroom where you find him already reaching into the drawer of your nightstand. The same drawer that he filled so you were always ready.

“Are you going to behave now and get on the bed like I asked?” Seungcheol asks with his back still to you.

“I’m not sure,” you say and smirk at the way it makes him turn around.

“Oh you’re not?” he asks.

“What’s in it for me if I start listening? Who’s going to rile you up?” you fire back at him.

“You like seeing me riled up,” he notes.

“Of course I do,” you offer.

He closes the space between you in a matter of steps and crushes his lips against yours to prevent another retort. The surprise gives way to desire as you wind your arms around his neck. You’re not even that surprised when he grabs you and lifts you up to deposit you onto the bed, despite the gasp that falls from your lips. He puts a knee between your legs and kisses you hard again before he breaks the kiss to pull off your shirt. You reach to remove your underwear and he stops your hands.

“Leave those,” he says before getting off the bed.

His back is to you again as he looks for something in the drawer. You have to squeeze your legs together when he turns back to you with silk scarves in his hands. But then he’s silently asking your permission before attaching each wrist to the headboard and you’re nodding even as you’re squirming. It’s not until you realize he’s still got something in his hands that you remember he promised you’d find out what happens when you don’t listen.

“What’s that for, Cheol?” you ask as he straddles your lap.

“I told you that you’d find out,” he answers and leans forward so his lips are nearly on your ear. “You don’t get to see what I’m doing. Just remember the word to use if it’s too much.”

That makes you swallow hard. You’ve talked about sensory deprivation and explored it a little, but you’ve never been blindfolded from the start. And part of you thinks that he’s going to leave this on you the entire time. A reminder of who’s actually calling the shots. He’s still gentle when he secures it behind your head, so careful that he doesn’t get any of your hair caught. You blink your eyes when it’s in place without it making much of a difference. You’re not totally blinded, but you might as well be. You can barely make out a shadow.

The next thing you’re aware of is Seungcheol’s lips against your neck, carefully trailing kisses that make you want to press into him. His thumb brushes across your nipple and you whimper, earning a chuckle out of him. Not being able to see is making everything feel a lot bigger. Just making it feel a lot more. There’s no knowing where his hands or mouth will be next and it’s turning you on. Making you want everything all at once.

Seunghcheol drags your nipple between his teeth and you arch into him, careful not to pull too hard against the restraints. The hand he runs down your side as he continues to tease your nipple should tickle, would under any other circumstances. It doesn’t this time, though.

“Are you going to listen to me next time?” he murmurs against your skin.

“I don’t know,” you manage between a moan. Your nipples are so sensitive.

“What was that?” he asks before he returns to kissing along the underside of your breast while his hand massages the other.

“I said I don’t know,” you repeat, fighting against the answer he wants.

“I guess the blindfold stays on,” he muses.

With that, he works his way down your stomach, leaving a trail of kisses mixed with goosebumps from the warmth of his breath. Part of you wants to anticipate his moves and you open your legs, just slightly. He chuckles so quietly that you think usually you wouldn’t hear it. Except now everything sounds louder. You feel him remove his lips from your body, feel the bed shift from him moving somehow, and then feel his lips make contact with your skin again. But he’s kissing down from your knee, completely avoiding the place you want him the most. Even your moans and squirming do nothing to make him move on from kissing along your calf.

“Please baby,” you beg.

“Please what?” he asks, smirk clear in his voice.

“I need you,” you answer.

“Do you?” is all he asks

“Yes, Seungcheol, please,” you whine.

“Are you going to listen next time?” he wonders. He runs a finger up your inner thigh, stopping just shy of the material separating you from what you need most.

“Cheol,” you plead.

“Are you?” he repeats. This time he moves your underwear to the side and runs a single finger between your folds. It’s over entirely too fast. “So wet.”

“Fuck, yes Cheol, whatever you want, I just fucking need you,” you beg again.

His answer comes in the form of pulling your underwear down swiftly, leaving you naked before him. He runs his finger along your folds again, collecting some of the wetness there. You’re so hyper aware of him that you’re moaning from the barest touch, moaning when you feel his fingers pull away again. But then you feel him move around you and he licks into you without warning, spreading your folds with his fingers to get his tongue deeper.

“Fuck, baby, fuuuuck,” you yell.

You want to have your hands in his stupid blond hair, the hair he knew was going to drive you crazy. Want to hold his face between your thighs. So you lightly squeeze your thighs together instead and he moans into your cunt. It’s annoying, actually, how good he’s always been at going down on you because just the thought of it makes you agree to damn near anything.

Everything just feels that much more intense. Usually you love the sight of Seungcheol between your legs. Love to watch the way his head moves, love to see the way his hair falls, love the way the muscles move. Still do. But damn there’s something about not knowing what’s coming that’s making it that much hotter.

Seconds later his mouth moves up your clit and your back arches into his mouth again. He follows it by sliding a finger inside you and you really think you see stars. Hearing the way he moans into you along with the way his fingers move is almost too much. You don’t need to see anything, he’s setting your entire body on fire. When he slides a second finger in and hooks them to hit you just right, you scream out again.

He pulls his mouth away. “Oh, do you like that?”

“Fuuuuu- oh my god Cheol, yes yes,” you manage.

“Who fucks you the best, baby?” Seungcheol asks. “Hm? Who does this pussy belong to?”

It’s honestly into cocky territory and you don’t care. Didn’t realize it was this much of a turn on for him to be possessive over you like this. Didn’t realize how much you wanted to be his, even if it’s confined to these four walls.

“I’m waiting,” he says, stilling his fingers inside you.

“It’s yours, Cheol, I’m yours,” you whimper.

His fingers start moving again and he doesn’t answer until you feel his mouth on yours, taste yourself on his tongue. He’s catching every moan with his mouth, pushing you to let go, urging you forward. Part of you wants to pull away, knows that he must feel you clenching around his fingers, but doesn’t move his lips from yours. Catches the screams you want to let loose and guides you as you come around his fingers.

Your breathing is still coming back to normal as you feel Seungcheol untying your wrists, massaging each one as he does so. The last thing he does is remove the scarf covering your eyes and you blink even at the low light in the bedroom. His gaze is soft but confident. He knows how hard he just made you come, yet still wants to make sure you’re okay.

“Can we do that again some time?” you wonder and he chuckles.

“I guess it wasn’t a punishment,” he notes.

“Oh no, I’ve definitely learned my lesson,” you tease and he rolls his eyes but there’s nothing behind it.

“Hm,” is all he says.

He’s sitting up on the bed next to you, one hand lightly stroking his cock. You’re not sure when he took off his clothes but just getting you off clearly turned him on. Without even thinking about it, you’re moving to straddle his thighs. His eyes watch you intently as you spit into your hand and move his aside. Your strokes are slow and he lets his head fall back, eyes closing. It’s not often that he lets you set the pace like this, so you’re going to enjoy it while you can. When you run your thumb over the tip, you watch the way the muscles in his stomach contract. And you know his patience is wearing out.

“Enough,” he says and reaches over to the nightstand for a condom. He’s ripping it open with his teeth and then rolling it on the next second.

Seungcheol reaches out to pull you toward him and you realize he’s not planning on moving. No, he’s planning on you riding him. Which is fine by you since you already went this long without being able to see him. You try to lower yourself down slowly because he’s big and as many times as you’ve fucked him, you’re still never quite ready. But he has other plans and pulls you down in one motion.

“Fuck,” you draw out.

“I don’t wanna wait anymore,” he says in that low voice that shoots straight to your core.

You’re not sure which of you moves first with his hands guiding you as you fuck yourself on him. One of his hands slides up your back and into your hair, pulling it so you arch into him. The new angle has a string of words mixed with moans flying out of your mouth. And it makes it easier for him to pull your nipple between his teeth again. Except this time he doesn’t focus on your nipple. This time he moves to the skin at the side of your breast, sucking hard. Much harder than you sucked earlier. Definitely hard enough to leave a mark. Fucker.

That thought flies out when he snaps his hips into you suddenly, quickening the pace and angling so he’s hitting exactly where you need him too. Each thrust stretches you out and brings you closer to another orgasm. You don’t even register that you’re sensitive from the first. Seungcheol pulls at your hair again and focuses on your exposed neck, a constant contrast of pain and pleasure. He kisses up and down the base before he lands at your pulse point right below your jaw.

“Cheol fuck,” you yell as he sucks another mark into your skin. Another mark reminding you that you’re his.

“Are you close, baby?” he asks when he finishes marking you. “Gonna come for me again?”

“Yes, fuck, yes, I’m so close,” you whine out.

Seungcheol removes his hand from your hair to put both hands on your hips, anchoring you in place while he takes over thrusting into you. You know he must be close too with the way his brow furrows and the way he stutters.

“Fuck baby, come for me, I want to feel you come,” he urges.

It’s all you need and you’re releasing again, a string of fucks leaving your lips as he comes right after you. You try to carefully move through his release before collapsing down on his lap with him still inside you. You lean your head forward onto his shoulder to try and steady your breaths. He kisses lightly along your shoulder, hands trailing absently across your skin.

You like every version of Seungcheol, but you think this version, in the immediate aftermath of fucking him, might be your favorite. The contrast of how soft his touches are does things to your heart that you’re not entirely sure you want to admit. Not to yourself at least.

After another long moment, you gently pull yourself off him and flop back onto your side of the bed. You feel, rather than see, him get off the bed and assume he’s walking off to the bathroom. When he returns with a washcloth a minute later, you’re running your fingers absently along the mark you’re sure he left below your jaw.

“Just in case you forget,” he says before he runs the wet cloth along your skin.

“Forget what?” you question.

“That you’re my girl,” he says. “You can try to be cute and mark my chest or be friends with my members like Jeonghan. But you’re mine.”

“Yes sir,” you say and appreciate the way his eyes darken. Maybe he’s not done with you for the night yet.

thank you for reading, let me know your thoughts <3

#svthub #kvanity #seventeen fic #scoups fanfic #scoups x reader #scoups x you #scoups imagines #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x you #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines

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f1version · 2 years ago

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DISTRACTION ★ CS55

pairing: carlos sainz jr. x girlfriend!reader (she/her)

summary: Carlos is stretching while you are trying to work. Keeping your eyes off him is harder than you thought.

or this request

warnings: teasing, kissing, spanish pet names, shirtless carlos, just carlos in general and reader being overwhelmed by that.

word count: 840

It's been about an hour since Carlos asked you to get in the pool with him. You would have, but after looking at all the work you had due, all he got was a no. So now he is looking for revenge.

He has been stretching for the past 10 minutes. No shirt. Wet from the pool.

Carlos is good-looking, everyone knows that. You know that. He knows that, and he's using it against you.

Each time you look up information, you end up with Carlos' face on your laptop. Each time you focus enough to write something, you hear a small moan coming from Carlos' mouth. Each time you get lost in thought, your eyes end up on Carlos' body.

This is impossible. He is impossible.

You close your eyes, draining all thoughts from your mind, miraculously being successful in the process. There was nothing but a dark void, all of Carlos' intense presence forgotten.

Peace.

"Mi vida?" His voice trembles in your head, making your eyes fly open, cursing everything and everyone in this world "Are you okay?"

Oh my god. He looked so innocent, brown eyes wide and soft, you almost fell for it. He was playing games that are hard to win.

"Yeah, I'm good" You answered, "I just need to finish this article for tomorrow."

He nodded, "Maybe after you finish, we can have a little fun," He said, winking and then continued stretching.

How is he even real?

He just says things, does things, and you know they are on purpose. You know how he wants you to see him. He wants you to want him.

You turned to look at him once he was focused on whatever he was doing at this point. He is gorgeous. His tanned skin traced by the sun, glowing because of the sweat and water, mouth slightly open, breathing deeply, eyes shut.

You saw him smile to himself, it was so sudden that it made you hyperaware of yourself. You were almost on your knees, eyes fixated on him. And god, you swear you had just whimpered. That's why Carlos was smiling.

Fuck him.

"You are the worst." You heard yourself say, no longer concerned about work. Well, maybe a bit, but you had to enjoy your time with him.

"Hm? Did you say something, cariño?" He had heard you. He does this regularly when teasing you, lying about not hearing you. You don't think he notices this habit of his, but you do. And you love it.

"Can you come here, please, amor?" You ignored his comment, you had to end this now, he is too much of a distraction.

The Spaniard nodded, smirk on his lips. Positioning himself in between your legs when he got closer. He was looking at you now, his eyes were mischief as he said, "Is everything okay with work?"

And you kissed him. Kissed him as if he were the only thing you needed, kissed his burning lips without fear of melting. Lips that, with the eagerness, moved faster, tuning to the rhythm of his racing heart. His hands were now on you, your own pair on him, both touching every inch.

Carlos lets out a whimper, and you believe that is the most beautiful sound in the world, because he is the most beautiful man in the world.

You moan in response, Carlos taking the opportunity to wrap your legs around his torso, lifting you as he stands, his mouth never leaving yours.

He starts walking and you know you have reached the bedroom when he almost knocks you over with a couple of doorframes. He kisses your neck, leaving small bites and marks on those places he knows drive you insane.

When you feel yourself falling onto the mattress, your legs never leaving his waist, you turn the two of you around, straddling him.

"You are the devil. You know that, right?" You say, and he smiles, bringing you down for a kiss. You start moving around, leaving his lips, kissing his chest, moving your hips, all making Carlos curse and call out your name.

"Mierda" He whispers, eyes closed, "Don’t stop, sweetheart.”

But you do stop.

His eyes open fast when he doesn’t feel you near anymore, his hands try to catch you before you stand up. You are faster.

"What the fuck?" He protests, sitting up while you go through the door.

"I told you I had to work, amor." You say, "But since you decided to be such a tease, I had no more options."

He looks too stunned to speak… and turned on, very turned on.

"Cariño,"

"We can finish this tonight, how's that?" You wink at him. "See ya.’"

That's the last thing you say before running away, leaving a desperate Carlos who has declared war against you in his head.

translation:

amor love mi vida my life cariño sweetheart mierda shit / fuck

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luv4fushi · 2 years ago

Text

jujutsu kaisen bf headcanons

jjk - gojo satoru, nanami kento, fushiguro megumi, itadori yuji, inumaki toge

content: just some of my delusions <3 fem!reader

warnings: word dump, other than that nothing else hehe

i started this account to write oneshots but they’re all like. 7k words…. and MORE. so now im posting this because i’ve been writing two different stories for 3 days now.

gojo satoru

he’s such a menace. he looovessss being all gross in public to annoy people.

he doesn’t tell you when he’s upset and overcompensates to hide it (but you can always tell)

he likes when you play with his hair and when you tell him good things about himself. being the strongest means he’s used to having a lot of responsibility (everyone relies on him). he likes it when you tell him he’s doing a good job and that he can rely on you, too.

he doesn’t get jealous easily (he pretends he does, but it never actually bothers him) because he knows he’s the best and he’s confident in your love. he’ll pretend to be all pouty and sad but at the scene of the crime he finds it SO FUNNY. “babe… you did NOT have to reject him like that.”

he’s rich (duh) so he randomly comes home with the most EXTRAVAGANT GIFTS. you’ll be like “wtf???” and he’d just stand there with the hugest grin on his face and be like “i thought of you!!”

he pulls the “don’t you love me?” card WAY TOO OFTEN. it works every time.

he hates when you cry. he thinks he’s bad at comforting people so he’ll be all nervous and afraid that you’ll hate him, but he’s actually good at it. he pulls you into his arms and lets you nuzzle into his neck. “i’m right here. i’ve got you, baby.” AHHHH

nanami kento

he’s so daddy material. not even in a sexual way. he’s just very responsible and reliable. he’s the kind of bf where you don’t have worry about planning trips and events because he handles it. he’s the bf you’d trust with your passport.

he loves to get massages from you and home cooked meals.

he likes upbeat, bubbly people because he’s relatively calm. he likes to watch you do cute things with a fond smile on his face. when you force him to participate in things, he’ll only grin and let you have your way with him.

he overthinks EVERYTHING. he knows he’s a workaholic so he’ll say things like, “i’m so sorry i’m late. i didn’t want to be caught up at work, but things just happened to be that way today.” and if you pretend to be upset he’ll be at your feet. “i’m sorry, love. i swear i love coming home to see you and spend time with you. don’t be upset, hm?”

