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fraugwinska · 3 months

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Minors DNI - 18+ - Explicit Sexual Content - 4,6k words Attention: Mentions of fictional Witchcraft and Voodoo (I know this is a very sensitive topic, which is why I threaded very vaguely and lightly. I mean absolutely NO disrespect to either of those spiritualities)

Master of Puppets

You paced nervously through your room. The clock ticked the safe seconds away, the seconds Alastor where wasn't here. The seconds where Alastor didn't know.

He liked you, of course. At least enough to experiment with you, that much you could say with confidence. He had shown interest in the little witch inventor that joined the hotel, sharing the same proficiency in magic as himself. Although, unlike him, you had been an eclectic witch in your lifetime, and used more traditional western magic, whereas Alastor wasn't familiar with that, relying fully on voodoo practices he learned from the women of his family. So, you taught him and he taught you, and over the shared hours of lessons, discussions and practices, things got more and more... handsy. Until one day even the last gap between you was closed, and before both of you knew it you were sharing a bed more often than a book on sigils or rituals.

It was a mutual thing. You were insanely attracted to him, and he liked you well enough to indulge in activities he'd normally frown upon. Which made you feel special - It didn't soothe the nerves though, as you fumbled around with the little objects in the black carved box, making sure everything was perfect, before hastily slamming it shut when you heard knocks on the door.

"Yes?" you said, as if you hadn't been expecting him, as if your heart wasn't trying to leap out of your chest.

"Darling, it's me! May I come in?" you heard him say, and the door opening before you could answer. "I hope I'm not too early."

You turned around, giving him a shy smile after glancing at the clock on the wall. "You're right on time, as always."

"Punctuality is one of the only virtues I try uphold." He took a few steps towards you. "Is everything alright? You look nervous."

"Do I? It's... Nothing. I just have... I'm excited for something to show to you."

"Really?" He was intrigued, leaning in a little. "Well, now I'm curious. Is it the skinning spell you've been working on? I might have some test subjects in mind, if you are already finished."

You cleared your throat, feeling your heart beating painfully in your chest. "Not quite. I made something new, though."

"Oh?" he said, tilting his head to the side. "What is it?"

You fidgeted, not knowing how to start, how to ease him into it. He was a man that didn't appreciate if one beat around the bush, so better to rip the band-aid off in one violent, leap-of-faith-kind of way. You went to the black box, fingers trembling as you lifted the golden hatch, and before you could change your mind and call the whole thing off you scooped the small voodoo dolls out and held them out to him.

"I made these. For you... Us."

He was taken aback for a moment, not saying anything as he stared at the two little cloth figures, then down at you. They were intricately made replicas of you both, you had spent hours and hours sewing them, even going so far as to design and make identical outfits for them. He took both of them out of your hands, turning them slowly in his own, examining them with a frighteningly unreadable look.

"So you solely tried your hands on my profession I see. Why?" his eyes were boring into you, the smile on his face tight and tense, and you had to fight yourself not to stutter.

"I-I figured..." You swallowed hard. "I thought it could help us to... to be closer. More connected, in a way. And I thought you would like to... try this."

He blinked slowly, and the grin he wore stretched a bit further, the static getting louder in your ears. You were starting to think he didn't like it. You were starting to regret this.

"It is an unusual gift." His voice was calm, laced with a hint of curiosity, but you still couldn't relax. "Quite a surprise, too."

"Is that good or bad?" you asked, and he chuckled softly.

"I don't know, darling. That depends on how it will be used." He holds up your miniature, his brows raised expectantly. "Tell me how it works."

"Uh... Well, it's more of a mix between your and my magic. T-they have some of my spells sewn into them, and then I enchanted them on your altar. All that's left to do is to tie a hair around the neck of it and offer a drop of blood, and... we will be able to feel anything that's done to the doll."

"Feel?" He cocked his head to the side, eyes gleaming with dark excitement.

"Anything." Your throat was dry, the words almost catching there.

"That sounds positively delightful."

Your heart did a flip in your chest as his voice lowered into a purr, his eyes fixed on the tiny you, the static rising around him. He was captivated, but also suspicious, and that didn't make your anxiety lessen one bit. More so as he found the red stain on your dolls chest and the shimmer of a hair around its neck. Your version of a peace offering.

"It seems this little thing is already prepared and ready to use, isn't it, dearest?" he hummed, looking at you, the smile stretching wide and showing his sharp teeth.

"Yes... if you wanted to... see how it worked first. To decide whether you want to give it a try."

He laughed, and the sound made you shiver. There was no humor in it, but sheer anticipation. Hunger. "Well then. Better not waste such a generous opportunity."

He sat his own replica down on the nightstand next to your bed, and settled down on the mattress, patting the spot next to him for you to join. You did, sitting as stiff as a board, your eyes trained on him as he looked down at your little doll. He seemed to contemplate for a moment, before running his fingers across the doll's body, and you gasped.

All your hard work evidently payed off - The touch felt eerily real. Warm, like the heat of his hands was spreading all over you, a soft caress up the middle of your stomach, a tickle around your waist. His fingertips traveled upward, pressing softly against your chest, and your breath stocked in your lungs.

"You've really outdone yourself with this one darling. So receptive..." Alastor's smile widened into a full grin, and the fact that he didn't need to touch your skin to see the blush creeping across your cheeks was one detail he seemed to particularly enjoy. The rough feeling of his claws grating against you was replaced with the hot touch of phantom lips, pressing gently against your neck as he pulled the small shirt collar aside, his tongue licking across the doll's shoulder.

The sensation almost felt out of place in comparison, making you fall onto your back with a gasp, into the soft covers of your bed, unable to maintain any sort of composure. Instead of feather light touches, his mouth felt way heavier on your skin than it should. Warm, wet... As he scraped his teeth along the little doll's neck, a low moan slipped between your lips.

"And what attention to details. It's almost a shame to ruin your hard work, but oh well."

His eyes stayed on you as he hooked a fingertip under the dolls garments, cutting it clean off of it, and even though yours stayed fully intact - what you were feeling was a whole different story. Your eyes betrayed you: Even fully clothed you felt the cool air of your room on your skin, you felt exposed, bare and utterly vulnerable. It made your skin break out in goosebumps and your lips part in an unstifled sound of arousal.

"Gorgeous, darling... Absolutely wonderful. A truly masterful piece of magic." The tone of his voice was tingling all over you, a mixture of warm affection and dark cravings. You had never been one to enjoy being praised by a man, but it made you close your eyes and squirm with absolute and desperate need when it came from Alastor. Mouth already open to say something, the words died in your throat, replaced by a high whine when you felt a wet sensation traveling over your stomach down to the inside of your thighs. Your eyes snapped open, finding Alastor's again, his irises practically glowing and locked on you as he ran his tongue all the way across the small body. Teasing. Playing. He narrowed his eyes and traced every curve with the same meticulous patience you knew him for, the sensation sending shocks of excitement and adrenaline through you as it circled the dolls skin, drawing closer and closer to the most intimate parts, until there was nowhere else to trail, nowhere else for it to run to. He stopped, leaving you flushed and panting and shattered next to him on the bed.

"My, my, sweetheart..." he cooed, poking the little doll in his hands into it's side with the softest touch, making you jerk into his side. "At this rate, this seems more like a gift for you than for me."

The blush on your face deepened and you averted your eyes. "...You're probably not wrong."

"No, I'd say I am absolutely right," he chuckled, shifting closer and tracing a hand up your body and to your throat in a smooth motion, and your body arched into the touch with the ease of a moth to flame. For a moment, he didn't move, resting his claws wrapped around your neck, his fingertips heavy on your skin. He seemed to weight his options, deciding on how to proceed. Finally, he leaned into you, bringing his lips closer to yours and when he spoke it was barely a whisper.

"I'll trust you to rectify this circumstance then."

Your eyes widened when he stood up, gently placing your doll down and switching its place with his own. You sat up, watching how he carefully plucked a hair from his head, wrapping it tightly around the neck of his miniature alter ego. It looked almost sinfully elegant and downright seductive, how his long fingers tied it tightly, before he turned back to you, his grin splitting his face in half. There was something in his expression you haven't seen before - hesitancy. It was only a second, but you still held your breath as it passed, and he chuckled as he bit his lip, dark, almost black blood dripping onto the chest of the doll in his hands.

"A rare occasion for me to spill blood. I hope you'll make it worth it."

You swallowed heavily and he grinned, reaching for your hand and gently putting the doll on your palm, giving you a stern, commanding look. "My turn."

You nodded as he settled himself on your bed, now stretching himself fully on the mattress. Lifting your other hand you carefully laid one finger on top of his dolls' throat, before drawing your fingers across and down, over its chest and its sides, making his form shiver and his ears twitch. As you undid the small coat and shirt, dragging your nail gently over the dolls abdomen, Alastor gave a resounding, pleased sigh. You stared at him in wonder of your own work, silently asking yourself if your touches on the fabric in your hands felt as intensified as his did on yours before.

With a spark of nervous excitement you followed a whim of insanity, a quick glance confirming Alastor had his eyes closed. He had never before allowed you to touch his ears - now, their artificial counterparts were at your fingertips, and with a racing heart, you drew a stroke from the base of his ear right across its entire length, all the way until the fine point. A loud, drawn-out groan filled the room and your cheeks burnt crimson when his back arched and his hands twitched towards you, the knuckles white as he clenched them into fists, a tremor going through his shoulders. The groan ended in a long whine, the eyes snapping open and locking right into yours, and your breath hitched as you saw the smoldering embers. His grin grew tighter, strained, and he inhaled deeply through his nostrils, and the intensity of his gaze made your stomach drop, your whole body feeling exposed and naked despite still being fully dressed.

"Testy little thing. Always going for most dangerous experiments..." He shook his head as he exhaled slowly, his breath ragged and labored and in the soft illumination of your bedside lamp his neck was dusted a light pink. You marveled for a second, mesmerized. That was, until his tone dropped an octave, making your body snap back to attention, your nipples hardening painfully beneath your clothes. "How about another then, darling. You do that again..." His shadow tendrils shot out from nowhere, wrapping around your waist and thighs and lifting you over his face as you yelped and almost let the doll slip from your hands, the hem of your skirt pushed aside and heated core right above his watering mouth. "...while I do this."

With no time left for a reply, you felt your flimsy panties flicked aside and your body lowered onto his waiting tongue, all thought replaced by a sudden wave of blinding ecstasy. There was something truly addicting about the heat and hunger of his lips, the way they locked around your clit and sucked you down in the best form of torturous pain like life depended on it, his nails digging into your hips with force, while your brain was practically erasing every input but the burning sensation below. The doll in your hands, pressed to your heaving chest, was long forgotten as your head fell back and each swipe of his cursed appendix sent a shockwave through your spine. You groaned, you whimpered, and Alastor could taste the waves of delicious agony on his tongue. When he withdrew, the loss of his wet heat and the chill of the cool air against your slick folds made you almost break out in tears.

"Focus, dearest, on the task I gave you. Or do I have to repeat myself?"

The growl in his voice snapped you out of it and made you take a shaky breath before you finally composed yourself. Your fingers trembled as they grazed the tips of the dolls ears again, your movements almost trance like as your whole body yearned for it to return onto his lips. Alastor's brows furrowed, lips pursed for a second as you drew a slow, sensual line up the miniatures length, stopping and softly kneading at the pointed tip.

"Good girl." he murmured, voice breathy, and for a second you could have sworn you saw his eye twitch, though his grin stayed firmly plastered onto his face. His words sent an instantaneous warmth pooling in your lower stomach, and your chest fluttered as you tried to swallow down the intense elation that shot through your veins at those words - the same words Alastor used when you mastered one of his magical exercises, and although the praise was always flattering, in this context it felt downright lewd and utterly divine to be called that. When your hand lowered a bit, massaging the base of the dolls ears, Alastor's noises became low growls and deep purrs around the wet skin his lips devoured. The black vines on your waist and legs tightened their grip as well, pushing you deeper down onto his mouth.

You hadn't even registered what happened, but with a snap your top was ripped in the front, the clasp of your bra followed, and the familiar humming sound of his static made you squeal in surprise when his voice was suddenly much louder, his tongue shoved into you as far as he could go and his shadows ripping your clothes off at lightning speed. With both hands stroking, massaging and pulling the dolls ears now, the pure pleasure hitting you was almost too much, but as much as your hands ached for the real thing, to run your nails over the red fluff and trace the soft curves and edges of the dark antlers growing on the sides of his head, all you could do was imagine, with all your fingers on the dolls soft material instead and moving furiously up and down its head, to do exactly the same thing.

Alastor growled underneath you, the sound deep and rumbling, sending vibrations through your trembling thighs and against your sensitive skin, and it sounded so much more desperate and disoriented than you had ever heard from him before. Had you been looking down, had you been able to see anything beyond the mind-shattering pleasure, the wide blown pupils and the unfocused gaze in the glowing red irises, you might have wondered why that was - Alastor's control was slipping, and his smile finally was showing that.

In an instant your body was turned and placed on your back, your limbs shaking in the grip of his shadows and body utterly at the mercy of the tall red man leaning over you and undoing his bow tie with the rapidity and precision of a professional magician. His hair had gotten a little ruffled in the process, and his red shirt hung open and wrinkled against his skin.

"A compelling exercise indeed, my dear." he spoke, the rasp in his tone and the ragged breath accentuating his words. With a swift movement his jacket joined the shirt and harness that already had been thrown onto the floor somewhere, and then the shadows were back and prodding against the soaked cloth, the only thing left around your hips. They snuck into every slit they could find, exposing more and more of you, while their owner's gaze hungrily devoured every bit of exposed skin. The stretchable fabric made for easy work, but you had the distinct feeling they wouldn't have needed it at all as the shadows literally dissolved every thread they encountered. Alastor reached for your replica again, seemingly collecting himself and catching his breath.

"You are quite talented, and it'll be a joy to discover what other marvels your mind can come up with." His claw dragged down over the dolls' hips, one set of real, the other set of simulated hands following it a millisecond after, right along your bare and barer sides, sending waves of anticipation down the inside of your thighs. In an instant, two very corporeal, long fingers were back between your folds, knuckle deep into your seeping core, and Alastor chuckled lowly at your surprised whine, the smug and devious purr rumbling in his chest as he took note of every twitch your body made to the tune of his strokes. "But I think it's about time to return the favor though, don't you agree?"

Still stroking that sweet spot inside of you with his fingers, the hand that held your puppet glowed in bright green, and in between your moans and pants your wide eyes can't tear themselves from the strange symbols that appear around it, swirling and sparkling. You've seen Alastor perform magic countless of times, have watched and marveled at every spell he cast and his flair for the dramatic was only matched by the elegance of his every motion. But this? This was something else. The nonchalance with which his fingers pumped in and out of you, working meticulously, tactically, teasing you and working you into a mess with such a proficiency while he traced symbols with his free hand and the script, the raw power of it, the surge you could feel radiating from him, all that and his unflinching composure drove you mad with both desire and fascination.

The light and the symbols faded, and in his hands - the puppet, similar yet not quite. It felt off, almost lifelike, the fabric more skin-like, and with a gasp, you saw..

"Let me now see, if my own little contribution can be counted as an improvement, my little witch."

If someone asked you later on what had actually happened, you couldn't have said a single word - it was too salacious, too outrageous, too much outside of what you had ever expected from Alastor. How could you ever recount the way he pulled his throbbing cock out with his free hand - thick, dripping with precum and inhumanly beautiful. How his fingers were guiding your tiny copy to align with its tip, while he never left your eyes, smile almost manic.

He made holes. And seconds later, when he slowly pushed the doll onto his length, with his fingers still buried deep inside you, you knew that they worked. Oh, and how they worked.

"Oh m-my... god..."

It was heaven and hell. Bliss and torture, the feeling abhorrently delicious. The magical connection allowed every ridge, vein and vibration of his cock to transfer perfectly through the dolls body to you, making you shudder and keen at the intensity, the sheer tightness, and simultaneously Alastor groaned - a broken, rugged sound, loud enough to make you glance up with misty eyes from your debauched position. Your insides clenched hard around his fingers and the ghost of his cock, your toes curling as you whimpered, a picture perfect representation of how utterly sinful he looked with his dark lashes resting on his red cheeks, eyes shut and the mouth agape as his chest was rising and falling, breaths coming hard and labored.

He noticed your raptured gaze, looking down at you through hooded eyes, his smile positively obscene.

"Mh, I like the way you pray on me instead of one of your silly deities, darling. But you can call me Alastor."

And oh, how it felt, when his hand closed tightly around the little voodoo doll that was stuffed so full of him. You arched your back and writhed against the firm hold the tentacles had on you, pressing your knees against the pillows as he pulled his drenched fingers out of you, bringing them up to his face to lick them clean. He groaned at the taste, closing his eyes and making an effort to concentrate, his control crumbling in tiny pebbles around you, and his hips started to snap, sheathing the miniature you further on his cock, thrusting in increasingly fast paced movements. A string of whimpers escaped you, his name spilling throughout them like a mantra, as you were unable to do much more but twitch, shake and tremble as his ministrations came faster, harder, and Alastor let his head fall back, baring his neck and swallowing.

"You're so-" He groaned, squeezing your dolls body, forcing it closer against him and sliding it off and back on at an excruciatingly slow pace, your moans climbing and escalating with every inch that moved through the magic veil and in and around your sopping center. "-goddamn perfect, perfectly made for me." Your body didn't know how to react anymore, you stuttered incoherently, everything full with his praise, with this cock that wasn't there but was, the heat that shouldn't have been possible to fill you but did. You felt every bit of skin and fur and sweat and the realization only dawned on you when it was already too late: That you were about to come harder than you ever did, and that Alastor was losing his mind just from watching your reactions to his assault on your doll.

"S-So tight and needy. What a perfect... little... toy you are." If they were meant for you below him or the doll in his hands - you didn't know. But the panted words and almost dirty, explicit praise spilled from his lips in a flurry, every syllable seemed strangely calculated, aimed like a dart straight into you and tearing down all defenses as your pussy twitched helplessly around the sensation of being stretched and fucked open on the image of his cock. When he chuckled and sank your doll to the base, grinding your little figure against him so the head of his cock poked and prodded you where it had never reached before, you all but screamed his name as you came, and your pathetic cries pulled a harsh string of groans and grunts out of the demon towering over you, his breathless cursing and rambled obscenities underlined by the vicious snaps of his hips as he used your simulacrum like a glorified sex toy. His nails pierced the outer layer of the doll as your walls constricted and contracted around the thick nothing as he finished you and himself off into the realm of oblivion.

Everything went white for a moment and when your senses returned, Alastor was carefully cradling you into his arms, the little replica sitting next to his own on your bedside table, their heads almost tenderly leaning on each other. He was gently raking his claws through your damp, disheveled hair, placing little kisses down the back of your neck and on the thin skin behind your ears as he mumbled silent praises against your skin. He kissed along your jaw, gentle as anything, a soft thumb grazing along your lips, cheeks and your temple as he traced the lines of your features until he found the pulse on your neck. The cold touch of his lips was a nice contrast to the hot breath, and you moaned softly at his affectionate gesture.

"It's never a disappointment with you, love, quite the contrary." He hummed, scraping his sharp teeth almost teasingly along the crook of your neck before kissing it, covering your skin with static electricity. "What a marvelous surprise you prepared for me, my dear, truly magical." His lips pressed into yours in a rare kiss, and you leaned back into his naked embrace and smiled, the giddy feeling of accomplishment spreading in your belly and mixing in beautifully with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"I'm glad... you liked it."

"Oh, that is hardly the phrase I would use," Alastor chuckled as he pulled back, making you blush as his red iris glowed dangerously. "But you, my dear, will have a little work to do, seeing as I'm positively spoiled after this gift. You have no idea of the things I'm thinking about, all the possibilities of what we can accomplish if we put both our minds – and magic - to it."

Alastor pulled you into a tight embrace, rubbing his chin and cheeks across your scalp and shoulders, coating you with a generous amount of his scent as if to mark you before pulling the blankets up and covering the two of you as his arms locked around you possessively, letting you settle against his chest as he hummed a melody you didn't know. But you knew him well enough to know that it was a clear sign of him being absolutely pleased and content.

You smiled, his good mood infectious, and as you glanced to the two dolls that sat together like a matching pair, stripped of their clothes and as close together as you and the real demon were now under the sheets, it made you feel like the cat that ate the canary. The cat had been fed by Alastor, sure. But he had also had his fill and then some, and really... that was all that mattered to you.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #quickfic #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut #magical fucking

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sweetnothingtm · 2 years

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RUTHLESS// simon riley x reader

pairing simon riley x f!reader

word count 4.6k

content warning rough sex, knife play, degradation, oral sex, the mask stays on!

authors note i hope you enjoy you dirty little freaks. thank you for everything ♡

It’s an honest mistake - really. Had you known any better you would’ve kept it right where he left it.

But you can’t help yourself, lingering just a moment longer to stare at the blade that shines in the light. Its tip was stuck in the wall, the black hilt of the knife worn from use. Soap is calling your name, but you stay put, lip caught between your teeth.

It’s the lieutenants, his initials engraved into it - and you pocket it without a second thought.

You hide it from him like a dirty secret.

At first, you reason that it’s a good knife - a waste of potential to be left in the wall. It’s been polished and sharpened, the tip of the blade pricking into your finger. You had to keep it, you thought. Despite the fact that he would eventually come back for it, eyebrows drawn in confusion at the empty hole where it used to stick. You don’t necessarily use it, but you keep it on you at all times. It rests in your breast pocket, your heart beating against it even now.

A reminder of him. All the little unspoken truths and harbored emotions that you kept from him.

Then you think he could've asked for it back. You don’t admit that you have it, but if he wants it then he’ll try to find it. You have a bad habit to absentmindedly stare at him during briefings, and you notice the empty spot on his vest. It’s a similar shape to the knife.

You’ve been free falling for the lieutenant since the day you met him. Always a little too desperate and eager, you did your best to please. Arriving early for meetings, being the first one up, getting your report and handing it to him finished not a day later. He’d catch your gaze, cocking an eyebrow almost as if in challenge. You’d blush, breaking his stare and shoving down all those months of pining.

He taught you how to aim, how to disassemble your weapons and put them back together, hell- he’d just about taught you how to breathe. A ghost that’s hellbent on haunting the living, he kept you waiting patiently and obediently. You just needed a sign - something to tell you that he sees you.

The lieutenant doesn’t ask for it back. Yet. You’re starting to fall asleep looking at it, eyes half lidded and thumb rubbing over the hilt softly. It flips between your hands under the table at meetings, head in the clouds with your superior storming your thoughts.

The initials are ingrained in your memory like it was branded. SR. You start to carve it in bathrooms, trees, your bed frame. It’s shameful to admit, but having a piece of him is nice to carry. It’s because he’s your boss, the guy whose job it is to keep you alive. You’re just being sentimental for a friend.

Sometimes you wonder if he knows it’s gone. There’s a part of you that hopes you’ll never have to give it back.

Eventually you’re beginning to treat it like it’s your own. You carry it with you like a lost piece to a puzzle. It’s got a spot on the inside of your vest, hidden from his eyes. You let it dance on your skin in boredom, and use it to cut stray threads off you. But you can’t cut the lieutenant loose.

Your eyes are blinking away boredom and disinterest, head hung low as the drowning deep voice of Ghost continues on. It’s late, and you’re tapping your boot impatiently as Johnny and Kyle are making small talk about the stupidest shit.

The knife clicks open and closed, fingers unconsciously brushing against the blade. You really just need a shower and eight hours of sleep, but time is ticking away.

Think Lt will let us sleep in tomorrow?

Not a chance, Soap

Bastard doesn’t even sleep. It’s not fair

You feel like kicking yourself to stay awake. Yawns are bubbling up from your chest, shoulders sagging in exhaustion. It’s been a half hour since he started talking about procedures, protocols, what to do if blah blah blah. You fiddle with the knife in your hands, glancing down at the initials. Simon Riley. You wish you were in bed, the soft glow of your lamp illuminating your favorite kept secret.

He can tell too, and it’s infuriating him. You’re messing with your hands, lip caught between your teeth as your leg bounces in the chair. You rest your arms on the table, leaning forward and absentmindedly playing with something. Then he sees it, the black hilt that’s worn from the grip of his hand. It’s got the same engraving too, the one he got custom done his first day on the force.

You took it.

Simon didn’t think you’d have it - just a sneaking suspicion. He’s lost it before, usually to find it the next day in his jeans. Yet he saw you leaving, cheeks scarlet as you avoided his gaze. Your hands were shoved deep in your pockets, mumbling soft apologies as he brushed past you and back into the room. It wasn’t there, though.

He missed it. Simon carried it with him everywhere, like it was a part of him. It’s the only knife he owns, always wiping it clean at the end of the night. It twists between his fingers at night, the hilt worn from the palm of his hand. He would lazily flick it open, thumb rubbing along the edge of the knife. He thought he’d find it by now - but there you are, treating it with the same care that he has.

The lieutenant pauses, words trailing off as he stares at the familiar blade. You glance up, catching his gaze with eyes that are dark and heavy. You blink once, twice, straightening and looking down to your hands where the open knife lays. You freeze, the air around you running cold. Heart faltering and chest tightening, you wait with baited breath. Never has the truth been laid so bare before you. His eyes are kept on your face, pinning you in your seat. Does he know?

