#you know what really gets me is hes still so goddamn sweet & caring beneath the general aloofness. like he rly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darlingdaisyfarm · 22 days ago

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₊˚ʚ Rain in the woods (Ford Pines x fem!reader) ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

part 3

author note: wow. oh. I can’t believe i finished this :')

this ridiculous, tender unhinged love letter to Ford (and to all of you) has been such a wild ride. tbh i started writing this fic as a half-joke, half-desperate need to get the scenario out of my head and now it’s grown into something so much more intimate than i ever imagined

to everyone who liked, reblogged, who wrote to me such wonderful sweet comments - i read every one and I love you more than Ford loves overthinking. seriously :) your support means everything, and I hope you'll like this final chapter. I’m so grateful for you all <3

ALSO sorry if there are a lot of kisses here….... ummm well I mean, you can't really blame me bc if Ford had let me, I would have just eaten him whole

nsfw, minors DNI

You don’t notice, but his hands are trembling when he reaches for the first aid kit he’d somehow already brought with him. Had he been planning this? Or maybe. . . he just couldn’t stay away, couldn’t bear the thought of you trying to deal with it on your own.

Ford tries to maintain his usual level of calm composure, but the sight of your exposed thigh makes it so much harder than he anticipated. He feels so conflicted, his thoughts are somewhere between concern, desire and disgusting guilt. He’s a scientist, an explorer, a goddamned professional, not some pathetic old man fantasising about—

“This is going to sting,” Ford warns, trying to not look at your underwear along with your exposed body parts. He can’t be the one to make you uncomfortable now, not when you’re already in pain. “I’ll try to be quick, but it will hurt. I won’t push it, but. . . you need to stay still.”

He avoids meeting your wide, doe-like, scared, no, more like nervous eyes. Those eyes had undone him countless times before, always so trusting, so impossibly soft, curious, full of life. He dies every time when you look at him like that.

“Yes, okay,” you answer, though you’re not sure if it’s for him or for you. He pours the disinfectant into a cotton pad and just as he prepares to press it to your skin, you tense. “Ford, please. . . be gentle, okay?”

“I will, if it’s too much just tell me.” Ford still doesn’t dare meet your eyes, not when he knows his own will betray him. Instead, he focuses on the wound, on the crimson smear of blood that trickles down your skin. But it’s not that damn injury he wants to fix, it’s you, all of you. He wants to be needed by you, to be the one who makes you whole again.

Ford prepares himself and trying his best, he gently presses the cotton pad to your skin what makes you gasp, oh, sweet mercy, that voice of yours. It’s all he can do to stop himself from leaning in and capturing your lips in tender kiss, getting between your legs and taking you right there. He keeps going, though, his big hands too careful, like you’re made of porcelain. He doesn’t want to hurt you, never, but he just wishes he could be inside you right now, show you how much he’s desperate for you.

“Ahh! Ford, h-hurts!” your fingers are gripping his wrist so tight, nails digging in, and fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking this. You are hurt, in pain, for god’s sake, but all he can see is you beneath him, making those same sounds for an entirely different reason as he makes love to you.

“Shh, I know, I know it does. I know, but you have to let me do this. If I don’t, the wound could get infected. Tetanus, sepsis are not things to take lightly.”

Goddamn, why he’s so close to places he shouldn’t even be thinking about. You’re laying there so beautiful, helpless, voice pleading with him to stop, it’s driving Ford crazy. His cock twitches in his pants and he hates himself for it, hates how his mind creates an image of you crying out his name like that, begging him to keep going instead of to stop.

He feels the throb in his chest, but in his groin too.

“N-no more, fuck, ugh!” obviously it’s a plea for mercy, but to his traitorous brain, it sounds like—

Ford frowns, looking way too serious than usual as he tries to make his dirty thoughts go away, tries to focus on the wound and not the way your skin feels, but goddamn why are you so soft and warm and why he’s so damn close to you. And then his gaze betrays him, lowering down to the curve of your inner thigh, so close to where the hem of your panties teases him mercilessly.

“That’s enough, please!” you begin, biting down on your lip as the pain grows.

“Don’t move too much, it’ll hurt more,” Ford’s tone sounds rougher than he meant to. “I’m almost done.”

She’s in pain, you disgusting old idiot. She’s fucking suffering and you’re—

“Please, stop!”

Ford freezes, stiffening. That’s enough, you’d said, but it’s not, it’s fucking not. It’s never enough. Not your skin, not your voice, not the way you cling to him, not the way you beg, not the way you look at him.

The cotton pad is soaked now in your blood too, pressing too hard against your skin before Ford even realises it. You wince, gasping again and Ford can't help it anymore. His eyes drop to your panties, how they hug your body and his cock twitches in his pants.

He’s a grown man. He should be able to handle this. But all he can see is you, laid out before him like this, looking at him with those needy eyes, begging him to take you, to fuck you.

“Just sit sti—” before he finishes his sentence, he unintentionally presses the cotton harder into your wound, too lost in his own fantasies and the sharp burst of pain makes you hiss so you move involuntarily, your leg jerking straight into his crotch and—

You feel it.

Your foot accidentally brushes against something unmistakably hard. You didn’t mean to move that way, absolutely. But the second your limb drags against him, you feel it. The hardness beneath his pants. His body reacting to you. To this.

And neither of you move.

Ford is first to speak.

“I— I’m sorry,” he blurts. “It’s a natural physiological response. Adrenaline, heightened states of focus, they can trigger. . . well, unintended reactions. Nothing to do with— nothing to do with you.”

The sharp pain in your thigh momentarily forgotten. “Physiological response?” you repeat. “Ford, are you seriously trying to explain away your. . . uh, situation with biology?”

“It’s not what you think. It’s involuntary. Biological. A man’s body doesn’t always obey his mind. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He sounds so awkward, so flustered and you don’t know what to think. He’s not usually like this. . . well, not around you. Around you, he’s always so collected, always the smart, serious, intellectual Stanford Pines who wouldn’t bat an eye at anything that didn’t involve research.

You try to click pieces together, processing. He feels something for you. That’s the only explanation. He wouldn’t be this flustered, this desperate to excuse himself, if he didn’t.

And now you know. Ford’s just as human as the rest of us. And he wants you, too.

You move again, brushing your leg against him again and Ford wants to die because he makes the loudest surprised gasp in the room. “Doesn’t mean anything, huh?” you ask innocently. “so if I just move like this—” you press just a little firmer, feeling him growing harder. “it’s still just biology. Nothing to do with me at all?”

He’s silent.

“Ford, Is that. . . is that really how you feel?”

He sighs and darts his hand out to grip your leg to stop your teasing. “Don’t,” he warns, saying your name. His eyes meet yours for the first time all evening. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

His eyes stay locked on yours. You’re silent now too.

“Don’t— don’t look at me like that. You don’t understand. I. . . shouldn’t have let it go this far.”

But you do understand, more than he could ever realise.

“But why?” your foot slides all over his hard clothed length and Ford’s body responds with his needy cock twitching at your touch.

“This isn’t funny,” he bites out. “this isn’t a game. I’m not a young man, im not— I’m not what you need.”

“You don’t get to decide what I need, Ford.”

“But you’re too young—”

“Stop treating me like I’m some kid who doesn’t know what she wants. I’m an adult, Ford, an adult!”

“An adult?” he repeats, while your foot is still rubbing over his very obvious bulge. “an adult who can't even get dressed normally for the weather?”

You grin, leaning closer to his face. “uh-huh. And here you are, all worked up over me, right?” you press on his cock harder and Ford nearly finishes in his pants.

He grabs your ankle, even though he doesn’t push you away.

“This. . . now this is inappropriate.”

You rolls your foot over his bulge what makes hips buck just slightly. You bite your lip, grinning at how badly he’s losing control.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, you know that?” you lean closer and murmur into his mouth. “you’re so worried about what I can handle, but look at you. You’re the one who’s hard as rock right now, who can’t control himself.”

“Enough, I’m serious, stop.”

“Make me.”

That’s all it takes. It’s your smirk that gets him, your teasing voice, your dirty remarks, even as you’re sprawled out on the bed with that horrible wound on your thigh.

Ford is on you in a second. His mouth crashes against yours and you don’t even realise what’s happening yet. His kiss is messy and needy, like he’s trying to consume you whole. And you give yourself to him completely, your body melting into his. Every surprised gasp of yours is swallowed by him, his big hands gripping your face as he deepens the kiss. It’s so messy, the way Ford literally fucks your mouth with his tongue.

And you can’t help but tug at his clothes, dragging him closer until he’s on top of you. Ford’s weight presses into you and your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling at it as your body presses against his, your heart pounding so hard you swear he can hear it too. Ford is barely restraining himself from ripping off the rest of your clothes, that oversized T-shirt and panties, and fucking you right here, making all his fantasies come true, which he wrote down in his journal.

His mouth devours yours like he’s starved for you, his hands yanking you closer like he’s holding on for dear life. You let him claim you, let his kiss swallow every thought in your head until there’s nothing left but him, just him, him, him, him. You’re drunk on the way he feels. His hands are everywhere, pulling and tugging at you like he’s losing control. And oh god, you feel it.

You can’t get enough of it. You want more.

Ford is too lost so he lets six-fingered hand slip lower, brushing the side of your thigh and then it lands right where it shouldn’t.

Your fresh wound.

You gasp in pain, breaking the kiss.

“Damn,” Ford instantly pulls away, and his hand is next to your wound, concern and fear are visible on his face. “i’m sorry, i didn’t—”

“Fuck it,” you interrupt, pulling him closer. “worry about that later. I need you now. Please, Ford, just kiss me again.”

But looks like Ford is interested in your wound more than in kiss now.

He’s already inspecting the bandage, ignoring your begging, his brows furrowed with guilt. “i wasn’t thinking, im sorry, does it hurt? did i—”

Why men are so stupid, you think and grab his chin, forcing him to look at you, but he talks first.

“Let me—” he clears his throat, blinking before continuing. “no, let me bandage your leg. We need to, uh, stop the bleeding.”

“Ford,” you groan. “It’s fine. It’s not even that bad now.”

“Not that bad?” he looks you with a glare that’s somehow equal parts concern and anger. “that’s not how infections work, young lady. You could lose a limb if this festers.”

You groan in frustration, rolling your eyes, but he’s already kneeling in front of you. “This is really what you’re worried about right now?” you drawl, raising your brow.

“Yes, this is what I’m worried about.”

And here he is again, between your legs, his hands are still careful as they work, bandaging your inner thigh. Ford is trying so hard not to look at the very place he’s so devastatingly close to. He pulls the knot of the bandage just too tight what makes you let out the softest, unintentional moan.

“You— you cannot make noises like that right now. Stop making this harder than it already is.”

The corners of your lips curl and you lean back on your palms, unbothered. “Says the man who’s between my legs right now.”

“You got a point,” Ford lifts his brows as he clicks his tongue, shaking his head with a rueful grin. “clever girl.”

When he finally finishes tying off the bandage, he proudly looks at the work he done and pulls away, wait, pulls away? However, you don’t let him get far. Your hands drag him back down with a force that surprises him and maybe yourself.

The kiss you pull him into is anything but delicate. It’s urgent and hungry. Ford groans against you as if you’ve stolen the last bit of air he had left. Your fingers fist the fabric at his shoulders and when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeps over your bottom lip.

“Been waiting for this,” you confess between gasps. “Ford, I need you.”

His forehead presses against yours. “You think I don’t? I’ve needed you. God, you have no idea. You drive me insane.”

“Need you,” you breathe, arching up into him. “Ford, please. . . need you so bad.” he swallows your words with another passionate kiss, this one deeper, slower. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling a whimper from you that goes straight to his cock.

His lips trail lower, pressing kisses along the curve of your jaw, the slope of your neck. His teeth graze against your skin making you shiver because you feel like on damn fire, so sensitive for him.

“Ford, ah,” you breathe, tilting your head to give him more room as his kisses grow bolder, hungrier. He’s so desperate he can’t seem to stop himself, mouthing at your collarbone, your throat, anywhere he can reach while he mutters how beautiful you are.

Your hand trembles as it finds his, wrapping around his wrist and guiding him down. “Ford, please, touch me there,” you whimper against his lips now, spreading your thighs apart to make space. “need you. . . need your fingers, your hand, please.”

Ford hesitates at first, as if he doesn't fully believe what he sees in front of him, the object of his fantasies, his clever girl, which he wrote about in his journal, right beneath him, begging for his touch, for his love. It seems like his genius brain cannot comprehend what is happening yet.

Finally his hand moves, two fingers, one extra, rubbing you through the fabric of your panties and the sound that leaves your mouth sounds like a desperate needy sob. His forehead drops against yours as his fingers press against the dampness pooling there.

“You’re so wet,” Ford drags his thumb slowly over your clit. “is this all for me?”

“Yes, yes, all for you,” you gasp, writhing under his touch, bucking your hips up into his hand. “only you, Ford— fuck, just keep touching me, please, need more— need you. . .”

“I know,” he mutters, kissing you hard enough to steal the words from your tongue. “i know, sweetheart, i know.”

Ford’s fingers tugs your panties to the side and you both groan when he finally touches you bare. You squirm, swaying your hips to grind against his hand and he curses again, moving his lips to your neck, kissing and nipping as if he can’t stand being apart from you for even a second.

“Y-you’re driving me insane,” he breathes. “been dreaming about this, you have no idea, been wanting you for so long.”

“Good,” you manage a weak smile, whimpering when he circles your clit with his thumb. You curl your nails into his shoulders. “then fucking do something about it.”

Stanford groans at your words, his cock twitches, begging to be taken care of, but his pleasure doesn’t matter now. You’re so hungry for his touch and Ford needs to touch you badly, so he slips his fingers through your folds, caressing you while still rubbing your clit in torturous circles. “like this? does this, does this feel good?”

“Yes, yes, oh my god! more, more, give me more,” you cry when he sinks one finger into you, curling it just right.

“God, I wanna—” but he cuts himself off when his eyes notices that damn bandage on your leg.

“What?” you question and press a light kiss to his cheek, your eyes searching his face. “what do you want?”

“You,” he admits. “I want to be inside you, want to feel you around me, want to, b-but you’re hurt, and I— fuck, I can’t, I can’t risk it.”

You whine, your head falling back as his fingers keep moving, sliding in and out of your pussy, brushing against that spot that makes you see stars. “don’t care,” your thighs clenching around his hand. “i don’t care, just need you, need your cock— fuck, please!”

“Please, don’t say that, don’t say that when I can’t give it to you.”

“Ford, please, I need it! I’ll be fine, I swear—”

“No, you’re hurt, this is all i can give you right now. . . but i swear, I swear i’ll make it up to you, honey, when you’re better, when you’re not hurt, i’ll—” his fingers thrust deeper into your wetness with his thumb circling your clit in time and you interrupt him with loud cry.

“Ford! please, just don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

Ford nods and watches you. Letting his fingers curl inside you, penetrating deeper into your pussy. His movements growing more confident as your body reacts to him, your beautiful moans spurring him on. His lips find yours again and you both get lost in the kiss, in the way your breaths mix, in the way your bodies press together like you’re trying to fuse into one.

Your moan breaks into a cry as you arch your back, eyes closed tight when Ford’s fingers pumping into you faster, your spongy walls tightening around his digits. Oh fucking heaven, that extra finger feels too good. “Ford, please! oh, god— fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

“That’s it,” Ford’s lips trail up to your ear, kissing and biting it as he presses his thumb on your sensitive bundle. “let me take care of you, sweetheart, cum for me.”

His tone and praise is what sends you on edge as you clench around his fingers, moaning his name and cumming while his fingers, slower, but still thrusting into you. You feel so weak and tired, but your Ford is right there to catch you, whispering soft praises into your hair as you shake in his arms.

Ford’s fingers still buried deep inside you as he watches you come down from your high. And it’s so obvious that he putted your needs before his own because his cock, hard as a rock now, strains against the fabric of his pants, creating the most painful bulge you ever seen. He shifts awkwardly, hoping maybe you won’t notice but you do. Oh, you do.

“Ford,” your voice sounds honeyed as you regain your strength. Your gaze drops pointedly to the tent in his pants. “you’re. . . so hard.”

His face flushes and he tries to pull away, to create some distance between you, but you grab his wrist, stopping him.

“Don’t,” you whisper softly. “don’t hide from me. you’ve been so good to me, let me. . . let me do something for you.”

“No,” he says quickly. “you’re hurt. I can’t, you need to rest.”

“Just look at you, you’re aching. You don’t have to do anything to me, just let me help.”

“Oh my god,” he says your name as if ready to scold you. “you’re impossible, you know,” but his shaky hands move to his belt anyway, unsure, like he’s warring with himself even as he undoes it.

“Yeah?” you lean back. “you’re about to jerk off in front of me, Ford, what does that make you?”

Ford cant find any smart or logical response to that because you’re absolutely right, he’s the mess here, the impossible one, the desperate old man. He takes a breath, finally pulling his cock free and fuck, he’s so hard as if he’s going to explode, the head flushed and leaking.

Ford’s cock is already in his hand, the first strokes making him whimper under his breath. His other hand rests on your thigh, fingers nervously flex like he’s desperate to touch more of you, to hold you, to worship you properly like his clever girl deserves, but he’s so lost in this intimate moment, in you, that he can barely think straight.

You’re watching him, trying to control yourself because if you won’t, you might just jump on him and you can't vouch for yourself.

You’re sprawled out in front of him like a dream come to life: t-shirt rucked up, legs spread, panties pushed to the side, leaving your pretty glistening pussy on full display for his starved gaze. Fuck, you look so hot like that, from everything he’s already done to you. He’s trying not to stare and you think he’s so silly when it’s specially show made only for him, so you shift your hips just enough to catch his attention, drawing his eyes like a magnet.