HE’S SO … he makes you feel protected. he’s very stern with others, but around you he’s a lot more soft and flexible. “you don’t need to force yourself. i can do it for you, baby.” HEHEH he’s so lovely i love him

he’s very attentive. he never makes you feel like he’s not listening to you. he will quite literally drop whatever he’s doing to listen to you.

fushiguro megumi

he’s so SHY!!! he blushes really easily too. you have to initiate most of the touching and talking at the beginning of your relationship with him.

he actually doesn’t mind pda. he feels kind of prideful that he’s able to call you his. he LOVES holding your hand and he does that little thing where he’ll squeeze it when he knows you’re nervous.

everybody makes fun of him for being super soft with you. at first, he’s not really good with expressing his emotions, but give it three months and he’s the cheesiest bf ever. he loves using pet names in private with you.

he’s on the quieter side so he’s able to observe you REALLY well. got a new haircut? “did you cut your hair? it looks nice.” wearing some new jewelry? “it’s pretty. you should’ve told me, i would’ve bought you some more.” always cold? “i wore another sweater because i knew you’d be cold.” got your nails done? “why didn’t you choose the color i picked?” he’s SO thoughtful.

he’s such a cuddler. loves being held. loves holding you. literally would rather spend all day in bed with you than do anything else. he’s so AGH !! “why don’t you just sleep here tonight? i don’t want you to go.”

itadori yuji

he is SHAMELESS omg. he loves to talk about you and brag about you to anyone that will listen. “my girlfriend can do that, too!” + “my girlfriend says that i can’t do that, sorry.” + “my girlfriend doesn’t like things like that…” + “my girlfriend thinks these are cute!” + “my girlfriend is so pretty.”

he adores you so much he’s so cute about it. he literally dies when he’s without you. he’s SUPER clingy and doesn’t even try to hide it. everyone else thinks it’s soooo annoying but he doesn’t care.

he loves receiving forehead kisses, but because he’s literally like … curse offspring (LOL) he’s taller than you so he has to bend down while you tiptoe to kiss him. he also loves to pinch your cheeks at random times.

he’s a lot more buff than you think he is (cue the scene where he’s sprinting while carrying nobara) so hugging him is literally like hugging a huge bear.

he gives you a kiss EVERY TIME HE SEES YOU. he gets so sad when you refuse one. “what do you mean ‘not right now’? i don’t see the problem. i literally your boyfriend :(“

inumaki toge

he’s also a menace but not as much as gojo. he’s SO PLAYFUL and you always pretend to be annoyed but he knows you aren’t.

he’ll pull up and randomly give you food. that’s his love language. he loves feeding you. he’ll literally pull you on to the seat next to him and give you food if you say you haven’t eaten.

he LOVES giving you his sweaters. once he hands them to you, prepare to never give them back because he smells really good. you always smell like him to everyone else (that’s his goal)

he makes those super corny playlists that spell out a sentence. but he also makes playlists with music he knows you like to listen to. he’ll name them really funny things like “me and bae’s locked-in playlist”

he’s so witty. he makes you laugh so hard and then he pretends like your laughter doesn’t make him swell with pride. he LOVES to pepper you with kisses to hear you giggle.

he’s super cheesy and hilarious over text. he uses every pet name imaginable. “baby can you come wake me up in an hour?” + “angel i need u to give me back one sweater. just one.” + “princess ur being unreasonable … AN OVERNIGHT TRIP? i’m gonna jump.”

that’s all hehehe i love jjk boys sm

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #megumi x reader #yuji x reader #inumaki x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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ugh-yoongi · 2 years ago

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Hi. Can I request a drabble with Jungkook where they’re in a secret relationship and they think their friends are not aware of it but they’re actually really bad at hiding it. Thank you!

decided to combine these two. thank you both for the requests!

this one ran away from me but was really fun, so we're going to ignore the wordcount. hope you both enjoy! <3

obviously

pairing: jungkook x f. reader genre: secret relationship au, roommate au; crack, fluff warnings: two idiots engaging in idiot behavior, swearing, yoongi is tortured by reader's use of emojis, drinking/alcohol, one reference to jungkook wearing women's underwear but it isn't a thing, unedited. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 3.7k

In retrospect, getting married at nineteen wasn’t your brightest idea.

Not your worst, either, because at least you’d chosen well.

There are undoubtedly far worse men to have as your ex-husband than Kim Namjoon, who had also gotten caught up in all those romantic cliches about young love; had also been inflicted with whatever illness made you believe getting married so young was smart and cool; had also woken up one day and thought what the fuck are we doing and asked if you wanted to call it quits.

You did.

And even though you loved Namjoon, over time it turned into that platonic life partner kind of love and not that all-encompassing, love of your life, eternal kind of love. So, Namjoon offered to pay for the divorce with his grad school stipend and took his name off the lease so you could find a new roommate and insisted on meeting up every other week for takeout and cheap alcohol because he had a whole thing about not wanting it to be weird.

Now, here you sit, years removed from the most affectionate and anticlimactic divorce of all time, and you wonder what could be more weird than your ex-husband making you a Tinder profile.

“I know what you like,” he insists, cheeks ruddy from the wine. Namjoon talks endlessly on a good day, but he’s nearly impenetrable when he’s got some merlot in him. “No one’s more qualified to do this than me.” You quirk an eyebrow at him. “Except you, of course,” he hurriedly adds.

“Have you ever stopped to think—”

Namjoon heaves an exaggerated groan, hand to his forehead as if he’s suffering a Victorian ailment. “You have no idea.”

You roll your eyes. “Have you ever stopped to think,” you repeat, “that there might be a reason I don’t have a Tinder? Or any dating profile, for that matter?”

“Yeah, you’re obviously still in love with me,” he jokes, laughing wildly at the absurdity of it; elbows you in the side as he wiggles his eyebrows. What could be weirder than your ex-husband treating you like one of his bros? “But alas, I’ve moved on, and so the time has come for you to also—”

“Either shut up or drink more,” you interject, filling his glass nearly to the brim. “You’re insufferable when you’re like this.”

Namjoon, seemingly out of arguments, simply hums in acknowledgment. Downs half the wine you’d just poured him, because out of the two options you’d presented him with, it’s the more realistic choice. Asks, “What’s your preferred age range?” before snorting another laugh and setting it from 18 to 50 for his own amusement.

“You know, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why not?” he retorts, and there’s no judgment there, just genuine curiosity. You know he’s just having a laugh, would delete it and never mention it again if you asked him to, but the thing is—

The front door opens, and there stands your roommate, arms full of bags from Daiso. “Hey, ba—”

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks when he sees your ex-husband. Coughs to cover the pet name that nearly tumbled out of his mouth and lifts his hand in a wave. Namjoon watches the way the weight of the bags causes the muscles in Jungkook’s forearm to flex and shoots you a look. Maybe he does know what you like, after all.

“Hi, Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook says, polite but still awkward, even after all these years. Can’t seem to shake it, no matter how hard he tries. “What are you two up to?”

Namjoon is none the wiser, used to the hushed awe Jungkook always adopts when he addresses him. Polite and endlessly kind because his mother raised him to never be anything less, but only ever jittery around Namjoon. Doesn’t act like this around any of your other friends; takes Seokjin’s teasing in stride and dishes it right back, but never Namjoon. Would probably rather die.

So Namjoon just waves back, says, “Hi, Jungkook-ah,” before he returns his attention to his phone. Doesn’t look up when you abandon him on the couch to help unpack the bags. Says, “I’m signing her up for Tinder so she can finally get laid,” and also doesn’t look up when Jungkook chokes on an inhale and one of the bags splits in half.

Before he moved in with you, Jungkook lived with Hoseok.

It’d gone great, all things considered. Jungkook couldn’t have asked for a better first roommate, fresh out of high school and his family home and hundreds of kilometers from the salty air of Busan. He’d nearly been sick with anxiety, all green around the edges, and Hoseok had pulled him into a hug and calmed his fraying nerves. Helped him with his homework and taught him how to cook and pecked at his heels like a mother hen when his room got too messy.

Just like he’s doing now.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says, not at all able to hide the surprise in his voice when he pulls open the door and finds Hoseok on the other side. “What are you doing here?”

Hoseok tuts. “I told you I was coming by this weekend to clean. I haven’t been here in weeks—”

“I know how to clean,” Jungkook argues, face growing warm from misplaced embarrassment, that Hoseok still thinks he’s a dumb kid who doesn’t know any better. “I said you didn’t have to come.”

His hyung’s face softens. “I know you know how to clean, Jungkookie, I’m just… I still feel responsible for you. You’re the first child I raised and released into the world.”

Jungkook sighs. Knows this is a losing argument. Opens the door wide enough to accommodate Hoseok and his bags of cleaning supplies, and doesn’t say a word as he follows Hoseok around the apartment even though he wants to say, I told you so. The entire place is spotless. There’s nothing to clean. No dust on the floor. Sparkling kitchen countertops. Laundry freshly-washed and hung on the drying rack by the window, warm in the midday sun. No toothpaste in the bathroom sink; no hard water stains on the shower glass.

All that’s left is Jungkook’s bedroom. That, too, is spotless, and Hoseok has never had a poker face and certainly can’t muster one now. “Why is it so clean in here?” he asks, taking in the bare floor, void of dirty clothes and whatever hobby equipment Jungkook had taken up that week; the pristinely-made bed with its hospital corners and fluffed pillows; the end tables that are suspiciously void of dust.

“Because I know how to clean,” Jungkook tartly replies, rolling his eyes. “I told you, there’s—”

“Are you even living in here?” Hoseok continues, either oblivious to or pointedly ignoring the way Jungkook starts to panic. “Because it doesn’t smell weird, either, and we all know that wasn’t the case before.”

“I have an air freshener.”

“Uh-huh.”

Hoseok continues his search. Actually praises Jungkook on the way he’d organized his clothes, the fact that everything in his drawers is folded and not shoved in haphazardly, that the few nice pieces he owns are hung in the closet. Kneels on the floor to check under the bed: empty, except for the XBox controller Taehyung had left behind the last time he came over to binge Valorant.

And Jungkook should’ve known—should’ve anticipated this—because it’s his Hobi-hyung and if there’s anything his Hobi-hyung is neurotic about it’s cleanliness and he’s got eyes like a hawk, makes him deadly efficient at spotting dust, so it’s really no surprise when he lets out a shrill a-ha! and pops out from under the bed with a pair of lacy underwear pinched between his fingers, but Jungkook should’ve anticipated it, anyway.

“And what do we have here?”

What Hoseok has here is Jungkook’s favorite pair of your underwear, but he can’t say that, so he just feels the way his face flushes with embarrassment again and wonders if he’d get out of the impending interrogation if he starts crying. “Um. Nothing?”

“Sure doesn’t look like nothing,” Hoseok continues, voice animated and lilting, the teasing smile evident even though Jungkook can’t bring himself to look. “Can’t believe my little Jungkookie is all grown up.”

Jungkook doesn’t feel grown up, he feels mortified. Feels like he wants to sink right through the floor, like he wants to disappear for three to five business years. Feels like an idiot for being so insistent on all this secrecy, because now he can’t tell Hoseok that the lacy underwear he’s inspecting belongs to you and that the two of you have been together for a while, that it’s great, Jungkook thinks this might be It, and all he can do is blurt out the first thing he can think of, which is—

“It’s mine.” Hoseok’s head turns so fast his neck creaks. “I’m, uh. Experimenting.”

Hoseok shrieks. Jungkook shrieks. “What the fuck,” Hoseok shrieks again as he drops the underwear to the floor and kicks it under the bed. “Why wouldn’t you just say that—”

“That’s what you get for going through my stuff!”

Hoseok doesn’t come over to clean again.

On the weeks you don’t see Namjoon, you spend your Fridays having game night at Jimin’s.

It’s always a raucous affair—wouldn’t be possible any other way with the friend group you’ve got, now seamlessly blended with Jungkook’s—and it’s always your responsibility to supply the snacks. You pop into the store after work, leave with your arms full of junk like you looted the place, and the man in front of you in line takes so long you miss the bus and have to wait for the next.

Which leaves you very little time to get ready, so you rush through a shower to rinse off the work grime and grab the first pair of leggings and sweatshirt you see, slip your feet into slides that may or may not be yours, and run down the hall to Jimin’s.

Laughter can be heard from just outside the door—Hobi’s and Jin’s louder than everyone—and it makes you smile. Warmth blooms in your chest, all affection, and it has you feeling terribly fond of this group you’ve cobbled together. Has you smiling wider as you punch in Jimin’s door code and let yourself inside. Has you dropping off the snacks in the kitchen and wanting to hug the first person you find, except one Park Jimin has other plans.

“Why are you wearing Jungkookie’s hoodie?” he says in lieu of a greeting.

You look down. Certainly is Jungkook’s hoodie, mixed in with the clean laundry you hadn’t gotten around to putting away yet, and you’re sure there’s no hiding the way your jaw drops a little. The man in question is across the room, stuck in a conversation about fuck knows what with Taehyung, and he sends you a panicked look that can only be an instruction to lie your ass off. So you huff, say, “What d’you mean? This is mine,” and paint on the most annoyed expression you can conjure.

“It absolutely is not yours,” Jimin retorts.

This time you look annoyed for real. “Ugh, who cares? Since when did you become an expert on our personal belongings?”

When you first met Jimin, you’d been tricked into thinking he was a sweet, innocent angel; the kind of person who would do anything for his loved ones, including not interrogating them over whose clothes they wear. Quickly, you learned this was not the case. Jimin is lovely and kind, but he’s also perceptive as hell and shameless, so he smirks knowingly and answers with, “Since I bought them.”

Which… makes sense, you can admit. You vaguely recall Jungkook’s last birthday and the way he’d gasped and insisted on Jimin returning the hoodie he’d gifted him because it was too expensive and the way Jimin had laughed and waved him off, because Jungkook has always been his favorite and he’s never attempted to hide it. The hoodie you’re wearing now could, theoretically, be that exact gift. It’s definitely soft enough to be made from something expensive.

“Oh,” you reply, changing gears entirely. “Well, you know how it is. Sometimes laundry gets mixed up. I’m sure you and Taehyung have worn each other’s clothes by accident, too.”

Jimin doesn’t buy it, you can tell, but he thankfully drops the issue. Watches you and Jungkook like a hawk for the rest of the night, just waiting to capitalize on any other slip-ups, but you purposely fall into a conversation with Yoongi that’s too boring for any normal human to follow along with, and Jungkook calls dibs on Mario Kart until someone can beat him, so there are no slip-ups to catch.

However, if the one constant of your friend group is that Jungkook is Jimin’s favorite regardless of Taehyung’s pouting, the second is that Jung Hoseok cannot hold his liquor.

He’s four mixed drinks deep, skin flushed and eyes half-lidded with sleep, when he stands on top of Taehyung and Jimin’s coffee table and shouts, for everyone to hear, “Hey, did you guys know Jungkookie started wearing women’s underwear?”

For once, this comes as a complete shock to you, too.

The thing about being in love, Jungkook finds, is that it’s nearly impossible to shut up about it.

He’s trying to be cool. He’s trying to be normal. He feigns delight and care when his coworkers talk about their partners, pretends he’s paying attention and not just waiting for his turn to talk about you. He prints pictures of the two of you off his phone and frames them and displays them at his desk, and all someone has to say is, “That’s a cute picture, Jungkook-ssi—” before all his affection for you erupts out of him like a volcano.

So far he’s been careful. His coworkers are sick of hearing about you, but they’re an outlet for everyone he can’t talk about you with. Like his friends, because he’d decided early on it was better to keep everything a secret for a little bit because he didn’t want things to be weird (and because he’s low-key terrified of Namjoon, because he’s gentle and clumsy but he’s still big) and now he’s regretting it but it feels like it’s gone on too long and he’s in too deep.

Really, it’s no surprise he slips up. Has probably been overdue for one like this for a while.

They’re at the arcade. Taehyung has sunk the last of his disposable income for the week into a claw machine stocked with LINE characters. Wants to win a Sally plushie for Jimin because he says they look alike. It’s cute, the bond they have, platonic soulmates the way you and Namjoon are, and Jungkook is starry-eyed and love-drunk when he heaves a wistful sigh and thinks out loud, “I should win something for her, too.”

The words catch Taehyung so off-guard his hand slips and presses the button to lower the claw. “Press it again,” Jungkook says. “If you double-press the button, it makes the claw stronger. You’ll get it.”

Taehyung is wary, still dazed from Jungkook’s slip-up, but he presses the button again anyway. The claw tightens around Sally’s head and drags her up and out of the pile, drops her into the chute and to Taehyung’s waiting hand. “Oh shit! Jungkookie, you’re a genius. Jimin’s gonna love this.”

“Yeah, sure. Didn’t know you didn’t know that trick or I would’ve told you sooner.”

His hyung nods absentmindedly, distracted with the selfie he’s sending to Jimin with Sally obscuring half his face. “Are you gonna try now?”

Jungkook swallows. “Huh?”

“You said you were gonna win something for someone.”

“No I didn’t,” he lies.

Taehyung’s face drops. Gets all serious when he shoves his phone in his back pocket. “Yes you did. Right before I won this,” he says, large hands wrapped around Sally’s poor neck, clearly strangling her. “You said I should win something for her, too. Who’s ‘her’? Are you seeing someone?”

“I said him, hyung,” he lies again. Is thankful for the garish arcade lights and the way they hide the blush creeping up his neck. “I meant Jimin-hyung.”

“You did not,” Taehyung insists. “You said her, and now you’re trying to gaslight me—”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. Feigns exasperation. Swipes his game card and stares his hyung right in the eye as he drops the claw and double-taps, somehow picking up two plushies. Tosses Brown to Taehyung and says, “Tell Jimin his favorite dongsaeng won him that one.”

Tucks Cony safely in his pocket to give to you later, thankful the universe came through for him for once.

You (10:42pm): babe

You (10:42pm): what time do you think you’ll be home?

