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pedropascallme · 6 months ago

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After The After Party

Pairing: Damien Haas x f!Reader

Summary: “‘Have you ever noticed,’ Courtney popped her lips together, spreading the gloss, ‘That Damien only ever offers to host when he knows you’re going to come?’ She turned to you again, leaning back, elbows on the sink. ‘Almost like he just wants an excuse to have you over.’”

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI) p in v sex, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, dom/sub dynamics, praise, creampie, soft!dom Damien who is also incredibly needy, mentions of drinking/alcohol, brief mention of gambling. If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: This is so dialogue heavy and I won't even apologize for it. Dedicated to the idiots to lovers mfs out there <3 part 2 here!!

Long shoot blocks, you’d learned, usually devolved into long nights out. The cast and crew—or, at least, those of whom had the time and the desire to let loose—often found themselves in bars with high ceilings, with music playing too loud, and drinks that were just strong enough. There were nights when you lost Arasha and Amanda to the grimy dancefloor as soon as you passed the threshold, and nights when you watched from afar as Chanse cozied up to a beautiful stranger.

You liked listening to your friends talk and laugh as if you weren’t all exhausted after the grueling work week.

You liked feeling like part of something.

Some nights, though, when Shayne and Spencer got tired of hugging the wall, and when you’d all realized how expensive it was to go out as often as you did, someone would offer their house as a respite from the outside world. It was a chance to avoid prying eyes and the same top 40 hits that seemed to play at every bar.

Now, you found yourself at Damien’s house; someone had dimmed the lights, and from your spot on the couch you could hear glasses clinking in the kitchen as Tommy poured various liquids into a makeshift mixer. Your friends held mugs of alcohol, pretending to be above the culture of red solo cups.

You watched Amanda and Angela play a card game you didn’t know on the coffee table in front of you.

“Your pile is huge—your pile is huge, oh my god!” Amanda’s voice carried over the other noises around you. You leaned against Angela’s shoulder.

“Because you’re playing wrong! You’re cheating! You’re literally cheating and it’s so uncool.” Angela tried to grab Amanda’s cards, and you smiled at their back and forth. You were admittedly distracted, but trying to play it cool, pretending your mind wasn’t elsewhere as Angela jostled your head.

You watched Damien out of the corner of your eye. He stood across the room, toying with one of his rings, nodding along to something Alex was saying.

You tried not to stare, but there was something so attractive about the way he looked in a space all his own; he didn’t command attention—Damien hated being the center of attention, especially when it was easily avoidable—but he had a way about him tonight that just seemed so relaxed, and it was hard to ignore. Especially when he was already taking up most of your thoughts as it was.

For as long as you’d worked with Damien, he was someone you looked forward to seeing. He wasn’t the only reason you got out of bed, but he was certainly up there on the list. Thoughtful, considerate; he was a generally good-natured person. He made the days go faster, making jokes and ensuring you felt included as a newer member of the cast.

And you liked his laugh, and the way he listened, and the soft color of his hazel eyes that looked somewhere close to green in the light.

It was no secret that you found him alluring, but you felt that it was better to keep those thoughts out of his orbit. If not for your sake, for his. It just seemed unfair to come onto him after you’d spent so much time together as friends, especially when he had given you no reason to think that he felt anything for you beyond camraderie.

You sat up from your position on Angela's shoulder, moving your head to get a better look at Damien. He noticed, shooting you a smile. You reciprocated it, offering a small wave, keeping your elbow low and fingers folded near your palm. He waved back, and you both quickly returned to your respective conversations.

Amanda and Angela had gone back to playing their game, light-hearted fighting words replaced by laughs as they smacked cards down.

There was a tap on your shoulder, and Courtney pulled you up from the couch.

“Come to the bathroom with me.” She set a cup of something that smelled strong on the table.

The rules of the bar still applied to house parties, and you had no problem tagging along on trips to the bathroom, sitting pretty while your friends fixed whatever makeup was still left of that morning’s full beat. You followed Courtney down the hallway and into the bathroom.

“You’re bright red, you know,” They wasted no time in grilling you, running the water and dabbing it under their eyes to wipe away streaks of mascara that had rubbed off.

“I had a Tommy special.” You sat on the edge of the bathtub.

“That’s not—you can handle your liquor.” Courtney turned, combing through their hair with her fingers, “You’re not blushing just because Tommy gave you one vodka cran.”

“It wasn’t a vodka cran. It was a vodka soda.” You could tell where the conversation was headed, and you tried to veer it off track.

“You’re not as slick as you think you are.” Courtney raised a brow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He hasn’t even spoken to me tonight.” You contradicted yourself, markedly aware of what she was referring to and feeding into the topic, but disputing what you could.

“You’re oblivious.” Courtney laughed, fishing lip gloss from her pocket and turning back to the mirror.

“What do you mean?” You stood behind them, watching her reapply the color to their lips.

“Have you ever noticed,” Courtney popped her lips together, spreading the gloss, “That Damien only ever offers to host when he knows you’re going to come?” She turned to you again, leaning back, elbows on the sink. “Almost like he just wants an excuse to have you over.”

“He doesn’t do that. Damien is always offering to host. Doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.” You retorted.

“Not true,” they shook their head, “On days that you're not around and we don’t feel like going to the bar, Tommy always hosts. Or Amanda. Or Ian.”

“Tommy has more alcohol at his place.” You ignored the rest of the list, still trying to change the subject.

“Dude,” Courtney was laughing now, “It’s like you don’t want to see it.”

“See what?” Your ears began to feel hot.

“That he likes you as much as you like him.” The words had a tone of finality. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Bec—are you serious? Why wouldn’t I be nervous? Why would I run the risk of ruining a perfectly good friendship? Or, you know, whatever it is—however you might describe what it is!” You started to ramble, digging yourself into a hole, “What happens if something happens and then—it could ruin work, Court. It could ruin everything!” You suddenly became aware that you were whisper-yelling. You cleared your throat, returning to a normal tone of voice. “It could ruin everything. That’s why people don’t fuck their coworkers.”

Courtney said nothing, just held up their hand and made a point of showing you the wedding band around their ring finger. She cleared her throat.

“That’s different.” You tried to backpedal.

“How?” Courtney looked amused, eager to hear your half-baked reasoning.

“Cause of course that worked out. Look at how Shayne looks at you. Look at how obvious of a pairing you two are.”

“Same way Damien looks at you.” Courtney smirked.

“You’re reading into this more than I am.” You shook your head at them. “He would’ve made a point to do something by now.”

“Are we…talking about the same Damien?” Courtney laughed, and you responded with a tight-lipped scowl. “In what world would he ever make a first move?”

“The ideal one. Where everything goes my way.” You scoffed, folding your arms.

“Right,” Courtney put a hand on your waist, and you looked at each other. “Approach this with more confidence, is all I’m saying. Give yourself—give him—the opportunity to make something happen.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, unfolding your arms and rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, no, you’re right.” She gave you a cocky look, and you slapped their arm gently, “Don’t rub it in.”

“You’re hot,” Courtney rubbed her thumb over the exposed skin of your waist, “And sweet. You deserve the world. And I love the both of you more than words, but you act like you’ve never had a crush before.”

“Not like this.” You admitted, and they smiled.

“I know. But you have nothing to lose.” They looked around as if they were afraid someone might be listening from behind the shower curtain, “I have it on good authority that he feels just as strongly about this thing—” she gesticulated vaguely, “as you do.” She smiled, turning to open the door. You grabbed her by the arm.

“What did Shayne tell you—what did Damien tell Shayne?” You tried to pull them back as they turned the door handle, but she wiggled from your grasp.