“Touch yourself for me. Show me how much you want me.” your eyes locked on him, drinking in the sight of his hand moving over his length.

Ford’s chest heaves, his hand grips his cock, which is twitching and flushed an angry red at the tip. But looks like poor old man can’t even jerk himself off properly, so you reach your hand out to brush against his wrist.

“Here,” you purr, guiding his hand with your smaller one, wrapping your fingers around his, forcing him to stroke himself teasingly. At that, Ford’s hips jerk up into your shared grip, and you hum approvingly, watching as his lips part in a groan. “yes, like this, honey. Let me help you.”

“S-sweetheart. . . you don’t— ah— you don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” you lean back against the bed, shifting your hips, making sure he has the perfect view of your soaked, glistening slit. “Don’t hold back, i want you to feel good.”

Ford lets himself get a bit more vocal as he groans, his hips buck into your joined hands and his cock twitches against your palm. He’s so fucking hard, leaking against your skin, and the sounds he makes as he strokes himself are too good to be true, yet here he is, in front of you, jerking himself off, moaning your name.

“You. . . o-oh god, sweetheart, you’re incredible,” he whines as you guide his hand again, showing him exactly how to squeeze, how to work himself the way you know he needs it. Meanwhile his other hand braces against the mattress near your head, his knuckles white as he struggles to keep himself together.

“You’re so big, Ford,” your eyes glued to his dick, watching every move with hungry fascination. “you’re so handsome, so beautiful. I could look at you all night.”

He groans at your praise, more pathetic this time, his forehead dropping forward as he stares at where your bodies almost meet. “Christ, you’re gonna ruin me, love.” that’s when his strokes falter for and you take over completely, your warm hand wrapping around his length and pumping him up and down.

“Keep going,” you urge, feeling yourself getting wetter too. “i can’t stop thinking about how good you’d feel inside me. id take all of you, id make you feel so good, Ford. I need you, all of you.” soft whisper into his lips while all Ford can do is fuck your hand pathetically, your thumb sweeping over his tip, smearing the slick there.

Ford digs his fingers into your thigh, trembling. “Don’t— oh god, don’t say that,” he gasps. His eyes are locked on your opening, on the way your arousal glistens, your folds so wet and swollen and inviting.

“Don’t you want to touch me? Don’t you want to feel how wet i am for you?”

“God, I do,” he breathes as his hand joins again, moving together with yours, faster, jerking himself off faster. “I want you so much it hurts. I’d do anything. . . anything for you.”

“Then come for me,” you whisper, reaching out to thread your fingers into his hair when you kiss the corners of his parted trembling lips.

“I can’t— oh god, sweetheart, I can’t hold on much longer.” thick ropes of his cum spills across your thighs and even stomach, marking your skin as he makes a mess of himself. His hot seed drips down over your hand where you keep stroking and caressing him, milking every last drop forcing whines and mewls from him.

He collapses forward after and buries his face against your shoulder.

“I need you so badly,” he murmurs into your skin. “you don’t know how much I want you. You don’t know what you do to me.”

You hum softly, threading your fingers through his damp hair as you press a tender kiss on his forehead.

***

It’s morning and sweet scent of batter and syrup fills the air. The noise and conversations are coming from the kitchen and there’s only one explanation for the chaos: Stanley is cooking “stancakes.”

You’re by his side, propped against the counter, balancing on your good leg, watching Stan cook. Spatula in one hand, the other parked on his hip and he radiates confidence, as if he is ready to host his own cooking show.

“Now listen up, kid,” he says in a voice full of pride. “these are world-famous stancakes. they’ve been called ‘edible’ by at least two people, well, three, if you don’t count the pig.”

“Oh.”

“Oh” he repeats, incredulous, spinning to face you with mock offense. “don’t tell me you’ve never had stancakes before?!”

You grin, shaking your head. “not once. I think Ford’s been keeping them all to himself.”

Stan looks like you’ve just offended him.

“That’s practically a felony in this house! what, Ford never mentioned ‘em? selfish bastard.”

You laugh softly.

“but i gotta ask,” Stan continues. “any allergies to elbow grease? or, uh, whatever was at the bottom of the flour jar. pretty sure it was flour. maybe. . .” he winks and you roll your eyes, however the conversation continues good and friendly between you.

Your hand rests on the counter for balance and you look down, at the faint tug of the bandage around your leg, which works as reminder of the night before. Memories of Ford’s hands, his mouth, the way he moaned your name, how he touched you, heat your cheeks until you force yourself to focus on Stan.

His spatula waves in your direction again. “so, what’s the story with yer leg? take a tumble down the stairs, or was it somethin’ spooky out there in the woods?”

You give him a wide smile. “let’s just say it’s a story. remind me to tell you later.”

Stan raises a brow curiously, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he turns back to his stancakes with a grunt. “hmph, fair enough. just glad you didn’t end up worse. Y’know, if ya ever need lessons on landing on yer feet—”

Before he can finish, his brother steps into the room and you immediately turn your gaze to him. Honestly, he looks like he’s spent the entire night replaying everything.

“Ah, there you are,” Ford murmurs when his gaze finds you, then he clears his throat and nods to his twin. “good morning, Stanley.”

Stan doesn’t miss a beat, gesturing with his spatula. “yeah, mornin’, sixer. Yer just in time for the best damn pancakes this side of the multiverse.”

At that, Ford’s lips curve into a polite smile as he glances at his brother. “that’s good to hear.” then his focus changes, locking entirely on you. His intonation changes into something warmer as he speaks your name. “would you mind if i borrowed you for a moment? just for a quick talk.”

You nod a little too eagerly. “sure, of course.”

Stanley lets out a dramatic sigh, waving his spatula at Ford. “don’t keep her too long, poindexter. She’s gotta try these pancakes before they go cold!”

Ford leads you to his study and you follow, heart thundering in your chest. You’re grinning like an idiot, barely containing your excitement. He’s finally going to say something, but you’re so fucking ready to hear, to discuss, to scream the loudest “YES” when he’ll ask you to be his girlfriend.

When the door clicks shut behind you, he turns and you finally see his face. He’s always so serious, just like right now. But what did you wait? It’s Ford Pines, it’s his normal state. However, you’re so excited you sure he can see the way you’re literally glowing.

You really try to act casual, but inside, you’re absolutely going insane, nervous, happy, excited at the same time. Last night still feels like a fever dream, you can feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, the heat of his body against yours, the way his fingers slid so perfectly into you. . .

And now he’s here, just the two of you, and you’re hoping he’ll finally acknowledge the thing that happened between you.

But then he opens his mouth.

“So, about the anomaly. . .” he begins and the words hit you like a slap.

No, no. No no no. Are you hearing this right?That’s what he’s leading with?! After everything that happened last night, he’s just. . . no, he’s talking about the damn anomaly like he didn’t just leave you trembling with the memory of his fingers inside you.

Your smile falters fucking immediately, your shoulders stiffening as he goes on, completely oblivious to the storm of disappointment brewing inside you.

“I’ve been reviewing the notes I took last week. If my calculations are correct, the creature’s molecular structure—”

What the actual fuck.

Your jaw clenches. You stare at him, thinking it’s some kind of joke. He’s talking about science. Fucking science. After everything that happened, this is what he wants to talk about? He’s here, rambling about molecules and rain like none of it ever happened.

You can’t stand it. The frustration takes over you.

“Ford,” you hiss as you shove him back against the wall.

His eyes widen in surprise, but you don’t let him speak. You press your palms flat against his chest, pinning him there, your voice shaking with anger. All you can think about is how he’s standing there like some fucking genius, talking about molecules and data when last night, you’d literally devoured each other.

“Are you kidding me? This is what you wanted to talk about? You’re seriously standing here, talking about anomalies and notes like last night didn’t fucking happen?”

For a second, he just looks at you, his face calm and that makes you practically vibrate with rage, the intensity of your emotions making your head spin.

And then. . . he smirks.

The bastard smirks.

“I wasn’t aware we had plans to debrief, sweetheart,” your fingers tighten against his chest and he raises a brow, clearly amused by your reaction. “Though I must admit, you’re surprisingly strong for someone with an injured leg. Should I be worried?”

Your face burns as you glare up at him. “Ford, don’t you dare—”

“Well?” his gaze piercing through you. “What is it you want me to say, sweetheart?”

His fucking teasing is driving you crazy.

“Are you seriously just gonna pretend like it didn’t happen? That you didn’t— god, Ford—"

“Pretend? Oh, but don’t get ahead of yourself.

I think you’ve got a lot more to say about what happened than you’re letting on, huh?”

Your cheeks burn hotter than they ever have before. You didn’t expect that. You really didn’t.

“Are you seriously gonna tease me about last night? You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, but you’re so worked up now that you don’t even care. You push yourself closer, getting right up in his space, your chest touching his, and now you’re just fuming.

“I’m the one who teases you? Interesting. . .” he leans to your face, brushing his lips against your ear. “What else did I do to you that made you so worked up last night? I didn’t think I was that good with my hands.”

“You bastard.” you hiss as you pin him against the wall harder.

He tilts his head at your words. “Careful, love, I wouldn’t want you to strain that leg of yours again. Especially not after I spent so much time taking care of you last night.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The nerve of this man! You want to slap him, to push him away, but instead, you pull him closer

“You better watch yourself, Ford.” You give him a dangerous smile. “You think you can just pay with me like this? You’re not as clever as you think.”

Ford’s smirk widens. “Oh? You think you’ve got the upper hand? I’ve got you pinned right where I want you, sweetheart.”

And then his hand trails down your arm to your waist.

“And if you’re still mad, I can think of a few ways to work out that frustration.”

Your body goes cold and hot all at once, and it takes everything in you not to melt into him.

Ford is still against the wall where you pushed him, calm as ever, obviously enjoying every second of this, he thinks he’s the one in control.

Your pulse hammers in your ears, your hands trembling against the chest of his sweater. He’s so warm, and god, you hate that even now, even while you’re mad at him, you can’t stop remembering the way he looked last night. The way he sounded when he let himself fall apart under your touch.

“You’re insufferable. Worse than Stan.”

“Am I? Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one pinning me to a wall. Quite forcefully, might I add. It’s a little ironic, don’t you think? Considering how you were. . . what’s the term? Begging for me last night?”

Your jaw drops.

“Begging? You think I was begging for you?”

Ford looks entirely too pleased with himself. “Well, I seem to recall a certain. . . eagerness on your part. Particularly when—”

“You don’t get to talk about my eagerness.” you cut him off, your cheeks flaming. “Not when you were the one moaning my name like your life depended on it.”

That shuts him up.

His smirk falters slightly, and you see the faintest hint of red creeping up his neck. Oh. Oh. Fucking finally. You’ve got him now.

“That’s right. Stanford Pines, world-renowned genius, reduced to a trembling mess because I—” and to kill him for sure, you lean in to whisper into his lips. “jerked you off.”

Ford goes completely still.

There’s nothing but silence. His genius mind working, his lips parting slightly like he wants to say something, but no words come out. His face is a mess of conflicting emotions, embarrassment, frustration and something you can’t quite place but looks suspiciously like agreement.

“Got nothing to say now, huh?” you tease, grinning like an absolute maniac. “What happened to all that confidence, Professor?”

“Well played.”

***

Life at the mystery shack doesn’t feel much different, not outwardly. Stan still grumbles about the bills, the tourists still gawk at the exhibits, and Ford. . . Ford is still Ford, except now he’s yours.

Yours.

The nights are quieter between you both, more intimate, full of moans and groans, petting and foreplay. Like last night, when his clever hands had slipped beneath the waistband of your pajama pants, his soft and needy voice told you he wanted to make you feel good.

God, he did. You’d come on his fingers so good, trembling as he whispered your name and called you his good girl, while kissing your cheeks, wiping your tears of pleasure away. And he’d let you touch him too while your hand worked up and down on his pulsing cock and then he spilled against your skin, while you silenced him with a kiss.

No, it actually feels good, really. It’s better than nothing, than not touching him at all, but. . . you crave, you need something else. Something that is not just his fingers, mouth, or hands.

Ford is so careful, so cautious about your stupid leg, his gentle excuses about your injury making you want to scream into a pillow. Like, yeah, it still hurts sometimes, but you can walk, run, pin him against a wall, fuck him six ways to sunday if he’d just let you.

Ford has his own fears, even if he won’t admit them outright.

But you’re not afraid.

The woods, your anomaly huntings, are different now too. More dangerous, you’d say.

You’re pressed against a tree as Ford’s mouth claims yours. His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding up under your clothes, pulling you closer, closer, like he can’t get enough.

“Ford, aah, please,” you whimper, pulling him down to kiss you deeper. His knee nudges between your thighs, pressing against you and you swear you’re about to melt into a puddle right there in the dirt.

��Quiet, sweetheart, don’t want the whole forest knowing how desperate you are for me.”

But it’s him. . . it’s fucking him who’s desperate, dropping to his knees to pull your pants down just enough, fingers slipping into your panties to find you already soaking.

“So wet already, holy multiverse,” and then his fingers are inside your pussy as he presses kisses to your thighs and stomach.

But you need to touch him too. Your hands are on him again, tugging at his belt, fumbling with the button of his pants. His cock is hard when you pull him free and you stroke him until he’s shaking, gasping against your neck.

“My love, i’m gonna—” his hips jerks into your hand as he cums, splashing his hot and thick seed all over your fingers. But he doesn’t stop, his own six fingered hand working you until you finish with a strangled cry, pussy clenching around him as you nearly fall, when he catches you, whispering how beautiful you are.

You both collapse against each other, sticky and hot, despite coldness of autumn, grinning like idiots. And then Ford leans in to kiss you again, like he’s already planning the next round.

At dinner, it’s you who starts it.

Your leg brushes his teasingly under the table that has him choking on his water. Stanley doesn’t notice, too busy ranting about some tourist who tried to haggle over a snow globe, but Ford shoots you a warning look.

You just smile sweetly while also agreeing with Stan about his tourist speech as you press your foot higher until you’re brushing against the hard line of his length beneath the table.

The lab is worse.

He’s sitting at his desk, scribbling in his journal with you perched on his lap, your arms around his shoulders, your hips rocking against his as you kiss the side of his neck.

“You’re distracting me,” says fucking Ford with his hands on your hips, guiding your movements as his already hard cock strains against his pants.

“Good,” you kiss his cheek, grinding down harder, feeling him twitching beneath you.

But every time you try to push it further, every time you reach for him, ask for more, he stops you.

“Your leg,” but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

“But i’m fine—”

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “i’m not risking it, not yet.”

***

The November crisp air bites at your skin. The faint smoky warmth of the fire crackling in the yard. Well. . . It was Stanley's idea to do this, he said something about rekindling childhood memories, family bonding and roasting marshmallows like it was summer camp, but he's not here. Something about a "quick run to the diner for pie" turned into him being away for whole evening, leaving you and Ford alone under a shining starry sky.

“You know, for a guy with six fingers, you’re surprisingly bad at this,” you tease, leaning back on your hands as you watch Stanford squint at the marshmallow impaled on his skewer. It's already starting to charred, the edges curling into blackened flakes as the fire devours it. “do they not teach you how to roast marshmallows in the multiverse, professor?”

Ford chuckles softly at your words. “Oh, excuse me, but i’ll have you know i’ve mastered much more complex techniques than this primitive. . .” the marshmallow slides clean off the stick and lands with a soft plop into the embers. Ford stares at it, annoyed. “cooking method.”

You can’t help how cute he looks so you laugh. “You’re hopeless,” you brush your shoulder against his, smiling. “here, let me show you.” Ford nods, handing you the stick. “first rule,” you skewer a new marshmallow. “don’t hold it so close to the flame. you want it golden, not a cremation. You’ve gotta keep it turning. Patiently, like this.” you rotate the stick slowly and Ford actually watches, his gaze is not on the fire, but on you.

“i see,” he says thoughtfully. “golden, not charred.”

“Exactly,” you let marshmallow toast evenly. “you just have to—” you glance up to check on him and Ford’s still watching you. It steals the breath from your lungs and you gulp awkwardly. “. . . focus,” you finish a little quieter. “why you’re looking at me like that?” you smile.

Ford laughs. “maybe in some universe, you do dress appropriately for the weather?”

You blink at him, thrown off for a second, before realising. Oh. . . oh, right. Your teeth chatter slightly, fingers cold and you’re shaking slightly, it’s so obvious. “i guess no?”

Ford doesn’t even dignify that with a response. Instead, he’s already shrugging out of his coat and draping it over your shoulders before you can protest, but it’s not like you wanted to anyways. His trench coat is heavy and smells just like him and your smile couldn't get any wider.

“Thanks, again. . . heh,” you try to sound nonchalant, but the coat is still warm from him and you clutch it around you tighter.

“So, you were saying?” Stanford prompts, tilting his head toward the marshmallow in your hand.

You clear your throat. “Right, uh, where was i? oh, yeah. so, you’ll know it’s ready when it’s this perfect golden brown all over, not a single—”

“Give me a kiss,” Ford says suddenly, interrupting you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You’re not sure who leans in first. You, probably, but he meets you halfway. Ford’s lips are warm, so soft against yours. Your heart stutters in your chest as blood rushes in your ears, one of his hands comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing feather-light against your cheek. Your hands find his chest, fingertips pressing into his sweater as you you sigh into him.

The kiss deepens, not hurried, but like you’ve both waited far too long for this moment. Ford leans into your touch like he’s been craving it just as much as you.

When you finally pull back, he rests his forehead against yours and none of you speak, both quiet and only fire is crackling softly beside you.

“I think i might be terrible at marshmallows.” Ford smiles shyly.

You blink at him, you lips still tingling from the kiss, your head feeling too light to even process his words at first. Oh god the whole moment so tender, so beautiful, so intimate it almost makes you want to cry.