You (10:43pm): 🍆🍆🍆

Yoongi (11:06pm): What the fuck

You (11:08pm): oh fuck

You (11:08pm): that was NOT meant for you

Yoongi (11:14pm): Fucking obviously

Yoongi (11:14pm): Please do not ever accidentally sext me again

You (11:15pm): gross yoongi

You (11:15pm): that wasn’t a sext

You (11:15pm): i need it for the bokkeum i’m making

Yoongi (11:17pm): At midnight? Fuck off

Yoongi (11:17pm): Trade proposal

Yoongi (11:17pm): You never accidentally sext me again and I won’t tell the rest of our friends you’re secretly dating your roommate

You (11:29pm): it’s not even midnight 🙄

You (11:29pm): but that sounds good to me, thanks!

Hoseok had taught Jungkook how to cook, but not how to bake.

They’d attempted it, once, not long after Jungkook moved to Seoul and was homesick and missing his mom’s yaksik something terrible. Just wanted something that tasted like home, something comforting, and Hoseok had felt so bad for him that he said fuck it, let’s try, what’s the worst that could happen, and the two of them learned very quickly that nearly burning down their kitchen and the rest of their building was, in fact, the worst thing that could happen.

They never tried baking a damn thing after that, individually or together.

Still, there’s a special occasion coming up, so Jungkook asks the only person he trusts to help him.

“You need a cake,” Seokjin intones, swallowing his smile when Jungkook nods and his mop of curls bobbles along. Takes out a notepad to jot down ideas. “What’s the occasion?”

“Um. Just an… occasion.”

Seokjin blinks owlishly. “You just need a cake for an occasion? Do you wanna try again and actually be helpful this time?”

“What does it matter if I’m paying you, hyung?” Jungkook whines. “Aren’t cakes all the same?”

“Not if you want me to decorate it—”

“I don’t.”

“—because what am I supposed to write on it? Happy occasion, person whose name Jungkookie won’t tell me! Do you see how that might not work out for either of us?”

“Again, what does it matter—”

Seokjin looks up from his notepad, brows furrowed. “Are you ordering this for the president? What’s with all the secrecy?”

Jungkook huffs, puts on his Very Serious Face. “I can just take my business elsewhere if you’re going to interrogate me, hyung,” he says, to which Seokjin rolls his eyes, used to Jungkook’s dramatics.

“Be my guest,” he calls his bluff, gesturing to the front door of the bakery. “No one else is going to give you as good a discount as me, though.”

“I bet Junghwan-ssi would,” Jungkook grumbles, low but loud enough for Seokjin to hear, because there isn’t much else Jungkook can say that’d get under his hyung’s skin as much as the mention of his arch nemesis. “I bet I could walk into his bakery right now and explain the whole situation to him and he’d practically give it to me for free, just so it meant you didn’t get my business.”

And it works. Seokjin’s eyes narrow, chest starts heaving. “You wouldn’t,” he accuses, and Jungkook just shrugs, nonplussed, daring Seokjin to find out.

What follows can only be described as a tense standoff: Seokjin behind the counter of his bakery, looking hilariously underdressed for this stalemate in his pink apron, armed only with a pen; Jungkook, looking smug and pleased on the other side, not even knowing what Junghwan’s bakery is called, let alone where it is. The bell above the door chimes and neither breaks eye contact to look, and it’d probably go on like this forever, knowing the two of them, except the person behind Jungkook clears their throat, asks, “Excuse me, are you in line…?” and Seokjin is forced to concede if he wants to stay in business.

The person orders a cake for their daughter’s birthday. Answers each of Seokjin’s questions with certainty and preparedness, and Jungkook doesn’t miss the looks Seokjin shoots at him. See how easy it is to answer simple questions? they say. Why can’t you be like this?

Jungkook can’t be like that because the cake is for your birthday. Which Seokjin knows, because he has all of his friends’ birthdays saved to his phone calendar, but he’s never gone out of his way to get you a cake before so Seokjin will absolutely know something’s up. And as he waits for the person to be done ordering, his heart aches a little, because he wants to tell Seokjin to make you the nicest cake he can. Wants him to pull out all the stops, because it’s your birthday and you deserve it, and he could say all those things if he hadn’t insisted on this stupid secrecy.

Guilt consumes him so entirely he doesn’t notice the person leaving. Doesn’t hear the chime of the bell above the door. Is halfway to spilling the entire story to Seokjin, gets as far as hyung, there’s something I— before Seokjin holds up a hand to stop him.

“What kind of cake would you like, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook deflates. Takes all those transgressions he was about to confess to and shoves them back inside his chest, locks them away. “Whatever you think is best, hyung. Just no nuts.”

And Seokjin smirks knowingly, because there’s only one person he knows with a nut allergy.

#work: 1kfm #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jewel answers #jewel writes

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makeyoumine69 · 4 months ago

Text

Till Death Do Us Part (Chapter Five)

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader; [no y/n]

SUMMARY: Some of the answers can only be found on the line between life and death.

CONTAINS: Drug use, near death experiences, swearing, angst, toxic behavior, NSFW art, misogyny, hurt/comfort, Patrick Bateman is a warning himself.

WORDS: 4.4k

A/N: Sorry guys for the long wait, I was in the hospital, but now I feel better and hope to get back to my writing form. Thank you so much for your support and comments, I love you all!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

Sighing tiredly, Patrick quickly ran his hand over his face. "Because you told your... 'co-worker' that I'm aggressive." He said quietly. "You can explain why you were absent without being so...so specific. Look, if people think I'm...aggressive, they're going to do a wellness check. And if you keep screaming and crying and acting hysterical, I could get in trouble. Do you really want me to get in trouble?" The man straightened up slightly and furrowed his brow. He felt a deep hatred for you, one that could only be resolved with complete violence. But he held himself still. "How can I trust you to go to work? After your behavior? Hmmm?" His grip on you tightened. "God, I can't deal with you. Do your parents know how...pathetic you are? I'm the least scary thing in this fucking city, honey. I hope you realize that."

Scowling, you yanked your wrist roughly from his grip, rubbing the spot where the dark bruise was sure to bloom. "Leave your cheesy pet names for Courtney, okay?" you hissed, getting up from the bed, ignoring the way the hem of your long shirt was pulled up. "Vincent's picking me up soon, I'll be late tonight because I have to... overwork for missing my shift yesterday," your tired gasp echoed through his opulent bedroom. "Have fun, but...if you're going to bring some hookers here today, you'd better tell me now, because I don't want..." you paused, crossing your arms. "I don't want to be a part of that depraved shit..."

Bateman let you go and stepped back. He inhaled slowly through his nostrils and closed his eyes to calm himself. "Okay...okay…I'm sorry…just…you're stressing me out." He sighed, suddenly exhausted. It was easier to deal with Evelyn because she didn't fucking live with him. Sure, she was a chatterbox, but at least she didn't notice anything he did. He scowled. "I'm not going to hire anyone. I'm going to...take a nap...or something." Patrick said, rubbing his eyes. "Besides, it's not depraved. Everyone does it. Even women. Better get used to it." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Also, wear some fucking clothes, huh? If you're going to act like a jealous bitch around Courtney, then have some dignity, you know?"

A wave of anger washed over you at his last remark. For a brief moment, you stood in the doorway, considering whether to stab him back. "Uh, you keep saying how pathetic I am, but you...you're stuck in a situation where you're marrying a woman you don't like because your mommy said you had to," you chuckled and looked back at him. "While the woman you LIKE," you dragged out the last word. "Is about to marry another guy, so you can just be an errand boy while her fiance is away on business," you licked your suddenly dry lips briefly before picking up your clothes and opening the bedroom door. "Isn't that pathetic, Bateman?"

Huffing angrily, the man stared at you, his arms crossed and his eyes widened slightly at your outburst. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're in this situation too, aren't you?" He scowled. "Also, for your information, I don't like Courtney. She's just a great lay. Her fiance is a fucking queer anyway, so, y'know, that won't last long." He ranted, angrily following her to the door. "I'm not pathetic! You are! I have more money than your whole fucking family, sweetheart—I could BUY you! But, oh, who would want that? Who would want a fat-headed, no-good brat in their house?" He was angry now. Bateman grabbed your books off the table and shoved them into your arms, then pushed you out the front door, not caring if you were ready to change or not. "Tell your family the marriage is off. Tell them you've pushed me beyond my breaking point and I'm doing everything in my power not to break your fucking neck right now!" Patrick said this calmly, but there was a burning hatred in his eyes. Then he slammed the door and locked it, pressing his back against it.

When you heard the lock click, you couldn't believe your luck. 'Finally...finally I did it!' You closed your eyes and let out a sigh of relief, hugging your books closer to your chest as you realized you hadn't put on your panties. At first you wanted to knock on the door and ask him to let you take your things, but then you decided that it would only make you look pathetic and you would never give him that kind of pleasure. At least you managed to put on the casual dress you usually wore when you went out. But the lack of underwear made things a little more difficult.

After a few minutes, you left the American Gardens Building and walked down the street to the phone booth, where you dialed your family's home number and thanked God that your mother picked up the phone. "Hey, Mom," you murmured in a shaky voice. "I don't have much time, but...I'm sorry for ruining everything...I know how important this marriage was to our family, but...I couldn't go on like this...it's all over now." And with that, you hung up without even giving your mother a chance to respond when you noticed Vincent's car pulling up to the street.

Your sudden call was like rain on a sunny day, almost giving your mother a heart attack—Mrs. Rice pressed a hand to her chest before asking her maid to bring her some water and a sedative. Breathing heavily, the old lady dialed Mrs. Bateman's number, hoping that Patrick's mother would give her some information about what the hell had happened. When the beeping finally stopped and the old woman heard her friend's voice, she relaxed for a moment before beginning to speak. "Linda, hi, it's Janet," she swallowed and tugged on the phone cord. "My daughter just called me...she said the wedding is off...do you know anything about it?"

Linda lay in her hospital bed staring at the ceiling. She'd been in the sanatorium for years now, and it was easy for her to entertain herself. Time passed quickly now. She jumped when she heard the phone ring and sat up. She picked it up with trembling fingers. "Hello?" She asked tentatively before hearing a familiar voice. "Oh, dear - well... I didn't hear anything, but I'll... I'll call him. I'll put you on the other line, Janet." She clicked a button, then punched in Patrick's number and waited patiently.

Meantime, annoyed and stressed out, Patrick poured himself a J&B. He felt great though, as if an impossible weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. He swallowed it down and walked into the living room, glancing down at the phone as it began to ring. He picked it up and rested it on his shoulder as he walked around. His elation was momentarily dampened when he heard his mother's voice. "Look, Mother—the woman is a lunatic." He moved to lie down in his bed. "She's an ugly pig and I'm really offended that you would set me up with her. There are... thousands of other women in New York who are richer, more attractive, and...well...better than her. Okay? I'm 27 years old. I can make my own decisions." Bateman went to his closet and opened a drawer. He blinked when he saw a small baggie of what looked like cocaine. He picked it up between his fingers and smiled to himself. "Listen, I'll call you later." Patrick hung up the phone and set it on the side of the bed before opening the baggie. He poured some on his AmEx card and snorted, blinking a few times. It was...very strong. Without even thinking, he spread the rest on his teeth with his finger and lay back, closing his eyes.

The day at the hospital had been so fucking horrible, starting with not having any underwear—you couldn't just walk around like that, so you had to find a solution. Thank God you had left some of your clothes in the staff room, so after you changed into the fresh underwear and then into the medical uniform you started to feel so much better, although it was so hard to forget the ride with Vincent because you had to hold your legs together every damn second.

After the work day was over, you praised yourself for not getting upset about the whole situation that had happened in the morning—it was the right decision to get him off, despite all the feelings you had for this man. 'He doesn't exist anymore,' you sighed as you waited for the taxi, the heavy medical kit in your hand. Since you had decided to return to your family's house, you wanted to collect all your things, including those that were trapped in Bateman's apartment. If he didn't let you in, you would tell your mother that all the jewelry she had given you was gone forever.

A taxi ride was quite short, maybe it felt short, but as you stepped out of the elevator on the 11th floor, your senses suddenly warned you—something was definitely wrong. You walked slowly down the clean hallway to Patrick's front door when you noticed it was open. 'What the hell?' You tensed as you remembered how meticulous Bateman was about security. With careful, quiet movements, you opened the door and stepped inside, soon to find an unfamiliar woman in the living room, looking for something as she went through Bateman's CD collection.

"Hey! Who the hell are you?" You yelled, hoping Patrick was nearby.

The woman stalled before slowly turning around, which helped you notice Bateman's Rolex, his gold cufflinks, and some cash in her hands. "Wait...I...I didn't call an ambulance!"

Frowning, you looked down at your medical uniform before hissing. "I'm not the ambulance...but I'll be a lot worse than that if you don't put all that stuff in its place and leave!"

The unknown woman, who was probably a hooker, sobbed but obeyed and put all the stuff on the coffee table, her hands visibly shaking. "Okay, okay, I'll go, but I... I didn't kill him!"

"What?!"

"I didn't kill him...he just fainted and..." the woman cried, grabbing her head. "I didn’t do it…I swear!"

With that, the hooker stormed out of Bateman's apartment, but that was the last thing you had to worry about after what she had said. Nervously biting your lower lip, you quickly ran into the bedroom to see Patrick lying absolutely naked on the bed, his skin sticky, covered in sweat and...his cum?

"Patrick!" You called out to him, lifting his pale face.

(Patrick and Becca art by my gorgeous fairy @anyarlly).

When he didn't respond, you opened his eyes—the pupil was so dilated it was obvious he'd OD'd. 'Did that bitch do this to him?' you thought briefly before rushing to grab the medical kit and find the antidote. 'Stay fucking professional,' you muttered to yourself, not letting the panic get the better of you. As soon as you grabbed the packet of naloxene, you returned to Bateman and sat on top of him, spraying two sprays of the antidote into each of his nostrils. "Patrick, Patrick, can you hear me?" you gently slapped his face to help him regain his senses. Breathing heavily, you began to stress when you realized that Patrick would probably have to be taken to the hospital, but since he had overdosed, that would cause him so much trouble. Not to mention when you noticed that his breathing became so shallow and weak that it scared the hell out of you.

"Oh, no…Patrick, breathe, breathe you bastard!" You shouted at him and before you started the artificial respiration you also took a dose of naloxene to prevent yourself from overdosing in case you accidentally came into contact with any drugs Patrick was taking. As your lips covered his, you closed his nose and began to inhale the oxygen into his lungs, praying that it would help.

Patrick's vision was dark, his consciousness trapped in the deepest recesses of his mind. All he could remember was taking the drugs and hiring a hooker. Maybe they had sex, but Patrick couldn't remember. He felt cold. Then hot. Then cold again. He wanted to scream, to rip the skin from his flesh, to run outside wearing only a coat and let it fly behind him like a cape, but he couldn't move at all. A spark of light came into his mind. Then another. His breath was short and shallow and he felt like he could just die right now, but the light gave him hope. Something to hold on to. He felt air being pumped into his lungs. Suddenly his eyes opened. His arms desperately flew up and wrapped around you, needing more air. When the man remembered how to breathe properly, he let go of you and closed his eyes, which were bloodshot and sore from the drugs.

If you ever dreamed how your first kiss with Patrick would be, you would never have imagined it would be like this. Panting, you quickly wiped your mouth, feeling a little dizzy. 'Damn, he probably rubbed the coke right into his gum! What a reckless idiot!' You took a few deep breaths before getting up from Patrick's weak body. "I... I'll get you a shot, you'll feel better," you mumbled and went back to the medical kit, then grabbed a vial and a needle. "Stay with me, Patty," a sudden rush of tenderness coursed through your small frame as you ran a finger along his pale cheek. "You'll be fine," you hummed, taking his hand carefully to find the vein on it. "If your condition doesn't stabilize in fifteen minutes, we'll have to go to the hospital," you closed your eyes for a second and exhaled as you heard Patrick's painful cough, your heart bleeding from the scene. "Just stay with me..." You begged before disinfecting the spot where you were about to make an injection.

The man was panting heavily, his other hand over his heart, which was beating rapidly. He blinked before opening his eyes fully, looking up at you with an unfocused gaze. Nothing was really being processed. His hand tensed from the shot, his veins protruding slightly through the thin skin of his hand. Before he knew it, he was sobbing. Tears rolled down his cheeks and his shoulder shook as a small whimper escaped his lips. Just a few minutes ago, he was teetering on the edge of life and death—and now he was here. 'Thank you . ' Bateman couldn't quite see your face, but your soft, silken voice helped him recognize you. He gripped your hand tightly before loosening his grip to something more comfortable for you. "Don't... don't leave me here..." Patrick choked out, looking up at you tearfully.

His suddenly pleading voice stirred something in your chest, something you tried to bury, but no matter how hard you tried, that something was alive, longing for the man beneath you. "Hey, hey," you pressed your palm against his cheek. "I'm not going to leave you, Patty, you're going to be okay, I promise," you noted the time, you only had fifteen minutes and if the injection didn't help, you would have to think about the possibility of taking him to the hospital. "Patrick, I know that you and your family always get medical treatment at some elite clinic, is that right?" you asked suddenly, adjusting the pillow underneath him to make him more comfortable. "If the medicine doesn't work, you will need medical treatment that can only be provided in a hospital. Do you understand?"