“You didn’t hear it from me!” She called back to you, leaving you alone in the bathroom to ruminate on the conversation.

~~~

It was still early when people started to trickle out. You knew when Shayne and Courtney left that the party was over.

“Do you guys need a ride?” You sidled up to Courtney where she stood in the foyer with Shayne, “I don’t mind driving you home. I’m sober. Stone cold.”

“Oh my god—Steve Austin, I love your work!” Spencer called over to you while he herded a cheerfully inebriated Tommy through the door. Shayne let out a quick, barking laugh.

“No, don’t worry about it. We’re ubering.” Courtney moved hair from your face, and you saw something dubious hidden in her smile. She leaned further into your space, lowering their voice, “And you’re not going anywhere.”

“What?” You made a face.

“Give yourself,” they pressed a finger to your chest, “an opportunity.”

You grasped her hand, squeezing her fingers. Shayne looked on, and if he knew what you were talking about, he kept it to himself.

“I’m leaving. I’ll be gone—out the door right after you.” You argued, and Courtney raised her eyebrows, waving you off before exiting. Shayne followed close behind her.

You didn’t leave right after them. As it turned out, you didn’t really want to leave at all.

You liked Damien’s house. It was spooky year-round, warm in both temperature and color palette, and his couch was cozy.

It wasn’t just the furniture; Damien’s presence was equally as, if not more, comforting. He walked around picking up whatever had been misplaced during the night, trying to find the right spot for it all. He hummed quietly to himself, shooing the cats away with his feet.

“I’m sorry for not helping,” you shifted on the couch, lying on your side.

“Don’t be sorry,” he smiled, “It’s fun to organize.”

“That is such a you thing to say, you know that?”

“What is?”

“That organizing is fun.”

“It is. Especially when I have company while I do it.” He looked pointedly at you. You held eye contact.

“You can tell me to leave. If you’re done for the night.”

“Why would I want you to leave?” He looked genuinely curious as to why you would think he’d want you gone.

“If you’re tired, or something. I get it.”

“No,” he shook his head, grabbing a cup that had been left half-full on a bookshelf, “I like having you around.”

“Can I get that as a written statement? Signed, dated…” You sat up a bit, positioning your head on the armrest of the sofa.

“Absolutely not. Nobody can ever know.” He laughed, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“Come sit with me.” You leaned over to pat a cushion before returning to your reclined position.

It could’ve just been the liquid courage you’d ingested, but you’d only had one drink. It was hardly enough to make you feel a buzz, let alone get you drunk. Maybe you were just thinking too much about what Courtney had said, about giving yourself a chance, finding an opening to let him in. Or maybe you were just really, really comfortable where you were spread out on the couch. For once, though, the confidence seemed to be your own doing.

Damien put down the cup in his hand and settled on the couch. You rested your feet on his thigh, and he placed a hand on your shin.

You’d always felt that any one-on-one time you got with him had a deadline, like you were on a time crunch based off of when the next video needed to be filmed or when your friends would join the conversation. It made the moments alone with him all the more enjoyable.

You liked being here, alone with him.

You liked it a lot.

“You wanna do something?” Damien leaned his head back on the couch, stretching his arms out beside him. You tried not to pay too much attention to the way the fabric of his t-shirt hugged his arms and the broad expanse of his chest.

“Like what?” You quirked a brow.

"Something low energy that makes us feel like we’re doing something…” He mulled over the possibilities, “Smash Bros?”

You nodded. “Wanna make it interesting?”

“I’m not putting money down.”

“Because you’re scared?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “Scared you’ll lose. Wouldn’t wanna take a chunk out of your day rate.”

“You fucking wish,” you kicked at him gently. “I wasn’t thinking the gambling route.”

“So what were you thinking?”

“You ever played strip poker?”

Damien looked taken aback, and you regretted your proposal almost instantly. “Are you suggesting we play strip Smash?” He broke into a fit of laughter.

“We don’t—it was just a thought.” You tried to retract your suggestion.

“I didn’t say no.” He held your gaze, and you felt a tug in your stomach. “But if you get cold, tell me.”

“You say that like I’m going to lose.”

“Oh, is that what that sounded like?” He tossed you a controller, “Good. Cause that’s what I meant.”

You kicked at him again.

You lost your socks first. Then your shirt. You didn’t know whether or not to thank or chastise yourself for remembering to wear a bra. Your pants quickly followed, and though it was far from a matching set, you were relieved that your undergarments were at least presentable.

You were acutely aware of your own body now; the rise and fall of your chest and the way you moved your legs when you got caught up in the game. You didn’t notice Damien: how he bit the inside of his cheek so hard when you took off your shirt that he flinched; how he nearly lost his grip on the controller when your jeans came off; how he kept shifting in his seat.

You especially didn’t notice the way he looked at you. His eyes flicked over your face with a combination of pride and adoration, and they darkened significantly when his gaze dropped below your collar and took in your half-naked form.

“How far are you gonna take this?” Damien was grinning, his voice the only other sound against the backdrop of in-game blasts and the click of thumbs on controllers.

“Down to my skin.” You shot him a glance and he cleared his throat.

“Won’t be long, then.”

“Yeah?” You bumped your shoulder against his lightly.

“You’re oh-for-three.” He pointed out, and you pushed against him again, harder this time, in an attempt to throw him off his rhythm.

“Let me choose a different character.” You tried to reach for his hands to grab at the controller. He held it up and away from his body.

“I don’t think the character is the problem,” he laughed, face lighting up at the way you sneered in frustration. “I’m not pausing just so you can be Kirby.”

“Who said I wanted to be Kirby?” You chastised him.

“Did you want to be Kirby?” He looked smug when he turned to face you, his hands still out of reach. You realized how close you’d gotten to him over the course of your teasing exchange, and suddenly recognized that the opportunity Courtney had been alluding to was right in front of you.

You moved to straddle his waist, legs framing his body and tits inches from his face as you stretched out to grab his hands, removing the controller from his grasp. You tossed it to the side and Damien was frozen as you shifted to look behind you at the screen, your victory now swift thanks to the lack of any opponent.

You turned back to him with a smile. “Did you want to be Kirby,” you imitated him, echoing his taunt. “Lose the shirt, Dames.”

Damien looked up at you, frozen. The tension was almost visible, like fogged glass, and you had no idea how to clear the air. You were nearly certain that you had made a terrible mistake, that everything about tonight was about to go wrong.

You were unable to make eye contact with him—afraid that by looking at him you would completely fall apart and lose the edge you’d only just found. Throughout your mental battle with yourself, Damien still hadn't moved, his gaze fixed on your face.

You tried to make your fear dissipate by breaking the silence.

“What?” You laughed, a little awkwardly.

Damien swallowed. “I...sorry,” His eyes were wide as he spoke, “I just got…very nervous and—and really turned on.”

Oh.

He let out a small, huffed laugh, smiling up at you in a moment of awe. He blinked hard a few times before moving his arm to rest behind his head.

“That…that makes two of us, then,” you stayed where you were, placing your hands on your thighs. You licked your lips, exhaling, before finding the nerve to continue. “You still have to take your shirt off, though. You lost. Rules are rules.”

“Didn't you get to take your socks off first?” He narrowed his eyes playfully.

“You can take them off," your words were coy. "You want me to move?”

“I never said that.” He shook his head, leaning forward just enough to grant him the space to remove his t-shirt. He tossed it to the side, and you felt your whole body flood with nerves and anticipation when he leaned back against the couch on full display for you.

“Are you cold?” Damien brought his hand up to cup your elbow, and it was only then that you became aware of the goosebumps that had broken out over your flesh.

“No…No. Just…” You swallowed, moving slightly on his lap. “Just nervous.”

He let out a small laugh. “Do you—I mean…” He was entranced, unable to remove his eyes from your face for the fear that if he looked at any more of you, you’d be able to feel his reaction. You reached out to trace a hand over his chest, admiring him and letting the heat of his skin warm your palm. “Would you mind if…” He bit his lip, closing his eyes while your fingers grazed his flesh. He took a deep breath. “Can I kiss you?”

You stopped your hand, letting it linger on the center of his chest, just above his stomach. Damien gingerly placed a hand on your waist, and for just a moment you wondered if he could feel the desperation seeping through your skin.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can kiss me.” you nodded, maybe a little overzealous, “Please.”

You leaned forward into him. You could feel the weight of his hand on your body and the thrum of your own heartbeat in your chest as it threatened to break through your ribcage. You watched him suck in a sharp, deep breath before his other hand cupped your face. You closed your eyes, letting him guide you into the kiss.

It was tender. You moved slowly, in tandem with him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting yourself settle into him as you got lost in the way his mouth felt on yours. You let your lips part, making space for his tongue to dip between them and explore you further. You let out a quiet moan when he licked into you, and you let your own tongue delve beyond his lips to take a taste of what you’d been craving so urgently. His grip on your waist tightened in response to your sounds, and you took it upon yourself to test the waters, rolling your hips against him. You were rewarded with the feeling of his stiffening cock between your legs, and a gruff sound that caught in his throat. His hand moved from your face to the back of your head, applying light pressure to keep you steady as the kiss became hungrier, and he bit at your bottom lip.

When you parted, both of you pausing to catch your breath, he looked up at you, quietly chuckling to himself.

“What?” You let your hands wander over his shoulders, “Was it that bad?”

“What? No—god, no. No, I’ve just…I’ve always wanted to do that.” Damien smiled, moving his thumb in a soothing pattern over your hip, “I’ve always wanted to do that…” He trailed off, raking his eyes over you and letting both hands move up and down your sides.

“Really?” You posed the question with your eyes closed, lost in his touch. You let yourself fall forward on his chest.

“Really.” He sighed dreamily, “I can’t begin to explain to you how much space you take up in my head. The real thing is a lot better than the imaginary version.”

“But you can do whatever you want in your imagination.” You pointed out, pressed against him and tracing lines over his collar with one finger.

“Yeah. Sure. But nothing I think up could ever beat this.” His fingers grazed the clasp of your bra, “And, full transparency, I’ve thought up a lot.”

You laughed, pushing yourself up with both hands on his chest to really look at him; his hair was messy, and his cheeks were flushed pink.

He looked flawless. You felt flawless.

“Damien,” your tone was saccharine, still tinged with a shy edge but steadily coming into your own with help from Damien’s clear reciprocation of your feelings, “Do you wanna show me all the thoughts you’ve had?” You watched his face go stern at your words, still hinting his amusement with a small, nearly hidden smile. “Do you wanna act on them?”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against him; somehow the feeling of your tits pressed against his bare chest was almost more intimate than the kiss you’d just shared. You squealed, tossing your head back, which he took as an opportunity to leave dainty kisses on your throat, muttering against your skin.

“I don’t think you’ve ever seen my room.” His voice was gravelly, parched from the kisses he left on your skin as he picked you up. You gasped, suddenly off the ground and in his arms as he carried you down the hall; one of his hands trailed down your body, and you felt his fingers dig into the flesh of your upper thigh to keep his hold on you. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, letting him overwhelm your senses.

You got lost momentarily, like time had paused or sped up or stopped completely, but then you were in his room. The lights were dim, just as they were in the rest of the house, and the shelves stacked with various tchotchkes and books that you were too distracted to care about in the moment.

You realized that a person could look like their home, in a way, and you recalled the moment earlier in the evening when you had found yourself so attracted to how Damien carried himself in his own space. It’s because the space was just as welcoming, just as comforting and soothing as he was.

He let his grip on you loosen, and you landed on his bed, hands still wrapped around him and tentative of letting go. But you didn’t have to; he lay next to you, rolling onto his side and pulling you against him in a swift maneuver that placed you comfortably on his chest.

He didn’t kiss you, maybe out of anxiety that he was moving too fast for your taste, or just because he felt the moment didn’t call for it, but he brushed his nose against yours and let his hands linger on your waist.

“Is this what you thought about?” You whispered, letting him continue his quiet ministrations, “Taking me to bed and touching me like this?”

“And so much more,” he breathed, hands moving up your back, trying to commit your entire body to memory. “I hope you—I didn’t mean for it to come off like I’ve only ever thought about fucking you.”

You moved to rub your thumb over his cheek. “What did you mean?”

“That I don’t want you to be my friend,” he smiled, and your heart dropped for a second before he continued, “That I think about you all the time in ways that friends don’t think about each other. And I…” He searched for the right words, “Even after a night like this, even after, you know, seeing everybody and having everybody over—even when a place is full of people, and noise…You’re still the only person I can pay attention to. Or think about.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, and he pulled away from you to meet your gaze.

“Does that sound really stupid?”

“No,” you reassured him, pulling him back towards you, “No, it’s…you put it into words, Damien.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I get it. I’ve been trying to figure out how to describe what you mean to me, and you just,” you laughed again, trying to collect yourself, “You did the work for me.” You smiled, tilting your head back with your chest still pressed against him, making sure he paid attention to what you were saying. “I love you.”

You watched his face change, something in his eyes and the curl of his lips looked different in a way you couldn’t pinpoint. You couldn’t look for long, because he was on you again in a flash, arms wrapping around you, engulfing you with his body and tugging you into him. His lips crashed against yours, and it was hungry, and messy, and passionate, so much so that you couldn’t be bothered to care about the clack of teeth or the small bead of spit that fell from the corner of your lip.

“I love you,” Damien’s voice sounded tight, higher than it had been all night, “I love you.” He freely explored your body now, big hands reaching over your ass and offering soft squeezes before grazing your sides and the swell of your breasts.

“You know how,” you managed to get a few words in between heated kisses, “you said you didn’t want it to come off as if you only wanted to fuck me?” You let out a small moan when he licked a stripe up your neck and to your earlobe, mumbling quiet curses to yourself at the feel of his tongue on your body.

“Mhm,” Damien acknowledged your words without breaking away from you, still nipping at your neck while you let your breathing mellow so that you could continue speaking.

“Want you to fuck me,” you put a hand in his hair, forming a fist in the silver strands and pulling him up to make eye contact. “Damien, I want you to fuck me.”

He looked almost surprised, like he had forgotten physical intimacy beyond kissing you was even an option. The look of mild shock was replaced with clear enthusiasm as he moved to get off of the bed. “I’d hate to make you ask twice.”

He shed his jeans, and you realized this was more of him than you had ever seen before; standing next to you was the man that took up all your thoughts, ready and willing to give you what you wanted, his eyes like pools of reverence as they trailed over your form.

You couldn’t help but feel excited, uncaring if you came off as desperate. You sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, situating yourself on your knees. Your hands found purchase on his chest and slowly moved down his stomach until you reached the waistband of his boxers.

“Eager,” he let your hands wander, watching on as you explored. You paused, looking up at him to wordlessly ask if you were allowed to go further. “Don’t be shy, baby,” something about his tone had changed, and the cheerful voice you’d come to know and love was replaced with a deeper, rasping sound that you thought you might like even more. “You can touch. Take what you need.”

The words reached your core before they fully hit your ears, and you shifted on your knees, pressing your thighs together to give yourself some relief. Sliding your hand under his waistband, you were met with the solid, smooth skin of his cock. He helped you pull his boxers down and over his length, letting it spring free, and you felt your mouth water.

He was big, thick, and while not surprising in the slightest, you couldn’t help but whine at the sight before you. You looked up at him, your hand wrapped around his cock, thumb brushing the reddened tip; you expected him to look smug, proud of himself, maybe, but he looked dumbstruck, in awe of the way your hand looked wrapped around him—in awe of the fact that it was you.

“Damien,” you prompted, and it broke him out of his haze. He nodded. “Can I…”

“Please,” he took a deep breath, “God, yes, please.”

You smiled. “Well, I’d hate to make you ask twice.” He laughed at your mimicry before quickly silencing himself with a shaky moan when you licked an experimental stripe up the bottom of his cock. He tilted his head to the side, unable to decide whether to get lost in the pleasure or to enjoy the view he had of you, bent over yourself on your knees and using your mouth in a way he’d only ever dreamed of.

You spit in your hand, gliding it over him and appreciating the way he felt in your hands; the warmth, the pliant weight. You made sure he was looking when you finally took his tip in your mouth, circling your tongue over him. You moved your hand in sync with the way you bobbed your head. He groaned, hand flying to rake his fingers through your hair, and the way he sighed out your name spurred you on more.

His other hand caressed your back, tugging cautiously at the straps of your bra.

“Take it off,” you pumped him in your hand, letting your tongue flick out to deliver barely-there licks to the tip of his cock. “Take it off for me.”

“Fuck.” He huffed, hypnotized by the way you used your mouth on him. He undid the clasp with one hand, and you let the straps hang off your body. You didn’t want to pause your movements, didn’t even want to slow down at the risk of having to go for even a second without hearing him moan your name; you shook the constricting material from yourself, taking him deeper in your mouth until tears pricked your eyes so that you could slip your bra off your arms. Damien let out a low groan, tightening the grip he still had on your hair.

You took him deeper still, hand working what you couldn’t fit down your throat. When you gagged on him, he let out an absolutely filthy sound.

“You like that?” He was smiling with his mouth open, chest heaving with every breath, “You like choking on me?” You answered with a garbled “yes,” his cock still pressed against the back of your throat, one hand on his hip to keep yourself stable as your other hand stroked the base of him. He moaned. “You look so pretty. Always knew you’d look so good with my cock down your throat, baby.”

You couldn’t help the noise that you let out, something between a gasp and a moan that sent vibrations up Damien’s spine. You continued to move up and down over his cock before removing your mouth from him, spit dripping down your chin and a dopey smile on your lips.

Damien grabbed your face in one hand, fingers pressing hard against your cheeks as he pulled you up to his level. “You really are just so fucking perfect.” He kissed you, letting the drool that coated your chin drip onto his face. “Can I taste you? Can I taste how sweet you are?”

You nodded, the hand he still had on your face moving with you.

“Yeah? Say it.” He demanded, and you whimpered, enjoying the look of dominance on him.

“Want you to taste me, Damien.” When you spoke, his fingers pressed the inside of your cheeks against your teeth. “Want you to taste how sweet I am.”

He growled, moving his jaw in a circle as if to stretch the muscles in preparation for what he planned on doing to you. “How do you ask nicely?”

You felt an adrenaline rush deep in your stomach. It was one thing to be here with your pleasure in his hands, but to hear Damien say the things you’d fantasized about for so long made your head swim.

“Please…” One of your hands grabbed impatiently at his arm, “Please, Damien…want…want you to fuck me with your tongue. Please.”

He kissed you again, smiling against your mouth and removing his hand from your face to push softly against your chest so that you fell back onto the bed. He knelt on the mattress, holding your calves and pulling your legs open. You sank into the pillows at the head of the bed, letting them cradle and support you at an angle that allowed you to look down at Damien, whose face hovered over your core. His fingers danced over the waistband of your panties, and you wondered if he had felt the same tingly sensation when you toyed with his boxers as you did right now with his hands running over your hips and stomach.

He pressed his face against your clothed cunt, impatient and greedy for you. You moaned, one hand fisting the sheets under you while the other came to rest on your thigh, holding your legs open for him when your muscles threatened to snap them closed following the sudden contact.

“Fuck, Damien, that feels—that’s so good.” You squirmed under him as he licked over your panties, tongue brushing your clit through the fabric. You tried to push the material down, wiggling your hips to ease your panties off your body, but Damien caught your hands in his.

“Let me play, baby.” His doe eyes stared up at you from between your legs with a devious glint. You didn't listen, and instead continued to move your hips in an attempt to wriggle out of the fabric that kept his mouth from making direct contact with you. He pressed down on your hips, forcing you to cease your fidgeting. “Be patient.”

He licked a stripe from where your panties threatened to reveal your hole and up to your clit, and you arched your back in an attempt to encourage him further.

“God, Damien, please!” You pleaded, begging for him to touch you without the obstacle of the fabric that remained on your body. “Want it—said you wanted to taste me, you can taste me—you can taste me, I need it. Please, let me feel your tongue, please—”

Damien snapped your waistband and you yelped, effectively ending your rambling.

“You’re pretty when you beg," he kissed your stomach, and you let out a whimper. "But if you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll fuck it.” Damien’s words weren’t harsh, you could hear the joviality buried under the severity in his voice, and somehow that made it even sexier.

Your arousal was heightened when, as you moaned at his words, you felt two thick fingers plunge into your cunt. Your breath caught in your throat, and you choked out his name.

“Oh my god!” You cried out, looking down to see that he had moved your panties to the side to give himself access to your entrance. His fingers pumped in and out of you, curling to hit your more delicate spots, and the sound was utterly indecent.

“You’re soaked,” Damien was smiling with his top teeth, watching his fingers as they disappeared inside of you. “What got you so wet, baby?”

“Because…s’cause…” You didn’t have the energy to talk, too focused on the way his fingers pushed against the walls of your cunt, forcing your body to make space for him.

“Because why?” He goaded, thumb rubbing circles on your clit as he pushed his fingers deeper, “Because you like the way I touch you? Hm? Because you’ve been thinking about this as much as I have? For as long as I have?”

You nodded, mouth agape and eyes threatening to roll back; maybe you looked pathetic, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, completely content with his fingers thrusting into you.

“Aw, come on. If you still want my mouth, you’re gonna have to do better than that.” He removed his fingers from inside of you, using the slick that coated them as lubricant to massage your clit.

“Wanted this for so long—so fucking long, Damien.” Your words came out rushed and breathy, “Thought about you like this all the time. Thought about—about you when I came, every time I came.” You couldn’t stop yourself from telling him the truth, the words tumbled from your lips as easily as taking a breath.

Your admission made him pause his movements, and for a moment the dominance in his face faded into something more tender. But he gathered himself, finally pulling off your panties in one fell swoop, then taking one of your legs and hooking your knee over his shoulder while you continued to babble to him.

“Keep talking, princess,” the nickname made you dizzy with desire, and you whined out for him, your eyes wide and watery when his breath fanned over your now bare, slick coated center. “Keep talking. Tell me all about it while I taste you.”

The first swipe of his tongue against your clit sent shockwaves through you, and you whimpered before recollecting your train of thought.

“Th—oh!” You quickly lost your words again when Damien began to ease his tongue into your entrance, toying with your hole before plunging into you with a purpose. He squeezed your thigh, and you took it as encouragement to continue. “Thought about this all the time—about your mouth against me. Using your mouth on me until my legs got sore from the way you’d hold me open.” He groaned against your cunt, and you extended a hand to comb your fingers through his hair. “Thought about all the ways you could use me. All the ways I would let you use me—fuck, like that, please!”

He had his face buried in you, your slick dripping down his chin and his nose pressed against your clit. You could feel the movement of his tongue inside of you, and you tugged on his hair as the sensation spread over your body.

“Thought about getting on my knees for you. I would let you have me whenever you wanted—wherever you wanted.”

Damien growled. “Yeah?” His brow quirked and he looked up at you momentarily before diving back into your heat, “Have to take you up on that.”

You whimpered, the muscles in your thighs and abdomen tensing from the onslaught of pleasure, and the feeling let you know that you were approaching your peak.

“Knew you would make me feel so amazing, Damien, knew you’d make me cum like nobody else ever could.” You were stringing words together faster than your brain could think them up. But even if they came out jumbled, every last word was true.

“Want you to cum on my mouth,” Damien was grinding his hips against the mattress, the relief he got from the fabric of the sheets dulled his intense arousal only momentarily, but he chased the feeling. “Please, baby, give it to me.”

You pulled his hair, admittedly harder than you had intended, but with the moan he let out, it seemed he didn’t mind. His tongue worked wonders as he extended it over and into you. Right when you thought you were already done for, limbs going slack and the pleasant tingle in your core reaching a fever pitch, Damien wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, letting his tongue flick against the sensitive bud.

It felt good to scream out for him, to let his name fall repeatedly from your lips as you yanked on his hair, but it felt better to hear his voice and the words that rang out from between your legs.

“Beautiful,” he was mumbling, still licking into you, trying to savor the tangy flavor of your cum. “So fucking beautiful, baby. Look at the pretty fucking mess you made. Did such a good job.”

You tugged again on his hair and he let you guide him up to face level. When he leaned in to kiss you, you opened your mouth instantly, and he slid his tongue between your lips. You sucked on it happily, eager to taste yourself on him, eager to experience everything you'd always imagined being able to do with him.

In turn, he held you close, so you wouldn’t slip away like you did when he woke up from his dreams.

You let the kiss linger, leisurely grasping at each other and appreciating the newfound lack of constraint. You curled yourself into him, lying on your side and tangling your legs with his in an effort to get as close to him as you could.

“You look so pretty when you cum,” Damien mumbled, lips grazing your pulse point, dipping down and sucking faint bruises onto your collar. “I want to see it again.”

“You can see it whenever you want,” you closed your eyes, relishing the gentle pressure he was putting on your skin so that the marks would form in small spots across your chest. You cupped his cheek in your hand, and he reluctantly stopped licking the bruises that had begun to pop up. Your thumb stroked the skin under his eye. “I want you to see it again now.”

Damien leaned into you, trailing kisses over your jaw. “You want me to fuck you?” He licked a stripe up your neck and over your chin. When his tongue reached your mouth, you opened for him, letting him lick between your lips, kissing him fervidly and moaning softly. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you? Want me to fuck you even though I just made you cum?" He growled into your mouth. "You need more already?"

“Yeah,” you smiled shyly, rubbing your face against the stubble on his cheek.

“Needy thing.” He removed his hands from you, then snaked his arms through the gap in your bodies and put his hands on your shoulders, pushing you against the mattress and onto your back.

He straddled your legs, keeping you immobile on the bed and kissing down your chest. He nipped at the plush flesh of your breasts, unable to contain himself, unable to hide the obvious pleasure he took in seeing you this way.

“Damien—” You sighed when he circled his tongue around one of your nipples, your fingers wrapping around his bicep.

“I know. I know. Sorry, I just—God, you’re beautiful.” He smiled, more to himself than to you, but the joy on his face was palpable, and you were sure he could detect the pride you felt at being the one to make him feel this way.

He used his knee to spread your legs, opening you up for him, moving his own legs to situate himself between your thighs. One of his hands ran up and down your leg as he stroked himself, lining his cock up with your entrance. When the tip of him rubbed between your folds, you whimpered, moving your hands down his arm and squeezing his forearm.

“Is this what you want?” Damien was looking down, examining how perfectly his body meshed with yours. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah,” your words were barely above a whisper, “Want you to fuck me.”

He moved his hand further up your body and squeezed your hip. “Where are your manners, princess?” He smirked, “Say please.”

“Please, Damien,” you stared up at him wide-eyed, captivated. “Please.”

“There you go.” He squeezed your hip again in recognition of your obedience. Slowly, as if he was worried he’d break you, he pushed into you, watching your eager, waiting cunt swallow every inch he offered you. You moaned, squeezing his arm and leaving small, curved marks where your nails dug into his skin. You watched his eyelids flutter, head tilting back with his mouth ajar, letting out a deep groan as he squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again to meet your heavy-lidded gaze.

“Big.” It was all you said, stretched and full of him in a way nobody had ever filled you up before.

Damien swallowed a laugh, flashing a domineering smile. “Big?”

“Too big.” You clarified, not entirely meaning it; you were thrilled to be this packed with him, but it had been so long since you’d felt a satisfying sting like this that it would take you a moment to get accustomed to it.

“You can take it, baby. I know you can.” He pressed his palm over your stomach, brushing his thumb across your skin soothingly. “You tell me if it’s too much, ok? Use your words, say it’s too much, and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t want you to stop.” Your voice came out strong momentarily, so eager for him that the possibility of him leaving you empty made you tense. “Waited so long…” You said, mellowing slightly, “Want you. Want you to…to use me.”

Damien made a throaty noise, something between a laugh and a moan that both relaxed and lit a fire inside you. Unhurried, he pulled out of you, his hands on your hips to give himself proper leverage. You exhaled slowly, mind set adrift by the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls; his rounded tip, every vein that ran up his length—you were certain you could feel it all.

You whimpered when he had pulled out enough so that nothing but the head of his cock penetrated you. You swayed your hips, trying to spur him on, but even with just the tip you felt you had ample stimulation.

He didn’t stop you, just watched on as you tried to fuck yourself with the tip of his cock just barely inside of you.

“You need some help?” He raised an eyebrow at.

“Please—fuck me, please.” You nodded excitedly, aching for him.

He smiled, eyes fixed on your face as he rammed back into you, watching your mouth contort and your tits bounce as your body absorbed the force. You screamed out for him, arching your back, which gave him the ability to push the remainder of his cock as far into you as he could.

“Fuck Damien! So—feel…so full!” You felt a tear fall over your cheek, overwhelmed by the bliss of having his cock buried inside of you and the rough way in which he made it happen. He leaned over you, supporting himself on his forearms as he caged you between them, and met you at face level. He thrust in and out of you shallowly, bringing his lips to your cheek and kissing the path of the delighted tears you had shed.

“Yeah? Feel full?” He whispered, still moving his hips, his cheek pressed against yours so he could speak directly into your ear.

“Yes, Damien—God, yes!” You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to immerse yourself in all of him. You searched for any part of him that you could reach with your mouth, planting sloppy kisses on his collar, his shoulder, the crook of his neck.

“Good.” He kissed your cheek again, before licking the wet, salty trail that your tears had left behind. “Want you to feel me for days after this.” He found your lips and kissed you, the pace and intensity of his thrusts increasing. “And when you can finally walk straight, I’m gonna do it to you all over again.”

You scraped your nails up his back, moaning for him and desperate to have him follow through on his threat. He buried his face in your neck, and you could feel the tug of his stubble on your skin as he panted against you, fucking into you aggressively in a way you’d always dreamed he would.

Each thrust felt deeper, and there came a point where you felt a pleasant pain in your side as his cock brushed your cervix.

“Damien—Christ, you’re so fucking deep,” Your nails jabbed harder into the skin of his back and he let out a hiss. “Please, like that. Just like that, don’t stop. B-bruise me, please, please!”

“I won’t stop, princess,” Damien’s words were snarled, gruff in your ear as his lips grazed just below your earlobe. “I promise. Wanna leave this pretty pussy so nice and sore.” He sucked a mark under your jawline, "Wanna ruin you."

You moved one hand, fingers lacing through his silver hair and yanking at the brown roots to pull him from his spot in the crook of your neck. He took the hint, rising up to meet you, his mouth finding yours and biting at your bottom lip.

“I love you,” you couldn’t bite back the words, not even if you tried; not when his cock was hitting spots you didn’t even know were there, not when he was using all his upper body strength to stay above you just so he could gaze down upon your tear-streaked, fucked out face, not when it was something you’d been dying to tell him in this capacity for as long as you could remember. “I love you, Damien—I love you.”

“I love you,” he echoed your words, voice softening and face relaxing. “I love you so much. I do, I love you so much.”

You raised your hips to meet his thrusts, and Damien moaned out your name, muscle in his jaw tensing before he let his mouth fall slack. He paused momentarily, sitting up while still buried inside you, to take your legs in his hands and press your knees back to your chest. You were bent in half, completely at his mercy and loving it. You yelped, the new angle giving him the ability to drive harder and deeper into you; the control he had over your body made your head swim and your cunt squeeze around him. He leaned over you, smiling through the pleasure that clouded his mind to jeer at you affectionately as he continued to escalate the manner in which he fucked you.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He watched you, your head lolling to the side and practically drooling as you looked back up at him, pitiful moans and gibberish the only way you could communicate. “Lose your voice?”

You swallowed hard, gasping for air and overcome with the feeling of him. You searched for the right words.

“Make me—oh!—feel so good,” you panted, “so fucking good.”

“Who makes you feel so good?” Damien pressed, plunging his cock as deep as he could, his hips firm against the back of your thighs.

“You do!” You felt all of him, and still, somehow, you craved more. “You do—you, you!”

“Yeah? Say it princess. Say Damien you make me feel so good.” He grabbed your chin, forcing you to stare up at him with your lust-blown eyes. “Say it.”

“Da—Damien,” you whimpered as he fucked you in quick bursts while waiting for you to speak. “Damien, you—you make m-me feel so good.”

He pressed his lips to yours, further enhancing the way your body was already contorted, and you moaned into his mouth at the feeling of being used like a toy by him.

“That’s right,” Damien licked into your mouth, “You make me feel so good, princess.”

He pulled back from your face, straightening once more; he grabbed your legs and threw them over his shoulders, gripping your thighs close to his body and using them to pull you onto his cock. The sounds you made were high pitched and pathetic, eyes rolling back while he placed kisses on your calves where they were slung over his shoulders; he nipped at you, teeth just barely grazing the flesh of your legs as his lips did a bulk of the work. The tickle of his five o’clock shadow was a welcome match to the gentle pressure you felt in your abdomen brought on by the way his cock stretched you.

He wrapped one arm around your legs, leaving you powerless to his movements as your head pushed back into the pillows from the sheer delight of feeling him inside of you, heightened by the depth and momentum with which he fucked you. He let his other hand drop to hold your hips, thumb caressing your skin with unidentifiable shapes.

You couldn’t remember getting fucked like this before—if you ever even had been fucked like this before. Somehow Damien knew you inside and out better than anybody else did, maybe even better than you knew yourself. This was proven by the way he drove his hips into you, hauling you over his cock and making you feel the delicious drag of his length in a way that made you feel full to the point of near discomfort. The electrified jolts of satisfaction when the tip of his cock pressed up against your more delicate, hidden spots, were eased by the soft way he touched you. The feeling wasn’t confined to your walls; his fingers brushed your clit, the ghost of a touch sending shockwaves through your system. You wriggled your body, unable to contain yourself and responding physically to the way his digits teased you while he ruined you with his cock.

He was rough, wild, and everything you needed. When you looked up at him, you could still see the kindness in his features, hear the compassion with which he moaned your name, feel the romantic way he squeezed at your body even while he was fucking you stupid. His groaned words of praise, of affirmation, when he managed to gasp your name between panting thrusts brought you to the edge just as much as his physical prowess did, and you let it be known how you were feeling.

“Damien—” You reached out, grasping at his arm where it wrapped around your legs, his other hand kneading your clit in slow circles. You felt your cunt tighten around him, walls fluttering in preparation for your oncoming orgasm, hips bucking on their own accord as you chased the ecstasy he brought you.

“Give me another, princess,” he grunted, pounding into you, his fingers deftly tracing over your clit. “Doing so good, give me one more.”

You turned your face to the side and buried it into the pillow under you, biting into the cloth to silence your increasingly loud screams. He reached down to grab your face, once again pushing your knees to your chest and earning a loud gasp of his name as you wiggled your hips against him, relishing the feel of his cock throbbing deep inside of you.

“Show me that pretty face,” he cooed, sweat lining his temples from exertion, “Let me hear those pretty sounds.” He pressed hard against your clit, and your body responded explosively; you screamed for him, reaching for his shoulders to pull him to your chest and kiss him as a warm feeling spread from your center and out to your limbs. You could feel it in your chest, the fulfillment traveling over every inch of your body, muscles responding in kind with small twitches as your cunt squeezed him tight.

Your legs squirmed free from underneath him, and you wrapped them around his waist, keeping him close to you while you rode out your high, circling your hips over his cock. He moaned into your mouth, the kiss devolving into a messy exchange of spit and sweat and teeth, lips chapped and swollen with passion. You bit his lip and he growled, leisurely swaying his hips and punctuating his thrusts with eager whines.

“Where,” he was breathing heavily, once again finding solace in the crook of your neck. “Where do you want it, baby. Tell me. Please.” He was practically whimpering, begging you for permission to finish by communicating where it was you wanted his cum.

“Inside,” you moaned, the aftershocks of your orgasm lulling you into a sleepy heap of oversensitivity and devotion.

Damien growled as he took in your request. “You’re—fucking christ, you’re sure?”

“Please,” it was all you could say, desperate to feel the culmination of his pleasure inside of you. “Pill. Need it, Damien. Cum inside me. Let me feel it, please.”

Damien groaned at your words, brow knit and mouth open. He sped up his pace, pushing himself up from you and supporting himself on his hands. You whined, content and aching for him.

“Fuck, I'm gonna fill this pussy up so deep.” Damien squeezed his eyes shut momentarily before opening them and looking down at you, “Fuck—gonna cum, baby, I'm—fuck!” His hips stuttered, and you wrapped your legs around him tighter, keeping him secure against you. He dropped down onto you, still providing shallow thrusts, though much gentler than before. “I love you,” he whispered, lips pressing against your neck as he engulfed you with his own body, cock spent and twitching inside of you, “I love you.”

“I love you,” you repeated quietly, and when he kissed you, you could feel that he meant it; the words echoed in your mind as he eased his lips against yours, taking time now to really savor the way you moved against him and enjoy how perfectly you fit together.

You focused on catching your breath, and he removed himself from atop you as he collected himself. When he slipped his cock from you, you whimpered at the new emptiness, and he kissed your temple.

You both stayed there, lying in bed together while you came down from the high-energy tryst. You still couldn't remove yourselves from each other completely, limbs tangling together and hands gliding over sweaty skin as you appreciated the tranquility together.

“Do you want water?” He asked, nose rubbing against your cheek.

“Yeah,” you gulped a breath, “Yeah. Thanks.”

He got up on shaky legs and found a pair of sweatpants, walking to the kitchen only to return seconds later with a glass of water. His face was radiant and his cheeks dusted pink as he beamed at you.

“Thank you, baby,” you guzzled the cool liquid, mouth dry from the way he'd made you scream.

“Say—” Damien looked down at you, giddy, “Will you say it again?”

You smiled, tired eyes taking in his form. “Thank you, baby.”

He sat down next to you. The mattress shifted with his weight, and you inched yourself towards him.

“I like hearing you say it.” He seemed timid, like after all that had happened, he was still worried you’d reject him.

“I like saying it,” you nuzzled your face into his stomach, resting on his thigh. His hand came down to pet your hair, thumb occasionally brushing over your temple.

“Will you stay here tonight?” He asked, “Only if you want to, I mean—but, I’d like it if you did.” He laughed to himself, “And then, you know…if you wanted to stay every night—I’d like that, too.”

“Well, good, cause the U-Haul is on its way over.” You turned your head to look up at him from your spot on his leg.

“Wow, those guys work fast,” he smirked down at you. “And then, when you, uh—when you finish moving in…could I take you out on a real date?” His face looked so gentle, “You know, away from everybody we know. Just…just us?”

“I would like that.” You smiled, turning to place a kiss on his stomach. He examined your face, still stroking your hair.

“I’m sorry if anything I said was…if you think I was moving too fast—or if I said something you want to pretend I didn’t say yet. Or at all.” He winced, nervous.

“Damien,” you sat up, shuffling to kneel in front of him and cupping his cheek, “I love you. I don’t want to pretend you never said it.” You placed a kiss on his nose, and he tackled you back onto the mattress, kissing your face.

“Thank god,” he breathed a sigh of relief, “Because I don’t think I could ever take it back.”

“You’ve said it before,” you laughed when his head dipped under your chin to suck new marks onto your neck to match the ones that he had made prior.

“I know,” he mumbled against your skin, “But it’s—this is different. I mean it…different…” He smiled, sharp teeth on display, and you laughed again, enamored.

“Good,” you played with the hair that curled against the back of his neck, “I mean it different, too.”

Damien pulled you against his chest and rolled over, leaving you to straddle his waist and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” he sighed happily.

“I love you, too.” You left kisses on his collar bone before pressing your face against his neck.