“Ford,” and he hums softly in response.

“Hmm?”

“Give me another.”

Ford doesn’t need to be told twice.

This time, it’s you who closes the distance, but his lips crash into yours like he’s been waiting, holding himself back and now he simply can’t. His hand slides to the back of your neck as the kiss deepens, hotter, hungrier. You sigh into his mouth, your knees going weak beneath you, but Ford steadies you, holds you.

His coat slips off one of your shoulders as your arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer until there’s no space left, and even then, it doesn’t feel close enough.

“Ford—” you manage to groan against his lips and he pulls back just slightly.

“What is it?” the way he’s looking at you, fuck, like he’s already undressing you in his mind, makes you feel dizzy.

You pause, staring at him, at the mess of his hair, the faint flush dusting his cheeks, the way his lips are already red from kissing you. This man. This ridiculous, brilliant, beautiful man.

“My leg,” you feel nervous out of sudden, afraid he might reject you again. “it’s— it’s healed now, you know. . . i can— i can handle more.”

Ford freezes, thinking. And then. . . Oh.

He kisses you again, but this time it’s different, this time, there’s no holding back, no careful hesitation.

"Inside," your voice is trembling with anticipation. "please, Ford, let’s go inside."

And god help you both, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to say no.

***

Ford’s whole body is pressing you into the mattress as though he’s trying to meld you both into one. His hands grip the sheets beside your head and he’s so warm against you. He kisses you messily and desperately, too eager.

“Ford, please,” you whimper, lifting your hips and grinding up against his hard, pulsing length.

“Yes, Ive got you, I’ve got you,” his own voice trembling as one hand dives down, gripping your hip, trying to keep you still but failing miserably because he can’t stop himself from rutting into you. “im right here, my love, i’m gonna take care of you.” the bed creaks beneath the weight of both of you, but neither of you can hear it over the needy moans you two share.

You can’t stop the high pitched whine that escapes you as his knee slots between your thighs, pressing against you just right and you swear you’re losing your fucking mind. “Nngh, Ford, Ford, please,” your voice so fucking needy it feels embarrassing.

Ford stops, just for a second, pulling back to take a good look at you. His eyes are blown wide, pupils black as they devour every little expression you make. “tell me, tell me what you need.”

You nearly cry. “touch me,” you plead.

“Oh sweetheart, my good girl,” his trembling fingers brush the hem of your clothes, slipping underneath to glide against your skin, being so careful like you’re too delicate, too fragile for him, he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he’s not gentle. “i’m not going anywhere,” he promises, dragging his lips down your jaw, going lower to the sensitive skin of your neck. “i love you so much.” and before you can even think to respond, his mouth is on yours again, swallowing your moans because he’s desperate to consume every single piece of you.

Oh, sweet fucking hell, you think when Ford lowers himself between your thighs looking like a man on his knees at an altar and you’re the goddess he’s about to worship. He spreads your legs wide, his six-fingered hands curling into the plush of your thighs and he just stares for a moment like he’s seeing heaven itself. His lips part, and his tongue darts out to wet them, the hunger in his gaze as if he can’t believe this is real.

"My love," he groans. "so pretty, you’re so pretty. . . this is all mine, isn’t it? tell me, sweetheart, say it, say it’s all for me."

“It’s yours, Ford,” you melt under his gaze, feeling so exposed and he hums in approval.

“Good girl,” and then he dips his head down, brushing his lips against your inner thigh, kissing your healed wound.

You grow impatient with every second, and fucking finally, he’s right here, his face hovering over your throbbing pussy which needs his attention so bad, and he takes a deep breath.

Ford presses a kiss just above where you’re all wet and your hips jolt, seeking more.

“F-Ford! fuuck. . . fuck fuck fuck!”

“Shh, just like that, i’ll take care of you,” he presses one hand firmly on your pelvis to keep you still. “just relax, darling, let me have you.”

You’re too far gone to even respond coherently, only letting out pathetic whimper as he drags his lips lower and lower until his warm mouth hovers right over your soaked folds.

His tongue presses flat against your pussy, slowly and oh fuck, you taste so damn sweet, Ford growls and that vibrates straight through you. “oh, god," he pants, pulling back before diving in again, "you taste. . . you taste so good, so sweet, like you were made for me." Ford’s voice muffled against you as his tongue flattens, dragging through your slick, tasting you.

His hands grip your thighs tighter to hold your squirming body in place as he tilts his head to get a better angle. His lips seal around your puffy clit, sucking gently at first, then harder when your hips jerk up into his face. He holds you open because he’s not letting you go anywhere, his tongue flicks over that sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re sobbing his name.

“Ford. . . oh god! Ford, too much—!”

You’re trembling and panting as his tongue circles your little clit in soft lazy strokes that have your back arching off the mattress. You fist your fingers into the sheets as his lips seal around your sensitive clit, sucking gently before releasing you with a soft, wet pop.

“Taste so good,” Ford says more than all to himself. He licks into you now, dragging his wet tongue through your soft folds, lapping up everything you’re giving him like a man possessed. “g-give me more, darling, please. . . i need more of you.”

“Ford, Ford! Ford, i—” you buck your hips against his face as the wet sounds of his mouth on you fill the room.

“Mmhm, that’s it, sweetheart,” his voice muffled against your cunt as his lips brushes your clit, letting his fingers slide lower to tease your dripping entrance. “just let me make you feel good.”

Ford pulls back just enough to gasp for air, his lips and chin shiny with your slick and you swear he looks drunk, eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. “you taste so good,” he groans, diving back in immediately, never having enough, moving his mouth against you like he’s kissing you there, sloppily, noisily and so damn messy.

You’re not damn ready for what comes next. When his fingers finally slip inside, you nearly scream, two of them, then three with his extra middle one sliding into your soaked pussy, while another circles your clit, working in perfect tandem with his tongue. "so tight, so wet for me," his voice muffled as he sucks your clit into his mouth again. "give it to me, sweetheart. . . let me have it, be a good girl for me, yeah?"

His pace quickens as your walls flutter around his fingers. But he doesn’t stop, not even when you’re writhing and tears streaming down your cheeks from the pleasure. He licks, sucks and slurps at you, addicted to the way you taste, the way you feel. “Ford, I’m gonna cum—”

You cry out and jerk your hips against his face as you do. He growls, gripping you tighter, holding you still as his mouth moves faster, hungrier. Your walls spasming around his long fingers, your clit pulsing between his lips.

But Ford’s mouth doesn’t lift and doesn’t slow, even when your thighs tremble and your fingers push weakly at his hair to tug him away.

“No, Ford, please,” you gasp as he sucks your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue against it in slow circles. “i-i can’t— too much. . . im sensitive, Ford—”

But he doesn’t give a fuck, his grip tightens on your thighs to keep them spread wide. “Just one more, sweetheart,” his words slurred, drunk off the taste of you. “please-please, i need. . . one more, just one more for me.”

You can’t hold back the loud cry that escapes you as his tongue dives back in, licking and lapping. Your legs jerk, trying to close, but his strong hands keep them locked open. “don’t fight me, let me, let me have you.”

“Ford, oh god—” your voice is broken as his tongue works all over your pussy, it’s overwhelming and unbearable, your entire body feels like a live wire as he devours you, never giving you a moment to recover.

“that’s it, love, cum for me, please. . . be a good girl and cum on my face.”

And you do again, god, you do, because there’s no stopping it. Your orgasm crashes over you again, ripping a scream from your throat as your back arches off the bed. Your vision whites out, your mind blank as your release floods through you.

Ford moans into you as you come, his mouth latched onto your clit, his tongue lapping up every drop. When you start caressing his hair as if thanking him, he presses wet sloppy kisses to your trembling thighs.

You’re still shaking and gasping for air, when he finally lifts his head, his chin glistening as he stares down at you and smiles. But you still can’t have enough, not satisfied, not when he haven’t been inside you and fucked you properly, you’ve been craving this for months and you totally go for it now. “Please, need you, Ford, please, i need you inside me.”

He doesn’t even make any excuses this time when he kneels between your legs, his cock flushed and throbbing, the head slick with pearls of precum. “you sure?” is all he asks as his hands come up to cradle your hips.

“Yes, god, yes,” you plead, spreading your legs wider, your eyes glazed with need. “please, i can’t wait anymore! i need you.”

He knows you do because he’s in absolutely same state as you, needy and desperate to fuck you, that’s why he’s pressing into you, the thick head of his cock stretching you open and you both moan loudly when he slides deeper, his girth filling you.

Ford is trembling above you, sweat slicking his brow as he inches himself inside carefully, terrified he might hurt you or worse, lose control. But you’re ready, so ready, your nails digging into his shoulders, “more, please, i can take it.”

Ford’s hips stutter as he bottoms out, his cock buried to the hilt. “Y-you’re so tight, sweetheart, so damn tight. i don’t— don’t know if i can move. . . feels too good. . . god, you’re perfect.”

You’re no better because your walls clench around him and your voice so high and breathless as you cry, “so full, Ford— oh my god, you’re so big.”

“I know, love, i know,” he soothes, finding your parted lips with his as he starts to move slowly, making shallow thrusts that have you both gasping. “you’re doing so good, taking me so well, feels like heaven, baby.”

You feel every inch of him, every twitching vein as he sinks deeper, the stretch delicious, making your head spin. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him on. Your wet pussy squeezes his dick so good he nearly loses it right there.

And it’s too much, too good to be true, both of you letting out incoherent sounds and slurred praises as he thrusts into you, moving faster, his thick cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. You try to move together with him, creating a perfect sync.

“You feel so good, sweetheart, too good. i don’t— I don’t think i’m gonna last.”

“It’s okay,” you reply, cupping his cheek when you look right into his dazed eyes. “fuck me harder, Ford, please. . . need you so bad.”

He hears you, snapping his hips against yours, his pace quickening as he loses himself in you. Your moans about how good it feels fill the air while your hands are clawing at his back, nails biting into his skin as you try to pull him closer where it seems impossible. His scars feel rough under your touch as your fingers trace them blindly, making Ford moan at the sensation. His hips jerk forward, driving deeper and you cry out.

“So tight,” he groans into your ear. “you’re squeezing me, love, c-can’t think. . . you feel— oh, sweetheart, pussy so good.”

Your nails dig deeper, leaving crescents in his skin as he fucks into you with deep thrusts that have you gasping. “more, please, more,” you beg and he obeys without question, burying himself deeper, harder into your cunt.

“That’s it, love,” his hand slips between your hot bodies to find your aching clit, circling his fingers over the swollen nub with featherlight touches. “look at you. . . so beautiful, so good for me, you’re perfect, love. . . my perfect girl.”

Your vision blurs when he thrusts into you, at the same time his thumb presses down on your clit and a sharp cry spilling from your lips as the pleasure builds.

“Ford!” you whimper while your hands clutch at him. “oh god, i—”

“I know, love, i know, i feel it, let go for me, sweetheart, cum for me.

His beautiful voice and words are enough to pull you through another powerful orgasm, your body tense as you finish, breathless, boneless, drunk on his cock.

Ford’s dick throbs as your release slicks his length, dripping down to pool at the base of him. “you’re so wet, sweetheart, good girl.”

You cant think, not really, too fucked out and tired, your body trembles and you can barely take a breath, but Ford doesn’t stop, determined to fuck your brains out. His thumb circles your clit again and your hips jerk away, the overstimulation making you whimper. “n-no, wait— I’m sensitive—”

“Just one more, love,” he pleads. “please, baby, just one more for me. you can do it, I know you can.”

You try to close your legs and your body twitches with every touch, too much to handle, but Ford holds you open firmly, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, your shoulder, anywhere he can reach. “you’re so good to me, so good, can’t get enough of you.”

He continues thrusting into you, filling your pussy to the brim and pulling out, slamming back again, you feel good, you do, especially with right amount of pressure being applied to your clit, but pleasure borders with sensitivity and little pain from overstimulation as he drags against that tender spot inside you. “Fuck, please! i can’t—”

“You can. You’re my good girl, you can give me one more, please, baby, cum on my cock again.” his words light a fire in your veins because the coil of pleasure tightening and building again despite the ache, despite all these overwhelming sensations. He fucks you so deliciously, grinding his hips into you in deep, slow rolls that make your toes curl and eyes roll, your nails scraping across his shoulders and back, all over his old scars. Ford groans at the sting.

“That’s it, love, just like that, let me have all of you.” he wets his fingers with saliva before bringing them on your sensitive nub again. “you like that? y-you like it when i touch you here, sweetheart? tell me, tell me how good it feels.”

“So gooood. . . feels so good, ford, don’t stop, please don’t stop, fuck me, fuck me!” and then you break again, another orgasm crashing over you, but this time you literally scream from how good it feels, your body convulses, your nails dig into his back with such force that blood comes out. Ford watches you come undone as he fucks you through it, his cock coated in your juices once again.

Ford cant hold himself anymore because you notice how his thrusts grow more deeper, harder, more erratic. His sweaty forehead is pressed against yours, his groans changing into desperate pants and you feel how close he is because his cock twitches inside you, his body trembles as he fights to hold on. “don’t w-worry, don’t worry, I’ll pull out— I’ll—”

“No!” the word bursts out of you in a panic and immediately, you lock your legs around his waist to prevent that. “no, no, Ford, please, don’t, you can’t, don’t leave me, please—” your words tumble out in a frantic, incoherent mess, more sob than speech honestly as you cling to him like your life depends on it. “please,” you babble, your nails scraping against his skin, pulling him impossibly closer. “need it, need you, don’t pull out, please, please, please—”

His surprised eyes fly open as he processes your words. “but—”

All you do is nod frantically in response, hot tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, your legs squeezing around his waist to keep him in place. “yes, inside, cum inside me, I need it, I need you to cum inside me”

Ford groans as he gives in, his hips snapping forward with a force that makes you cry out. He holds your thighs, spreading you wider for himself as he buries himself to the hilt, as deep as he can go. He growls as his head falls back, he squeezes his eyes shut and just loses himself. “gonna— g-gonna cum inside you. . .”

It happens, finally, his hips slam into you one last time and he finishes, his cock pulses as his cum paints your walls white. He hides his face into your neck while loud sound tears from his throat, halfway between a groan and whine. He rolls his hips, continuing to sloppily and lazily thrust into your pussy, grinding against you, unable to stop because he needs to give you every last drop of himself. “you’re— my love, so good, I feel so good. . .”

You lay under him and take it all, milking him for everything he has. Your fingers tracing his beautiful scars, ones you gave him now and his own ones, smearing a little blood over his skin, your legs tightening around him as you whimper, feeling every pulse of him, every twitch of his cock inside as he fills you. Oh god, such intimacy leaves you dizzy, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst.

“Thank you, Ford,” your body arches into him, asking, no, seeking more, always more. “feels so good. . .”

Ford finally comes back to his senses upon hearing your voice, he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he shudders through the last waves of his orgasm. He presses kisses to your face, your neck, your shoulders. “I love you, i never want to let you go.”

He pulls out with a shaky groan as he tries to catch his breath, his cock still glistening and twitching. But the loss of him leaves you feeling achingly empty, your walls clenching around nothing as a soft whimper escapes your lips.

Ford is frozen above you, though, his chest heaving, his wide eyes fixed between your legs. The sight of his warm thick seed slowly trickling out of you renders him completely silent.

You let out a deep sigh, dazed, a dumb little smile curling at your lips as you look up at him, completely blissed out and so beautifully ruined. You trail your fingers down slowly, maybe to tease him once more, until finally dipping between your thighs to catch the mess he’s made.

You circle your clit gently, then lowering your fingers to your hole, collecting his cum, covering your fingers with this sticky mess and Ford tracks every movement. And then, oh, you push it back inside, curling your fingers deep, your head falling back with a quiet moan as you savour every drop.

Ford fucking whimpers at the sight as he watches you pump his sperm back into yourself.

“Don’t. . . don’t want to lose it,” you smile, looking at your scientist through half-lidded eyes, gaze unfocused. “don’t want it to go to waste, want to feel you.”

Before you can say another word, he’s on you again. His hands spread your thighs wides when he positions himself at your entrance. Without word, he pushes back in, groaning as he stretches you open again. “you’re beautiful,” he gives you a kiss, while slowly fucking his cum back into you again, making sure to not miss a drop, letting it stay where it belongs.

You hold him close, caressing his face and looking into his beautiful eyes. “I love you so much,” but you get interrupted by a little sudden thrust he makes. “oh, ah, Ford!”

“Shh, i’ve got you, love,” Ford gives you a warm loving smile, rocking his hips gently. “you were so good for me, sweetheart.” he looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered, like he’d give you the whole world if you asked and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your crazy heart thunders in your ears as you hug and cuddle him, lost in the way he fills you so completely, so perfectly, like you were made for this.

The two of you don’t even bother moving because there’s simply no energy left to clean up. Ford stays buried inside you with his heavy body on top of yours like a blanket. For the first time in life, you feel that safe, good and loved, warm and. . . full in every sense of the word.

Sometime later. . . hours? you’re not sure, but the soft gray light of dawn creeping through the curtains. You feel Ford’s broad chest pressed against your back and suddenly his hand skims up your thigh.

“Ford,” you murmur, half-asleep as his lips brush the curve of your shoulder. His hand finds your leg, gently lifting it as he settles himself against you. “yes, please. . .” you smile, closing your eyes as you feel his cock rubbing against your folds.

He kisses the side of your neck. “just need you again, can’t help it. . . need to feel your pussy around me.”

You moan softly as he slides into you from behind. The angle is perfect as he fills you, sending shivers through your sleepy body. His hand lays on your thigh, holding you steady as he starts rocking into you, slowly, still sleepy, but fucking deep, each thrust making you sigh and whimper.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” his free hand skims over your waist, cupping your breast and playing with your nipple.