Patrick breathed heavily, his heart slowing slightly as he stabilized himself. The injection made him feel a lot better, thankfully, but he was still scared. He didn't think about anything but not letting you go. He felt that he needed you at this moment. "Y-Yes... I understand..." He said softly. Bateman moved up slightly and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you down to lie with him. Then, the man wrapped his other arm around your back, burying his head in your neck as he sought comfort. Fuzzy memories from a few hours ago began to return to his mind. Him yelling at you and kicking you out. He sobbed again, clenching his hands into fists. "Oh God..." he choked out. "I'm sorry...please don't go...don't go..." He mumbled, repeating 'I'm sorry' in a hushed tone.

(Patrick art by my amazing queen @somnolenthour).

Paralyzed, you tried to hold your breath and not burst into tears at his sudden unraveling. "I'm here, I won't leave you," you knew his behavior was the result of the side effects of the antidote you had given him, and as soon as he regained his senses— he would forget everything. And that spurred you to go down to Patrick's trembling lips and seal them with yours. It was not even a kiss, just flesh touching flesh. "I love you, Patty," you murmured against his mouth before embracing him and pulling him closer so that his nose could nuzzle the soft skin of your neck. "I always have and I always will, since the day we met, two little kids," you chuckled sadly, on the verge of tears. "You should stop living this life, you deserve much better," your words were more like a mantra, as if you were trying to convince yourself. "Besides... I know Jean cares about you, maybe you should give her a chance?" A small, telltale tear slid down your cheek, but you brushed it away and let it fall onto your medical uniform.

"No." Patrick said slowly. "I... I don't... I don't want Jean. I want…"

"I'll give you some sedatives and you'll sleep like a baby...after that you'll feel refreshed, I promise." You tried to shush him but he continued.

"I want...you..." Patrick pulled away to look at you, his eyes still bloodshot and filled with tears. He seemed to panic slightly when you mentioned sedatives. The man shook his head quickly and licked his lips to rehydrate them.

His sudden protest against taking any sedatives made you stop and look at him with unspoken concern. "Shhh, it's okay," you cooed to him, but when Patrick put his hands on your breasts, which he probably did accidentally, it almost broke the resistance you had meticulously built up all this time. "All right, no sedatives," you conceded, looking down at his palms holding your breasts, but you didn't try to take them away, thinking that maybe he was relaxing in such a depraved way. "Tell me...tell me what do you want instead of sedatives? I want you to sleep and rest."

"Just…stay..." Bateman murmured tiredly, closing his eyes. He wrapped one leg around your hip, almost trapping you on the bed with him

In another situation, you would feel like the happiest person in the world, but now all you felt was sadness and compassion for the man who had trapped you in his strong arms. "Okay, okay," you kept your tone as sweet as possible, wanting nothing more than for him to fall asleep and feel better. "After you fall asleep and wake up, everything will be back to normal," you murmured, the pain in your voice undeniable. "But I want you to remember this—please don't do drugs, don't risk your life," you quickly ran your finger along his flushed cheek. "I don't want to see you like this, I want you to be happy," you continued whispering, your words lulling Bateman to sleep. "When you wake up, you won't remember everything you told me or the way you held me," as you watched him close his eyes, you sighed and rolled onto your back, quickly kicking off your medical shoes and looking up at the white ceiling above. "How unfortunate that I will remember all of this…"

Patrick nodded slowly, hearing what you said but not really listening. It was hard to really listen when his head was buzzing. The man closed his eyes and breathed slowly, keeping his breathing steady to bring his body back to its usual state. He planted a few soft kisses on your shoulder as his face pressed closer to your body. Before he knew it, consciousness melted away and he was asleep. He didn't dream, as usual, nor did he stir. His grip on you never loosened, and the only evidence that he was still alive was the soft breathing and the gentle smile on his face.

A few hours later, you didn't even notice falling asleep either, but the sudden thunderstorm outside didn't let you get much rest, thankfully it didn't wake Patrick. Slowly, you slipped out of his arms and after tucking him into the blanket, you quietly sneaked into the living room to finally take off your medical uniform, leaving yourself in a tight top and shorts. Then you checked that the front door was locked and that everything was in its place. 'Fuck, should I tell him that the hooker tried to steal his Rolex and some other stuff?' You wondered as you went into the kitchen and turned on the light. Then you opened the fridge to see what you could cook for Bateman, because when he woke up he would feel a terrible hunger as a side effect of the medicine you had injected him with. Looking through the stuff in the fridge, you found some vegetables, meat, and soon you were cooking some pasta for him, although you expected he would not like it since you were not a chef from Dorsia. 'Whatever, if he doesn't like it, I'll eat it myself.' As you strolled past the bedroom to see if Patrick was still asleep, you caught a glimpse of the coffee table and noticed his Walkman and a pair of headphones. Without a second thought, you took everything and came back into the kitchen, now listening to what Patrick had been listening to the last time, and that was TOTO's tape. 'Oh God, I love this band.' You chuckled softly and mixed the ingredients in the pan, moving rhythmically to the Hold The Line song.

Meanwhile, Bateman let out a small whimper as he felt the lack of warmth in his arms. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times, his eyes still slightly sore. Frowning, he groaned and rubbed his eyes, slowly getting to his feet. He noticed that he was naked, but didn't bother to put anything on. A bit clumsily, the man walked from his bedroom to the kitchen, the light hurting his eyes and making him squint. He saw your silhouette behind the counter. The drugs had worn him down, but something inside him wanted to be close to you again. He couldn't remember much about what happened last night, but for some reason he didn't feel the same anger towards you. Patrick wasn't even angry that you were back in his apartment. With a smug grin, he walked over and wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning down to rest his head on your shoulder. He took the Walkman off your head. "If you're going to use my Walkman—at least use the cheap one."

"Patrick...how are you feeling?" You asked before a loud clap of thunder rang out, scaring you a bit. 'Does he remember that I'm afraid of thunderstorms?' you wondered as you turned to face him, even now he looked so perfect, so desirable, so...so Patty.

Slightly confused, Patrick seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled his arms away, taking a step back. He moved behind the counter to hide his naked form. Of course, he would show it at every opportunity, but he felt more vulnerable being completely naked like this. "Uh, I feel fine." The man scratched his head. He couldn't remember anything from last night and he felt a bit dizzy. A terrible feeling, really. He looked up at the ceiling as the thunder rumbled and noticed your frightened reaction. A flash of memory flashed through his mind—him as a boy with a girl about his age—maybe a little younger—huddled together in his parents' house during a thunderstorm. Bateman inhaled sharply, startled by the sudden nostalgia, and began to turn around. The man pulled down the blinds on all the nearby windows, then walked over to his stereo. He picked out a Huey Lewis CD, his favorite, and put it on. Patrick tapped his hands on the stereo to the rhythm of the song before grabbing his Bijan robe from the top of the couch. He wrapped it around his body and walked back to you, standing behind but not touching you. "Uh, by the way...you can...you know... you can still stay here..." He stopped and looked over your shoulder. "What are you doing?"

'No, Patty, I can't stay here.' You were about to say when Patrick asked about the food. "It's... uh... it's pasta bolognese, I hope I pronounced it right," you looked at him, noticing his skeptical look. "Antidote always makes people hungry after a nap, I checked the fridge and when I didn't find anything specific I thought I'd make this," you turned to the pan, the smell was really amazing, though you were sure Patrick wasn't impressed. "If you don't want to eat it, I will, and then you can throw it in the garbage, I won't be offended." With that, you yawned tidily and covered the pan, trying not to focus on Bateman's drilling gaze behind your back.

Patrick chuckled slightly. "Well...I'm sure it won't be Barcadia quality, but it seems hard to mess up pasta." He squinted at you, then sniffed the air. It smelled heavenly. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, crossing his arms. He almost complimented you, but stopped himself. His reverie was interrupted when he heard the word 'antidote'. "Uh, antidote?" He asked suspiciously, moving closer to you. "What... antidote? Did something happen last night?"

You accidentally burned your finger on the hot pan, you squealed, bringing it to your lips to blow on it. "Uh, I..." you turned to face him, noticing how close Bateman was standing to you—dangerously close.

'I should tell him everything, shouldn't I?'

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

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neverniko101 · 5 months ago

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Krxkentale- Nightmare’s Gang

Canon Horror? Fanon Horror? What about both. On the same team. Ehehehehehehehehegegehhe-

To be clear I love them both equally and have nothing against anyone who likes/dislikes one or the other

Rambling below!! This will eventually be a comic I swear, just wanna finish current ones first :3

Horror

Fanon!Horror- The Bear

Original by Sour Apple Studio

- Worked for a multiversal agency that provided highly trained soldiers to act as mercenaries to whoever could pay, regardless of what they did. Horror was one of these soldiers, as he was indebted to the agency for rescuing he and his brother from his collapsing AU. This agency (too lazy to name it) was very shitty to those who worked for it, paying almost nothing and often making them fight for food to encourage violence and distrust. They wouldn’t want an uprising, after all…

- As these mercenaries were being hired by Nightmare’s enemies and proving to be quite annoying, he showed up and destroyed everything, killing, capturing, scattering, or recruiting all the soldiers. He offered Horror the opportunity to work for him as a guard and soldier, in exchange being treated as a noble with all the food he could want.

- Horror is large, gruff, and always hungry. Despite his rough nature, he tends to be the kindest of the gang and becomes very protective of the others as he gets to know them.

- The reason his AU collapsed was because the code itself was starving, drained of enough magic that it started digesting its own code, collapsing in on itself. Fun. Otherwise, it began as a normal Horror!tale AU.

- His brother worked at the kitchens of the agency and went missing during Nightmare’s attack. His whereabouts are unknown.

Dust

Murder!Sans- The Crow

Original by Ask-Dusttale

- A Mad scientist both in the terms that he is crazy and he is angry. Made a deal with the god of Death (Reaper) to permanently kill the human from his timeline despite their Determination, having Reaper personally come and drag them into hell. In exchange, Dust worked as Reaper’s minion/preist, carrying out his bidding to help maintain the order of life and death.

- Fascinated with the prospect of reanimation and dreams of bringing his Papyrus back to life. Reaper doesn’t like this, but finds Dust’s experiments interesting and therefore allows him to continue.

- ✨Potions✨

- Has a pet crow named Terrance that he uses to communicate with Reaper. We love Terrance.

- Reaper has been anxious about Nightmare’s activities and sends Dust to act as a spy, joining the gang and reporting back to Reaper.

Cross

Xtale!Sans- The Wolf

Original by Jakei

- From an ice-covered Xtale AU, the young Paladin is used as bait to capture and kill the demon X!Chara, failing as the spirit fully takes control of Cross’ body and escapes before the two can be sacrificed. Almost completely overtaken by the monster, Cross makes a desperate plea to the moon god to come save him, summoning Nightmare. NM restores Cross’ control, but refuses to remove X!Chara altogether, using that as leverage to make Cross work for him; he can’t spend too much time away from Nightmare without the demon overtaking his body.

- Originally a Paladin to the sun god (Dream, although neither know it) and is therefore resistant to Nightmare’s magic (hence why he can’t make magical deals and contracts like the others and has to be controlled in different ways).

- His sword, dubbed Fred, is imbued with magic and glows in the dark. It also boomeranged back to him when thrown, but he, uh…needs some more practice with that part.

- Red pupil gets larger the more control X!Chara takes, filling both eyes when in complete control.

Killer

Something New- The Cat

Original by Rafwabas

- After everyone in his AU was dead, Killer got bored. Very, very, very bored. Why not poke around the old lab he used to work at, then? He might find something neat. And he does- with the magic he’s accumulated, he’s able to fuel a portal machine that can transport him to other AUs. He quickly redevelops his interest in engineering, stealing parts from other AUs to build his machines…until he’s caught. And thrown in jail. And freed by Nightmare, in exchange for working for him.

- He is a cat. Will climb. Knock thing over. Sit wherever he wants.

- He isn’t a murderer in this AU, instead fusing with the human in a last-ditch effort to stop them from wiping out the entire underground. He was forced to stay behind as everyone else evacuated, though, as it was unknown if the procedure would work or if Killer would be safe to be around. Which, to be fair, he isn’t.

- All of his socks have cat paws on the bottom

Hatchet

Horror!Sans- The Fox

Original by Sour Apple Studios

- Horror sans #2 lmao

- Due to the loss of his eye and most (if not all) of his magic, Hatchet finds his strength in wielding weapons and building traps. He is fast, agile, and stealthy, though his time of starving had left him physically weak.

- Some of the monsters in the Underground went haywire and attempted to sacrifice Hatchet in some effort to gain more food, only to be stopped by, you guessed it, Nightmare. Hatchet agrees to come work for Nightmare as long as he kills Undyne and restores someone halfway decent to the throne, which he does. Other than that, the inhabitants of his AU can fend for themselves. Except for Papyrus. He’s coming with him.

- How does one person have so many weapons on their body. Where is he keeping them. Where did he get a six foot tall hammer. Why does he have fifteen knives-

- His brother works at the castle too! He picks out Hatchet’s shirts

Okay it’s 1 am I have to go sleep now bye

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atarathegreat · 1 year ago

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TR Boys Crackhead Headcanons

Kazutora Hanemiya

Man spreads because why should you have space on the train

shoves puzzle pieces together that don't match because "this part fits, see!"

broke his own finger just to feel what it was like

moves furniture so people bump into it on purpose

crops everyone else out of photos he's in and doesn't even use the photos for anything

sometimes wears shoes on the opposite feet just to see who will notice

has and will break granola bars on anyone's bed

Mitsuya Takashi

learned to bake so he could put laxatives in cake (fuck around and find out)

hates who his sisters hate

definitely shit talks kindergarteners with Luna

wore a matching dress with his sisters to the movies, pummeled the guy that tried laughing at him

doesn't stop the conversation when he enters the public restrooms

Nahoya Kawata

walks down the upward escalator

smacks everyone in the back of the head because he feels like it

had court once, laughed on his way out because he was falsely found not guilty

has and will drink milk from cereal bowls without having cereal

sits and stares at Souya without blinking until Souya gets uncomfortable

knocked out a guy's teeth and kept them to send back to him via mail

Souya Kawata

Prefers to sleep in a pile of stuffed animals

the bed hasn't been slept in for three years

actually writes poems and hangs them around the city, ended up on the news for it

Cries to ASPCA commercials

Gets angry when Nahoya falls asleep on the couch, drags him back to bed by his feet

completely believes he could solve true crime

Keisuke Baji

Sharpens his teeth with a nail file

tried wearing contacts once but didn't soak them in contact solution so he only dried his eyes out

calls everyone babe platonically

if he can't find both shoes he only wears one

has a scrunchy collection

thought he was spiderman once and jumped off a roof

will shake his ass when standing still (mad tango skillz)

Kokonoi Hajime

Has a book of rare coins

has a button collection

uses chalk hairdye

plucks his eyebrows too thin

can ballet dance

TikTok feind

Manjiro Sano

Calls in sick to places he doesn't work

Got fired from three places he didn't work at

always orders kids meals

has a tantrum until Kenny cuts his hair

uses clear nail polish regularly

has debated getting a trampstamp

does his hair straight up before fixing it so he can look like a unicorn

Ken Ryuguji

has gone bald, does not work for him

draws in tattoos on the side of his head

has a collection of fake earrings that he tried once (Howls Moving Castle theme)

keeps flavored lube in his room just so he can taste it when he wants something sweet

Taiju Shiba

Thinks he can pull of orange (makes him feel like a baddy)

carries an eyebrow pencil everywhere

fights random females for fun

punches himself in the face for being late to things

had frosted tips in middle school

has staring contests with himself

Hanma Shuji

eats ice cream with a fork

eats soup off a plate

has a closet full of plaid clothing, irons it before wearing because "who tf fights with wrinkles in their clothes"

swears by hair gel

tried hairspray once, didn't taste nice so he threw it out a window

after being dubbed the Reaper, he wore a grim reaper outfit

will kiss and the homies and say no homo

Chifuyu Matsuno

plans to name his first child after his cat

has a Baji shrine next to his Peke J shrine

reads his Yaoi books in public and has outburst when things don't go how he wants them to

locked himself in a pet store and threatened to kill himself if he didn't get a cat, his mom beat the shit out of him for it

screams "real or cake" before biting literally anything

Tetta Kisake

puts milk before cereal

writes cursive only to annoy others

once slept on the roof of his house to make his mom feel bad for yelling at him

has a dog name Roscoe (it's a female)

definitely has little man syndrome

thinks girls are into his "mysterious" vibe (literally just doesn't speak to anyone and has RBF)

once pretended to be gay thinking he would get into a girls slumber party

Hakkai Shiba

the only girl he can talk to is his sister (that's just a fact)

moves the family photos around to see if Yuzuha will notice

is regularly on discord but he pretends to be a girl so he can troll guys

swings from trees like hes a monkey because he thinks its faster than running

worked at a haunted house and crawled across the floor like some messed up spider, he was playing as a scarecrow, it was a childrens haunted house

Takamichi Hanagaki

tries to scale buildings by the fire escapes

copies the others fighting styles hoping to look just as cool

eats a raw egg every morning

crops himself out of photos so no one can find him

unironically calls Hina his little princess

colors in the boxes to crossword puzzles

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hellishjoel · 1 year ago

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burning desire

10.3k // pairing:dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3

summary: An argument with your mother before family dinner leaves Joel worried about you. He sneaks you away to grab a drink and talk about what’s on your mind.

warnings: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, dbf/neighbor!joel, soft-hot-protective!joel, rocky mother-daughter relationship (this one ain't for the weak - mommy issues galore) & discussions of verbal fighting, slight clues of abandonment issues, smut, swearing, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel in his 40s), pet names, praise!kink activated, unprotected p in v (yes finally, the edging is over), mentions of birth control, slight cockwarming if you squint, slight degradation kink

A/N: I crave three things after writing this chapter: Joel, Joel Miller, Joel fucking Miller. Also, I’m almost done with The Last of Us Part 1 :(( sad that it’s ending, but it’s been so much fun to play! Enjoy this chapter <3

Your parents make good on their invitation and ask Joel over for dinner. A steak dinner, to be exact. Paired with wine, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a pie your parents picked up from the local bakery in town.