The lieutenant breaks your gaze, leaning back against the desk and crossing his arms. You’re absolutely mortified, shoving the knife in your back pocket and biting your tongue. Johnny looks to Ghost, pausing his conversation with Kyle at the unexpected silence. You’re distracting yourself by looking at anywhere but him, breaths uneven and shoulders tight with anxiety.

Ghost takes a moment to regain his control, mind clouded with the image of you playing with his knife. He runs a hand down the haunting white mask that separates you from him. Still wearing the uniform and gear, his hand rests on the empty spot of his vest as his eyes drag straight back to you.

He has to know.

“Johnny, Gaz - take your gossip outside. We’ll reconvene tomorrow,” he states, leaving no room for questions. The lieutenant breaths a long sigh, head cocking to the side as you blush a deep red. You whip your head to him, standing up straight at the sound of your name. He doesn’t dismiss you. The boys nod begrudgingly, standing up and stretching while grunting goodbyes as they shuffle out of the room. The door swings shut, clicking back into place and leaving you stranded.

It’s just the two of you, a thick and nauseating tension arises as moments slip by in an uncomfortable quiet. Your hands are balled into fists out of anxious habit, nails digging into the palms for your hands. He’s shrugging off the vest, peeling off his gloves and tossing everything on a nearby chair. His bare hands brace against the side of the desk, eyes staring straight through you.

“That’s my favorite knife that you stole,” he says, voice patronizing as you stupidly blink at him with innocence in your eyes. Your mouth opens and shuts quickly, head spinning with all the ways you can lie yourself through this.

“I don’t have it, maybe you lost it?” You say, shifting uncomfortably as he cocks an eyebrow at you. He looks at you as though you’re on fire, burning up with every lie that you feed him. You fumble, shaking your head at him and letting poor bluffs take the lead, “I just bought this one. I got it from a store in-“

“You’re a bad fucking liar.”

You freeze, words stuck in your throat as his voice rings in your ears. You’ve been caught like a deer in the headlights, eyes widening and panic setting in. His fingers drum against the side of the desk, and he almost looks like he’s found his new pet not behaving.

Glancing to the door, you swallow a thick ball of fear. It’s a few feet away, right there and waiting for you to run. Excuses and dishonesty coat your senses, trying to cover up lost tracks as you look longingly to the exit. The knife sits heavy in your pocket, a ruthless and terrible reminder of the fact that it doesn’t belong to you. You should’ve given it to him when you had the chance.

He waits for you to answer, and he’s gritting his teeth every second you stare at him all pretty and dumb - like you don’t know a goddamn thing. Honestly, a part of him feels a little prideful that you kept it in the first place. You intoxicate and torture him, forcing him to keep distance from the forest fire he wants to call home. The lieutenants been waiting for you to spark since the day he met you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, voice struggling to stay even as his eyes narrow at your words. You try your best to remain calm as the lieutenant continues to stare, skin flushed with fear as he shakes his head at you. “You’re a rotten brat, you know that?” He spits, watching with hate as you look away with your chin held high. You won’t admit defeat, not until it’s ripped from you with prying hands.

“It’s got my fucking name on the blade, sweetheart-“ he grounds out, leaning forward as his eyes burn into your own. “And unless you’ve got it branded on you too, I’d suggest being a good girl and giving it back.”

The room is laced with a thick silence while you shiver where you stand. You nod meekly to him from across the table, letting loose an uneven breath. You hold his gaze, stomach churning with months of suppressed fear and unrequited adoration. You speak to him softly, as if your voice is made of truth.

“You left it, and I found it. It’s mine now,”

He laughs at you, the sound hateful and violent in your ears. He pushes himself off the desk where he leans, the mask building a wall of irritation around him. His footsteps land heavy as he’s crossing the room, sauntering towards you with a determined look in his eyes. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he states, shaking his head condescendingly at you.

Three steps, and he’s right in front of you. His figure towers over you, face tilted down to look at you. He smells like tobacco and pine, and you notice the spread of ink that peeks out from his sleeve. A finger grazes under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his dark eyes. “Give it back.”

It’s a losing game, and you’re trying desperately to win. You shake your head, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself. No.

The lieutenant drags over a chair, exhaling heavily as he takes a seat. His legs are spread, a hand resting on his thigh as you shake under his touch. He looks away for a moment, as if he’s mulling over something. Tsking softly to himself, he reaches a hand out and hooks it into your vest before tugging you down, “patience is wearing thin, sweetheart. I want it back, now.”

Your breath fans hot against his mask, eyes widening in shock as his grip tightens on you. His eyes are swimming with a haunting rage. The careful distance you’ve kept from his is crumbling, heart skipping a beat to catch up with the lieutenant. He pulls you closer, and you’re tripping under yourself as the mask stares back at you in challenge.

“I’m sorry, sir-” you whisper under your breath, the tip of your shoes hitting his boots as your shoulders sag. “I’m keeping it,” you say honestly, letting the shame wash over you. There’s nowhere to hide, all the time spent trying to get him to see you when you should’ve been running.

“Wrong answer.”

His hand drags you down and over him, knees pressing into your stomach as the breath is stolen from you. His hand finds its place along the back of your head, keeping you down as his fingers run along your back. Head spinning with all the ways in which you’ve been waiting for this, you squirm on his lap and brace your hands under you and on his thigh.

The lieutenants face drops down to you, mask brushing against your cheek. Your mind is blank now, the feel of his hot breath against your skin causing you to freeze. His dog tags dangle over your back, brushing against your shirt. “You should really mind your manners,” he admits, plucking the knife from your back pocket. “You know better than this.”

Your ass hangs up and over his knee, his hand resting along your upper thigh to keep you in place. The blade clicks open, and he lets loose a chuckle as he appreciates it. He flips it between his fingers out of sight, pulling back your hair as it takes place against your throat. Your eyes squeeze shut at the touch, the cool metal pressed against your skin and causing you to shiver.

There’s a moment where it’s just the two of you in silence. You count your breaths, biting your cheek and waiting patiently for the lieutenant to make his next move. Apologies are at the tip of your tongue, but fall short as his blade runs along your skin.

A sickening smack lands against your ass, body jumping from the unexpected touch. Desire runs up and along your spine, head cloudy with longing for a ghost in your haunted home. You can feel his hand rub softly into your skin, breath coming loose as he pulls away. “Lieutenant - please, I’m so sorry-”

Another smack, this time harder as it leaves a sting. “Simon - don’t you remember, love? That’s the name I’m gonna carve into your fucking skin,” he spits, digging the tip of his knife into your throat as you nod to him. Heat is pooling between your thighs that rub together in anticipation, lip caught between your teeth as you peel open your eyes and glance over your shoulder to him.

You regret ever having bothered.

He stares at you with a hateful lust, a smirk playing on his lips that are just out of your sight. Simon dips his fingers between your thighs and rubs soft circles, savoring the way you melt under his touch. You wiggle your hips, shifting on his knees and spreading your legs open just an inch. He notices, sending another smack to your ass. “Filthy,” he laughs, two fingers dragging along the wet desire that continues to grow within you. “You’re not even sorry - are you?”

You shake your head, nails digging into his thigh as his fingertips dig into your clit. “I am - I didn’t mean to steal it - I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Simon,”

His name is unexpected as it falls from you, but you say it like it belongs to you. The bulge in his pants is growing, dick twitching at the way you squirm on his lap. All those months spent dreaming of you on your knees is starting to catch up with him, and he just can’t run away. He grits his teeth, the sound of his name on your lips sending him straight to hell. Good thing he’s friends with the devil.

Simon’s hands leave you suddenly, the knife clicking closed and set onto the table. He grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you back until your neck is craned and your eyes begin to water at the pain. “If you really are sorry - then get on your knees and ask for forgiveness.”

He abruptly pushes you off his lap, and you tumble to the ground with your head smacking against the floor. You pull air into your lungs desperately, body recoiling from the shock of being thrown off of him. Hands pushing from under you to brace yourself, you look to him with innocent wide eyes and full lips that wobble in fear. He leans back in the chair, arms braced on the sides as he looks at your expectantly.

Shamefully, you crawl between his legs and sit on your knees. The knife sits alone on the table, watching you mockingly as you blink up to Simon. There’s a wide grin spread across his face, though you’re not able to see it. The mask keeps you from him, a careful distance that he isn’t willing to give up yet.

“I’m really sorry,” you mumble softly, blushing crimson as his hands fall to his belt. “I’m sorry.” He unbuckles the belt, dragging down the zipper as his eyes remain on your pretty little face with eyes glossy from tears. He’s nodding to you, pushing down the waist of his pants until you’re staring at the swollen tip of his dick that’s wet from pre cum.

“I know you are - but I want to see you beg.”

His hand comes to lazily stroke himself, hissing as he squeezes the tip of himself. Your hands gently rest against his knees, chest coiling tight with a familiar ache. You sit there patient, waiting for his approval as Simon jerks himself off. The heat between your legs is burning, heart struggling to keep a steady pace.

Then he gives a small nod, hands drifting to the side as your mouth waters. You lean forward, little lips parting wide. Simon sighs softly as your lips wrap around him, cheeks hollowing and eyes fluttering closed.

Your head bobs in his lap, hand coming to stroke what you can’t take. His hand tangles itself in your hair, guiding your movements slowly. Your tongue dances along his tip, his hips bucking at the touch and fingers tightening their grip. Simon lets his head fall back, waves of pleasure rocking through him at the way you hum against his dick. “Shit, you’re such a nasty slut,” he laughs out.

Lips dragging along his shaft, you take him inch by devastating inch without hesitation. Your nails are digging into his knees, clawing at him to take control as he begins to unravel. His shoulders drop, groans pulled from him when drool dribbles out from your lip and onto him.

Simon watches as you force him to the base of your throat, soft gargling sounds emitting from you. You can’t take all of him, but your hand massages the rest of his shaft, the touch soft and delicate. His head is cloudy with desire, forcing your head further down until you start to choke, tears blurring your vision. He’s abandoning all self control, letting it slip from his fingertips like a thread of gold. Doesn’t matter when you’re on your knees for him, sucking his dick like its the only thing you’ve dreamed of.

“There’s my good girl,” he says, hips bucking into your mouth. You’re humming, bobbing your head yes as you continue to let him fuck your mouth. He feels sick with pleasure, hand pushing you further along his dick until he’s seeing stars.

You’re eagerly on your knees, chest tightening with every moan that fires from Simons lips and aims straight to you. It’s got you feeling confident, sitting up on your knees and licking your tongue along the bottom of him. “Fuck - that’s it, sweetheart,” he grounds out, and you’re pressing your thighs together to stop yourself from dripping. You look up at him, dick caught in your throat and eyes sparkling with obedience.

Your teeth drag along his shaft, causing him to slam your head down. You choke, struggling to pull back and catch your breath. “Bloody hell,” he muses, the pad of his thumb rubbing into your cheek softly. You pull away, lips smacking as you try to control your uneven breaths. Simon watches as you rub the drool and spit from your lips, eyes turning a shade darker when you give him an innocent smile.

“Come here.”

When you stand, his fingers push themselves between your thighs. His hand comes to undo your pants, your lip caught between your teeth as you wait patiently for him. He’s pushed down the hem of your pants, hands coming to grip your waist. You stand there silently, holding your breath when he glances up to you. “Well? Show me how sorry you are,”

It takes you a moment to peel away your clothes, strewn on another chair where his things lie. Your cheeks are bright red with embarrassment as your arms snake around his neck, hesitantly coming to sit in his lap. He leans over to grab the knife, flicking it open again and pressing it against your chest. “Simon,” you breath softly, fingertips brushing along the base of his neck.

“Can you forgive me?”

He shakes his head at you, muttering filthy curses as his fingers dig into your waist. You’ve been waiting for this, soaked through and blind with guilt, you let the tip of him brush against your folds. Simon drags the knife to your throat, watching you with his breath held as you sink slowly onto his dick.

It’s a feeling you’ve only ever dreamed of. He pushes into you completely, heart beginning to falter and freeze at the pure pleasure that spreads between you. Your stomach is tightening, hips grinding into him softly. “Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, the hold on his knife tightening until his knuckles are white. “I’m considering it.”

It wouldn’t be so bad - to spend the rest of your life chasing after this high.

Hesitation has been tossed aside, breaths becoming in sync as he watches with baited breath as you grind into his lap and mewl out moans.

You pull yourself up with shaking thighs, falling back into him and letting a moan slip past your lips. You bounce on his dick, hips rolling and grinding with his knife pressed against your throat. Disgraceful slick wet sounds are ringing in your ears like a sickening melody. His hands are pressing and pulling you down, his hips bucking up with your movements.

Simon garbs a handful of your ass, keeping you in balance as you ride him ruthlessly. The knot of pleasure is tying itself tight, and you’re whining in his ear from the ecstasy “That’s it - look at you, such a good girl riding my dick.”

“Mm-mm,” you moan, head falling into the crook of his neck as he drags the knife to your chest, letting the tip press against your skin. “Please - please, I’m so sorry, Simon,” you gasp out, tightening your arms around his neck as he slams his hips into you.

His touch is rough and ruthless, impatient with pleasure as he smacks your ass that’s now red with his handprint. His. The thought sends him spiraling, groaning loudly. Simon lets you roll into him, bouncing in his lap with his breath fanning hot against your neck. “Careful,” he laughs against you, fingers traveling to your clit to rub harsh circles. “I just might think you like this.”

And you do. In fact, you’re overwhelmed by the sensational desire that’s boiling within you. Your moans are becoming desperate, nails scarping along his shoulder blades as he continues to fuck you. Your eyes are squeezed shut, practically hanging off of him as he rubs the wet pleasure between your thighs.

It’s just the two of you. His hand is greedily snapping your hips back to him, and you meet the touch eagerly. There’s a fire that’s building within you - and neither of you can smother it out. Your chest is tightening, lips mumbling out pathetic moans as Simon laughs, the sound dark and tantalizing. “You do - don’t you?” He asks, and you’re nodding into his neck with pleas rippling off of you. “I know you do, I bet your pretty little pussy is gonna cum on my dick-” he states, suddenly grabbing your throat and forcing you to look at him.

You hold his stare, mewling out and begging for him as he rubs quickly. You’re losing your sanity, hips eagerly grinding into his lap until a simmering heat takes a hold of you, crying out in pleasure. “Right about now.” He finishes, watching as you smile innocently at him.

He still fucks you though, riding out your orgasm as he chases after his own.

It only takes him another moment until he’s following you, sloppy and lazy thrusts into your hips. Simon is grounding out your name, gritting his teeth and savoring the way your slick cunt tightens around him. His head falls back against the chair, breath hot and uneven as he snaps and slams his hips into you one last time.

Then you’re sitting pretty and patient in his lap, letting him grow soft in you with your lip caught in between your teeth. Your eyes are glossed over with happiness, stomach flipping as he closes the blade and leaves a hand resting against your waist. Seconds slip by in silence, buy neither of you seem to mind. His breath is slowly untangling itself from yours, gaze dark and haunting.

When you peel yourself away from him, shaking hands pulling up your pants and blushing scarlet, he tugs you closer to him. You button your pants, still wet from the way Simon pulled all those dirty little secrets from you like they were his to begin with. He lets his hands slide to your ass, giving it a final squeeze.

“Such a good girl,” he says softly, a smile playing at his lips as you blush deeper. He stands, cupping your face in his hands and looking at you with the same adoration that you’ve given him for months. “I think you’ve learned your lesson - yeah, sweetheart?”

You nod up to him eagerly, the strings of your heart snapping and breaking as he pulls himself from you. “Uh-huh,” you breathe, and you mean it. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, letting his finger commit the feel of your skin to memory.

“Be good for me - get some rest, love.”

He left the knife in your back pocket, and it sits there now - waiting for him to come back.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost riley #ghost riley x you #ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw22 #cod fanfic #cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod mwii

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tteokdoroki · 1 year

Note

Look me in the eye tell Nagi doesn’t stand behind his girlfriend groping her boobs like stress ball. Non sexual. Just squish 💀🥲

grabs you by the face and looks you directly in the eye - you are so right!!!

you hear the jingle of his keys and the door opening before you see him but don’t bother to look up as you work on finishing off the dishes.

on good days, nagi greets you with a call of your name — languidly, albeit excitedly, making his way to whatever room you respond from so he can flop into your lap and have you play with his hair as a way to wind down. today, there’s nothing but silence only interrupted by pockets of nagi’s sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floors of your homey hallways before the warmth of his chest is pressed up against your back.

“hey baby,” you coo, voice brimming with considerateness and affection as you continue to wash dishes from the night before. “bad day?”

seishiro makes a noncommittal noise before his head drops to your neck, snow white locks tickling just under your chin while his hands settle on the gentle slope of your waist — itching to move upwards.

“wanna talk about it?”

“mmh, no. don’t wanna be a bother.” he replies absentmindedly, twirling a loose thread on the hem of your (his) shirt to distract from the thoughts weighing heavy on your mind. “s’too much of a drag to think about anyways.”

as nonchalant as your boyfriend presents, you can always tell when something irks him a little more than usual. “ you’re never a bother to me, seishiro. don’t be silly, feeling like this might go away if you tell me.” you choose your words carefully, hearing him hum against your shoulder as his lashes flutter against your skin. nagi’s quieter when he’s in a bad mood, his face is usually blank but his deep grey eyes will tell all — so as you lean forward to place a plate on the drying rack, you spare nagi a knowing glance.

your shirt rides up when you lean forward and so do his large and calloused hands, reaching your supple chest before you can even realise. blue lock’s genius lets out a sigh of relief as he squeezes your breasts between his fingers — choosing that exact moment to speak.

he’s just happy that you’re wearing nothing underneath his clothes. “i think reo’s mad at me again.”

“oh baby, what makes you say that?” resuming your task, you rinse the suds off of your favourite mug and listen intently — smiling to yourself when your boyfriend gives you another squeeze.

“i dunno…i got partnered up with isagi for drills today…” nagi pushes your boobs up and breathes out in content, rolling the warm mounds of flesh in the palms of his hands. “‘n he just seemed mad, bringing up the fact that i chose isagi over him at the second selection. such a pain. s’been years, shouldn’t he be like… over it?” squeeze.

proud of him for communicating his feelings properly, you angle your head to give nagi a kiss to the side of his own. he bristles at the warm contact of your lips against his skin, letting your chest go with one hand to draw loving patterns over your tummy.

“i can see why he might be hurt or upset but, like you said, it has been years and you needed to do what you thought was best, to become the best.” you shrug simply, ignoring the heat bubbling below your surface as seishiro squeezes and pinches and massages all of the places that make tick. you decide to worry about that later, because right now all he needs is comfort and stress relief. “you didn’t do anything wrong baby, but if this is still bothering you by tomorrow then you’ll need to talk to reo about it, kay?”

these a beat of silence where nagi trails kisses down from your neck to your shoulder before slumping against you entirely. “yeah okay, it’ll be a hassle. but i will.” he mumbles, dropping his arms to wrap securely around your waist — with no intention of letting you go. “can we go for a nap now? my feet hurt ‘n i wanna lie on your boobs.”

“seishiro, i’ve been letting you cop a feel for the last ten minutes!” you squeal as he pinches up your sides again, playfully. “these dishes aren’t gonna do themselves!”

you feel the white-haired player smirk against you, nuzzling his head into the junction of your neck one more. this time he sneaks his hand under the cotton material to pinch one of your nipples,

“dishes can wait, you know it feels better if i touch you when my clothes aren’t in the way, angel.”

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dancingtotuyo · 8 months

Text

Overtime

Joel Miller x F!reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: You and Joel fight over the remote as adults do.

Warnings/Tags: language, established relationship, handjob (M receiving), some restraint, insinuated that Joel is larger than reader (he can move you around), implied sex, football references, Joel and reader being menaces to eachother

Words: 1165

Notes: Let’s try this again! Tumblr flagged the first one (tumblr you prude!) written for @iamasaddie’s moodboard game! I had so much fun writing this! And seeing everyone else’s creative genius with their moodboards! Huge shoutout to my love and fellow sportsball enthusiast, Angela @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, for letting me talk through stuff and beta reading! And last but not least, @saradika for the divider!

Joel is used to lazy Sunday afternoons on the couch. Typically committing Saturdays for errands and projects, he’s tried to use Sundays as a day to spend time with Sarah, but she’s out of town with her best friend until this evening. Which is how Joel finds himself spread out on the couch, the warm sun pulling through your window on the other side of town.

The tv hums with the voices of the sportscasters over the Cowboys’ game. He can hear you bustling around in your bedroom, two threads keeping him tied to consciousness.

There’s the distinct sound of your footsteps and the channel switching as the broadcaster’s voices change. They’re leading into the late game.

“I was watching that,” Joel says, gruffly.

“You’re sleeping.”

“Am not.” Joel runs a hand over his face, slowly blinking his eyes open. “Just resting my eyes.”

You let out a huff of laughter. “Okay, Dad.”

He eyes your backside as you’re engrossed in the pregame commentary. Dressed in the familiar light blue of your well worn Houston Oilers shirt, a smile spreads across his face. “Is that really what you want to call me?”

You flip him off.

Joel bites back a laugh. He reaches out, pinching your bottom firmly between two fingers. You squeal, spinning to face him. “Joel Miller,” you say, crossing your arms.

“C’mon, Sweetheart. The Oilers left Texas years ago. They ain’t even the Oilers anymore,” he prods, knowing he’ll get a rise out of you. “Turn the Cowboys game back on. It’s almost over.”

“My aligiance is not dependent on the location of my team.” You stick your tongue out. “The cowgirls should’ve put the Giants away by now. Not that you would have noticed.”

“Rude.” He scowls.

“My house, my rules, Miller.”

He lets out a sound that reminds you of a growl and before you have time to tease him about it, his arms are around you, pulling you down to the couch with him. You laugh as his lips press to your neck right where you like it.

Your laughter quickly turns into a soft moan as your head dips against his shoulder. His fingers skirt under the hem of your shirt, caressing the soft flesh of your stomach. “You like that baby?”

You nod your head as soft whimpers fall from your lips. Joel chuckles again. His arm slips around your waist, tugging you flush against him.

“Such a good girl,” he purrs in your ear, fingertips trailing down your wrist.

If you thought you couldn’t melt anymore, you’re wrong. Something akin to a whine escapes your lips as you turn your head to kiss him. You’re so close to his lips when his slow chuckle turns to a laugh and the tv remote slips from your grasp.

He flips the station back just as the Cowboys are kicking off for overtime. Before you can react, he tosses it across the room, holding you against him.

“You jackass!” You strain against him, trying to break free.

“I’m just trying to finish my game.”

“You barely started it before you passed out.”

“Wasn’t sleepin.” Joel’s voice is still gruff in your ear.

You try to wiggle free, but it’s useless. He knows from more than enough experience how to keep you in one spot.

You get more anxious as the minutes tick by, shifting as you can between his legs.

“They’re about to kick off,” you fuss at him.

“Overtime will be done soon.” He pats your thigh placatingly. “We’ll turn on your Oilers’ game then, or whatever they’re calling themselves now.”

You roll your eyes.“The Titians?” You shift again.

“I know my teams, Sweetheart.” Joel nips at your earlobe, eyes trained ahead. “And quit shiftin.”

You furrow your brow, until it hits you, literally. His cock presses into your back as a slow smirk spreads across your face. “Why? Is this affecting you?”

You rub against him more intentionally this time. His breath grows ragged in your ear. His hands move to your hips, desperate to stop your motions. He’s not going to let you win the game.

Try as he might, he doesn't have the sheer strength to keep you immobile. Your hands drop to his thighs, fingers trailing the inner seam of his jeans.

You glance behind you. Joel refuses to look at you, a slight twitch in his set jaw. You’re not sure he’s actually absorbing the game anymore.

Your hand creeps up, landing between the two of you as you palm his erection.

He lets out a low groan, gripping your wrist. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

You smirk. “Who said I couldn’t?”

He groans, back hitting the couch, but keeps a hold of your non-dominant hand, tethering you to him.

You pop open the button of his jeans and his cock springs free. You raise an eyebrow at him. “This is a new development.”

“Had to make things easier for you.” He winks.

You scoff, tracing a vein with your finger tips. “Such a pretty little cock.”

“Little?” He teases. “Ain’t nothing little here, Sweetheart.”

You spit in your free hand before gripping him. You run a finger over his tip, spreading out the precum that’s begun to leak. Joel’s head hits the couch with a low groan.

Using your tongue and hands, you waste no time working him to the edge. You’re far enough into your relationship to know how to get Joel off with quick efficiency.

His hips thrust up. “Fuck, Just like that, Sweetheart. You know how I like it.”

His eyes are closed, chest heaving with desire. He’s all but forgotten about the heated overtime match playing on the TV.

You could finish him off right here. Two quick moves and you know he’d make a mess right here, but his grip on your wrist loosens just enough for you to slip free.

The moment your warmth is gone, Joel’s eyes open. He’s dazed, looking blissed out on your couch. He makes eye contact with you, and you shoot him a wink before flipping the station once again to your football game.

Joel groans, rising to his feet. Laughter settles in your bones. He’s trying to look menacing, but his features are still clouded in lust and desire.

“That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“Neither was turning off my game in my house.”

He rips the remote from your hands, tossing it to the couch. He grabs your hips, spinning you toward the wall.

Your hands spread out against the dry wall with a thud, breath catching in your throat as heat floods your body. “Suppose I need to teach you a lesson now, Sweetheart.” He drags out the nickname as if there’s nothing sweet about you.