Meanwhile your hand reaches back to clutch at his hip and your head falls back onto his shoulder, Ford drives deeper into your pussy. “Ford. . . oh, Ford, yesss. . . just like that.” you mewl sleepily when you feel his fingers on your clit.

You dont know what time is it, probably very very early morning, but you let him take you. There’s no rush, no urgency, just sleepy, languid thrusts and quiet soft moans you two share in the early morning while being half awake.

The sun is higher now, casting autumn golden streaks across the room, when you wake again. You’re alone in the bed and your body deliciously sore, marked with the evidence of last night. . . and this morning. Faint marks of kisses and hickeys bloom along your skin, the ache in your thighs reminds you of how thoroughly he’d claimed you.

The blanket is all over you, keeping you warm despite your nudity. You stretch out, yawning and blink away the last traces of sleep, but you notice him at the edge of the bed. Ford sits with his scarred back to you, hair messy, but his posture is perfectly straight as he leans over his. . . ah, yeah, now you see it, journal.

He’s scribbling something down there, intense focused, face serious and you just lay there, enjoying comfortable silence and watching him, taking in the way he looks so handsome even in his rumpled state.

“Morning, genius,” you murmur finally.

Ford glances over his shoulder. “Oh, good morning, love,” he says warmly, setting the journal aside and moving to your side of the bed. He leans down to kiss you, brushing his hand over your hair. “how are you feeling?”

“Sore,” you admit with a smile as you stretch beneath the blanket.

Ford studies you. “i’d say that’s to be expected. Rest a bit longer, okay? I’ll make us something to eat soon.”

“You better hurry because i’m so starved,” you yawn, covering your mouth with your hand.

“Starved, are you? well, you’re taking a shower first,” he says seriously, though his tone remains gentle. “you’re not wandering around covered in. . .” he stops himself as his cheeks flush a little, trying to find right words to use.

“Hm? Covered in what, ford?” you tease, propping yourself up on one elbow.

“You know what, honey, don’t make me say that.”

Your eyes flick to his journal. “what are you even writing in there, anyway? can’t believe you’re making notes after the night we had. Is it, like, some x-rated research?”

Because of your question, Ford straightens up, his face expression changes, the earlier embarrassment melting away as excitement takes its place. He looks like he’s just cracked the secret of the universe. “actually,” he begins, adjusting his glasses, “i think i’ve finally solved the equation for that anomaly we’ve been tracking! The one that disappeared because of the rainstorm, remember? I had a theory about the dimensional distortion rate and this morning, it all just clicked!” Ford launches into an explanation now.

You, however, just blink at him and knowing grin spreads across your face. “so, what you’re saying is. . . my pussy literally makes you smarter?”

Ford stops mid-sentence as he stares at you, flustered. “i— I wouldn’t put it like that,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, looking everywhere except at you. “but. . . perhaps there’s a correlation. . .”

You just laugh, dropping back onto the pillows as you watch his awkward attempts to compose himself. “yeah, yeah, Ford, I got you.”

He grumbles something about inappropriate comments, but the corners of his mouth betray him, curving into a shy smile.

“So, my pussy is the key to unlocking the mysteries of the universe? Who knew i was a genius all along.”

Ford groans, hiding his face in his hands, “Oh my god,” he says your name. “you’re impossible.”

#gravity falls #x reader #gravity falls smut #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #ford pines x reader #ford pines smut #stanford pines #ford pines x you #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #gravity falls fanfiction #grunkle ford #ford pines x oc

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ghost-proofbaby · 10 months ago

Text

fictional boyfriends (e.m.)

summary: eddie gets jealous of your newest fictional boyfriend from a game he got you into.

warnings: kinda sweet. kinda cringe. eddie is jealous of astarion. twilight reference jumpscare. not edited. biting and vague mentions of sex at the end.

wc: 2.5k+

a/n: this is the dumbest, cringiest thing i have ever written. but on this side of town, we embrace the cringe <3 happy valentine's day, enjoy me combining my current favorite fictional men (astarion and eddie) for my own personal delight. maybe one day i'll write a serious fic regarding the biting kink

It’s not that biting had ever been off the table with Eddie, per se.

Nips between kisses, using a little more teeth when he’d kiss across your neck, a joking sinking of your teeth into his shoulder when you were vying for his attention — they were all normal occurrences between the two of you. There was just never much discussion about it. No conversation explicitly had in which the two of you said, “Why, yes. This is something I’d like to bring into the bedroom.”

Until that damn game.

When Eddie introduced you to Baldur’s Gate 3, the last thing he expected was to watch all your free time you used to spend pestering him suddenly handed over to some fictional vampire. He thought it’d be a game you tried, grew tired of, lost interest in, and that was that. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t expect a sudden competition for your goddamn affections.

“Baby, please come to bed,” he all but whines as he drapes himself over your shoulders, trying to nudge off your headphones. He could feel just how warm your ears had grown beneath them. He swears he can feel your back crack from the slightest bit of his weight on your shoulders. And, sue him — he was tired and he wanted to cuddle.

“One more minute,” you mumble the same phrase to him that he has used a million times on you; he instantly knows it’ll be far more than just sixty more seconds if he agrees, “Let me just finish this-“

“No,” he’s still whining, but it’s more stern now as he properly removes your headset, earning a glare from your bloodshot eyes, “You’ve been playing this game all afternoon, sweetheart. I think I might die if you don’t offer me some immediate attention. Truly.”

For emphasis, he lays more of his body weight on you, your chair creaking from holding up both of you now.

“Eddie,” you moan out, wiggling beneath his dead-weight, “I swear to God, get off of me-“

“I’ll get off of you if you come to bed.”

You pause. Your hands hover near your keyboard and mouse, but you’re no longer walking your avatar across the world of Baldur’s Gate, and he knows he has you considering it.

More weight. More groans. At this rate, he’s questioning if your chair won’t break from his outrageous method to get your attention.

“Fine.”

The small yes he lets out only earns him a punch to the shoulder. But it gets you off the game, and that’s still a win for him.

He doesn’t even care about appearing over eager as you follow him back to the bedroom. He’s gone as far as preparing the bed, pillows fluffed and comforted pulled back while awaiting your arrival. He’s already washed his face and brushed his teeth (something he usually fights you on as you nag him before bed), and the moment he’s got you in the room with him, he’s dragging you right onto the mattress with him.

“You’re gonna hurt us!” you yelp as he wraps his arms around you and flops down, dragging you with him, but it’s through a laugh. He knows you really couldn’t care less — he’d never deliberately injure you, irritated about your newest fictional boyfriend or not.

“Oh, no,” he mocks, rolling so you’re laying on top of him, “What ever will you do if I injure one of your precious wrists, and you can’t use it to flirt with your new boy toy tomorrow?”

“Astarion would be devastated,” you giggle into his chest, not moving off of him despite all your protests. It’s nice — to feel the full weight of you, to just get to bury his nose in the crown of your head as he shamelessly inhales the sweet lingering scent of your coconut shampoo, “He’s even needier than you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you serve as his functional juice box.”

“I do not!” you wiggle against him, and it only makes him tighten his arms, “He’s needy because he loves me.”

“Well that makes one of us.”

Your head lifts off his chest in an instant, faux offense shadowing your features, “You tryin’ to say you don’t love me, Munson?”

He smirks, pressing his lips together tightly, making you huff in frustration.

Of course he loves you. There wouldn’t be a ring in his sock drawer that he’s terrified of you finding if he didn’t.

You pout, subtly and adorably so, starting to lift off of him, “If you’re going to be mean, I’m just going to go back to someone who appreciates me-“

“Mean?” he scoffs, enjoying himself far too much. He’s missed your attention, your affection. The effect it has on him is similar to a high, making him dizzy on serotonin as he rolls over and pins you between him and the mattress, “Oh, baby, that’s not me being mean. I can show you mean, if you want.”

He’s always thought you looked prettiest like this. Under him, eyes wide as you look up at him as if he’s the only thing in this room worth looking at. Worth more than your prized bookshelf, more interesting than all the various posters the two of you have hung on the walls. You look at him as though he’s the greatest thing to exist in these four walls, and he doesn’t take it lightly when your favorite albums and candles are right there.

“You don’t have a mean bone in your body, Munson,” you whisper softly, face going soft for him. The two of you are still surely joking around, the playfulness of it all thick in the air, but there’s something genuine in your words that makes him even more enamored with you.

He should have predicted you’d fall for Astarion when he showed you the game. You had a thing for people who put up the tough front, but who really just needed a little extra softness and patience under the surface. He was living proof of it.

Unlike your fictional vampire boyfriend.

“Yeah?” he taunts, leaning down until the tip of his nose brushes yours. His hair works like a curtain, messy as ever as he shields the two of you from the outside world. One of your hands have crept up so that you palm rests against his cheek, and he can hardly remember that flare of jealousy that had gnawed at him when you’d spent your entire afternoon absorbed in the game instead of him, “I bet I could be meaner than Astarion. Although, I’m not sure just how mean that man has ever been to you, given all the war crimes you commit for his approval-“

He’s cut off when the thumb of the hand cradling his face trails up, pressing on his bottom lip. It only makes him grow even closer to you, pressing in, drawn by your touch.

You squint your eyes at him jokingly before cooing, “Someone sounds jealous.”

“Damn right,” he doesn’t even try to deny it, caught in the web of your trap with ease, “Does your pixelated lover even know what a catch he’s got?”

You snort adorably at that. He pulls away to see the full force of your laughter, lifting up into his elbows to admire how your face scrunches with your smile. He bets Astarion would make some sarcastic comment about it — about the crinkles by your eyes that he aches to pepper with kisses, about the indents in your cheeks when you smile this wide, about the sound of your genuine laughter when you unrestrained and entirely comfortable like this. But there’s not a single joke forming on Eddie’s tongue. He’s all but hypnotized.

God, he fucking loves you. So much so he’s jealous of a video game character.

“I’m not sure I’d consider this,” you lift the hand not holding him carefully still to motion at your current state of being, “A catch, my love.”

He has to disagree. Messy hair or not, wrinkled pajamas or not. You’re the greatest catch of this entire existence; not just Eddie’s, but the Universe’s. Nothing you could say or point out would deter him from this belief. He loves you, mess and all.

“My love?” he chooses to tease instead, all the words of affection threatening to choke him if he so much as considers letting them pour out, “I like the sound of that. If that’s the Astarion effect, maybe he isn’t so bad after all.”

His elbows are sinking deeper into the mattress. With every passing second, his face is dropping closer to yours, and he’s not sure if it’s by instinct or choice. But when his lips finally brush yours, he decides it’s all the same — it doesn’t really matter what sort of gravity is at work here, as long as it keeps bringing him down closer to you.

“Shut up about the game and kiss me, Eddie.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

The kiss is as sweet as ever. A comfortable dance that still sends shivers down his spine. If either of you looked closer at his arms bracketing your shoulders, you’d see the goosebumps raising as you eagerly returned all his affection.

You taste like the chocolates you’d been snacking on during your gaming. You taste like the greatest gift ever given, and he doesn’t care if he’s exaggerating or not. You’re divine — his favorite good morning and his only goodnight.

And he’d say all that, but you’d probably accuse him of trying too hard to be like Astarion. Probably bring up that ridiculous line the character once said about you being made by the Gods, just to ruin him.

You were, though. Made by the Gods, specifically to ruin Eddie. Fuck the game.

“You know,” he whispers against your lips, breaking for air as he adjusts positions. Your thighs open up and welcome him home, letting him slot right between your legs comfortably. He’s not trying to seduce you, but he can’t even be mad about it. He feels like a starved man now that your attention has been divided as of late, “If you wanted a lover who bites, all you had to do was ask, darling.”

If you weren’t so wrapped up in the kisses he was pressing down your jaw and along your neck, you would have ripped him to shreds for the awful impersonation.

But you’re already far gone, lost in his touches and his adorations. You let the half-assed attempt at a British accent slide, and you even bare your neck to him at the minute threat.

Biting had never been off the table, per se, and Eddie was really fucking glad for it.

When he presses one, two, three greedy kisses to that sweet spot just below your ear, he has one intention in mind. Not his usual sucking and nipping and soothing, not leaving behind one of his ordinary love bites. No, he lets himself get caught up in the moment, and when he catches that quiver of excitement the moment he drags his teeth over your neck carefully, he’s fully committed to his decision.

He bites.

Not hard enough to draw blood, or even be terribly painful. He knows it’s nothing like the game or any of your subsequent fantasies you might have had from it. His canines are fairly dull, even as they dig carefully into the skin of your neck, holding for a moment for effect. But your legs tighten around his hips, and he almost wishes he was a damn vampire, able to actually pierce your skin in the moment. Drink your blood. Whatever the allure was with the origin companion.

You let out a soft gasp which has him keeping your skin between his teeth a few extra seconds, and then he’s letting go. Lifting his head and looking into your eyes, a silent exchange of is this okay?

If the glazed over look is anything to go off of, it’s more than okay.

He returns with reckless abandon, switching between his usual desperate kisses and the newer, sharper ones. He has one goal in mind: to mark you up as his, to the point in which you’ll be scolding him in the morning. It’s like a drug, to feel you writhe beneath him as he paints the picture.

Love notes of freshly born bruises, the imprints of his teeth – a letter across your delicate skin that reads, he was here, and he loved you, more than anyone else in this Universe may ever be capable of.

“If I had known how much biting would rile you up, I would’ve started doing it ages ago,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, finally pausing his assault.

He settles for softer presses of his lip, peppering the affection where he had been a bit more violent.

Your hands that had taken to tangling into the curls at the nape of his neck have gone more relaxed, no longer tugging but instead just lingering. Pulling him closer. Touching him with softer hands than he’s ever felt deserving of.

“Guess you’ve got a certain vampire to thank for that,” you tease, but he can hear just how breathless he’s left you. He had sworn he could feel the pulse of your facing heart beneath his lips, even if just for a moment. Even if he just imagined it.

“Please. Astarion is not getting the credit for that,” he scoffs, lifting up onto his elbows again to just look at you. His lover, his favorite person. It’s nice to see your face when it’s not washed over with the cast of a computer screen. “That was all me. And even if it wasn’t, I won’t forget that you had a Twilight phase.”

Your hand quickly drops between the two of you, only to smack at his chest. The thump holds no weight as you whine, “I told you that in confidence.”

He dips down, capturing one last kiss, “It’s okay, baby. It’s good to know that you have a type.”

“I do not-”

He cuts you off with a more playful bite to your neck. Less about marking you, and more just to make a point.

“Just,” another nip, “admit,” another graze of his teeth, “it.”

You’re fighting a smile when he looks down at you again, impossible to hide behind your mask of annoyance. “I am not admitting that I have a thing for broody, pathetic vampires.”

“Well, I’ve got broody and pathetic down-”

“Eddie,” your thighs still bracket him, one hand still clinging to the back of his neck. When you say his name, the game is over. “We can spend all night bickering over the fictional men I love, or you can give me a reason to forget their names. It’s up to you.”

His eyebrows jump up his forehead, and he’s just about to give up the bit, but not before one last snide remark.

“Kind of hard to do that when I share a name with one of them, but as you wish, sweetheart.”

Another bout of beautiful laughter from him. Another smack on the chest from you. It’s good – it’s everything Eddie has ever wanted, and it is good.

He does, of course, make you forget their names. And if you find it difficult to get out of bed the next moment, dramatically unable to make the walk to your gaming computer, well – he won’t try to hide his smug smile in between the soft rays of morning light.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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#my writing #ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #this is truly the dumbest thing i've ever written #i almost made it into proper smut but couldn't take the end seriously i'm sorry

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wannaeatramyeon · 1 year ago

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Hello amazing author. So you're an absolutely amazing writer and I really enjoy reading your fics. I honestly don't get how good you are at writing, I am so jealous. So I was wondering if you have thought of a fic where Taehoon/Jake and the reader insert were in a relationship, so they went on a date and the whole Viral hit crew/big deal decided to watch because they idk were bored? I think it would be a cute little scenario. I love the way you write Jake and Taehoon (you're also the reason I am now a Vin Jin simp). Take care of yourself and have a good day/night/evening <3

Hi Anon, why the hell are you so sweet. Come here and let me smoosh your cheeks. Thank you for reading?! I can never get over that there are people that e n j o y ??? reading my bs.I haven't written about that sunglasses shitter in a hot second, maybe I need to cook something up for him.

I did something similar-ish (but not really) Jake and Reader here. Here's something for Taehoon.

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Coffee date (feat Hobin)

G/N Reader. Fluffy.

Crap.

How is Seoul such a small place? A city of nearly 10 million people and Hobin sees goddamn Taehoon and you here.

Obviously on a coffee date, if the way Taehoon is looking at you is anything to go by. Hobin can't really make out your face, but he's still pretty certain you are wearing the same smitten expression.

Huh.

It's surprising how Taehoon hasn't noticed him yet. Someone so shrewd and perceptive, nothing getting past him. Yet it's like when you're around, his attention is fully focused on you.

Hobin peeks over again at Taehoon.

Entire body leaning towards you, knees knocking together with yours under the table and your hand on his leg as you are gesticulating about something else with your other.

One side of his lips lifted in a trademark smirk and his half-lidded gaze peers at you beneath his lashes. Even from across the room, Hobin can make out that his eyes are unfathomably tender.

Ugh. Quite honestly it gives Hobin the creeps.

This is Seong Taehoon he's looking at here. How can Seong Taehoon ever look at someone like that. Wasn't it only yesterday he called Hobin cringe for talking about Bomi all the time?

Hypocrite.