~~~

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but when you awoke the next morning you momentarily feared that it had all been a dream; that you were back in your own bed, alone, hungover and suffering from the memories of some distant fantasy.

But you were still with Damien. His arm draped over your waist and his face pressed between your shoulder blades as he snored quietly.

You could get used to this.

You leaned back against him, eager to tell him that you loved him when he woke up.

The sun was just barely up, and the minuscule amount of light that made its way through the window illuminated tiny bits of dust that passed through the rays. Zelda had made her way into the room at some point in the night, and her soft purring sent tiny vibrations over the blanket, her body nestled into the curve of Damien’s knee behind you.

You stretched, aimlessly reaching out and inevitably grabbing hold of your phone. You dimmed the brightness, scrolling through notifications you had missed the night before; tagged pictures, drunken Instagram stories, a few Venmo requests and a few more Venmo payments.

Courtney had texted you only about 20 minutes before you had woken up.

Court: How was the rest of your night 👀

Court: Does Shayne owe me $10

Court: Or did you end up going home

You let out a silent laugh, rolling your eyes a little at the betting pool that seemed to have erupted over your love life. You twisted in bed, opening your camera and zooming in on Zelda where she sat comfortably against Damien’s knee, the backdrop of his bedroom on full display. You took a picture and sent it to Courtney with no explanation, amused by your own vague confirmation that you had spent the night with Damien—and planned to do it again. Often.

You put your phone down and it started to buzz on the nightstand, lighting up with Courtney's contact picture. You considered picking it up, but then Damien’s arm tightened around you, pulling you to him while his hand spread out over your ribcage just under your breast. He kissed your back, still half-asleep, before he resumed snoring.

You decided that you would talk to Courtney later, turning over to bury your face in Damien’s chest, letting his breathing lull you back to sleep.

#damien haas #damien haas smut #damien haas fanfiction #damien haas fic #damien haas x reader #damien haas x you #smosh #smosh fanfiction #smosh fic #smosh smut #smosh games #smosh pit #smosh mouth #smosh squad #smoshblr

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calicoheartz · 5 months ago

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hii !!! random thought but i was just thinking of kate martin hugging her girl from behind like OMG😭💞 i love her shes so sweet

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐇𝐔𝐆 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒 ; 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍

꣑୧ — summary | just a mini-fic on K.M hugging you from behind 🫂

wc ; 374

— warnings | pure fluff !!!

my master list ㇀♡

a/n : yayaya im finally getting to write more kate martin :) tysm for the req , enjoy !

The arena buzzed with the excitement of the recent victory, fans still cheering and players exchanging high-fives and congratulatory pats on the back. Kate , however, had her eyes set on someone special amid the bustling crowd. Her girlfriend, tall and graceful, stood near the edge of the court, beaming with pride.

Kate made her way over, weaving through her teammates and fans. She approached you silently, a smile creeping across her face as she closed the distance. You were caught up in conversation with a friend, completely unaware of Kate's approach.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Kate slipped her arms around your waist from behind, pulling you into a warm embrace. The sudden contact made you jump slightly, but then quickly relaxing, leaning back into Kate's hold.

"Hey there, superstar," Kate whispered, her voice soft and full of affection.

You turned your head, a radiant smile lighting up the features the blonde loved the most. "Hey yourself. You were amazing out there, Kate."

Kate tightened her embrace, resting her chin on your shoulder. "Couldn't have done it without knowing my biggest fan was watching."

You chuckled, reaching up to place a hand over Kate's. "I'm always watching, always cheering for you."

You stood there for a moment, savoring the closeness and the joy of the victory. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in their little bubble of happiness.

"I'm so proud of you," you whispered softly, turning slightly to kiss Kate's cheek. "You worked so hard for this."

Kate blushed, her heart swelling with love. "Thank you. But I think you deserve some of the credit too. You've been my rock through all of this."

You turned to face her fully now, slipping out of Kate's embrace only to face her and pull her back into a tender hug. "We're a team, on and off the court. And tonight, we celebrate together."

Kate grinned, her exhaustion melting away in the warmth of her girlfriend's arms. "Together," she echoed, feeling a surge of contentment.

As the noise of the crowd continued around them, as the two of you stayed wrapped in each other's embrace, knowing that no victory could compare to the love and support they shared.

a/n : yayayaya im so happy im starting to write more for Kate now !! tysm for reading :) <3

#wlw #wcbb #wlw imagine #wcbb x reader #headcannons #my hcs #lesbian #kate martin x reader #kate martin #uconn vs iowa #iowa women’s basketball #iowa wbb #iowa hawkeyes #university of iowa

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munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Summary: Will's birthday party brings back some familiar faces and gives Eddie the perfect opportunity to make amends with Corroded Coffin, but an unexpected interruption might have him hurtling towards his old ways.