Shivers rush down your spine. You’re not sure how much of a lesson he teaches you, but it’s worth missing the first quarter.

Joel doesn’t know how his game ends until the halftime report and quite frankly, he doesn’t care.

#✏️ game #joel miller #the last of us #Joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #Joel miller x you #pedro pascal #tlou #mature #pedrostories #Pedro stories #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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dreamwritersworld · 2 months

Text

His daughter (final part)

the days of Y/n happiness kept dragging on. She couldn’t shake off the stress on her heart. Jake still hadn’t known about Ao’nung. It was only a matter of time before Ao’nung said they’d have to confess to their relationship, she knew it bothered him that he’d smile in Jake’s face while he had been completely lying behind his back and dating his daughter. During the last two weeks Y/n hair shedded more, her skin covered with rashes from the stress.

Jake and Y/n had been arguing and having short disputes between the two. They’d become a ticking time bomb. Jake couldn’t understand why Y/n wouldn’t listen to him, why she continued to rebel when he needed her to stay. What Jake couldn’t see was that she just needed Jake to be a father, not a mentor.

Y/n yearned for a peaceful life, Jake expected so much of her. All Jake could say to her was that she needed to do more, keep her siblings educated and help more around the community. Jake failed to realize that his children no longer had the superior role in the clan, he continued a fantasy he worked on for so long. Y/n reflected so much on her past and her future, she was torn in two..

Ao’nung could see it. He offered her help around the island but she refused, desperately feeling helpless and believing that she needed to do it by herself.

“No Ao’nung.”

“You can’t be here Ao’nung stop.”

“My father will see you!”

All the same quotes she’d pull when he’s come to close when he wasn’t supposed to..he didn’t know what to do until today.

“Ao’nung I have to finish threading this for the kids-“

“That’s not needed until later-“

“It’ll lift off the stress for your mother, the kids will need it.”

“Y/n stop-“

“Stop what?”

“Stop working so much.”

“Ao’nung..”

Y/n couldn’t help but sigh and look at him with the most tired eyes. Glossy and frustrated. How could someone so happy and bubbly, be so sad?

“What’s wrong Y/n? Tell me.”

“I can’t..”

Ao’nung could feel the breathing in Y/n become more shallow as her heart beat rapidly and the light purple area of her skin surface once again.

“You’re stressed Y/n. It’s ok breathe.”

Y/n followed his motions while she continued to silently cry in his arms as he pulled her in.

“I’m so sad”

“Why my love ?”

“My father he just doesn’t get it. He needs to let me go I feel so..so closed up. I don’t know what to do. Ao’nung I can’t keep our relationship a secret anymore..”

“That’s ok. We can tell him as long as you’re ready. From then on you can be with me.”

“I just need to get away from him.”

“I know my love.“

“Y/n We just need to finish our training to be leaders and when we’re ready we can settle down how you wanted to do.”

“Really? You’d be fine waiting for us to be officially ready?”

“Yes! Of course my love.”

There it was the smile that Ao’nung so desperately yearned for! She jumped into his arm and allowed him to spin her around, Y/n felt like the most luckiest girl with him. All Ao’nung could think was how much eyes gifted him with something worth working so hard for. Especially since for the longest time Ao’nung fought against the idea of being a leader but when Y/n came around she made it easy for him to keep going.

Y/n’s gave him one last smile before she told them she would confront and confide in her father right away.

“I’m going-“

“Wait now?”

“Yes of course!..unless you don’t think-“

“No no we can do it.”

“..ik i said I’d need you there but i think it’d be best if i did it by myself.”

“Why my love? You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I know, but at the end of the day he’s my father and I’m sure this news will hurt him. I guess I just don’t want him to feel conflicted even more if you were to be there..”

“Ok, that’s fine.”

“Let’s go! You just wait outside of our Maui ok?”

“Of course!”

There Ao’nung waited nervously as he heard the muffled voices..

*in the Sully’s Maui*

“Father! Hi mother! Hello Neteyam!”

Neytiri smiled at the cheery girl but it left an unsettling feeling in her stomach. What had Y/n wanted?

“Hi Y/n..”

Jake had answered Y/n with a less cheery voice and instead more guarded. Neteyam knowingly walked out the room with his eyes widened , already understanding what was ready to unfold..another argument.

“I know you may not like this but..”

“Oh please-“

“Wait please. Just listen to me dad. Please.”

All Y/n had to do was look at him once again with those sweet watery eyes that reminded him of the look she held when she was a child…she looked vulnerable, begging her father to love her and give her more approval. Jake missed this side of her so dearly ..it was the only way he believed their relationship worked well. He stopped just for a second to listen..

“I’m with Ao’nung and we are much more than friends. I’m in love with him-“

“Love? How can you say that Y/n? You don’t even know what love is.”

“Of course I do! I understand it completely. He’s taught me love.”

“I taught you love! Your mother taught you love! That should be enough.”

“Father please put this anger to the side..for once!”

“Y/n how can you stand there and tell me that? You promised me! You are meant to keep promises!”

“I know dad-“

“Why don’t you ever listen! You never listen to me anymore! Then you wonder why I have to keep you close-“

“Stop it-“

“No I won’t! I cannot!…”

Jake’s arguing dragged on as tears fell from Y/n’s eyes, acknowledging that this would be a long night..she looked to Neytiri once more, begging for her to tell him to cut the chain she had Y/n on. That’s when Neytiri broke..

“Jake stop! You must stop now! She is almost an adult! A women! We have to let her go…please.”

Neytiri’s voice cracked as if she was letting go of something that was engraved into her mind and soul.

“Neytiri? You can’t be agreeing with this..”

“I do! I do agree with it because as much as it hurts me..we have to let her go! If we continue to keep her around us for far too long, she may never live! She won’t ever get to experience the things she’d love to see and the people she’d love to meet! She begs us everyday to be out of our sight or finish all the lists of chores asked of her just to see him! He means everything to her. We cannot! I will not tolerate you saying they cannot at least communicate or be more than friends!”

All Jake did was look at Y/n shamefully with distraught in his eyes..

Y/n reached for her mothers hand pulling her into a hug with the biggest thank you in the world..how beautiful yet saddening the moment was for Y/n..

As soon as Y/n walked out the Maui, she realized she wasn’t happy. Instead she was saddened for the first time in awhile that her father seemed to reject her…he seemed to no longer love her. He looked at her as if she was disgusting..it was different this time. Ao’nung picked up Y/n as soon as she walked out the Maui, twirling her around but the happy girl just collapsed in his arms sobbing and shaking. Ao’nung quickly pulled her to an ila, taking them far away from the village into their secret spot..

“…y/n? Whats wrong? It’s a yes isn’t it?? I heard your mother.”

“It is, it’s just my father. He looked at m-me like i was disgusting or messed up..”

“Oh..Y/n, don’t worry about that your father just needs time to adjust.”

“He just doesn’t understand, i knew he wouldn’t. He doesn’t understand what he does to me. I can’t even explain it..”

“He will though-“

“No he won’t, he never will. He fails to realize that we are just like my parents! He still wants to live in his stupid fantasy of us being a perfect family. I’m done. I’m done arguing with him. I won’t even speak to him.”

“..Y/n..you know you won’t do that.”

“I can and i will.”

“Y/n don’t do that. At the end of the day that’s your father-“

“Ao’nung don’t tell me that please. My entire life they never wanted me anywhere. For the love of Eywa he wouldn’t even let me out of his sight unless needed this entire time we’ve been on the island!”

Silence stayed between the couple..Ao’nung just sat there and held Y/n while she sobbed it out. He knew what he said hurt her but it’s true. Ao’nung knew Y/n far to good to believe her statement. Y/n didn’t have the heart to actual stop talking to her father, she seeked his approval even if she said she didn’t. Often times he’d catch how Y/n shoulders or body would relax to the glamorization and praise he’d give his eldest children. It was sad but true all Y/n wanted was a healthy relationship with him, Jake just grew far too comfortable in not having one.

It also wouldn’t make him feel good as a partner if he encouraged her to leave everything behind when he knew she didn’t want to. It made him sick to the stomach that she didn’t feel good about herself.

While Y/n cried herself to sleep she dreamt of all her terrors and insecurities…

You were born reaching for your mothers hand

“Mama! I want to go with the other kids! Please-“

“No! Not today Y/n you need to stay clean for your ceremony with the elders! Your going to learn plenty from them starting with maintaining..”

Neytiri’s voice blurred while Y/n reached for the hand that Neytiri was giving her for them to walk to the ceremony..the young child was only 8 she hated how her father never let her play with the other kids and wanted her stealthy and poised..she would’ve rather been in Neteyam’s position. At least he had friends in training..Y/n didn’t have none.

Victim of your father’s plan to rule the world..

Y/n can remember the crowd of the people during her first race against Neteyam for training. She found it strange how many adults and children surround them as if they were animal. She was more annoyed with the smile Jake displayed as though she wasn’t the one who was going to end up bloody, dirty and sweaty. That’s how it always ended up for her against Neteyam. It was then that Y/n realized she was just a doll to her father, a reward. He praised the pair up and down while a flower crown rested on her sleek hair. Shaking them back and forth yelling for the crowd to cheer for them as if they hadn’t ran in the most dangerous parts of the jungle at the most youngest ages..

Too afraid to step outside..

Y/n hadn’t always been outgoing! In fact she was terrified to reflect the actions of Lo’ak she desperately desired. When she was younger at the age of 5, Y/n was always an energetic kid..except she had nothing but the small home to let all her energy out. She grew to learn how to enjoy time with herself since the older the sully siblings got, the more they were no longer willing to sit long hours inside with her to “stay clean”

Y/n was eager to take a step outside any chance she got but the fear of her father yelling at her scared her back in..

Paranoid and Petrified of what you’ve heard..

There was one too many times the kids were told old tales about the dangers in the woods. Y/n believed them all and during training she indeed put it into practice. She ran on fear and that’s what made her the second best in her division. She moved with poise and excellence. To the clan she was remarkable, grand and beautiful like her mother..they just failed to see how her father ruined her from the inside.

The pair laid there for hours until it was finally time to go home. The silence inside Y/n’s maui was chilling. All she could do was silently greet everyone and put herself to sleep with the uncomfortable feeling that her father rejected her.

For breakfast in the morning it was still silent. Y/n sat there with her beating chest, she didn’t know what to do or say besides simple greetings. After months of resisting any relationship with her father , she was finally listening to what her heart was craving…listening to something she knew she could never have.

Leaving without telling would soon be something Neytiri and Jake had to accept. Y/n wouldn’t come home unless she was needed. Majority of the time she me spend time with her siblings and friends outside and continued her duties as the months past. There was no longer a relationship between Jake and Y/n. He seemed ok in that, it broke Y/n. This time however she wasn’t willing to fix anything. In his eyes y/n knew he felt as though he was the “adult”, she was the “child” so he if he felt that way he can fix it. It simply wasn’t her job or responsibility anymore.

Neytiri and Y/n actually developed a strong relationship during this time…

“Y/n it’s gorgeous..”

Neytiri grew touched at the trinket Y/n gifted her.

“I know mama! It’s perfect for you I found it on my run for some gems for tuk!”

“Thank you..”

Neytiri and Y/n hugged once more, thankful to share more moments like this..

It was beautiful for Y/n, but she still wasn’t satisfied. In many ways, Y/n got everything she ever wanted. But she still felt watched, her dad would constantly watch over her without speaking a word. It was like he wanted her to argue with him again..

y/n sat in the Maui, finally taking a moment for herself to get some sleep. She felt the footsteps of her father’s weight creaking the floor, then her body tensed to its natural position. It was just them two for awhile, Jake continued to sharpen his knife in the silence of it all. They been here before…in the same position. all the self growth and the patience Y/n matured into reflected her actions in that moment, she decided to release the one frustration she couldn’t heal unless spoken out.

“Jake..”

The look on Jake’s face revealed the largest amount of surprise and confusion. Her voice saying his name sounded unfamiliar..he wished she hadn’t grown to call him that.

“Yes?”

“I know we haven’t spoken but I just want to let you know that regardless of our disagreements, I don’t hate you.”

“I know.”

“Ok..”

Y/n laid back against the floor, her father’s short responses seemed to upset her. She just wanted more than she could get.

“Is he ok..?”

The little girl in her eagerly got up, excited to answers his questions.

“Who? Ao’nung?”

“Yes.”

“He’s great! Right now we’re focusing on our training you know since he’s going to be the leader of the clan. We’re doing great.”

“That’s good.”

“yea…”

“I understand now Y/n.”

“understand what?”

“You want Ao’nung in your life and I’m fine with that. We’re in a different place right now. Like you’re not a baby anymore just a older teenager with a little more freedom. And uh I understand that. You just you know can’t rush anything.”

“I’m not don’t worry…”

Jake turned away and silence sat between the two. The words he uttered was something he struggled to express and it wasn’t often that Jake cried, but somehow Y/n always managed to make him. He would tear up at the thought of her finding a new family like she did with Ao’nung family. It set a bittersweet feeling in his heart since he only ever knew Y/n to be with him and Neytiri every second, minute and hour of the day…it wasn’t like that anymore and he knew it…he just couldn’t express or deal with his little girl growing up, he denied it for years.

The next morning Y/n met up with Ao’nung excitedly telling him all great news about the conversation..

“That’s great Y/n! I’m glad we’re all ok now!”

“..you know my mom told me that you’ve been doing great in training, perfect even!”

“really? I love her she’s so sweet!” The young couple laid on the rocks of the cave shore relaxing in the sound of the waves. In that moment Y/n was satisfied..how beautiful life was..

*TIME SKIP 3 YEARS*

Nights like that continued and eventually the couple did mate! The two now lived in their own maui, now being leaders of the clan and a force to be reckoned with!

No, they were not quick to grow a family and instead decided to take their time despite everyone pushing them to.

“When are we going to get little Navi’s?!”

“Yea! You guys should be having your children by now! You’re so young and healthy-“

“exactly young and healthy! We’re just enjoy our time together we want it to come on our own timeline!” (Y/n)

“Yup you ladies gotta stop rushing my daughter!” (Jake)

The group of women laughed to which Neytiri responded with..

“You only say that because you’re her father!”

“We agree with him!” (Ao’nung and Tonowari yell out from the distance)

Now that Y/n moved out of the maui, she was actually able to maintain a great relationship with her parents and siblings…

*time skip 1 year*

Y/n felt awful the entire week, she knew it had come down to what she had been praying to eywa for…she was pregnant!

It was motherly instinct! Y/n made sure of it, she was definitely pregnant and ready to announce it to everyone!

That morning Y/n invited all of the family over for dinner at their maui and then she began weaving a baby blanket and clothing, to surprise Ao’nung and the family!

Y/n ran to catch Ao’nung on his way out of work

“Ao’nung!”

“Hey baby! What’s up?”

“Let’s go to our spot real quick I have a surprise for you!”

“Surprise? What type of surprise?”

Ao’nung gave Y/n his signature smirk and he made Y/n blush all over again!

“Stopppp baby!!! Pleaseeee can we go?”

“Of course!”

We called over an illu and Ao’nung confusion made Y/n even more nervous, afraid his suspicions would work especially since they’ve been talking about starting a family and now she wanted give him a surprise..? But of course as a guy he didn’t suspect much just questioned it

“Why are you riding your own ilu? Come with me”

“No no I want to ride mine..to do my own tricks on our way there!”

“Mmh ok..are you sure?”

Y/n nodded with a smile, to be quite honest that definitely wasn’t the reason! Ao’nung always rode fast and she was afraid it’d startle the pregnancy so she decided to just ride at her own pace.

Once they arrived Ao’nung laughed at her saying she didn’t even try any tricks on the way here

Y/n didn’t say much since the nerves were sitting in her more and more while she held Ao’nungs hand through the cave.

“Whats this surprise Y/n?”

“I’ll show you in a second hold on!”

The couple sat down while the beauty of the cave surrounded them and that’s when Y/n turned to pull the fabric out of her bag

“look what i made!”

Ao’nung was confused once again grabbing the small blanket from her hand and as he looked up to question her, she sat there with the baby clothing in hand with the biggest smile in the world.

“We’re pregnant!”

“..What! Really?!”

“Yes!!”

“Im going to be a father?! Thank you Eywa!”

Tears erupted at the sweet and sentimental moment they were so happy and that’s when Y/n broke even more news

“Everyone’s coming over for dinner! I have everything ready and we’re going to tell our family!”

“Tonight?!”

“Obviously!”

“They’re going to go crazy this is all they’ve been waiting for!”

“I know im so excited!”

“Is that why you didn’t want to ride with me? I thought you were annoyed because you always ride with me”

“Of course not! You just ride too crazy I didn’t want to go to fast with the baby!”

“Ohhhh I’ll make sure to go slower.”

They laid for an hour and rode back home together preparing the maui for everyone.

Hugs and kisses were shared as each family member came through the home and when it was finally time to eat, Y/n and Ao’nung made sure to talk loud among the big family.

“Ao’nung did you show them the blanket and outfit I weaved?”

“I’ll get it right now!”

Everyone’s head turned at the heightened voices and there y/n and Ao’nung stood wide smiled and all.

“You’re kidding!”

“You’re pregnant!”

“Oh my eywa!”

“Finally!”

Jake was the first to give Y/n a hug; he broke down crying blessing them and their future journey.

“My beautiful daughter Congratulations! May this pregnancy be healthy and bring more happiness! We’re so proud of you guys! Eywa will always take care of you! We love you.”

Tears and cheers came from everyone ask all the girls jumped up and down giggling about all the event they’ll throw and plans of the future. Ao’nung and Y/n continued on with their prosperous journey..

Eventually the couple decided to announce the pregnancy a couple months into their pregnancy, hiding it left and right to try to keep their privacy despite their families urges to tell the whole island. Ao’nung and Y/n both though it’d be the best for them especially since they wanted to secure that there would be no complications with the pregnancy and they’d be able to keep the happiness between them and the family for now.

Once announced, the clan cheered them on and once they settled down Y/n got to say how she truly felt about Ao’nung and how wonderful the experience has been

“I just want to thank everyone for their beautiful words and prayers. I also want to thank my wonderful mate for being everything I prayed to Eywa for and more. We are each others homes and our baby is his home and just like that 18 year old boy, he races home weather it’s from across the ocean or the island! He is hardwired to get home!! I love him so dearly and cherish all your sweet happiness for us!”

tears welted into Y/n’s eyes while Ao’nung pulled her in for another hug whispering into her ear sweetly

“Im so blessed to have you and grateful to build our family my love.”

The celebration did not end until the early morning and even then the island decided to take a break for the day as per announcement of the leaders too proud and happy to order anyone to work in the day!

Y/n and Ao’nung spent the rest of the day on the shore relaxing in the warm water…

!💖!

THERES THE HAPPILY EVER AFTER! Tons of parallel points here especially with the struggle to express emotion being shown in both Jake and Y/n. Like father like daughter, it’s the main reason why they butt heads so much. Ao’nung also was portrayed as the best mate I mean cmonnnn he was her Neytiri and he was level headed !!! These past weeks I’ve been extremely busy sorry for the hold up! I also had major writers block so sorry if this isn’t the best!

Tag list: @ruyaas-world @neteyamyanw3

@elegantkidfansoul @adaydreamaway08 @luxiniary @venomsvl @ratchetprime211

#angst #jake sully x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #avatar loak #avatar the way of water #sully family x daughter reader #loak x reader #spotify #soundcloud

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linnitheo · 7 days

Text

The Speed of Love

Max Verstappen X Y/N

Y/N POV

The hum of engines filled the air, vibrating through my chest. The sun beat down on the streets of Monaco, casting long shadows between the narrow alleys and gleaming off the luxury yachts moored nearby. The Monaco Grand Prix—the crown jewel of Formula 1. A perfect blend of speed, glamour, and danger.

I adjusted my lanyard, the one that read VIP with Max Verstappen’s name under it. It still felt surreal being here, not just as a spectator but as someone close to Max—closer than the world knew.

I wasn’t just here for the race; I was here for him. The reigning world champion, Red Bull’s finest. But to me, Max was more than that. He was Max, the guy who made me laugh after long days, the guy who called me at odd hours from different time zones just to hear my voice, the guy who looked at me like I was his entire world even with millions of fans screaming his name.

Our relationship wasn’t public. Max wanted to keep it that way—out of the spotlight, away from the media frenzy. And honestly, I didn’t mind. In fact, I preferred it. It was a lot easier to be “Y/N” rather than “Max Verstappen’s girlfriend.”

I slipped into the VIP lounge, a little early for the race, the excitement thrumming in the air. The usual suspects were all here—other drivers' families, sponsors, and some celebrities. But my eyes kept flicking toward the pit lane, where I knew Max was getting ready for the biggest race of the year.

As I watched the screens showing the chaotic energy in the paddock, my phone buzzed.

Max: “You in the lounge?”

Me: “Yeah. All set for your victory?”

Max: “Always. Want to see you before the race starts. Meet me near the garage?”

I felt my heart skip a beat. Even though we tried to keep it low-key, moments like these made it clear how much he cared. Glancing around to make sure no one would follow me, I made my way through the crowd, passing the Red Bull hospitality area and the rows of sleek, gleaming cars.

As I approached the garage, I spotted him—leaning casually against the wall, helmet in hand, looking like the calm before the storm. His eyes lit up when he saw me, that signature crooked smile spreading across his face.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but warm as he closed the distance between us.

“You shouldn’t be distracting yourself before the race,” I teased, though my heart was racing.

“Couldn’t help it,” he murmured, eyes tracing my face. “You’re my good luck charm.”

“Really? Haven’t I been around for a few races you didn’t win?” I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep it light.

He laughed softly, his free hand reaching up to brush a stray hair behind my ear. “Maybe. But today feels different.”

There was a fire in his eyes—one that spoke of more than just his love for racing. There was something unspoken between us, the weight of his words lingering in the air.

“Good luck out there,” I whispered, resisting the urge to kiss him. There were too many eyes, too many cameras nearby.

“I’ll see you after the race,” he promised, voice husky as he pulled back and slipped his helmet on, instantly transforming from Max to Verstappen.

Max POV

The roar of the crowd was drowned out by the sound of the engine beneath me. Monaco. There was no room for mistakes here. One slip and it could be all over. But that’s why I loved it. The adrenaline, the precision, the danger. It’s what made me feel alive.

But even as I steered through the narrow streets, threading the car through barriers with millimeters to spare, my mind kept drifting to her. Y/N. She had this way of grounding me, of making the chaos of F1 fade into the background, even if just for a moment.

She was my escape, my reason to keep pushing harder, to keep winning. Because when I crossed that finish line first, it wasn’t just for me—it was for her.

The race was tight—Ferraris and Mercedes breathing down my neck, the pressure building as the laps ticked down. The walls seemed to close in, but I didn’t waver. I couldn’t afford to.

Lap 67. A yellow flag came up—some debris on the track after a crash behind me. I could hear my engineer’s voice crackling through the radio, but I barely registered it. My focus was singular. I could almost picture Y/N waiting in the paddock, her wide smile the moment I stepped out of the car.

The last corner approached. My tires screamed, the G-forces tugging at my body as I navigated the final hairpin. The finish line was in sight.

I punched it, every ounce of power surging through the car as I crossed the line first. Victory.

Y/N POV

The explosion of noise was deafening as Max’s car crossed the finish line. He did it. Again.

The rest of the world erupted in celebration, but all I could think about was seeing him. I hurried down from the lounge, making my way through the throngs of fans and team members. The Red Bull garage was a frenzy of high-fives and champagne, but I stayed on the outskirts, waiting for him.

And then I saw him. Helmet off, sweaty, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Max was enveloped by his team, but his eyes scanned the crowd until they locked onto mine.

Without thinking, he pushed through the crowd and grabbed my hand, pulling me into a corner, away from prying eyes. The next thing I knew, his lips were on mine—fast, hungry, full of adrenaline. I could taste the sweat and champagne on his lips, but I didn’t care.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, and he was breathing hard—not from the race, but from the intensity between us.

“I told you,” he whispered, still catching his breath. “You’re my good luck charm.”

Max POV

Her lips against mine—it was the only thing I needed after that race. I could feel the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, but it wasn’t from the win. It was from her. She had this way of making me forget everything. The noise, the pressure, the world outside. When I was with her, it was just us.

But there was something more tonight. Something I couldn’t put off any longer.

“Y/N,” I started, taking her hand in mine as I led her away from the chaos, toward the back of the paddock. “I’ve been thinking…”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly curious but also a little cautious. “About what?”

“This,” I gestured between us. “I don’t want to hide it anymore. I don’t want to keep you a secret. You’re more than just someone I care about. You’re…” I hesitated, trying to find the right words. “You’re everything.”

Her eyes widened, and I could see the emotions warring inside her. But before she could say anything, I pressed on.

“I know it’s a lot—the media, the pressure. But I don’t care about that anymore. I want the world to know you’re mine.”

Y/N POV

I was speechless. Max Verstappen, the man who had kept our relationship out of the spotlight to protect me, was now saying he wanted to go public. I knew what it meant—the scrutiny, the paparazzi, the endless questions. But looking into his eyes, full of certainty and love, I realized something.

I didn’t care either. Not anymore.

“I’m in,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the distant cheers. “I’m all in.”

Max smiled, that rare, genuine smile that made my heart skip a beat. “Good,” he said, pulling me close once more. “Because I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”

As the night of celebrations continued, we slipped away from the crowd, the world beyond the paddock melting away. Max and I walked down to the harbor, the twinkling lights reflecting off the calm water.