Frankly, Hobin can never get over how soft Taehoon is for you. In his own way, of course. And this: catching a glimpse of you two, of Taehoon when he doesn't think anyone he knows is around, feels like Hobin's intruding on a private, intimate moment.

Which he is. But that's besides the point.

Seriously though, what is your magic touch and how can Hobin get in on some of that.

Taehoon lets you get away with so much. The way you poke and prod at him with your words, and sometimes even with your hands and fingers, present company and public decency be damned.

Taehoon has kicked people in the face for far less. Has kicked Hobin in the face for far less.

It's a rough lesson learned for the company the first time they mistook Taehoon's soft spot for you for his attitude softening in general. Snapper said one word a bit too overconfident and nearly got kicked through a wall.

That reminds Hobin. He needs to get that wall patched up soon.

Bzzt!

Taehoon's phone vibrates, breaking him out of his reverie, eyes darting to it and then - shit.

Snapping straight to Hobin's face.

Hobin flinches. Feels his soul departing as he whips his head away. Maybe Taehoon didn't recognise him. Maybe Taehoon didn't even see him.

The only way Taehoon couldn't have seen him is if Taehoon was blind or Hobin was invisible.

He has been caught red-handed staring.

Taehoon's good mood from moments ago is replaced instantly by prickly annoyance. Damn it, the last thing he wants to see is Hobin's stupid ugly face here.

Who, by the way, is doing an absolutely terrible job of hiding; judging by the way he ducks under the table.

Taehoon excuses himself. Long legs making short work of his strides over to Hobin's table. Yanking the aforementioned up by the hair until they're staring eye to eye.

"Morning Taehoon-hyung!" Hobin manages, mustering up some courage and charm.

Hyung? How fucking transparent. It makes Taehoon want to beat him up more.

"Why the fuck are you here?"

What was that Hobin was saying about your magic touch with Taehoon?

Maybe... Maybe this would work.

Hobin tries for a sweet smile, eyes big and round and pleading.

A smile he has seen on your face before. Right when Taehoon is on the precipice of exasperation and anger. The same smile that would placate him, pulling him from the edge as his temper diminishes and he settles for an eye roll instead.

Unfortunately, it's a very grotesque imitation of your own that makes Taehoon want to kick Hobin's face more than ever.

Hobin's eyes flicker to Taehoon's leg twitching.

Oops. Nevermind then.

#taehoon seong #taehoon x reader #seong taehun #taehun x reader #seong taehoon #seong taehun x reader #seong taehoon x reader #taehoon seong x reader #how to fight x reader #how to fight #how to fight manhwa #viral hit manhwa #viral hit webtoon #viral hit x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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tinyfishtits · 6 months ago

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Sup bro, fartsnifferpro here.

I really love your fics and u said it was ok to make requests so I really hope I'm not bothering.. I usually have several ideas for fanfics but I don't trust my writing enough to put them into practice and laziness usually gets in the way. I was thinking about something related to a Micah Bell dating a reader very, but VERY emotional, like crying very easily (me). I really don't care the way you will write this (like headcanons, fanfic, whatever) I'll will love it anyway your writing is amazing.

(IF YOU DONT WANT TO ITS OKAY)

Hehe welcome to the blog Fartsnifferpro! I most definitely DO want to write a sad reader fic !! You caught me at a very melancholy time so this was pretty cathartic to write tbh. I hope you like it ❣️

The small stable in this god forsaken camp had quickly become my favorite place. Being around all those people, sick, sad, broken… It was tearing me apart. I hadn’t been with them for very long, had only just gotten to know those that we lost only days ago. Jenny, Davey, Mac…

I felt like I had no right to mourn them, not when the others were so devastated by the loss. Not with John still missing and Abigail worried sick. Or the heartbreaking cries of the widow we picked up just yesterday cutting through even the most violent howling winds of the blizzard that hounded our crude shelters.

So, just as I had the last two nights, I spent my evening tending to the horses while the others huddled for warmth in the decrepit cabins across camp. It was barely any warmer in the stable than it was out in the snow but I'd been so numb the past few days the cold barely registered anymore. I was brushing Baylock, humming some old lullaby I'd long forgotten the words to, when the doors of the stable swung open.

“Well ain’t you a sight for sore eyes…” a familiar gravelly voice said behind me. I didn’t have time to put my brush down before Micah’s arms were around my waist, his wind chilled face nuzzling into my neck as he kissed me, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine as he spoke, “Why you out here?”

I turned in his grasp to snake my hands beneath the thick leather jacket he wore and wrap my arms around his back, snuggling into his warmth.

“Goddamn darlin’ you’re freezing.” His body shuttered against my cold touch. Pulling me tighter against him, his strong hands began rubbing my back in an attempt to warm me up. “Shit, how long you been out here?”

“I don’t know…” I murmured against his shoulder, squeezing him tighter.

“I would have come found ya sooner,” He sighed, “Dutch’s been talkin’ our ears off about… well, it don’t matter.” He let out a low hum, peppering gentle kisses atop my head.

His comforting hold, his soft voice, the sweet, feather light kisses… It broke something open in me that I'd been pushing down since we fled here. A muffled cry escaped my lips as I buried my head into the crook of his neck. Micah froze at the sound. When the cries didn’t stop, his grip on me tightened.

“What- what is it? What’s wrong?” His tender, soothing voice just fueled whatever pain had broken free inside me. I collapsed against him. Unable to speak, barely able to breath as I choked up sob after pained sob, gripping onto him so tightly my muscles ached.

“Hey… Hey, shhh” He hushed, whispered curses escaping his lips as I shook in his arms. I knew he wasn’t used to comforting people, that emotional outbursts of any kind weren't a part of his wheelhouse. In all the time we’d been together I’d purposefully hid my breakdowns from him… afraid he’d see me as weak.

“I- I’m sorry…” I finally choked out, knowing I was putting him in an uncomfortable position.

“Don't apologize, darlin'. You got nothin’ to be sorry for…” He whispered into my ear. His sweet words just cracked me open even deeper. A hand came up to gently rake through my hair as he continued to shush me like a frightened horse. Which, I realized, was probably the only living thing he’d ever attempted to comfort until now.

“Just let it out honey, I gotcha.” He said, his grip on me tightening.

“I can't take being stuck up here Micah…” I admitted, the words finally spilling out of me, “It- it's suffocating me… And I'm not asking you to do anything about it. I know it's just how things are with the damn storm and the money... I just…” I trailed off, my breath still stuttering with sobs.

He let out a long sigh, pulling away from my grip on him just enough to cradle my face in his hands. His bright blue eyes met mine, a foreign, aching sadness welling up in them as he examined me.

“I know…” He finally said, stroking the streaming tears away from my cheeks. The pained look he gave me had my eyes welling up once more, cursing under his breath he pulled me back into his embrace. Holding my head in his hand he kept me pressed firmly against his chest, like he was afraid I'd break into pieces if he let go. “God darlin’ I- I hate seein’ you like this.”

His deep voice rumbling against my ear was like music. I hugged him tighter, feeling every breath, listening to it whoosh through him like wind. “Can you… talk.” I murmured into his chest, “About anything… just, talk to me”

“Um… Sure.” He said, though he went quiet for a long moment as he thought of what to say. “My… My momma used to tell me this story, about a boar… If you wanna hear it.” I hummed in acknowledgement, waiting for him to continue.

“It was a menace, darlin’, this boar. A real nasty fucker. Killed livestock, ripped up crops, tore people apart… The whole country feared the damn thing. The king offered up his own daughter as the reward for the man who killed it.”

“So these two brothers decided hell, they had nothin' to lose and gave it a try. The older one, a cocky bastard, spent the first day of the hunt getting piss drunk. Figuring his brother didn’t stand a chance.” He ran his hands through my hair, idly twisting strands around his fingers as he got lost in the retelling.

“That night, his little brother came out of the forest with the beast on his back. Fuckin’ furious, he walked up and shot him dead. Took the boar for himself and brought it back to the king. Told everyone the boar had killed his brother, tore him up and ate the pieces. And they believed him, ‘cause that boar was a menace.” His whispered words were fierce in my ear, he'd always been such a good storyteller. My sobs had ceased by now, my breathing settling into a calm rhythm as I listened intently.

“He married the king's daughter the next day. Had a huge party outside the castle to celebrate. Even had the boar roasting on a spit for the feast. They was so drunk and happy, the whole place filled with music.” He hummed in my ear, taking my hand in his and swaying us softly to the tune.

“Until a boar, one twice the size of the one the brother had killed, went chargin' for the king's daughter!" He said with a roar, gripping me closer into his chest as if he were the beast coming to devour me. I couldn't help but giggle at his theatrical retelling.

"It ripped her apart while everyone watched...." He bit playfully at my neck in emphasis, coaxing a surprised yelp out of me. Though he didn't miss a beat.

"The brother, the damn coward, ran off, back to the castle. Let the boar feast on everyone that had come to celebrate his wedding. Let it tear up the fields, rip through the livestock. Until there was nothin' left…” he drifted off into silence, kissing softly at the spot at my neck where he'd bitten. I waited for some happy resolution but it never came.

“Your momma told you that story?” I asked, a shocked laugh escaping my lips at the gorey tale I could only presume he heard as a small child. His chest vibrated with a deep laugh of his own, “What, not the bedtime story you were expecting?” He raised my chin to look at him, his expression softened now that my tears had stopped.

“What happened to the brother?” I asked. Micah shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “Died alone in that castle with piles of money to wipe his ass with, probably.”

I laughed, "What made ya think of that story?"

Humming in thought he said, "I don't know... always found it funny." "Funny?" I said, incredulous.

"Well you laughed, didn't ya!"

"At you, ya big weirdo..." I said, playfully hitting him on the chest. My sorrows and worries forgotten as I looked up at him, a beaming smile on his face.

His thumb brushed over my chin as he pulled me up to place a soft kiss to my lips. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I held him close, keeping his lips on mine as we melted into each other with palpable relief. As if all the tension, guilt and grief that had weighed me down the past few days just needed his warm breath to be set free, evaporating around us now lighter than air.

With his strong arms hooked around my waist Micah picked me up. His mouth never left mine as he carried me out of the stable, intent on keeping me warm and in his arms for the rest of the night.

If you liked this, check out my other Micah works!

★ My Masterlist ★

#oh no #I think hurt/comfort might be my new favorite thing #oopsy #Did I get carried away with the boar story?#um #maybe #micah bell #micah bell fic #micah bell x reader #red dead redemption 2 #fish reqs

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002yb · 1 year ago

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Okay, but like, hear me out, mob wife Dick Grayson, and like I know, I know you're not too big on the whole bottom Dick thing, but I think it'd be really funny if Jason (Red Hood) had a very well known thing with Nightwing and everyone refers to him as his Mob Wife not knowing Jay's the one getting dicked down at home, or like I dont know maybe a mafia batfamily au where Jay's like Dicks well known bratty mob wife whom he loves and cares and spoils so much and is hella protective and possessive over. Bonus points if Bruce hates that his little baby Jay is dating Dick even though he fully trusts Dick but like, Jason is his baby, his sweet little innocent child... corrupted... like Bruce simultaneously hates Dick for stealing his sweet, innocent little boy away (he hasnt been innocent in a long while Bruce, come on, Jay's wanted Dickie since forever and lets be honest, Dick could never say no to Jason) but is also mildy thankful that it's Dick Jay's choosen and not someone else, like Ollie's boy....

In between one moment and the next, the henchman is laid out flat with Jason crouched over them, one hand wrapped firm beneath their chin and with gloved fingers squishing their cheeks.

The henchman swallows thickly, keeping himself still so as to not provoke more of Red Hood’s ire. The damage is done already and beneath Jason’s helmet, his sneer twists into a snarl.

“You sayin’ I’m not wifey material?”

With how firm Jason’s hold is, the henchman can only shake his head in short jerks. They do so with urgency and Jason huffs with exasperation, irritable as he complains, “Why the fuck is he always the wife then, huh? What if I want to be his fucking wife. You think I can't be?”

“No, sir.” The henchman says, sputtering to clarify when Jason squeezes their face to the point of it hurting. “You make a beautiful wife, sir. Nightwing is a lucky man.”

Jason heaves a breath, making himself comfortable atop his henchman. They wheeze beneath his weight, gaze unwittingly dropping to Jason’s chest before shooting back up to his helmet. It’s not often any henchman gets this close to the boss - straddled by strong thighs and given a show of a small waist and ample bosom. Is this what Nightwing sees when they - do they? Like this? Lucky bastard.

"Damn right he is." Jason growls, towering over the henchman - imposing even as they cower. "Because I'm gonna be his goddamn wife."

Despite all the bluster, Jason still seethes a top the henchman's chest. Glowering as he lingers on the slight to his wifey allure.

“It’s bullshit.” Jason bitches.

“Yes’sir.” The henchman agrees. “It’s bullshit, sir.”

A beat passes between them as Jason looks over his henchman. Rightfully intimidated as they are, the way their pupils blow wide give them away. Jason scoffs, letting go of the henchman only to give their cheek two sharp pats.

“Good talk.” Jason says, deceptively simple as he pushes himself up to standing. The henchman stays down, a shiver racking up their spine. Aroused and confused, lip bitten as they watch Red Hood walk away with newfound appreciation.

=====

Pfffft, thank you for being considerate of my preference for top!Dick. I know it's a thing, but it is what it is. (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡ Anyhoo, cute ideas on both fronts!! I wrote more for the first one, as I couldn't get the image of Red Hood calling himself wifey and being very passionate and intense about it out of my head hahaha.

#dickjay #jason todd is wifey material #words

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valence-gnome-bandit · 8 months ago

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every god needs an imp chap. 3: abracadabra

notes: guess whos back! its me! my hiatus is lasting a lot longer but I had enough to put out two chapters. please enjoy sorry for taking so dreadfully long <3

summary: homelander realizes hes in for it.

Homelander had never been so offended and confused in all his years of dealing with other supes all by a goddamn magician. Heart beating hard in his chest He followed eccetrica to the bar sitting next to her not even moving his cape aside. determined not to be rejected at this point he didn’t care if she was even worth it, it was the principal alone that made his hands curl into fists. Eccentrica didn't speak simply looking ahead at her reflection in the mirror of the bar glowing eyes now fully extinguished as she took a sip of her drink. However her calm demeanor only served to piss homelander off more, He glared at her seconds away from lasering her debating on how hard it would be to cover up him just destroying the entire casino.

“Ya’ know it's kinda rude to be so disrespectful to someone like me right? I know you're not used to talking to anyone who has any actual weight in this world, I mean look around this is the thrill of most people's lives fucking slapping a button and getting drunk. I'm offering you a chance to get ahead and you're just going to throw it out on the notion that this is somehow better?” Homelander began to rant a bit only breaking to nervously laugh and shake his head as his fingertips dug into his palms.

“I mean honestly who-” he started again but was immediately cut off.

“Will you please shut up?” Eccentrica stared at him sideways unblinking eyes staring straight at him once more, it felt like he was being judged by an owl.

“I don’t give a single flying fuck who you are, you're really proving my point your a show dog who has nothing but over-dramatic barks. Like a husky, you're a husky all you do is complain.” she spoke completely seriously sipping her drink she still stared at him posture perfect, body completely still. This… this wasn't how she was supposed to be. In homelander’s mind, she was nothing more than a silly little magician a second-class citizen barely above the heathens she entertained, and yet she had just called him a dog. Now that was something he really didn't like…

Homelander reacted immediately, reaching over he rested his forearm on her shoulder his left hand locked around the spot right at the base of her neck that sensitive little sweet spot where he could feel her pulse pounding beneath his fingers. He could feel the veins move when he tightened his grip, restricting blood flow, she immediately started to strain under his super strength, the reaction involuntary.

“I don't think I like you very much eccentrica, if I'm a dog that makes you absolutely nothing compared to me, tell me why I shouldn’t shove you into a box and toss you into the Atlantic to see if you can Harry Houdini your way out.” he waited for some kind of reaction from her but instead she took another sip of her soda uncaring of what he was doing focused on something else. She casually finished off the glass before finally turning back to him with a fake frown lips pouted out.

“Oh no, I'm so scared! Please don't hurt me Mr.Homelander I'll join your silly little team just don't break my poor brittle bones I'm just a pathetic little magician!” she put her other hand on her cheek eyes filling with tears as she wailed mockingly. “I-im ju- just so weak and sad!” her wailing immediately broke down into cackles.

Homelander didn't know how to even reply, he was about to snap her wrist when she calmed down. Reaching out she patted his shoulder giving one of his eagle decorations a pet before leaning in closer, “Abracadabra.”

his mind barely processed the words before Eccentrica’s eyes lit up again with that purple glow that burned in his mind even when it dulled. As if the floor had dropped from beneath him plunging him into darkness, at first he thought she had somehow knocked him out before a single spotlight came on. Eccentrica had perched on a massive table legs swinging as she sat back observing him. various props for magic tricks were strewn about what he realized was a stage, the clever little magician had just made him disappear and reappear in an instant like a bunny in a hat.

“I'm less of a bug and more of a stray cat thank you.” she casually commented as she disappeared only to appear behind him watching him curiously.

“That was impressive I suppose. What now are you going to saw me in half?” Homelander looked over his shoulder at Eccentrica who had her hands behind her back tapping her foot against the wood of the stage.

“Kinky, but no.” she puckered her lips smiling cheekily as she offered him one of her hands. Flipping it over a deck of cards appeared on the back of her hand, flipping her hand again she spread them out in a single flourish. “Go on, pick one.”

He sighed taking one from her, he flipped it over expecting to see a playing card but instead, it was a VIP ticket to her show that night. Looking at the back of the card again he realized she had swapped the cards in the instant that he flipped it over.

“Very clever, anyways why would I come to your show?” his eyes flicked up to where Eccentrica had just been standing only to find her gone again.