Warnings: some dirty talk (18+ only just in case), drinking/drunkenness (everyone is over 21), pregnancy and labor complications, mentions of past bullying

WC: 8.2k

Chapter 14/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special shoutout to @storiesbyrhi and @corroded-hellfire for helping with the fluffy sections and making this piece strong.

Afternoons at Hawkins Preschool are predictable: storytime on the carpet is followed by the kids’ pack-up routine, and once all belongings are shoved into their proper backpacks, they file out the door to go home.

Predictable is good. It’s safe. And it certainly doesn’t include a fire drill half an hour before dismissal.

Herding nine children through the bustling hallways and trying to ensure no one is left behind is overwhelming enough. Factor in the ear-splitting alarm and the surge of adrenaline pulsing through your students once they re-enter your classroom, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for chaos.

Instead of fighting a losing battle to keep the kids calm and quiet, you’d opted to plunk them down with myriad art supplies and called it a day.

Now, after the last student had been picked up, you and Will are left cleaning the mess they’d made. Broken crayons are scattered across the tabletops, there’s Play-Doh of various colors stuck to the floor, and gold glitter—when did you even acquire glitter?—dusts every surface.

“Seriously…who thought that that timing was a good idea?” Will grumbles, tossing a Crayola stub into the crayon basket. He adopts a nasal, mocking tone. “‘What would help out our teachers? Oh, I know—let’s interrupt their dismissal routines!’”

You laugh despite your own exhaustion. Somehow, you’ll have to muster up the energy to tutor Harris tonight.

Will reaches into the cupboard to grab his car keys, turning back around with a smile that he only offers you when he needs something. “Could I ask you for a little favor?”

There it is. “How little?” You cock one brow as you clip a stack of papers together.

“Eensy weensy. Miniscule. Microscopic–”

“The more you say it, the less I believe you.”

“Okay, okay,” Will acquiesces, twirling his keyring around his forefinger. “So, for my birthday thing on Saturday…a bunch of my childhood friends are gonna be there. Mike, Dustin, Suzie, Lucas, Max, Jane…” he lists them, ticking off each name on his fingers. “Anyway, I was hoping that maybe you could talk to Eddie about a Corroded Coffin reunion? I know they’re on a hiatus or whatever, but if anyone can convince him to play, it’s you.”

He’s not wrong; you’re the most likely person to get Eddie to do, well, anything. But asking him to make amends with Danny and Gareth and getting their band to play a gig three days from now seems like a mountainous task.

Will is staring at you, hands clasped together pleadingly. He’s too optimistic for his own good, and you can’t help but give in.

“Fine, I’ll try. But–hey, don’t get excited yet,” you warn when he pumps his fist in celebration. “‘Try’ is the key word here. I’m not making any promises.”

Your admonition goes unheeded as Will already considers it a victory. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You give him a small, tight-lipped wave as he dashes out the door. You and Eddie were already planning to attend the party; you’d spent part of last night scouring an art store for the perfect gift. And he and Jeff were back to being thick as thieves…maybe this could work.

“All right, Mr. Harris,” you say with a laugh, hurriedly placing tiles of various shapes in front of him. You need to make the most of the few minutes you have left until Eddie arrives. There’s a soft, familiar flutter in your stomach as you think about seeing your boyfriend, but you know you can’t compete with him for Harris’s attention. “Can you find the…trapezoid?” The inflection in your voice makes it sound like a much more exciting task than it really is, and you hope it’s enough to wrangle his focus.

Harris pokes out his tiny pink tongue as he assesses the tiles. He initially reaches for the blue rhombus, but as soon as his little finger touches it, he pulls away as though it’s on fire. “No…that’s not it.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to suppress your amusement as he thoughtfully taps his forefinger on his lips. A solid ten seconds pass before he triumphantly snatches up the correct tile. “Got it!” he beams, showing off the red trapezoid in his hand.

“You did! You got the trapezoid!” You hold up your hand for a high-five, frowning when he shakes his head. His overgrown curls brush along his eyebrows, and you wonder if it’s your place to suggest that Eddie take him for a haircut. “No high-five?”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, now swiveling his whole body in defiance. “I want…tickles!” He holds his arms out, leaving his torso wide open.

Lips pursed in faux consideration, you lower your voice to a hushed whisper. “Hmm…I think that warrants a visit from the Tickle Monster!” You flex your fingers so they resemble claws; he instinctively scrunches up in anticipation, arms tucked into his stomach. You let out your silliest wicked cackle as your fingers dig mercilessly into his sides in pursuit of his most ticklish spots. Delighted peals of laughter emanate from his chest, and you don’t stop until the buzzer rings, signaling Eddie’s arrival.

Harris’s eyes get wide, mischief dancing behind his pupils. “Do you think the Tickle Monster should get Daddy?” he asks, keeping his voice low despite it only being the two of you.

“Oh, absolutely.” You buzz Eddie in while formulating the game plan aloud. “I’ll grab the pizza and you go on the attack. Once the food is secured, I’ll join you.” You stick out your pinky, and he wraps his own around it.

“Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His words turn your heart into a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven, ooey gooey and destined to crumble if handled too harshly. “I love you, too, Harris,” you manage, blinking back embarrassing tears. The flood of emotion is absurd; he probably tells his stuffed animals that he loves them with the same fervor, but you can’t deny the adoration with which he looks at you.

He flings his arms around you in a hug, squeezing tight. Face pressed to your ribs, his words are muffled but still audible when he says, “I don’t know why Daddy says it’s hard to say ‘I love you.’”

He doesn’t have time to further elaborate before Eddie’s knocking on the door. “Special delivery for my two favorite people!” Your heart beats faster with the knowledge that he’s on the other side, that you’ll be able to sneak in a kiss or two.

You and Harris share devious grins, the little boy emulating your monster-esque stance from earlier. He creeps behind you on his tiptoes, and bites back a giggle when you slowly open the door, counting down from three under your breath.

“Hi–whoa!” Eddie stumbles back as Harris barrels into him, little fingers dancing across his lower stomach. You quickly snatch the pizza box from Eddie’s grasp and place it on the table before darting back to where his son has ambushed him. You start on his bicep and let your nails travel upwards until they reach the crook of his neck.

“I’m under attack!” Eddie yelps, twitching this way and that way in a meager attempt to protect himself. “I bring you pizza and this is how I’m repaid?” He easily scoops Harris into his arms, flinging him over his shoulder. Harris lets out an exhilarated squeal, carelessly kicking his sock-clad feet into his dad’s chest. “Jesus, little dude. You’re getting too strong.” Wincing slightly from the pinch in his back as he places the boy on the floor, he gives his tush a little pat and tells him to wash up for dinner, reminding him to use soap and water.

As soon as Harris scampers off into the bathroom, Eddie’s grabbing you by the belt loops of the wide-leg jeans you’d changed into when you got home. One hand slides around your waist and the other finds purchase on your cheek as he kisses you deeply, keeping a listening ear out for the telltale pitter-patter of Harris returning.

“Missed you,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you shiver at the intimacy this closeness brings.

You laugh quietly, biting your lower lip. “We just saw each other this morning,” you remind him, sneaking in another quick peck.

Eddie shakes his head. “Y’know what I mean. Can’t do this while you’re on the clock,” he counters, shifting his grip so both hands rest on either side of your face. You think he’s going to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you today.” He rests the slope of his nose on yours, only snapping out of his trance at the sound of Harris rapidly switching the faucet on and off. “Let me go check on him before this place is underwater,” he whispers, giving your own ass a smack as he shuffles towards his mischievous son, a cheeky grin deepening his dimples.

You do your best to compose yourself, heat creeping up your neck and into your face. Busying yourself by placing pizza slices onto paper plates does little to distract you; it’s as though every neuron is dedicated to flooding your brain with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

The way the pads of his fingertips brush against your cheeks when he holds your face. The plush moisture of his lips when he kisses your forehead. The tickle of his brown tresses when he nuzzles into you and takes a deep breath, finally able to relax after a long day.

“Are you expecting a guest?” Eddie pipes up from the kitchen entrance. A perplexed frown overtakes your lips until he gestures to what you’ve laid out in front of you: four slices of pizza, two plain and two with olives, on four plates.

Your vision gets a bit fuzzy with tears when you realize what you’ve done. “No, it’s, um…” Nostrils flare as you huff out a short puff of air, hot under your nose. “Force of habit, sorry.” You’ve been so diligent about only serving three slices, but your preoccupation with his touch had your mind drifting from the task at hand.

It takes him a moment to process what you mean, but when he does, his face falls. It was for Grandma. “It’s okay,” he says, cringing as the words leave his mouth. Because it’s not okay that you’re sad; it’s normal, but frustration still tugs at his heart that he can’t take it away.

It feels wrong to return the slice to the box, so you leave it where it is. Eddie balances the three plates, sliding a plain one in front of Harris. The boy digs in hungrily, sauce caught on the edges of his smile.

“How was work?” you ask Eddie, grabbing a napkin from the pile in the center of the table. It’s a simple question, one that people ask each other all the time, but it stirs up a warmth inside of him. It’s you asking him, fostering a domestic routine that he could follow for the rest of his life. He’d walk through the door of your house, wiping his shoes on the welcome mat you two had picked out together. The kids–Harris, plus another Little Munson or two–would practically knock him down trying to greet him, and he’d engulf them in bear hugs before reaching out to you, kissing your forehead with a murmured, “there’s my girl.”

“Eds?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it was good.” He stumbles over the words, trying to clear his head of the fantasy he’d conjured up. “Lotsa paperwork, y’know.” He takes a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “What about you?”

You shrug, watching amusedly as Harris sinks his teeth into his slice and manages to pull all of the cheese off of the crust in one fell swoop. “The usual. The kids are learning about springtime, so Will decided to do a craft making flowers using finger paint and their handprints.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you agree with a weary grin, “but it was super cute, and Will is great with all that art stuff.” You excuse yourself from the table to get the water pitcher and three glasses, stopping when you remember your TA’s request. “He also asked me if a certain local metal band could play his birthday party on Saturday…?”

Eddie pauses mid-chew, nearly choking on his food. The cheese seems to congeal in his mouth when he tries to speak. “Um, I don’t know about that,” he finally manages, nervously massaging the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked to Danny or Gareth since…”

“I know, but you said you wanted to make things right with them,” you point out. “Maybe Jeff can test the waters? See if they’re ready to talk to you?”

“Maybe.” He averts his gaze, staring at the pizza slice without taking another bite.

You don’t want to further push the subject in Harris’s presence; instead, you turn your attention to the little boy. “Anything fun happen at school today, Har?”

“Nah,” he responds automatically just a half-second before his eyes light up. “Actually, yeah! My friend Charlie ate a bug at recess today!”

“Ew!” you exclaim, wrinkling your nose in pure disgust, as Eddie simultaneously poses the question, “what kind of bug?”

“An ant,” Harris answers his dad nonchalantly, as though ant-eating is an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it is, which is even more unsettling.

“Did you eat any bugs?” You’re afraid of his response; you’re unsure why you even asked in the first place.

To your relief, he shakes his head, a forlorn look on his cherubic face. “No, I couldn’t catch any in time.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” you mutter, turning back to your original task of getting something to drink. Though if the topic of bug consumption continues, you’ll need something much stronger than water.

Could Corroded Coffin play again?

It’s a thought that consumes Eddie for the entirety of his drive home, barely able to listen to Harris yammering about how there’s a coin in his jacket pocket that he doesn’t remember putting there. He throws a few lackluster mhms his son’s way and hopes he’s too distracted by the mystery coin to catch on.

We’re getting the band back together. Well, if Jake and Elwood Blues could swing it, maybe he could, too.

He waits until Harris is asleep to call Jeff. Getting his son to do his bedtime routine is easiest on Wednesday nights; he’s usually exhausted after a full day of school and tutoring. The one time that Eddie could use an excuse to procrastinate, Harris is out like a light.

Go to voicemail go to voicemail go to—

“‘Lo?”

Shit. “H-Hey, man,” Eddie begins awkwardly. “How’s it going? Viv doing okay?”

“We’re good. She’s ready to have this baby already. I reminded her, ‘just two more weeks,’ but then she told me to ‘fuck off’ until I’m the pregnant one, so…” he chuckles, more nervous than amused. “Everything good with you? Harris?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just, um,” he struggles to find the words, blurting out the first ones that enter his brain. They come out in a rush before he can stop them. “Do Gareth and Danny still hate me?”

Jeff takes a sharp breath in; his reaction does nothing to temper Eddie’s nerves. “They never hated you. They were just…disappointed? Jesus, I sound like my mom.”

Eddie misses his friend’s anecdote, too wrapped up in his head to fully pay attention. Somehow, disappointed stings worse than the prospect of being hated, especially when the people he’s let down are ones who used to idolize him. “Do you think there’s a way they could be…undisappointed in me? Like, enough to forgive me and maybe play a gig this weekend?”

There’s an extended pause, and then a one-word response: “Christ.”

Eddie can picture Jeff rubbing his eyes in exasperation, and he scrambles to explain. “Will Byers–you remember him? He was in Hellfire; had that weird bowl cut thing going on?”

“Mhm.”

“He’s having a birthday thing at the Hideout on Saturday and asked if we could play. Just a coupla songs.”

Jeff thinks for a moment; Eddie can hear him drumming his fingers on a nearby surface.

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night around…6?” he ventures. “I’ll invite the guys and we can…I dunno, figure something out.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.” He’s about to hang up when he remembers to ask, “Can I bring Harris?”

“Of course.”

“Har, slow down!” Eddie’s barely unbuckled his son’s car seat before Harris has wriggled out of the sedan, bolting straight for Jeff’s door.

“But I haven’t seen Uncle Danny and Uncle Gareth in forever!” he laments, reaching the house far faster than Eddie. He stands on tiptoes and rings the doorbell like a madman, forefinger jamming into the button at warp speed. “Uncle Jeff! It’s me!”

Jeff opens the door with a huge smile. “Mini Munson!” He scoops the boy up into a hug. “What’s new with you, little dude?”

“I got a wiggly tooth!” Harris exclaims, jutting out his jaw and pressing his tongue against the front center of his mouth. Sure enough, the baby tooth moves slightly forward, and he giggles. “Daddy says the Tooth Fairy’s gonna come and leave me a dollar,” he matter-of-factly reports. He peeks his head over Jeff’s shoulder, squealing and squirming out of his grip when he spots the two men sitting on the couch. He flings himself onto the sofa and plunks himself down into Gareth’s lap. “Hi!”

“Hey, kiddo!” Gareth chirps. “You’re getting so big.”

“‘M five now. I had a birthday party because I turned five.” He splays out his palm to offer five fingers.

“Did your friends go?”

“Yup!” Harris beams at the memory. “An’ Daddy an’ Grampa Wayne an’ Ms. Sweetheart.”

Danny furrows his brows. “Who’s Ms. Sweetheart?”

“She’s my almost-mommy. Daddy has to fall in love with her first.”

“Is that so?” Gareth smirks at Eddie. His teasing look is the first crack in the wall that has separated the men for the last six months, and though Eddie is thoroughly embarrassed, it alleviates some of his anxiety.

“Uh, Har Bear, why don’t you go hang out with Auntie Viv while I talk with the guys?”

Viv holds out her left hand, looking utterly exhausted. Her right hand rests on her bump, eyes sending a telepathic message to Jeff that they have five minutes—ten minutes, if Harris behaves well—to come to a solution before she needs a break.

Silence filters into the room as Eddie fumbles to address the mess he’s made. If Danny and Gareth are here, they’re at least willing to listen to him, which is honestly farther than he’d assumed he’d get.

He remembers what Harris said about apologizing; technically, what you’d taught him about apologizing: the act of saying sorry, not merely implying it, makes a world of difference.

“I was an asshole,” he starts. It’s not his most eloquent statement, but it certainly gets the point across. “Not just that night at the Hideout, or at our last practice. I was an asshole for a long time before that. And…I’m sorry.” It feels good to say it; it feels even better that they’re nodding, seeming to believe him. “You guys didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Of the rest of the band, Gareth is the one to speak first. “I guess I’m just wondering, why? Why be an asshole to us? We’ve always been there for you.”

“I know.” Eddie fiddles with a thread hanging from his t-shirt, pulling on it until it snaps off. He shoves it in his jeans pocket, not wanting to mess up Jeff and Viv’s place. “Honestly…I’m not sure, but I think it’s because you guys are everything I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny asks, tone heavy with disbelief.

“In high school, I was the one you looked up to. The person you wanted to be like. And then I had a kid with some random chick I thought I knew but barely did, gave up my dreams of being a musician, and started selling weed again just to scrape by. And here you guys are. Jeff,” he motions to the friend leaning against the sofa’s arm, “you have a baby on the way with the love of your life. And all of you have goddamn college degrees and jobs that you don’t despise and don’t require you to hide from the law.” He shoves his ringed fingers into his jacket pockets, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “And I was nothing.”

