#peaches writing

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Part One + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ mdni, sexual content, dacryphilia, daddy kink. Reader is neurodivergent.

Simon Riley is a simple man. 

Now. 

Cobwebs cleared, shattered shards of glass painstakingly swept away, lacerations stitched and glued back together. He's climbed the mountain of his mind and descended down the other side. Hurdles jumped, skeletons dragged into the light and then cut down. 

Guess that's what happens when you finally decide you want to live, instead of exist. 

At least he figured it out before he died. 

He's old now, older, signature sore back and creaky knees worse then they were ten years ago, sciatica pain when it rains, headaches whenever he's spent too long looking at paperwork (should be wearing his glasses, but can only bring himself to do it at home.) He's even soft around the middle a bit. 

Still, there are some things that never change, some things that are amplified by time. Skill, focus, dedication. Thirst. 

The thirst is what keeps everyone in line, keeps everyone's head down after a salute, eyes shifty and hands clenched. He still strikes fear. He doesn't mind. 

It's how he got here. How he ended up standing in front of a team, his team, tackling a debrief. It's only given him more of what he know nows he craves, the aspect of control that was so long missing from his life, taken from him by others, by their actions, their decisions. Now he has it in spades. He learned to indulge it, practice it, hone it, and when it reared its head in other aspects of his life, he didn't shy away. He embraced it, experimented with it, figured out what he liked, what he didn't, what he truly needed. Chewed on it, for a while. 

A casual fuck here and there, fine, but not enough, not nearly. 

He's built a house after all. 

It's all spilled over though. Run away from him and out of the base, infiltrated his home, crawled across town- 

and set it's sights on something it can sink it's teeth into. Something it won't let go of. 

Daddy's girl. 

"C-captain Riley." Your hands press to your stomach, anxiously wiping away smatterings of batter and flour, and he tries to screw his mouth into a flat line to hide his smile at the hitch in your breath. 

"Hi sweetheart." 

"What can I... what can I get for you?" He sweeps over the case, eyeing the piled high pastries and bagels, muffins and quiches still warm. 

"Just a coffee today." You nod, lip tugged between your teeth, hand practically shaking as you reach for the stack of cups. When he was a younger man, he wouldn't have patience for this, or you. Wouldn't see the bright side to this, these moments he shares with his girl at the bakery, his nervous little fawn he's finally coaxed to look him in the eye for more than ten seconds at a time. Being in your forties will do that to you, he guesses. 

Time heals more than he ever thought possible. 

"Black?" 

"That's right." He indulges himself as you turn around, tracing your curves, the swell of your ass in your leggings. You wear an apron at your waist religiously, cinching it tight, hips and thighs and everything else perfectly framed. He loves those leggings, and hates them every time he catches an overzealous prick leering at you over the counter. 

"Do you um, do you want room for cream?"  The answer is always the same, but you still ask, and he doesn't mind. 

"No, I'll just take it as is." He eyes the pan of raspberry sweet rolls sitting on the counter, cream cheese icing slowly melting across the top. They're his favorite, but he's putting on too much weight, and with the next mission around the corner, he can't afford to be too soft. You look up at him shyly, gesturing to the giant buns. 

"I made your favorite." Fuck. He can't. He shouldn't... but he can't stomach the idea of dimming your glow, killing you excitement, the eager look on your face as you wait for his approval. 

"Y'know what... the boys are always complaining I never bring them anything. I'll take the whole pan." Your eyes turn to saucers. 

"The wh-whole pan? Really?" You brighten into a sun, glowing with pride, and he rewards you with a smile. 

"Is that okay?" 

"Of course!" You blurt, half panicked, "of course I just... okay. Let me-" You go to put the coffee cup down in front of him, but the bottom nicks the edge of the counter and like everything has turned to slow motion, he watches as steaming hot liquid comes flying from the top, half splashing, half spilling all over his uniform. He catches it before it rolls off the end, but the damage has been done, and tears line your lashes. 

The woman waiting in line a few feet behind him snorts. His vision turns red and he whirls on her with a glare, satisfied when the color drains from her face and she runs off. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so s-so-sorry,” you’ve come around the corner with paper towels, trembling like a leaf as you stare at the stain on his jacket, wide eyed and frantic. 

“It’s okay, it was an accident.” 

“N-no, your uniform,” you croak horrified, “I ruined it, I’m so sorry.” You hiccup a little, trying to suck in some air while you succumb to panic, and he takes your hands in his, squeezing gently, trying to ground you. 

“It’s alright baby, it’s okay,” you don’t even notice when he calls you baby, too preoccupied by your rapidly dissipating oxygen. “Hey, look at me,” he soothes, ducking into your line of sight, grabbing your attention. “Good girl, you’re alright.” 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, shrinking in on yourself, curling your shoulders forward. More tears, and the sight of them sends blood rushing through his body, uncomfortable pressure starting to build in his cock. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” The shop is mostly empty, the woman behind him gone, and he takes the opportunity to usher you past the counter and into the kitchen where there’s a stool waiting just inside the door. He guides you up and holds steady. “Everything’s okay, I promise.” The paper towels come free from your tension filled grip, and instead of using them on the stain, he presses them to your wet cheeks, blotting away your tears. You lean into the touch, so trusting, so easily his, and he wonders what else you’d let him do. He’s hard against the teeth of his zipper as he thinks about hoisting you onto the table, spreading your legs to find what you’ve been keeping safe for him there. 

He doesn’t have many things to care for these days, outside the team, his ultimate responsibility. Keeping a special ops unit alive, planning and executing, cutting through political bullshit is more than enough, but it’s all rough and heavy handed. 

He needs something to nurture. 

You blink at him as he finishes and tips your chin back, ignoring the way your lips part in awe. “That’s better.” 

“Thank you.” The two of you breathe in tandem, silenced and walking a tightrope until you cough. “I should uh… I should go, get those rolls packaged?” He nods, and you manage a very small smile before dipping your gaze to the ground and running off to the front. 

“When did you know?” He rolls the cigar smoke around in his mouth and John cocks his head. 

“When did I know what?” 

“That you were ready,” he gestures to the house, where John’s wife Grace sleeps soundly, “for this? For her?” There’s a glint in his Captain’s blue eyes, a knowing smirk on his face. 

“I just did. At some point, life becomes more than the job, but the mission stays the same. Lead, decide, control. Keep them safe, complete your objective, give what’s needed, get it for yourself. It’s no different.” The idea is tar, sticking to every surface in his mind, gumming up his synapses and creating hallucinations so intoxicating they’re hard to believe. 

You, curled up in bed asleep with nothing but a pair of panties, or cradled between his knees in the bath as he works a chunk of batter free from your hair. You with your legs spread, knees pushed towards your ears, pussy ripe and waiting for him, only him, for the rest of his life. Hands and ankles tied together like a pretty little present. You, sitting on the couch with your thighs slung over his lap, nose creased with a little wrinkle as you thumb through a book. 

John chuckles. “Found one then?” 

Simon only nods. 

He slips through the door just before closing, little bell at the top announcing his arrival to an almost empty space. There’s someone at the register, counting cash, and she smiles at him with all her teeth. 

“We’re about to close but there are a few things left, or I could make you a tea?” The case is pretty barren, a few bear claws and croissants, a muffin or two. Stragglers. 

Next to it, a bouquet sits in a vase. They’re fresh, healthy, and the hair on the back of his neck stands. 

If someone is buying you flowers, he’ll kill them. Dump their corpse in a pit and piss on it. 

The girl clears her throat, and he shakes his head. “No, but thanks. ‘M here to see…” you push through the kitchen doors with two metal sheet trays in your hands, and freeze.

He knew you’d be surprised, caught off guard. It’s like catching a feral cat. Trying to earn a street dog’s trust. Like he’s crouched on the sidewalk, hand extended, food waiting in his fingertips. 

A fisherman, with bait on the line, patiently waiting to hook his prize. 

The incident last week has thoroughly spooked you, pushed you back inside your shell, eroded a lot of the groundwork he painstakingly laid, the foundation he’s been building, and the only time he’s been in since then, you ran into the kitchen as soon as he crossed the threshold. 

The clock has turned back to the time when you were so gun shy, you’d turn to stone at the first sight of him, hands clasped together so tight he knew they hurt. 

It’s no matter. He’s a patient man now, a far cry from who he used to be, and he’s willing to wait for the things worth it, willing to put in the work to fix it.

His body disagrees. A river of need runs consistently runs through him, wild and turbulent current thrashing in his blood, white water rapids trying to flood his lungs. His cock is heavy at night as he imagines you bent over the butcher’s block, leggings ripped open, gooseflesh cascading from the small of your back down, empty little hole clenching on nothing, begging for a fullness only he can give. He dreams about your tears, salty sweet drops soaking your cheeks as the crown of his cock bulges in your throat, as he takes your air and gives it back, over and over again. 

Ruin you, rearrange you, remold you until you only ever fit him. 

He’ll give you what you need, he’ll take away what you don’t. 

He’ll decide. 

The girl at the counter looks at you, then him, small smile pulling on her lips. “I’m going to get this deposit ready,” she announces to no one since you’re not paying her any attention, barely registering she’s disappeared as you stare at him. 

“Hi… u-um hi, Captain Riley.” You put the pans down onto the counter but miscalculate the distance, and they clatter with a resounding smack, one that makes you wince. Your chest expands with a long, deep breath, and you look away from him to the floor. “Can I get you something?” 

“No, I’m jus’ here to see you.” You jerk, gaze snapping from the floor to his face. 

“Is th-this about your uniform? Did you get it dry-cleaned? I can pay you back for-” You rush out, half panicked and cut off when his hand fits to the space between your shoulder blades with just enough pressure to move you forward. He leads, steering you to one of the little tables by the window, urging you down into the chair before taking his place on the other side. 

“You’re not paying my bloody dry cleaning bill. I’m here to see you, sweetheart.” You’re vibrating, practically rattling in your skin and he wants so badly to soothe you, tuck you into his chest and push the outside world away, but it would be too much, too soon. You’re not ready. 

“See me?” He nods. 

“Why did you run from me the other day?” 

“I didn’t I was just… I was busy.” He didn't expect the truth, not right away. You're always trying to hide your vulnerable spots. 

“Try again. No lying this time.” There’s about one eighth of his usual authority in his voice, the captain’s edge he’s honed over the years, and your lips part with a sharp, small intake of breath. 

“I thought maybe… I thought you might be upset or something and I didn’t want…” you trail off with a shrug, and he’s not surprised. He knows his reassurances from last week weren’t enough. His sweet girl is afraid of her own shadow, you need more than just a few words and your tears wiped. 

“I’m not upset.” He leans back against the rickety wood. There are a million things he could say, do. A million different pieces he could pick apart right here, right now, peel your layers back and put you on your knees with your cheek on his thigh, his hand patting the top of your head. 

“Daddy’s not mad, sweetheart.” 

You’re watching him, waiting, looking for him to give more, heal this wound, but he’s cautious. A gas pedal to the floor will only get him the kind of chase he doesn’t want. Not yet. “You understand me?” 

“Yes,” you whisper. You’re hesitating on something, holding back, but he doesn’t try to drag it out, choosing to wait, to give you the time you need, the space he knows the rest of the world doesn’t allow. “Did um… did they like them?” He cocks his head. 

“The team?” 

“Mhm,” your leg bounces under the table. You’re so fucking cute he could smother you. 

“Yeah baby, they loved them.” You beam, blooming into a pretty, perfect flower, vibrant and colorful, rare as they come. 

“That’s good, I’m so happy.” You wiggle a little bit in the chair, and he bites the inside of his cheek. Fucking hell. He wants you on his lap instead, wiggling around as he slowly sinks you down onto his cock, fingernails biting into his chest as he stretches your pussy, toes curling as you struggle to take him. “D-do you want to take some home?” 

“You have some left over?” You shrug sheepishly. 

“I’ve uh, been making them every day. I thought if you were mad at me, maybe they would… make it better.” Oh baby.

“No. You never have to appease me like that. You never have to appease anyone like that, sweetheart.” 

“Right. Okay.” You look relieved, a little bit of heaviness lifted from your shoulders, and then you give him a small smile. “But do you want to maybe have one… now? W-with me?” His sweet little fawn, navigating the world on new trembling legs, taking chances when she feels brave. 

He pulls your hand into his and strokes his thumb back and forth across your knuckles, setting up a slow, soothing rhythm. “Of course.” 

[anna-scribbles]

old doodles from the archives 🫶

[stellewriites]

simon considers eating your pussy as one of his three meals a day.

he undertakes the task of eating you out the same way he tackles his food; voracious, messy, starved. christ, the first time you saw him tear into a burger made you wet just from a purely pavlovian response - the wet sounds and juices around his mouth were entirely gross and off putting… and yet you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs beneath the table while you sat opposite him.

[pastel-peach-writes]

Hello! I adore your writing. Can I request a fic with female arcane characters when they have a touch starved gf? (Definitely asking for a friend ahah 😅)

RAHHH. ARCANE LADIES LETS GOOO. tbh, im not that in tune with Mel and Sevika as characters so they may be OOC. Thanks for requesting!

Arcane Ladies w/A Touch-Starved Reader | Headcanons

╰┈➤ PLOT: Headcanons of Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, and Sevika with a touch-starved lover and/or discovering said trait.

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: Lower Case Intended (Kinda?), Suggestive Themes (Mel/Sevika), Not Proofread, Short

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

JINX ᝰ๋࣭𝜗᭡

- In a romantic setting (or really any setting), Jinx is touch-starved herself.