“Because it's the last one.” her voice came from above him where she was laying on her stomach feet lazily kicking upwards as she watched him chin sitting in her hand. She sighed softly letting her arm drop off the catwalk, “I'm tired, tired of the lights and the alcohol and the drugs. You won't get that, you've been in the big leagues forever you didn’t have to beat the shit out of your teammates for ratings or get felt up by tv producers at sixteen. Besides it's so boring so boring you and all of your loser teammates.”

“What? What do you want me to say to that? Oh, I'm so sorry you had to go on TV as a kid get over it. I had to do worse to climb the ladder.” Homelander crossed his arms rolling his eyes. “Just take my offer-”

“I am. I'm leaving tomorrow I've already decided chill airbud.” she dropped down from the catwalk landing next to him teleporting at the last second to break her fall. He barely caught it but he saw a look cross her face, some somber shell-shocked hurt far too close to the ones he had seen in the mirror. He did understand to some extent but still, he suffered too. She was just so inconsistent, so goddamn startling. He couldn’t decide if he loved it or hated every bit of her.

“Just come to the show hell even bring your kid, Brian or whatever his name is.” she began to walk away hips swaying giving Homelander some highly inappropriate urges for the tone of the moment. As soon as she hit the shadow of the curtains she vanished leaving Homelander to his own devices.

thank you for reading <3

#homelander #the boys #homelander headcanons #homelander x reader #writeblr #self insert oc #homelander x oc #homelander fanfiction #homie #the boys tv #the boys amazon #the boys series

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black-quadrant · 2 years ago

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Hallefuckinglujah // AO3

wing kink & top!vash

“Ah--”

Vash. Beautiful, idiotic, enigmatic creature. Human in design, but not human at all.

Oh no. He’s far better.

He’s angelic--or at least, that’s the closest comparison you’ve got.

“Wolfwood...”

But goddamn does he sound like an angel when he’s singing for you. And these ridiculous wings aren’t doing anything to convince you otherwise.

If he were really an angel you would be feeling downright despicable for what you’re doing to him.

"Aw fuck, Tongari--”

Or maybe it’s what he’s doing to you.

This isn’t exactly how you pictured your first time with him, but Vash is nothing if not a bombshell of caprice. He’s just one surprise after another, a living contradiction that always keeps you guessing.

Like how he's moaning like he’s the one getting fucked even though his cock is lodged up your ass. You’re wedged between him and the wall--completely naked save for your half-unbuttoned shirt whereas he is completely clothed save for his pants twisted down somewhere around his knees. For all of Vash’s intensity, all of his dominance over this situation, he still acts like he’s small, vulnerable, unassuming. Hell, his wings are flared out and arched and by all rights you should be saying your prayers, but Vash is the most humble alien-god-thing you’ve never met.

He could conceivably pound you into oblivion, but he’s being so gentle, so aggravatingly delicate. You’re not breakable, and it’s an insult to your pride to be treated like spun glass.

“Harder, you shit--fuck me hard--” Like I deserve.

And Vash--God help you--kisses your scowling lips all mitigating, slides his arms snugly around your squirming body, and slowly--all too slowly--drags you down the wall, impaling you inch by inch on him. The forced discipline is having an ardent affect on his cock which is swollen, stiff and throbbing with prolonged need, stretching you wider the deeper he sinks into you.

Christ on a cracker, how can he be maintain his composure??

Vash, seemingly (eerily) tuned in to your internal dialogue, chuckles against your neck.

“Aren’t priests supposed to be patient? Isn’t that a virtue, Wolfwood?”

“I’m off the clock. Now move, goddamn you--”

Vash has the gall to smile at you like you’re the most endearing brand of impertinence, but before you can cuff him upside the head he finally obliges, propelling his hips in brisk upward thrusts that make quick work of your resolve. He’s striking that sweet spot of yours with the ease of someone packing experience, but you both know it’s beginner’s luck.

Vash is a natural, and it’s no shock that he loves to please, shifting his hips to amplify sensation. He listens intently to your noises, fine-tuning his movements around them until he’s found the perfect angle to ruthlessly hammer your prostate. You break out in an instant sweat, hands desperately grabbing the curves of his wings to sync with his rhythm.

“Oh God--sweet Mother of--yes, Tongariii--” You didn’t know you could sound so wanton, but here you are moaning like a whore while grinding your neglected cock against the worn leather of his coat. You don’t care. You can’t even begin to care about caring. Self-consciousness is a pointless reservation for mortals, and right now you feel like you’ve transcended your corporeal form. Nothing else matters but the pulsing of Vash inside you, the hot mouth around your jugular, the big, beautiful appendages that flex and flutter in accordance with his own emotions.

And when Vash comes, they shoot back in a dramatic arc, scattering feathers around the dingy hotel room. He mewls your name--your actual first name--into your ear, digs his fingers into your back and shudders violently as he slams home one last time. Your muscles clamp down all at once, temporary paralysis locking you down beneath the riptide of your orgasm. Your ass is essentially strangling his cock, milking him to the last drop, and somewhere along the way one of each of your hands made it onto your own--his at the base and yours at the head--pumping the last of your sin out over his precious jacket.

The air is suddenly too humid, but it doesn’t bother you; you’re already drowning. His face eventually swims into your foggy vision, mint-green eyes and a stupid, adorable beauty mark you can’t help but kiss. You probably won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow, not when you’ve been well, for all intents and purposes, stampeded.

“... ya know, you could start a religion around that cock.”

“Jeez, so sacrilegious. I should tell God on you.”

“Hallefuckinglujah.”

#vashwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun #nsft #out of the archives and now with its AO3 link #h writes

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maybebecomingms · 1 year ago

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my sweet escape(s), delineated

August 18th, 2023

This is it, confidence is all I need This is how you're going to save me from myself From all that fails I see you & me & everything in between And I know I'm wrong but you long to Fuel the fire beneath these tired bones

I really, really hate that overtly religious songs from yesteryear have had such an impact on me and I can't stop listening to them.

Progress, I confess is way overdue I get caught up in the things that I've held onto

OK. STOP!

Anyway.

I used to belt this song out driving my 97 Cavalier after work as the summer sun was setting. Driving home to my cheap, tiny, whitewashed apartment on the edge of town. "What's with you always living on the fringes?" one of my friends asked once. He's got a point, even now.

You'd think it was a goddamn palace. I LOVED living there. That was such a sweet summer. I had gotten away from a shaky, unsupportive, unsafe situation and I was thriving on my own.

A couple years later, I cried tears of joy as I left the keys on the kitchen counter of that apartment and sang this song on the way to my new home the day after my wedding. I'd outgrown the whitewashed walls and pale blue floor tiles that kept coming unglued. A whole new life awaited me.

There's so many parallel feelings in the present day. I have once again abandoned a shaky, unsupportive, unsafe situation and struck out on my own. This time I drive to the edge of a different but nearby town, and the wood paneling and kitschy wallpaper of a 1970s mobile home. And it's only half the trailer! And I have to wash my dishes by hand and haul my laundry elsewhere.

And I don't even care! Because again I am thriving. I'm not getting drunk anymore, and I am eating better food, and I am doing yoga and cuddling with my cat and getting at least 7 hours of sleep a night.

Next year will hopefully be the next sweet escape. It will hopefully put an end to this every-other-weekend business, and I won't have to miss my person all week anymore. Moving 60 miles away feels like a big thing - bigger than anything I've done before. I have a lot of feelings about it.

But I still feel used and taken for granted around here sometimes, too, and it would be nice to leave that behind.

I'm stronger every step I take back to... RUN back to you A place of sweet escape I fell into

I legitimately hope it's the last time. I don't want to spend my life feeling like I continually need to escape situations that weren't what I had hoped for.

Whatever happens next, I know now that it's me. Not god. Not another person. Nobody can save me. Only I can do that.

And I have done that, over and over again. It would be nice to take a break for a minute.

Just to rest in knowing I have saved myself and it's the last time I'll need to.

#divorce #new beginnings #ex christian #exvangelical #run kid run #my sweet escape

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cevansbrat0007 · 3 years ago

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Terms & Conditions

Summary: You wake up in the mood to choose violence.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Smut, Frustrated Andy, Daddy Kink, Cursing, Brat!Reader, Punishment (mentioned), Spanking (mentioned), Pet Names, Minors DNI

A/N:This takes place after events in Indulge Me. As always, I’d love your feedback, so please let me know what you think. Semi-proofread. Not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

Well, you’d really done it this time. You had woken up in a mood and decided to choose violence. Which meant it was time to torture your husband.

And now, Andy was big mad.

But you see, it was technically his fault. He was the one that had decided to work from home that day. He was the one that allowed you to sleep in that morning while he took Bianca over to his mother’s, giving you time to plot and scheme. He was the one that had found you a therapist who had helped you get some of your old confidence back.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was getting better. And your sweet husband let you know all the time just how proud he was of your progress.

But back to this being all his fault. He was also the one who had texted you during one of his morning meetings asking if you could bring him another cup of coffee because he couldn’t step away.

And you, being the caring, loving wife that you were, had readily agreed.

Andy just hadn’t known that you planned to deliver his beverage wearing nothing more than a sheer, skimpy scrap of skin-tight lingerie, complete with matching black garters and a pair of stilettos.

“Here’s your coffee, Daddy.” You’d whispered. “Hope I gave you enough cream and sugar.”

When that man had looked up from the computer with the words “thank you”poised on his lips he was shook. He had gaped at you, his eyes unsure of what part of you to take in first. For once Andrew Barber was speechless.

And then you’d really done it.

You had turned away from him, bent over and shook your ass in his face. You gave him the best performance of your life. You had made sure that booty jiggled - all for him.

Andy had growled then. Because he wanted that ass, but couldn’t have it.

His big palm reached down beneath the desk to squeeze his straining erection. You went to back out of his office, but before you did, you’d leaned against the wall while he watched mesmerized. Then you’d slipped two fingers into the sheer lace of your panties and swirled them through your messy folds.

You’d sucked them into your mouth and moaned at the taste. And then you left, because you needed to hide.

Twenty minutes later you hear his booming voice as he storms around the lower level of the house looking for you.

“You little brat!” He bellows. “You bring that luscious ass to me right this fucking minute! Do you hear me?!”

Oh yes, you’d heard him, alright. But the answer was still no.

You listen to him mumble to himself as he climbs the stairs. “When I get my hands on you, baby. You come in to my office and taunt me like that, knowing I can’t do anything about it…looking like a fucking wet dream. Almost came in my goddamned pants…”

Andy’s checking the guestrooms now, slamming the doors when he doesn’t find you. Finally he comes into your bedroom and sits down with a strangled moan.

Daddy sounded like he was in literal agony.

“Okay, Baby Girl. It doesn’t have to be like this.” He calls out as if this was turning into some sort of hostage negotiation. “Things don’t have to get ugly.”

Maybe not, but they were going to.

“Here are my terms and conditions, alright? One, you have two minutes to come out from wherever you’re hiding and you had better be rocking all of that black lace. Two, you are going to bend over and wiggle that ass just like you did before. Three, you will let me touch it, and fair warning I will bite it. Four, you are going to let me eat that naughty little pussy. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You whisper to yourself.

“If you do not reveal yourself and I have to come find you, I will bodily drag you down to my office and splay you out on my desk. I will rip those sexy as sin panties off with my teeth and then I will spank her for her misbehavior. And then I will figure out where you got that outfit from, go out, and buy ten more pairs in different colors. You have two minutes!” Andy finally finishes.

You wait, silently counting in your head. When your time is almost up, you dart out the bathroom, surprising Andy. “Sorry, Daddy!” You shriek out with a giggle. “But today I choose violence!”

“Come here you little minx!” He snarls, but you’re quick. You manage to duck under his outstretched arm and race down the stairs in the direction of his office. “Shit, when did you get so fast?” He wonders as he gives chase.

When he makes it to you, you’re perched on his desk trying to look as innocent as possible.

“I don’t know why you’re so mad, Daddy. All I did was bring you your coffee like you asked. And I wanted to look pretty for you while I did it.” You pout up at him and then your eyes stray to the tent in his pants. “Why spank me when I can just bend over this lovely desk here and let you fuck me?”

“Are you trying to kill me, young lady? Yep, I think you are. You are literally trying to give your Daddy a fucking heart attack.” Andy stares you down, his normally perfect hair all mussed and tousled.

“So since you chose violence, Baby Girl, I am going to eat that cunt, and then I am going to fuck it so good and hard that you won’t be able to see straight. Now lay back and spread those gorgeous legs.” This time his voice is soft and menacing so you do as he asks.

“Good girl. Now hold still for me because all that running around has made Daddy very hungry. And when I’m done taking you apart, we’ve got some shopping to do. And I’m going to need all of my strength, you got that?”

“Yes, Sir.” You purr. “Come let me feed you, Daddy.”

END

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daryldamnson · 2 years ago

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Surprise, Surprise Part 5

part i - part ii - part iii - part iv - part v

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!Reader

Summary: Eddie has to reckon with the fact that the rich cheerleader he thought he could brush off as another basic conformist has a few surprises up her sleeve.

Follows the basic plot of S4 (kind of), sarcasm, soft!kinda-touchstarved!eddie, soft(for eddie)!reader, wayne and reader bonding, pure fluff really

Reader: has she/her pronouns and in a previous chapter is referred to as wearing a bra

Word count: 3.3k (aka as long as parts 1-4 combined - wayne's fault)

ao3 link

Roughly two weeks after Eddie gets out of the hospital and four weeks after the last chapter:

“Hi, Wayne!” You call out towards the figure sat in the armchair, an open newspaper obscuring the lower half of his face.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” is his soft response, accented voice warm with affection.

You’d spent a good amount of time with Wayne while you were both anxiously waiting for Eddie to wake up.

It’s amazing how much bonding can be done in sharing the space of his nephew’s hospital room; doing coffee runs one at a time so you wouldn’t have to leave him alone, packing late lunches and dinners for two, passing books and newspapers back and forth, finishing each other’s crossword puzzles, and cheekily playing some of Eddie’s mixtapes quietly even after the nurses had scolded you for it.

Wayne had smiled sadly, full of pain and love - two sides of the same coin, really - as he murmured about how much Eddie would enjoy the rule-breaking. It was the first time you’d truly connected with him as he watched you stare at his nephew’s obliviously sleeping face, the fondest of sad smiles - almost an exact mirror of his own - growing on your lips as you call him a “goddamn troublemaker”.

If it had come from almost anyone else in town he knows it would’ve been said scornfully, words sharp and full of hate. There’s nothing sharp about the way you say it - like it’s a compliment, like it’s a prayer.

Wayne isn’t a stupid man; he knows what the look on your face means, just the same as he knows what the look on his nephew’s face means when he sees you together after he’s received the best phone call of his life.

“Eddie’s awake,” you’d told him in place of answering his sleepy “hello?”, voice giddy and almost breathless with it. His sleep-addled brain takes a beat too long to realise what you’ve said, and when it does he feels his knees buckle beneath him. “The nurses have checked him out and everything looks about as positive as it can do. Steve, Rob, and Dustin are in with him now, but the doctor should be coming by to look him over anytime now. Do you need me to pick you up or have you had enough sleep?”

The fact that you know his schedule is old news now, but he still feels a thud of warmth at your worrying - you were a sweet kid. Work had been generous with giving him time off. For about a week. Then he’d had to get himself back in if he wanted to keep his job.

It was late morning and you knew that meant he’d likely only had a couple of hours to sleep off the night shift before the shrill ring of the phone had woken him up.

You were a good egg, and he was glad Eddie had you in any capacity - even if he were to find out that his nephew didn’t reciprocate the feelings that were written over your face every time you looked at him.

If you showered the boy with the same care and attention you had Wayne, and the kids, and the older kids - which he knew you did as he’d watched you swap out the uncomfortable hospital blankets for fluffy and comfortable ones, watched you sneak in a cassette player with tapes that seemed entirely too metal to belong to you, watched you brush his nephew’s wild and untamable hair with careful, gentle brushstrokes - then he was pretty sure you probably had his boy wrapped right around the same little finger that tapped out the beats of Eddie’s favourite songs.

“I can drive,” he’d managed to get out before he practically threw himself out of the trailer.

It’s two days later when his nephew’s animated voice - still brightening a room even after he’d almost died (how anybody could look at Eddie and see anything but sunshine would always confound Wayne) - suddenly trails off, eyes drawn to the opening door, that he sees Eddie’s expression morph into something he’s never seen before.

“Hi…” The word fell breathlessly from Eddie’s mouth and he looked almost stunned for a moment before the brightest smile Wayne had ever seen grew on his face.

It was an important smile.

The same kind he’d seen the first time he’d called Eddie ‘son’, when he’d surprised him with half the cost of that damned electric guitar he’d been saving up for, when he’d remembered his birthday after years of living with a father who’d never bothered to. It was a smile full of joy. A smile reserved for the important moments in life.

“Hey,” you smile back, smaller but still infinitely soft.

There’s a beat where you linger in the doorway, eyes locked with Eddie’s.

Wayne remembers what it’s like to be young and crazy about somebody, so he lets the time tick by without commenting.

You finally notice him as you step further into the room.

“Hi, Wayne,” is your greeting, same as always. This time, however, you’re brighter; face and tone lacking the worried tension he’s used to.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” is his answer, same as always. He grins, knowing he’s equally light-hearted. His eyes slide over to his nephew’s lovesick expression and he tries not to huff out a chuckle at how accurately he’d predicted his feelings for you.

Wrapped around her little finger indeed.

All of this is why half an hour after your arrival at the Munson’s four weeks later, you find yourself sat on the armrest of Wayne’s comfortably worn recliner, heads both bent over his paper as you exchange potential crossword answers.