Gareth scratches at the upholstery with one finger, absorbing everything he’s just heard. “You know we never stopped looking up to you, right?” He gives a short laugh when Eddie’s eyes widen. “Yeah, man. Leaving Chicago so you could take care of Harris? Putting your kid before yourself? That’s pretty badass.”

Danny nods. “Ed, if there’s someone here to look up to, it’s you.” Both he and Eddie visibly relax. Shoulders drop from their hunched positions, thin lips unfurling into smiles. “No matter what you went through, you never gave up. Even if it almost killed us,” he adds wryly, referring to all of the sleep-deprived Corroded Coffin practices fueled by black coffee and pure adrenaline.

“No fancy diploma can teach us how to stand up for ourselves, or how not to take shit from people, or how to be a dad,” Jeff pipes up from where he’s standing. “We learn from you, man.”

Eddie’s cheeks burn at the compliments, unsure how to accept them. He’d walked in expecting to have to beg for forgiveness, and they were the ones reassuring him. It’s now or never, and he forges ahead while he still has the courage. “Do you…can we get the band back together?” Can we be friends again is the underlying plea, but it’s too vulnerable a statement to make. “We’ll keep it low-key, I promise. Work, family, anything comes up…we can cancel or reschedule. And I won’t be a dick about it.”

The three other men look at one another, nod and turn back to Eddie with smart grins and mischievous glimmers in their eyes.

“On one condition.” Gareth crosses his arms over his chest, smirking as he sinks back against the couch. “You tell us all about this ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’”

The Hideout, normally dingy and coated in a film of sticky ale, has been decked out for Will’s birthday party. Helium-filled balloons in every color bob along the low ceiling, vibrating with the thumping bass of the old sound system. Crepe paper streamers–purple, Will’s favorite color–sway gently with the air that rushes in from opening the door. This has to be Marshall’s handiwork, and it brings a smile to your face. If anyone deserves a partner who fawns over him, it’s Will.

You spot him surrounded by a group of people as the bartender slides a row of tequila shots across the bar and into their eager hands. While they’re distracted by alcohol, you take the opportunity to dart towards the backstage area.

Eddie’s there, digging around for his lucky pick. You wrap your arms around his waist, fingers pressed into the soft dough of his tummy.

“Hey, Rockstar,” you murmur against his neck, kissing just below his earlobe.

He turns around, jaw dropping when he sees you in a maroon slip dress. The heels on your feet have you two inches taller than usual, and he has to shift where his gaze normally lands to meet your eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby,” Eddie practically growls, kissing you deeply. One hand presses against the small of your back while the other grabs the plush of your ass, kneading it in his palm. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy. How’m I gonna go out there and play with you looking like that?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” You giggle when he offers up a bemused smile. “If you do a good job tonight, I’ll give you a reward.” You let your fingertips graze over the metal teeth of his pants zipper, feeling him twitch at your light touch.

“You’re dangerous,” he winks, delivering another kiss; this time, he gives your lower lip a little bite when he pulls away. His kohl-rimmed eyes draw you in just as they did that first night you’d met, but now you dive into them without the fear of drowning.

A tactful “ahem” from the now-open doorway startles both you and Eddie, having been floating in an embrace that’s equal parts comfort and desire.

“Sorry to interrupt the lovefest, but we’re on in five,” a man’s voice calls from the doorway. You turn around to see the other three Corroded Coffin members standing there, amusement evident in their expressions.

“You must be Ms. Sweetheart,” one of the guys, soft curls resting atop his head, pipes up. His tone is teasing, but not mocking; the nickname is said with admiration and affection. “I’m Gareth, by the way.”

“Danny,” the one with tight, wiry curls offers, giving a small wave.

Jeff just shrugs. “You know me.”

Eddie grabs his guitar, slinging the strap across his body. His pants’ fly is tight, and he wills himself to calm down before it’s time to perform. He hasn’t worried about being hard on stage since he was nineteen, but thoughts of your bodies perfectly melding into each other has him subtly adjusting himself as he turns his back to his bandmates.

“See ya out there, baby,” he says before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. The brief contact between you has you biting your tongue in self-beration for suggesting that the band play tonight. All you want is to dance with him, allowing the steady flow of alcohol to dull your inhibitions as you pull him impossibly close. Not caring who sees or what they think.

But this night isn’t about you or Eddie. It’s about Will, your TA-turned-friend who has kept you sane amidst your adorably chaotic students and their decidedly less adorable and more chaotic parents. He wanted Corroded Coffin to play his party, and that’s the least you could do for him.

Will’s already teetering between tipsy and inebriated, breath tinged with the scent of tequila as he introduces you to his friends.

“This is my amazing boyfriend, Marshall.” He smacks a wet kiss to the man’s cheek. “And these are my friends from growing up: Dustin and Suzie, Lucas and Max, and Mike and Jane.” His face melts into a sappy grin as he leans on Marshall to hold him up. “You guys! We’re all in looooove!”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin mutters, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning his attention back to you. “Can we get you something to drink?”

Will raises his empty glass. “I’ll take another–”

“Not you.”

You manage to sneak in a quick conversation with Max, Suzie, and Jane before Corroded Coffin starts their set. Max is finishing up her Masters in English literature at New York University, set to graduate in two months. Suzie programs for NASA, and though Florida is a far cry from her home state of Utah, she loves her job. And Jane is a social worker at a local adoption agency, the cause close to her heart, as she was adopted by Chief Hopper years ago.

“Damn,” you laugh, taking a small sip of your vodka soda. You’re having so much fun that you don’t even care that it’s been watered down. “You’re all such badasses!”

Your admiration of their collective girl power is cut short by the sound of Corroded Coffin taking the stage. It’s as though they’d never taken an extended break; just picked up right where they left off. You cheer so loudly that there’s a pinch in your throat, but you push past it. It’s more than applause. There’s so much tucked away in your yell: I’m proud of you; you’re a rockstar; you’re my person forever, if you’ll have me.

“Hello, Hawkins!” Eddie bellows into the mic. There’s no missing the grin on his face. He’s happy. He’s in his element. He’s where he belongs.

“No way!” Lucas exclaims, awestruck as he turns to Will.

“Dude, you got Corroded Coffin?” Mike mirrors his friend’s excitement. He slings an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulls him in for a side hug. “This is fuckin’ awesome!”

“The first song of the night goes out to our guest of honor, Will Byers!” Everyone hoots and hollers as Eddie plays the opening chords to The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go. Eddie told you he remembered that the song was one of Will’s favorites growing up; his older brother had gotten him into the band. Sure enough, Will’s bopping to the rhythm, singing every word, albeit quite off-key.

Corroded Coffin plays a few more songs from their usual setlist, nerves dissipating with each note, before Eddie speaks into the mic again.

“This next one is for my beautiful girlfriend,” he announces, eyes gazing into yours. “Baby, if my teachers looked like you, I actually would’ve gone to class.”

He nods at Gareth, who starts playing an incredibly complicated beat. As soon as you hear it, you feel your cheeks heat up. The rest of the guys join in on their own instruments, and Eddie oozes bravado as he sings.

“T-Teacher stop that screamin’ Teacher don’t you see Don’t wanna be no uptown fool.”

Max leans in to you and whisper-shouts, “I’ve known Eddie for years, and I’ve never seen him so…happy.”

Lucas overhears his girlfriend and adds his two cents. “That’s because we’ve never seen him in love.”

Warmth spreads all over your body, but it’s not from embarrassment. Allowing yourself to believe that Eddie loves you—is in love with you—opens a door you’d deadbolted until the time was right. You hadn’t wanted to rush things, but the jolt of exhilaration following Lucas’s statement means you can’t deny it any longer: you love Eddie Munson. You’re in love with Eddie Munson.

“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad I'm hot for teacher I've got it bad, so bad I'm hot for teacher.”

Will takes the opportunity to twirl you around, and you laugh as you spin amongst new friends, your drink threatening to spill over the sides as he turns you faster.

“Hey! Thank you, by the way!” he shouts, probably a bit louder than he needs to.

“For what?”

“For getting Corroded Coffin to play!” He jerks a thumb towards the stage, stumbling a bit as he does. He’d managed to sneak another tequila shot when his boyfriend left him unattended to use the restroom, and it definitely shows. “And for, like, being there for me.”

You give him a hug, immediately understanding the full implication of his statement. “I’ll always have your back,” you promise, filled with the mingled buzzes of alcohol and belonging.

“I think of all the education that I've missed But then my homework was never quite like this!”

Eddie jumps off of the tiny stage and into the crowd of nine twenty-somethings, each at various levels of tipsiness, and reaches for you to pull you close to him. He’s sweating from constantly moving around and the stage lights, his fingers slick with perspiration as he laces them with yours. Jeff picks up the rhythm for the lead guitar while Eddie kisses you, soft and slow and sensual. He loses himself for a moment before hopping back up to join the rest of the band.

As Corroded Coffin wraps up their Van Halen cover and stops for a quick sip of water, there’s a small commotion behind the bar.

“Is there a Jeff Reynolds here?” the bartender calls out, phone receiver in hand.

Jeff gives a little wave, eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s me.”

“Someone named Jess on the line? Says your girl is in labor and you need to get to the hospital.”

“Holy shit!” Danny claps a hand to Jeff’s back and grins. “C’mon, man! Let’s get you outta here!”

Jeff freezes up; hands clammy as he grips the guitar’s neck. “Can you drive?” he asks Eddie.

Eddie recognizes the fear in his friend’s voice. The selfish part of him wants to refuse to take Jeff to Hawkins General. He could easily plant his feet on the stage and keep playing, claiming that ‘the show must go on.’

No, he silently chastises himself, Jeff needs me. He needs me and I’ll be damned if I let him down again.

“Of course,” Eddie says, trying to force a relaxed disposition. It doesn’t matter; Jeff is too overwhelmed to notice the obvious effort.

“Take my car,” you offer, keys already dangling from your fingertips. “Eds, I can take yours and pick up Harris from Wayne’s tomorrow.” It’s easier to swap rides than to uninstall and reinstall the carseat, so you’re perplexed when Eddie shakes his head.

Two words slip through his lips, soft but pronounced: “Need you.”

Dustin catches wind of the situation and insists on watching Harris until you and Eddie can come back home, claiming he needs to squeeze in as much uncle-nephew bonding time as possible before returning to Florida.

“Henderson, it’s late; don’t let him stay up,” Eddie warns as he tosses over his car keys.

Dustin tries catching them in one hand, but they hit the center of his palm and fall to the ground. “But the best part of being an uncle is breaking the rules!” he laughs as he scoops the keys off of the floor. “By the way, I’m not drunk; just a shit baseball player.” Still, Eddie’s sigh of relief is audible when Suzie plucks the keyring from Dustin’s hand.

With Harris taken care of, you turn your attention to your boyfriend. Eddie’s face is flushed pale, and you’re worried about him behind the wheel. “Want me to drive?”

He nods and grabs onto your hand as you lead the two men to your car. Eddie’s doing his best to keep Jeff calm, reminding him that the doctors and nurses have everything under control until he gets there.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Jeff murmurs, a disbelieving chuckle permeating the otherwise silent car. “Holy shit.”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. “It only gets crazier from here.”

The bright lights of the hospital’s waiting room are anything but soothing, especially compared to the dimly-lit bar you’d just left. You speak to the receptionist, an older woman with a tired smile and red-rouged cheeks, explaining the situation as she pages Jess while Jeff and Eddie take a seat.

Jeff’s voice is nearly impossible to hear despite the stillness of the room. “The baby was breech at Viv’s last appointment.” He clocks Eddie’s confusion and elaborates. “Feet first, instead of the head. If they didn’t get into the right position and the doctors can’t, I dunno, flip ‘em around? They’ll have to do a c-section.” Long overdue tears spill over his lash line, and he makes no attempt to swipe them away. “I just wanna fix it and I can’t.”

Helplessness. It’s a feeling Eddie knows all too well. He spins a ring around his finger, exhaling softly as he considers a response. He can’t say it’ll be alright, because he has no idea whether or not it will be. He and Jeff both know that.

“No matter what, I’m here for you.” Eddie’s gaze flits over to the receptionist’s desk, where Jess has now arrived and is waving her brother-in-law over. “You’re up.”

But Jeff remains in his chair, hands shoved under his thighs as though they’re glued to the seat. “I…I don’t know if I can do this. What if something happens to Viv or the baby? How can I…?” He doesn’t allow himself to complete the sentence, to finish the thought.

Instinctively, Eddie puts his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. He can feel them trembling slightly as his friend heaves another shaky breath. “Listen to me. You’re gonna do this. You’re gonna go in that room and watch your girl give birth to your baby. Because if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your fuckin’ life.” He glances around and lowers his voice. “I know you’re scared, okay? I get it. And once your kid is safely here, we can talk about it. But right now, you need to pull it together and go be a goddamn dad.”

Jeff nods, finally acquiring the physical stability to stand. “Thank you,” he whispers, clearing his throat and wiping the wet stains from his cheeks. He starts towards Jess before turning back to Eddie. “Could you stay until the baby’s born? If you have to get home to Harris, I understand…”

There it is: his out. He can easily use his son as an excuse, despite the fact that Dustin and Suzie were perfectly capable of babysitting him. He can hightail it out of here and never look back. He can crawl into bed and feel sorry for himself for having to step foot in a godforsaken maternity ward again.

“Yeah. I can stay.”

Nearly an hour passes with Eddie’s head resting on your shoulder, relaying what Jeff told him. Identical knots form in your stomachs as the seriousness of the complications sets in. You don’t say a word as he speaks; you just try to shift without disturbing him. The cushion on the chair back, worn thin, digs into you uncomfortably, but you don’t dare move too much. His vulnerability is a deer that will scamper away at the slightest startle.

You think he’s fallen asleep until you feel his soft lips on your cheek, a muffled, “mine?” against your skin. You note his phrasing; it’s careful and unsure, a symptom of being in his own head for far too long.

“Of course I’m yours,” you whisper back, pressing a kiss to his scalp. “What’s got you asking such silly questions?”

“I don’t like this.” It’s an answer and non-answer all in one.

“Being in a hospital?”

He shakes his head, frizzed curls tickling the crook of your neck. His forehead is sticky with cooled perspiration. “Waiting to see if the baby is okay.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach, immediately hollowing you out. The last time he went through this, it was when Harris was being born. You can’t think of anything to say, so you just nuzzle in closer to him and exhale.

“Why do I feel like this?” Neither of you are sure if he’s asking you, himself, or the universe. “‘S not the same. Viv’s not using drugs; Jeff stuck around the whole time…”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s not how this stuff works, y’know?” You adjust your position so you can look into his eyes. The whites are stained red with worry and exhaustion. “Your gig got interrupted, just like when Harris was born. And there's uncertainty now, too. It’s normal for these kinds of memories to get dredged up.” Your palm rests on his cheek, thumb gently stroking the skin as you ask, “can you try to get some sleep?”

“But what if Jeff needs—”

“I’ll wake you up if he needs you,” you reassure him, settling back into the chair. You lean your head against the wall; the heaviness in your eyelids battles the anxious fluttering in your stomach, but it seems as though sleep is winning.

Eddie’s hand finds your forearm, rubbing up and down the gooseflesh that has appeared courtesy of the air conditioning blasting through the building. Shrugging off his jacket and resting the leather fabric over your shoulders, he can relax once he’s reassured that you’re comfortable. He assumes his previous position, using your shoulder as a pillow and falling asleep gradually, body jostling itself awake from the unfamiliar sleeping arrangement. Eventually, you can hear his soft snores; for the first time tonight, he’s peaceful.

You could tell him now, a whisper under your breath that he’s unlikely to hear. I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. Your lips part in anticipation, but you snap them shut. You’re delirious and overwhelmed; Lucas’s throwaway comment about Eddie being in love is rattling around your brain. If you say it and Eddie hears you…

You keep it to yourself for now, letting your body rest while still supporting Eddie’s head. Tomorrow is a new day, with a new life brought into the world. Love—if that’s even what this is—will have to wait until then.

The soft pink of breaking daylight streams through the windows when Jeff wakes Eddie up six hours later, shaking him by the shoulders.

“What the fuck?” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes. When he registers where he is and the potential urgency of the situation, he sits up straight, head filling with fuzziness from the sudden movement. He wouldn’t call the evening restful, but he’d managed to doze off for longer than he’d expected.

“It’s a girl!” Jeff announces, beaming from ear to ear. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, bursting with enthusiasm and emotion.

As soon as Eddie’s vision clears, he’s on his feet and pulling his best friend in for a giant hug. When he steps back, he realizes that he and Jeff sport matching misty eyes. “Dude, you’re officially a dad now. You have a daughter!”

“I have a daughter,” Jeff repeats incredulously. His eyes cloud with tears, and he blinks them away as he peers over at the empty seat next to Eddie. “Did your lady go home?”

Eddie swivels around, so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t realized he was alone. She left. She left without me; she didn’t want to stick around and deal with–

“Did Viv have the baby?” Your excited voice penetrates through his intrusive thoughts as you stroll in from the hallway. The makeup around your eyes is smudged; you’d tried to wipe some of it off in the bathroom, but water and thin hospital paper towels are no substitute for makeup wipes. “Sorry, I had to pee.”

Eddie smiles at the sight of you, still wearing his jacket. He hopes his sigh of relief is concealed by Jeff’s exuberance. “A girl. Six pounds, ten ounces.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Wanna meet her?”