You sort of hope Joel pulls out his long list of excuses to evade any awkwardness.

Sorry, can’t tonight. I’m finishin’ up somethin’ for work. Can’t wait another day.

Or,

Hey, maybe another night. Not feelin’ too hot.

When in reality, it’s more like,

I can’t come over for dinner tonight because I might bend your daughter over my truck if I see her again.

As active as you and Joel have been, you have yet to hit a home run in lewd baseball terms. In fact, all the bases in your and Joel’s game were totally screwed up. You hit third base before you hit first, and you weren’t even sure if there was a second base. It was all just so confusing now.

But you wanted the home run, you wanted Joel, you desired him in that light. You wondered if he was ready for it.

Screwed over by your father asking Joel over for dinner and screwed over by Joel agreeing, you had no other choice but to sit through it and act like everything was normal.

And everything was normal for the first half of the day before you and your mother got into it.

The argument was recycled. You wished she would come up with better material. But it always came down to what you wanted to do after this summer since you recently graduated. And that was an ongoing war.

After two door slams, your mother retreating to her bunker, and you finding shelter in the bathroom, you’d say today’s battle was over.

You sit on the floor, bare feet touching cold tile. In a way, it soothes your shaky body.

No matter how old you get, this feeling never seems to waver with its intensity. The feeling that no one’s listening, no matter how hard you scream for them to hear you. Regardless of how often you have these conversations, you become a small child again, being scolded and told that what you thought and wanted wasn’t right.

You managed to collect your journal expertly hidden in your bedroom before fleeing to the safety of the bathroom. You flip open the pages with teary eyes.

You wish you didn’t have to admit that this was your safe space. On the bathroom floor, back flushed against the dark wood door as you closed your eyes and tried to calm your breathing.

June 17th 2:28 P.M.

Mom started a fight with me about not traveling again. She says it’s crucial for me to start my career immediately. I don’t even know what I want to be yet.

You have to pause to blink back tears. You wish you had your life figured out like it felt everyone else did.

Why does she have to care so much that I want to leave for a little bit? It’s not like it’s forever. There’s so much more out there. I’ve studied miscellaneous classes for four years and want a break. Why do we always have to have this conversation over and over again? She always asks how I will take care of student loans and bills. I have repeatedly told her that I’ve been saving up for a while to do this. She keeps saying she wants what’s best for me and doesn’t want me to start my career too late. She says it’s hard to let me go.

I love her, and I appreciate her support through school, but school is what taught me about independence as well as academics. I want to live my life and have experiences you can only get by leaving home for a little bit. Maybe then I’ll better understand what I want for my future.

Your writing pauses, and you stare straight ahead at the beige wall, blurry eyes reading another cheesy sign. Bathroom - Open 24 Hours - Seat Yourself.

You decide to spare a moment of your mother’s casualties and pencil in something else that’s been recently stirring.

I’ve been seeing Joel Miller casually since the start of this summer. I can’t believe I’m even writing this. It’s weird -- but in a way, it’s also not? He’s older by like a mile, but he’s familiar, comfortable. Easy to talk to. It doesn’t feel like he’s judging me. I’m not trying to read too much into it, but this summer sucks less because of Joel. Whether he knows it or not.

---

You and your mother work around each other while setting up dinner in the backyard garden. She steps back inside to grab more wine glasses.

You’ve put on a nice summer dress. The hem lands somewhere on your thighs and flows with the breeze. After sobbing on the cold bathroom tile for an hour, you don't feel very pretty, but eating outside and soaking up some fresh air might make you feel better.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Joel Miller was the largest, broadest, lumberjack-est man you had ever met, but he moved as quietly as a mouse. Your eyes blink a few times as you haphazardly set down the bowl of mashed potatoes on the circular table.

“Hi.”

Your voice is raw and red, softer than usual. Joel seems to instantly take notice. You see it in the way his eyes soften. He moves a little closer, hands resting on the back of one of the white outdoor dining chairs.

Your face probably reads more panicky than intended. He picks up on your faulty mood and assumes the worst.

“Do they.. Do they know?” He asks, eyebrows knitted with a deep furrow in between.

Your eyes go doe-ish, shaking your head and occupying your hands with a spare cloth napkin.

“What? No. Why would you think that?”

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to. He takes one long look over your being and you feel it in the space between you.

Somethin’s wrong.

Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine, Joel.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing on you more.

Suddenly, you felt exposed. Like someone had ripped the curtain open on you. No one had ever seen right through you like this before. It was unsettling, but god, you just wanted to lean right into it.

If your parents weren’t just inside, you’d walk right into his front and curl your head in his chest just under the hook of his chin. You’d close your eyes and wrap your small arms around his waist.

He’d encircle you in his big, protective arms and shield you from the pain you’ve felt today. You’d listen to his heart thrumming against his chest, using the rhythm to try and slow down your breathing while he whispers to you in his sweet southern drawl.

S’alright, sweetheart. Everything’s gonna be okay. I see you tryin’.

His eyes flitter into light again, ease passing across his features.

“Like the dress.” He looks over you with a condescending little smirk. This man has never seen you in a dress in your life.

“Shut up. It’s just for dinner.”

He lets out a cocky little tut. “‘Cause you knew I was comin’ over?”

When you look up at him again, his hand gently rests over yours. You don’t have time to appreciate it; the sliding back door opens, and your father��s big booming laughter shakes the nearby lake. Joel’s subtle touch is instantly gone.

“Joel! So good to see you! Hey, great bonfire a few weeks ago.”

You take a deep breath and excuse yourself from the shop talk. You don’t want to be alone with your mother in the house, but the table still needs to be set up. You work around each other in silence. She grabs the salad, you grab the dinner rolls and green beans. You could hear a pin drop.

---

Dinner would have been better if you had an appetite. You spent the majority of your time making a tilled farm field out of your mashed potatoes. You’d flatten out your helping with a fork and then gently run the fork’s ribs through the moldable potatoes and create little crop lines out of it. You don’t always play with your food, but you weren’t really up for conversation. Your mother takes notice. She hates it. She hates that you were letting your personal problems exist in the company of others.

The only time you looked up even slightly was when Joel started talking. Sort of a calm in an unknown storm, you suppose. He looked so handsome without even really trying. You wore a crooked smile as you looked over the dark green button-up he was wearing. It was starting to be your favorite color, he wore it so well.

There were points where your parents would turn to each other. And Joel would turn to you. It was sort of a silent check-in.

Under the protection of the table, his hand found your knee, his big fingers lightly playing with the hem of your dress. It was the first time you cracked a real smile all dinner. Your hand ghosted over his, your nails lightly running soothing, slow lines on the underside of his wrist by his watch.

You doin’ okay?

Mhm.

It didn’t dawn on you that Joel might have felt he did something to cause your saddened mood. And this was his way of asking. You bit down on your lower lip, feeling his fingers lightly interlock with yours over your knee. Your eyelashes flutter at the warmth it propels through your body. It was just what you needed. Everything was going to be okay.

---

You’re working over a stubborn steak juice stain on a plate as the sun sets over the lake and glistens a soft yellow-orange hue through the windows in the kitchen. Your parents are moving around you while you rinse the dishes, back turned to them as they spoke in mundane conversation and pack up leftovers.

You don’t see him, but you can feel Joel’s presence as he enters the doorway. He watches you. He watches your parents. You wonder what he sees. The next thing you know, he’s shaking your parents hands and bidding them goodnight.

He stops at you. As the running faucet splashes against a few forks and a wine glass, you spare him a glance.

“Walk me out?” Your parents take notice of his ask. And not in the way you expect.

You tilt back and forth on your feet, looking back to the dishes. You really just wanted to finish what was left to clean and read in your room for the rest of the night.

“Uhm-”

“Go on and walk him out, honey. We’ll see you soon, Joel. Thanks for stoppin’ in.”

Your eyes go from Joel’s, to your parents. If they were anything, at least they were oblivious.

You and your mother share a look before she sighs and exits the kitchen. Your jaw loosens, not even realizing how hard you were grinding your teeth while looking at her.

“Yeah. Okay.” Your murmured voice is barely audible above the gushing sink faucet. After you set the plate on the drying rack and smear your wet hands on a dish towel, you walk Joel outside.

The night breeze off the lake sets in a layer of goosebumps up your arms.

Joel’s boots scuff against the gravel and dirt in his driveway, his footsteps pausing at his truck and turning to face you.

The rising moon and setting sun work in unison to highlight his aquiline nose and silver-sprinkled jawline. He’s charmingly handsome. Rugged features meet a stone facade.

You take a hesitant look back into the house. The kitchen light is still on, but no one is in the small windows.

“You wanna tell me what’s really goin’ on with you?” He crosses his arms, cocking his leg out as he leans his weight onto one of his hips.

You muster up a shrug and fold your hands around your arms to keep the light chill away. It felt like you couldn’t tell the truth, the house and your parents inside watching over you. The pressure of it all makes your shoulders lurch up a bit into your neck.

But Joel continues to press you. You’re making him nervous, you think, because he’s not accustomed to seeing you so quiet.

“Are you..” His words falter and fall off, and you can see the frown creased into his mouth. “You’re wantin’ t’stop seein’ each other?”

“What?” Now you’re the one frowning, closing the gap between you and Joel and taking him by his hand to the other side of the truck, using it as a shield between you and the rest of the world. Your back flushes against his driver-side door.

“No, I don’t want to stop seeing you, Joel.” You frown and squeeze his hand a little tighter in assurance. “Trust me. You’re kind of..” You struggle to make the words fit. Nothing seems right. You’re kind of the only person I want to be around right now.

Joel looks a little relieved. He doesn’t make you finish your sentence. He seems to connect the dots. Joel looks from your solemn face to the house behind you—the cause of your ill-stricken mood.

“How about we grab a drink n’talk.” It’s not a question, exactly, it’s more like a command.

You don’t want to talk about what happened, and you have a sneaking suspicion that if you two go off together, your parents will be asking questions.

You push the toe of your sneaker into the gravel and twist slowly back and forth.

“I should just head back inside. My parents are probably waiting up for me, anyway. Cleanup duty.” You say unenthusiastically with a dash of sarcasm. Joel’s eyes are looking past you, still at the house. You turn around to follow his eyeline. All the lights in the house have been turned off—even the porch light. Joel scowls at the sight, thinking how he always leaves the light on for Sarah.

The caged-in feeling returns, your chest tight as you look to your feet and try to breathe through the ache your heart held. You wanted to get out of here, and now.

“Never mind.” You bite down on your lower lip to hold it together. “Let’s go.”

You’re already swinging open Joel’s door, rust creaking at the joints as you slide into the passenger seat. These old trucks with no center console were so cool to you. Maybe you'd appreciate it more if you weren’t in such a shitty mood. But Joel’s already in the truck beside you, the warmth he’s radiating was welcome. His key turns in the ignition, and it clicks a few times before the engine roars to life.

You don’t talk, he doesn’t force you to. You feel at peace putting some distance between you and the lakehouse.

Joel drives past neighborhoods with funny street names. Thunderbird Lane. Firefly Drive. Sugar Loaf Lane.

As the sun just finishes setting, the whole town is covered in an orange glow that will soon fade to purple. Everything flies by your window, and moving at this speed feels like the cage is lifting around your chest, the clasps on your wrist snapping free.

Rolling down the window makes the breeze funnel into the truck and flow through your hair. Before you know it, your body is halfway out of the window.

“What ‘n God’s name do you think you’re doin’?” Joel’s tone was warning, his fist catching your dress in a fist around your lower back in an attempt to make sure you didn’t get thrown out of the truck. “Get back in here.”

You turned back so Joel could see you, eyes lit, and a smile from ear to ear. His hold slowly loosens at the sight before him.

Back arched out the window, he drives a little slower and towards the center of the road. You look up, arms outstretched into the night air as you breathe everything in. Fresh lungs, filled with a new perspective, no tears left to cry as you hang out of Joel’s window. The stars gleam, and the universe is vast.

Oh my god. You hear yourself mumble, feeling freedom reeling through your entire body. And like that, you were new again.

A satisfied sigh leaves your lips. You’re back in the truck now, and you roll the window up but not completely closed. The wind still tickles a breeze into your thrown-about hair. You look to Joel, his eyes already on yours.

Joel sees your fire has been re-lit, thrashing out licks of flame and building in intensity. He adores you wild and free.

“Better?”

You fix the space between you, your body melting into his side as your head lazily rolls onto his shoulder. His heavy arm finds its way around the tops of your shoulders to keep you sedentary.

“Much better.”

---

He ends up passing the central part of town. It’s better this way. Go somewhere he won’t be recognized with a woman half his age. He’s the one who lives in town throughout the year. You and your family only visit in the summer. It doesn’t help that the town is small, and Joel is one of a handful of skilled contractors in the area.

His rusted truck lulls to a jittery stop outside a small bar lit by a red neon sign reading, Past Lives. You wander inside, passing empty barstools and a glowing dartboard, while your sneakers crunch peanut shells littering the ground. You nearly slipped on a large pile of them, but Joel’s hand was firmly on your bicep before you could flail any further.

“You might be the clumsiest woman I’ve ever met.” He mutters, annoyance passing over his features.

You roll your eyes and scoot onto one of the tall barstools at a small square table against the wall. “I doubt that’s true.”

He shrugs his shoulders and cracks open a peanut, tossing it into his mouth. “You’re right. Your mother is the clumsiest woman I know. You get it from her. Once, I watched her glide five or six feet down the end of the dock and land in the water.”

An ill feeling passes over you again, pursing your lips as you trace your finger around the small bowl Joel is picking his peanuts from.

Joel halts his movements, chewing included, and watches as your eyes stare meaninglessly at the table.

“Never really seen you like this. Thought I’d like it if you were quiet for once. But now it just feels out of character.”

Joel’s boot teasingly nudges your sneaker under the table. His brown eyes look warm despite the lack of light in the dingy bar. Your stomach twists thinking about how he looked under the moonlight just half an hour ago.

Those pretty eyes of his meet yours. Soft. Kind. “Talk to me.”

A beaten-up sigh leaves your lips, tugging at the hem of your dress.

After a drink or two, you tell Joel everything he missed before dinner. How you and your mother fought. How it was all venom and tears, leaving you cold and alone on the bathroom tile. By the time the battle came to a halt, there was no clear winner or loser.

Joel’s an attentive listener. He doesn’t interrupt. He knows when to prompt you need a push. Joel’s pile of peanut shells has turned into a small molehill. The ice in your drink sloshes around as you start talking with your hands.

“I love her, I mean, she’s my mom. But she’s always fought me on this. This-this-...”

“The traveling,” Joel assists, his large hand nursing a small glass of whiskey. He looks amused like he enjoys watching you spew. You supposed he feels more relieved to see you explode like this rather than holding it all in.

“And-and it’s so much more than that! She fought me about leaving Texas for school, she fought me about doing a semester abroad, she just can’t let me go, it’s suffocating!”

You didn’t mean to sound so passionate, and you hadn’t realized how vocal you became until someone slowly clapped on the other side of the bar in appreciation. You stifled a laugh and put your head shyly in your hands.

He nods slowly, waiting to see what you’ll say next. You’re using him like you’re journaling at home, now it’s just interactive.

You sigh and pinch at the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes as you listen to an old country slow song humming throughout the bar.

“Didn’t even wanna come back this year.” Your words are barely above a murmur.

This makes Joel pause. “What d’you say?”

You sit up straight and sigh, crossing one leg over the other under the table. These stupid drinks are making you tell the truth. Be more vulnerable than you would ordinarily be. But it’s also because you’re talking to Joel, and he’s always been interested in what you have to say.

“I didn’t want to come back this year. These past few years, I didn’t come back to Danbury because I sort of- purposely- busied up my summer. Internships, work, anything to keep me busy and out from under their-their….” You pause to make hand gestures that are wide and all-encompassing.

Joel juts his jaw out to the side, lips pursed before he speaks again.

“M’happy you came back.”

There’s a moment of silence. Joel’s eyes aren’t on yours anymore. He’s swirling his glass around slowly and watching his ice rotate in a sloppy circle. You slowly start to smile as he looks bashful.