- when taking hostages or messing with those in her way, she will often touch them such as stroking her nail along their jawline or grabbing their chin when they're hurt and on their last limb.

- now she does this not because she's a bit insane and wants to add salt to their wounds but because she's curious. "What would this feel like?" "What would happen if I do this?"

- Much like most things in her life, curiosity is the main thing that gets her into trouble

- in terms of touching, you're not exempt from her touching curiosity.

- she'll drag her nails along your spine. cup your cheek and chin, and squeeze you like the baby you are to her.

- it's not until you linger after a hug that she notices your touch-starved like her

– since that moment, she made a mental note to cuddle you, kiss you, or poke at you more

– even if you tell her to stop annoying you or that she should focus on her work and not mess with you, she'll continue to poke and hold you.

– why? well because you're smiling through your complaints and she can't get over that smile you try to hide when you let yourself melt in her touch

–––

VI ﾒ

– much like her sister, Vi is touch-starved herself.

– y'all saw how she acted with Caitlyn and when she reunited with Jinx. She was all OVER them. With you, she's the exact same

– With her, you're more reluctant with touch. You want to hug her, cuddle with her, cling onto her like the clingy thing you are but you're scared to.

– you didn't grow up in an environment where that was normalized so it was out of your comfort zone to go out and cling to someone.

– in the beginning of your relationship, Vi was touchy until she noticed you weren't super comfortable with it.

– when she noticed, she had a discussion with you. – "Hey, are you comfortable with me hugging you 'n stuff? I noticed you get kinda tense when I first hug you." She'll ask you on a random night in the living room. You were hesitant at first, wanting to immediately ease her insecurities and tell her everything was fine.

– But if you lied, even if the lie was more a half-truth, your initial reaction to her touch would be the same. Tense at first then ease seconds into the touch.

– So, because you couldn't do anything but bite the bud, you told her

– Since telling, Vi said she'll help you work on getting more comfortable with touch.

– She'll even tease you when she notices you're more hesitant than normal.

– "Oh, come on," she'll tease you with her arms squeezing around your torso and your cheeks smushing to another. "You know you love it! Ease up, Mufifn."

–––

CAITLYN ᯓ

- With Caitlyn, you literally CANNOT get off of her. Can't blame you though.

- 6' foot something to cling onto? YUM.

- Caitlyn didn't mind your touchiness. She assumed you were that way so she didn't think anything of it.

- It wasn't until she met your family that she saw that your touchy side is something you keep hidden from your family, if not the world.

- You were so stiff around them, uncomfortable dare she say. You kept to yourself, restricted that pretty smile of yours, and you wouldn't let yourself ease into her touch.

- At home, she brought this up to you and you told her that being affectionate wasn't something your family did. To them, holding each other, hugging, expressing hellos and goodbyes with kisses was weird. Unfortunately for you, you're a naturally touchy person so you had to keep that part of you concealed.

- Caitlyn didn't like the thought of you hiding yourself from your blood kin. You didn't deserve that treatment so at home, after the event, Caitlyn went out of her way to be more touchy with you.

- she cradled your head when cuddling on the couch, gave you kisses on the cheek, and when she complimented you on something or congratulated you, she kissed the top of your head while giving you a polite squeeze.

– being super-duper-mushy-gushy-affectionate wasn't something she wasn't used to but she'll do anything for you. Plus, a couple extra kisses and squeezes haven't killed her yet.

–––

MEL౨ৎ

- You didn't care about touch all that much before your relationship with Mel. At the start of your relationship, you and Mel were younger so you had fewer responsibilities. All your free time, literally all of it, you guys spent with each other

- walking arm-in-arm while shopping, resting on each other on hot Summer days with your feet in a body of water, and mindlessly playing with each other's clothes or hair during late-night talks.

- but as she got busier, you saw her less, and seeing her less meant fewer touches.

- Mel wouldn't call herself touch-starved but starved for your touch.

– She'll miss your lingering touches on her fingers while you lay in bed, your lips on her back as you held each other, and your face in the crook of her neck.

– In a way, you both were touch-starved for each other. Maybe even a different word but this is a PG-13 space LMAO.

– at night, you would wrap your limbs around her tight and in the morning, you'd cling even tighter. What do you mean it's time for her to go already? She just got in bed!! (it's been 7 hours.)

– with Mel, your touch-starving-ness doesn't go unnoticed. In fact, whenever there's a time she notices you're more touchy than normal, she'll make it up to you

– And you never once complained about her way of making it up to you.

–––

SEVIKA ⚠︎

- oh lord, where do i start with this one, hm?

– One, Sevika loves the crap out of your touch-starved-ness. She won't admit this out loud but she thinks its the cutest thing in the world.

- She'll see you go in for a hug or maybe a wrap around her arm but then decide against it because of your own insecurities.

- Sometimes she'll take matters into her own hands and wrap her arm around you, pull you into her lap, or sneak a kiss on your cheek but other times she likes to make you suffer.

– "Mm, what was that?" she'll tease with a smirk on her lips. "Oh, did you want to hug me? Kiss me? Cling onto me or something?"

- Tbh, if you're with Sevika, you gotta be a little bit of a brat, right? right. So, you'll refuse the allegations she put on your name.

- That is until she pushes and pushes and boom. Like a perfectly boiled egg, your shell has been cracked and peeled, and the softness of your personality has been brought to light.

– with embarrassment plastered along your body and face, you'll do what you were too shy to before. (Cling, hug, kiss, etc).

- Sevika plays a big game but she loves it when you cling to her because just like you, she's a bit touch-starved too. The only touches she gets on a day-to-day basis are punches, kicks, etc.

- When you swallow your pride at home, you'll pull her down to your chest and hold her tight. She'll ask what's up but you'll just ignore her and she'll melt into your body like you intended.

WC: 1,229

[cobbled-peach]

˗ˏˋ જ⁀➴ The JJ Issue

when Spencer has to work late on a case with JJ, you find yourself spiralling with jealousy. And now, you're determined to make him remember exactly what he's been missing.

cw: 18+ Spencer reid x jealous!fem!reader. NSFW content. Mildly insecure reader, explicit language, alcohol use, mentions of masturbation, heavy making out, slightly toxic relationship and emotional manipulation if you really really look a/n: so this was a request, but I'm technologically inept and deleted it when trying to copy it to my word doc. ANYWAY, I feel like I veered slightly off topic, but I present my take on jealous!reader and some dumb bitch-ish Spencer™ for you mwah mwah please feel free to send in more requests i am happy to take whatever!!! wc: 3k

The clock flicks to 11:00 PM.

You watch the numbers change with quiet contempt, the harsh glow of the display slicing through the darkness. The sheets beside you remain cold and untouched. Empty. Too still and too silent.

Still no Spencer.

It’s the third night this week. The third night of cold pillows and even colder silence. The third night of laying in a bed made for two and wondering if your boyfriend was going to crawl in before the sun came up – or if he’d even bother returning home at all. 

He’d been busier at work in the past month, his absence only being amplified by the newest case.

You’d tried to follow along when he explained it. Something about Montclair, Virginia. Weird geographical patterns, overlapping jurisdictions, unusual victims. Apparently, it was the kind of bureaucratic mess that kept the BAU tangled in an endless supply of paperwork.

But all you’d really heard – what had stuck and started looping in your head – was JJ.

JJ.

JJ and Spencer. Working late nights in close quarters.

Beautiful, capable JJ. With her glossy hair and understanding eyes. Who could read a room in seconds and had helped Spencer through numerous cases. JJ, who had history with him. Real, lived-in history. She probably understood the way his brain worked in ways you hadn’t even discovered yet.

JJ. Who had the privilege of seeing him more often than you did lately, while you were stuck eating leftovers and watching the clock tick toward midnight.

You tried not to be the jealous girlfriend.

Tried so hard.

But it’s easier said than done when you’re alone in a dark apartment, with your texts left on read since 12:23 PM.

You can picture it too clearly – Spencer and JJ tucked away in some dim conference room, heads bowed over maps and files, shoulders brushing. JJ laughing softly. Spencer glancing up from his notes with that boyish smile that he reserves for only his favorite people. A room of shared trauma and comfort, of inside jokes and a history you can’t compete with.

You hate how vivid the image is. 

You hate how much it turns your stomach even more.

Your fingers curl around your phone, thumb hovering for a beat before you start to type:

Any idea when you’ll be home? x

You stare. Waiting.

The dot-dot-dot appears almost instantly. He’s always fast, when he can be.

No, this case is a mess. JJ and I are still trying to determine the geographical patterning. I’ll be home when I can.

That’s it.

That’s it?

No “I miss you.” No “Sorry for the late night.” No acknowledgement that its eleven-fucking-o’clock and you’re still alone, curled up in his shirt, half-hoping for the sound of him returning to break you out of this fog. Just plain, clipped Spencer-speak. Cold. Factual. Like he’s updating Hotch, not the person who shares his bed.

“JJ and I.”

Of course.

Your jaw tenses and you type again:

Should I leave the door unlocked, or is your work wife walking you home tonight?

No response. Probably back to his files. Or worse – laughing with her about something brilliant he said. You picture her touching his arm. Picture him not pulling away.

Two minutes pass, and you try again:

Let me know if she likes it when you quote Voltaire.

Maybe she even moans when you pull out statistics too.

Still nothing.

You throw your phone to the end of the bed with a dull thud, resisting the urge to follow it with your wine glass. You’re not drunk – not quite – but your veins are warm and the wine bottle is getting low. Almost as low as your patience.

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face.

It’s not that your insecure.

But it’s been a long week. And you’re tired. And lonely. And a little more than marginally horny.

And all that serves to make a deadly combination.

You glance at the wine bottle on your nightstand, dragged in here from when the living room started to feel too big. Half-empty now, or maybe half-full, but you don't feel like looking on the bright side today. Your fingers wrap around the stem of the glass like a lifeline, and you take a slow sip.

The taste of sour grapefruit and poor decisions.

It doesn’t take long for you to start wondering things you shouldn’t be wondering.

Like if JJ’s ever seen Spencer shirtless, skin flushed from an adrenaline-fueled takedown. Like if she notices the way his lashes flutter when he gets focused, and the subtle tick in his jaw when he’s trying to hold back a dirty comment. Like if she’s ever heard the quiet, shaky sound he makes when you touch him just right – a sound you haven’t heard in what feels like forever.

You huff, irritated with yourself.

This is not the kind of spiral you want to be in.

But how are you supposed to feel okay when the man you love has spent more nights with someone else this week than with you?

Someone brilliant and bright and right beside him.

Your mind drifts – dangerously, again – to what he might be doing if he was here. What you wish he was doing. Your hand plays absently with the hem of his shirt, sliding a little higher up your thigh, feeling the fabric brush over bare skin. Skin and air and silence.

You wonder if he’d even notice you were awake if he walked in right now.

Or if he’d still be thinking about JJ and her smiles.

Your stomach twists again.

You set the wine glass down, staring into the dark, heat curling beneath your skin like a storm on the verge of breaking.

You’re not proud of the jealousy. Or the spite. But tonight?

You’re not sure you care.

It’s 1:00 AM when you hear the door open.

You’ve migrated back to the couch now. Curled up like a forgotten thing in the quiet throb of the living room. A blanket is pulled tight around your shoulders, forging a cocoon of spite and cheap Sauvignon Blanc. The bottle on the coffee table is empty. There’s half a glass still in your hand, warmed by your palm. Your fingers are molded around the stem like its something keeping you grounded.

The door shuts gently.

Spencer enters the apartment the way he always does when he knows it’s late. Softly. Cautiously. The guilt doesn’t show on is face right away, but seeps in to the little things. The way he trades his leather shoes for worn slippers like they might squeak loud enough to wake you up. The careful way he sets his keys down, not with the usual absentminded clatter, but softly, like he might disturb you.

You hear the rustle of his cardigan being shrugged off and flung over the back of a chair. He moves through the apartment with the measured care of someone navigating a crime scene. Almost like a ghost; present, but not where you need him to be.

The bedroom door creaks. A pause. Then a soft, confused hum, like he’s surprised the bed is cold and vacant. 

You don’t move.

His footsteps return, still soft and hesitant, and then the living room light clicks on. It’s not bright, just enough to paint his face in a warm gold shadow. When he sees you, wrapped up and still, his features settle somewhere between relief and worry.

‘There you are,’ he says gently. ‘I didn’t think you’d still be up.’

His voice is warm. Too warm. Like he’s dealing with a wounded animal, already prepared for a potential fallout.

You don’t answer right away. Just lift the glass and sip what’s left of the wine. It brought warmth before, but now just feels thin and useless as it settles in your stomach. A comfort that has already faded.

Spencer looks like he always does after a long day – exhausted. Shirt untucked and wrinkled at the collar. His hair is tousled like he’s raked his hands through it a dozen times. His lips are parted, already searching for the right apology.

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ you say. The words land flat and cold. Sharper than you intended, but not enough to make you regret it.

His brow furrows as he takes a tentative step forward. ‘Oh no. Are you okay?’

‘Oh, just peachy.’ You flash him a malicious smile and tilt your head. ‘How’s JJ?’

‘JJ?’ he repeats. ‘She’s… fine?’

‘I bet.’

You see it in him. The subtle shift. His brain starts ticking, trying to process the change in tone, piece together context clues. His hands twitch slightly at his sides. You’ve seen it before, when he’s dealt with a particularly messy profile. It’s how he acts when trying to decode erratic behavior.

But this time, you’re the chaos.

‘What’s going on?’ he asks, slower this time. Careful.