“Race you to the end of the dock?” he teased, that competitive glint back in his eye.

I laughed, already running before he could finish. Max caught up to me in seconds, his laughter mixing with mine as he scooped me up, spinning me around.

In that moment, there was no pressure, no danger. Just us.

And for once, it felt like I had won the race.

The End

#f1 #formula1 #fanfiction #max verstappen x reader #fanfic #maxverstappenfluff #fluff #f1fluff #verstappenxyn #maxverstappenxyn #formula1fanfiction

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sleepynoons · 28 days

Text

akaashi x gn!reader, sfw

cw: mentions of skin picking (akaashi picks at his fingers)

notes: sorry for being afk lol was moving back into college, and now that i have settled back in, here's my obligatory, written-in-30-minutes college!au akaashi bc he is The College Au. happy that i'm beginning to write for hq characters bc they all mean so much to me. also requests/suggestions are closing this weekend, so pls drop by my ask box by then if you want smth!! feel free to drop by for no good reason, too!

THE TWO of you don’t even have to say anything. one glance at each other, and you both shut your eyes and exhale deeply.

to be fair, neither of you are surprised either. the two other students in your project group are notorious for skipping classes and buying homework answers off of other students. it should have been a given they wouldn’t help out on this presentation either.

the grandfather clock against the adjacent wall is an old thing, really – wood faded and paint chipped off –, yet the ticks of its hands click crisply in contrast to the soft sounds of laminated textbook pages flipping and footsteps rubbing against carpet. just like an old grandparent would, every tick of the clock is a nagging reminder directed at you and akaashi: “that’s one less minute you have to work on that project! oh, and another! are the two of you ever going to get started?”

you pull out your chair and sit next to akaashi, who looks more exhausted than he usually does. there are dark, dark shadows under his eyes, and there are swollen cuts around his cuticles from where he tugs on petty, persistent hangnails.

you shove a hand into the back pocket of your pants. i thought i had one on me, you think, pouting slightly as you continue to feel through crushed receipts, loose threads, and whatever other junk you crammed in back there. finally, you feel the familiar papery texture. there it is!

“akaashi, here.” you slide it over to him, and he glances at it before focusing back onto his laptop screen. it’s almost like he doesn’t recognize the object as he says nothing for a few moments, but then, he looks back and purses his lips, his best attempt at a grateful smile in his current state.

“thanks for the bandaid,” he mutters as he begins to open up the packaging.

you shrug your shoulders and furrow your brows. “i should’ve brought more,” you say. “that’s on me.”

he shakes his head as he wraps the bandaid around the knuckle of his thumb – the most tortured of all his fingers. “don’t apologize. i should be the one taking care of myself anyway.”

“i doubt a single college student can take care of themself, let alone a project meant for four people,” you groan.

“they don’t count as people,” he deadpans.

you choke a laugh. “akaashi, don’t be mean.”

“i’m only stating a fact.”

at this point, akaashi has already returned to working, typing away and switching tabs every so often. you, too, grab your things to contribute.

the project is more tedious than anything, and luckily, the two of you had completed your respective one-fourths of the work ahead of time. however, the two of you were hoping – naïvely, might you add – that your other teammates would pull through, so you had procrastinated on finishing their parts until the day before the deadline.

and things continued downhill from there. you and akaashi were supposed to meet in the morning to dedicate the whole day to completing and revising the presentation. however, his research advisor emailed him last-minute to help with some urgent manuscripts, so the two of you delayed until 4pm. but then you got roped into a club event, which included dinner and a drinking afterparty, and not wanting to cause a ruckus with your seniors, you obliged. needless to say, it’s now 9pm and there is a whole half-empty presentation waiting to be filled.

at least the one thing that is working in your favor is your mechanical teamwork. you work on a section, akaashi on another, and when both of you are done, you switch to polish each other’s works. akaashi is also a fantastic writer and critic, so not only do you feel like you’re learning from his suggestions, you’re also not devastated in the process. even with potentially very shallow questions, he’s patient.

about an hour in, you mumble, “wait, i’m not sure if this makes sense.” you turn your computer towards him, and he leans forward, slightly in front of you, to see clearer.

from this proximity, you notice the way his nose twitches, along with the way his lips form a pout, as he readjusts the bridge of his glasses. you can also trace the curvature of his ears, following the round of the helix down to the lobe. and his eyebrows –

then again, these are things you’ve known for a while now. you’re just taking note of details you’ve already memorized. you’ve come to terms with your crush on akaashi since the second week of the fall term, truly having experienced love at first sight. but you’re too tired for a relationship, and if you’re exhausted, well, akaashi is probably having a worse time.

and by the looks of it, akaashi suddenly sniffles. you pull out a tissue immediately.

he chuckles as he takes it. “that pocket of yours is pretty handy.”

you frown. because you did miss a detail.

akaashi is flushed from his cheeks up to his temples and ears. and upon reflection, his voice sounded more gravelly, without its usual snark, when he was making the jab at your project mates earlier.

oh.

“are you sick?” you ask.

the first time he doesn’t hear you, intently reading through your write-up. you ask again, this time also tapping his shoulder.

“sorry, what?” he mumbles.

“akaashi, i said, are you sick?”

a confused expression flashes across his face before ot returns to its typical unbothered look.

“don’t worry about it,” he grunts,

“you should get some rest,” you insist.

“and what about the project then?”

you really shouldn’t be doing this to yourself because it would mean pulling an all-nighter, but you also don’t want akaashi to work while he’s under the weather. “i’ll just do it myself. i’ll send you everything by the morning, so you can take a look over it when you wake up, and then we can submit it by class time, yeah?”

he gawks at you, terrified at your proposal. he shakes his head, adamant when he says, “there’s no way i could let you do that. you need to rest, too.”

“not as much as you,” you argue back. “if you’re not too sick, then you can sleep it off and wake up early to help. but right now, you need to go back to your dorm.”

he fights back, trying to convince you of otherwise, but you’ve already crossed your arms across your chest firmly and are staring at him with a quirked eyebrow, visibly unimpressed.

akaashi can only roll his eyes at your stubbornness.

as he packs his things, he looks over his shoulder at you and asks, “is there anything i can do to make it up to you?”

“akaashi, are you being serious? you don’t need to make up anything. just feel better for me, alright?”

now he’s looking at you like you’re a total idiot.

you just sigh.

“fine, just treat me to a meal or something, alright? now go.”

“i was going to take you out for dinner anyway, but fine. i’ll pay for lunch tomorrow.”

“yeah, sounds good. now go!”

akaashi leaves, and you return back to your work.

the hours fly by. other students begin to filter out, and by the time it’s past midnight, you’re only accompanied by a night-shift student librarian and the grandfather clock. you lean back into your chair, taking a quick breather.

you think back to your conversation with akaashi before he left. gotta finish the project before he wakes up, only six more slides to go, i wonder what we should have for lunch, he did say we’d get to eat together another time –

you jolt. sitting upright, your eyes widen slowly as you recount akaashi’s words. he said he would take me out anyway.

are you hallucinating? so delusional that you can’t tell between fantasy and reality? he said those exact words, right? did he mean it the way you think it means?

the clock chimes loudly as a new hour begins. you’re thrown back to work, but really, you don’t even know how you managed to finish the assignment because, the entire time, you kept thinking about akaashi and his intentions.

what does he mean?

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lovemadethemdoit · 3 months

Note

Hey!! A little prompt idea if you’re still doing them!

Jake shows up at Bradley’s door to apologize after the scene he caused in the briefing room. Bradley apologizes for breaking Jake’s heart years ago. And maybe there’s a hopeful ending?😁

Bradley’s just tapped out of Mav’s text telling them to meet at the beach the next day when his door bell rings. He freezes for a moment, frowns and listens.

He hopes it’s not Mav.

After his run-in with Hangman earlier, Bradley really doesn’t need another reason to lose his shit today. The day’s been long enough.

When a strong knock on his front door follows, he drops the phone on the couch and heaves himself up with a sigh.

He rips the door open and comes to face with eyes he knows well. It’s the last person he’d expect to be standing there, on his front step.

Hangman is clenching his jaw. He looks like it’s the last thing he expected to be doing, too.

“Hangman,” Bradley says when Jake doesn’t say anything.

That seems to do it. “Let’s cut this Hangman and Rooster bullshit for a moment, Bradley” he says, pushing his way inside.

“Well, come on in, Jake,” Rooster replies in the same attitude, already closing the door behind his visitor. He follows Jake to the living room. “What do you want?”

“Came here to say–” Jake swallows. “To say, that was a shit move. Bringing your dad into it.”

“Sure was.”

Jake nods once, like that’s done now. Bradley would roll his eyes if he didn’t understand the single threads Jake is made up of completely. "You gonna apologize?" he can‘t help but ask. He ticks up an eyebrow and crosses his arms, knowing how much Jake hates it.

Jake‘s jaw goes tight again, his eyes squinty. "Are you?"

Bradley frowns, ready to get angry again. He didn‘t do a damn thing wrong– but then he sees Jake lift his chin, and he knows what Jake is talking about.

They stare at each other and Bradley‘s breath catches when Jake‘s the first one to look away. Jake should never be the first to back down from him.

"I am sorry," Bradley says quietly, earnestly, waiting for Jake to meet his eyes again.

"For what?“

"You know what for–"

Jake groans, rolls his eyes to the ceiling as he interrupts him. "You always do this, Bradley." He throws up his hands, scoffs. "Never once did you–"

"For being a shitty boyfriend!" Bradley yells, because they never could let each other finish their sentences when they were fighting. "For breaking your heart," he adds, almost in a whisper.

But Jake‘s heard him. He‘s frozen in place, mouth open, like he can‘t believe Bradley actually said it.

"Why did you?" Jake asks, finding his words again.

Bradley shrugs. "I wasn’t ready. You deserved better."

Jake huffs out a laugh, shakes his head a little. "I was fine with what we had."

"Rose-colored glasses, babe." The nickname slips out. Bradley watches Jake‘s jaw tremble at that.

Jake shakes his head, looks around the room. His eyes find the picture Bradley‘s put up. The one he‘s been staring at for years, happy at the memory and regretful at the same time. It‘s not of them. No one would know its meaning, but Jake knows the view. It was one of their better days.

"What you said…“ Jake says, still looking at the framed photo. "That was in past tense."

"It was."

Jake closes his eyes. Bradley watches his chest expand, slowly, deliberately.

"When you‘re not dropping literal bombs, you have such shitty timing, Bradley," Jake sighs, frustrated, but his shoulder’s drop a little. „But…"

"But?"

"If we make it through this – and it‘s a big if, darlin' – I might…" He trails off. Bradley‘s heart sings, hearing the pet name fall off Jake‘s lips, realizing what Jake’s implying. Even in the midst of what he‘s referring to, his heart flutters with hope. "Yeah?"

Jake shrugs. "Just because you stopped loving me, doesn’t mean I ever did."

Bradley shakes his head, wonders how they got here. His breath just got punched out of his chest with Jake‘s casual way of offering up his doubt of Bradley‘s love for him. "It was never that, Jake," Bradley says vehemently, taking a step closer.

Jake mirrors him. Eyes him, like he‘s considering how much of a truth it is.

Bradley lets Jake watch him. Is thrilled that Jake‘s willing to.

"I‘m sorry," Jake says after a moment, almost absentmindedly. Then he blinks and straightens up. "For bringing up your dad."

Bradley nods. "Thank you for saying that."

"Well," Jake says after another pause of them just staring into each other’s eyes. "If you fly a little faster, we may just get to pick up that other thread of conversation.“

Bradley smiles slowly, hopefully. "I‘ll take that into consideration."

"You better." Jake takes another long look, before he slips past him, making his way to the door. Bradley considers reaching out for a moment, pulling Jake against his chest and tasting those lips that always seem to get him into trouble again.

But it‘s not the right time. They need their heads in the game, one-hundred percent.

He lets himself fall back down on the couch, his eyes drifting to their picture. "Promise you, sweetheart," he tells the quiet room.

He has a conversation to have.

After.

#indybob #Surprise! I wrote the thing!#hangster #writing

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storiesoflilies · 4 months

Text

school bus love (5)

synopsis: it’s high time to throw caution to the wind, don’t you think?

pairing: teen!toji fushiguro x teen!f!reader

warnings: none.

a/n: i just wanted to say that I absolutely adore all the comments saying this drabble series is making you nostalgic. besides me telling you all a bit about myself, the main goal really was to create a slice of life piece that makes people reminisce their school days xo

drabble series / part 4

today was momentous.

freedom was teasing her, dangling sweet summer fruits and the smell of sea salt in front of her. she gritted her teeth, her wrist aching as she frantically wrote the final few sentences of her last question. the clock was ticking, and it would all be over soon.

three.

two.

one…

“that’s it, everyone! time’s up!”

she had never packed up her things so fast in her life, practically shoving her way through the throng of students gathering outside the exam hall. all she could think about was feeling the warm sun on her skin and seeing the patches of blue between the jagged white clouds. today marked the final exam she had to sit, and she was now completely free for the summer.

in a exactly a week’s time, she would be sunning herself on the beach, swimming through crystal-clear waters, and snacking on crunchy slices of watermelon in the shade of palm trees with her best friends. in a week’s time, she would be back home for a whole month, a prospect that should make her buzz with excitement, if not for the nagging reminder of just one thing.

she wouldn’t be seeing toji.

they’d had a handful of conversations over the past three weeks, but nothing more had progressed. she still wasn’t sure if he really liked her, and she was starting to become convinced that she had to cut her losses. it was becoming exhausting overanalyzing toji’s every word, trying to decipher any hidden meanings in his messages and figuring out times when he might have been glancing at her too.

the chase was quite boring without much progress to show for it, and it was a hard pill to swallow that toji probably just wasn’t into her the way she wanted him to be.

she put her headphones and tuned out the world – and all thoughts of toji – attempting to bask in the sheer relief of having finished her exams, which had all gone relatively well. later that night, after pampering herself with an extra self-care routine in the shower, she called her friends for a celebratory gaming session. naturally, she aired out her frustrations about her gorgeous boy.

“i’m just worried the conversation is gonna completely fizzle out, ya know?” she ranted, rapidly clicking her mouse buttons. “it’s not like we’ll be on the bus together anymore.”

“oh my god, girl. i literally agree with your mom,” asa suddenly snapped, taking her aback in shock. “why don’t you just ask him on a date right now?”

“r-right now?” she sputtered. “i can’t do that.”

“why not? if he says no, then you’ll know if he doesn’t like you, and you can move on,” morgoth hummed, a rare voice of reason for once.

that was a whole lot easier said than done.

could she even do something so bold? she doubted she was courageous enough for something like that, and she was still clinging to her little girl dream of being asked out by a boy on her first date. her heart started to pound as it battled with her mind, her soul watching the back and forth she was having within herself.

suddenly, a thread snapped, and the raging waves stilled as if nothing had ever happened.

fuck it.

she left the game, earning cries of protest and anger from her friends, and whipped open her notes app on her phone. if she thought too much, she would chicken out and change her mind. after typing a dozen variations of how she was going to phrase the message, she finally settled on one and quickly copied and pasted it into their snapchat conversation.

hey toji, are you free by any chance to hang out tomorrow? x

and hit send.

oh…

she hit send.

she.

hit.

send.

“holy fucking shit,” she whispered incredulously, a sense of dread spreading from her head to her toes.

morgoth grunted, “what happened now?”

“i just asked toji out on a date tomorrow,” she replied, voice cracking with electric nerves.

her friends both sputtered and coughed at the same time. “fuck off, no you didn’t,” asa said, obviously shell-shocked with a hint of excitement. “tomorrow?!”

“what do you mean ‘fuck off’?! you told me to do it,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and rocking back and forth on her bed.

“hah! well, what did you say?”

“i just asked him if he wanted to hang out tomorrow, and i put an ‘x’ at end to kind of… i don’t know, flirt i guess?”

her friends both cackled, and heat rose to her chest and face.

toji fushiguro is typing…

she gasped, more so screamed, “guys, fuck! oh my god, oh my god! he’s typing.”

“that was quick,” commented morgoth under his breath.

toji fushiguro has sent you a chat!

another shrill gasp. “guys, he replied!”

“leave it!” asa giggled, his giddiness infectious and making her laughter bubble out of her chest. “don’t be a desperate bitch.”

“fuck you, he replied quick! I’m not gonna just sit here and wait.”

toji fushiguro: yeah should be free for a bit tomorrow, when were you thinking?

oh my.

oh my…

“what’s he saying, huh?” asa giggled again.

“something good, i guess. her breathing suddenly got quicker,” morgoth chuckled, his laughter reverberating through his microphone.

hmm not sure haha, whenever you’re free i guess, i’m free all day tomorrow

play it cool. play it cool, goddamn it.

toji fushiguro: yeah, what about some time in the afternoon sure?

yeah sweet, does 4 sound okay or is that too late?

toji fushiguro: yeah 4 should be sweet, sounds good

aight, where do you wanna go? i still don’t know the good places to go to lmao

toji fushiguro: tbh i have no idea, sure like let’s just see when we meet up what you’re feeling

“hehe, guys, he says it’s up to what i’m feeling.”

ahaha ok then, where do you wanna meet up then?

toji fushiguro: oh yeah shit, uh you know where like the big wheel kinda is at the seafront? we could meet up there if you want?

the ferris wheel ahaha?

toji fushiguro: yeah the big wheel ahahah, literally the most recognizable place i could think of in town

haha ok no worries, i’ll see you tomorrow then, i’ll text you when i get there :)

toji fushiguro: yeah see you tomorrow x

she wasn’t a physical being limited to the confines of her bedroom anymore. no, she was limitless and infinite, soaring with ravens among the indigo clouds of twilight, her heart leaping with every sudden dip of their wings. life was good, life was meaningful, and holy shit. toji fushiguro had agreed to go on her very first date ever with her.

“guys.”

“what?”

“he sent me an ‘x’, and we’re going on a date tomorrow.”

general taglist: @tadabzzzbee @wannapizzamymindposts @stromynight

school bus love taglist: @badbyeyoongi

p.s: fun fact, these are the actual text messages i sent to my boyfriend the day i asked him out :3

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #toji x reader #toji x y/n #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu kaisen #jjk toji #toji zenin #toji fluff #jjk fluff #toji drabbles #jjk drabbles #toji fushiguro

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blueywrites · 1 year

Text

turtle dove and the crow, part three

A 1940s Farm AU, featuring bsf!neighbor!eddie x fem!reader

story tags: 18+ (minors dni). smut; true love; unexpected pregnancy; angst, angst, angst; parental issues; corporal punishment; scheming, plotting, and betrayal; hurt/comfort; period-typical stigma regarding unwed pregnancy; angst with a happy ending.

chapter tags: 18+. p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex, angst, hurt/comfort.

(I have not edited this yet, so please excuse any editing mistakes!)

PART THREE: WOLF LIKE ME (12.7K)

Feel me, completer

Down to my core

Open my heart

And let it bleed onto yours

Feedin' on fever

Down on all fours

Show you what all that howlin's for

Wolf Like Me - Lera Lynn ft. Shovels & Rope

Deep in the field, two roosts sit side by side. One is built of sturdy, weathered wood painted the color of bright red berries, with deep-set windows and a dark sloping roof that protects it from the elements. The other is made of wide symmetrical clapboards painted blue like the sky on a cloudless day, with knotted-oak shutters slightly worn from the sun and wind and bright white trim that shines in the eager summer light. They are separated only by a tall fence and a stump rotted through to the other side, through which the grasses of their yards mingle to become one.

These roosts house different birds. One is a trio of turtle doves, a mated pair with a young hen still soft and brown-gray, though her iridescence is maturing now, subduing into adulthood. The other is a pair of long-bonded crows, though the younger spent its fledgling years in the care of another, who pecked and prodded and stole his sustenance until the young one fluttered finally away, seeking to shelter under the safe wing of his older kin.

They may bear different feathers— one downy gray, one glossy black— but if one were to peep through the windows, one would see these young birds and note how similar they appear right now as they preen. Both turtle dove and crow are drawing their beaks along each feather to clear away the dust, fluttering out their wings in great stretches, and hopping about the expanse of their rooms, caught in restless preparation as the grandfather clock ticks its hand toward seven.

The turtle dove adorns herself for the crow. She dresses in her Independence Day best, twisting to watch the ankle-length skirt swirl around her legs in swaths of dainty yellow gingham. She dances her fingertips along the hand-sewn embroidery that decorates the square neckline, feeling along the tiny white flowers and vines for the perfect spot. There, she pins two sprigs— one lavender, one jasmine— to nestle amongst the white threads she’d sewn with careful fingers, her first attempt at embellishing her clothing, ventured to celebrate the holiday in mid-July. With a careful hand, she ties a bow of white silk to the side of her head. Now smelling of flowers and gilded in homespun sunshine, she has finished her preparations.

The crow, meanwhile, focuses less on his adornments. He doesn’t possess his own Independence Day best; instead, he dresses in a collared, button-up shirt oft worn, paired with navy blue woolen slacks and a leather belt with a simple buckle. But he made sure to scrub his skin with soap 'til it shone pink over every inch of him— between his toes, behind his ears, on the backs of his knees and the nape of his neck. He has brushed out his hair and tamed the flyaways with pomade, twining the curls around his rough fingers to let them drop into careful coils, working with a delicacy that he feels near-embarrassed about despite not having been observed. Carefully, he picks the dirt from beneath his fingernails and trims them short and neat, though he’d been waylaid momentarily by regretful ruminations on the roughness of his palms. He swipes his thumbs impatiently along the callouses that cannot be softened with warm bathwater as if he might rub them away before giving up and brushing his teeth for the second time instead.

With one last ruffle of feathers and a careful appraisal in the mirror, crow and turtle dove descend their staircases in tandem at five to seven, filled with the flutterings of nervous, jittery excitement that precede such an occasion as this.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, Mama and Pa are already loitering there; you hurry down the last few steps, swinging around with a hand on the banister to fling yourself toward the kitchen and avoid keeping them waiting too much longer. The pie you’d baked with apples from the tree out back is still wafting steam from its golden, flaky crust, but when you test the glass dish with a little pat of your fingertips, you find it’s cool enough to snatch up with a handtowel plucked from the towelbar beneath the sink. Carefully, you carry it back to your parents, stealing a quick glance at their faces as you group together with them. They’ve dressed nicely— though not quite as fussily as you— and their faces hold the same impassive pleasantness that had been there yesterday when the occasion had been proposed to them by the wild-haired boy next door.

He’d stood in his muddy boots on the bristly mat, so adamant in his refusal to tell you what the matter was until your parents joined you that you’d had half a mind to think that something terribly grave had occurred. Your worry gave way to confusion once they arrived and Eddie, with uncharacteristic formality, extended an invitation to dinner at the Munson house for seven o’clock the following day.

Though his delivery was strange, the whole thing was no cause for alarm because you and your family had dined with Wayne at least once each season since before you could remember. But when your parents accepted politely, and Eddie looked then to you, his eyes held a promise unspoken in their umber depths. They were lightened to honey in the sunshine, glossy yet still deep and dark like a pool of rippling water. You had an inkling of what might set this occasion apart from others previous, but you barely dared to think it lest you be disappointed. Still, even without that certainty, you’d taken the time to dress your best, to rouge your cheeks and lips, and set your hair more carefully than usual, just in case that inkling came to pass. And you’d insisted on baking an apple pie to bring over for dessert, prepared to fight had your mother put up any protest, which she had not.

The walk across the grass to the house side by side with yours has never felt so long as it does today. The August air is heavy but dry from the day's heat, wafting with woodsmoke and ablaze with the rhythmic chirping of crickets that are emerging, drawn by the deepening light. And it feels laden with something else, too, as you crunch along the gravel path that connects the front of your property with the Munsons’. Perhaps it’s the promise you think you saw in Eddie’s eyes that wisps along the breeze, ruffling the leaves of the oak trees that stand tall and proud behind that red house. Or perhaps it’s your own unspoken revelation, the one that bloomed in the goat pen those days ago, filling your lungs to swell anew behind your ribs. The heaviness of that unknowable quality makes the walk to Eddie’s house feel long, but it is, in fact, over with quite quickly.

He does live just next door, after all.

You carry your sweet offering up to his porch with eyes fixed on the sturdy, weather-beaten door. There you pause to wait for your parents, and when they join you, your mother raps the doorframe smartly with unhesitant knuckles. They flank you like sentinels as you wait, lips pursing at the faint ruckus you hear behind that thick wood. It’s Ed thumpin’ down the stairs, no doubt, you figure, and your supposition is proven correct when just a moment later the door flies open, quick at first before being slowed with a jerk to a more respectable speed.

You can’t pretend to have chosen the dress you’re wearing for any other reason than the fact he’d mentioned it that day at the creek, but the way Eddie’s face goes slack— the way his dark brows melt into softness and his plush lips part just slightly as he marvels at the sight of you— makes it difficult to keep your composure in front of your parents. As does the sight of Eddie himself. Mama and Pa fade at the sight of him, and you can’t help but pause a moment to take him in, your eyes fluttering over his features like a gentle brush of wings.