“What did you say, Mr.Miller?” You pry teasingly, reaching your hand over and gently stroking his watch band. The nickname makes his eyes narrow on yours.

“Nothin’. Forget about it.” He throws back the last of his drink, and you’re cooing for him to continue.

“Wha- Joel, come on! Why did you say that?”

He’s just trying to buckle down his smile, hiding it with his whiskey glass and shaking his head.

“Didn’t say nothin’.”

“Yes, you so did. Don’t even try to lie.”

“I’ve never lied a day in my life.”

Your eyes go wide, and now you’re smacking his forearm. He’s shoving quarters at you now, sliding them to your side of the table as a form of distraction.

“Can you just-” He scoffs under his breath and rolls his eyes, finalizing his quarter total to four. “-fuck off, go put a song on the jukebox.”

You sneer at him but obey. You look for something particular, pausing on Little Lies by Fleetwood Mac, smirking at him as you punch in his quarters. He seems confused as to why you stay standing at the jukebox.

The chorus hits, and you point accusingly at him as you do so.

“Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies,” you can’t even finish before your right foot catches on more slippery peanut shells, freezing like you were caught on ice skates and trying not to fall.

Joel’s hand has a vice grip on your bicep again until you regain your balance. God. Your face gathers heat as you snatch your phone off the table, and he lets out a laugh at your expense.

“Can’t sing,”

“Hey-”

“Can’t walk in a straight line.”

“I had like four drinks.”

“Two.” He corrects. There’s no hiding that you’re just unbearably uncoordinated.

“God. Just- get me out of here, Miller.”

Joel was biting back a smile. He likes teasing you, taunting you. Only because you know how to serve it back to him.

“Not until you see this. Wanna show you somethin’.” He sets down his whiskey and lays down cash to cover the tab.

You start your stride, and Joel’s already looking at you with instilled concern. You insist I’m fine. Go on. You follow him through a narrow hallway towards the restrooms, an exit door lit up with a red sign over it.

The walls are filled with signs, pictures, and letters, all illuminated by a soft flickering strip light. These were trails that people had left along the way, passing through the bar and leaving a piece of them behind for strangers to admire. It was like a memory wall.

Joel leans back against the men’s restroom doorframe, arms crossed as he silently admires the wall. And you.

Your fingers brush an old family picture timestamped from the late 80s. There were business cards, from bankers to bonds bailsman.

You feel Joel’s hand cast warmth on your hip, guiding you further down the hall. You follow his eyeline to a large yellow-light spoiled wall map. There were push pins all in different parts of the world.

“Look at all of these, Joel!” Your eagerness was evident as you stepped in front of him, finger flying from one point to the next, squinting past the tacks to read the cities people have visited.

“Bangkok, Thailand. Paris, France. Of course. London, Dubai, Tokyo.” Your voice trails off, finger-stopping around the empty parts of the map that some of the bargoers had yet to venture off to. The pins around the state of Texas were ironic.

You gently took a step back, Joel's broad and hardened front caressing your back. His arms gently wrap around you before they clasp at your front. You rest your temple against his bicep as you sigh. You found comfort in him tonight more than he could understand.

Your neck cranes to the side and up, observing his defined jawline from below. “Have you ever been out of the country?” Your face is lit with excitement, only to fall as he slowly shakes his head. You turn back to the map, your fingers gently holding onto his muscular forearm.

“Am I crazy for wanting to leave?”

You can feel a heavy breath leave through Joel’s nose, the air fanning over the top of your head.

“You’re not leavin’. You’re travelin’. You’ll come back, eventually.”

The muscle in your jaw twitches, and your eyes move to the Eastern side of the map, spotting the tiny European countries.

“Maybe my mom is so worried that if I decide to leave, I might not come back.” You say it as a joke. It makes Joel muster up a tut. But maybe, just maybe, you mean it.

---

You feel drops scatter from the dark black clouds overhead as you rush out to the truck, feeling the cold rain splash onto the exposed skin of your thighs.

Joel’s hot on your heels, doing his little side hop down the stairs and jogging lightly with his arms tucked into his sides. He’s already tossed you the keys to his truck. His body hovers over yours and shields the raindrops from landing on your head as you fiddle with unlocking the truck door.

“Any day now.”

His babbling thwarts your concentration.

“Fuck off, it’s like- rusted shut.” You tease before giving the handle one large tug, and it gives way with a creak. You slip in, dress hem tangling up on your upper thighs. Your hand flies to fix it instinctually, but you slow down when you see how adamantly Joel admires the exposed skin.

When you two make eye contact, he’s already cleared his throat and put the key in the ignition. He cranes his neck back to look out the rearview window, left hand cranking the wheel with precision while his right arm wraps around the back of your headrest. You swallow the lump in your throat, watching Joel reverse out of the bar’s parking lot and back onto the main road.

Your heart thumps, and you think he can hear it because his eyes are on yours when he turns back around. Magnetizing. And you have a hard time facing him without feeling a little shy. Because you’re thinking incredibly naughty things now.

On the drive home, the rain pelts the truck and hard. Joel’s wimpy wipers are working at full speed. He’s not concerned because he knows these streets with his eyes closed. He turns up the radio a little bit to drown out the rain. He does it for you to ease your nerves.

“You’re quiet.” He murmurs, his eyes still on the murky road in front of him.

You can’t help but be quiet. He looks so fucking hot. As dim streaks of lightning skitter across the sky, you see the silver hairs in his mustache and beard. His rain-dampened curls are recoiling, fresh, and wavy. His thick neck was lined with strong veins and muscle.

“So are you.” You murmur back.

His eyes catch you in sneaky glances. Your hair, pretty and dry since he shielded you in the bar’s parking lot. Dress half rumpled up your thighs, smooth skin of your legs exposed to his wandering pupils.

The truck suddenly shifts, veering off the main road.

“Woah,” you gasp, thinking the truck had slid at first. But Joel’s foot was still on the gas, cautiously guiding you off to a side road. You look around, covered by darkness and trees that shield your existence but do little to veil the obscene thoughts racing through your head.

Joel finally throws the truck into a parked position, your eyes watching as his hand snaps the keys out of the ignition.

He looks over at you expectantly. And you just deadpan.

“Get over here." He says between gritted teeth, voice drenched in lust as he snaps off his seatbelt and then your own.

His large hands pull you in as soon as you’re free. You don’t waste another minute, straddling his lap and resting between him and his steering wheel.

You clutch the collar of his dark green button-up, tugging him by his neck into your kiss. It’s messy and desperate, but you've wanted to taste him since dinner. His greedy hands are wrinkling your dress. The cold air tickles your warm thighs, and you whimper into his mouth.

Joel’s kisses are rough but fluent; he speaks the language of your lips. You take a moment to admire how different the two of you are and how it feels like he’s the key to your lock.

His warm palms slip up the front of your thighs as he kisses you, hasty and happy. He takes the hem of your dress with him. Joel is as warm as a furnace. He’s heating you from the inside out as your core begins to ache for him.

He pauses the kiss, large palm coming up to cup your cheek as his thumb traces along your lower lip. You take the time to catch your breath, feeling his own fog against the window next to you.

“Not exactly the most romantic spot.” His eyes shift with lust-filled guilt. “M’sorry.”

You work up a smile, leaning in to gently kiss his cheek and up his cheekbone.

“It’s okay. We’re not romantic.” Your clarification feels like a lie. He doesn’t need to know that.

The rain outside becomes blurred, and Joel’s looking through you again. Right through you. Your chest pounds under his watchful eyes. He sucks in the side of his cheeks, looks you up and down your face.

Don’t lie to me.

Don’t make me tell you the truth.

He decides to let you move on unscathed, your thighs clamping around his own with your knees at either side of his hips. His worry lines are stamped into his forehead as he looks over you cautiously.

You break into a smile, unable to stand him looking at you like you’re a lost puppy. “Joel,” you whisper into his ear, soft lips giving his ear a kiss as your nose lightly brushes against his soft curls. Your voice drops to a whisper, sweet and divine. “Don’t make me beg, Mr. Miller.”

Your lips suckle his earlobe and cast your tongue along the curve while his fingertips immediately dig deeper into the flesh of your hips. The sensation makes his cock twitch in his jeans.

You smirk as you grind your hips into his lap, a suppressed grunt leaving his parted lips. He’s into it. “You like this, Mr. Miller?” Your words are murmured against the shell of his ear, teeth gently catching his earlobe and lightly tugging.

Your words along with the rhythm of your hips over his lap have him in a tailspin.

“Knock it off.” He warns, teeth gritted, a low growl emitting from his throat while he grips you at the waist to pause any movement. He looks so sexy snarling at you like this. Your hand reaches between you two, palming against his cock until you feel it swell into the heart of your hand.

Joel is lazily planting kisses on the soft skin of your neck, he’s distracted by how good your hand feels.

You take turns half undressing one another. Joel pushes your dress up to your waist and loops his index finger into the band of your panties. He guides them down with your assistance. You kick the material off your ankles and move to pop open each button of his long sleeve. He goes to shrug it off, but you smile and tighten your hold on the collar.

“I like it on. Just wanna see your chest hair.”

His mouth tilts into a crooked smirk.

“‘lright, then. Good to know.” He leans back in and places messy kisses on your exposed neck. You can feel how badly he wants to sink his teeth in, but you share the mutual rule of keeping those things below the collar. Out of sight, out of other people’s nosy minds.

You struggle to admit that jimmying open his belt at this angle was pissing you off. You’re holding your breath until it clicks open, and you let out a sigh of relief. So does Joel.

A gasp leaves your lips as Joel lifts the both of you up purely with the strength of his hips, a low grunt leaving his pouted lips as he pushes his jeans down to his knees, along with his boxers. You sit back down over him and feel his heavy shaft pressing against your slick center. His girth makes you whimper.

The rhythm of the rain eases your racing heart. You take Joel’s pulsing member into your slightly shaky hand.

“Nervous?” It’s not cocky or concerned, just curious.

“M’not nervous.” You mutter, starting to pump his cock to get him to shut up. And it works. For a minute.

His head falls back into the seat as he watches you in admiration, his own hand wandering between your spread legs and gliding two fingers through your slick. His forefinger grazes against your clit, and he has you whimpering again.

“S’okay to be nervous.” His thumb slowly starts delicate circles into your bundle of nerves, and now he’s got your legs quivering.

You’re chewing at the inside of your cheek, shifty eyes meeting his. You pace your words this time. “I’m not nervous, Joel.” You pull away from him to create a line of spit from your mouth, landing on his pink tip already drizzling in precum. You swallow your nerve and bring yourself to meet his eyes. “Not with you.”

The mutual understanding links the two of you together, bound to the agreement in silence. You have a burning desire for one another. You’re scared, and he knows it. You push him to the limits, his heart beats for you.

Steam fogs the windows of Joel’s truck. The rain dances a fine line between pounding and pouring to slow and subtle.

Joel’s kisses lull you into a peaceful existence. You take off your dress, unable to stand anything between you and Joel. He’s warm as he wraps his arms around you, your tits flush against his thick chest.

You line him up by his base, Joel’s trying to hold himself still under you. You’re focusing hard, and he kisses your temple to ease your thoughts. He murmurs something, but you’re too busy concentrating.

His pink tip meets your warm flesh, and his tip slowly parts your walls. He’s seething between his teeth, how tight you are washes pleasure over his face. He wants you to go slow. You don’t want him to go easy on you. You can’t help but let his name tumble from your lips in desperation.

“Joel,” you whine, one hand clenching the fabric of his button-up by his shoulder while the other still weakly holds his base.

“M’here, baby.”

He’s rubbing soothing circles in your hips with his forefingers, trying to distract you from the stretch he’s creating inside you.

His breaths are coming out in hot puffs. The truck isn’t cold anymore, in fact, it’s only steaming up.

“So- fuckin’- tight.” He murmurs, eyebrows knitted together as his jaw was dropped open.

It was sharp at first, but the further you sank over him, the more you couldn’t contain yourself. As soon as his balls were flushed against your core, you were kissing him. Hot and heavy, desperate and needy, can’t get enough of each other sort of kisses. One of his hands holds the back of your head to keep you close while your fingers are delicately feeling up his chest and mazing through salt and pepper hair.

You smirk lazily against his lips, pulling away to rest your head on his shoulder. With this leverage, you start to roll your hips down onto his. Joel’s hands assist, squeezing your ass and guiding you smoothly up and down his shaft. You’re both moaning one another’s names, hazy eyes watching each other as long as they can before eventually drifting closed.

You wished you weren’t fucking in his truck, your riding skills were a lot better than this, but if you try and pop up, your head will just smack into the roof. And he’ll make fun of you for as long as he knows you.

“God- feel so good, Joel.”

You’re panting already a few minutes in. You don’t want Joel to think you can’t do this, you don’t want his help. But your body is crammed in limited quarters, and you’re already sweating.

He feels good. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s had sex. He’s not exactly the most outgoing of gentlemen. Thinking about him being with other women, maybe even women his age stirs a weird pit inside your stomach.

One hand steadies itself on Joel’s forearm while the other gently clutches his cheek. You leave a messy moan against his ear.

“Do you like fucking girls half your age, Mr. Miller?” You ask with a teasing smirk, messy kisses against his stubble and his ear ensuing.

He’s grunting every time you throw yourself back into him, skin clapping against his thighs, his hands slipping from your hips to your ass and squeezing the juicy flesh. “-like fuckin’ you.”

A low, extended groan leaves his lips as he holds your hips down, filling you full and having you sit with it. You throw your head back, and your eyes shudder closed with a loud moan occupying the truck.

You tell yourself that you’re both just fuck happy. You can worry about the depth of Joel’s words later. He feels too good inside of you for the first time to give a shit.

Joel’s thrusts bring you back to life, hand landing against his window and leaving a print mark against the steamy glass.

Joel senses your languid movements. He thinks you look pretty being fucked in his trunk during a thunderstorm. The darkness wraps the both of you up, only seeing flashes of each other’s features. He combs his large hand into your hair, catching your striking features with his hooded eyes. The slope of your nose. The curvature of your collarbones. Your pretty lips that he can’t stop staring at.

Joel enjoys the control too much for you to be on top for a second longer.

You collapse onto the truck’s long leather seat, lips parting in surprise as he maneuvers you to lie back without slipping from your entrance.

“H-Holy fuck, Joel-” You’re breathless.

Joel’s jaw clicks tighter as he flattens one of his large palms beside your head for leverage, hovering over you as he begins to methodically snap his hips into yours. Your desperate cries for more fill the truck.

Both of you are horridly cursing, some in the form of whines and moans and others in the form of whispered grunts.

Fuckin Christ-

Holy shit, Joel, please-

Feel so god damn good, princess-

Oh f- fuck me Joel, fuck me!

You’re already feeling the knots in your stomach tether tighter and tighter together, back arching as your chest brushes against his nose.

Joel takes the opportunity and licks a hot stripe between your breasts. You know he tastes your glistening sweat, but the trail from his tongue makes you clench tighter around him.

You catch Joel’s unfiltered groan in your mouth, his forehead resting against yours as his amber eyes grace yours.

He’s close, you can see it in the way his features contort and his thrusts become more unpredictable. You had no idea he could fuck this good.

Joel brings a hand up to your lips and offers you two fingers. You whimper but reluctantly take them past your mouth. You suckle and lather your tongue up and down each digit, it makes his cock twitch inside of you.

He plucks his fingers free with a pop, a trail of spit extending from your bottom lip to your chin as he reaches between you both.

Finding your swollen bundle of nerves doesn’t take him more than a second. You were so turned on it was almost painful.

Joel’s tip sweetly kisses your cervix at this angle, and you are so close to spilling over. Your hands cup his face, pulling him into you as you share a messy kiss. You think about how scared you were to kiss him before, but now it makes you feel a sense of protection and safety. You wrap your arms around his neck, you need him close.

“Joel,” you whimper, clenching your eyes closed and dropping your jaw as he finds the perfect rhythm circling your clit.

“Can’t hear ya, baby,” He grunts into your ear. You can feel him tiredly smirking against your cheek, knowing he’s fucking you so good you’re struggling to find the words.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your legs clenching tighter at the sides of his hips. “M’on birth control, finish inside me,” you whisper against his ear.

You can hear him let out a short, breathy chuckle against your ear. It only drives him more, knowing he can fill you up.

“Y’sure, sweetheart?”

“Want to?”

His teeth are gritted as he growls into your ear. “Course I wanna fill your sweet cunt up.”

It was hopeless after that.

A crack of thunder and a strike of lightning conspire, your view of Joel illuminating his gorgeous face in a white-silver flash.

The tight coils inside you snap free, a broken moan of his name being the last thing you remember saying before white stars filled your vision. Your hold on Joel loosens as your orgasm crashes through you ungracefully, making you twitch and rut your hips below him.

His fingers and his thrusts don’t stop. He rides out your orgasm, following suit until he flushes his hips against yours and lets out a heavenly groan of your name. You’re still under him, vision blurry and hearing fuzzy. He finds solace in the crook of your neck, nuzzling a home for himself in the space and losing himself deep inside you.