You finally meet his eyes, steady and level. ‘You’ve spent more time with her this week than you have with me.’

He exhales and crosses his arms. Not intentionally defensive, but it comes across that way. Just the subtle shift of someone bracin against a growing storm.

‘Me and JJ? We’re working the same case,’ he offers. Not patronising, just explaining. ‘That’s how assignments work.’

A rational answer. Reasonable. Sensible. And completely useless to the part of you that’s been sitting in silence every night, nursing bitterness like it’s a glass of wine.

‘That’s not what I said,’ you reply.

You toss off the blanket and stand, wanting to be level with him.

His gaze drops, almost instinctively, to your bare thighs peeking out from beneath his shirt. Snaps it back to your face instantly. Like he caught himself doing something inappropriate, even if it wasn’t.

‘She get’s your attention,’ you say softly. ‘Your thoughts. Your little facts. Your laughter. Your time.’

His mouth opens, but no words come out.

You keep going. Getting closer enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

‘And I get cold sheets and texts left on delivered.’

‘I didn’t mean to ignore you–’

‘She gets to share your space. Share your mind. Is that what gets you off now? Criminal profiling and shared trauma? Is that your kink, Doctor?’

His cheeks go red immediately.

‘She’s married,’ he points out, like that’ll resolve the tension.

‘Married women flirt too, Spencer.’

He’s still red, sputtering slightly now. ‘I don’t—I don’t think of JJ like that. I never have.’

‘Do you think of me like that?’ you challenge. ‘Or have I been bumped down your priority list below paperwork and tactical briefings? Do I need to start talking about blood spatter patterns during foreplay? Or maybe I need to join the FBI just so you’ll remember me.’

He swallows visibly, jaw tightening. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘No,’ you snap. ‘What’s not fair is me touching myself alone in our bed to the sound of your voice in some old Quantico press briefing because it’s the only version of you I could get this week.’

His eyes widen slightly. His breath catches. 

‘I think about you constantly,’ he says, almost desperate. 

You scoff. ‘Sure. Right after filing case summaries.’

‘No,’ he says, firmer now. ‘I do think about you. I just—I hyperfocus. And when I hyperfocus, my brain sort of queues everything else. It’s not about priority or importance. It’s about sequence. You’re just… waiting in line.’

‘Great,’ you say flatly. ‘I’m a fucking deli number.’

He winces. ‘That came out wrong.’

You look at him, taking a breath. Run a hand through your hair.

‘Do you think I’m crazy?’

‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘I think you’re angry and hurt. And I think you’re trying to make me angry and hurt too. Like earlier, your messages were mean. That’s why I ignored them... Now, you’re just sort of scaring me.’

That stops you. Not because you’re insulted, but because he looks genuinely lost. Innocent.

‘I’m not trying to scare you,’ you say quietly. You deflate slightly, some of the heat leaving your voice. ‘I’m just… trying to remind you that I’m still here. Wanting you. Waiting for you.’

There’s a silence.

Then–

‘I didn’t realise it was this bad. I thought you just wanted some space.'

You nod. Not spitefully, just confirming the truth.

‘Do you even remember what it was like?’ you ask. ‘When you used to come home and fuck me like you were starving. Like you couldn’t stand being apart from me. Like the space between us physically hurt you.’

He doesn’t answer. But you see the recognition in the way his jaw ticks, the way his hands clench at his sides. 

‘I miss that,’ you say. ‘I miss you.’

That look returns to his face, unsure if this is a test. If you’re being serious. If you’re going to snap at him for misreading your cues.

So you lean in – slow – until your lips are just inches from his. ‘You say you think about me constantly… prove it.’

He hesitates. Blinks. ‘You mean like—right now?’

‘Preferably in a way that makes me forget I’m mad.’

He pauses. ‘...Sexually?’

‘That would be ideal.’

He clears his throat. ‘I just want to make sure. Because sometimes when you’re upset, you use sarcasm to—’

You lift your hand, cutting him off. ‘No sarcasm now, Doctor.’

He shifts his weight, brows still drawn a little.

‘Right, okay.’ Another pause. ‘So, just to clarify – you’re asking me to have sex with you. Now. Because you want to stop being angry. Or is the sex part of the anger expression?’

You stare at him.

He continues. 

‘Because if you’re just using me to release emotional frustrations, that’s fine, I want to have sex with you, but I’d just like to know in advance so I can—’

You step in and kiss him. 

Not sweetly or softly. 

It’s the kind of kiss used to shut him up. Open mouthed and hard, tongue sweeping across his lower lip before he’s even realised your lips are touching his. For a moment, he’s caught between instinct and hesitation. Trying to figure out if this is you just getting back at him.

Then you feel him give in. His hands grip your waist, grounding himself, allowing his mouth to move with yours in a way that’s messy and uncoordinated – like he’s catching up with weeks of missed makeout sessions.

When you finally pull back, his pupils are blown wide, his lips flushed and slightly parted.

‘I’m not asking you to give me a therapeutic exercise,’ you state. ‘I’m asking you to stop thinking and touch me.’

He nods, too quickly. ‘Right. Touching… now?’

‘No. In another three days,’ you say sarcastically, grabbing his hand and sliding it beneath the hem of your shirt – his shirt – until his fingers are splayed across your ribs. 

His palm is warm. Touch a little tentative.

‘Do you even remember what touching me feels like?’ you ask, breath brushing against his cheek.

Spencer exhales sharply, the memory hitting him and punching the breath from his lungs.

‘I think about it all the time,’ he whispers.

‘Then why are you still just standing there like this is a goddamn team-building exercise?’

He snaps into focus. ‘I’m sorry. You’re just—when you’re mad, and basically half-naked, it’s hard to follow all the emotional subtext and my working memory has lost it’s buffer—’

You roll your eyes, pushing him backward until his knees hit the couch. He drops onto the cushions with a surprised noise. Part yelp, part breathless laugh.

His hands instinctively settle on your thighs as you straddle him. He stares up at you like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he doesn’t deserve for it to be happening.

You place your palm on his shoulder, playing with the soft cotton of his shirt.

‘Spencer.’

‘Yes?’

‘Please stop thinking.’

‘I’m trying.’

‘Try harder.’

You lean down and kiss him again. Slower, this time. Deeper. He responds instantly now, hands sliding to your waist, then up your back, holding you close to him. His mouth moves with less hesitation, more purpose.

‘I missed you,’ he murmurs between kisses. ‘Missed you so much. I’m sorry—I didn’t know what to say without it sounding like I was making excuses before.’

You shift your hips against him, just enough to feel him getting harder beneath you. 

‘I don’t want an apology,’ you say.

‘You don’t?’

‘No.’ You grind down again, a little harder. ‘I want you to make it up to me.’

He moans softly, head tipping back against the couch cushions. He nods in understanding, taking a moment to catch his breath before pressing his lips to your jaw, trailing them down to your throat, feeling your pulse fluttering beneath his tongue.

‘You’re so…’ he pauses for another kiss to your skin. ‘I mean, you always look good, but—God, you’re so, so pretty. I missed you.’

His fingers dig into your hips, and then his mouth is back on yours, rougher now. He’s kissing to make up for all the nights you went to bed alone, all the hours he spent at work while you touched yourself to a crackly echo of his voice. 

His hands slide up beneath your shirt again. Tracing your skin. He gets to your breasts, and gasps softly, like he’s surprised.

‘You’re not wearing anything under this.’

You roll your eyes at his astute observation.

‘You want to keep narrating?’ you ask, a little breathless. ‘Or do you want to do something about it?’

‘Doing something. Yes.’

He lifts the shirt off your body. Slow and tentative, like you’re something delicate. It’s a sight he’s seen numerous times before, bit his eyes still go wide as he takes you in. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Just stares.

‘Jesus, Spence,’ you say, nudging his shoulder, getting impatient.

‘Sorry. You’re just gorgeous. And naked. And still angry. And you—’ he pauses, runs his hand up your ribs again. ‘—feel like something I shouldn’t be able to touch.’

‘Well I’m letting you touch me.’

You grab his wrist, guiding your hand to press between your legs. He sucks in a breath, still looking up at your face.

‘This is how mad I was,’ you whisper.

His brain seems to short-circuit again. ‘I have… no response to that.’

You push your hips down against his hands. 

‘Then shut up, and make me come.’

a/n: i ummed and ahhed about putting an aftermath scene but decided not to because I lowkey like 'em toxic >:) We also do NOT hate JJ in this house, she was just convienient. I also (can you tell I like to yap?) don't know what era of Spencer Reid I pictured for this. Somewhere in the earlier seasons, maybe? But idk. You choose. I have a taglist now! Please comment if you want to be added, or go to this post here. I've decided not to put tags on my 18+ fics, just as I don't want any minor interactions with them Also, to the person who requested this: if it did not align with your request I'm so sorry and I can do if you really really want xxxx

[barnesonly]

Peach

steve kemp x reader

summary: you shouldn’t want this. shouldn’t crave his hands, his mouth, the way he worships you like you’re something holy. he’s dangerous. wrong. but he makes you feel things—in his own twisted, obsessive way.

word count: 3k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! steve kemp is literally a warning himself, pure smut, stockholm syndrome, praising, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, PiV, unprotected sex, breeding.

A/N: okay, this is my first time writing a fic that isn’t about Bucky Barnes, so… let me know what you think and if you’d like to see part 2 in the future…!

You should be disgusted. You should be screaming. Scratching at the walls. Clawing at his eyes. Trying to escape this house, this man, this madness.

But instead, you’re here. Breathing hard, fingers tangled in the sheets, hips trembling—giving in to him. Again.

You don’t know when it changed. When your fear shifted into something murky and warm, something that spreads through your veins like honeyed poison. It started with his voice. The way he talked to you—so calm, so sure. Then his hands. His touch. His promises. The way he made you feel like the only thing in the world he craved.

And now?

Now, that man is between your thighs, making you feel a kind of pleasure you never thought you’d survive.

His mouth is obsessive. His tongue glides through your folds like he’s savoring something delicate, something divine, like you’re the finest cut he’s ever had. And God help you, your body responds to it. Back arching. Toes curling. Lips parting to moan his name like a prayer.

You’re not tied up. Not this time. You don’t have to stay. But you’re not going anywhere.

Because Steve is devouring you like he’s starving, and you’re the only thing that’s ever truly fed him.

And maybe… you want to be consumed.

You moan as his tongue flicks against your clit—slow, wet circles that make your thighs quiver around his head. His hands are gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you open, holding you still, like you’re a meal he refuses to let slip away.

“Easy, Peach,” Steve murmurs against you, voice thick with hunger, lips brushing your soaked skin. “Let me enjoy you.”

And God, he does. Every lick, every kiss feels like worship. He’s not rushing it. No, Steve Kemp eats pussy the way he carves into a rare steak—focused, reverent, starving. His tongue dips down, savoring everything you give him, then drags back up, slow and sinful, until he finds that swollen spot again and stays there, flicking, sucking, pulling sounds from your throat you didn’t know you could make.

“You know how long I’ve waited for this?” he groans. “How long I’ve thought about the way you’d taste? How many times I’ve had to settle for something else before I found you? Something less… sweet?”

He moans into your cunt like he’s the one being pleasured, like the taste of you is addictive—euphoric. His eyes flick up, catching yours through the mess of your thighs and his hair, and the look in them makes your breath hitch.

Like he’s in love.

“You’re my favorite, Peach,” he says, voice all low heat and ruined devotion. “My girl. Always so good for me, aren’t you?”

Your hips jerk up, needy, desperate. And he smiles against you—fucking smiles—and tightens his grip.

“Yeah,” he breathes, tongue pressing flat and firm, sliding slow and delicious across your clit again and again. “Be good. Let me eat, baby. Let me take every drop.”

And you do.

You sob his name as your orgasm crashes through you, back arching off the bed, legs shaking uncontrollably. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause. He just moans like he’s tasted something divine and licks you through it, deeper, messier, more possessive.

You try to pull away, overstimulated, dizzy—but he holds you there.

“You’re not done,” Steve whispers, kissing your swollen pussy like an apology and a threat all at once. “You’re never done ‘til I say, Peach. And I’m still hungry.”

You’re trembling—your thighs shaking from the orgasm, your lips parted in a soft, broken moan—but he’s already back between your legs, licking into you like it’s the first taste all over again.

His tongue is ruthless.

He starts slow—broad strokes from your entrance to your clit, licking up everything he made you spill. But it doesn’t take long before the rhythm changes. Becomes needy. Desperate. He latches onto your clit with a filthy groan, sucking it into his mouth, flicking the tip of his tongue back and forth until your hips buck off the bed.

“That’s it,” he growls, voice muffled between your legs, “Give it to me, baby. Let me have it.”

Your hands shoot down to his hair, gripping tight as your body jolts beneath him, overstimulated nerves screaming—but he doesn’t let up. His hands are holding you down, fingers digging into your thighs, and his mouth works you like he’s possessed.

“Fuck, Steve—I can’t—” You sob, voice cracking.

“Yes, you can,” he pants, breath hot and messy against your drenched cunt. “You’re my good girl, remember? My sweet little Peach. You give me everything.”

And you do.

You fall apart on his mouth again—harder this time. Hips jerking, back arching, a strangled cry breaking from your lips as your orgasm crashes over you, wetter and rougher than before.

And Steve? He fucking moans. Loud and wrecked, like he’s the one coming, like he’s in heaven with your slick soaking his face.