Eddie’s curls, dark and rich like wood stain, look as soft and shiny as liquid silk where they spill over his shoulders, and your fingers twitch with longing as you imagine drawing them through those coils. His skin is radiant, scrubbed noticeably clean, and its paleness makes his freckles stand out stark in contrast, like a dusting of spicy cinnamon across the bridge of his nose. He’s rolled his buttoned shirt up to the elbow, revealing strong forearms and broad, rough-hewn hands that are scrambling now to unburden you from the dessert you’d prepared.

You allow him to take it, offering a grateful smile. He returns it before ducking to the side to peer around you. “Evenin’, sir. Ma’am.” Eddie greets your Mama and your Pa almost reservedly, and the absence of his typical manic edge or teasing rasp feels odd but also makes a strange thrill thrum in your belly. He explains, “My uncle’s occupied there in the kitchen; dinner’s about finished. Just gotta set the table,” he adds, almost to himself, and you hasten to offer your assistance.

With just a hint of too much sweetness for comfort, you tell Eddie, “I can help you if you like.”

“Thank you.” Eddie’s cheek dimples in a soft, crooked smile. “And for the pie.”

You wave off his regard to keep your cheeks from pinking. “S’nothin.”

You’ve been inside Wayne Munson’s house on occasion since you were small, as have your parents, but Eddie still leads you along the wide worn floorboards and through the archway into the sitting room. This room is as it always is: green paint faded from the westward setting sun on the far wall, Wayne’s sagging armchair nestled in the corner, a hand-hewn coffee table and the striped couch with the crochet blanket draped over its back in a cascade of the merry yellows and oranges you know Wayne is partial to on account of the sunflowers. There’s a pair of eyeglasses on the side table near the armchair atop a magazine that is clearly Wayne’s, but the boot poking from half-beneath it, strewn carelessly as if it had been kicked off in a hurry, is clearly not. A faint smile crosses your face as you spot it, though your father’s loud clomping footsteps draw your attention soon enough. The sizzling of the stove is overtaken by your father’s friendly shout as forges ahead to the kitchen; the gruff warmth of two men greeting one another accompanies you as you cross the living room to join Eddie in the dining room.

You become mindful of what you’d offered when you see him clearing the runner and the simple centerpiece from the dining table, which dominates the middle of the room despite the tall hutch standing broad against the far wall. You hasten to help him, hovering nearby as he pulls open the hutch drawer. You catch your mother eying the dust on the ridge lining the hutch and prepare yourself for some remark on the matter, but in the end, she doesn’t comment. Instead, she merely watches you and Eddie futz with the silverware for a moment before leaving you to your work to survey the goings-on in the kitchen. You hear the conversation between the two men stall when she enters before continuing, making room for the new addition.

Eddie squats to retrieve the plates as you set out the placemats, lining them with spoons and knives side-by-side and forks placed carefully across from them, with space to nestle the plates in-between. You circle the table methodically, dropping piece after piece on your path as Eddie rotates in the other direction, crossing your path almost as seamlessly as if this is a practiced dance. It’s not something you’ve ever done together— meals typically don’t stand on such ceremony as this, and Eddie certainly doesn’t usually fold the linen napkins into careful squares before dropping them onto the white ceramic. But as you watch him nudge the fabric with the tip of his finger to straighten its crooked lines, his tongue tip peeking pink between his lips as he does, the chore feels distinctly domestic to you, like something that has happened dozens of times before and will continue again for countless more. That sudden uncanny inkling mixes with the feeling that swells up sometimes behind your ribs, which resurges when Eddie sidles up next to you and bumps you lightly out of the way with his hip.

“Watch it, you,” he pretends to grouse, lips quirking as he drops the napkin square onto the final plate with a flourish. “M’tryn’a set the table here.”

“Oh, and I’m not?” you retort hotly, but when he pinches your waist quick and playful, you can’t help the giggle that squeals its way from your throat. He dances back from your jabbing finger aimed at his side, curls bouncing as his face lights with a smile. Not to be deterred, you snatch up the napkin he’d just put down, and as it unravels from its square to prepare to strike him across the ribs, the familiar gravel of a throat being cleared— aged and croaky with years of tobacco use— has you spinning on your heel and hiding the evidence of your childishness behind your back.

The sight of Eddie’s uncle is wholly more welcome than your own Pa at the moment, though you still want to squirm as he regards you with a squint and a quirked brow. “Hello, Wayne!” you say brightly. You’re fooling no one; it’s an obvious attempt to distract him as you plop the napkin back onto the plate, letting it drop behind your back.

“Hello, y/n. It’s nice to see you.” Wayne doesn’t react as Eddie reaches slowly around you to fiddle the napkin back into a semblance of orderliness, though you swear his blue eyes— so different from Eddie’s in color but so alike in their expressiveness— are twinkling now as he carries the plate of fried pork chops to the table, setting them carefully down.

“Thanks for having us over for dinner,” you say, clasping your hands demurely in front of your lap. “It’s very kind of you.”

Wayne rasps a chuckle as he straightens, clapping a heavy hand on Eddie’s shoulder briefly before moving with characteristic creakiness toward the kitchen. “No need to thank me; it was all Ed,” he offers offhandedly before disappearing, unaware of how the comment stirs the hope within you to sweet and tender life.

The meal shared with your neighbors is pleasant. More than pleasant, in fact. The pork chops are crispy but tender, yielding easily to your knife; the sweet juice of the fresh corn snaps between your teeth as you bite into the cob, and the sliced tomatoes are buttery smooth and perfectly ripe. Wayne is seated to your right at the head of the table with your father beside you on the left, and you spend the majority of the meal eating and listening rather than speaking, more than content to let them bookend you with their familiar voices made more fervent in the company of friendly company not often seen. Eddie is seated across from you, and when you aren’t listening to the patriarchs reminisce about the drought of ‘36 and lament the inconvenience they’re suffering as a bridge repair forces them to travel in some roundabout way, you’re watching Eddie eat. You’re staring at him with a level of fascination that is almost unnerving, made clear as his brow furrows slightly when he catches your eyes fixed so firmly on him.

But you’re staring because it’s strange, the way he’s eating. You’ve seen Eddie eat many times, and he always does it with a certain disregard for common manners: borderline too-ambitious bites, mouth open more than it’s closed, fingers sucked of grease, crumbs everywhere. Yet, not so tonight. Tonight, every slice is cut to a reasonable size; every bite is measured and chewed thoughtfully; every swallow occurs before he speaks again. And Eddie is even using his napkin. It’s laid across his lap and, miraculously, lifted to his mouth every once in a while to neaten the corners of those plush pink lips before being replaced just as carefully

The empty space where that napkin is usually balled to the side of his empty plate is not the most uncanny thing, though. What is the most uncanny thing is the way your mother is actively engaging him in conversation about the 4H fair next month. Eddie tells her he plans to enter Merlin as a showhorse, and she nods across to you, donning a soft smile as she says, “Y/n’s really been makin’ strides with her embroidery ahead of the showin’. I think she’ll be ready.”

“She’s gettin’ real good, from what I’ve seen,” Eddie agrees eagerly, bobbing his head maybe a little too wildly. “Did she show you the hoop she’s makin’ for my uncle? The one with our family name in the middle?”

“I think so…” Mama’s head tips as she considers it. “That the one that has sunflowers on it?”

“And chicory flowers, too,” you pipe up, meeting Eddie’s umber eyes across the broad table, watching them soften to honey. Your Mama makes a sound of recognition and keeps talking, and while Eddie nods, replying politely, his gaze doesn’t stray from yours.

When bellies have been filled, and plates have been cleaned of all but the tiniest crumbs, you decide as a group to retire to the living room before indulging in dessert. Your hosts lead the way, and Wayne takes his customary place in his well-worn armchair, sinking down with a bone-weary sigh borne partly of creaking joints and partly of a belly swollen by overindulgence.

Your mother hovers near the archway, surveying the seating options demurely until Wayne notices and waves her easily toward the couch. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Ed’ll park his seat on the floor, won’t you, son?”

“Oh,” she protests politely, “I’m sure we don’t mind—”

But Eddie has already flopped himself down in front of the hearth, leaning back on the heels of his palms and stretching his lanky legs toward the coffee table, perfectly content. As his foot bobs back in an easy rhythm, Mama’s eyes dart to the hole in the bottom of his sock near the toes, the way the white thread is worn gray and threadbare on the balls and the heel. Quick as a flash, they dart away again as Pa encourages her forward with a hand at the small of her back. Together they take the couch, your mother perching on the edge with her ankles crossed and your father sinking back into the cushions, leaning one elbow comfortably against the arm and letting out his own sigh to match Wayne’s.

You’re about to join Eddie on the floor when you notice, peeking from the corner of the long hall leading toward the back of the house, curves of spruce that beckon your excitement.

“Oh!” You make a sound not unlike your mother’s, though yours is borne of exuberance as you pick your way around Eddie’s legs. He grunts a light protest as you plant a palm atop his head to steady yourself while stepping over him, but you ignore it in favor of plucking the instrument from its hiding place, brandishing it in the air with wide eyes and a broad grin. “Look, Ed, it’s your guitar!”

“Yes,” he says, half wry as you toddle towards him, awkward and unwieldy in your inexperience carrying it. “That’d be my guitar, all right. Why, aren’t you the clever one.”

Your reply is quick and entirely cheerful. “You shush y’r mouth, Eddie Munson,” you say easily, depositing the guitar in his lap and taking a seat cross-legged beside him. In your peripheral, you can see Wayne leaning back in his chair, surveying you as his fingers stroke his grizzled beard, but your eyes are all for the man with wild curls and a teasing grin that stretches his plush pink lips as he glances over at you. “I was thinkin’ y’could play us some songs to pass the time before dessert.”

Eddie sighs beleagueredly, tipping his head back even while already lifting the guitar strap over his shoulders. “What next? Y’gonna ask me to sing too?” He slants another glance at you, chuckling as your eyes light up even further. You clutch his wrist, shaking lightly, only faltering slightly when you notice how hot and smooth his skin is underneath your fingers. The awareness tingles within you, and you snatch your hand back.

You play it off with characteristic banter. “D’you want some o’my apple pie?” you question him, quirking your eyebrows in challenge.

Eddie purses his lips, not quite pouting but close to it. “...Yes,” he replies, and you jerk your chin toward the guitar.

“Then get to singin’, mister,” you say hotly, though you can’t help but smile when Eddie pretends to clutch his heart and sway back as if wounded by your demands. A disapproving tut draws your eyes, and they widen when you see Mama’s narrow. She’s clucking her tongue in a way that means she is dissatisfied with your attitude and wants you to know it.

Your spine straightens under her silent gaze, and a prickle of shame needles across your shoulders as you clasp your hands in your lap. You look back at her contritely until she finally glances away; if anyone else notices the nonverbal exchange, they don’t let on, and the shame fades as Eddie begins to pluck the first few notes of the song he’s chosen to begin with.

Your mother’s reproach is quickly forgotten as Eddie’s warm rasp fills the room to accompany the twang of the guitar’s strings. The sound is untrained, yet melodic and pleasant nonetheless as he sings, “Well, they tell me, my dear, that you’re going; I will miss your bright eyes and your smile. For with you, you are taking the sunshine that has brightened my life for a while.”

Red River Valley wouldn’t have been your first choice of song for the occasion, though you must admit that Eddie sounds quite nice singing it. And it’s pleasant to watch him play, too: his long lashes dust the pale of his cheeks as he looks down at his fingerwork, and your gaze slides down the slope of his nose to the soft end, then down to the valley between nose and lip, then finally to the pink of his full lips as they form the words. “I have waited a long time my darling for those words that you never would say” A lock of curls behind his ear slips to drape over his cheek, and though your fingers itch to tuck it back for him again, you force them still in your lap. “And alas now my poor heart is breaking for they tell me you’re going away.”

Eddie repeats the chorus one last time and ends with a flourish of strumming, a smile stretching his cheeks wide as your Mama claps politely and her eyes wrinkle pleasedly. Your father is less enthusiastic, though he does nod absently when he sees you looking at him imploringly. “S’pretty good,” he offers, and Eddie accepts it graciously, resetting his fingers on the frets to regale you with some improvised playing.

He is quiet for a while as he plays, brow furrowed in concentration as he weaves chords and notes into a tapestry of story, not unlike the tales he’s long invented for you since you were merely children playing in the mud. You marvel for a moment at the fact that those broad hands, so rough and worn from labor, are able to create such sweet and delicate sound; you watch his long fingers dance along the frets, the way their strong calluses catch the strings and make them cry out in joyful feeling. His playing is unhurried and peaceful, but watching Eddie fills you with a thrumming sort of happiness that makes you want to join in— something you’ve never done before despite the many times you’ve heard him play.

That feeling bubbles over as his song eases into a brief silence, and you take the opportunity to ask if you can make a request. Eddie’s brows jerk in surprise for only a moment before he’s nodding quickly, perhaps a little too wild in his effort to encourage you. And though he rolls his eyes lightly when you tell him what you want, a smile still tugs at the corner of his lips as he begins a tune more jaunty and sentimental than the one he’d been playing.

You watch as he plays the introduction, waiting for his eyes to flash to yours promptingly before you begin to sing. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray.” Your voice is not as practiced as Eddie’s— though his is barely so— but it is clear of tone and gains steadiness as you continue, “You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you; please don’t take my sunshine away.”

It becomes clear as you begin to sing this song why people sing songs. Which may seem an odd revelation in and of itself, but it’s something that you’ve just… never really done before. You may hum a tune to yourself as you complete your chores, or warble along with the record player, but that’s not the same as letting your own voice be the one to take the place of silence, to fill a room so full that you cannot be ignored. There is something vulnerable about that choice, and you feel that vulnerability in the itch at the base of your throat, where your skin is heating with the awareness that everyone can hear every crack or falter in your pitch. But as you sing the words out, emboldened by Eddie’s confident playing, you realize there’s a kind of wild disregard for perfection in the act, an impulsive freedom that feels very much like joy. And you see that joy echoed on Eddie’s face when he accompanies you for the final verse, his warm brashness husking up the clearness of yours in a way that sounds, not just good, but right.

Another smattering of applause follows your performance, and you bask in it; your knee seeks the side of Eddie’s thigh, resting there lightly, and though you don’t glance down at it for fear of drawing too much attention, just knowing that he is warm, and solid, and connected to a small part of you makes happiness perch high in your heart.

“If I could make a request.”

All eyes turn to Mama, who has now sunk back against the couch, not quite leaning against your father’s side but close to it. “How about ‘John the Rabbit?’ Used to sing that t’you when you were little. D’you remember that?”

Mama’s voice is just the same as it always is— even when it’s calm, the urgency of ‘get this done, knock it off, do this, not that’ is never quite gone. But her expression is buttery soft now as she gazes at you, and as you relax under its comforting weight, your body sags subtly toward the man sitting at your side. “Sure I do,” you tell her, “used to sing it to me in the mornin’, and that’s how I knew we were gonna tend the garden that day.”

Mama hums, beckoning you gently with her chin. “Why don’t you lead us in a round, hm?” She casts glances around at the men, adding, “All you gotta do is say, ‘Yes, ma’am.’”

“‘Til the last line,” you pipe up, “then y’say, ‘No, ma’am.’”

Wayne chuckles, rubbing his palms along his worn blue jeans. “I reckon we can handle it,” he assures her in his slow way, and with that, Eddie strums a simple tune fitting of a nursery school rhyme.

You sing sweetly, “Oh, John the rabbit—”

“Yes, ma’am,” the rest call, and you smile through the next line:

“Got a mighty habit—”

“Yes’ ma’am.”

“Jumpin’ in my garden—” you pause for the others, who oblige you readily, before continuing, “Cuttin’ down my cabbage…” and yielding them the floor.

The leader is meant to draw out the next line, to twang the words at the end, and you sway in your seat as you faithfully follow. “My sweet potatoes,” you croon at Eddie, and he leans toward you as he answers louder than the rest,

“Yes ma’am!”

With each successive line, the delight inside you grows, and it echoes through the room, repeated on every face— man and woman, young and old.

“And if I live… to see next fall… I ain’t gonna have… no garden at all—” You heave a great breath, grinning as you throw your head back and chorus with the others,

“No… ma’am!”

Eddie strums hard and quick to end the song, and your giggle is joined by Wayne’s thick chuckle, and your mother’s polite humming, and your father’s hoarse bark of amusement. And when Eddie throaty, husky chuckles swallow up them all beside you, you think if you could bottle up this sound and keep it forever, you would. You certainly would.

When you return to the dining room, taking your seat beside your father, the air that fills the red roost is thick with the sweetness of shared company, almost enough to rival the flaky pie you’re all indulging in. It’s not the finest you’ve ever tasted, but it’s with a sense of pride that you watch the others enjoy it. Pa is gesturing widely with his fork as he discusses autumn arrangements with Wayne, how they might coordinate their harvests of hay and corn for mutual benefit. Mama is scooping up each bite slowly and chewing thoroughly, which you know means she is stalling to keep herself from devouring the whole thing in one fell swoop. Wayne is already on his second slice despite protesting, when he’d initially been served, that he couldn’t eat another bite. And Eddie…

Well, Eddie has eaten half his pie already, but in the last handful of minutes he’s been pushing the remainder around on his fork— not disinterestedly, as if he doesn’t enjoy it, but with a sort of jerkiness to the motions that belys some tension within him. You have half a mind to ask him what’s bothering him, but you don’t want to embarrass him in front of company. You bury down the tinge of worry, which is what must be kicking up your heart, what must account for the sudden tightness in your own chest, though it feels more akin to anticipation.

So you eat your pie, and listen to your father, and glance back and forth between Mama and Eddie until the latter finally sets his fork down with a clink that somehow, despite the lack of force, cuts straight through the conversation between Wayne and Pa. It lapses into silence, and your heart pounds harder as you watch a pink tongue swipe at plush lips and an adam’s apple bob in a pale throat before the brash voice of your best friend fills the void.

“Sir,” Eddie says, looking at your father, and a lump grows in your throat as the word wavers just slightly before recovering. “I hope it’s all right, me speaking out of turn, but… there’s something I need to say to you.”

There is a brief pause as all eyes turn to your Pa. He draws his napkin over his lips, and its drag smooths the severe lines around his mouth for just a moment before they spring back up again into place. “S’your house,” your father replies, not unkindly.

Eddie’s eyes dart to Wayne for just a second, and you follow them to see the older man gazing back calmly. When they return to your Pa, Eddie lifts his chin, keeping his gaze and voice steady. “We’ve lived next door to each other for just about ten years now. And in that time, I’ve gotten to know your family well, and you’ve gotten to know mine.” His throat bobs as he pauses. “Y/n and I grown up alongside each other, and maybe my opinion don’t matter all that much in the scheme of things, but I tell you humbly that, well, I think you both done a mighty fine job raisin’ her.”

Eddie looks at your mother beside him, who offers him a slight nod, but he doesn’t look at you. And good thing, too, because that feeling is swelling up to fill your throat so hot and thick, it’s all you can do to keep your chin from trembling. “I know y’don’t need me to tell you this,” Eddie huffs a breathless chuckle, “y’already know how good she is. But I think it warrants bein’ said that there’s somethin’ about y/n that’s special.” His chest expands with a bracing breath, and in that pause, you see it all in Eddie’s umber eyes. In the line of his brow, the gentle slope of his nose, the light flush of his cheeks, the strength of his jaw— all that he could ever say is there, written plain as day across his beloved face.

“Special to me, s’what I’m saying,” he clarifies, and the way his brow furrows just slightly in the middle— tugged up into an expression of sweet earnestness— has your heart beating so wild and fast you think it might leap out of your chest and into the cradle of his arms.

“Sir,” Eddie says, “I really care about your daughter, and I would like to ask your permission to court her.”

It’s what you hadn’t allowed yourself to hope for when you’d taken out the Fourth of July dress and adorned yourself in sprigs of lavender and rosemary. It’s what shone through Eddie’s eager smile when he opened the door to his home with his face scrubbed clean, waiting there for you. It’s the promise of forever stretched out over the expanse of a wooden dining table, where napkins were carefully folded into squares and pies were baked with fresh apples from the tree outside. Small acts of service committed by two sets of hands, each trailing love like fairy dust in their wake.

Pa clears his throat— not a sharp sound, more of a rumble of consideration as he leans back in his chair, gazing at Mama across from him. He nods his head slowly, thoughtfully, a gradual bobbing that continues as his tongue runs over his teeth behind his lips. It ends with a jerking of his brows and the smack of his lips opening as he replies,

“I appreciate your words, Edward, they’re very kind. But, no.” His eyes hold Eddie’s steadily. “I do not give you permission to court my daughter.”

Your father doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even sound particularly bothered. And yet the pall that settles over the Munson’s dinner table is so oppressive that you feel your shoulders sink under the palpable weight of the silence following his denial. That heaviness drags like a rotten hand down the back of your neck; it melts to viscous ooze, seeping over your clavicle, sinking through your gingham dress and coating the swelling behind your ribs in suffocating shock.

Distantly, you hear Wayne stiffly ask your parents to accompany him into the living room. You feel your father’s chair scrape out beside you; you want to glance at your Mama’s face, but your eyes are stuck to the flakes of crust and the crystals of sugar dotting the linen napkin laid beside your plate.

It isn’t until you’re alone with Eddie that the heaviness sloughs off of you to slap like dead meat to the floor. Then you can raise your head and meet the umber eyes of the man who sits across from you, motionless and hollow.

As soon as you see the expression on his face, the feeling shifts in you; with an impatient jerk of your chair, you stand to crane over the table and take up his cheeks in your hands. His head is heavy, his neck loose and pliant, and you hold him steady as you speak quietly and intently.

“Okay, look, Ed—” You take a shuddering breath, letting it out through your nose, and it ruffles the soft curls that frame his jaw as he looks back at you blankly. You continue in an urgent whisper, “Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’ll put up a bit of a fuss, of course, but if I fight ‘em too hard, they’ll look at me cross, and we won’t get nowhere. By all appearances, we should look like we accept their decision, all right? That’ll buy us time to figure out what to do.”

Eddie doesn’t react, really; nothing much on his face changes. But you know him too well, so you can see the subtle shifting there, how the dullness in his umber eyes edges into mournfulness. Defeat.

Your heart cracks.

His name whispers through your quivering lips. “Eddie…” Your eyes prick for him, for all the effort he put into making this night so perfect, and how it now had gone all sideways on him. On you both.

You don’t think much about what you do next. It’s instinct when you surge forward to kiss him hard, pressing your lips to his with all the fervency and yearning and love that swells within your body. Your heart thumps when you feel him respond, when his lips pucker and seek yours, when his trembling fingertips draw lightly down your cheek.

There is urgency and danger here in the dining room, but you hold the kiss as long as you can before your lungs begin to burn. When you pull away, gasping for breath, Eddie now looks more dazed than sad, and it both reassures you and feeds your fire.

“I don’t give a hoot what they say,” you whisper fiercely. “I wanna be with you, Ed. We been good at sneakin’ around before, and we can do it now, too.” You search his eyes, panging with hesitation for the first time as you scrape your teeth across your teeth before blurting, “I don’t wanna stop seein’ you. Do… do you wanna stop seein’ me, now that this’s happened?”

Eddie huffs— a small warm puff of breath that ghosts across your lips— and it’s wry and unbelieving but so incredibly soft. “‘Y/n.” His voice is a gentle rumble in his chest, earnest and hoarse. “Now that I had a chance to know you the way we know each other, I think it’d kill me dead to go back to how it was before. I could barely keep it together then. Can’t imagine doin’ it now that I’ve had you underneath me.” You shiver at the hot promise in his eyes. “‘Sides,” he adds, “I—”

The merciful floorboards warn you of the imminent return of your parents, and you fall back into your chair just in time to appear innocent as they reenter the dining room.

“Well!” Your father sighs the word in that tone people only use when closing something out— a conversation, a get-together, an engagement. You think he will continue, that he will turn to Eddie and perhaps offer an explanation, but that single word just lingers in the pause until your mother jumps in.

“Thank you for dinner, Wayne. Eddie,” Mama says politely, and Eddie manages to bob his head in a single nod to acknowledge her. Wayne has far more composure, accepting her thanks and exchanging a polite word about the next dinner.

Your father shakes Wayne’s hand firmly and then beckons you with a jerk of his head. “C’mon, missy, let’s leave ‘em to their evenin’.”

It would be odd if it weren’t that you understood what must have happened in the living room— that your father had explained his decision to Wayne, and that they’d managed to come out the other side maintaining, at the very least, a level of friendliness befitting neighbors.

So you follow suit; with as much decorum as you can muster, you rise primly and thank Wayne, casting one last glance at Eddie before you depart the red roost of the crows.

You wait until you’re back inside your own roost and your front door has closed behind you to turn on them, brow knit tight with righteous indignation. “Why did you deny Eddie, Pa?” you demand. “What’s wrong with him courtin’ me?” You can’t quite keep the heat from your voice; the outrage bubbling beneath the surface is too fresh, too hot as you remember Eddie’s beloved umber eyes, how the light in them dimmed.

Your father does not quail at your display; if anything, he grows taller, raising his chin and regarding you down the bridge of his nose. “Y/n, I’ve been acquainted with Edward for damn near ten years now, and in that time, he has proved himself time after time to be frivolous and uncouth. That boy is entirely lacking in discipline.” In a rare display of restraint, your father does not raise his voice at you in the privacy of your home. Yet he is no less hardened for it; his words fall like heavy stones before your feet. “Edward is downright wild. Your mother and I have let you indulge in this little friendship with him, above all, on account of our respect for Wayne. But he is not the kind of young man I want courtin' my only unwed daughter.”