His body shudders lightly as he finishes, spilling white streams into you for who knows how long. Your hand is gently stroking the hair at the back of his head, fingers combing through dark curls as he breathes hot air against your neck.

You both slowly blink back to life. He’s complimenting you, but you’re too blissed out to hear the details.

So good, baby… Such a pretty fuckin’ girl... So lucky.

Joel tuts softly as he attempts to free his softened length, but you whine and tighten your legs around his hips to keep him stationary.

Your eyelashes flutter as you feel gentle kisses by the corners of your eyes, tiredly smiling as you open them before slowly sitting up onto your elbows. Joel takes the opportunity to pull out and yank his boxers and jeans back into place, securing his belt last.

He still keeps his shirt unbuttoned for you, partially because you have a hold on a random corner to keep it so.

With the absence of your pants hotboxing the truck, you slip back into your dress with a light shudder. You reach past Joel’s leg to retrieve your panties and pull them up your stems to keep his spillage to a minimum.

“Good?” He asks, a smile slowly growing on your lips. He looked so fucked out. You both probably did. You attempt to fix Joel’s hair, and he takes his thumb to swipe away the saliva trail on your chin.

“Good.” You agree. Quiet and sapped, but good.

You force Joel to play a few games of tic-tac-toe on the foggy glass before the storms lighten up, and you can actually see more than a few feet in front of the road.

You’re picking at the skin around your nails the entire drive home. So many questions compile in your worn-out brain.

What if your parents noticed you were gone? What if they were awake, waiting for you by the kitchen window, and they see you slip out of Joel’s truck? Try explaining yourself after that one.

As Joel pulls into his driveway, you observe the lake house is still dark and silent. Empty but also not. Joel’s warm palm is on your leg. It draws your attention away from the window, focusing just on him.

“Joel?”

“Hm?”

You shift your jaw before you lay your head back against the headrest, gentle pitter patters of the last rain cloud splashing on the window.

“What do you do when you’re not working? Like on that Saturday when I talked to you at your truck.”

He musters up a half-mouth smirk. “Didn’t do much talkin’ that I recall.”

You roll your eyes and slam a closed fist against his shoulder. It barely rocks his arm, let alone his body. “M’serious.”

He lets out a long sigh and looks out the windshield. “I do stuff around town or- for the town.”

He’s so hard to push details out of. He’s like a jammed stapler.

“Go on. So, like, volunteering?”

Joel rolls his eyes and shrugs. “S’not really like that.”

“That’s what it sounds like.”

He doesn’t say anything, just sort of starts smiling. “Just like keeping myself busy. But now I have you on my plate.” He teased. Your chest felt warm, knowing he kept a place for you in his hectic life.

“What sort of stuff are you working on right now?”

He takes a long, deep breath through his nose. You can hear it whistle before he lets it all out of his mouth, followed by clearing his throat.

“Y’know that old church past that big field on the east side of Danbury?”

You mindlessly shake your head and shrug.

“When I was a kid, I used t’go to that church-”

“For God?” You can’t help but blurt it out in shock.

He narrows his eyes on you and smirks.

“M’not exactly the Godly type.” You look over his chiseled jawline and beautiful, robust features. You’d have to disagree. He looked like one of God’s favorites.

“So.. why are you trying to fix an old church?”

Joel slowly smiles, eyes mindlessly on the dashboard of his truck before he answers. “I have a thing for the broken, used, and abandoned.”

Your head cocks to the side, and you give him a look, pressing him for an honest answer. Or maybe it was an honest answer, and you’re just looking for a better answer.

He shuffles around in his seat before he continues, hand still aimlessly circling on your thigh. “It wasn’t operable when I was a kid, just rundown, abandoned. There used to be a stained glass mural on the-uh... east-facing wall. So when the sun came up through it, the whole place just- lit up.” He pauses and shifts his focus to you.

“Now, y’know, it’s fallin’ apart. Dumb kids throwin’ rocks at it and chipping away the glass, age makin’ it all dust-covered.” Joel shrugs and falls back into his closed pit of secrecy.

“So… you’re fixing up the town.”

A pause. “More or less.”

“You know how to make a stained glass mural?”

He shakes his head and purses his lips. “No. But I can figure it out.”

You twist your lips and slowly climb over his lap once more. His eyes watch you curiously while his hands settle on your hips. You cup either side of his neck, fingertips lightly brushing up against messy curls.

“Can I see this mural you’re working on?”

He takes a long time to answer. So much dead silence fills the truck you start to feel a bit awkward about asking, like maybe it was too far.

“Please.” You ask or tell rather. You kiss his lips lightly to try and sway his pending decision. “I won’t judge, I think it’s cool.”

“Cool?” He instantly chirps, cocking an eyebrow up at you.

“I didn’t say you were cool-”

“You most certainly did.”

You’re shaking your head, and his pointer finger is prodding into your side to get under your skin. “I said that it’s cool. The stained glass stuff, that is what is cool.”

He’s already sneering at you. “Whatever you say, princess.” You can feel your cheeks singe with heat. Your hand anxiously scrabbles for the door handle, letting the rusty door creak open for your exit.

Sneakers scrape gravel after you climb out of Joel’s lap, his boots landing suit.

He smoothes a hand down your dress, your eyes watch before you face him.

“You gonna be alright?” Joel's face is laced with slight concern, his head cocking past you and looking to the house.

You shrug and shake your head. “Yeah. We’ve had this fight before, and we’ll have it again.”

He doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer. He’s teetering on his heels as a stray raindrop lands on your cheek.

“You can..” He trails off as his thumb comes up and brushes away the droplet, hand lingering before he cups your cheek. “Y’know, can always stay with us if you need a break. M’sure Sarah would love the company.” And so would he.

Your eyes soften, the gesture warm and safe. You couldn’t even imagine the trouble you’d stir up at Joel’s house. Sure, you could occupy yourself with Sarah when she returned from camping, but what would you and Joel do? Well, besides the obvious…

Your lips curl into a tight smile, not wanting him to reel in his invite out of pure bashfulness.

“Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.” Your eyes are on his until he sighs, his shoulders reset into that of a broad lumberjack once more. His eyes looked like they were scheming. It’s fast, like a flash, and before you know it, the look is gone.

“Take care of yourself.” He leans down and plants a kiss on the crown of your head, thumb skimming up the line of your cheekbone. Suddenly, your heart is racing again.

You cup his cheeks and pull him down for a real goodbye kiss, two sets of pouted lips against one another, unwilling to let go until you have to.

---

“What are you doing after work?” You’re on a call with Joel, phone pressed between your ear and hunched shoulder.

“What are you wearing right now?” He taunts, voice crackling in and out of connection since he was currently working at a house out of town.

“Ha.” You deadpan, closing the sliding glass door behind you as you step back into the empty lake house, skin sweltering from being in the sun for the better half of the afternoon reading on the dock. “No, really, I could use your help.”

The phone volume shrills in your ear as you hear an electric saw roar to life, Joel cursing repeatedly as he walks away from all the noise. “Jesus fuckin-.. so damn lou- Can you hear me better?”

Once the saw dulled, you put the phone back to your ear. “Yeah.”

“What do you need help with?” His voice sounds a little preoccupied like he’s trying to focus on you, but he’s got a million things running through his head.

“My window.” You say with a frown, stepping into your bedroom and cursing at the sight of it. “Won’t open. Maybe you can crack it open with some of your handy dandy tools.”

You smile as he musters up a little laugh at your hardware knowledge or lack thereof. “I don’t know about today, baby.”

“You are the property maintenance guy for our lakehouse now, right? You have a duty to help me.” You tease, stepping back outside with a fresh bottle of water and an apple. Your teeth pierce the skin, and the apple’s juices gush past your lips.

“Jesus, fine. I’ll be over. I’m almost done.”

You purse your lips to hide your smirk. God, he can’t even see you, but you don’t want him to know he’s got you flustered.

“Parents are running errands today... If that’s extra incentive for you to hurry up.”

Joel pauses on the other end. He’s probably got that stupid smirk on his face. “In that case, I’ll leave now.”

“I knew you’d see things my way. Thank youuu.” You playfully coo.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.

An hour later, Joel’s outside your window while you assist from the inside. His face is twisted in concentration, eyes narrowed on a misaligned hinge that he works free with a screwdriver, realigns, then screws tight into its proper place.

He looks stupid hot so focused like this. Tanned skin, hair a little dusty from work. The veins in his forearm were bulging as he uses pressure to keep the hinge in place. You had to blink a few times to keep yourself from staring. He feels it.

“Can I help you?” His voice was thick and echoing since he was speaking to you between a glass pane.

You bite back a smirk and shake your head.

He pulls off the hinge and nods, pats it a few times before looking at you and giving you a thumbs up.

You decide to let him come inside before you open the window yourself, twisting at the string of your bikini bottom as you wait. He took in your appearance as soon as he parked in the driveway.

“What?”

“...Nothin’. Like the outfit.”

“Joel, I was sunbathing. And reading. It wasn’t an intended distraction.” It was.

“Mhm.”

Joel appears at the entrance of your bedroom. You silently curse yourself for not updating it more. It still looked like a sixteen-year-old fangirl lived in it.

He appreciates the posters and magazines, checking his handiwork at the window.

“Wanna give it a go? Open it?”

You eagerly smile and step up to the window, playfully tugging on it and heaving.

“I-.. It’s still stuck.” You say with a frown. “Joel, you said you fixed it.”

“What? Shouldn’t be-” He’s already got his hands on the frame and tugs, feeling it easily slip up and open. You’re giggling as his face deadpans.

“You think you’re so funny.” He taunts, his body turning towards you as he chucks his tools haphazardly on your bed. You’re already attempting to take leaps and bounds away from Joel, but his arms are long, and so are his strides.

His rough hands capture you by your waist, dusty and calloused fingers ghosting over your warm skin.

Joel’s lips eagerly greet yours, both of you grinning into the kiss. It’s slow as you let it envelop you. Your heart races. He’s not supposed to be here, your parents could come home any time now.

You bite down on your lower lip, feeling butterflies in your stomach as he backs you up against your wall, foreheads gently pressed together. His eyes flick behind you, and your head follows his gaze.

“Boybands, huh?”

You roll your eyes and smirk, fingers moving to the button of his jeans.

“Shut up, Joel. Leave the boybands out of it.”

A car door slamming catches both of your attention. Heads whip on instinct, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Your parents are home, and Joel’s half-hard in your palm.

“Oh, shit.” You curse.

Joel’s already moving, grabbing his tools off your bed, and adjusting his jeans. “Lemme handle it.” Your heart pounds as you and Joel greet your parents at the door. They walk in with fresh shopping bags. A cheesy sign for the living room sticks out from one of them.

“Joel?” They both ask in unison, looking between the man beside you and you in your bikini. Your mother’s face lightly flushes.

“Hey, Joel! Good to see ya!” Your father sets the bags on the table and grabs a beer from the fridge. You shift on your feet and just let Joel lead.

Your dad’s oblivious, your mother is more curious

“What are you... What are you doing here?” She tries to ask casually with a little smile.

Joel raises his screwdriver, strategically keeping the toolbag in front of his lower half. You try not to smirk.

“Was fixin’ your daughter’s jammed window.”

Your mother's face softens before she smiles. “Y’know, that thing has been jammed for… years. Thank you.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile and nod. “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Miller.” The light glare he sends you means you’ll pay for that one later. Joel clears his throat and nods, too. He turns to you now, and you share a look.

“Just… let me know if it happens again. Might need to replace the hinge entirely. Small piece of it could be broken, might be why it keeps slippin’ out of place.”

“Yeah. For sure. Thanks.”

You walk past your mother and open the door from him, but he still stands between your parents. What the hell is he doing?

“While I have you both, I was just tellin’ your daughter ‘bout a business trip I have comin’ up.” Huh? “ It’s not for Miller Contracting. It’s more for the town. I’m gettin’ materials for the old church-”

“Oh, the one with the broken stained glass mural on the east side of town?” Your mother chirps in. “We just drove past it. Just saying how someone needs to fix it up.” Joel’s lightly nodding to your mother’s words, her face soft as she listens to him with curiosity.

“Well, I was tellin’ her about it ‘cause I could use some help getting materials from a supplier in Houston. I’d normally ask Sarah to tag along and help, but she said she’s got some graduation parties next weekend that she doesn’t wanna miss. Would it be alright if-”

“Oh, of course! Yes, please, if you need her help and she wants to go, she’s all yours.”

Your eyes are wide, trying not to seem too shocked by Joel secretly sweeping you out from under your parents without them even noticing.

Joel turns to you, eyebrow cocked. “That okay with you? Next weekend. Friday to Sunday sort’f thing.”

A whole weekend alone with Joel? Your insides are bursting, but you have to seem apathetic.

“Mhm. Sure.”

Joel sneaks you a private smile. “Really appreciate it. Ya’ll have a good rest of your evenin’.” And with that, he’s out the front door.

You couldn’t believe what just happened.

You try to act casual before you make it off to your room, but your mother’s voice pulls you to a halt.

“Ah-ah, not so fast. Back it up.”

You quietly sigh before coming back to the main part of the kitchen. She narrows her eyes on you and lightly crosses her arms. Your fight with her from yesterday is still fresh, and it makes holding prolonged eye contact difficult.

“Are you seeing a boy?”

Your eyes widen on instinct. Your dad pauses the sip of his beer and watches you carefully. You try to hold together a poker face as best as you can, but you’re worried your shock is already seeping through.

“Wha- A boy? Why would you think that?” The laugh you force out sounds too fake. And you’re a terrible liar. You feel so hot all of a sudden. You wished Joel was still here to talk you in and out of shit. It was a skill of his you’d surely have to learn.

“Well, we heard the door close really late last night after you walked Joel out. We were just wondering if... You know, there’s a special someone that you’re seeing.” Of course, she hoped you would tie yourself down to someone in Texas.

“Yeah, did a boy pick you up after dinner or somethin’?” Your father presses, eyes narrowing protectively over you. “You seein’ a boy or not, honey?”

You didn’t want to lie, but you certainly weren’t ready to tell them the truth about you and Joel.

“Uhm.” Your brain scrabbles for an answer and ultimately chooses poorly. “Sorta. I don’t know. Kind of?”

Your mother tightens her lips in a smile and nods a little. “We’ll let it go for now, but-”

“God- Mom, please.” You groan and put your face in your hands, closing your eyes and wishing this nightmare was over.

“But,” she annoyingly emphasizes, “If it gets serious, we want to meet this young man.” She says with a firm nod before turning back to your father and putting away the items in their shopping bags.

Meet him? They want to meet the boy you’re seeing? What will they do when they find out the boy is actually a full-grown man, a forty-something-year-old with a teenage daughter? And that man was not only their friend and neighbor but Joel fucking Miller. Fuck. Your luck was running out.

---

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thefixations-ofmine · 4 months ago

Text

You Set Me Ablaze - Chapter 1 : Initial Landing

Pairing: Park Ranger!Evan Buckley x Air Ops!Tommy Kinard Word count: 4k Warnings: Blow job, hand job, semi public, stuff in a helicopter, pet names, come play

Summary: Tommy and the guys from Harbor rent a cabin in a California Parks campground some hours north of Los Angeles. He's hoping to enjoy the time off and participate in engaging team-building activities. Little does he know a blue-eyes boy would be occupying most of his schedule. / Evan is a new park ranger with high hopes to become employee of the month. He didn't expect to have his brain scrambled by the hot helicopter pilot when he picked up their file on his morning chores run. He hopes that his services will grant him a good review.

A/N: I had initially wanted to make a single long fic with this, but I keep getting ideas and I like where this part ends so this will be part 1 of maybe 3.

Main Masterlist | Drabbles Masterlist | AO3

“Thank you for the walkthrough, Ranger Buckley.” Bennet shakes his hand with a truthful smile, and places his bag on the first bed by the door. The young man gleams at the acknowledgement of his good work, his baby blues nearly hidden from his stretched smile. Tommy takes note of the little quirks in his composure as he’s secretly checking them out; his favourite was seeing how white his knuckles turned around the clipboard when their captain started taking his uniform off. Ranger Buckley was standing there, unaware that he was being ogled himself by the beefy man just out of his eyesight. But then he turned in his direction and Tommy swears the kid’s smile sparkled like those toothpaste commercials.

“Pleasure’s all mine gentlemen,” Buck answers, diverting his attention back to the group - not before eyeing Tommy up and down. He turns on a radio and sets it on the wooden desk by the door, where books and maps are scattered. Most had started fading from the sun rays over the years - Tommy would argue that some might actually date back from before Buck was born. The thought of that gap fueled his wicked mind. “If you need assistance, simply call me over the CB. Use ‘Buck’, you’ll get my attention faster,” he adds with a chuckle, taking a step back to exit the door after his note. Tommy’s stomach knots at the sight of him leaving.

“Buck? Like a deer?” Riley half-jokes, but everyone sees the double entendre. Buck has googly blue eyes, and a soft grin. Plus he works in a forest. Has freckles. His hair is god damn fawn-coloured for crying out loud! Add all this to his ungodly long legs, and the man is quite literally the incarnation of Bambi. He must have caught up on the joke, because crimson is slowly creeping up his chest and cheeks. Tommy takes another mental note of that marvelous sight.