“Oh, fuck yes—look at that,” he groans, pulling back just enough to see the mess you’ve made of him. His chin is dripping. His lips are shiny. His tongue flicks out to taste the corner of his mouth and he hums like he just had the best meal of his life.

“You made such a mess, Peach. Soaked me. God, you taste like something I’d kill to keep.”

And you know damn well he means it. He would do that.

He leans in and licks you one more time—slow, tender, obscene.

You flinch, overstimulated and dizzy—but he only grins, eyes full of worship and madness, before kissing the inside of your thigh, your mound, your still-twitching clit.

Your body’s still shaking, chest rising and falling in erratic little gasps, but Steve finally pulls back from between your thighs—only to hover over you, mouth glistening with your slick, cheeks flushed, pupils blown.

He looks completely wrecked.

Like you wrecked him.

And he’s not done. Now he wants to fuck you full.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, cupping your face, thumb dragging softly across your cheek. “So fucked-out. So pretty. You have any idea what you do to me, Peach?”

You can’t even answer. Your lips part, but all that comes out is a shaky breath—and then he’s kissing you. Full and wet, tongue sliding into your mouth, making you taste yourself on him. He whimpers when you kiss him back. Whimpers. Like he’s starved for this too.

“You’re gonna take me now,” he whispers against your mouth. “Gonna let me inside this perfect little pussy, baby. Gonna let me fuck you nice and slow, just like you deserve.”

Your hips twitch beneath him—already aching, already clenching around nothing. You nod, dazed, desperate. “Yes,” you whisper. “Please… Steve, I need—”

“Oh, I know what you need, Peach,” he cuts in, voice like velvet soaked in sin. “You need to be filled. Fucked nice and full. Used by the only man who knows how to love you like this.”

He pulls his boxers down and slides his cock against your slick folds, groaning at how wet you are—how ready. Your body welcomes him like it was made for this, for him, and when he finally pushes inside, it’s slow, deep, deliberate.

You both gasp.

“Jesus—fuck, look at that,” he groans, hips pressing flush against yours. “So tight, baby. Still twitching from coming all over my mouth, and now you’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go.”

You don’t. You wrap your legs around his waist, anchoring him inside you, desperate for more. He starts to move—slow thrusts, long and thick, dragging his cock through your soaked, swollen walls like he’s imprinting himself in your body.

And in a way… he is.

“That’s it,” he growls, pressing kisses to your jaw, your ear, your throat—everywhere. “Let me fuck you just like this. Let me take care of you, baby.”

You’re babbling now, fingers digging into his shoulders, overwhelmed by how deep he is, how full you feel, how every thrust makes you melt all over again.

“So good, Steve, please—oh my god—”

“I know, baby,” he breathes, voice breaking with need. “I know. You’re so good for me. My perfect little girl.”

He fucks you through the overstimulation, through the dizzy, sticky bliss that’s still pulsing in your core, and he’s not stopping. His body presses into yours, one hand slipping between you to rub tight circles on your clit again, lips curling when your back arches off the bed.

“One more,” he whispers darkly. “One more, Peach. I want to feel you come on my cock this time. Be a good girl and give it to me.”

You can barely keep your eyes open. Everything feels warm, heavy—your limbs like liquid, your thoughts blurred into static. All you can feel is him. Inside you. Around you. Everywhere.

Steve notices. Of course he does.

“Hey… hey, baby,” he murmurs, slowing his thrusts just enough to make your body twitch at the loss of rhythm. His voice is soft. Careful. His thumb strokes your cheek, tender and reverent.

“You with me, sweetheart?”

You whimper, blinking up at him, your lips parted, trembling. “I—yeah, I just… I can’t—”

And then he’s moving.

He pulls out, just for a moment, and before you can whine from the loss, he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you. Strong, practiced, like you weigh nothing to him. He sits back on the bed, pulls you into his lap, and guides you down onto his cock—slowly, gently, burying himself deep as you sink onto him.

You gasp, legs trembling around his hips, your arms clinging to his shoulders as you try to breathe through the feeling. He’s so deep like this. Too deep. You feel stretched, soaked, broken open—and he’s holding you like you’re precious.

“There we go,” Steve murmurs, mouth brushing your ear. “Got you. Just breathe, baby. I’ve got you now.”

His hands are firm on your waist, supporting your weight, rocking you on his cock with slow, controlled rolls of his hips. It’s almost too much. Your pussy’s raw and sensitive, fluttering around him with every messy, wet glide. But he’s whispering to you. Talking you through it. And it’s ruining you.

“So good for me,” he says softly, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your tears at your temple. “My perfect girl. You’re doing so well.”

You sob, helpless, completely overwhelmed—but you don’t want him to stop. You need him. The slow grind of his cock, the wet sound of your slick coating his skin, the praise filling your ears like a lullaby.

“Just let go,” he whispers, rocking you a little faster, a little deeper. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me fuck you, baby. Let me take care of you.”

You nod, burying your face in his neck, mouth falling open as another orgasm coils deep in your belly. The drag of him inside you is perfect. The stretch. The pressure. His cock pushing against that sensitive spot over and over while your clit grinds against the rough hair at the base of him—it’s too much. It’s not enough.

You can’t think. You can’t speak. All you can do is feel.

“Come for me,” Steve breathes, voice strained now, fucked-out and tender. “Soak my cock, Peach. Wanna feel you drip all over me. Be good and give it to me.”

And you do.

Your body locks up, trembling in his arms as you come again, walls pulsing around him in tight, messy waves. You cry out into his neck, and he groans at the feeling—deep and broken—clutching you tighter as he fucks you through it, never letting you go.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. Fuck—fuck, you’re perfect.”

You’re dripping down his cock now, your slick soaking both of you, and he keeps rocking you gently, whispering praises between kisses to your shoulder, your jaw, your throat.

“My sweet, sweet girl. My beautiful fucking mess. You were made for this, you know that? Made to be mine.”

Your body is limp in his lap now—soaked, shaking, pliant in his hands.

But Steve’s still inside you.

Still hard. Still rocking into you with slow, deep thrusts that punch soft whimpers out of your throat every time he drags against your overstimulated walls. Your thighs are twitching, your breath broken, and your cunt’s still fluttering around him—gripping him like it doesn’t want to let him go.

That makes him lose it.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, voice cracking as his hips stutter, grinding up into you like he can’t stop. “Oh, baby—fuck, you feel too good. Too fucking good.”

You moan when you feel him twitch inside you, and he lets out a desperate sound—his hands clawing at your waist, holding you down as he starts to thrust harder, chasing his own ruin now.

“I’m gonna come,” he groans, nose buried in your neck, teeth grazing your skin like he’s barely holding himself back from biting. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna fucking breed you.”

Your breath hitches, cunt clenching down tight around him at those filthy words, and he growls.

“Oh, you like that,” he pants. “You want it. Want me to come inside this perfect little pussy. Fuck, Peach—gonna make you mine. Make sure no one else ever gets a taste.”

You can’t answer—you’re too far gone, too fucked-out to do anything but moan for him, nails dragging across his back as he fucks you with messy, frantic thrusts. You’re both soaked—his cock sliding in and out of you with loud, sticky sounds, your slick dripping down over his thighs—and it’s perfect.

It’s his.

You are his.

“Mine,” Steve groans, arms locking around your back, crushing you to his chest as he finally breaks. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

He spills deep inside you with a guttural moan, hips jerking, cock pulsing as thick heat floods your cunt. You feel every throb. Every drop. His breath is ragged against your neck, arms shaking from how tightly he’s holding you.

But even as he comes down, he doesn’t let go.

He stays buried deep inside you, wrapping himself around your body like he’s trying to keep you in place forever. His cock softening slowly, leaking into your overstimulated pussy, mixing with your own mess as he presses soft, almost innocent kisses to your cheek.

“You did so good, baby,” he whispers, voice barely audible now, soft and dazed. “So sweet for me. So perfect. My precious girl.”

You can feel his cum dripping out around him, sliding between your thighs—but he just hums, kisses your temple, and pulls you tighter into his chest like it’s his right.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispers, lips pressed to your ear, breath warm. “You’re mine now, Peach. Always.”

And somehow—through the haze, through the wreckage of your own body—you find yourself nodding.

Because you already are his.

You’ve been his since the first taste.

You don’t know how long you stay there—collapsed in his lap, his cock still buried deep inside you, your skin flushed and damp, your thighs sticky with a mixture of sweat, spit, and cum.

His arms are wrapped around you. Tight. Possessive. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip even an inch.

“You did so good for me, Peach,” he repeats, whispering against your hair, breath still heavy. “So fucking good. I knew you would. I knew you were mine.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest—but not from fear. Not from anything that makes sense.

It should be fear.

Because this man… this thing… has killed. Taken. Kept. He stole you. Locked you in this house. Fed you lies and soft kisses and dinners you don’t ask questions about.

He should make your skin crawl.

But all you can feel is warmth. His voice in your ear, his cum still inside you, his hands petting down your spine like he’s comforting you after something holy.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he says softly. “No more bad days. No more pain. Just this. Just me. You don’t need anything else.”

Your stomach twists.

This is wrong.

He’s wrong.

You should hate him.

But your body—wrecked and trembling in his lap—wants to melt into him all over again. Wants more of his voice, his touch, the safety of being wanted this much. Even if it’s sick.

Even if it’s a lie.

“You’re gonna stay with me, Peach,” he murmurs, still stroking your hair, as if you have any choice. “Gonna build you a room right next to mine. Maybe not even that—maybe I’ll just keep you in my bed. So I can taste you every night.”

Your breath hitches. You’re too sore to move, too overstimulated to think, but the words sink in. So does the truth of them. He means it. Every word.

He’s not going to let you go.

And what’s worse—what makes shame coil hot and low in your belly—is that some part of you wants that.

You don’t want the outside world. You want him. His mouth, his voice, the way he holds you like you’re breakable and holy and his.

“You’re not scared of me anymore, are you?” he asks softly.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He smiles.

“Good.”

Then he lifts your chin with two fingers, eyes locked on yours, pupils still blown wide.

“I’m never letting you go,” he says, soft as silk, sharp as a blade. “I’d kill for you. I’d die for you. And if you ever try to leave me…”

He kisses your cheek, slow and gentle.

“…I’ll make sure no one ever finds the pieces.”

Your heart stutters.

Fuck.

You should be running. Screaming. Scratching at the walls.

But instead, your body leans into the kiss. Into his touch. Into the lie you’re too tired to fight anymore.

Because you’re not just his prisoner.

You’re his favorite.

⋆⁺₊✧ MASTERLIST

tag list: @iamthatonefangirl @buckytakethewheel @thatsbucknasty @buckybarneswife125 @peanutbutt3rcup @avengemepercy

[lavenderovercast]

HUNKING HERO collab with @honeyandberryjuice

summary: you & toshinori get freaky in your office! relationships: yagi toshinori x female!reader warnings: 18+ content under the cut, !! MINORS DNI !! note: me & @honeyandberryjuice decided to work on our own custom kinktober list for this year, so here's a written collab between the two of us! enjoy it you filthy animals <33 tags: blow jobs, (light) praise kink, size kink, office sex, semi-public sex, dick transformation (just gets bigger cuz. u know. all might ), all might AND small might, two for the price of one!, porn w/ out plot, implied aftercare 🌺 prefer to read on ao3? check out the series! 🌺

“Oh my goodness,” Toshinori panted, his large hands gripping into the leather seat beneath him. The blonde man’s neck was perspired with sweat, his breath and skin hot. The groan that came from his throat was visceral, almost like he was in pain, though he couldn’t be further from it. “You’re… taking all of me so well.” The man managed to gasp out, muscles visibly straining in his arms. The sight drives you absolutely crazy.

 All you can reply with is a deep and satisfied hum, what with your mouth being otherwise busy. Toshinori’s cock was enveloped deeply in your throat, the warmth of it fulfilling your need for the man. The hum you’d given in response seems to send ripples through him, as you feel him jerk in your mouth. You can’t help but feel smug about it.

 You have one hand gripped around his sinewy thigh, and the other one reaches towards his groin to cup his balls. As you begin to massage them gently, a strangled cry erupts from Toshinori and a clammy hand slaps down onto where yours was on his thigh and squeezes. His words are a garbled mess, but you manage to make out, “Jeez, I’m gonna cum. Let’s…” The man pauses to take another gulp of air before continuing, “I wanna try something.”

 Curiousity positively piqued, you remove him from your mouth. Your jaw had begun to ache from taking the size of him anyway, and you’d never been able to say no to him. You quietly hum again as you move, slowly pushing yourself up and off of your knees, resting your hands on the top of the blonde’s thighs. Toshinori’s breath hitched at the contact, and the man finds it increasingly difficult to regain his composure. 

 His dilemma only worsens when you lean your head closer to his, a sweet smile on the same lips that were just wrapped around his aching dick. The man could just about faint when your lips brush against his cheek, warm and soft as they press onto his skin before you speak to him so warmly. “What do you have in mind, Toshi?” 

 Toshinori fights a groan, hands shifting back to the leather seat underneath him. With a squeeze, he furrowed his eyebrows before letting his palms rest on your hips. A surprised noise escapes his you as he lifts you with ease, gently maneuvering you so your sitting on the desk in front of the two of you now. Your hands move to rest on the tops of his own, causing Toshinori to dig his teeth into his lip as he peers up at you. 

 In his eyes, you’re beautiful— a true marvel of the world. Your hair falls around your face and shoulders in a perfect curve, and there’s the sweetest, most trusting smile on your face as you gaze down at him so lovingly. The blonde doesn’t understand how he got so lucky, but he’s grateful for it anyways as he moves to slot himself between your legs. 