“Of course!” You and Eddie begin following him down the corridor. “Wait, is Viv feeling up to having visitors?” You’re mildly ashamed to admit that, in your eagerness, you’d forgotten about the baby being breech and the possible c-section.

Jeff nods. “I think my daughter’s gonna be a gymnast, ‘cause she’d flipped herself back around between the appointment and last night.”

There’s no masking Jeff’s pride when he says my daughter, and it makes Eddie want to hug him again. “That’s amazing,” he murmurs. There’s a small pang in his heart, a bead of resentment that Harris’s birth didn’t go so smoothly, but it’s unimportant right now. His best friend just became a father, and he refuses to let his own hang-ups take away from this moment.

“Hi,” you whisper when Jeff opens the door to room 1007. Viv is propped up against pillows, exhausted but happier than she’s ever been before. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the hours-old bundle in her arms. “How are you?”

“Sore,” she replies truthfully, brushing her forefinger against her baby’s closed fist, “but the epidural was a lifesaver.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tease, unaware that your words have Eddie’s heart skipping a beat at the idea of you bearing a little Munson. “Is it okay if I hold her?” You don’t want to intrude on the new mother’s bonding time, but your insides turn to mush when the baby opens her tiny lips and yawns.

Viv carefully places the newborn in your arms, and you gingerly adjust to support her head. Eddie swears that you holding a baby, in that dress, wearing his jacket, is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Did Jeff tell you her name?” Viv asks, stifling a yawn. When you and Eddie both shake your heads, she smiles and glances at her partner.

He clears his throat, suddenly bashful. Eddie forces himself to tear his gaze from the way you smile and coo at the baby and look over at Jeff. “Her name is Nicolette,” he starts, “but that’s a big name for a little girl, so we figured we can call her Ettie, and she’ll kinda…share a nickname with you.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, convinced he heard incorrectly. “You…I’m her namesake?”

“Mhm,” Jeff confirms, the grin never leaving his face. What neither you nor Eddie know is that they had had a different name picked out, and had fully intended on using it until the first time Jeff held their daughter. It filled him with a feeling of wholeness, of being complete, and it strangely had him thinking of his best friend. Without Eddie taking him under his wing, he might not even be here to experience this.

It was only by chance that he had stumbled upon Hellfire Club during his freshman year. He was running from Billy Hargrove and his posse, who were determined to beat the hell out of him simply because they could, and had ducked into the drama room to protect himself. Eddie had taken one look at his face and immediately recognized the expression of fear and defeat from being incessantly bullied. “You know how to play Dungeons & Dragons?” he’d asked, and when Jeff had managed a nod, he’d pulled up a chair and motioned for him to sit down.

Being Eddie’s friend, being part of something, gave him a reason to keep going. To live. And in that instant, he vowed to teach his child to extend kindness toward any misfits who need a place to be themselves.

“What about Nicolette?” he’d asked Viv. “Ettie for short.”

You turn to Eddie now, continuing the steady rocking rhythm that keeps Baby Ettie calm. “What do you say, Mr. Namesake? Wanna hold her?”

There’s a brief flash of panic that floods through his veins; he hasn’t held a newborn since Harris. He’d always worried about dropping him or tripping and falling. Truth be told, he was terrified until his son could hold his own head up.

It’s similar, but not the same, he reminds himself, shuffling even closer to you so you can safely transition Ettie into his arms. She stirs slightly in her swaddle but doesn’t cry.

“Hey, little lady,” he says, a delicate smile dancing on his lips. “I’m your Uncle Eddie. The coolest uncle you’ll ever have, for the record.”

“Harris is gonna love her,” you add, heart swelling at the imagery of him cuddling up to his newest cousin.

“Babe?” Viv pipes up from the bed. “Can you grab me something to eat? ‘M starving.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jeff turns to Eddie. “Come with me? I think Viv needs to feed Ettie, anyway.”

Viv extends her arms and Eddie begrudgingly hands the baby to her. Ettie’s so adorable and small, and it makes him yearn for the days when Harris was that little. Maybe not the sleepless nights or the lack of head control, but the scent of baby powder, the toothless smiles, the way he would fall asleep in Eddie’s arms to whatever song happened to be on the radio. Harris Munson might have been the only infant to be soothed by Twisted Sister.

The two men make their way to the hospital cafeteria, sneakers squeaking along the freshly-waxed linoleum tiles.

“I, um, I’m really proud of the way you stepped up for Viv,” Eddie says, eyes trained on the floor. “You’re a great partner. I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Jeff laughs, shaking his head. “That's where my expertise ends. I have no idea how this whole fatherhood thing works.”

“Wanna hear a secret?” Eddie leans in, shifting his weight onto one foot. He doesn’t wait for his friend’s response to divulge, “none of us do. We’re just…” he waves his hand aimlessly, “…figuring it out as we go.” And making plenty of mistakes along the way, he silently adds.

“I don’t know how you did this alone,” Jeff puffs out an incredulous breath. “I mean, I know you had Wayne’s help…” he trails off, not needing to further elaborate on the missing parent.

“Yeah, me either, man. I’m just glad I’m not alone anymore.”

Jeff stops walking, turning to face him. There’s the unmistakable look of pride that manages to make itself prominent despite his evident exhaustion as he says, “You really want this with her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie chuckles. “It’s like, for the first time, I’m not just thinking about just me or just Harris. I’m thinking about us as a family.” The dinnertime conversations, the gentle ribbings, the tenderness that seamlessly weaves itself into vulnerable conversations.

“She’s good for you,” Jeff agrees. “And you love her.”

“I mean, I—”

“That was a statement, not a question. You love her.”

And in a single breath, Eddie lets go of the fear he’s been clutching to like a life preserver. The one thing he hasn’t allowed himself to say aloud because it makes it so real, so fucking real.

“I love her.”

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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summercourtship · 1 month ago

Note

Seems that we’re all in a Bruce Wayne brainrot era huh?

That being said could i ask for for the prompt 31?

“Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips.”

Thank you for your time!!!

This ended up being slightly different than the prompt but I really liked how it turned out! :3 This one also does have some references to what happened post-STBOTDI, so it could be a mini midquel lmao. It’s explicitly in that universe, though it doesn’t matter if you haven’t read it because it’s not a big deal.

Gossip. | Bruce Wayne x Reader

warnings: none :) | word count: 553 Currently Accepting From This Prompt List: Guess inspired prompt list | send me a character + number for a 100-500 word drabble | character list + rules

Galas were awkward events for you. Even though Bruce’s presence was comforting, it also meant a lot of attention was on you from the moment you arrived until the moment you left. Normally, you were just a decorative piece to conversations, standing to the side and trying to not let your smile become stale on your face as random people tried to make Bruce laugh.

Tonight, however, a local influencer that you didn’t know clearly wanted to press your buttons. She constantly made snide comments about your status, your looks, your lack of class (which was a bit hypocritical, considering she was the one attacking you for no reason). It was clear to you that she was either doing it to get a rise out of you (for some reason) or to try and turn Bruce off of you. After the first comment, Bruce had raised his eyebrows as if he was going to call her out for speaking about you but you just shook your head. You didn’t need him making a big deal about nothing for you.

But it was when she made a comment about your ex-boyfriend being locked away in Arkham Asylum that you broke. When Jonathan had first been arrested, your relationship to him wasn’t made public. However, when the trial started and it was revealed that Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend was testifying… the media frenzy began. To have someone who didn’t know you bring it up so callously, so casually, as if it was just a fun fact about you to poke fun at, was like a knife in your side.

Barely thinking, you excused yourself from the ballroom, practically running away to the nearest balcony. You knew what it looked like, but it was exhausting being constantly ridiculed by the upper crusts of society. Especially for something that was ultimately none of their business.

You’d been outside for only a few seconds when the door opened again. You didn’t need to turn around to see who had followed you- there was only one person at the Gala who cared enough to.

Bruce’s footsteps were soft as he walked towards you, not saying anything as he came to a stop beside you. His hand rubbed warm circles on the small of your back, a comforting pressure that alleviated any stress you had accumulated in your body over the night.

“It’s okay.” You said, though your voice was thick and gave you away.

“No, it’s not.” He tilted your chin up to look at him. He pressed a soft kiss against your lips, pulling away before you could return it. “You are one of the best people I know.” Another kiss, equally short. “You are so much more than what they say about you.” This time, when he kissed you, you eagerly returned it, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him close to you.

“I love you.” You murmured against his lips when you parted, and even though you had said it before (many months before, it didn’t take long) he still smiled like it was the first time. Taking your hand in his, he led you to the door.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” He asked, holding the door open for you and smiling like he already knew your answer.

“Oh my god, yes.”

#as much as she (loves) bruce- the attention that comes from being with him is Not Her Favorite #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #the batman #batman x reader #stbotdi #ask #anon #prompt #request

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daisymbin · 6 months ago

Text

please don't go - jeon wonwoo

warnings: none

pairings: jeon wonwoo x afab reader

genre: best friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst

a/n: lower case intended! also writing my first fic at 1am so.....

requests open!

check out my masterlist!

''how was your date?'' wonwoo asked the second the door opened to your shared apartment. not that wonwoo would ever admit it but it is currently 1:03am and he may or may not have stayed up to wait for you to return despite having had a very exhausting day himself.

''why are you still up? isn't it past your bed time?'' you asked as you removed your heels. 'i couldn't sleep.' he simply said. ''so? how was it?''

'it was alright i guess. it wasn't the best but it wasn't the worst either.'' sighing, you walked over to the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of water from the fridge before settling near the island of the kitchen.

truthfully, you didn't want to discuss the details with wonwoo. because aside from the fact that you're in love with your best friend, you've also been going on a few dates with mingyu now to try and get over your best friend. seungkwan had suggested setting you up with mingyu when you confided in him as he knew mingyu was interested in you. the only problem, however, is the fact that wonwoo seemed to not like mingyu. ever since the first time you went out with mingyu, wonwoo had no problem in letting you know how bad of an idea it was. saying mingyu was not your type, or that you both don't look good together; all these petty reasons that make no sense at all and you were slowly getting annoyed.

''are you hungry?'' you asked as you tried to change the topic.

''are you going to continue going out with him?''

''should we order some pizza?''

''mingyu isn't even your type, i don't know why him out of all people.''

''or should we order some pasta if you're not feeling pizza?''

''y/n.''

''or maybe i should cook us something? fried rice?''

''y/n can we please just talk about this?''

''do we still have any rice left?''

‘‘Y/N PLEASE!''

''what wonwoo?'' you said back harshly. it isn't until now that you realise how frustrated you are. trying to move on from him is so hard when he is around you all the time. it makes it even harder when he keeps being harsh about your dates and points out why each one of them isn't suitable for you, and the worst part of it all is that you know he's right, all of it. but what were you to do? there is no one who could ever come close to wonwoo.

''stop going out with mingyu! you don't even like him!''

''and how do you know that? maybe i do like him! maybe i like him a lot!'' you wanted to scream and shout to get all your feelings out..but this isn't your first fight with wonwoo about mingyu or any other guy you've been on dates with and you were just so worn out by now.

''that's bullshit and you know it. mingyu literally checks none of the boxes on your list of traits for your type.''

''i made that list 3 years ago! things change wonwoo! not all of us stay the same!''

its wonwoo who is silent now. his knuckles have turned paler than ever from gripping onto the edges of the island so hard.

''what the hell does that mean?''

''nothing.'' you said as you picked up your purse and head to your bedroom. you don't get to go far though, because wonwoo is holding onto your wrist now. so tightly yet so gentle at the same time. you wonder how that is possible. you hope he doesn't feel the pulse on your wrist picking up speed, and he hopes you don't feel his hand slightly trembling.

''please sweetheart...just..not him''

you sigh for the nth time tonight, ''wonwoo i can't just not date every guy you think isn't good enough or suitable enough for me. how am i ever going to find someone?''

''do you have to? do you have to find someone? i know you don't like mingyu enough so why?''

''really wonwoo? do i not like mingyu enough or do you just not like mingyu like how you don't like every single guy i've ever been on a date with? why? are you scared i'll call you less? replace you? have a new best friend? spend less time with you?'' your frustration was slowly growing again.

wonwoo feels his heart clench. can he tell you? will it ruin your 8 year long friendship? things are bound to become awkward, there's no way he can tell you how he truly feels.

but wonwoo decides, wonwoo finally decides that hiding his feelings from you for 5 long years is excruciating enough.

''none of that.'' he says so softly you can barely hear him.

''what?''

''i said, its none of that.''

''then what is it?''

wonwoo decides that if he is to get his heart broken by you, it might as well be tonight. he might as well just....try

wonwoo looks at you one last time for what feels like a good 10 minutes, even though it was only 10 seconds. he's contemplating, he's thinking and then.. he says fuck it.

his body moves faster than his brain. before he could properly process it, he finds his lips on yours. he feels you freeze for a split second, and then he feels you relaxing under his touch. he feels you kissing him back. he feels his heart beating so fast but also, he feels his heart slowly but surely unclench.

he pulls away softly and slowly. ''don't go out with mingyu anymore. don't go out with anyone else anymore. don't have dinner dates with anyone else. don't laugh at someone else's jokes that aren't funny just for the sake of being polite. i won't put you through all of that. i'll hold your hand. i'll have a pair of your converse in the car so your feet won't hurt from heels all day. i'll tell you jokes that are actually funny the way i know you like it. just let me love you and i'll show you all the ways i know how when it comes to you.''

you don't realise your tears slowly staining your cheeks, not until wonwoo's free hand comes up to wipe your tears with his thumb. its now your turn for your hand to reach out for wonwoo's wrist to pull him in for a kiss.

''please...please don't go''

''do you mean it?'' you asked softly

''i do. i love you, and i'll show you.''

and he does. now, he always holds your hand when you're walking on the street, crossing the road, lazing on the sofa, on the bed, on the table when you're waiting for your food to be served. he holds your hair back when you have to puke after having too much to drink. he removes your make up for you when you are too tired or too drunk. he never makes you wait, he always gives you the first bite of his food. he kisses you on the cheek, on the forehead, on your temples, the back of your hand, your fingers and on your lips, all while always telling you how much he loves you. he loves you in all the small and simple ways. but jeon wonwoo knows you love him too.

a/n: im not exactly satisfied with this because while proof reading it, it feels a bit rushed but i did start this at 1am and it is 4am now so this should do. please let me know what you think or if you have any requests! hopefully my first fic went okay hahaha

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rootedinrevisions · 19 days ago

Text

Friends (with Benefits) Don't: Part 4

SUMMARY: After a rough day at work leaves you shaken, you call Jake for comfort, and he surprises you by showing up at your place with a homemade lasagna and a plan to make the night better. As you unwind together, the line between casual fling and something deeper begins to blur. A heated moment in the bedroom leads to unexpected tenderness when Jake puts on a romcom, pulling you into his arms. You tell yourself it's just a movie, just a one-time thing, but as you drift off to sleep in his embrace, it becomes clear that maybe this isn’t as casual as you thought.

OTHER PART(S): PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This part leads directly into Part 5 which is the part that was previously posted as Kinktober Day 20.

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. SMUT (Fingering, Marking)

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS BELOW

Things had returned to a comfortable rhythm, the kind of normalcy that wrapped around you like a favorite blanket. After giving Jake back his sweatshirt, the lingering tension that had threatened to complicate your arrangement faded into the background. Casual hookups became just that—casual, without the weight of unspoken expectations. Jake had skillfully avoided kissing you again, making it clear that the boundaries you’d established still held firm. The flirty banter flowed easily between you, each teasing remark and playful challenge a reminder of the playful connection you shared without the need for deeper intimacy.

Everything was exactly how it was supposed to be…until that night happened.

The day had been brutal. From the moment you stepped into work, it felt like everything was spiraling out of control. A mistake by another controller had nearly caused a mid-air collision between two fighter jets, and even though it wasn’t your fault, your commanding officer had ripped into you like it was. The thought of the near-disaster kept replaying in your mind: the cost, the consequences, the lives that could have been lost. You could still hear your CO’s voice echoing in your head, and the weight of it all was more than you could handle.

By the time your shift ended, you were exhausted, both mentally and emotionally. Without thinking, you grabbed your phone and dialed Jake's number. His voice was like a balm, steady and grounding, as you vented about the day. He listened intently, letting you get it all out before he spoke.

“That sounds rough, but you know it wasn’t on you,” he said. “I’ll be at your place when you get off. We’ll figure it out when you’re home, okay?”

You had given him a spare key a while back, with how often he was over, and it had never felt like a big deal. Tonight, though, you were grateful for it. Knowing he'd be there when you got home was a comfort in itself.

When you pulled into your parking lot later, the sight of his truck parked in its usual spot brought a small smile to your face. As you unlocked your door and stepped inside, you were greeted by the warm, savory smell of home-cooked lasagna, a scent that immediately wrapped you in a sense of comfort. You paused, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply, letting the smell soothe your frazzled nerves.

“Is that… lasagna?” you called out, walking into the kitchen, where Jake was hovering over the stove, a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder.

He turned and grinned. “You said it was your favorite. I had to make some calls to my grandma to get the recipe right, but I think I pulled it off.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I didn’t even know you could cook.”