You could tell them that Eddie’s wildness is what fuels his heart, what makes him so passionate and imaginative and enchanting. You could tell them that he bought you a ribbon and scrubbed his nails clean, that he takes you to wildflower fields because he knows you like them and invents stories to make you happy. You could tell them that you love him, that you always have, that when you envision what your life will be like with your own house and garden, you can’t see anyone but Eddie Munson by your side.

Yet you fear to voice these things, to breathe life into them and then have them butchered just as quickly at your father’s hand. You glance at your mother, but her face is an impassive mask; you know appealing to her will get you nowhere, so you latch to the only thing you can think of. Despite telling Eddie that you will not fight hard for him since that will only make things more difficult, you find yourself unable to resist.

“But Pa,” you try for earnestness, “Ed is disciplined, don’t you see? Think of all he’s done for us ‘round the house, and with the fence and the kid. I think he’s been tryin’ so hard this past week to show you how serious he is about m—”

A curled lip is all the warning you get before being interrupted. “Never trust a man who acts just because he wants somethin’.” Your father finally snaps; his voice booms in the space between you. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what he done or how he acted this week. It don’t erase a lifetime of evidence to the contrary.”

And you know by the way your Pa’s severe face has petrified into the hardest stone, echoed though less harshly in the wrinkles that line your mother’s eyes, that their decision cannot be budged.

Edward Munson cannot court you, and that is that.

But the fact is, you don’t need Eddie Munson to court you. You’re already his, and you give yourself to him as such.

When you wake the next morning, it appears to your parents as if your ire from the night before was nothing but a feverish dream. You slink around the house with your tail held high, coy as a barnyard cat as you dine with them at the breakfast table, making amiable conversation with your Pa and complimenting your Mama’s cooking without a hint of sourness. You complete your chores without complaining— well, without any more complaining than is typical of you. You sew the buttons on your Mama’s dress with the utmost considerateness and drop kisses on your father’s cheek each night before retiring to bed. This awards you certain freedoms, freedoms that you certainly wouldn’t be gifted had you carried on about their rejection of Eddie the way you truly wanted to deep in your heart.

You keep it buried— the indignance, the sorrow, the swelling you feel when you catch glimpses of him through the cracks in the fence. You cover it in pleasantness and obeisance so that they won’t suspect, and when you visit the stump rotted through to the middle and find the papers wedged inside, you exercise the privileges you’ve won through subterfuge.

“Nancy asked me to walk with her into town. She wants me to come with her to the dressmakers, so it might take a little while if that’s all right?” You ask your Pa as he’s repairing the sagging barn door, and his hammering pauses only long enough to tell you not to spend any frivolous money there.

It’s quite easy to agree when you have no real intention of setting foot in the dressmaker’s shop.

Instead, you dip off the road and trail across the far edge of the Wheelers’ field, picking through a copse of trees to access the adjacent clearing that grows wild and unkempt. There, you find a patch of clear earth, and now, you are dropping to your knees to gather your skirt up around your hips. You arch your back shamelessly to expose yourself, presenting your pussy like a cat in heat to the man behind you. When you feel his broad hands ruck your skirt up higher, you press your palms to the earth and dip your cheek to the ground, just waiting to be mounted. When Eddie notches his fat head against your entrance, you teethe the plush of your bottom lip. He presses steadily forward until he pops inside, stretching you tight around his girth, and when you mewl, he hisses in response. In one long stroke— a motion quick and trembling like the tautness of a bowstring, as if he can no longer hold himself back now that he has notched inside you— Eddie presses his hips up tight against your ass and groans out his relief at your joining. His relief echoes your own, manifest in the way your body goes lax: chin dipping to take its rest, shoulders sagging as your breasts mold to the unyielding ground, fingers drawing through strands of green as if yearning for dark coils of ink but settling for second best. Eddie sleeves himself within the wet warmth that welcomes him, and your muscles yawn a sigh of relief even as you flutter and squeeze around that which splits you open.

There, in the dirt and grass, you give yourself to Eddie on your hands and knees. Your face grazes the earth as you let him pound into you from behind, let him grip your hips and claim you with the little imprints of his fingers that he squeezes into your skin. You and Eddie have done gentle; you know what it is to lie with him on the creekbed or in the wildflowers, where time seemed to stretch and bend, and every moment could be savored. But not so now, when the only occasions you can see one another are in moments stolen through lies and trickery. Now, your need for Eddie is dirty and ravenous. You take what he gives you, and you give freely for him to take in return. Each whimper and grunt, each harsh slap of skin against skin, each wet shlick of his cock sheathing in your eager heat sounds to you like a triumphant cry of defiance.

A wicked seed within you relishes in the fantasy of your parents seeing what you are allowing frivolous, uncouth Eddie Munson to do to you. You know your Mama would be scandalized— her eyes would pop out of her head. You know your Pa would be furious— his face would go purple with rage. They refused to allow Eddie to court you, and yet here he is, fucking into you with abandon as you whimper and tremble for him. And you like it; you like the way he spears you roughly with his cock, the way your ass bounces lewdly against his hips, the way your belly tightens with sinful pleasure as he plunges deep and holds himself there, pressing hard to grind himself inside you. Your walls flutter and squeeze around him as you circle your hips, seeking for something more. You angle and work yourself on his length until you jolt, having suddenly found what you sought. That feeling sparks like wicked fire, burning low inside you each time he grazes against that elusive spot inside, and oh, how you like it.

"Please, harder, Eddie," you beg him, whimpering into the earth. "Please— you feel so good."

“Fuuuck,” Eddie groans, and the hoarse husk makes you shiver with pleasure. "Your pussy’s so sweet. So fuckin' tight and sweet for me, turtle dove. Fuckin’ love being inside your little pussy."

You moan, long and low, rocking back to meet him as he starts to thrust again, hard and fast. You've learned that Eddie has a filthy mouth, and each dirty word that drips from his sinful lips is both so mortifying and so arousing at the same time. As his fingers tighten on your hips, and his breath harshens into desperate pants, urgency fills you— an urgency to feel him reach the pinnacle he is approaching. You want Eddie to spill inside you, or on your flank, or into the grass, anywhere so long as you can hear the way he whines and moans from the pleasure you’re giving him. “That’s it, Ed,” you encourage him breathlessly, “just like that, just— oh— j-just like that, mmm—”

You pinch off a whine, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as his rhythm becomes stilted, uneven, desperate—

And then Eddie gasps raggedly, pulling out and spilling onto the earth between your spread legs. His hands leave you, and you scramble up to your knees, hole mournfully empty but heart so full. You turn as Eddie squeezes the last few drops of his seed from his flushed head onto the ground before catching you in one strong arm as you fall against him, cradling your cheek and kissing you deeply.

But like the kiss you shared in his dining room those few days ago, floorboards creak in the back of your mind, cutting this one short. They’re reminding you that you will soon need to return home and pretend not to know the taste of Eddie’s lips and the feeling of his arms around you.

And frankly, by the end of the first week, you are already growing tired of having to pretend.

It’s not that you give yourselves away because you don’t. Eddie waves at your Pa over the fence and skirts his eyes from you— never cruelly, only in the way you both had planned— and your father doesn’t suspect a thing. When Eddie brings over a pail of milk so you can churn it to make butter, Mama’s face is carefree when you pass it to her. But your desire is no longer contained to fields and creekbeds; it rises up in the night as your yearnings bid you dip your fingers beneath your nightgown. You draw them through sticky folds and dip them inside the well of your arousal, seeking the smoldering fire that burns within. But you can never make yourself feel the way Eddie does, no matter how hard you try.

So when you wake again in the middle of the night, this time, you light a candle, scratching a hasty message onto a scrap of paper. And the next morning, you fold your message carefully, tuck it beneath the waistband of your apron, and reach your arm up to the elbow into that rotted stump, leaving it there for Eddie to find.

The night air is heavy with humidity and the chirping of crickets and cicadas, but you leave the window open. You’re laying in your bed, breathing slow and even, staring at a thin crack in your plaster ceiling to keep your nervousness from overwhelming you. Your parents had retired to bed some time ago; you heard the creaking of the floorboards then, and now, if you concentrate, you can hear the chainsaw snoring of your Pa through both closed doors.

He is sleeping, and Ma is sleeping, and so should you be. But you are waiting— waiting for your best friend to climb through your open window and join you in your bed.

You are waiting for it, but your heart leaps nonetheless when you hear scuffling at the bedroom window. You sit up, and all at once, he’s there, dark eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight. Eddie’s form is near shapeless as he creeps toward your bed, but you would recognize him anywhere; his weight has never dipped the mattress beside you, but it feels exactly as you would expect when one knee sinks beside your calf, only to be joined by the other in the next second. Slowly, feeling around in the dark, Eddie settles his weight on top of you. He is heavy and hot as he presses you into the mattress with his belly and chest; his curls tickle across your clavicle, smelling overwhelmingly like his natural musk in the stagnant air of your bedroom. When he kisses you hello, his mouth tastes slightly sour, as if the heat of the long day and the exertion of scaling the side of your house has dehydrated him.

Eddie is heavy, hot, musky, sour, and here, here in your bedroom with you.

It’s everything you could want.

When he breaks your kiss, it’s all you can do to keep from pouncing on him. “Eddie—” you whine, nuzzling the firm bridge of your nose against the side of his as your hands seek the bottom of his thin shirt blindly, tugging insistently though ineffectually.

He shushes you gently, dropping a peck on your pouting lips before dipping to your neck to murmur against the soft skin there. “Shh—” his breath hushes warm and damp against your skin, and your head tips back of its own accord, begging for more. “You gotta be real quiet, turtle dove,” he whispers. “Don’t want anyone to hear us.”

Your breath deepens as his lips trail down to your collarbone, grazing kisses as he mosies his way down to your chest. In the humid dark, you feel his callused fingers pull down the loose neckline of your nightgown. Eddie says something, and you feel the vibrations of his words against the swell of your breast, but your heart which thumps wildly in your chest and the wooshing of your breath in your ears have rendered you effectively deaf.

“E—” You manage only the first soft sound of his name before his lips close over your nipple for the first time, sucking firmly. Your hand flies to his head as your body goes rigid; your mouth falls open in a ragged gasp as pleasure jolts straight down to throb between your legs. You squirm against him until he presses your hip down with one broad hand to keep you from rocking the bed, working the nub with his tongue and teeth until your gasping breaks into a faint but audible whimper.

You are dazed when he releases you with a wet pop, murmuring against your breast a little more loudly now, “I guess Harrington was right about that, after all. That bodes well.”

You wrinkle your nose as Eddie crawls back up your body to settle over you. Your legs open automatically to accommodate him, but you’re too preoccupied to fully appreciate the feeling of his hardness pressing against your inner thigh. Frowning lightly, you hiss in a whisper, “What’re you doin’ talkin’ to Steven Harrington, of all people?”

“Never you mind that,” Eddie whispers back, and he heads off your protest with a warm palm cupping the side of your neck, his fingers cradling your jaw. “The conversation is too delicate to discuss with a lady, so I’ll just tell you that… well, he told me to do what I just did, and you liked it, right?”

Though embarrassed heat rushes to your cheeks, you nod your head jerkily, enough so he can feel it even if he doesn’t see it in the dark. “Okay, so… he also said there’s a spot.” His hand leaves your cheek to graze down between your bodies, ghosting lightly against the loose fabric pooled between your legs. “Somewhere I can touch you, down here, that’ll make you have a fit if I do it good enough.”

Your bewilderment rushes up in a tangle of sputtered and furious whispers. “Have a fit?! Ed, what on God’s green Earth makes you think I wanna have a fit?”

Eddie huffs. “It’s a good thing, y/n. He said girls really like it.”

Your skepticism is plain as you retort, “Oh, did he now?”

“Yes.” Eddie is uncharacteristically earnest and solemn, and that’s what finally gives you pause. When you’re quiet, he whispers, “I wanna make you feel so good, my sweet girl. If you let me. Will you let me?”

In the humid dark of your bedroom, with only the moon to glaze the side of Eddie’s pale face in cool, subtle light, you look into the darkness of his eyes and feel so many stirrings inside… anticipation, nervousness, desire. But in the end, it’s the deepest stirring of all that convinces you, the one that’s been growing slow and steady over the last ten years.

Trust.

You trust Eddie, more deeply than you’ve trusted any other person in your life, and that trust is what draws you forward into a tentative kiss.

Your lips part briefly from his before meeting again more firmly. Eddie rumbles low in his throat, and when his lips open to deepen the kiss, yours follow. You allow him to lick into your mouth, to draw his tongue across your teeth, to press closer until the way he’s kissing you is hot, deep, wet, and urgent.

When Eddie breaks away, his eagerness is plain in the panting of his breath, the quivering of his arms when you draw your fingertips down his biceps, feeling the hot skin there. “That’s my turtle dove,” he hushes against your mouth, and he sounds so proud and pleased with you that you can’t help but whimper.

Despite his eagerness, Eddie is careful when he climbs off of you to settle at your side, pulling you against him and turning you in his grasp so your back is to his front. Your head falls to the soft down pillow as you feel him work your nightgown up your body, pulling the fabric from where it’s wedged between you. There is the slightest relief from the humidity as your legs, then your hip, then your intimate places are exposed to the air, but you rush even hotter when Eddie’s lips find the shell of your ear so he can murmur, “Spread your legs for me, y/n.”

Trembling, you lift your knee, and his fingers catch against the plush of your thigh, pulling it back over his hip. He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your eye. “That’s it; good girl.”

Your breath shudders in your chest as Eddie’s fingers leave your thigh; you throb with anticipation as they ghost over your hip and tummy before dragging through the soft curls covering your mound. “Tell me when it feels the best,” Eddie whispers, resting the side of his temple on top of yours. The weight of his head is grounding as he begins to explore you slowly with one finger, dragging up and down with no apparent pattern to his movements.

As the moments pass, you relax in his grip, settling into the feeling of his finger dragging through your folds. He doesn’t seem to intend to put them inside you, and what he’s doing feels quite nice, pleasant, almost soothing. The crook of Eddie’s elbow rests against the curve of your ribs, and as your eyes slip closed, you seek his arm with your palm, stroking softly down to his wrist as it moves slowly between your legs—

You jolt as he grazes against something that makes pleasure fizz in a sudden burst, leaving your belly feeling hotter, tighter. As your hips jump, Eddie pauses, his breath catching as he tries to replicate what he’d just done. When it happens again— when pleasure sparks suddenly so might brighter than anywhere else— Eddie’s arm tightens excitedly around your side.

“S’that it?” his voice is a little too loud in his excitement, and you tightly clutch his wrist. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispers, though the urgency hasn’t left his voice. “That’s it, though, isn’t it? Feels better when I touch you there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, voice small and needy. Eddie dips his hand to draw a sloppy circle briefly around your entrance before returning to the apex of your heat— that place that had tingled when he licked you on the creekbed, you now realize, though the thought hadn’t crossed your mind until you felt that pleasure again. When he presses against it again, his fingertip glides much more smoothly now; it felt good before, but now it feels even better.

Eddie continues moving his finger slowly and lightly at first as he waits for your reaction, but when you don’t tense or pull away, his actions become more confident. Your pleasure builds under his careful ministrations; he works you slowly but steadily up into a frenzy of heaving breasts, muffled whines, and writhing hips. You begin to arch your ass back against him, grinding slowly, your tender skin dragging against the soft cotton of his pants until you find that stiffness like a brand against your cheek. You press hard against it, rolling your hips only a few times before Eddie grunts and pulls his hand from between your legs, shifting back away from you.

You know what comes next as you hear the rustling of his clothing; you take the opportunity to catch your breath as he works himself out of his pants, but the wind leaves you just as quickly when he presses back up against you, hard and silky smooth as he guides himself blindly, bumping against your wet, puffy lips. Suddenly overwhelmed with need, you lift your leg higher, whimpering breathily as you reach down between your legs in an attempt to help him. “Fuck’n… c’mon,” Eddie hisses, nudging first too high, then too low, and then—

Then he sinks right in.

It’s the easiest glide, the sweetest stretch, and simultaneously you and Eddie moan as he slides all the way home. “Oh, baby, baby,” he pants desperately against your cheek, “fuck, that’s… oh, my God—”

You reach up over your shoulder to bury your fingers in his curls, and when he pulses inside you, your breath hitches with the force of your desire, your overwhelming need to have him move. “Eddie, please…” you whine, nearly beside yourself, and his hand clamps to your hip like a vice, holding you still as he pulls out and pushes right back in.

You sag with relief as he wastes no time in beginning to fuck you, splitting you open so deliciously on his cock. Eddie pounds you over and over again like he had those times before, but what you don’t anticipate is how that hand on your hip slinks down between your legs again.

You strangle your cry in your throat as he finds that spot so easily as if he’d been drawn to it. You whimper through clamped lips as quietly as you can as Eddie presses tight little circles to your bud, pumping into you from behind. Your fingers wrench from his curls to clamp instead around his forearm; the tendons roll under your fingers rhythmically, and your pleasure begins to build so rapidly it’s nearly frightening.

"That's it, baby,” Eddie encourages you, “You feelin’ good?"

You nod frantically; something is tightening inside you, growing more than it ever has. "Gonna keep goin' til I get you there," Eddie promises breathlessly, panting out the words between his thrusts. "Don't care how long it takes. I got you, sweetheart. Want you to have a fit."

"Eddie," you whine quietly, dumbly; only his name can spill from your lips now. "Ed, E-Eddie, Eddie—"

Your pathetic sounds drive him to fuck you faster, and as he does, your pleasure tightens further, burning hotter, throbbing more and more until the urge to cry out overwhelms you.

Abruptly, you curl your shoulders forward away from him, snatching up the pillow and burying your face in the soft down to muffle the sound of your moans.

You’re still connected where it matters, though Eddie pauses in his movements when you draw away before he realizes what you’re doing. Your sweaty back is exposed to the air for only a moment before he’s following you, unwilling to tolerate any distance— his chin hooks around your shoulder as his hips rut against your ass and his fingers press circles into your clit.

"Bein' so good for me,” Eddie rasps in your ear, “using your pillow to keep yourself quiet so your parents don't hear the way I'm fuckin' you in your bed."

Your moans turn to quiet cries now, rhythmic and constant as your legs squeeze closed around his wrist. And he doesn’t falter; through the plush of your thighs, Eddie fucks you determinedly, thrusting into your fluttering pussy as you gasp and cry raggedly into your pillow. "My girl,” he moans. “They can't take you from me. No one can."

As that feeling builds and grows, instinct in your body takes over, guiding you where it wants to go. Mindlessly, you begin to grind back on Eddie’s cock, rolling your hips; he pulls his wrist from between your legs, holding onto your hip as he matches the rhythm of your movements. Almost desperately, Eddie drags his open mouth across your cheek, panting out his earnest desire for you. "Come on, turtle dove. That's it—"

With a soft, hoarse cry, you finally spasm around him.

The pleasure gapes like a yawn inside you before tightening and bursting outward in a tingling rush, flooding you with mindless euphoria. The intensity of the feeling would be truly frightening had Eddie not been right there behind you, holding you against the solid comfort of his body, whining into your hair. He pumps into you only a few more times before pulling out, and then you feel him spill against your flank. The warm spread of his spend paints your skin, the graze of his cockhead like a hot brand as he squeezes out every drop.

In the aftermath, there is a moment of dazed silence. The only sound that fills your humid bedroom is the chirp of the crickets and the rush of your breaths puffing in unison. When you’ve recovered enough, you break that silence to whisper emphatically, "Oh, Christ on a cracker, Ed, what in the hell was that?!"

Eddie snorts before burying his face hastily into your neck, muffling his chuckles against your skin as your cheeks rush with embarrassment. “Well, don’t laugh at me,” you insist, heating more when he lifts his head and snatches you up by the chin, smacking a firm, playful kiss to your cheek.

“You’re cute,” he murmurs, following up his kiss with two shorter ones before letting you go to wipe your hip off with the bottom of the shirt he’s still wearing.

Your body thrums with contentment, but when the mattress shifts as Eddie climbs carefully down to pull his pants back on, the moment becomes tinged with melancholy. Your eyes track the vague shape of his body for a moment before you whisper, “I wish you could stay, Ed.”

For a moment, all you hear is a heavy sigh, one that leaks with the sadness you’re both beginning to feel. “Me too, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers back. “Can I lay with you, just for a little while?”

The question transforms your sadness into a sharp and poignant swelling— pleasant but painful all at once. “Of course.” You reach blind fingers in the direction of his neck, and Eddie ducks closer so you can draw them through his curls— no longer silky like they were the night of the dinner, yet beloved even more for their frizziness. “I’d really like you to.”

As you laze with Eddie above your bedcovers, tucking your cheek against the side of his chest, sleep begins to swallow the pain of knowing Eddie cannot stay. Only vaguely do you notice when the bed shifts and the warmth pressed to your side unsticks from your sweaty skin, both a relief and a loss; you feel the brush of lips against your forehead and your closed lids, featherlight and delicate; you hear the scuffle of Eddie climbing back out the window to scale the side of your blue roost and return to his red one next door.

Sleep swallows the pain of knowing Eddie cannot stay. But, though Eddie cannot stay, a part of him is always with you, and it has been for some time now. The evidence of your love is nestled safe inside your body; it is an inevitability ten years in the making, now ten days conceived.

You wake the following morning with an overwhelming desire to have Eddie in your mouth.

Maybe it’s an odd urge to have so suddenly, but you suppose after your adventurousness last night, your curiosity to try new things must be piqued. You glance around your room, and the only evidence of Eddie’s visit is that your bedsheets more rumpled than usual, so you straighten them out before tying your housecoat around your body and wandering downstairs.

There you find Mama in the kitchen, who is busying herself with the stove until she notices you’re awake. “Morning!” Your greeting is chipper, and she returns your greeting with a smile. As you breakfast together, all feels usual aside from the absence of Pa at the table; she explains that he’s been speaking with a rancher some towns over about possibly purchasing a new horse. You flash with worry, but she soothes it with a pat of her hand atop yours. “Don’t fret. We’re not replacin’ Guinnie, silly girl,” she huffs with some amusement. “We all know that Pa might’ve bought her, but that’s your horse. I told him it’s high time to get one of his own.”

You sag with visible relief, and Mama’s huff turns to a chuckle. “I’m goin’ into town this morning to pick up some things,” she tells you. “You wanna tag along?”

You open your mouth to say yes, but falter as your belly burns with the sudden realization of this opportunity— Pa gone, Mama in town, Eddie just beyond the fence with the stump in between.

“I was actually thinkin’ I could work on my embroidery this morning,” you reply instead. “Finish the hoop for Mr. Munson, maybe.” You smile innocently. “Then I can start on my 4H hoop!”

There’s no reason for Mama to doubt your sincerity, so she doesn’t. And when, an hour later, you wave your embroidery hoop high in the air from your rocking chair as she sets off down the road, she doesn’t question the call of the turtle dove, nor the cackle of the crow that answers.

The hay in the barn loft is soft under your knees, providing a pleasant cushion while you satisfy your desire with kitten licks along the fat head of Eddie’s cock, kneeling between his spread legs. He tastes as you would expect, though you’d only been thinking about the taste for half a morning. It’s salty, a little musky from the heat, the same way his dark curls smell. Occasionally, beads of liquid shine at the tiny slit at the tip, and when you lick them up, they’re more bitter than the rest. Not pleasant, but not unpleasant either, and the sounds Eddie’s making for you right now more than compensate for it.

When you flick your tongue against that dribbling slit, his breath hitches; when you lick a fat stripe up the underside of his cock, he moans. And when you swallow him down, engulfing him in the wet heat of your eager mouth, he gasps some strangled sound that makes you giggle around him.

Eddie’s hips jolt and squirm when you do, and your eyes pop open to find him looking nearly pained. “F— oh, f— shit,” Eddie finally settles on, and you would smile if you weren’t so full of him right now.

You’ve been exploring him in this new way for a little while, so your curiosity has nearly been sated. Nearly, because you have one thing yet to taste— his seed. And you really want to know what it will feel like to have him spill onto your tongue, to have that hot flesh jerk and pulse within you, to have him feeling just as good as he made you feel yesterday.

So you begin to bob your head, sloppily at first, uneven until you figure out the right angle that keeps your teeth from grazing him and making him hiss. You hum apologetically around him, and his plush lips fall open as you take him a little further while making that sound. Eddie’s cheeks are flushed prettily, his hair like dark ink spilled across the hay as he moans for you. “Shit, baby, that feels so fuckin’ good.”

You rush with satisfaction, growing more enthusiastic as you bob faster, grasping the base to hold him upright so he doesn’t flop around so much. “That’s it,” Eddie pants, “That’s— oh—”

His hand finds the side of your head— not moving you, just resting there as you work him with your mouth and tongue, like he wants to feel the way you’re doting on him. You ignore the soreness in your jaw when his panting gets heavier, and your gaze flashes up to lock on his face— eyes hazy, brow pinched, skin flushed down his neck as he gasps, “Don’t stop, I’m… I’m gonna—”

You moan when he moans, and as you do, Eddie’s cock kicks within the wet heat of your mouth, spilling his seed. It’s thick and tangy, warm but not hot as it spurts to coat your tongue, and you wait motionlessly until the jerking subsides and his fingers relax against your hair.