 “What do… You think about trying something different?” Toshinori rumbles, ducking his head down to leave loving kisses across your susceptible skin. His teeth grazes your neck, making you sigh and lean into the man with an approving hum. 

 “Depends on your definition of different.” You tease, rubbing your thumbs soothingly against his skin. You’re already fucking the man in an office, so you’re certain that nothing he can propose will be too bold for you to try. 

 The kisses he had been peppering on your complexion began to travel down your body, and you let out a small giggle as his lips tickled your sensitive skin. Your hands instinctively reached up to grab at his dishevelled blonde hair, pulling gently, which caused a low groan to escape the man. You bite her lip at the sound, positively enthralled that you could cause such deliciousness to come from him without even doing much. It seemed to take everything in him to find the focus to reply, “It’ll be better if I just show you. Let me know if, at any point, you don’t like it, ‘kay?”

 The small nod from you was all he needed as he sits back down into the office chair while pulling you down with him. Your soft, warm, naked skin on his caused tingles to travel up his spine, his hands reaching around you to support your back as you settled comfortably on his lap. With ease, he lifts your body up to line himself up with you and slowly enter you, a rumbling groan and a breathy gasp escaping each of you respectfully. 

 He takes a moment to let you adjust, and you dig your nails into his shoulders, making him grit his teeth. Toshinori would describe himself as a gentle lover, but the things you did to him made him want to break furniture and throw you around like a ragdoll, but he was a gentleman and would control himself— Even if every passing second with you only made that challenge all the more difficult. “You okay?” He asked, voice soft.

 “Always,” You respond, though your voice sounds strained. You look at him through your eyelashes, already knowing where his thoughts were venturing. “Please don’t stop. I just forget how much of you there is every time.” There’s amusement in your tone, and your face is wonderfully flush with arousal.

 If Toshinori was a different man, he would’ve been completely self-satisfied about the reactions he got out of you. It was hard not to be, when you have your fingers dug into his shoulders as he slowly rocks his hips forward. A pleased sound leaves you as you tild your head forward to rest your forehead against his shoulder with a shaky exhale. Desperately, you want to be close to him. Desperately, you want more of him, all of him. 

 Instead of taking further pride in himself for having such an independent woman damn near weak in the knees for him, Toshinori rests his lips gently against the top of your head. The smell of your shampoo invades his senses as he pushes forward. He’s slow and careful for you, attentive as always as he allows you to adjust to his length. 

 Another pleased sound erupts from you, this time in the form of a breathy sigh as his hips become flush against your own. A soft pant leaves you, and you left your head up to capture Toshinori’s lips in a kiss. His fingers press gently against your hips as he begins to move against you. The pleased, muffled sounds that leave his lover as he moves make him groan quietly, his own need increasingly growing. 

 The hands on your hips grips you harder, and he lifted you again to slide you up the length of him before pulling you roughly back down to take him fully. A surprised moan burst from you, telling him that you enjoyed the act very much, so he did it again. And again. Over and over, he lifted you up and down, before hitching his hands under your thighs to keep you in place and pounding up into you until your eyes began to roll back in your head. 

 You were lucky nobody was in the building anymore, or it would’ve been very obvious what you were doing, closed blinds or not. 

 A strained groan came from him as he felt the familiar sensation of release building up in him, and he knew now would be the time to enact what he slyly hinted at earlier. As your cries turned ecstatic, and your pulling of his hair felt like you were going to rip it from his scalp in a heavenly wave of pain and pleasure, he allowed another well-known electricity to assemble within him. The remnants of One For All pumped through his veins, filling his muscles and bulking his frame like it had again and again over the years.

 He didn’t think he would ever get sick of the feeling, and it didn’t matter that it only lasted for a few seconds now. Toshinori always felt so powerful when the quirk gave him new form.

 As his body doubled, tripled in size, your already smaller frame seemed to shrink on top of him. His large arms and legs seemed impossibly big next to you, and it was with your very sudden, sharp intake of breath that he knew you felt him bulk elsewhere too. “Oh my G— Fuck!”  Your voice squeaked as his cock stretched you out, and you felt more of him than you ever had before.

 He’s about to ask you if you’re okay again, to know if this was way too much or painful at all, but he’s silenced by you clamping your hand harshly over his mouth as you begin to bounce on top of him. Your moans are so tinged with desperation now that he can’t concentrate on anything else, and his even larger hands cup you tightly on the ass as he watches you taking every wide inch of him.

 “Toshi— Fuck, All Might!” His hero name being called from your pretty mouth undoes him. He didn’t think he was vain enough that something like that would turn him on so much, but the surprise doesn’t affect much as he realises his climax is imminent.

 He throws his head back and moans loudly as he empties himself inside of you, the cum overfilling you and dripping down the inside of your legs onto the top of his thighs. The man pants as he takes a moment to recover, his hands falling limp against you, who in turn practically drops onto him. Toshinori can feel your chest pressed against his own, your head buried into the crook of his neck. 

 The blonde can feel his body returning to his regular form, but he doesn’t pay it much mind as he lifts a shaky hand that he runs through your hair soothingly. He’s quiet for a moment before tilting his head back to you, lips pressing against the top of your head like they had earlier before. He can hear a breathy chuckle come from your mouth, and you peer up at him with affection written all over your features. 

 “Are… You alright? Was that…” He’s not able to finish his sentence as you lift a hand and gently nudge his shoulder, your eyes narrowed playfully on his face. He can feel his features warm as you hum. 

 “That was perfect, Toshi,” You murmur, nuzzling your head into the man’s chest with a contented little smile on your face. Toshinori can’t help but smile too, moving his hands to rest them on your arms, rubbing soothing patterns into the exposed skin. “...Should clean up, though. My office is going to smell terrible.” 

 “Mmm,” The blonde grunts in agreement, nodding a little. “Just let me hold you a little longer.”

[bberetd]

odyssey !!

a (super) late odyssey anniversary post AND illustrations of my lovely bestie @silenzahra’s odyssey headcanons 😙

[pitlanepeach]

So… (pls only my 18+ readers expand)

Dom!Oscar meeting a girl (OFC) at a club, they scene together, he gives incredible aftercare, and it’s not until 3 weeks later that he sees her again.

In the Mercedes garage.

Laughing with Toto Wolff.

And calling him Dad.

[easytiger-xo]

dean-centric dividers

✦︎ open to color request

⟡ free to use! tag to credit ❤︎

✦ more dividers here.

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ daddy kink, size kink, forced orgasm.

“Ghost.” 

He looks over the rim of his glasses before sliding them off completely and tossing them onto the stack of papers spread out in front of him. "Gaz." 

“You out of here soon?” Kyle’s in the doorway with his arms crossed, slight smirk twisting his lips. 

“Tryin’ to be.” The administrative side of this job will be the death of him one day, leaving him buried beneath mountains of paperwork. “Guys get their gear done?” He nods. “Shoot test?” 

“All complete. Evals loaded in the portal.” He’s frighteningly efficient, something Simon’s come to rely on.

Kyle has no idea there’s a recommendation for promotion in this stack of nonsense on his desk. 

He’s going to miss him when he makes captain. 

“Good work as always then.” His phone buzzes. Three times. 

>I think I should be another hour, or maybe less. 

>But of course don’t feel like you have to rush over here, I’m fine to wait. I don’t mind. I know I gave you a time estimate this morning so of course I don’t expect you to work around me. 

>I just meant to say I’m ready whenever. That’s all. But no rush, again. 

Kyle sighs with a chuckle. "That your girl?" Simon waves him away.

“Have a good weekend, Lieutenant.” 

“You too, Captain.” 

“Hi.” Something in him settles at the sight of you. Tired, but excited. Half ready for bed, half ready for him, you’re standing in the shop next to one of the little tables, your work bag and jacket slung on a chair. 

“Hi sweetheart.” You’ve shed some layers in the last week, become a little less inhibited with him, a little more confident, slowly adjusting, and he’s proud of you. 

You’ve been good. 

“How was your day?” 

“Oh, fine. I’m tired.” Your eyes go wide with panic. “Not too tired though, not like t-tired I want to go home. Like, to mine uh, I still-” It doesn’t take much to knock you off balance, still exploring this new world, the one he’s building for you, his sweet fresh fawn. 

“It’s alright.” He reaches, cupping your cheek. Physical contact seems to soothe you. He thinks it’s because there’s a live, tangible tether connecting you to the now, to him, instead of whatever is going on in your head. “You were up really early sweetheart, it’s understandable you’re tired.” You were awake before him this morning. Sent your usual wake up text well before the sun rose with a hurried explanation about a last minute catering order and a panicking bride. 

I said I’d do it. I felt bad. 

It wouldn’t be so rough if you hadn’t been at work late the night before for something else. 

It’s clearly wiped you out, and he’ll need to shift gears. “Are you ready to go?” You take a half step back and hold up your pointer finger, inclining your head towards to the back of the bakery. 

“Uh, wait. I forgot something, one sec.” 

You return with a big white box cradled in your hands. 

“What’s in there?” 

“Oh I made you something. Us. I made us something. For after dinner, if you want. Obviously if you don’t want it that’s fine you don’t have to eat it, it might not even be your thing, which is fine, I just-” He steps into your space and you trail off, eyes going to his without prompting. He blocks the world out, closes in, palms the back of your neck.  

“It’s me baby. Just you and me, and there's nothing to worry about. You’ll never make a single thing I won’t like, right?” 

“R-right. I know that.” You’re bobbing in a continuous nod, looking away to study something on his shirt. 

“What is it?” 

“Pie. Boston cream pie.” Cream pie. Blood flows to his cock and he momentarily gets lost in his own head. 

“Tell me.” Fat tears roll down your cheeks, hands following him desperately as he rears back and folds your knees to your chest, staring at where his cock is moving in and out of your body, everything about him too big, nearly too big to fit inside you. “Where do you want daddy to put his cum?” 

“I-inside. I want your cum inside me daddy, pl- oh- please.” His balls tighten as he grinds his hips, licking an errant tear running down your face. His girl. His. In his arms, his bed, crying on his cock. 

“Only good little girls get daddy’s cum, baby. Have you been good?” 

“I’ve been good, I’ve b-been so- ah- f-fuck-” The wand buzzes to life, hovering just over your clit as you shake your head frantically. “No nonono, I can’t anymore, I c-can’t.” 

“Yes you can,” he thrusts deep and you gasp. You’ve already come four times, but he wants more, needs more, wants to wring every single one he can get out of you before he empties his balls inside your pussy. 

When he finally slides it across your swollen little nub, you howl. 

“Oh- no-” you whine, nails digging into his forearms, muscles already bearing down on him, breaths turning into short rasps.  

“I know. Breathe baby,” he glides it back and forth, kisses your cheek, your mouth. “Breathe through it- that’s my girl. You can take it.” You’re oversensitive, battling a war between pleasure and pain, and your legs instinctively try to close, prevent the impending explosion you know is coming. “Keep your knees open.” He gives the head of the wand firmer pressure, and you cry, shaking your head no again. 

“It’s too- too much.” Your feet are on his sides, partially bent in half, and he forces one of your thighs wide, giving him a better view of your puffy, tortured clit. 

“Knees open baby girl. One more and daddy will fill you up nice and deep.” You nod, already so close he can feel it, scorching heat pulsing around him, legs trembling as they go lax. “There you go…” he pets your hip, mouth at your ear, soothing and comforting as it rips through you. It pushes him over the edge and he tosses the wand, pins you. Traps you beneath him. All his. 

“Oh my god,” you slur, still riding the wave of your own orgasm, eyes rolling back in your head. It pushes him over the edge.

“Good girl, good fucking girl, so proud of you, takin’ my cum- fuck-” his own voice is choked off as he floods you, ruts like an animal, instinctively forcing as much of his seed into your belly as he can. 

When it’s over, he drinks in the sight of the milky white cream dripping out of your hole before scooping it up with two fingers and pushing it back inside. You’re limp the whole time, and when he slips the plug in, you barely notice. You’ll be pumped full of him until later, and he’ll take it out to give you more. 

“Daddy?” You mumble, half asleep, and he brushes his lips across yours, tucking you into his chest. 

“Right here, baby. I’m right here.” 

“- it’s not really. I mean, the best part about it is the cream, you know? That’s what makes the cake but the layers have to be moist on their own. You can’t just rely on the…” He swallows your words, licks them out of your mouth, cups your face and presses his thumb into your bottom lip afterwards, edging it across your top teeth. “Oh.” You blink, blindsided, and he runs a hand down the back of your head, strokes the back of your neck. 

“Ready then?” You lean into him, a little dazed, off kilter. 

“Y-yeah.” 

 Your toes scrunch at the threshold of the living room, afraid to cross until he flattens his palm on the small of your back.

“Go get comfortable sweetheart.” Battling nerves with a need for sleep, you were unsettled at dinner, sitting at the table, swallowing over and over again long after your food was chewed. There’s something more at play, something larger weighing on you. You left your plate half empty, fork resting at three oclock, twirl of spaghetti and red sauce waiting, and he should have told you to finish, or take one more bite. 

But it's a slow game right now. A careful one. 

“Alright.” You scamper towards the couch, settling into the far side, toes tucked between the cushions. It’s a balancing act, not too much, too too little, and when he sits down next to you with a giant slice of the cake on a plate, you watching him anxiously. Curiously. 