Jake wiped his hands on the towel and crossed the room to you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. His embrace was firm and warm, like he was silently telling you everything would be okay. “How you holding up?” he asked quietly, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“Better now,” you admitted, letting yourself relax against him.

He pulled back just enough to look down at you. “Go shower, unwind. I’ll finish up in here.”

You shook your head, “Are you sure? I can help—”

He gave you a gentle shove toward your bedroom. “I got it. Go. Relax. You need it.”

Reluctantly, you let him take control, heading to your room to shed the weight of the day under the hot spray of the shower. By the time you were done, the tension had started to melt away, and when you walked back into the living room, Jake had plated two servings of lasagna on the coffee table.

The two of you sat on the couch, your legs tucked underneath you as you dug into the food. You couldn't help but grin as you put on the latest episode of that ridiculous reality TV show you’d been addicted to lately.

“You seriously watch this crap?” Jake asked, shaking his head as he took another bite.

“Yes,” you said, laughing at his obvious disdain. “And tonight, you are too.”

He groaned but didn’t protest further, begrudgingly watching along with you. He complained at all the ridiculous moments, pointing out the absurdity of it all, but you could tell he didn’t mind. If anything, the way he’d set all this up, from the meal to indulging your guilty pleasures, made you feel a little lighter, as if the weight of the day was slowly fading with every smile he brought to your face.

The conversation had started light, a casual back-and-forth while you both finished your dinner and the last few minutes of the reality show played out on the screen. But somewhere along the way, your mind drifted, and you found yourself asking a question that you hadn’t planned on.

“So, do you know where you're headed after this assignment?” you asked, your tone casual as you leaned back against the couch, resting your plate on your lap.

Jake glanced over at you, his fork hovering above his plate. “I’m not sure yet,” he admitted, a little shrug accompanying his words. “But I’m hoping to stay here for a while.”

Your brow furrowed as you processed his answer. "Here? As in, North Island?"

He nodded, taking another bite of lasagna, completely unaware of the way his response was already stirring something in you. “Yeah. I’ve talked to my superiors about it.”

You blinked, surprised. “Why? You’re from Texas. Wouldn’t you want to go somewhere like Kingsville or Fort Worth?”

Jake hesitated for a second, like he was weighing his words, before offering a shrug. “I don’t know. I like it out here in California. It’s got its perks.”

You stared at him, trying to keep your face neutral, but your mind was already racing. Sure, California was nice. The beaches, the weather—it made sense.

But something in his tone felt like there was more to it. Why would Jake Seresin, a born-and-bred Texan, who constantly talked about his love for wide-open spaces and warm southern sunsets, want to make North Island his home base?

And then, like a quiet whisper at the back of your mind, the thought surfaced: maybe it’s because of you.

You immediately pushed the thought away, dismissing it as ridiculous. Jake wouldn’t request to extend his time at North Island for some casual fling. That wasn’t who he was, and it wasn’t who you two were to each other. But then again… he probably wouldn’t make his grandma’s lasagna for a casual fling either. Or sit through hours of a show he clearly hated just to see you smile.

Your silence must have stretched a little too long because Jake glanced over at you again, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You blinked, snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of his voice. You shook your head quickly, offering him a small smile to play it off. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“Thinking, huh?” He set his plate down on the coffee table, his eyes narrowing just slightly like he could see right through the easy lie you’d just told. “Need me to help clear your head again?”

You felt the warmth rise in your cheeks, your mind immediately flashing back to the last time he had offered to do that. His mouth, the way it had moved over your skin, the way your thoughts had been wiped completely clean in the best possible way. You swallowed, biting your bottom lip as your body reacted to the memory.

Jake grinned, clearly picking up on your reaction. “That’s what I thought,” he said, his voice low and teasing, leaning in just enough to make your pulse quicken.

You let out a small, shaky laugh, trying to regain your composure. “You’re impossible, Seresin.”

“And yet, you haven’t kicked me out yet,” he shot back, his hand slipping over to your knee, his touch light but intentional.

No, you hadn’t kicked him out. And as much as you tried to tell yourself this was just a casual arrangement, there were moments like this—moments where it felt like more, where the lines blurred and you couldn’t quite tell where you stood with him. And that uncertainty was starting to mess with your head.

But for now, you pushed the thoughts aside and let Jake’s touch, his presence, wash over you. After all, that was part of the arrangement too—no overthinking, no strings, just the comfort of each other for as long as it lasted. Even if, lately, it felt like it was starting to mean a little more.

Your mind begins to wander again, thoughts circling back to everything Jake had just said, and everything he hadn’t. There’s a slight tension in your body, an internal tug-of-war that Jake seems to notice instantly.

Without a word, he reaches for you, pulling you onto his lap in one smooth motion. His hands find their familiar place on your hips, steadying you as your knees settle on either side of him, straddling his lap. You can feel the heat of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he watches you for a moment, as if gauging whether you’re truly present.

Before you can dwell too long on the shift between you, Jake's hands slide up your sides, and he pulls you down into a kiss. It’s hot, needy, a little rougher than usual as his lips capture yours. His tongue teases your bottom lip before slipping inside your mouth, deepening the kiss until it’s all-consuming, leaving no room for your lingering doubts. You melt into him, your hands instinctively grabbing at the back of his neck, pulling him closer as you lose yourself in the feeling.

Jake’s mouth moves away from your lips, trailing heated kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and onto your shoulder. His breath is warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he slides the thin strap of your tank top off your shoulder, exposing the delicate lace of your bralette beneath. He pulls back slightly, his eyes darkening as they roam over your body, taking in every inch of you.

“Damn, you're hot,” he mutters, his voice low and raspy. His words send a wave of heat through you, your body responding to the compliment in ways you can’t control. You can feel him beneath you, the bulge of his growing arousal pressing up through his jeans, and it only fuels the fire burning between you.

Without warning, Jake leans forward, his mouth descending onto your chest. His lips find the soft skin of your breast, and then his teeth gently scrape against you before he bites down, just hard enough to make you gasp. His mouth latches on, sucking at your skin, and you feel the sharp mix of pleasure and pain that leaves you breathless. You thread your fingers into his hair, tugging lightly as his name slips past your lips in a soft moan.

Hearing you say his name like that—breathy, desperate—ignites something primal in Jake. His hands tighten on your hips as he switches to your other breast, repeating the same motion, biting and sucking until another mark blooms on your skin. You don’t even care that he’s leaving marks; in fact, a part of you likes it. You like the idea of carrying his touch on your skin, the reminder that Jake is the only one who gets to have you like this.

“I love your body,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with want. You barely have time to register the words before Jake stands, lifting you effortlessly from the couch with your legs wrapped around his waist. You tighten your grip on his shoulders as he heads toward your bedroom, the promise of what’s to come leaving you breathless and entirely consumed by him.

He lowers you onto the bed, never breaking the heated rhythm between you. His mouth is relentless, finding every inch of exposed skin as he presses you down into the mattress. Your head spins, lost in the haze of pleasure as his lips move to your collarbone, then down to the curve of your stomach, leaving a trail of fiery kisses behind. He’s not being gentle—there’s a roughness to his touch, a sense of urgency that sends shivers through your body.

You feel his teeth graze the sensitive skin just below your ribs, and then he bites down, hard enough to leave another mark. You gasp, your back arching involuntarily, your hands tangling in his hair as you moan his name again. The bite stings, but in a way that ignites a deep heat in your core, making your thighs squeeze together involuntarily.

His mouth continues to explore, claiming every inch of you as if he’s branding you with his touch, and for a while, you don’t mind. Each mark he leaves feels like a silent promise, a reminder of how he’s the only one who gets to do this to you. But then, just as his teeth find a spot near your shoulder—somewhere too exposed—you realize he’s about to leave a mark you won’t be able to cover.

“Jake,” you gasp, your fingers gently tugging at his hair in an attempt to pull him back. “I won’t be able to cover that one.”

For a moment, you think he’ll stop, but instead, Jake pauses just long enough to lift his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot on your neck as he whispers, “Then don’t.”

Your breath hitches, torn between the reality of what he’s saying and the undeniable way your body is responding to him. You know this is more than you’d agreed to, more than the boundaries of your casual arrangement, but right now, with the weight of his body pressing against yours, his hands claiming every inch of you, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“I want them to see,” he says, his voice dark and full of desire.

The words send a surge of heat straight to your core, and before you can stop yourself, you nod, a soft, breathless “okay” slipping from your lips.

Jake’s lips curve into a smug grin against your neck as he feels your body give in to his touch, your soft “okay” fueling something primal in him. He moves back, shifting his attention lower, his hands tracing down the curve of your waist as he positions himself between your legs. His breath is hot, teasing as he kisses down your stomach, the anticipation making every nerve in your body light up.

His fingers glide over the waistband of your underwear, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly pulls them down, discarding them onto the floor without breaking the heated connection between you. Then, without warning, his fingers slide between your legs, parting you, and you can’t suppress the moan that escapes your lips as he presses two fingers into you. His touch is skilled, knowing exactly where and how to make you come undone, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge with every stroke.

“Jake,” you gasp, your hands gripping the sheets as you arch into his touch, the pressure building in a delicious crescendo. His fingers move with precision, and it’s almost too much, too good.

His lips find the sensitive spot on your inner thigh, biting down just enough to make you gasp, another mark, another silent claim on your skin. Then his mouth is on you, his tongue working in sync with his fingers, driving you closer and closer to your release. You can feel the tension building inside you, your body winding tight as you near the brink.

Just as you’re about to tip over the edge, Jake’s voice cuts through the haze, low and possessive. “Come for me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “Come on my fingers.”

The command hits you like a wave, and it’s not just the words—it’s the way he says it, like he already knows you will, like you’re his to command. His. The thought sends you spiraling, and you come undone with a cry, your body shaking with the force of your release as his fingers work you through it.

He doesn’t stop, his fingers slowing but still keeping you on that edge, prolonging the sensation until you’re dizzy from the intensity, your head spinning with more than just pleasure. His mouth is still on you, kissing the marks he’s left, soothing and claiming in the same breath.

As the waves of your release subside, you feel him shift back up, his hand still gently caressing your thigh as he leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear. “You feeling better?” He whispers, the possessiveness in his voice undeniable, sending another shiver down your spine.

And in that moment, you realize that what you have with Jake isn’t as simple as you thought. It’s more, deeper—something that goes beyond the casual boundaries you both tried to set.

As the afterglow settles over both of you, Jake leans over to the edge of the bed, grabbing the remote from the nightstand. He pulls the covers up, tucking them around you both, and with a satisfied sigh, he turns the TV on. The soft glow of the screen casts a warm light over the room, but you can’t help but let out a quiet laugh when you see the title that pops up.

“A romcom?” you tease, glancing up at him from where you’re still nestled against his chest.

Jake smirks, his arm tightening around you as he flicks through the options. “You need something light after today,” he says. “Besides, I know you love them.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. It feels strangely domestic—something more than the casual arrangement you’ve been keeping. But it’s just a movie. Friends watch movies. Friends with benefits watch movies.

You try to keep your distance, mentally reminding yourself of the rules, but before you can stop yourself, you shift closer, resting your head on his chest. Jake doesn’t hesitate, his arm slipping around your waist, pulling you in even tighter. The weight of his arm feels comforting, grounding, and for a moment, you let yourself relax into him.

“It’s just a movie,” you tell yourself. You’ll watch the movie, then he’ll leave, and everything will go back to normal.

But the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek, lulls you into a kind of peace you haven’t felt in a while. His fingers absentmindedly trace small circles on your back, and you feel your eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment.

You fight it at first, determined to keep the lines clear. But sleep creeps in, and before you know it, your eyes flutter closed, and the sound of the movie fades into the background. Jake’s arm tightens around you protectively, and you barely register the soft kiss he presses against the top of your head before sleep overtakes you completely.

#Top Gun Hangman #Top Gun Hangman Fanfiction #Top Gun Hangman Fanfic #Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin Fanfiction #Jake Seresin Fanfic #Jake Hangman Seresin #Jake Seresin x reader #Hangman x reader #Jake Seresin Smut #Hangman Jake Seresin Smut

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 3 months ago

Note

HAZBIN HOTEL HEADCANONS (if u want :3)

I don’t request anything most of the time from anyone so I sincerely hope I’m doing this right lol

Anyways! I was wondering if I could get a Vox x (s/o) reader where Vox yells at his (s/o) in a heated fight and he ends up scaring (s/o). Like maybe she doesn’t like confrontation or has this thing about being yelled at and usually ends up crying and avoiding whoever yelled at her for quite some time? Idk. Lowkey just in the mood for angst 😩

Thank you!

Synopsis: vox and you argue 😔 he’s not very demure

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

Breaking Point

The apartment was unnervingly quiet. You sat on the edge of the couch, knees drawn to your chest, fingers gripping the fabric of your sweater as if it could anchor you to the present moment. The TV flickered in front of you, but the show had long since faded into background noise, overshadowed by the tension between you and Vox. Tonight was supposed to be a peaceful evening, a chance for you both to unwind after the long, stressful week. But the calm had shattered, replaced by a storm you hadn’t seen coming.

It had started with something small—an offhand comment about how little time you’d been spending together lately. Vox had been busy with work, his streaming schedule packed to the brim, and it had left you feeling more alone than usual. You didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but the words slipped out, and the conversation took a turn you weren’t prepared for.

“You know it’s not like I’m avoiding you, [Y/N],” Vox had said, his tone strained as he tried to keep his frustration in check. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. It’s not fair to guilt-trip me for that.”

“I’m not guilt-tripping you,” you replied, your voice softer than you intended. “I just… I miss you. It feels like we’re drifting apart, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Vox sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of exasperation. “What do you want me to do, huh? Just drop everything? You know how important this is to me.”

“I’m not asking you to drop everything,” you said, feeling your own frustration rising. “I just want to feel like I matter, like I’m not just another obligation on your to-do list.”

And that’s when things started to spiral.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Vox snapped, his voice suddenly sharp, his eyes narrowing as he glared at you. “Do you think I don’t care about you? Everything I’m doing, I’m doing for us—for our future. But it’s like you don’t see that. You just see the time I’m not spending with you.”

You flinched at the harshness in his tone, the words stinging more than you expected. “I never said you didn’t care,” you muttered, looking down at your hands, trying to steady your racing heart. “I just wish you’d talk to me, let me in instead of shutting me out.”

“I’m not shutting you out,” Vox shot back, his voice rising as his frustration boiled over. “But I can’t be everything all the time. I’m exhausted, [Y/N]. And it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough for you.”

His words echoed in your mind, each one like a slap to the face. You felt a lump forming in your throat, the familiar sting of tears welling up in your eyes, but you fought them back, refusing to cry. Not now, not in the middle of this.

“I never said you weren’t enough,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the effort to hold it together. “I just… I don’t know what to do, Vox. I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Fix what?!” Vox threw his hands up in exasperation, his voice loud enough to rattle the picture frames on the walls. “There’s nothing to fix, [Y/N]! I’m doing the best I can, but it’s like you don’t even see that! You keep pushing, and pushing, and I’m at my limit!”

His voice boomed through the apartment, the anger and frustration spilling over in a way you hadn’t seen before. You’d had disagreements in the past, sure, but nothing like this. The intensity in his voice, the way he was looking at you—it brought back memories you’d tried so hard to bury, memories of being yelled at, of feeling small and helpless.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath quickening as you tried to stay calm, but it was no use. The fear was too overwhelming. Your hands began to shake, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself, as if that could protect you from the storm raging before you.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your ears. You wanted to explain yourself, to make him understand, but the words got stuck in your throat, your mind clouded by panic. You felt the tears building again, but you blinked rapidly, trying to keep them at bay.

Vox took a step back, running both hands through his hair in a gesture of helpless frustration. His shoulders were tense, his entire body wound tight like a spring ready to snap. “You don’t get it, do you?” he muttered, his voice still tinged with anger, though quieter now. “You don’t understand what it’s like to have everyone depending on you, to have the weight of all this on your shoulders.”

You wanted to reach out to him, to tell him that you did understand, that you saw how hard he was working. But the fear kept you frozen in place, your voice locked in your throat. You could feel the tears start to spill over, running down your cheeks in silent streams. You quickly wiped them away, but the action was too late—Vox had already seen them.

“[Y/N]…” His voice softened immediately, the anger evaporating as he saw the fear and hurt in your eyes. He took a step forward, his hand reaching out as if to comfort you, but you flinched, pulling back instinctively. The movement was small, but it was enough to make him freeze, his hand hovering in the air between you.

“I—I need to go,” you choked out, the words tumbling from your lips before you even fully realized what you were saying. The walls of the apartment felt like they were closing in, the air too thick to breathe. You needed to get out, to put distance between you and the confrontation that was ripping you apart.

Vox’s eyes widened in panic as he saw you begin to retreat. “Wait—[Y/N], please,” he pleaded, taking another step toward you, but you backed away, shaking your head.

“I can’t… I just… I need some space,” you stammered, your voice barely audible as you turned and fled down the hallway. You could hear Vox calling after you, the desperation in his voice breaking your heart even more, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t face him—not now.