Pulling off is a little sloppier than you anticipate, and you chuckle as some of his release leaks before you can fully close your mouth. You catch it with a hasty palm, meeting Eddie’s fond, dazed smile with one of your own, albeit closed-lipped on account of your mouth being occupied.

As you swallow him down, using your other hand to wipe your bottom lip, you hear the subtle creak of wood below you.

Your only thought is that you don’t want to look. But whether you look or not, it does not change who waits for you beyond the ledge of the hayloft. It was with a perverse sense of satisfaction that you’d imagined Pa’s face would turn purple at the sight of you with Eddie, but you knew, were it to actually occur, that the horror you would feel would leave you reeling.

Instead, you’re greeted with the sight of Mama’s features. They are pallid, so contorted with the force of her seething rage as to be near unrecognizable, and somehow, that is worse.

#blueywrites #td&tc #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie stranger things #eddie munson imagine #farmer!eddie #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson x fem!reader smut

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drunk-on-dk · 2 years

Text

Imperfectly Lovable | Yoon Jeonghan (m)

✦pairing: e2l,mutal friend!Yoon Jeonghan x fem!reader

✦genre: angst, smut (minors pls DNI)

✦wc: ~5.7k

warnings and smut beneath the cut

✦warnings: smut (once again, last warning, minors DNI), no specified pronouns, but reader has female anatomy, is the maid of honor, and wears a dress. Our man scoups is getting married, Enemies? to lovers, reader is a bit emotional and drained, soft dom Jeonghan, teasing, mentions of alcohol, fingering, unprotected sex (as always pls wear protection), deep/passionate sex, creampie – please let me know if I miss anything, my brain hurts.

✦an: this was an impulsive fic that I finished between writing two other fics, and wanted to post per a message I received since I thought some of you may enjoy it. I hope you all like it! Please note that this was lightly skimmed as means of proofreading, so there may be some changes when I get the chance to read through again with a clear mind lol

It felt like hours had passed since you first arrived at this bar, tired beyond belief after spending the whole day running around to help prepare for your best friend’s wedding tomorrow, and tonight’s rehearsal dinner was proving to be more work than one may imagine. You were miserable at this point; eyes heavy with a glass of overpriced vodka grasped a little too tightly in one hand whilst the other was threaded into your once put together, but now disarrayed curls. To be honest, you were counting down the minutes until the shuttle would take you back to your hotel, ready to kick your heels off and fall into bed.

The last thing you needed right now was for Jeonghan to appear, his mischievous chuckle informing you of his presence as he took the seat next to you at the bar, plucking the cherry garnish from your drink and popping it into his mouth. All you could muster up was a glare, tired eyes peering at him, opposite of his toothy grin and twinkling eyes.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you held up a hand, motioning for him not to speak, “please, Jeonghan, I have no tolerance to listen to whatever nonsense you have to say right now.”

Jeonghan had been on your nerve all day, albeit he was helpful throughout all the wedding preparations, but he was a constant annoyance during each task you’d ask him to complete.

Much to your dismay, you two ran in the same circle, both of you being friends of the bride and groom. Leah, the bride, had been your partner in crime all throughout college, and Seungcheol, the groom, was basically Jeonghan’s brother. Your friend groups had merged early on when Leah and Seungcheol started dating, the two groups joining organically due to being similar in nature.

Jeonghan was chosen as the best man, and you were chosen as the maid of honor. However, the downfall was that you two never had gotten along. Jeonghan had teased you incessantly all throughout college, never letting you rest whenever he’d spot you on campus and sabotaging all flings that you’d pursue on nights out. You couldn’t stand him, but you did your best to ignore him, typically brushing him off. To be honest, Jeonghan couldn’t stand you either and he couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. Maybe it was because you were a little too perfect in his eyes, annoyed by your façade that you had everything under control, and he had an unspoken goal to find out what made you tick. Those years were filled with constant bickering, endlessly pushing each other’s buttons until your friends would split you two up.

Jeonghan was really a kind, genuine person, so he wasn’t sure what it was about you that made him act out like this. The only instance he’d ever been relatively pleasant to you was when your situationship had abandoned you at the club, finding him in the corner with his tongue down another girl’s throat, and that led you to drinking a little too much for your own good. You ended up calling Jeonghan; bawling your eyes out from the curb outside the club and begging for him to come pick you up. Leah wasn’t answering your calls, and Jeonghan was one of the only people you knew who had a car on campus. He obliged, quickly driving over, and saving you from your despair. He didn’t utter a word the whole drive to your apartment, only occasionally humming out in agreement as you spewed out insults about the guy who broke your heart. He only spoke up when you had made a derogatory comment about yourself, telling you to never say out such a thing again and firmly stating that you deserved better. It was enough to shut you up until he dropped you off your place, jaw screwed shut and cheeks raw from the tears, heart pounding in shock that Jeonghan would say such polite things to you.

However, that proved to be a rare occurrence, and Jeonghan proceeded to continue with his shenanigans, pushing all your buttons up until graduation. Unfortunately, even after college, you two still frequently saw each other, but you remained civil. Typically, you tried to keep your distance, but this whole wedding has been making it all too difficult, which is why you’re stuck in this uppity bar next to the one and only menace in your life.

Jeonghan ignores you, grabbing the half drank glass from your hand and knocking the rest of it back himself, “don’t jump the gun, Y/N. I was going to ask, before you so rudely interrupted, if you wanted to head back to the hotel. I’m ordering an uber and thought you looked tired.”

You scoff, hating that he pointed out the obvious, “I am tired, Jeonghan. What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch, just a little tired myself to be honest.” You peered around, hoping to spot the special couple, but they were long gone themselves. Leah had bid you goodbye a while ago, avoiding having a hangover on her wedding day, and heading back to perform some selfcare. There wasn’t much keeping you at this bar anymore, and if Jeonghan was offering to pay for an uber, then you were going to tag along.

With a huff you stubbornly grab your purse and hop off the barstool, “I’m only going because you’re paying, and my bed is calling my name. Let’s head out.” Jeonghan can’t hide his smirk, teeth working at his bottom lip as he watches you walk away, hips swaying with each step. You only look back to give Jeonghan a questioning look, wondering what is taking him so long to call an uber. You were infuriating to him, but you were also vexingly attractive.

The ride back to the hotel was silent, the low hum of the car relaxing you as music played quietly in the background. It was enough to make you doze off, your head slowly drooping towards Jeonghan and eventually landing on his shoulder. He tensed at the contact, the soft strands of your hair tickling his neck as you subconsciously nuzzled into him, the sensual aroma of your perfume filling the air around him.

He hated moments like this, moments where he questioned what went wrong with your friendship. What made you two dislike each other so much, and why did you both drive each other mad? There were moments that he realized you weren’t so perfect, noticing today when you broke your calm demeaner upon finding out that the flower delivery would be delayed by an hour. For the first time ever, he feared you, listening rather than fighting back when you ordered him to drive to the flower shop himself and pick up the bouquets and arrangements. He suppressed all emotions of endearment he felt, not liking the way his heart warmed at how much you seemed to care about this wedding when it wasn’t even your own.

The halting of the car is what woke you, your head snapping up from his shoulder to compose yourself before slipping out of the uber, muttering a polite thank you to the driver. Jeonghan hesitantly followed you, joining you in the elevator as you sleepily leaned against the wall. You were both on the same floor due to the bridal party having rooms within the same wing of the hotel, and part of him was relieved that he could make sure you made it back to your room safely.

Before swiping your key to enter your own room, you turned to face Jeonghan, clearing your throat to gain his attention before his disappeared into the safety of his own. “Can we establish a truce, specifically for tomorrow? Let’s please just be actually civil for one day?”

Jeonghan doesn’t have it in him to tease you, reluctantly nodding and holding his hand out to shake your smaller one. You seem pleased by his quick agreement, your face washing over with relief before slipping into your room.

The wedding was ceremony was beautiful, and, thankfully, everything had gone smoothly. Really, Jeonghan could have sworn and argued that it went smoothly because of you. You didn’t let Leah or Seungcheol stress out once, ensuring that everything was taken care of and constantly soothing the bride. You remained composed the whole morning, making sure everything was in place and in tip-top shape. However, Jeonghan knew the effect it had on you when he looped his arm around yours before entering the ceremony, you were shaking like a leaf, nervousness and anxiety wracking your body throughout the entire event.

You would hold it together all day; all throughout the pictures and in between the ceremony and reception. Even giving a stellar maid of honor toast to further celebrate the bride and groom. Jeonghan refrained from any teasing, making sure to help you with any of your duties as much as he could, hoping to take some of the anxiety away.

Even after all these years of pushing you to the edge, Jeonghan realized he hated seeing you in this state. You weren’t perfect, your façade was just a protective shell to prevent concerning those around you, never wanting to burden or disappoint others. You cared all too much for the people in your life, he could see it in your eyes as you watched Leah and Seungcheol have their first dance, eyes watery with admiration and a sadness that he couldn’t pinpoint.

Rather than watching the bride and groom, Jeonghan found himself watching you underneath the hazy glow of the chandelier, soft skin illuminating in the warm light, and something in him turned fuzzy. He no longer wanted to fight back and forth with you, he wanted to take back all the years of bantering and start over. Jeonghan couldn’t stop himself from rising from his seat the second a stray tear rolled down your cheek, sitting in the vacant bridesmaid chair next to you as people gathered around the dance floor to watch the first dance.

You gave Jeonghan a weary smile, hurriedly brushing away your tears as he gazed at you differently than he ever had before. You felt your cheeks heat up at his expression, his handsome features making you feel a bit flustered as his tender eyes glanced at you, handing you the handkerchief from his front pocket.

You whispered a quiet thank you under your breath, using his handkerchief to collect the tears welling in the corner of your eyes. Jeonghan softly smiled in return, a comforting hand grabbing yours as you both turned your attention back to the bride and groom. Your heart raced at the way his hand felt in yours, the blood in your fingers feeling staticky at the way his thumb gently rubbed up and down your palm. The feeling was foreign to you, and you weren’t sure if you were feeling this way because it was out of character for Jeonghan, or if something had changed.

You weren’t even paying attention to the wedding anymore, the first dance music sounding distant in your head as you tried not to look at Jeonghan, your heart rate and breathing increasing each second his hand held yours. You hadn’t even noticed that you finished your champagne flute, Jeonghan letting out a quiet chuckle when you tried sipping from your empty drink.

Eventually, the first dances had come to an end, and much to your surprise Jeonghan stood up with your hand still in his, asking “would you like to dance with me, Y/N? I think it’s our duty as the maid of honor and best man to do so.”

You weren’t sure you could manage such a request with how fragile your heart felt, but you agreed due to the truce from the other night. Everything felt like a game with Jeonghan, but his intentions seemed innocent today. “How could I deny such a rare proposition?”

Something sour seemed to take over Jeonghan’s face at your comment, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, guiding you out to join him for a slow dance with the rest of the wedding attendees.

As much as you hated to admit it, the way your body molded against Jeonghan’s so perfectly scared you. It was too natural how he pulled you close to him, head resting against his firm chest as one hand remained grasped yours and the other fell to your lower back, holding you against him. Jeonghan prayed you couldn’t hear the pounding of his heart, breathing slowly in hopes that you couldn’t tell how this scared him as well. Jeonghan was questioning everything he knew about you, cursing himself for being so unbearable to you all these years. No wonder you put up with him for so long, you only cared about pleasing those around you, and if it meant hanging out and putting up with him, then so be it. Jeonghan regretted running you thin for so long, but he was unsure how to ever make it up to you.

Jeonghan watched as your eyes fluttered shut, pretty lashes sitting atop your blushed cheeks, swaying you gently to the beat as he really took in your appearance for the first time. He determined that he preferred the way you looked when you looked safe and content in his arms, rather than the way you’d roll your eyes at him and turn away. Jeonghan didn’t want this moment to end, but for now, this was more than he could have ever wished for.

Jeonghan helped you to another glass of champagne once the slow dance ended, the music becoming more upbeat as the night became chaotic, drunken friends and family taking over the dance floor. You two eventually end up joining all your friends at the center of the dance floor, laughing joyously as random dance moves were created and copied within the group.

Eventually, you find yourself pulling away from the crowd, feeling a bit run down and tipsy, and needing some fresh air. It was becoming late at night and soon the venue would be ushering you all out. You found yourself sitting on the stairway outside of the reception area, setting your champagne flute next to you as you looked up to the starry sky.

You felt emotional all the sudden, heavy tears that you held back earlier betraying you and falling down your cheekbones every time you blinked. You’ve never felt so lonely in your entire life, wishing to have a companion like how Leah had Seungcheol, but everyone you’ve ever imagined yourself with has failed you. Were you unlovable? Were you hard to reach? You cared too much about others, but were you bad at showing it?

As if on cue, Jeonghan joins you for the second time that you found yourself crying for the night. Plopping next to you on the stairs, he leans back to evaluate your state. Part of you feels relieved to have him next to you again.

His jaw is slacked open, unsure of what to say this time, tipsier than he was before. Panicking, he utters out the first thing that came to mind, “stop crying, you are kind of ugly when you cry, you know that?” Jeonghan immediately regrets it, he wasn’t even sure why he said such thing, it wasn’t even the truth, you still looked beautiful as ever. He regrets it even more when you snap your head towards him, looking more hurt than he’s ever seen you.

“Fuck,” you choke out, a look of disbelief taking over your features. The space between your eyebrows wrinkled in bewilderment and incredulity, evaluating if he was messing with you or not. “Should have known you’d always be dick no matter what, Jeonghan. It’s like I can’t catch a break.”

You’re quickly standing up from your spot, mad at yourself for ever allowing yourself to feel that comfortable around Jeonghan. Even if he had been agreeable today, you should have known to never let your guard down around him. However, he’s grabbing your wrist before you can rush away.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N,” his other hand is running through his dark hair, voice sounding shaky as he tries to come up with an apology. “I’m not sure why I even said that…it’s not even true.”

You’re trying to break from his grasp, arm desperately shaking him off as his grip tightens around your wrist. You give up, pathetically staring back at him with disdain, “Then why would you even say such a thing? Is it your soul purpose in life to mess with me?”

He loosens his grip, feeling like he’s really fucked up this time. You seem to soften too, noticing how a glint of regret flickers in his brown orbs. “No, not at all,” he’s stuttering out, tripping over his own words as he tries to make amends, “I wish I could start over, fuck, I only ever teased you because you were always too perfect, too untouchable. However, I’m realizing that isn’t the case.”

You become irritated again, wanting to stop listening to whatever he has to say before he can hurt you anymore, but he doesn’t let you leave. “Listen to me, Y/N, I’m not messing with you. My mind has been what’s been messing with me, I regret ever teasing you the way I did, no wonder you’re skeptical of me.” Tears are brimming your eyes again, your lip is quivering as you refrain from saying anything else to Jeonghan. He continues, taking your silence as a cue to keep going, “I don’t want to be that way anymore; I can see how much you care for those around you, how you carry so much burden for others, how you graciously go on even when you’re crumbling. Fuck, all I have to say, is I’m sorry for ever being a burden. And dammit, you’re fucking beautiful, Y/N, and I’m lucky to even have had you in my life all these years.”

It could be the passion of the moment, but you’re wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling your body into his like he had earlier in the night. Your lips crash against his, and Jeonghan wastes no time falling into your rhythm. It’s heavy and messy, noses and teeth clashing as you desperately kiss him. Only do you break the kiss to breathe out, “I hate you, Jeonghan, but fuck I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

Jeonghan almost whines, hands wrapping around your lower back to hold you closer than humanly possible, “what can I do to fix this? Fix us? How can I make things up to you?”

“Just keep kissing me,” you groan out and he’s biting at your lower lip, “this is so wrong, but, fuck, we can work it out later.” His lips reattach to yours, hands trailing up your sides to cup your face as his tongue slips into your mouth. He tastes like champagne, the flavor all too familiar and memorable just like him.

You feel the impending heat of your arousal in the pit of your stomach, only making you feel hotter when you feel the hardness of Jeonghan’s growing erection pressing into you. You’re hyper aware that you’re outside, fully exposed to the reception taking place inside, but no one seems to take notice of your two bodies pressed against each other in a frenzy. Nor would any ever suspect it would be you two.

“God, Jeonghan,” you moan lowly when his lips trail down your jaw to your exposed collarbone, “I know what you can do to make it up to me.”

Your hands are gripping his suit jacket as he’s humming into your collarbone, nipping gently at the skin, “what can I do?”

“I just need you to fuck me,” you whisper out, gasping as he sucks harshly at the same spot, only doing so crueler upon hearing your request. “Let us work out all these years of frustration, show me how you truly feel about me.”

He’s massaging your hipbones, holding you tightly as he lets out a subdued growl into your neck, “I love the sound of that, but where do we even go, sweetheart?” He’s peering into the reception hall, evaluating a quick route that avoids all your friends, hot breath splaying over your skin as you pathetically hold onto him.

Your brain is running a mile a minute, unable to think straight with the way Jeonghan kisses all over your decolletage so affectionately. “There’s a dressing room upstairs, we can go there,” you’re breathing out, attempting to push Jeonghan off you before you make any other rash decisions, “no one will even see us walk by.”

The wedding party is in the thick of their celebration currently, with most of the crowd on the dance floor or tied up at the bar. Jeonghan agrees, pulling you in front of him to hide his oh-so-obvious erection and leading you inside. You guide him towards the stairway outside of the main reception hall, leading him upstairs towards the spare dressing room. This was used earlier to touch up on all the bridal party’s makeup and drop your bags off, but you assumed it hasn’t been used since.

Thankfully, there was a lock on the door, which Jeonghan was sure to turn upon closing the door behind himself. Jeonghan didn’t hesitate once the door was locked, long fingers wrapping behind your neck and roughly pulling you in for a deep kiss. You were addicting now that he had a taste of you, your plush lips tasting like the sweetest candy.

Jeonghan’s hands reached behind you, deft fingers working at the corset that held your dress up and pulling the bodice loose. Your fingers were quick to unbutton his top and undo his tie, pulling the fancy clothing articles off his upper half. Your hands felt fiery against his skin, nails running up and down his chest as he carefully dragged your dress down your curves.

Both of you gasped at the contact of bare skin, breasts pressed firmly against his chest as he continued kissing you. His hands wandering down to your bare ass, palming firmly at the plush muscle, and coaxing a moan from you at how rough his hands felt on your skin. Your tongues battle for dominance as he continues to grope you, gently snapping your elastic thong against your hips before sliding it down your legs.

His fingers found their way between your legs, hastily touching you exactly where you needed him the most. However, Jeonghan determined he was going to take his time with you in order to show you how he truly felt. He slowed down, running his fingers between your folds and collecting your slick between them.

He groaned lowly, “sweetheart, are you really this wet for me?”

You’re nodding against his shoulder, using his body to hold you up as he teasingly pushes two fingers into your entrance, palm rubbing against your clit at he does so. There’s a lounge chair in the corner of the room, and Jeonghan guides you over to it, sitting you down on the lush velvet surface. He kneels beneath your legs, almost drooling at the sight of you being so open for him, breasts on display and a misty look in your eyes. Your curls are a bit messy from being tousled and your skin is a bit more flushed than usual. Just when he thought you couldn’t be more beautiful, you prove him wrong.

He takes his time, fingers slipping into your wet heat slowly, slightly curling as you gasp out in pleasure. He’s kissing your inner thigh as he does so, innocent eyes glancing up at you as he works his fingers in and out of you. You’re panting, feeling overwhelmed at the way he looks at you and how good he feels just from touching you. Jeonghan can see how your chest rises and falls with each breath you take, lungs sputtering as he picks up his pace.

Experimentally, his fingers scissor inside of you, making your hips buck from the immense pleasure as he strikes a new chord inside of you. His jaw is slack as he learns more about your body, groaning into your skin when a hand of yours wraps itself in his hair, tugging on his wavy locks and pulling him closer as if to encourage him to use his tongue.

He understands your indication, kissing up your inner thigh until he gently sucks at your clit. The moan you let out is like music to his ears when he adds his tongue to the mix, continuing to curl his fingers in and out of you.

Your moans are high pitched, but not too loud, only enough for him to hear. This pleases him, only wanting to hear such desirable noises himself, and thankful you’d grant him permission to hear such a thing.

You’re grinding into his face now, needily chasing your high as his tongue fucks into you, nose messily pressing into your clit. He’s a starved man, and your pussy might just be his saving grace. Jeonghan is only encouraged more when you fall back onto the lounge chair, back arching in indulgence as one leg hooks over his shoulder.

“Jeonghan,” you’re a moaning mess up until he works your first orgasm from you, gasping as your body shakes in pure bliss. “You-your tongue… f-feels so good.”

Jeonghan is smirking, continuing to lick into you as you come down from your high, hips bucking in overstimulation as he presses his tongue flat against your clit. Once he feels like he’s worked you completely through your orgasm, he stands up to quickly pull his pants and underwear off, throwing the garments to the opposite side of the room.

“Now, sweetheart,” Jeonghan coos, kneeling between your legs that willingly stay open for him and welcome him in, “let me really make it up to you.”

Jeonghan takes note of your lust-ridden eyes, basking in how you look him up and down, eyes widening when they land on his cock. He’s so hard, he can’t even wait to run the length between your folds, hesitating briefly to check in with you.

“I don’t have a condom, but I’m clean,” he cursorily explains, panicking upon realizing this moment could come abruptly to an end.

You’re so tired at this point, desperate to feel Jeonghan inside of you, that you don’t even care. Plus, you’re on the pill, and you’re quick to mention that to him. “Don’t care, ‘m clean too, and on birth control.”

He loves how you’re like putty in his hands, immediately moving closer to you upon being granted permission, holding himself over you with his elbow as he runs his head between your folds. You’re arching into him again, his supporting arm sliding underneath your lower back to keep you pressed against him as he prods his length into you. He wants to take it slow, but when you let out a whiney moan, he can’t help but push his cock deeper into you.

The sound you let out is so low, so wanton that he hisses into your neck, biting your shoulder to practice some self-restraint as your walls suck him in. He’s so big, his length gradually filling you up until you’re stuffed to the brim.

You two stay like this for a second, wide eyes staring into each other’s as he gently brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The moment is so tender, that you truly can’t believe you two have spent most of your relationship bickering.

Jeonghan swears he could stay pressed against you like this forever, but the second your walls clench around him, he can’t help but shallowly thrust into you. There are those sounds again, the melodious cries of yours that have his head spinning. He swears he could fuck you all day if it meant he could hear listen to you like this. Jeonghan also swears your body was made for his, your pert nipples pressing into his skin, stomach pressing into his, and collarbones on display for his enjoyment.

“God, sweetheart,” he’s groaning out, cock thrusting into you at a quicker pace now, making sure to fill you up to the max each time. “I meant it when I said you’re beautiful.”

The tip of his cock hits your g-spot every time, slowly and deliberatively, and you’re a babbling mess as you cry out a thank you in response. You’re not even sure what you’re thanking him for, whether it was for the compliment, how good he was treating you, or how amazing he was making you feel. It was likely a thank you for all the above.

You’ve never had someone make you feel so good from fucking you this slowly, his touch set your body ablaze, everything feeling intentional and all too real. His pelvis added extra stimulation, the friction from each rock of his hips rubbing against your clit and making you wail out in pleasure.

However, you were growing needier, even though you appreciated Jeonghan taking his time with you. You needed him closer to you, deeper in you, you needed more, more, more. You push him away much to his confusion, only to flip over and realign your entrance to his cock.

Jeonghan understood exactly what you wanted, filling you back up until his hips were pressed flush against your ass. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he pulls you up to press your back flat against his chest, large hands squeezing both your breasts as he bucks his hips up into you. His fingers work meticulously at your nipples, pinching and rolling the sensitive buds as your head lolls back onto his shoulder. You’re helping him by slightly bouncing on his cock, his low groans against your neck encouraging you to keep going.

“So deep, Jeonghan,” you’re crying out, hand reaching behind you to tangle itself in his hair. His lips found purchase on your neck again, sure to leave light bruises this time as he spears you with his cock, hands massaging your boobs harsher as he continues to thrust into you.

“So gorgeous,” he’s groaning into your skin, “you deserve so much love, Y/N. Such a beautiful person. Please let me treat you right.”

You could cry again, you’re sure of it, your vision is blurry from the tears as he sloppily thrusts into you. The feeling is so intense, the arousal pooling in your stomach as he repeatedly hits the soft, spongey spot deep inside of you. You’re moldable against his body, the sound of his hips slamming into yours being the only reminder that you are two bodies and not one.

You’re whimpering out, letting Jeonghan know you’re close to your high. You’re begging for him to cum with you, cunt clenching around his length like a vice as the feeling of your approaching orgasm tenses your muscles like no other. You’re keening for your release, hips desperately grinding back into him.

Jeonghan is here to gratify you, wanting to make up all these years of ceaseless teasing to you somehow. “Tell me where you want me to cum, sweetheart,” he’s barely audible, his usually smooth voice sounding crackly as he refrains from cumming prematurely.

“Inside me,” you’re weeping, tears rolling down your cheeks for the nth time this week, but this time from immense pleasure as your pussy begins to spasm around him. “Please, Jeonghan, I can’t hold it anymore.”

That’s all he needs, grunting as he releases his cum inside of you, the feeling of your walls tightening around him becoming overwhelming as your hands grasp desperately at his arms wrapped around you. You’re holding onto him for dear life as you shake in his hold, the throbbing of your cunt making his hips stutter inside of you.