He forks a piece free, and holds it in front of your mouth. “Open.” You do. Immediately. You trust him to feed you, and it calls to the thirst thrumming in his blood, the power of control. “Good girl.” He waits, patiently, ignores the flex of your throat, the butterfly flutter of your lashes. There’s plenty of time for it all. There will be a lifetime (if he’s alive to live it) with you. "What do you say?" 

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you…” He leads, and you follow. His good fucking girl. 

“Daddy,” your whisper is shy, cautious and brave at the same time. “Thank you daddy.” A kiss finds its place on the corner of your mouth, then the full furl of your lips, and you burn alive, flames flickering in your eyes. He takes a bite himself and groans 

“Christ baby.” 

“Do you like it?” When he nods, you grin. 

“Not everyone likes them because they expect a cream pie and that’s not what they get, it’s a cake with vanilla cream between the layers, see?” You point to the thick custard. “It’s not like coconut cream pie, or a banana cream pie, you know?” Cream pie. If you say cream pie one more time. 

“It’s really good sweetheart. Too good.” He helps himself to another bite, offers you one, and then has a third before finally setting the plate down. Silence hovers in the air and he lets it languish, giving you time, all the space you need to give him the worry, the doubt, the weight that's holding you back. 

“Simon.” He smothers his surprise. It’s not the first time you’ve used his name, but your voice wavers on it. Wide doe eyes stare back at him, and then they find the floor. That won’t do. “I don’t know what to do with…”

“With what sweetheart?”

“You. This. U-us? If that’s… if that’s what-” 

“That’s what it is.” He closes what little gap there was between the two of you and pulls your knotted together fingers free, dwarfing your hand with his. “That’s what this is, baby.” The hope, the happiness, blooms across your cheeks and lasts for all of two seconds before worry overtakes it, and you begin tracing the lines in his palm, head down, focusing on the task, slightly shaking. Giving you a chance to walk away would be the right thing to do. 

But he won’t. 

He can’t. 

He’d never give you up now. 

“I’m not… I’ve never… done something like this, I don’t know how.” 

“That’s okay sweet girl, you don’t have to.” The nervous tracing turns to a light scratch. He lets it continue for a beat before folding your hand between his, stopping the movement. 

“I don’t?” 

“No. I’m here, and I’m going to take care of you, make sure you have everything you need. I’m going to keep you happy and healthy and safe, and you don’t need to worry.” A shaky exhale rattles free from your chest, weight of a thousand questions evaporating into thin air, decisions and deliberations rapidly falling away as you settle into a new reality, a new life. One where you’re cared for, supported, and loved. “All you need to do is listen, okay?” 

“Okay daddy.” 

[chickenglittersstuff666]

[katsukiizmoon]

Katsuki loves you so much it actually pisses him off. Cuteness aggression or whatever— he hates you.

Your lips curl into a familiar grin and you stand on your toes for a moment to kiss his cheek. Then you’re turning your back and leaving him to watch you stand at the stove and stir a pot.

His tshirt looks too good on you, your humming makes his bones ache, and Katsuki hates it. His teeth grit and he breathes through his nose. Long and slow, willing himself to calm down. It hurts between his ribs, seeing you suck your bottom lip using your teeth and grab a spice.

Everything you do sets him on fire then puts him out. It’s like being endlessly edged, drove to the point of insanity and then tugged away. It scares him shitless.

When nimble fingers trace over the indents in his skin at night, lulling his insecurities into a slumber, he squeezes his eyes shut. Your voice burns in his throat and makes him choke up. It tucks his insecurities into their forever resting place. You say “I love you forever” and he melts like the slow drip of a candle.

Katsuki’s fingers twitch and he taps his foot rapidly to stay calm. And all his plans go to shit when you pepper soft kisses across his abdomen and whisper little things. He blinks blearily.

His cherry, narrow eyes now bigger than ever and filling with tears. They water until he sucks in a breath and huffs. The ache in his bones rattles, begging him to keep his demeanor.

“Stupid shithead.” Katsuki bites, his thumb rubbing circles into your back.

“Love you too baby.” You quip back promptly, pecking his jaw and yawning. And he will lull you into sleep as you did his insecurities.

[pastel-peach-writes]

Hii, i just read all and i mean ALL of ur fics, but i saw you wrote for arcane women and was wondering if you could write headcanons abt them with a socially awkward/anxious reader?? If not thats A-Ok 👌 with me

Sure! How is everyone doing after the first three eps? I still haven't seen it but the edits I've seen... oh boy.

"I Got You." | Arcane Ladies Headcanons

╰┈➤ PLOT: How the ladies of Arcane(Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika, Mel) act with a socially awkward and/or anxious partner

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: Spoiler Free, On The Shorter Side, Cursing, Not Proofread

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

JINX

– At first, Jinx didn't get that you were socially awkward. She was used to people being awkward or even scared around her so she thought it was the same case with you until you two got closer.

– After knowing that your awkwardness was just you and not your fear of her, she observed you in social situations and noted what made you more anxious than normal.

– For example, she noticed you're more anxious and timid in bigger, louder spaces but if a space was quiet and quaint, you would be just fine so she often took you to quiet places for dates.

– If Jinx notices you're anxious in places you typically aren't, without a doubt she's removing you from the situation and taking you home where you can relax. No words, just grabs and tugs.

– She's tried the pep talk route before but it ended up in her rambling and somehow planning a terrorist scheme aloud... (yeah, a few patrons quickly left the area after hearing that), so she decided to scrap that idea altogether.

– At home though she would prepare what she calls, "A Safety Nest". It was a place in your shared space that had all your favorite things and trinkets, and she usually kept the space dimly lit and played your favorite music to calm you down.

– In social interactions where you take the lead in conversation, Jinx would quietly encourage you with big, almost alarming smiles and "gentle" pats on your back. Let's face it, Jinx can be socially awkward herself.

– Once the conversation concludes, she'll jump on you proudly, ruffle up your clothing, and pinch your cheeks endearingly all while calling you weird nicknames and quoting what you said while mimicking your tone and cadence.

––

VI

– Before you've had your first real conversation together, Vi could sense that you were an anxious individual.

– You fidgeted with your body while speaking, didn't hold eye contact long, and used a decent amount of filler words to casualize your sentences.

– She thought it was endearing to watch you act and move as if you thought no one truly cared about what you were saying or were afraid of boring others but you never bored her. She didn't think it was possible.

– You had tells and quips that revealed themselves with each conversation you two had. You showed more and more of your personality the more you got comfortable with her too. Vi loved it.

– When you spoke to her, especially when you went on tangents about things you were interested in, she always showed signs of active listening by nodding and asking follow-up questions. Even days later, she'll bring up the topic again to see if you have any updates.

– She made you feel seen and heard, something you've subconsciously craved. And when you went on your worry rambles, she consoled you and tried her best to stop you from spiraling.

– You thought about a lot of things and oftentimes about things no one else thought about. Vi thought your brain must've been exhausted with all the worries, doubts, and judgments that were usually wrapped up as others' but were truly your own; it was a lot for one person to handle so she strove to let you know that you were not alone.

– Is there a night you can't sleep because of your racing mind? Vi is there, holding you or reassuring you that everything is going to be okay. She can't sleep until you do anyway so why not speed the process along?

– You often had yourself stuck with your head stressing and worrying about multiple things at once and Vi was always there to bring you down to Earth.

__

CAITLYN

– Caitlyn's an encourager and a comforter with you.

– She's patient and silently allows you to take your time when gathering your thoughts midconversation but she'll also be the one to say, "It's okay, take your time," in the sweetest way possible.

– If there's an instance when you two are out and about and you really want something but are too scared to get it, she'll spring into action and get that thing for you. (Even if it was just a napkin).

– The only time she's frazzled socially is when you both are in an unfamiliar area and need to ask for directions. She'll stumble over her words and try to get someone's attention but they're moving too fast to hear her soft words.

– She'll get frustrated and you end up comforting her, but after a few backrubs, she's ready to try again. Her voice is strong and powerful, and people have no problem hearing her.

– You secretly thank whomever you have to for her determination but there was no way in hell you were going to walk up to a stranger and ask for directions like a tourist... which you were.

– Since Caitlyn's job has her socializing with a lot of people, she can get burnt out easily. Especially if work hasn't been going her way lately but even if she's burnt out and tired, if you seem to be more awkward or anxious than her, she's more than happy to step up socially.

– When you both have someplace to attend to or some event that holds significance, Caitlyn will not hesitate to stage a "social rehearsal" with you. She'll make flashcards of topics you could bring up, you'll both dress accordingly for the event in her living room, and she'll pretend to be an assortment of people so you can get used to different personalities all at once.

– It may seem like this is all for you, but honestly it helps her too. Sometimes she misses the personal cues of conversation leading the other to think she's a black-and-white thinking who has no time for pleasanties. Not true! She's very pleasant... sometimes she's just shy.

– Shyness is not a crime!

– After talking with the host and a few others she has to talk to due to her job, her social battery is depleted. She's extremely thankful you're able to recognize this and suggest leaving early. What would you two do without each other?

––

SEVIKA

– Oh, man. This lady found your awkwardness charming as hell.

– Your awkwardness was different than all the nerds and scaly-beings she's forced to be around. You were cute, looked perfect sitting next to her, and your awkwardness, as mentioned before, had a certain charming quality she can't quite place.

– She'll see you in your workplace trying to make casual conversation or small talk but none of your topics seemed to be landing. Your coworkers would give you a thin pressed-lips smile that she wanted to strike off of them to your attempts and then scoff at you behind your back.

– You were authentically yourself and those bastards didn't know what to do with it. They were scared, not her though.

– When you two got closer and comfortable enough with each other that you could tease one another or make playful jabs at the other's expense, no doubt she would tease you about your awkwardness.

– With those gorgeous eyes of yours, you would look everywhere else but her own, prompting her to say, "You know you can look me in the eyes, right? I won't bite", with the stupidest most shit-eating smirk on her face. And then when you look at her, a bit shocked and playfully annoyed, her smirk would only grow. "Unless you want me to."

– Sevika never made your awkwardness seem like a flaw. Your awkwardness came with you and she wanted all of you so she often encouraged your awkwardness.

– If she caught you trying to "reel" it in or realizing that you've talked for a few seconds too long, she'll playfully scold you and tell you to continue or to "let it out". Y'know. As someone who seethes dominance does.

– There would be an instance in which you go to Sevika asking for advice to be "less awkward" and her only response would be, "Why? I like your awkwardness, you don't need to change it. Anyone else who thinks otherwise is a sad loser and don't deserve to be in your life anyways."

– like damnnnn, okay!

– Safe to say you never asked her a question like that again.

--

MEL

– Mel understands your worries about what others think and the awkwardness that can come with it so she likes to help you in any way she can.

– If you're stressed about a council meeting and afraid of what everyone's going to think about the new perspective you'd like to bring to the table, she'll reassure you and tell you she's right by your side.

– If she can't physically with her hand on the small of your back, she give you nods of encouragement, raise her brows proudly, and look at you with that sense of pride and admiration in her golden eyes.

��� After the meeting goes well, which she knew would, she'll congratulate you with your favorite drink and a night in doing all your favorite things.

– Even if there were parts in the meeting that were rocky, like the council people asking questions you weren't prepared for or getting rowdy, she'll say you did an excellent job and what you presented will help the people of Piltover.

– Oh, and don't think for a second that she wasn't sending glares and daggers to those who stirred up your anxiety even more. If looks could kill.

– Mel sees that sometimes your awkwardness and anxiety result in people-pleasing and she would shut that down real quick. She's fallen into that dangerous pool before and knows how hard it feels when you disappoint others and how much harder it is to get out of that mindset.

– She can get quite spirited with her encouragement...

– "Well, if they don't like it, that's on them! They don't know something good when they see it." "I've learned that hard way that you can't please everyone. You might as well say what you have to now. They can get over themselves later."

– It's actually quite attractive to see her stand up for you, even if she was standing up for the possibility.

– Always keeping her words in your mind, you find yourself navigating through life easier and you only have her to thank.

WC: 1,705

[basementcoffee]

cw: mouth kink, hand feeding, referenced spanking

brief thoughts about mercenary price making his captive hand feed him dinner.

price sat on a fallen log, his unwilling companion on their knees in the dirt. reaching up with trembling hands, offering bite after bite.

the roasted rabbit he poached that dawn, tomatoes stolen from the vine at a farm they passed. every other bite, he sucks their fingers into his mouth, teeth grazing knuckles, biting down when they flinch or try to pull away. the fear, disgust, and loathing in their eyes a different kind of morsel.

it is a punishment, of course, for trying to slip his hold again. a heavy hand usually does the trick, but he can’t ride double with someone squirming from a bruised backside.

eventually he relents. allows them to retreat. to sulk on the other side of the campfire. through the flames he watches them rub their spit-sticky fingers over the coarse weave of their hose, trying to scrub the feel of his tongue off. he breaks that spell when he tosses them his scraps and cracks a joke about trussing them up like the rabbit. about suckling something else until they cry.

the repulsed noise they make in answer nearly satisfies him as much as the meal did.