You stumbled into the bedroom and shut the door behind you, pressing your back against it as if that could keep the world out. Your legs gave out, and you slid down to the floor, burying your face in your hands as sobs wracked your body. The fear, the pain, the overwhelming sense of helplessness—it all came crashing down on you at once, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore.

On the other side of the door, you could hear Vox’s footsteps, slow and hesitant as they approached. He paused outside the door, and for a moment, the only sound was the quiet hum of the apartment, punctuated by your ragged breathing.

“[Y/N]…” Vox’s voice was soft now, filled with regret and sorrow. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. Please, let me in… let’s talk about this.”

You pressed your hands harder against your ears, trying to block out the sound of his voice. You wanted to respond, to tell him that you understood, that you didn’t blame him, but the words wouldn’t come. The fear of confrontation, the fear of being hurt again—it was too much.

When you didn’t answer, Vox let out a heavy sigh, the sound filled with so much pain that it made your heart ache. “I’ll give you space,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “But please… don’t shut me out forever. I love you, [Y/N]. I’m sorry.”

You heard him turn and walk away, his footsteps growing fainter until the apartment was silent once more. You stayed there on the floor for what felt like hours, your body numb, your mind replaying the events over and over again. Eventually, the tears stopped, leaving you feeling hollow and exhausted.

When you finally found the strength to stand, the apartment was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the TV still playing in the living room. You slowly opened the door and stepped out, your eyes scanning the empty space for any sign of Vox.

On the kitchen counter, you found a note written in his familiar handwriting. You picked it up with trembling hands, your heart clenching as you read the words:

“I’m sorry. I’ll give you space. Please, just… come back to me when you’re ready. I love you.”

You clutched the note to your chest, the tears threatening to return as you took a shaky breath. You knew Vox didn’t mean to hurt you, that he was just as lost and overwhelmed as you were. But it didn’t change the fact that he had, and it didn’t make the fear go away.

It would take time—time to heal, time to rebuild the trust that had been shaken. But you hoped that, with that time, the love you shared would be enough to mend the wounds left behind. For now, all you could do was take it one day at a time, holding onto the hope that you and Vox could find your way back to each other.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel #isuckatwritingsobenice #vox hazbin hotel #yandere vox x reader #yandere vox #vox the tv demon #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox

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jhilsara · 8 months ago

Text

I Can See You

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3/ Pt. 4/ Pt. 5/pt. 6/Pt. 7/Pt. 8/Pt. 9/ Pt. 10/

Pt. 11/ Pt.12/Pt.13/Pt. 14/Pt.15/Pt.16/Pt.17/END

Mariana Jimenez-Watson or MJ works in a normal pub living life paycheck to paycheck. Nothing exciting happens to her except the occasional drunk getting thrown out. She's 24 working away and finds a wrench thrown into her very boring life. His name is Hobie and she thinks maybe, a little excitement isn't awful. In fact she might start to crave some change for once.

Small moments of Hobie meeting his world's MJ. AKA I made an MJ variant and I think she's neat.

Chapter 5

Life threatening events were not on her bucket list. In fact, MJ was content to mind her business and talk to pub patrons. She was happy to come in, pours some pints, make a cocktail, chat up the patrons and learn their stories, and then roll on home in the early morning hours. That was her routine every single day, she liked it that way. Her life wasn't supposed to be filled with crazy events and super villains. She was just a normal woman working in a small pub.

So why the hell does stuff just keep happening to her?

She’s been exhausted for the past two weeks, and it's not from any freak run ins with her local vigilante. To her surprise it's because of a single patron who started coming to the pub. Usually MJ is okay with the occasional drunkard. They always have at least one every other night.

MJ’s favorites are posted in small polaroid pictures behind the bar top that Andy has taken. The pub keeps a polaroid camera as a little gimmick for busy weekends. Andy will walk around to the tables and snap pictures of friends and couples. It’s just a cute extra thing they like to do, keeps patrons longer. The owner pays for the film and Andy likes talking to people. It’s a win-win. Especially the wall of shame, which has pictures of the unruly drunk bastards they’ve kicked out. It's her favorite photo section secretly, the faces they make when Andy points the flash at them is really entertaining.

They have a new regular though and he drinks every night until her or Andy cuts him off. That's not uncommon, to have people come in and be cut off after an obscene amount of alcohol. It's not just the fact he's a heavy drinker... there's something unsettling about how he drinks that has starting to stress MJ out.

She can't put her finger on it, but it makes her stomach drop in dread every time she sees him. He drinks more than any patron they’ve seen before, but never gets unruly. He sits quietly, drinking beer after beer. His eyes following her, like a predator looking at their next meal. She hates interacting with him. It's his eyes, they're so... hollow.

The last time she handed him his tab he caressed her hand and she recoiled just as quickly. He gave her a slimy kind of smile that had her gritting her teeth. His eyes burning into her skin, making her itch and want to scream. She hasn’t served him tonight, but she feels him staring at her. She always feels his eyes following her, like a creepy portrait at night.

He genuinely scares her. Has her almost debating if she should just quite. She even tried to swap times with a coworker but he followed. He was there every time she was scheduled without fail. How he knew she was trying to change shifts made her even more unsettled. Making her skin prickle like she was being stabbed by tiny needles.

She mentioned it to her manager but he just dismissed how she felt. Saying she was over reacting; the guy isn’t disruptive and he hasn’t actually done anything to her. All she could think was, ‘yet, he hadn’t done anything yet’.

She didn't bother trying to change shifts after that. She was ready to just leave the pub all together, but the pay was good. Too good to try and job hunt because of one man that creeped her out.

She shakes herself out of her spiraling thoughts and tries to keep working. There was no use sitting there stewing on him, it would just terrify her. She wraps up her shift and goes in the back to clock out. Before she walks out though, she goes back to ask Andy a question about a show they were hosting the next night. She needed the contact information and Andy had taken the call.

When she walks back out, she sees the guy is gone. Her gut is telling her it's wrong, he usually stays all night. Her face pales at the idea of walking out.

“Where did he go?” MJ asks pointing to his empty chair, her tone clipped.

Andy shrugs nonchalantly, “He just closed out his tab. Why?”

MJ grows quiet and crosses her arms. “This is gonna sounds crazy, but something about him really freaks me out.”

Andy shakes her head. “No, not crazy. I don’t like how he looks at you. It’s fucking gross.” Andy frowns looking at her friend. It validates MJ's feelings and she sighs in mild relief. Someone else noticed.

MJ leans on the back counter thinking, “Can I stay until you get off? I- I just have a bad feeling.” She asks looking at Andy with pleading eyes.

Andy nods her head, “Absolutely!" She replies reassuringly. "My boyfriends picking me up tonight and we can walk ya home or you can tag along with us. I’d hate for that guy to try and follow ya home.” She mutters bitterly making a disgusted face.

MJ nods her head. “Thanks, I’m just gonna hang out in the office then. Maybe check the cameras.” She says pointing to the back.

MJ goes into the managers office, he wasn’t working tonight anyway, and she looks through his desktop to check the cameras. Her stomach was churning with uncertainty.

Sure enough, the guy is creeping around the corner. He’s watching the back door. Suddenly a cold chill runs up her back. She jolts up and makes sure the back doors are locked. She quietly goes back into the office and curls in the chair, her body shaking. She takes a deep, nervous breath and just tries to not think about it.

There is no denying it, he definitely was waiting for her.

She shoves her face into her hands and tries to take some calming deep breathes. Her fingers dig into her hair and she holds it tightly. It doesn’t stop the panic rising in her chest. It burns in the back of her throat like bile and she squeezes her eyes shut.

With unsteady hands she shoots Hobie a text, asking if he could come pick her up. She doesn’t know if she can wait until Andy gets off. She looks back over to the cameras and the man isn't there anymore.

It should calm her down, she should be relieved, but it doesn’t. It's the opposite of reassuring... in fact it puts her on edge and she's more nervous than before.

Suddenly the back door handle starts to jiggle, almost as if someone’s trying to open it. She stares at the handle frozen in fear for what feels like forever. Her heart feels like it’s in her throat.

Just as soon as the door handle shook, it ends. Leaving her alone in the silence.

She’s trembling and tries to calm herself down. He can’t get in.

He can’t get in. He can’t get in. He can’t get in. He can’t get in. He can’t get in. He can’t get in. She tells herself over and over again.

She locked it, it’s industrial, as long as she's in the back she's safe. She spends the next ten minutes trying to come down from her mini panic attack. Her body feels numb and she's never felt this frighten for her own life. Which feels trivial in the face of the strange super humans running around Old York.

Her phone buzzes, pulling her out. Hobie had texted her back, saying he was on his way. She was going to be fine.

She finally settles her breathing and feels calm enough to wait for Hobie. Her judgement was correct. She hears screaming and glasses shattering. The noise is so foreign she doesn't realize it's real until Andy comes plowing around the corner and barreling into the office. Andy slams the door shut, and turns off the lights. Her face is filled with fear as she turns around to grab MJ.

“That guy, MJ, he- he came back!" Andy starts to whisper shout. Her voice hitching in anxiety. "He's bonkers! Threw a fit and breaking shit!" she says rushing over her words. "He was screaming for you MJ, Lars is handling it but I bolted." She grabs her hand and tries to drag MJ with her, "We have to go!” She’s whispering at her aggressively.

MJ moves to hold Andy's arms, she looks past her down at the computer's camera and sees Lars handing the man. The two girls take the opportunity to go to the back door and try to escape. They are met with an unbudging door.

“No, no, no, no!” MJ hisses and tries to open the door again, throwing her body weight at the door. She's frantic to get out, just escape.

“What the fuck!” Andy almost shouts. They try again and are meet with nothing. They're trapped.

They hear glass breaking and it makes them freeze for only a moment before fear grips them. They run into the office, closing the door and locking it.

MJ makes her way over to the computer and sees the guy standing over Lars, holding a broken liquor bottle with a tight grip. She clutches at Andy and looks at her with wide eyes.

“I think he just killed Lars!” She hisses.

“What the fuck!” Andy replies and the two girls watch him through the camera. He’s blocking their only exit.

“We have to hide, that’s all we can do, or distract him…” MJ mutters.

“Where the hell are we gonna hide?!” Andy says in irritation.

MJ looks over to the closet in the office and shoves herself and Andy in it. The closet is filled with anything and everything, it’s honestly a mess. This could be to their advantage though. MJ finds an empty barrel, one used as decoration, and tells Andy to get in. Her friend looks at her like she’s mad.

“I’m not getting in that.” Andy hisses in a whisper.

“It’s the best spot you have and we don’t have a lot of time right now Andy!" MJ shots back quickly in irritation. "If he finds a locked door he’s breaking in. I’m gonna lock the closet but it can only give us so much time.” MJ whispers aggressively.

Andy sighs and gets in the barrel. “If he finds me first I’m killing you, not him.” She mutters.

MJ rolls her eyes but closes the barrel’s lid. She looks at the corner that’s filled with an abundance of random things. She moves some stuff around to hide behind. This is as good as it's going to get. The objects she's hiding behind are also hidden by a curtain. She hopes it'll be enough to save her. She’s shaking, clutching her phone to her chest. She turns it on silent, but texts Hobie quickly. She tells him in as little words as possible she’s hiding in the office and for him to call for help.

She knows the cops won’t come, even after their ‘reform’ they still don’t do much. Much less care about a local pub issue. That’s why they had Lars as their bouncer. Now Lars was maybe dead and it’s not like she could just call up the local vigilante.

She’s screwed unless she can somehow take this guy out herself with Andy. She’s trembling, clutching onto herself to not cry, this is not how she wants to go. Not from some creepy drunk patron.

She hears the office door get kicked in and she tries to not gasp. He’s more than likely going to find her and not Andy, which she knew that was the risk. She’s holding onto a crowbar with a death grip. She’s just waiting for him to get in the closet. If he finds her she'll swing, fight, scream and claw her way out.

She wants to shut her eyes like a little kid and pretend this isn’t happening, but she can’t. Her hearts pounding as she hears the loud bangs on the closet door. With every hit it makes her jump. Then she hears it crash to the floor followed by heavy footsteps.

She’s trying to keep it together but tears fall down her face. She’s only human and fear is gripping at her heart.

She hears a loud grunt and a collapsing. She doesn’t dare look, but she hears something dragging against the floor.

“I don’t think ladies like stalkers much.” She hears, a new voice says mockingly.

She sits up quickly as she hears the familiar voice. She moves to stand up and quietly goes to look. She sees a distinctly spider silhouette through the broken down doorway.

His figure disappears but she can still hear him. He’s talking to the drunkard so she uses this opportunity to grab Andy. She rushes over to the barrel that Andy’s in and slides the lid off. She whispers to her, “Spider-Man’s here!”

“What?! How?” Andy says in surprise, they can hear the guy getting slammed into something, making them both jump. The noises they hear consist of loud banging and something being broken.

“Hell, if I know!” MJ hisses and makes her way over to the fallen doorway.

She peers around the corner, still trying to hide herself, and sees that Spider-Man has the guy pinned down. Arms tied behind his back and his face had been slammed into the desk. Specifically, the keyboard. The pieces are scattered and broken on the floor, a small pool of blood is underneath the man's head.

She takes a shaky breath, one entirely too quiet, it’s enough to notify Spider-Man of her presence, his head shooting up to look at her. She sees his body relax, if just a fraction, upon seeing her.

“Mariana,” he whispers her name, so soft she almost misses it. “Always in trouble…” He says much louder, scoffing and shaking his head. She's frozen in place just watching him with large eyes.

He leans down next to the man's ear, “You’re lucky I got better things to do than rip you apart…” he hisses out.

He webs the guys arms together behind his back and throws him against the wall and webbing him there. He’s covered from the neck down to his feet, he is definitely not moving anytime soon.

Andy comes over next to her and grips MJ’s arm, letting out her own shuddering breath.

“Fuck, Lars!” Andy says in realization and bolts back to the front of the pub to assess their security guard.

MJ can’t move, her eyes are glued to Spider-Man, she feels like she’s going to pass out from the swell of relief. He turns back and silently comes over gently grabbing her shoulders to look at her.

“C’mon let’s get you outta here.” He says, voice a little gruff as he wraps an arm around her. She leans her weight into him as a support almost instinctively. She’s still trembling slightly from the fear that gripped her heart.

They walk through the front and MJ sees Andy helping Lars sit up. He was okay, just a little scratched up. MJ smiles, glad to know her bouncer was safe and not dead.

“We’re gonna call someone and I’m staying with Lars. MJ you should go.” Andy says looking over at the two.

Before she can open her mouth and protest staying with them the vigilante speaks up, “I’ll get her home.”

Before MJ can even find her voice to respond the two are outside and he’s pulled her against him like before and starts swinging them across the city.

She’s confused and nauseous her grip tight as he swings them.

“You okay?” He asks her.

“Is this really the best time to ask me?” She mutters, groaning at the quick movements and feeling the air hit her face. Instead of it being refreshing, it stings instead.

“You gotta talk to me, it doesn’t have to be about that.” He says, voice a little rough. His grip on her tightening a fraction.

“Why?” She asks. She leans back enough to try and look at his face. Even covered in a mask, she’s trying to find something to help her read his expression.

“I just need a distraction or I’m gonna go back and rip him in half like the scum he is.” He mutters bitterly.

She narrows her eyes and whatever jumbled thoughts were swimming in her brain have finally clicked together, like pieces of a puzzle.

“Fine…but I can’t talk about what just happened.” she replies.

He grunts in acknowledgement, “Anything, we can talk about anything.” He keeps swinging, he doesn’t even need directions to get to her flat. He’s taking the right turns, as if he's done it a million times before.

“When were you gonna tell me you’re Spider-Man?” she accuses without hesitation.

He misses his next web, causing them to fall a bit before he catches them again. His masks eyes widen as he looks at her.

Her brows are furrowed and she’s looking at him expectantly.

“What ya talkin’ about? Course I’m Spider-Man.” He tries to play off with a fake laugh.

Her face doesn’t change she raises a brow in irritation, “Hobie.” Her voice is shaking a bit, “When were you going to tell me?” She says again.

He groans and stops swinging them, he lands them on a random roof and he sets her down. His hands cover his masked face as he shakes his head. Pacing back and forth. He turns to look at her, pauses, and then rolls his head back again.

He pulls his mask off and gives her a look like he’s mildly impressed. “What gave it away?” He asks.

She takes a deep breath, “You, you were the only one I had texted…and well, you called me Mariana. Pretty sure I never told Spider-Man my name.” she whispers.

He nods and walks closer to her, he brushes his hand along her cheek, “You’re okay right? He didn’t find you?” he asks. His eyes looking over her, making his own assessment.

She nods, “No you got there just in time.” She whispers, she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes trying to stop herself from crying.

She’s safe. She knows she’s safe. Hobie came like he said he would.

She runs her hands down her face and looks up at him, his body has relaxed and he pulls her to him. Tightly hugging her. She easily wraps her own arms around him, grounding herself.

“You’re too much trouble…” He murmurs into her hair.

She chuckles in response and presses her forehead to his shoulder, “Maybe it’s you who’s trouble.” She replies.

He gives a dry laugh, “Yeah, probably.”

The two hold onto each other tightly, breathing together, trying to match their hearts to the same gentle rhythm.