Eddie comes ambling out of his room on a quest for water, movements still slow and twinges of pain still common, and neither of you hear his approach over your shared laughter.

Hearing his uncle’s low chuckle always brings a smile to Eddie’s face - it’s a rare sound these days - and he can’t help the way his smile widens when he hears your laugh in tandem with Wayne’s.

It’s not the first time he’s caught you palling it up with his uncle and, though he complains that you’re supposed to be here visiting him, he loves how well you get along with the most important person in his life. The only real father he’s ever had.

But because he’s Eddie, he still has to put on a theatrical show of protest.

“Oh, come on. How long have you been here this time?”

You don’t even flinch at his interruption, instead turning your head to beam over your shoulder at him. Eddie tries not to visibly melt. Based on the amused look in his uncle’s eyes, he’s failed.

“Hey,” your voice is heavy with affection as you ignore his question in favour of asking your own - the same thing you ask every time you see him now. “How are you feeling?”

“Hurt,” he laments, a hand flying up to not-quite clutch at his still healing chest. “One of these days I’m gonna start to think you aren’t really here to visit me.”

Even as he whines he waltzes his way over to you and holds his hand out to pull you off the arm of the chair. You follow through quickly to prevent him actually having to do any real lifting, holding on a beat too long before your hands part.

Wayne watches all of this with a fond look in his eyes even as he rolls them in exasperation, the movement going completely unnoticed by the two blind, lovesick kids in his living room.

“Alright, I’m gonna get out of here for a while. Put the crossword - and the old brain - on pause. I’ll see you kids later.” Wayne stands and pats your shoulder as he walks past you to head towards the door.

He’s about as subtle as a brick to the face.

You shoot him a parting smile before turning it on Eddie. He feels his heart pick up its pace in response and finds himself flexing his fingers a little awkwardly, as if this wasn’t a regular occurrence by now.

Heading to Eddie’s room and settling next to each other against his headboard is practically instinctual now. He’s got Black Sabbath playing quietly in the background, also not unusual, and you smile a little at how comfortable your routine has become. Turning to look over at him, you find his gaze already fixed firmly on your face.

“What?” Your nose scrunches a little in embarrassment at the slight whine to your question.

“What?” Eddie mocks, voice falsetto and exaggerated.

You let out a soft laugh at his teasing even as you lean over to gently shove at what you know to be the uninjured area of his chest.

It’s barely a tap but Eddie, ever the dramatic, sends himself flying backwards, bouncing a little as he falls to his back on his old, creaky mattress.

“Wounded! I’ve been wounded!” He yells, hands coming up to gently clutch at the area of his chest that he can still feel tingling from your brief touch.

“Stop it; that’s not funny!”

You know for a fact he’s not in pain - you’ve seen him in enough of it in the Upside Down and throughout his recovery to recognise it instantly, even if he wasn’t so clearly struggling against a grin and you didn’t know exactly where his wounds started and ended. That doesn’t mean you’re on board with him pretending you’ve aggravated his injuries when all you’ve ever tried to do is soothe them.

It does mean you can let out a soft chuckle at the idiot’s behaviour, though.

“Oh, it’s not?” His brows shoot up as if in shock as he finally lets the beaming grin break out across his face. “Then why are you laughing?”

He’s pulled himself up to rest back on his elbows, eyes meeting yours in a challenge. The position pulls uncomfortably at the still-healing skin of his chest but he likes the way you look down at him so much he’d stay there for at least a week if you’d just keep doing it.

“I’m serious,” you say, trying really hard to sound so and failing miserably. You shove your hand gently at his uninjured shoulder this time, unable to stop yourself from leaving it there as you lean over him just slightly, making a valiant attempt to hold back the amused smile you can feel tugging at your lips.

“I’m serious,” he mocks you again, tilting his head left and right a little as he does, long hair bouncing along with his movements.

He’s learnt that making fun of you makes you smile in that one particularly embarrassed way where you scrunch your nose a little, but you always giggle like he’s the funniest person in Hawkins, so he makes sure to do it at least a couple of times a week.

You do just that as if on cue and he feels himself melt at the sight. He lets out a fondly amused huff of air - more at your predictability than his own joke.

You roll your eyes as your laughter tapers off, head shaking slightly. Your hand is still pressed against the front of his shoulder and he’s trying his hardest not to freak out over it.

There’s a beat of silence. Your eyes are locked, mouths split into matching fond smiles and faces just slightly too close to be considered friendly.

And, really, with the constant visits, and gentle touches, and warm gazes, and the way you laugh at even his shittiest jokes, it shouldn’t feel like the biggest surprise yet when you press your lips against his.

He supposes it comes from the fact that he’s Eddie Munson and he doesn’t get the things he wants, and he certainly never gets the girl, so why would this time be any different? Why would he read into you making him a mixtape of your favourite metal songs so you can compare notes? Why bother daydreaming about the way you gently scrape his hair back into a loose ponytail for him because he still can’t lift his arms that high? Why add more meaning than friendship borne through hardship to the affection that blooms in your eyes every time you see him?

Why bother when he knows all he’s doing is setting himself up for disappointment?

So, yeah, maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it does.

He freezes, and you’re already pulling back a little before he’s even fully processed what happened, your eyes flitting over his face to gauge his reaction. His big, expressive eyes are widened and his eyebrows have shot up, disappearing under the unruly curls covering his forehead.

You try not to panic that this is a bad sign.

You’d been so sure he liked you back; all his shy grins when you let him ramble on about DnD, his dumb excuses to find a way to touch you - even if it was just brushing his hand against yours when you pass him something he doesn’t really need, the utter delight on his face every time you came to visit - especially when you woke him from a nap that one time and he was all soft smiles, and sleepy eyes, and he’d fallen back asleep against your shoulder. You’d looked down at him and felt warm affection bloom in your chest. It had spread and spread and spread until it reached the tips of your toes and you couldn’t stop the smile from growing on your face.

You were also pretty certain you’d caught him staring before you even knew each other, but you’d always just brushed it off before.

It had become difficult to deny over the past month, though, since he’d woken up from his coma and held your hand and you’d visited him most days - both at the hospital and, later, his trailer. It felt like his eyes were almost always tracking you, only stopping when he’d look away quickly, a little bashful at being caught.

It was adorable, frankly.

Which was why you had eventually built up enough courage to press your lips against his the way you’d been imagining for a while now. Since it had become increasingly obvious that he wasn’t going to bite the bullet, you figured you’d go for it yourself.

A not so stupendous idea, apparently.

You lean back further, pulling away enough that your hand slips from his shoulder.

“I’m sorry; I–”

Almost as soon as you’d ceased contact Eddie had followed you, pushing himself up onto one side and leaning over to interrupt you with his lips.

He really, really hopes you aren’t sorry at all.

The way you lean into him almost immediately is answer enough. Your head tilts slightly and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, bringing up his free hand to cup your jaw. The soft sigh you let out when you pull back a little has him chasing you once more and, based on the way you grasp at his shirt to pull him with you as you lie back, you’re more than receptive.

It’s Eddie’s turn to pull back with a sigh this time, but you immediately recognise it as a sharp one of pain. You pull your hand off his chest instantly. So wrapped up in finally, finally kissing him, you’d slid your hand right over a slowly-healing bite.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” concern is practically dripping from the words as you look over his face to assess his discomfort.

Eddie’s brows are pulled together as he breathes a little sharply through clenched teeth. He seems to have frozen all movement as he lingers over you, left hand clenching at your hip where it had been placed so hesitantly just moments before.

It only takes a few seconds for him to huff out a small laugh, the pain evidently fleeting enough for him to recover quickly.

“Sexy, huh?” He grins, stiff stature melting onto you comfortably as he rests his forehead against yours. It’s so casual - like you’d done this a hundred times over. “You touch me once and I fall apart.”

He’s joking, his tone and his smile couldn’t make that more clear, but it makes your brows come together in a regretful frown anyway.

You should’ve been paying closer attention.

Concerned by your silence, Eddie pulls his head back a little and catches sight of your expression.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m fine, I swear,” he promises, bringing his hand up to brush down the side of your face in a soft, comforting gesture. “Or is it…? I mean, do you not…?”

He trails off but his meaning is clear when he begins to pull away further, his hand dropping away.

Is it me? Do you not want me?

“Hey, no, no, that’s not…” The comforting is up to you now as you lift a hand to gently cup his head and guide him back down over you. He follows so willingly it makes you smile. “I kissed you, dummy.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you did.” He grins so wide he’s practically beaming at you and you let your gaze wander over his crinkled eyelids, and his dimpled cheeks, and his pink lips, and the sparkles in his chocolate-brown eyes as you imprint this picture in your mind, hopefully forever. You can’t help the way your own mouth slowly slides into a similar smile when he says, “do it again?”

It’s just a soft press of your lips this time, and you’re very careful about placing your hands over non-injured skin; one holding his cheek and the other on his shoulder. You feel his hand brush down your side to rest on your hip once more, thumb rubbing back and forth slowly.

You’re hardly even separating your lips from his but the instant you begin to move back a little he requests “again?” and “again?” and “again?” after every kiss until you giggle against him. He swallows the sound in his mouth as he presses against you once more.

You’re both smiling too much for the kiss to deepen but he’s still a little upset when you pull away enough to look him in the eye.

“Hey, listen. It’s our song!” You let out a soft laugh at your own joke as he hears the familiar opening of Black Sabbath’s Digital Bitch flood the room.

He groans, throwing his head back dramatically.

“You can’t hold that against me forever, you know.” His voice is whiny but there’s an undeniable grin stretching his lips and deepening his dimples. Giving in to an urge you’d been quashing for weeks now, you reach a finger out and gently brush it over the deep line of the dimple on his right cheek.

“You’re so pretty,” you murmur, relishing the way his eyes widen before dropping bashfully, his lips parting as his smile grows.

The pink flush that creeps up his neck and covers his cheeks is just the cherry on the cake and you decide you’re going to start telling him just how pretty he is as often as possible.

His gaze lifts to meet yours once more when you lean up to gently nudge your nose against his in an affectionate gesture. He clears his throat and you feel the fingers of the hand resting on your hip flex a little, like he’s still nervous.

“Um, you are too, you know? Fucking stunning, actually.” He lets out a breathy laugh and you’re so close you feel the puff of air on your face. “Always thought so,” he mutters quietly, eyes dropping down to your lips before slipping back up to meet your gaze in question.

As if the answer could ever be ‘no’ when he looks at you like that.

You close the small gap to press your lips against his once more and only pull back minutes later when the menace in him comes out and he tickles at your ribs.

Watching you giggle and gasp his name in faux outrage with your lips still spit-shiny from the kiss, it’s no surprise he can’t imagine how he ever convinced himself he only maybe had a crush on you or was halfway in love with you.

headcanon/drabble requests open for eddie :)

tag list: @a-hopeless-fan @waylandmorgernsternherondal-blog @aedicn

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fic

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keilemlucent · 3 years ago

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been thinking,, about the fact that kei can sense when his babys brain is Too Full and is bein mean </3 will simply collect the poor thing in his arms before he proceeds to fuck every overwhelming and self depreciating thought out of their conscious, promising to let them talk about it after if they really want to 🥺

okay look i have been just... staring at this 🥺 thinking, having thoughts

(nsfw)

warnings: god, the reader cries a lot. dacryphilia, baby. keigo being manipulative in a nice way. reader had a bad day, keigo makes it better.

keigo's uncomfortably good at reading people. he can keep up his own façade easily (if he has a good reason), and he's unparalleled in figuring out if he's dealing with someone putting up a front.

and considering how well he knows you, you don't stand a chance at hiding anything from him.

he can tell by the downward curve of the corner of your lips that not only are you sad, you're on the verge of goddamn tears. you tend to hole yourself up when you're in a bad spot, hunkering down until the sticky feeling has cleared from your chest. however long that is.

it's a good thing keigo is persistent.

when he gets home from his own day, a relatively good one that left a spring in his step, he can't help faltering when he arrives home and sees you cuddled up in a throw blanket on the couch. you hide the best you can, in a way that keigo recognizes it immediately. knees tucked beneath you and a big, doughy plushie squished in your arm.

you flash him a little sidelong look, eyes dim and puffy and give him the softest greeting he's heard from you in a while. something in his chest aches. it hastens him to tug off his jacket and get you in his arms as fast he can.

he still smells like cold air and his stale cologne. his wings tuck tightly to his back as he carefully slips behind you, pulling you into his lap. you push at his chest at first, muttering some nonsense about how you were 'fine' and he should 'shower while you got started dinner.'

"so that's how it is?" keigo pressed a few kisses to the back of your head. he ducks down to nip at your ear and breath his words as close as he can. "i don't want you dismissing how you feel."

you've already talked about it, how important it is for you to be honest and accept support when you need it. it's a work in progress, and keigo’s oddly patient. and resourceful.

you ball your hands into fists and chew on your lip. your brow creases and you rub at it with the meat of your thumb. if you had any less restraint, you would’ve whined and keigo knows it.

he prods you, gently. asking about your day, spurring you to let loose that tight ball he knows it tangled in your chest. he can feel how rough your breaths are. how your heart thumps a little too fast for comfort. it quickens as he rubs his hands over your sides and tries to get you to open up for him.

“i-i can’t, kei’,” you admit softly. you turn to lay you ear against his chest. your hand finds his, and you squeeze so hard, it makes his fingers ache. “n-not today. ‘m s-sorry. i don’t want to think a-about it.’

you sniffle and all of keigo’s resolve disappears.

“... you don’t want to think?” he asks, arms wrapping around you middle.

you swallow and paw at your cheek with your free hand, “i-i’d be nice if i didn’t have to.”

he knows your overwhelmed.

(and he knows if he makes it worse, it’ll make you feel better, as fucked as the concept is.)

keigo clicks his tongue, tsking, and using a few feathers to raise your face so you’re nose-to-nose. he lowers his gaze, stroking over your tear-burned cheeks with a sad little smile.

“my baby doesn’t want to think, is that right?” his voice is syrupy sweet and it makes your shoulders go slack almost instantly. the gratification of seeing you already begin to let go goes straight to his dick.

your nod, sweet and buttery, eyes wide.

he cups your face, keeping his grip firm on your jaw so you don’t dare think about anything other than him. if he can’t crack you open with small talk, he’ll happily fuck you brainless.

“awww, sweetheart,” his tone is patronizing, but god, you need it. “you’ve been being too hard on yourself today, haven’t you?”

you chew your lip, leaning in his hold before nodding again. seeking quiet approval with your hands over his chest. seeking touch and praise, tentatively. you really are the sweetest.

“m-maybe,” you finally, finally, admit. “it w-wasn’t a good day, ‘kei.”

“was it bad?”

“... r-really bad, keigo— “

and you, the sweet, tender little thing you are, burst into tears.

keigo seizes the opportunity tuck your back to his chest, settling you in his lap with his wings circling the two of you. his stubbly chin rubs against your cheek as he uses one hand to rub away you fresh tears while the other slips lower.

you’re just wearing thin, sleep shorts. he massages high on your inner thigh, urging you with hushed whispers and praises. keigo is just ‘so proud of you’ —

“thank you for telling me,” he coos, slipping his hand over your covered sex. you jump in his hold and your cries stutter in your throat. cute. he chuckles, “awww, you’re just strung out and need some help.”

you nod again.

keigo takes hold of your jaw. hard enough to make a clear point as he meets your gooey gaze.

“you have to say it, sweet pea.”

“... ‘m just having a bad time,” you so, so easily admit. more tears roll down your cheeks. “a-and i, um— “

you fumble as a sob gets stuck in your throat. but, keigo is patient. you’re almost there.

he slips a hand into your shorts, past your panties and slides a single finger between your lips. you whimper and squirm as a few of keigo feathers pushed your legs over the top of his knees, forcing you thighs wide open for him.

it’s a very, very pretty sight. and a beneficial one.

“almost there.” he whispers to you with a kiss.

he slips his hand away, only to pop a few of his fingers into his own mouth and wet them. quick as can be, he’s on you, circling you clit. slowly. enough to give you that final push to just give in.

“a-and i need h-help!”

keigo is so, so proud. god, he’s glowing as he picks up the pace of his teasing to full stimulation. he presses his lips to your neck, only giving you soft kisses and taking nothing.

“do you need me to take care of you?” he asks, teasing your slit and nearly moaning when he teasing your cunt and it so easily slicks his finger.

“p-please.”

you let out a ragged sob as he presses a single finger into you. you’re tight, very tight, and it makes sense, giving how wound up and worked up you’ve been for the last however-many hours. he can work on that, temper it out of you just like he knows so well how to do.

you’re still crying as he crooks his finger in yuor cunt, and he’s sure you’ll be weeping for the rest of the night. but, you need it. he’s sure you’ll lay against his chest in the early hours of the morning and really tell him what happened today that got you so upset, but for now?

for now, you just to forget and he’s happy to oblige.

#salem writes #hawks x reader #keigo x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks imagines #hawks smut #drabble #loook favorite trope #fuck 2 forget #keigo please take care of my noggin PWEASE <3

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rexsjaigeyes · 3 years ago

Note

✨ can I get literally anything from Steve Murphy's POV? (I love all your stuff I swear but I just keep going back to Steve.)

Jen my beloved, thank you for the request! Somehow this ended up being longer than the actual fic so ig I got carried away ldjsksks

From a certain point of view ask game

Handcuffs (Steve's POV)

Read Handcuffs - I recommend you read this first if you haven’t already!

Pairing: Steve Murphy x female reader

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: dom/sub undertones, dry humping, thigh riding, implies masturbation and using handcuffs

Steve had to admit that he loved seeing you like this — brows furrowed in frustration and a small pout on your lips as you fought to keep distance between his body and yours. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. “You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said with a smile.