“Um, well-” he exhales a nervous laugh. Yeah, Tommy is so done for. “I hadn’t thought about it that way, no. I should put that on a mug!” He knocks twice on the door frame with his index knuckle and turns to head back to the main building. Tommy admires his backside as he’s walking away, biting the inside of his cheek, trying to remember every little detail of his body as if he needed more reasons to obsess over the poor guy. He’s running so many scenarios in his mind and he knows he has to come out of his bubble in the next seconds, and then:

“Buck? Hold on!” He reaches the ranger’s side in a few strides.

“Evan,” the younger man says first. “Please call me Evan.” Fuck, that would be delicious to moan.

“Evan.” Tommy’s body is now slowly changing colours too. He can feel his fingers tingling and his breath quickening. Suddenly, he forgets why he’s even standing here in the brisk evening air, swinging nervously on the balls of his feet. Evan tilts his head, silently waiting for him to come to.

“Are you okay, sir?” Evan eventually asks, pulling Tommy out of his trance with a shiver running down his spine. He’s gotta wiggle his leg to adjust his… growing problem.

“Yeah,” he manages to whisper. “I actually wanted to ask.” He rubs his hands onto his jeans, and licks his lips. You got this, he tells himself. You’ve been to war!

“I’m not a morning person, but I was thinking, maybe I could take you on a chopper tour over the park tomorrow?” The words come out without pause. He smiles, or tries to, as he realises he’s showing way too much teeth - he doesn’t know Evan is currently melting inside at his crinkly nose. When Evan’s mouth opens without a sound, panic sets in and he curses himself for reading this all wrong. “No pressure! I mean, I’m sure you’ve alread-”

“Yes!” Evan finds himself answering with enthusiasm.

“Yes?”

“I would love to. I haven’t had the chance to do this yet. We were thinking of offering the service for guests, but it’s quite difficult to get permits, and those things are expensive!” He stops to take a deep breath, and keeps going. Tommy listens to Evan ramble about the Park’s plans of expansion; watching his hand motions, his eyes grow big with passion, and overall studying him. He leisurely makes paths of where he wants to drag his hands first, then his mouth, and then Tommy has to stop thinking or a leg shake will not cut it.

“It’s settled then,” Tommy says. “After breakfast? I’ll pick you up at the front desk?”

“Sure thing, I’ll be done checking people in by ten,” Evan confirms.

“As long as you’re not checking them out too much,” Tommy teases with a wink and is pleased when the joke is received with a cute laugh. He amicably grabs Evans shoulder, maybe a second too long but Evan doesn’t pull back - Tommy lingers, trying his best to feel the hard muscles under his touch, a big contrast from the usually smaller, twinkier men he’s attracted before. He wonders how rough he could be with Evan…

“I’m Tommy, by the way” he states with urgency. He’s then confused by the chuckle that comes out of Evan.

“I figured,” he says, pointing to Tommy’s embroidered name on his uniform shirt. Smart. Evan returns the innocent touch and, finally, walks away.

***

Evan is up far too early considering the first check-in isn’t before eight. But as soon as the sun hit his face, which was probably around five thirty, he hadn’t been able to keep his mind quiet. There was a moment where he panicked over what to wear, as if he didn’t have a uniform to put on. As if this was an actual date and he was reading too much into it. Tommy was just being nice. He did try to choose the best pieces though; beige cargo shorts, to show the killer calves, a soft and adjusted white t-shirt, sadly covered by his olive green work shirt - he can take the shirt off later, he notes - and lastly his favourite California flag cap. When he is satisfied with the reflection in the mirror, he dumps the rest of his coffee in his insulated mug and heads to work.

It’s around seven when he makes it to the main building, so he’ll have plenty of time to check down some tasks before welcoming guests. He parks his quad by the back where they keep the extra fire logs, and he gets startled by approaching footsteps.

“Morning, Evan.” An oddly familiar voice greets him. It’s slightly more rough though, tired, adding to the morning air shivers that are running on his skin. He turns around, and closing in on him is Tommy, the tall, broad, handsome pilot. He’s wearing long, black, fitted jeans and a grey hoodie. Phenomenal. The dirty Timbs are a bonus, but he will keep that thought for later.

“Hi, Tommy,” he chimes. The smile that comes his way warms his body back up. He checks his watch: “So much for not being a morning person.” He gets another crinkly smile.

“Sorry if I was off, last night,” Tommy begins. “I was tired and the guys had been dumbasses all day. To be honest I was baffled when I saw you and my brain just… combusted.”

“Baffled?” There’s a bit of confusion in Evan’s voice. He sees Tommy’s expression change, as he realizes the implication of the word, and he replies;

“Oh, gosh. No, I didn’t mean it like…” Tommy rubs his face, thinking. “I didn’t mean it badly. All I meant was that I usually have a good, um, radar. And I didn’t want to overstep while you were working. I didn’t really know which foot to dance on for a minute.”

“Radar?” Evan questions, but he’s being playful now. He knows. He knows that Tommy knows. But he also will not give him what he wants right away. He wants to hear the adonis before him say it out loud. There’s a sparkle in Tommy’s Gatorade blue eyes, he’s got him hooked.

“I, well. I guess I just outed my intentions here.” Tommy takes his hands out of his pockets and seems to relax some more. He even reaches for the hem of Evan’s shirt and toys with it. “You’re cute. Like really cute. And I panicked last night and I try not to be too cutesy in front of my coworkers, so… I just wanted to have a moment with you where I could actually not be a total mess.” Evan gets it. He gets it too well, and he just wants to hug him and say it’s alright and-

“It’s alright Tommy. I-I can’t let that show either while I’m at work. I’m out, but it’s still… not the most comfortable thing to display,” he adds with a half-smile. “If only you knew how hot you were when you got down from that chopper yesterday.” He takes a step closer, rubbing the back of his index finger over Tommy’s forearm. “When you reached for my shoulder last night, I could barely keep my knees in check, but I didn’t want to act on it and be a fool. So we’re even, I guess, for both holding back.” The fucker winks, bringing Tommy’s eyes to his birthmark. His hand is still roaming, tracing the valley of Tommy’s bicep while Tommy’s has settled comfortably on Evan’s hip.

“What if I had lost control and kissed you last night? Would that have scared you off?” He’s being flirted with, and Evan would be damned to cut this off. The way Tommy looks at his lips, and then back into his soul as he waits for an answer has his nape itching with need. It doesn’t help that he’s so close they are currently sharing oxygen.

“A-are you joking? I would have most likely messed up my pants.”

Tommy laughs, and Evan joins him, but he takes an abrupt step back when the truck of his colleague turns onto the driveway. He smiles, and excuses himself before getting to his tasks. Tommy confirms he’ll be back at ten, and goes on for a stroll around the trails. Evan will find a better opportunity to tell Tommy he’s actually bisexual, if that even matters for the moment.

***

It’s ten a.m. on the dot when the bells on the door jingle and Tommy walks into the main building. It’s a typical forest lodge; everything that can be made out of wood has been carved with skillful hands, and signature paintings from local artists decorate the walls. There’s a faint smell of incense burning and a distant rumble of guests in the lounge area. He’s surprised there aren’t any animal-head trophies displayed anywhere, though he doesn’t care for them.

“See anything you like?” Evan’s sweet voice interrupts. He’s still behind the counter, and Tommy appreciates the distance for now, because if Evan was taking off his shirt and looking at him through hooded eyes within arms reach, he’d be burying his hands in the poor boy’s locks and making a fool of himself in front of the lovely family sifting through the brochures.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Evan adds, walking around the counter with a small bag. “You’re staring, sir.” He teases and it’s only when his hand lands on Tommy’s chest that he comes back to himself.

“I, um. Sorry,” Tommy manages to whisper. He smiles then, and grabs Evan’s bag for him. “Please, let’s get out of here.” They both chuckle and head out to the backyard.

Tommy obviously walks about two feet behind Evan, watching the muscles of his back dance under the tight white undershirt. He allows his gaze to wander onto his lower back, then down his ass where the material of his shorts fold slightly under the bulb of it with each step. There, he thinks. That’s where I wanna dig my fingers. They reach the helicopter and Tommy hurries to open the door, desperate to be out of sight.

“So, did you catch all that”, Tommy asks after running Evan down the take-off, landing, and emergency procedures. He knows that he’s in control if anything were to happen, but he also noted Evan’s damp hand print on the side of the seat and how he took several deep breaths after buckling up. Calming down his nerves will be beneficial for him later. Evan nods with a smile and seems to adjust.

“I guess we’re getting off then!” Tommy winks.

The humming of the engine is quite relaxing and Evan tries to keep breathing through his nose until they're high enough and the scenery around him doesn’t seem to be moving extremely fast. His grip loosens around the edge of the seat, and he rubs the sweat that formed under them onto his shorts. They’re close enough that his elbow nudges Tommy’s arm in the process, gaining his attention.

“You okay, Evan?” Tommy asks, adding comfort through his voice.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” Tommy reaches to put his hand on his forearm and runs his thumb over - what Tommy doesn’t know - is a very sore muscle in need of attention. Evan manages to swallow the whine that threatens to rat him out. Little does he know the headset mics are very sensitive.

“Alright then, let’s see that side of the mountain first,” Tommy indicates and the chopper leans to the left, bringing Evan shoulder to shoulder with him. He relishes in the touch until they are sat up straight again.

“I can’t thank you enough for proposing to do this…” Evan adds, trying to keep his mind busy. But the hand on his arm is still lingering and he thanks the heavens above that Tommy is experienced enough to maneuver the stick single-handedly. The contact is burning through his skin and he feels himself filling up the last bit of room in his pants.

“Well, it’s my pleasure, trust me.” Tommy’s hand snakes along the top of Evan’s arm, reaching his wrist, and then lacing itself with his and he squeezes. “I have the dreamiest co-pilot.”

The air becomes thick and Evan wiggles in his seat to try and rub away at his current itch, but he reluctantly has to use his hand to pull at the material just enough for his dick to move into a better angle and not throb in pain. He pushes a sigh of relief, but Tommy’s hand lets go of him suddenly, leaving his stomach in a knot.

“You know,” Tommy starts. Evan doesn’t allow himself to look up from his empty hand until Tommy forces him by grabbing his chin. He doesn’t care that they’re several thousand feet in the air, he’ll stare into his eyes as long as Tommy doesn’t get tired of him. “Maybe there is a way for you to thank me properly for today.” There’s no hesitation in his voice, and Evan loves the direction this is taking.

“An- and, that is?” His voice is shaking - whiny.

Tommy chuckles and takes his hand back down onto him, not aiming for his arm. Before Evan knows it, Tommy is expertly looping the button of his cargos out of the loop and then rubs his hand along the inside of his thigh - his rings create a delicious sound against the ripples of the fabric. Evan shivers with his entire body. His hips have a mind of their own.

“I noticed you were having a little situation there,” he looks at Evan’s crotch, then back at his reddening face. Without breaking eye contact, he digs his hand into the front of Evan’s pants, cupping his entire semi and Evan salivates at the contact - his previous encounters had never engulfed him so easily, he starts leaking at the thought of Tommy’s deadly grip around him. But sadly: “Why don’t you show me what you’re working with, sweet boy,” Tommy adds, turning back to watch their surroundings while Evan proceeds to get himself situated.

Evant lets out a strangled moan as he pumps himself slowly, once and twice, and he’s hard and sensitive and toying with the pressure of his fingers around his tip to try and slow down his impending orgasm. It feels like his first time discovering that the appendage between his legs had nerve endings, and he’s gushing precome at an alarming rate.

“Good boy,” Tommy rasps between two peaks at Evan. His free hand sits on his own dick, not applying any pressure, just holding himself as if he was trying to keep a monster caged in. Not wanting to let it die, yet keeping the attention away from himself a little longer though the sight of Evan’s thick, curved dick would never stop the blood from rushing south. He realizes in vain how he put himself in a tough situation with his little game, but he’s good to keep this going a little longer.

“Tommy,” Evan whines. His cheeks are burning, there’s a sheen layer of sweat forming on his forehead. “Tommy.” This one is shy of a whisper. He keeps pumping and twisting and occasionally adding spit into the mix, his left hand knuckles are turning white as he desperately tries to hold himself onto the seat, his hips have slipped a few inches forward and his back is pushing into the seat every time he fucks into his hand.

“You look so good, baby. You wanna come for me?” Yes, yes, yes. Tommy thinks he heard Evan grunt into the mic, though his own thoughts have started to scramble from the pain between his legs. He expertly starts lowering them back to the pad as he catches a glimpse of Evan writhing on the seat next to him, and god he wishes he could have his mouth on him. Once he’s sure they landed safely, he lets go of the stick and turns towards Evan who’s long lost in the chase for his release - he doesn’t feel the movement or lack-there-of, until Tommy has his hand around his dick and is working him the last bit of the way. He feels a hot breath against his ear:

“Come for me baby, spill all over my hand.” With a couple more pulls and twists, and his hand pinching at his nipple, Evan comes into long, thick spurts onto Tommy’s hand, his own pants and shirt. His senses come back to him as he hears Tommy whisper sweet nothings into the side of his face, and Evan turns, not thinking twice before crashing his lips onto Tommy’s. It’s hungry, wet, and very much what Evan had wanted since the moment Tommy dragged his rugged body out of this chopper. He runs his hand into the dark curls at Tommy’s nape and elicits a strangled moan out of him. They break the kiss, foreheads leaning onto the other as they catch their breaths.

“See, now you messed up your pants before I even kissed you,” Tommy jokes, and kisses him once more, before pulling away to bring his hand to his mouth. He growls at the salty taste coating his tongue: one day he’s going to get it straight out of the tap. He sees the shiver running through Evan and he looks at the back of the chopper: “Would you like to return the favour?”

There are merely two minutes between the moment both their buckles are unfastened and when Tommy finds himself with his pants around his ankles and Evan kneeling in the small space between the rows of seats before him. The way Evan’s nose runs up the crease of his thigh as he inhales him in has his entire body slacking a bit. He hums in admiration and he feels his warm tongue roll onto his balls, before creeping its way up the underside of his dick. Evan sucks at the bead of precome and runs his pointed tongue into the slit.

“Fuck, baby,” Tommy moans, “run that tongue all over me.” And Evan obliges. He repeats the movement just enough times to feel the muscles of Tommy’s legs ripple under his arms. He takes Tommy into his mouth about halfway, and pulls back, and goes back down, and pulls back, until there’s a generous amount of saliva following his lips when he pops off. Tommy growls and grabs him by the chin, pulling him into a dirty kiss, tongues fighting dominance, before he lets go of him and motions for Evan to proceed. He brings his hands behind his head to recline a little, jutting his hips up enough to have his dick rub against the side of Evan’s face. They both chuckle quietly, and Evan gets back to the task at hand.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the challenge and the way the back of his throat burned at the stretch. He could pump him with two hands and still have room to fit his tip in his mouth. Evan had only been with women so far and a handful of - selfish - men who hadn’t really let him play with them before being fucked, so this is considerably the biggest, hardest thing he had ever put his mouth on. He’s already addicted to the taste, the ridges and curves and the pulses of Tommy’s veins everytime he exhales.

He deducts that his work is appreciated when he feels a sharp tug at his hair, and meets the dark eyes looking down at him. Tommy’s mouth is open and his breaths are staggered - Evan can’t help but run his hands up his stomach and chest as he tries his best to get his nose to the base of his cock. He gags, but holds on and Tommy licks his lips at the sight of the tears running down his face - that he swipes with his thumb and brings to his tongue with a devilish smirk. Evan moans around him, his renewed erection bobbing as he focuses on breathing and swallowing around Tommy.

“Baby, I’m-” Tommy begins, but has to focus as the simple thought of saying it out loud takes him near the edge. “Can I come in your pretty mouth?” There’s a simple nod, and Tommy loses it. He brings his hands on both sides of Evan’s face and starts fucking into him, just enough that he gets his rush but doesn’t have to stop to accommodate Evan. It’s only around five strokes before he feels his body tingle and his asshole start to spasm anyway.

“Evan,” he moans, the sound coming out like sweet honey as it rolls on his tongue. Yes, that does sound delicious. He pulls Evan’s head off him and takes himself in his other hand, pumping his tip and aiming onto the sweet boy’s waiting tongue. His body goes rigid and his head falls back until the first spurt comes out, and then he watches the next three coat Evan’s tongue and chin, before wiping his tip onto his top lip. He curses as he sees him swallow and lick at the excess around his mouth.

Evan bites his bottom lip and looks down at himself, hand coated in his own come that he had absentmindedly been rubbing out as Tommy was fucking his face. He chuckles, suddenly shy and when he looks up at Tommy, he simply raises his eyebrow at him and Evan goes on to lick his hand as well.

“Please tell me I can invite myself to your cabin tonight?” Tommy blurts and Evan chokes onto his come. They both laugh and Evan answers after a moment;

“You’ll have to wait until it’s dark,” he says, starting to put his clothes back to normal.

“I’d wait a month if you asked me to.”

Next chapter (wip)

#ronnie writes #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 fanfic #911 abc #bucktommy fanfic #tevan fic #bucktommy AU

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