The satisfaction you both feel is overpowering, the two of you not daring to let each other go as both your breathing begins to slow. Goosebumps pebble your skin as Jeonghan’s thumb rubs gently over your stomach, hot kisses pressed against your back and down your spine as he slowly pulls you off him. He shivers at the feeling, missing the warmth of your heat as he begins to get redressed.

You look striking, laid out on the lounge as if you were basking in the sun. You were glowing, tear-stained cheeks and pouty lips being the only indication of the messy rendezvous that just took place. He takes his time cleaning you up, slipping your dress back on you, and lacing your corset back up.

Jeonghan is sure to keep your lacy panties though, slipping the flimsy garment in his front pocket, earning a giggle from you as you press into his body. You both are hesitant to rejoin the wedding downstairs, knowing how suspicious it may be if you are lovey-dovey, also considering how things will change after what just took place.

“Jeonghan,” you whisper out, your raw undereye from all the tears making Jeonghan feel sick to his stomach. He nods gently, hand brushing through your hair to urge you to continue to speak. “You’ve made it up to me a little, but please tell me you’ll continue. That’s how you’ll really make things up to me.”

Jeonghan pulls you in dearer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “Oh, Y/N, the past few days have shown me that’s all I want. Let me make it up to you for months and years to come.”

Jeonghan is sure to do so, the teasing bone never really leaving his body, but he treats you like the most important person in his life and makes you feel like you’re lovable, caring for you as much as you do for others. Jeonghan regrets taking so long to learn about your imperfections, but he swears he’ll cherish you for double the amount of time. Infinite if time allows him to.

#svthub #seventeen smut #svt smut #yoon jeonghan smut #jeonghan smut #jeonghan e2l #enemies to lovers smut #seventeen fic #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario

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raapija · 5 months

Note

Xan we get anything slightly angsty from the pookie au 🥺 theyre too content

Thank you for the prompt <3 I'm sorry for the late response. The amount of times I've started to write something, deleted it, started again, deleted, started, deleted... ugh... But now I've finally settled for this. I struggle to write angsty stuff, but I hope you like this one. It became a lot sadder than I anticipated...

This is inspired by this post, so give it a quick glance before reading.

this is set in 2020

summary: Lance calls Fernando after a tough day and it turns even worse.

warnings: angst, self-doubt, lance having a breakdown and fernando not helping

Lance sat on the edge of his bed. The clock on his hotel room wall was too loud. It made his ears tingle with each tick, driving him mad. He got up, went to pick the clock off the wall and pulled the batteries out. He carefully laid them onto a small table and then returned to sit on the bed, now cross-legged and looking down at his phone.

The black screen of his iphone taunted him, begged for him to pick it up. It was beautifully laid on the red satin cover of the bed. Lance fought between calling and not calling. Maybe he should just go for a run to clear his mind, but the idea of hearing Fernando's voice... He needed it right now. The race had been a total fluke, finishing dead last and he had rushed through the media pen to get back to his hotel. Everyone was staring at him again.

Lance grabbed the phone, taking a while before unlocking the screen and going to find Fernando's number. It was under 'Nano ♥', like it had been for years. The emoji at the end pulled on his heartstrings.

"Cariño?"

Lance sighed when he heard Fernando pick up.

"Lancito? You okay?"

"Yeah, uh..." Lance hurried to answer. He picked on a loose thread on a seam on his joggers. The words were harder to find than usual.

"I miss you." he got out. He let his head hang down, gripping his hair and squeezing his eyes shut.

"I miss you too, baby."

"I love you." Lance added, his voice barely audible. Tears started to fall down, staining the satin under him a dark shade of burgundy. He gripped his hair tighter, so hard it hurt.

"Yo también te quiero, cariño."

Fernando's voice was so smooth, so calm. A stark contrast to Lance's sobbing, which became louder and he had to hold a hand over his mouth to keep them inside.

"Don't cry. I hate hearing you cry."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry either."

"I'm sorry..." Lance whispered. He was always apologizing. Whatever it was. Especially to Fernando.

"What is it, churri? What is making you sad?"

"I had a bad race. They're writing stories about me again."

"Don't look at those. They don't know you."

"I feel like everyone's staring at me. Like they hate me."

"That's not true."

Lance wiped the tears off his face, taking a couple deep breaths to calm down. He sniffled, and then continued: "I know it's not true, but everyone else doesn't. My family, my friends, the guys on the grid... To them that's real."

"No, don't think like that. Your family loves you, your friends love you. I love you."

The word 'love' was losing meaning over distant phone calls. Lance hated it, hated it to his core. He wished Fernando would just come back and hold him. Touch him. Even be there to just look at him.

"Where are you right now?" Lance asked. He knew Fernando was in the Middle-East, doing some sort of a rally raid. He had so many things going on, that Lance struggled to keep up. It felt like Fernando was grabbing at everything he possibly could, finding ways to keep himself occupied instead of coming home, instead of staying still.

"Somewhere, always somewhere."

"But never here."

Lance felt like choking again. He missed him. Missed him so much it was killing him, tearing him apart. If he had known love could hurt you this much, he would've never let himself fall for Fernando.

"I'm tired of being in love and being alone."

"It's okay, I'll find you again."

"But you're so far away from me. You're always away. And I'm always alone."

"I love you, I'm coming back, lo prometo. Te amo."

Again. Love, love, love, echoing in Lance's ears. Two years. Two years Fernando had been away. They saw each other maybe once a month.

"I don't know how much longer I'll be able to wait."

There was a pause in Fernando's end, then a sigh, and Lance felt the tears start to well up in his eyes again.

"I'm trying."

"I need you."

"Cariño, I'm sorry. I promise I find a way back."

Empty promises. Fernando's specialty. Lance wanted to stab at him, right in the heart. A new emotion took over, anger.

"You sons miss you, too. Lando, Oscar and Carlos."

Another pause. His kids were always a way in. Lance took it as a chance to take control.

"You were there for all their life and then you go away like this. Why? Why now? You hold everyone together and now it's all falling apart. You say you love me, but you're never here to love me. You're away so much, it doesn't even feel like we're together anymore. Why?"

"I don't know..."

"Figure it out!" Lance cried. What he was about to say next tortured him, it felt like his soul was being ripped out of him. "I can't live like this. I've given you three years and you've given me nothing. Every day you just go further and further away. Like you want me to leave you."

"No. Never."

"It's what it feels like..." Lance choked out. He didn't even try to keep the tears in anymore. He was too tired of it all.

"You can not leave me. I love you. I find a way, I promise. Lance, you can't."

Lance gave out a pained groan at Fernando's pleading voice. He wanted to throw his phone at the wall. Wanted to scream at Fernando, hit him, kick him, make him understand how much it hurt.

"It's killing me. I give you chance after fucking chance. I'm done with it. I'll only give you one more. One more fucking... -If you don't come back, that's it. I won't ruin my whole life for you."

"I will."

"One chance."

"I promise, I will come to you. Lance, I promise. I lo-"

Lance hung up on him, gripping his phone tight and swinging his arm back to throw it, but he didn't. He instead crumbled down onto the bed, crying into the sheets. He wrapped his arms around himself to imagine it was someone else holding him.

Lance wanted him to come back, to knock on his door in the morning and hug him and kiss him. But a small part of him also wanted Fernando to stay away. That small part ate at him, growing bigger and bigger. Lance wanted to kill it; burn it with fire and never think of it ever again. But it became stronger every day, almost enough that it could take over. Only Fernando could make it go away. If he'd only come back.

#pookie au #nando and his mcnuggets #fic #is this good? please tell me it's good...#strollonso #lance stroll #fernando alonso #pre-aston strollonso

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elleloquently · 2 years

Text

invisible string [7] : ellie williams

part six

| college!ellie x female!reader - after suffering several rewrites, part seven is finally here! a huge thank you to everyone who has been so patient and supportive <3 also, i know it's typical to post the tag list at the top but there were quite a few people so it's at the bottom instead, sorry abt that! this part is a lil different so im kinda nervous hahahaha

| c/w - anxiety

your body carried you down the familiar path to class, but your mind felt absent.

you got there early, habit, but paced around in the cold until the very last minute. you knew ellie would be there, her habit - apparently, sitting and waiting in the seat next to yours and you felt unable to face her.

either you didn't truly know why you felt that way, or you were clinging onto the last dwindling thread of delusion that your mind allowed.

you liked ellie. you really liked ellie. and ellie... 'liked' you... too?

the minutes ticked by quicker than you could gather your thoughts and you made a break for the classroom, your fingers turned red from clutching onto your cold drink so tightly.

you were preoccupied and you had hardly even drank any of it. you frowned at your useless purchase. the ice was melting and the sight looked off-putting, but your stomach was hurting too much anyway to try and make it worthwhile with one last sip.

your idea to throw it away upon entering the classroom was short lived, as the professor was standing in the front of the room and you didn't want to cross the front to throw away your practically full beverage.

it sloshed in the cup and you winced, imagining your own stomach as it twisted.

ellie glanced up as you came around to your seat and the crease on her forehead disappeared immediately as her eyes landed on you. the idea of keeping a secret made you feel dirty, but you weren't sure if you were even actually keeping one.

"was worried you weren't coming or something," ellie muttered, glancing over as you claimed your spot next to her.

you smiled but didn't meet her eyes. the feeling of your heartbeat pounding in your ears was overwhelming.

"are you okay?" ellie asked, her voice a low whisper as she studied your expression.

you tried to focus instead on your notebook and laptop. you didn't want to be rude and you definitely found it difficult to resist ellie when she was staring at you like that, but you needed to clear your head. the idea of clearing your head sounded ridiculous though, and you thought maybe you hadn't had a clear head since the first day that ellie decided to speak to you in class.

ellie tapped her pen on your desk and you jumped, realizing too many seconds had gone by and you still didn't answer her question.

"i'm good. just stressed, i think," you responded, not totally lying but not completely telling the truth, either.

you hoped your answer was enough to hold ellie over at least until class was finished, your professor seemed grumpy lately and you didn't want to subject yourself to an in-class call out.

ellie sighed and sank down in her chair, physically pulling away from you. your heart ached while you watched, suddenly wanting to tell her everything. a frown was etched onto her lips and you wanted to swipe it away.

throughout class, you spent more time watching ellie take notes than taking notes of your own. halfway through it seemed as though ellie gave up too, because she started doodling over her written words. you glanced over often, not trying to be sneaky because you didn't particularly mind if ellie caught you. if she did catch you, she would only grin and carry on anyway.

the ice melted quicker in the warm classroom, the condensation relentless and a small pool was beginning to form around the bottom of your cup. you quickly wiped it away with your sleeve, face burning. the patheticness of the remaining drink was taunting, beads of water slipping and threatened to dampen the corner of your notes.

it felt like a token of your anxiety, the way you couldn't stop it.

ellie had been watching but you didn't notice, until a very pointed "dude" left her mouth. you turned to face her, pausing the action of wiping off the cup with your sleeve over your hand,

"are you done with that?" ellie asked, to which you nodded weakly.

"you don't want it anymore?" she rephrased, wanting to be sure with confirmation.

"i do not want it," you whispered back, setting your eyes on the drink that's caused you too much trouble in such a short amount of time. you glared at it and ellie raised an eyebrow, trying not to smile. she reached her arm out, and it took you just a moment to understand what she wanted.

you handed ellie the cup, not really seeing the appeal in the drink anymore but decided there was no harm if ellie wanted it. instead, she surprised you by standing up from her chair, drink in hand. she swiftly and quietly moved to the front of the room, throwing it away and returning to her spot without a word.

oh. problem solved.

the evidence from your moment with dina and jesse, gone.

ellie didn't give it a second thought, but you replayed it in your mind over and over until the lecture was finished.

“so, should we hit the dining hall or do you wanna just go back to my dorm?”

ellie posed the question with such a casual confidence that it caught you off guard, the pen you were putting away nearly slipping through your fingers.

“oh,” you winced, and immediately knew how bad your reaction was.

“oh,” ellie copied with a dry laugh. “it’s okay, we don’t have to do anything.”

“no,” you quickly rushed out, not wanting to make her feel bad but you did have another class. “it’s just, homework.” you tried to explain.

“it’s okay,” ellie repeated, fidgeting with her hands.

“i’m sorry…” you smiled sadly, unsure if you should hold eye contact or keep packing up. ellie looked away, straightening her shoulders as she hoisted up her bag. you copied her action, guilt filling up inside of you.

you felt conflicted but were left with no choice, unable to soothe your guilty conscious.

ellie quickly recovered however, and an easy smile graced her lips as she bid you a goodbye.

“okay, I guess i’ll go back to my room alone,” she complained, giving you a pointed look.

you pushed out a laugh, amused by ellie’s tone but you felt defeated.

"i'd come with you if i could," you said honestly.

ellie dropped her exaggerated expression and met your eyes. "i know," she said.

your heart jumped and you had to leave, before weeks worth of confessions left the tip of your tongue. "text me, okay?" you said, trying really hard to force your voice not to wobble.

"always," ellie replied, raising her hand to wave bye as you finally parted ways.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

you didn’t mean to ignore ellie.

with finals only a week away, it wasn't exactly easy to find agreeable times to hang out, no matter how badly you wanted it.

you had felt bad, regretfully declining when ellie asked you to hang out after your shared class. the burden of homework was holding you tightly in its grasp... though you would've had no problem doing homework with ellie.

you did have homework. it was just after your class. the class that ellie had no idea of you having, since you had originally told her that you were free that hour simply because you wanted to have lunch with her. you certainly didn't regret that day, but you felt a little awkward about the idea of finally coming clean now.

so, you told ellie that you had too much homework, and tried to ignore the dejected face that ellie failed to mask at your response.

you hadn't told her about your run in with her friends, either. if dina and jesse wanted ellie to know that you had run into them, they could tell her. you hardly knew them, anyway. the idea of making them a conversation topic felt strange.

that was monday, when you completely blew off ellie except not really because you seriously had a class so you aren't sure why you feel as though you've transformed into a total liar.

you had texted since then, just a little, unable to sense the difference between friendly friend texts and friendly flirty texts.

someone that ellie likes.

someone that ellie likes likes likes someone that ellie likes ellie likes-

you reached for your phone on your bed, forcibly silencing your inner monologue.

hey, are you still free to hang out today?|

you stared blankly down at your screen before rapidly deleting the drafted text, letter by letter.

hey ): i don't think i'm gonna be free to hang out today|

you squinted at the screen until the words looked fuzzy. when you opened your eyes normally again, the text didn't look any more appealing. you huffed and deleted that one too, tossing your phone as far away as you could without dropping it off of the end of your bed.

you had said no to ellie last. she was probably waiting on you to make the next move... how would she feel if you just... didn't?

unless she was totally normal, going about her day and being busy and most definitely not waiting to hear from you.

someone that ellie likes.

yeah, that's... normal. right? right?

you decided that maybe you needed to study a little harder in your psychology class, because you couldn't decipher whether or not it was a logical thing to get caught up on or if you were just going totally crazy. running yourself delusional? likely.

being around ellie and pining after her felt much more appealing when there wasn't a possibility that she could like you back.

you desperately wished to backtrack but yet, there wasn't really much that changed, was there? just one silly little sentence... one that you were probably misinterpreting anyway.

the thought kept you busy on tuesday, though for once you were able to throw yourself into your studies as a distraction instead of being distracted away from your studies. you didn't reach out to ellie, and no new messages came. you didn't hang out that day.

wednesday was your last actual day of class, the last class before finals began.

it quickly dawned on you that it was your last guaranteed time to see ellie. the idea of not being able to sit next to her in class anymore was all that you needed to adjust your priorities for the time being.

you were determined to be in a good mood, determined to make the most of your 'last' but not really last day with ellie.

while getting ready, you were very much aware of the anxiety picking away at your brain, posing you a million questions that you didn't have the answer to. you compensated by carefully picking out an outfit, taking extra time to prepare for the day to make sure you felt as good as possible. all the while, an aggravating dark cloud loomed above you despite your rejection of it. you smoothed down your top in the mirror, ignoring the way that your hands were shaking.

it seems to be a case where every time you are specifically set on having a good day, you end up having one of your worst days.

by the time you left for class, your stomach was hurting. it wasn't a new sensation, the way the uneasiness built up and felt as though it was pricking away at your insides... but it wasn't on par with your idea of a good day.

the wind felt overstimulating and perhaps your last straw was when you were walking behind someone to get into the building, and you know for a fact that they saw you because you made eye contact, but they didn't hold the door open for you and it nearly slammed in your face.

you felt like a laughable character, the way that tears welled up in your eyes as defeat swallowed your previous optimistic determination.

face hot and rapidly blinking, maybe your final final straw was ellie, who was already sat and almost immediately raised her eyes to look as you entered the classroom.

"no melty drink today?" she questioned teasingly, though dropped her tone as concern washed over her once realizing your state.

"what's wrong?" she quickly replaced, leaning into you so her voice could be hushed.

you could've laughed at her question and you nearly did, because sincerely, what was even wrong? you couldn't think of one valid explanation on the spot, and the real reason was enough to bring back the tears that you had desperately wiped away outside of the door.

but it was ellie, so you spoke anyway.

"just wanted to have a good day," you admitted, instantly hating how pathetic your voice sounded.

"and it's not a good day?"

you shook your head, finding yourself wanting to confide in her about everything. you should've hung out with her yesterday.

"wanna come over after class? talk about it? make it better?"

ellie presented the offer so casually, so immediately that it almost made you feel worse. you wanted to say yes.

"i can't," you forced, and ellie's eyebrows knitted together.

"that's okay," ellie said, but it came out a little too quickly.

you didn't want it to be okay. you wanted her to be annoyed or upset that you hadn't been hanging out with her and the worst part was that it seemed like she did feel that way, maybe deep down, but she wasn't openly expressing it whatsoever.

you frowned and it was difficult to find any mental footing with rational thought. you were not entitled to her greater emotions simply because she liked you. as a friend.

"is it okay?" you questioned, a little too sharp and it was embarrassing.

"yes...?" ellie's eyes darted over your face in confusion.

"sorry," you breathed, forcing a reality check. "i just... feel bad."

"don't you always?" ellie retorted, and it wasn't supposed to hurt but it did.

"what?" you were taken aback and ellie focused elsewhere, no longer looking at you.

"nothing. you just... you say you feel bad when we hang out but now you're saying you feel bad if we don't."

her response made you furrow your eyebrows but you really wanted to crawl in-word, not realizing how strongly ellie had picked up on your habit of feeling.

"yeah, 'cause i-" you started, but ellie shook her head.

"it's fine. you don't have to make up an excuse or... really. don't feel bad."

it's not that easy.

ellie smiled but you wished that she didn't because it was obvious that it was forced. the reaction made you wonder if there was something going on with ellie too, or if you were just actually bothering her.

you opened your mouth to speak but your professor initiated the start of class, review questions instantly rolling in. ellie sat hunched over her notebook, which sparked an idea.

you leaned over and began rummaging through your bag until you felt a small pad of paper in your grasp. you stole ellie's pen from her desk and she watched but pretended not to care.

on a blue sticky note, you drew something simple. a little doodle of a planet like you had done before, and a couple of stars. you felt silly and a little bit stupid but you pressed the post it onto ellie's desk, along with her pen.

you could see ellie contemplate whether or not she should show that she noticed it, and you had to press the back of your hand to your mouth so that you didn't release a laugh. you didn't watch her and decided to instead focus on your review, giving ellie 'space' to decide what she wanted to do.

a few minutes ticked away until the little blue square and pen reappeared on your desk. ellie's addition included her own planet, and a few stars mixed in with yours. you felt better, more capable, and raised your eyes to look at her.

ellie didn't have the time to pretend like she wasn't watching you. your lips slipped into a smile that ellie matched, leaving you to feel okay enough to focus on the review without worrying.

at the dismissal of class, you felt strangely sentimental. you packed up quickly so you could leave at the same time as ellie but she was hesitating at her desk, waiting for you.

"can i keep it?" she asked, glancing to the sticky note that you held delicately in your hand. it was sweet and you automatically handed it over, wondering if she was going to put that one on her wall too. you hoped that she would.

"are you going back to your room?" you questioned softly. ellie held the door open for you as you left the classroom.

"yeah," she answered with a heavy sigh.

you had a bit of time before your next class, about an hour to try and turn your situation around.

"ellie?" you started, walking shoulder to shoulder throughout the hallway. she looked at you in concern, eyebrows drawing together in anticipation.

"i wasn't making up excuses. i do feel bad if i can't hang out because... because i do like hanging out, so-"

"it's alright," ellie interrupted, though her voice was softer than before.

you nodded and carefully continued on. "i don't mean to always feel bad, i swear. it just... happens. and then i feel bad for feeling bad and it's just so...ridiculous. do i sound ridiculous?" you conclude with a frustrated laugh.

"maybe a little," ellie contemplated, but you could tell that she was teasing again by the way that she moved her head, as if she's mentally debating with herself. "but i get it. seriously, you're fine. i like hanging out with you too so you don't... have to worry."

she tentatively reassured you and joked instead of outwardly apologizing, and you wondered where she got that from. you're grateful anyway and relieved, but roll your eyes playfully at her sincerity. inward, your stomach is doing flips.

like like like.

that word is being used entirely too much lately.

"i ran into your friends the other day," you mention, hoping that it sounded casually enough. "dina and jesse?"

"oh yeah?" ellie laughs, but her hand fidgets with her sleeve.

"they seem really nice... it's lucky, to have friends like that, you know?"

ellie nodded, smiling knowingly. it felt like a safe topic, so you continued on.

"i didn't know if they mentioned it... i'm sure they were just being polite but they invited me to lunch. it was just nice of them to offer anyway... said it was nice to meet someone that you liked, they're friendly. i just hope i didn't seem completely rude, i was sort of running late so i couldn't talk long but... how long have you guys known each other?"

your cheeks grew warm as you rambled so you stopped yourself, looking to ellie instead. the smile had left her face and she stared straight ahead. she looked pale, a white cast replacing the usual pink warmth on her cheeks.

"i'm sorry," you quickly rushed, not knowing what you were apologizing for.

"don't be," ellie stated, but her words were short.

"did i say something...?"

ellie blinked and faced you. "no, you didn't say anything."

you breathed a sigh of relief, but still didn't want to toe a cautious line. it was too much, too quickly, and you weren't good at making things sound casual like ellie usually seemed to be.

"is that all they said?" ellie questioned, and you quickly nodded.

"yeah. yeah, it was short. i had class. it was on monday morning," you clarify.

"oh," ellie realized, as if she had managed to find a missing puzzle piece. "did they say something?" she rephrased, coughing out a laugh.

"it was super quick," you reiterated, but your heart was racing.

"okay. i just thought maybe... you seemed weird on monday. maybe they said something stupid," ellie said, but you could tell she was still thinking it over. maybe that was your sign, really the only clue you needed after all. ellie actually looked stressed though, and you wished that you hadn't brought it up at all.

"weird?" you tried to sound surprised, but you knew exactly what she was referring to and why you had been that way. "not weird... just stressed. i have so much to do, i know you do too," you tried, attempting to smooth over the awkwardness.

"was it because i just assumed we were going to hang out?" ellie mumbled, sounding accusatory yet upset with only herself.

"ellie, no." your palms were beginning to feel too warm but you wrapped them into your sleeves anyway. "i like hanging out with you."

like like like!

you continued, grasping for straws and desperately wishing that dina had never called your name. "i've sorta been spending more time with you than my homework," you laughed carefully. "i like it, don't get me wrong. i just had... you know, school."

ellie nodded but she wasn't listening, not really.

“i didn’t mean to freak you out,” ellie said, her tone slightly defensive.

your jaw dropped in surprise and you felt as though your head was spinning. "what?" you asked, genuinely confused. you weren't sure exactly what illiciated the response, either you actually blindly said something stupid or you were blindly unaware of ellie's feelings.

the conversation was going nowhere, quickly. you were speaking but not listening, both absorbed in your own feelings to the point of ignorance.

"ellie, we're fine," and despite the circumstance you selfishly loved the excuse to let her name roll off of your tongue. you halted to a stop as the hallway came to an end, not truly ready to part ways.

ellie stood still for a moment and you wondered if she was gathering her thoughts until she finally spoke again. "of course we're fine," she concluded. she didn't meet your eyes and you deflated for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

"hey," you started again, another failed attempt to fix the conversation.

"it's okay," ellie breezed past you. "i know you're busy, i'll see you later, alright?"

she didn't give you a second to respond before she was out of the doors and out of the building. you were left standing there, mouth agape and head reeling.

there was too much to confuse, too much to get wrong and you found it difficult to differentiate a good start from a bad end.

you wouldn't get to just see her next class, and it felt like your last opportunity had truly been your last opportunity.

you went to your next class but you weren't really present, not with ellie on your mind and every wrong step that had been taken. it hadn't even been a full confession and it went wrong. maybe you had gotten it all wrong, or maybe you were both dancing around your own feelings, destined to screw it all up.

[ part eight ]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

tags :

@pinkfillerose @whore-era @lilisvlibrary @elliefilms @whteflwcrs @jasontoddsdreamgirl @icedcold @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @evanpetersluver @muthafuckingstargirl @pctcr @illicitghosts @mell0w-mushr00m @queen-arya22 @deafelliewilliams @urmyheartshaka @yourfrenchteacher @me-and-your-husband @blairfox04

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams college au #ellie tlou x reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie tlou x female reader

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