[runningupthatvecna]

get the peach(es)

bestfriend!eddie munson x reader

it's the day after chrissy got vecna'd and you and the gang decide to check up on eddie at rick's. he's still in so much distress that you can't help but selflessly stay with your best friend (who you've been harboring a crush on for quite some time) and keep him company. 6k words, not proofread.

cw: the good old friends to lovers trope, eddie is an anxious bean who just needs to be held (by you, ideally), mutual (and not so secret at all) pining, i wrote this with fem!reader in mind (she/her pronouns) but can also be read as gn i guess, fluff, hurt/comfort (for eddie), pet names, mentions of chrissy's death, there shall be kisses and a lot of softness. nothing too explicit but minors are still advised to LEAVE

a/n: totally not self indulgent, that scene of him being so terrified in 4x02 ripped me to shreds so this is my fix-it attempt, trying to still my need to hold him and scratch his head. disclaimer: this piece of writing is based on the ending of that episode, meaning all credits for the setting go to the respective writers. sources to the header images here, here and here. lovely divider by saradika. ok thank you so much for reading byeeee love y'all <3

–––––

The overwhelming need to befriend the satanic metalhead found you at that party at the Wheeler house. You had almost said no to Nancy when she invited you, knowing damn well how the night would end. Steve passed out with a girl on his lap, Robin silently pining after Vickie from some corner of the room while clinging onto the red plastic cup in her hand, Jonathan getting higher than a kite with his old school mates, the younger kids asking you every five minutes if you could give them a ride since you usually were the one staying sober.

Additionally this time, there would be Eddie Munson. This familiar stranger Dustin, Mike and Lucas had met and somehow befriended over the last months, due to them joining his DnD club. "He might come off as a bit intimidating ... but I promise he's super chill and easy going!", Mike had tried to convince his sister, poking the tip of her shoulder repeatedly with a bunch of pleases during lunch break in the editing room of the school's newspaper. Until she rolled her eyes theatrically and agreed to let the ambiguous stranger, which the whole town collectively perceived as not really fitting in (and who you both certainly knew under the not so chill reputation he carried around), attend the celebratory events at Casa Wheeler. Occasion: Karen, Ted and their youngest leaving the house for more than one day, off on vacation.

You'd always kinda stayed out of his ways, used to observe his antics back at school with a silent laugh and this .. intrigue poking at your guts. To you he always stood out, and if anyone asked you'd be hesitant to admit it, but his willingness to go against the flow and not conform to the acceptable standards set by society was honestly impressive. And besides, surely this whole mysterious drug dealer rockstar image must just be a fassade and deep down he's just a dork, right?

His eyes follow you through the living room, an echo of your name crossing his mind repeatedly after having pulled Dustin into a corner for a brief interrogation. He finds it endearing how quickly and almost bashfully you look away every time your curious gaze meets his. As you redirect your focus to the conversation you're becoming engaged in, there's a soft smile creeping onto your lips. Little did he know it would soon start to haunt him in his dreams at night.

"Anything specific you're looking for?"

God, his voice. The close proximity invites your nose to inhale a mix of fresh cigarette smoke, bergamot and sandalwood, allowing you to sense what can only be him standing behind you as you skim through the cabinets of the Wheeler kitchen. You turn your head for your eyes to confirm your assumption and what they find is the deepest brown of round baby cow eyes they've ever met, up so much closer now. The paring of his gaze and plush smile somehow manages to dissolve every little prejudice you've been involuntarily harboring about him. Eddie Munson, the town's freak. Prime reason for the existence of the satanic panic. Drugs. And then you realise that you should probably do the polite thing and give him an answer. "Yeah uh, I was just trying to find the peach syrup", holding his gaze with a small lopsided smile, lost in its warmth which you wouldn't have dared to expect from it, before facing away from him again. He snorts a little, "peach syrup?", pauses to bring a thumb to his upper lip, lightly scratching the skin above as if to wipe something away, before he removes it again and the dimples appear around the corners of his mouth, "that is oddly specific." His response spreads a smile over your face, and the next thing he says widens it, "looks like you have taste though."

You move one step to the side, about to investigate the insides of the next cabinet, the kitchen itself almost empty of people with only three others chatting away in the corner across the island. He follows, undoubtedly trying to stay close, and the heat from the fire he just ignited somewhere inside of you rises to your cheeks. "Thanks, I really like peaches. Especially in my drinks. It adds a little ... kick to my sobriety", you explain, Eddie now quirks an amused eyebrow paired with a lopsided smile at you, and as you get to the last cabinet it dawns on you (and also Eddie) that this household severely lacks peach syrup. An atrocity. Thanks Ted.

After he helped you rummage through the entirety of the kitchen without success but under a lot of small talk, the metalhead vanishes from the function for an hour or so. At least that's what your brain concludes when your vision fails to spot him among the people who are in attendance. Maybe he's selling out of Nancy's bedroom. Maybe he's puking up his insides in the bathroom because he had too much of that weird beer he's been downing all night. Maybe he's banging some random girl in the bathroom upstairs. Or summoning a demon. Or both. At the same time. You once again try focusing your attention back to the conversation you are involved in. Munson already feels so dear to you that the lack of his presence is starting to form an ache in your heart. It's tugging on those strings with how much you already want him near you. Yeah. You're gonna be in trouble with this one.

And then he stumbles into the room from the direction of the front door, an event you're totally unable (and unwilling) to miss. He doesn't look like he just puked, nor sold a whole lot of the stash since you notice it still bulging out the left ass pocket of his black jeans. Instead, as he pushes past the small groups of people socialising – and towards you – while you notice a red net of round fruits dangling from his right hand, and you start to think that his disheveled hair and that rosy tint on his cheeks might actually not be from shagging either. He meets your gaze again as he approaches you with a grin and your heart dares to swell at his attentive gesture (you think you might as well pass away on the spot).

"Have some, peach."

It's not syrup, but you'll take them anyway. And with your next drink, you swallow down not only that peachy sweetness on your tongue, but also whatever this tingly feeling in your chest is.

"Chchhrhch.."

Pause.

"Hey, uh– chrhchhr.."

Silence in your bedroom, the only thing illuminating the space is the moonlight softly falling through the window.

"Chrch– a-are you there?"

You stirr awake from dozing off in your bed, trying to piece together the information your senses are giving you.

Eyes gone dry, you have to blink a few times. Figure out which year it is and so on.

Confusion lies between the static crackle for a moment. That nap after your shift at the diner was necessary. God, you need to fucking quit.

"No I'm sure she'll pick right up, just– hey pleeease b-be awake, goddamn it!–"

Is it already past midnight?

You don't know and you can't tell, the clock on your nightstand still broken. What you do know though is that the familiar voice belongs to your friend Dustin and it's desperately trying to get ahold of you.

They must have found him.

"Dustin? I copy, where are you? What's going on?", you finally grab the device from the nightstand, fully awake and aware of your surroundings now.

You need to know. If he's okay.

There's that all too familiar instant tingle in your chest again, an ache that made itself familiar to you for the first time when he was introduced to you at the one and only Wheeler party several months ago. The dungeon master of Hawkins High's Hellfire club, the lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin and a super chill and easy going guy, to put it in Mike Wheeler's words.

What you didn't expect back then was your heart starting to develop that feeling, that tingle you'd always get to feel when you were in his presence, or like now, when his name is threatening to spill from your friend's lips on the other side of the connection at any moment.

"Aha! See? I told you she'd respond in no time."

You can practically feel Dustin's shit eating grin through the frequency, basking in being correct over Steve Harrington once again. It never gets old between these two.

"Oh my god", Steve's muffled voice is what you can make out vaguely from the off, he's probably palming his face.

"Dustin!", your voice disappears into the device, and your impatience grows with every passing second, hoping he gets the hint.

There's the sound of a door falling shut, leaves rustling under shoes, he must be outside now.

"Alright, okay yeah, so we found him at Rick's and he's really upset and he's been asking for you. I know it's late but can you meet us out here? And maybe, uh, stay with him?"

It's not even worth questioning. You're already wearing shoes. Your biggest hoodie in tow, you stumble into your kitchen with the intention to raid your own snack drawer. Pulling out Eddie's favourite, which you of course had stocked up on ever since hanging out with him at your place had become more of a weekly routine for the both of you.

Ten minutes, you told him. You'd be there in ten.

The drive feels like forever. The longest ten minutes of your life, you think.

You know the route like the back of your hand, having driven along the gravelly road leading from the last intersection before Hawkins' border to the outer world, to the serene woods surrounding Lover's Lake countless times. Eddie would take you here ever so often, for picnics, an occasional smoke after picking up a new delivery from Rick's, cloud or star gazing, listening to Metallica and Tears for Fears on Wayne's old walkman.

The gravel crunches underneath your white reeboks as they land on the ground. You close the door to your car as quietly as possible after you've taken out the bag and your hoodie.

Dustin and Steve are stood outside the boathouse, waving like madmen in the darkness once you come into their periphery.

The younger boy hugs you tightly.

"So glad you could make it", he gets out, the relief palpable through his voice as well as the grip he holds you in for a brief moment.

You look at them both after Steve presses you against him cordially, and breathe out through your nose, making your nostrils flare.

Dustin cracks open the case to you as he starts to ramble about the state in which they found your best friend, "well first he attacked Steve with a broken bottle, we had to put in great effort to convince him that we'd be on his side, and we came to the conclusion that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, basically."

What you want right now goes without saying. Everyone here knows how close you and Eddie are. As friends, of course. No one would think anything different.

Without wasting another second, the boys lead you inside where Max and Robin are knelt on the wooden floor. Heads turning towards the entrance of the room where you're now standing.

The sight of what's offered to your eyes, sitting opposite of them, breaks your heart.

You can see that he's slightly shivering, eyes glassy in the dim lit room. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips though once his brain grasps your presence, and he can't help anymore but let the water fall once his eyes lock with yours.

The pain that is swimming in those two deep warm brown oceans hits you like a dagger to the chest. Over the months of being friends with him you'd seen him various different states, none of them comparable to this.

"Peach", his shaky voice announces your arrival and the sound of your nickname spilling from his lips cracks through your bones. The bag that's slung around your shoulder drops onto the wood with a dull thud.

Wobbly legs carry him towards you with a gentle shove past Robin and Max. You're once again reminded of your best friend's sheer physical strength as he wraps his arms around you, instantly burying his face into the crook of your neck.

One arm of your own sneaks around his torso, pressing him against you as tightly as your own strength allows you, while your other hand comes up to bury itself underneath the mane and to end up scratching soothingly over the scalp above the nape of his neck.

Eddie lets out a muffled sob, sniffling into the collar of the sweatshirt you threw on in a haste. He doesn't really want anyone to see him like this, certainly not Steve Harrington, so he clutches onto you so tightly that he thinks you might just feel his heavy heart beating anxiously against your chest.

And you do. How could you not with the amount of world he means to you? Like an automatism your other hand rubs slow circles over his back. Comforting him in the best way you could. Not a conscious decision you make.

"Okay so, m'not meaning to ruin the party, in fact I'd love to stay for another round of doom talk, but I really should get home soon, guys", Robin scratches the back of her head after she gets up from her huddled position next to the wooden crate Eddie had been sitting on. Max joins in and agrees, mumbling something about having to move her mom from being passed out on the couch again into her bed.

"Yeah me too, actually. My dad's gonna be fucking pissed. We'll see you tomorrow, yeah?", Steve's voice echoes through the room and you can tell he's already shoved Dustin back outside, itching to drive the kid home.

As Eddie processes having to stay in hiding, added the possibility of everyone leaving without him, his grip on you tightens even more.

"It's okay, Eds", you speak softly, head slightly tilted so your cheek rests on the dark frizzy mop you could call his hair. The skin on his neck and scalp so warm underneath your fingertips as you keep scratching it, emphasizing your presence, "I'll stay."

A soft muffled whimper is what you get as a response, and the way he lets you see him in this state melts your insides to a puddle.

You just need him to be okay.

They wave their goodbyes behind your back, accompanied by mumbles of "see you in the morning", and you can't even bring yourself to turn your head around, fully focused on making the young man in your arms less terrified of the world. A world he was sure was now going to come for him with all its force – in deep conviction of him being responsible for Chrissy's misfortunate end.

The door falls shut and Eddie muffles a quiet thank you into the fabric of your sweatshirt. The skin on your neck is damp with his tears, wet eyelashes tickling every time he blinks.

"It's okay, Eds", you softly keep repeating your words to him while continuously rubbing over the denim of his signature Dio vest in a slow motion, when he feels the urgency to claim the truth into the collar of your sweater about what has happened, "I– I didn't do it, I swear."

As if you would need any convincing.

"Oh no of course you didn't, I know that", you're looking for a way to ease the distress this entire situation is causing him, his quivering voice adding to your desire to soothe him to inner peace, "can I make a suggestion?"

Eddie nods with another sniffle against your collarbone, the round wet tip of his nose brushing against the column of your throat lightly. To his ears, your voice sounds like silk right about now.

"How about we head over to the main house and get ourselves a little more comfortable? Since we're gonna be here for a little longer? My god you probably haven't slept or eaten at all, have you?"

You can feel him nod his head again with a hum this time, and you start to think that the tears might not just be pouring because he just witnessed someone suffer a gruesome death right in front of him, but also due to physical exhaustion.

It makes your heart ache even more, that tingle still present, even more so now. It hurts to see your best friend hurt.

He just needs to be okay. And in that heart of yours there's that little spark of hope that leads you to believe you could be the one helping him with that.

You'd really want that. Be all his to find comfort in, to hold close, to kiss stupid

Stop.

A sigh escapes your lungs at the thought. That tingle, that longing, it's selfish. It familiarly pools in your belly and slowly drips downwards. You push your brain aside. This is about soothing your best friend now.

"C'mon then", you utter softly, encouraging him with your hand to lift his head from where it leans against your shoulder.

For your heart it's almost too much to look at, the hurt still swimming in the glassy big brown irises, his waterline red and puffy. The soft smile returning to his lips causes the wet apples of his cheeks to push up slightly, reflecting the dim light coming from the one torch Robin left you, placed on one of the crates.

He really hadn't been able to close an eye for a single second since he he'd gotten up for school the day prior.

You smile back at him almost bashfully as you slowly create space between your bodies.

Eddie is grateful that it's you who grabs his ringed hand next.

He squeezes yours, hoping to get the message of this meaning something to him across.

And he closely trails behind you as you lead the way.

The house feels empty, like no one's really been here in months. You'd never been inside. The few times you'd accompanied Eddie grabbing stash you'd stayed in his van, waiting. But as far as you now can make out in the darkness, there's a couch with knitted blankets, a little TV with a whole stack of VHS almost rising as high as the screen itself, spilled and spluttered empty cans and papers and wrappings littered all around. Maybe this is why he never let you come inside with him. Keeping you out of this definitely not sterile mess. Along with keeping you out of the business.

In the middle of the living room, you let go of his hand and shuffle one step away from him. He's inside now. Safe. Job done. Doesn't need physical contact. You shouldn't, he's your friend. You feel like something between you would break if you'd go there.

Eddie thinks otherwise, regarding close proximity at least. He promptly follows you into what you believe to be the kitchen where you hope you might find a tea bag or two. He comes up behind you and encases you in his arms as you rummage through the cabinets (feels familiar, hm?), not at all ready to say goodbye to the warmth of your body pressed against his own just yet.

You giggle at the silliness of him putting weight on you just to make it harder for you to reach into the cabinets. It's endearing. And very Eddie.

Twenty minutes later and there's two mugs – cleaned to your best ability – with steaming hot liquid on the sixties wooden coffee table. Next to them a plate filled with the almost equally hot insides of a ravioli in tomato sauce can. Thank Rick for a still functioning microwave.

You drape the knitted blankets over both you and Eddie as you settle into the cushions. The only light existent coming from two lit candles on said coffee table. It wouldn't be too wise setting up the torch you think.

The side of Eddie's face glows in the orange yellow, his wide brown bambi eyes dried after the first grand storm, and there's this tug on the corner of his pink plush lips again. He exchanged his leather jacket for the freshly washed hoodie for comfort and a small part of you hopes he doesn't spill his dinner onto any of it.

You lean back into the backrest of the worn out couch and watch as he eats, a domestic thing you've done a thousand times already, yet you still find comfort in knowing that he's nourishing himself.

Or well, in this case, inhaling the raviolis.

"Thank you Peach", he moves to put the empty plate back on the coffee table and it makes the spoon chink and glide along the edge, "I really needed this."

His voice is a little hoarse, probably from the emotions of the hours behind him. Maybe he has indeed calmed down a little. His hand moves down to your thigh, squeezing.

You give him the most empathetic smile you can bring yourself to display, painfully aware of the blaze that is transpiring through your leggings and seeping into your bones, "it's no big deal, really. I mean it is– uh, being there for you, is."

And he can't bring himself to look up at you. Instead, he stares at the empty plate on that coffee table in front of him.

"And to me as well. It really helps that you're here."

He doesn't bother moving the calloused warmth of his hand from the soft warmth of your thigh. It lights your entire nervous system on fire. In a good way.

And that's when you begin to wonder if everything that has just happened and is still happening right now changes anything.

"I'm so glad it does", is all you're able to get out.

Eddie decides that it's time to lean into your side and wrap his arms around your torso once again, drop his head back to its favourite place with a soft content little hum.

He just needs physical comfort. Of course. Just that. Nothing more, nothing else.

The words are redundant but your mouth articulates them anyway, "try to get some sleep, yeah?"

His back already lifts and falls evenly. You place your hand on the back of his head that rests in the crook of your neck again, scratching through the curls lightly, searching to help him shut off even deeper.

–––––

The candles have gone out by the time your eyelids slowly open. It takes you a moment to recall the location you fell asleep in, and you hope that the nightly darkness the whole room is now filled with hasn't invited any stranger to take advantage of your unconsciousness.

There's a warm hand holding your face, the pad of a thumb tracing over the apple of your cheek softly. It makes its way from the bridge of your nose to the outer corner of your eye, and back. And forth. And back. And forth.

You must have moved to lie down on your back in your sleep, with Eddie's weight still on your body, legs entangled. It's not the first time you've slept like this, there had been movie nights that had ended similarly.

His hand caressing your cheek though, yeah that is new. There's something unspoken in the air this time around. Your stomach is doing flip flops when you realise that he is propped up on his elbow, just .. looking at you. With eyes that don't require light to hint at whatever it is he is trying to say, or maybe not trying at all.

"Eds, what are you doing?", you ask almost in a whisper followed by a lopsided smile, expecting an unserious answer, because he always tends to make a joke whenever he tries to avoid conversing about emotions regarding his heart.

His thumb stops its acrobatics on your cheek, comes to a halt.

"I'm–", he takes a deep breath before he continues, "I'm just so grateful it's you that's here right now."

Your hand comes up to cup his. Brush over his rough knuckles with a thumb of your own. Enjoying the warmth that is seeping from his palm into your skin.

"Yeah, I figured you were gonna be a little opposed to spending the night with Harrington", you laugh, an attempt to turn your nerves into humour.

Eddie snorts a little, "yeah right, it's almost like you know me", he grins and pushes himself even closer to your face than he already is. It doesn't necessarily help in extinguishing the fire that's consuming you whole at this point.

"It's almost like we're best friends and I know what you think of him because every time Dustin or literally anyone else mentions his name around you, you're not necessarily secretive about it."

"Hey, my own worldview is not my fault, it's just– ... he just kinda seems like a douche of the highest order."

"He's quite alright, Eds. Try giving him a chance, I think he'd look great as Coffin's tambourinist."

He snorts again and you feel his breath on the column of your neck next when he dips his head down, nose pressing against the soft skin, his small giggle being swallowed by the collar of your sweatshirt.

Your favourite sound. Ever. Followed by the relieved moan Eddie lets out at the way your other hand is softly rubbing over his shoulder blade. The vibration against your neck makes you twitch as much as being pinned into the couch cushions by his body allows you.

It's soothing as much for you as it is for him.

When he lifts his head, the soft gaze he eyes you with is enough to let the goosebumps erupt. Even in the darkness of the room you can still make out those round buttons that could melt the entire north pole.

"Thank you, Peach, really. I'd be goin' mental right now and probably tryin' to counter that by smoking an equally mental amount of the stash I've been hiding here."

Your heart aches.

"I'm just glad I can be that kind of comfort to you, Eds. You don't have to go through whatever the fuck this is alone."

"I know I'm never gonna be alone as long as you are there."

You almost cry yourself now, his words making your hand travel from his own to his cheek, almost passing out from the way his eyes bore into your own once again.

Eddie isn't sure what it is that is making him feel lightheaded right now. The whole rollercoaster of events of the past hours. Or your words of affirmation. Or mayhaps it is your cute soft hand with that little ring on your thumb which is gently swiping over his damp skin.

That cute soft hand he'd been imagining countless times at night, silently yearning for your eyes to look at him differently, to finally see him in a different light the next time you'd hang out.

Probably a combination of just everything.

You reciprocate his soft half-lidded gaze, hand moving from his cheek to tuck some of his hair behind his left ear, revealing that delicate silver hoop earring you'd gifted to him for his birthday, after having talked your ear off about getting his ear pierced for literal months.

He'd insisted you join him for the appointment, "another metal moment for the books", as Eddie had called it, the need to have his hand held during the stab comically urgent in the way his voice sounded when he called you that day. And in the pace in which he picked you up.

"I'm here no matter what", you respond to his sentiment, that hand that brushed his hair away resting on the side of his neck while leaning the weight of your head into his palm that is still attached to your cheek.

Eddie's confidence reaches a new all time high with the admission of your unconditional support being stirred into the cocktail of hormones and emotions that's been circulating in his bloodstream for a generous amount of time now.

Because then he goes on by saying impossible things.

Impossible things with a slightly less platonic undertone.

"You're so fucking sweet, has anyone ever told you?"

You smile as you shake your head, heat rising to your cheeks once again and you're sure he won't be able to see just how flustered he's getting you (joke's on you he does).

You're also sure he's out of his mind for saying that. Now.

"A shame, honestly. You should scold your best friend for not telling you sooner. Tell him what a fucking idiot he is."

Eddie earns another giggle from you. Music to his ears. Better than Metallica. Okay maybe not but .. pretty fucking close.

"I'll let him know next time I see him", you say with a grin, playing along with pleasure, and you ask yourself why it is only now that you realise just how fucking close his face is to yours.

There is a moment of silence in which Eddie hesitates articulating whatever is seemingly bugging his mind.

"Do you, uh, still like him?"

If you lifted your head just a little your noses would be touching. A silly and utmost redundant question, and yet, Eddie dreads your answer. If the circumstances were different, less dystopian and tragic, you'd seriously wonder what would spark the doubt in your friendship in him, but considering that everyone else would be going to pour their judgement over him, you understand.

Every word exchanged between the two of you at this hour is soaked in mutual infatuation, something the idiots in both of you are slowly starting to fathom as well.

"Of course I do, he's everything to me."

As you say it, you can't help the grin which reappears reliably each time you finish verbalizing your thoughts. It's contagious, you notice.

"And do you think – just hypothetically of course", it's only then he breaks eye contact to clear his throat, "of course", you interrupt him still smiling and cocking an eyebrow at him, "d'ya think it would be okay for this best friend to, uh, maybe...", Eddie pauses, internally watching the ship containing his confidence set sail slowly and ultimately letting the irrational thoughts win for tonight, "would you let him..."

Eddie generally wasn't someone who lacked confidence. It showed in the way he boisterously wandered the halls of Hawkins High, the way his demeanor never changed, his mask never faltered no matter who was around. Except for you. You who he had always granted a look underneath the impulsive, extroverted surface.

"Eds", you try everything in your power to stay calm even though everything inside of you is screaming right now and you're certain you can feel your pulse in your earlobes.

"Would it be just insane of that best friend to kiss you right now?"

You want to squeal and kick your feet, pull him into your face, pinch your own forearm, pass away, leave the house and never return, and stay right where you are forever, buried underneath your favourite metalhead, the parts where your bodies are touching practically on fire, cosy and content.

Instead, the most fond smile spreads over your lips as you try to contain your internal overwhelm.

It's still dark, the only light source being the full moon outside. Eddie's so hopeful of your reciprocation and even more terrified of ruining his entire life at the same time, those deep doe eyes at this point pretty much resemble the shape of the space rock orbiting earth. Rejection from you, his pretty Peach and the Bonnie to his Clyde, would be unbearable.

"I think so," you almost whisper, the hand that's been rubbing over Eddie's back coming up to lightly trace one of his eyebrows with your index finger because you just can't seem to not touch him in some way, "but you should know that I love his insanity."

Your small giggle is being silenced by a soft and cautious kiss from Eddie Munson. Like he doesn't want to break you. Or he's afraid you'll snap out of a haze, slap him and leave if he starts kissing you like he really wants to.

And then it's you who goes for it, you feel at home, right where you belong, you don't think you've ever felt this good. The hand on his jaw tugs him closer softly, pressing your lips to his with a bit more urgency.

It gives him all the confirmation he could possibly need.

That tingle, it grows and fills up your chest and shoots through your entire being, goosebumps and all. Eddie moans and breathes against your lips, tongue dancing over the thin skin, asking for permission.

His ringed hand digs deeper and slowly moves to the nape of your neck, intending to hold you in place, afraid you could slip away from him if he didn't. This blossoming thing between you could slip away from him. If he didn't.

It's so soft, the way his lips touch yours, and before you know it they move to your cheek, to your jaw, down your neck before Eddie comes up again, smiling from ear to ear, to gently bump his nose against the tip of yours and his lips return home with a soft and deep hum escaping from his lungs into your mouth.

Relief floods his veins along with whatever it is you're doing to him. The ability to shut out the insanity of the past hours is what he so desperately wants to cling to for as long as you allow him, even if the dawn will remind him of the horrid reality he's involuntarily become subject to live through now.

"You're making things so much better, Peach, you're so sweet, so fucking cute, so fucking good for me, do you even know for how long I've been dreaming of this?"

Eddie greedily pulls your face into his again, not even giving you a chance to reply and not nearly getting enough of your affection it seems with how fervently his tongue searches for yours.

A gentle collision of skin.

The soft whimpers you let out only spur him on. You not backing away from him, staying with him, letting him be this close to you?

You, the only constant source of consolation Eddie's ever really had.

Life changing.

Soft touches follow soft touches, your thumb traces his jaw repeatedly.

"You don't–", kiss, "for how long–", kiss, "I've been dreaming–", kiss, "of you as well", you breathe against him and Eddie thinks he might be about to resort to sniffling into your collar again with the amount of relief he is experiencing.

You'd let him.

"Yeah?", he presses his nose into your cheek with his eyes closed, smiling from ear to ear, relaxing his entire body into yours as you let him slide inbetween your legs.

"Yeah, you know how much of a sucker I am for peaches", you grin, another peck to his cheek, his jaw, his neck, your hips slowly finding a rhythm against his own.

Eddie groans at your allusion with a wide grin on his face (and the feeling of your warmth against his dick), before pressing his lips against yours again lovingly, "me too baby, me too."

–––

taglist (thought you might be interested): @josephfakingquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @analogkraken, @wroteclassicaly, @songforeddiemunson, @joejoequinnquinn, @somnambulic-thing, @trashmouth-richie, @eddddiemunson, @ceriseheaven, @userchai

comments, reblogs and other forms of affection towards the author are greatly appreciated thank youuuuu <3