You scoffed and shoved his chest playfully, but Steve caught the way your lips twitched as you tried not to laugh along with him. You groaned before saying, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

He smirked and moved his hands down to caress your body. His fingers played with the hem of your short dress, and he felt a small pang of guilt that you got all dressed up for nothing. You looked gorgeous, and he couldn’t help but trace the exposed skin of your thighs as you readjusted yourself on the couch. If you really were still mad at him, then he had his ways of making you forgive him. And it seemed like he was already doing a damn good job of distracting you since you seemed to forget that he asked you a question. Trying not to smile too proudly, he looked up from your thighs and raised a brow, waiting for your answer.

You seemed to snap out of it, but he noticed the way you squeezed your thighs together before responding. “Don’t use that damn Southern charm on me,” you muttered and tried to wriggle away from him.

But Steve didn’t want one inch of space between you. He intended to play this game as long as it took for you to forget what pissed you off tonight; he wanted to make up for his absence, and he’d do anything to show you how sorry he was. He grinned as he reached for the bottom of your dress.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve whispered coyly before leaning forward to press gentle kisses on your neck.

He felt you shiver in his arms, and it encouraged him to leave more open-mouthed kisses at the base of your neck, in that spot he knew made you moan. Just a little while longer, and he’d have you in the palm of his hand… or so he thought.

Steve slid his hands beneath your dress before making an ascent to the waistband of your panties. But as soon as his fingertips met the lace of your underwear, he felt you stiffen. He thought maybe you were still working on forgiving him for forgetting your date, but as he pulled away from your neck to meet your gaze, he recognized the newfound determination on your face. Before he could say a word, you grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away from your legs. Steve watched with wide eyes as you straddled his lap. It felt like you stole the breath from his lungs when you placed his hands to rest on the back of the couch instead of on your body.

The look on your face said you had a plan, and Steve was intrigued with the sudden turn of events. He thought he’d be the one in control tonight, using his charm and teasing touches to help you relax. But even though you caught him off guard, his cocky smile still remained plastered on his face as he waited for your next move. What exactly did you have in mind tonight? He wasn’t used to being at your mercy during sex, but the devious look in your eyes made his stomach do flips — maybe he could get used to this. The change in position and your firm hands holding him in place made him feel a bit timid now, and the only thing hiding it was the faux smirk of confidence he struggled to keep on his face.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Stop smirking, you fucking asshole.”

Your words might have seemed harsh to anyone else, but the way you paired them with a quick peck on his lips told Steve that you enjoyed how smug he looked beneath you. He felt you deepen the kiss, and before he knew it, his hands found their way back to your ass. It was short-lived, though. You pulled away from his lips to give him a disappointed look, and fuck, you looked so hot like this — like you expected better of him, and like Steve had to follow some unspoken rule without question.

You made a soft ‘tsk’ of disapproval before saying, “Did I say you could touch me?” You rolled your hips against his lap, causing his mouth to open in surprise as he groaned softly. “Put your hands back on the couch, Steve. You don’t deserve to touch me yet.”

He raised a brow, a part of him wanting to test how far you’d go if he didn’t listen. But he reluctantly let go of you and returned his arms to the back of the couch. He wasn’t sure what it was about your change in demeanor that made him listen wordlessly, but he didn’t want to think about it too hard. Something about the way you smiled at his obedience made him want to do his best to listen to whatever you told him tonight. Then you started grinding again — a little harder this time — and Steve didn’t know if it was your way of punishing him or rewarding him. Either way, he had to clench his jaw to stop himself from moaning in pleasure — the bratty part of him didn't want to give you the satisfaction of hearing him yet.

“See what you missed while you were at work?” God, he hated how smug you sounded. And if he wasn’t concentrating so hard on keeping his hands to himself, he would have fired back with a witty response to make you as disheveled as he currently felt. Steve could only watch as you readjusted yourself on his lap, lowering your body to straddle his thigh instead and start grinding against it.

You alternated between light brushes against his lap and grinding with more pressure — and he desperately wanted you to pick up the pace. You were being a goddamn tease, and he felt himself slowly lose control of how loudly he moaned each time you pressed down on his cock. Steve had to ball his hands into fists to stop from touching you; it was even harder not to when he noticed your tight dress rode up your body as you gyrated your hips. It wasn’t a surprise that you caught the way he stared at the offending article of clothing. But Steve cursed under his breath when he watched you reach down to roll the bottom of your dress up above your waist, exposing the pair of black lace panties below.

“Fuck,” he whispered with a groan as he watched you ride his thigh.

You looked fucking sinful like this, taking your pleasure while staring down at him with lust written all over your face. As Steve raked his eyes up and down your body, he wondered if you had been planning to do this all night. If he had made it back in time for your date, would you have rewarded him with the feeling of your thighs wrapped around his head instead? And part of him wondered… while he took his time making it back home, did you grow impatient and touch yourself? One thing was for sure: Steve never wanted to miss another date with you after this, because it felt like sweet torture watching you get off on his thigh without him being able to touch you properly.

Steve groaned in frustration, not wanting it to end so soon purely because he couldn’t keep his hands on the couch. He knew he was being bratty, but he didn’t have it in him to care anymore. He slid his hands to your waist and tried to guide your hips so that you could continue riding him. But he should have known that he wouldn’t get very far without you stopping him.

He felt his mind escaping him as you pushed yourself down harder against his leg, rubbing your clit in the perfect position for you to let out a loud moan. If he was a betting man, he would have said your panties were soaked through at this point, and he could have sworn he felt the heat from your aching pussy through the thick fabric of his jeans. Shit, was it possible for you to reduce him to a whimpering mess? Because Steve felt his self-control fading quickly, and he couldn’t stop himself from jolting beneath you as you pushed yourself down harder with a needy gasp. His hands moved to grab you before he even realized what he was doing, but he knew he made the wrong move once you stopped grinding on his thigh to glare at him.

You grabbed his biceps before saying, “I hope you’re not this bad at following orders at the DEA.”

Steve didn’t give a shit about how needy he seemed now. He just wanted to feel every inch of you, and he showed his intent by trying to move your hips again. You both knew he was much bigger and stronger than you — and he could move your body however he wanted to — but one look from you and he knew not to do anything more than just a light tug of your hips. With a sigh, he released you, resigning himself to actually behaving if he wanted the night to get anywhere. But to his dismay, you got off his lap and stood in front of him before pulling your dress back down your legs.

Fuck, were you done having fun already?

He held his breath as he watched you walk towards the bedroom before calling out to him. “Well? Aren’t you coming?” He heard your soft laugh as he got up faster than he was proud of and met you in two long strides. Without giving it a second thought, he growled softly and tried to reach for you once more, but you placed your hands on his chest to stop him. “Nuh-uh, not so fast,” you teased. “You still haven’t earned the right to touch me yet.”

Steve groaned, and against his better judgement, tried to grab your waist again. “You know I’m not good at this,” he said in exasperation. “I can’t keep my hands off you, baby.”

Alright, maybe he was trying to charm you again, but he wasn’t really lying. He felt so needy already, and the night had barely begun. And he couldn’t believe he was saying this, but something about the way you acted tonight made him want to beg for what he wanted — even if that meant he sounded whinier than usual.

One look in your eyes, and Steve knew that you hadn’t fallen for his attempt at charming you. But there was that devious look again, and it made him gulp in anticipation. He looked down at you as you leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Then go get your handcuffs because I’m going to be in charge tonight.”

---------

Tagging some buddies: @sirianisrock @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook @holbrook-boyd @sabinemorans @phoenixhalliwell @all-tings-diego

#narcos fanfiction #steve murphy #steve murphy x reader #steve murphy x you #steve murphy x y/n #steve murphy x f!reader #steve murphy x female reader #steve murphy smut #boyd holbrook #divswrites

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fruitcoops · 3 years ago

Note

could you PLEASE write the fic where coops break the bed bc I would love to read how that went down

I'd love to! This is a reference to part three of this fic, and the prompt was combined with asks for another jealous Sirius and seeing Remus in his game day suit for the first time. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for smut (including blowjobs)

The lock slid home and Sirius’ knees hit the floor.

“Wh—okay,” Remus laughed as Sirius fumbled his belt open and yanked the zipper of his dress pants—fucking dress pants, is he trying to kill me?—as far as it could go without ripping straight down the middle. Slender fingers combed through his hair; some of the shock must have worn off, because he could feel a growing bulge under his cheek as he nuzzled the dip of Remus’ hipbone.

“Nobody looks at you like I do,” he said, licking a broad stripe up the front of Remus’ boxers. They were the nice kind, soft and tight—he wanted to tear them off.

Remus, for his part, looked both baffled and quite happy. “No, they do not,” he agreed, giving the back of Sirius’ hair a light tug. “And nobody looks as good as you down there.”

“You’re goddamn right they don’t.” Without further ado, Sirius pulled his dick out of his boxers and did his best to inhale it.

“Jesus fucking—” Remus’ hand slammed into the wall with a sharp gasp. His knee buckled, but Sirius gripped his thigh and pushed it against the wall. “Holy shit, baby, give me some warning.”

Sirius leaned back and let the tip slide out through his lips for just a moment, reveling in the slackjawed awe on Remus’ face. “No.”

“What did I do to deserve this?” Remus’ voice cracked as he thudded his head back against the wall and began lightly rolling his hips per Sirius’ request, huffing each time Sirius tightened his hold on his ass.

“Game suit,” Sirius managed as he slid off to bite the hollow between Remus’ hip and thigh, drawing a whimper from him. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, shouting mine, mine, mine with each pulse. “Game suit and those fucking fans.”

Remus’ chest heaved as he took him all the way to the base again, holding Sirius by the hair the way that always sent lightning down his spine. He spread his knees slightly on the floor and palmed himself through his pants without breaking pace. “Are you—ah—are you upset or happy? ‘cause this is great and I’m not complaining but—oh holy fuck.”

Warm, slightly sweaty palms shoved him away by the forehead. Sirius made a noise of protest that turned into a grumble when his mouth was finally empty, and he batted Remus’ hands away. “What?”

“Two seconds.” Remus’ pupils were dilated so far they almost hid the pretty amber that turned dark with lust. “You look so good down there, baby, but I’m gonna come and I’m really confused why.”

“I want to make you come,” Sirius explained, moving back towards him only to be guided away again. Obviously. “Remus!”

“What is the occasion?” he asked, a little desperate. “What did I do?”

Sirius sat back on his heels with an irritated exhale and held up three fingers. “You, in general. Game suit. Fans. May I please finish what I was doing.”

If possible, Remus looked even more lost. “The fans? What about the fans? Why do they entail an amazing blowjob?”

“Because.” Sirius pulled his pants down enough to suck a mark on the thickest muscle of Remus’ thigh. He was salty and sweet and perfect. “Because they were looking at you like they wanted to eat you, and that’s my job.”

“I—” Remus opened and closed his mouth twice, then leaned back against the wall with an aborted muss of his hair. “Yeah, okay. I kind of want to get you off too, though, ‘cause you look like sin on legs in that blazer and I would hate to waste it.”

Sirius Black, why did you commit yourself to someone so selfless. He took his mouth off the underside of Remus’ dick and hauled himself to his feet, wincing at the protests of his plane-tired muscles. “Then we’d better get upstairs.”

“Upstairs? But—” Remus’ eyes widened and a slow smile spread over his face and he pulled his pants back up. “Yeah, yeah, okay, yes, right now.”

“Right now,” Sirius confirmed, taking him by the wrist to hustle them both up to their bedroom. He gave Remus’ ass a solid smack before scooting around him to flop backward on the bed, tangling their legs together until he could wrap himself around Remus and kiss him like he deserved. Hard and sloppy and so dizzying Sirius had to catch his breath when they broke apart. “Now.”

“Huh?” Remus coughed, still ruffled and red-lipped.

Sirius took his face between his hands and felt Remus go weak on top of him. “Fuck me. Right now. I’m yours, and you’re mine, and you don’t do this with any of those people undressing you with their eyes today.”

I’m the one that’s going to be walking funny tomorrow, Sirius reminded himself as he expertly unbuttoned Remus’ shirt and shoved both that and the navy jacket off his golden shoulders. Not the moon-eyed women twirling their hair, not the chiseled men with their fucking smirks, not the people in the comments marveling at that pretty face. Me. Mine.

Remus made a funny sort of whimpering noise as he pushed Sirius’ shirt open and attached himself to his neck, biting and licking in equal measure as Sirius divested them both of their pants. He leaned back to catch his breath, but Sirius reeled him back in by the blue tie still around his neck and tangled his fingers in Remus’ tawny curls, crushing them together while he pushed his hips up for any friction and basked in Remus’ moans. Mine. Yours.

“Lube,” Remus said against his mouth, breathless. The temperature of the room had to be a hundred degrees, Sirius was sure of it; they were both sweating already, but he couldn’t let go of Remus for more than a second at a time. He needed the contact. Needed the feeling of drowning in his touch.

“Mine,” he said, nipping Remus’ bottom lip before letting him go enough that he could reach the nightstand.

“Yours,” Remus promised. He kept one hand splayed over the side of Sirius’ neck as they kissed; the other popped the cap off the lube and hoisted Sirius’ leg further to the side. “Ready?”

“Go.”

He threw his head back when two—two!—slick fingers pressed against him, opening him at the wonderful intersection between a snail’s pace and an uncomfortable sting. Remus moved his free hand down to hold Sirius’ hip; his weight pressed him into the mattress, and Sirius was sure that he would burn up at any moment.

“Yes,” he hissed through clenched teeth when Remus’ fingers found his prostate. His ears began to buzz as Remus rubbed the pads of his fingers over it in relentless circles, not pushing, just giving him enough friction to go mad with it.

Teeth skimmed his collarbone and Sirius shivered when wet lips trailed over his nipple. “Get on your stomach.”

“Wanna see you.”

“Sirius.” Remus’ hand wasn’t damp when he curled it around Sirius’ jaw and guided him to meet his eyes. “On your damn stomach.”

Sirius was not proud of the half-breath sound that escaped him, but he wasn’t ashamed either. He got on his damn stomach, and he did it with a smile. “What now?”

“Hold the headboard.”

He obliged and felt Remus run a hand down the curve of his spine before sliding two fingers back into him. Sirius arched, grinning at the waves of pleasure rolling through his stomach. “We don’t have games for two days,” he said, flipping his hair back to look at Remus over his shoulder.

Amber eyes roved up and down his body with an appreciative gleam before Remus pressed a kiss to the small of his back. “I know. Hold on, baby.”

A shiver ran through Sirius’ limbs; he flexed his fingers on the wood of the headboard and sighed when something much more blunt than a few fingers pushed inside him in a slow, continuous motion. “Tabarnak,” he muttered, mouth agape as Remus found his seat and pushed down even harder on his lower back. His spine was going to ache in the morning, and he didn’t care a bit.

“Why were you upset about the fans?” he asked with a slow roll of his hips that left Sirius shuddering. “You know I don’t pay attention to that.”

“Comment section,” he panted, gritting his teeth against a loud moan. “And I could hear them when you walked by.”

“What were they saying?”

“Everything.” Sirius’ thighs trembled on the hard thrust that followed. “Everything, everything—how good you looked. That suit, Remus, I can’t handle it.”

A beat of silence passed, save for the creaking of the bed beneath them. “Say it again.”

“You looked—”

“Not that,” Remus interrupted, sliding his hands along Sirius’ sides and back down his thighs. “You want me to be yours? Then say my name.”

“Remus,” he breathed.

“What was that?”

“Remus,” he repeated, a little louder. It came out as a whine and Remus bent down to bite the junction of his shoulder as he gripped the headboard with white knuckles.

“Again.”

The word was punctuated by a yank on Sirius’ hips paired with a thrust that sparked fireworks in his eyes. “Remus!” he almost shouted, half in shock.

“Atta boy.” Strong arms wound around his abdomen, pulling him impossibly closer to Remus’ front as he rocked in and out and stole Sirius’ breath from his lungs. Feather-soft lips traced from one shoulder to the middle of his back, leaving open-mouthed kisses in their wake that were cold against the flames in Sirius’ gut. His arms were already shaking.

“Remus,” he begged, though he didn’t even know what to ask for. He was so hard it almost hurt—spreading his exhausted knees to try and sink down onto the mattress did absolutely nothing to help him. “Remus.”

“No,” Remus ordered when he tried to take one hand off the headboard and stroke himself to relieve the pressure. Sirius let out something akin to a sob despite the distilled joy and pleasure running riot through him. “Headboard. Now.”

“I am.”

Remus’ breath was hot against his ear. “Don’t get bratty with me.”

Sirius had never come untouched before, but he wondered if it felt like this. Unfortunately, he was still painfully close to the edge and Remus insisted on dragging over his sweet spot every—fucking—time, so he was stuck in a horribly fantastic limbo that bent every cell to Remus’ will.

It was exactly what he had been after from the second the front door locked behind them.

“Come on, baby.” Remus made a low sound in his throat as Sirius clamped down around him at the nickname and upped his pace by a degree. “Come on, you can do it.”

“Quoi—what d’you want?” Sirius asked, dropping his chin to his chest with a moan.

Fingers wound into his hair and pulled his head up again, gentle but unyielding. There was never any pain when Remus was in charge, only the feeling of being entirely encompassed. It didn’t matter what position they were in—Sirius could be on the bottom, top, sideways, anywhere, and still feel cared for in every aspect.

“Fucking love you,” he mumbled, voice breaking as Remus’ hand slid through his hair to trail along his neck and wind around his chest.

He could feel the smile pressing into his shoulder blade as Remus left a mark there between world-shattering rolls of his hips. “Love you, too. You know you can come whenever, right?”

“Touch me.”

“Tell me three things and I will,” Remus all but purred into the arch of his neck. Sirius nodded frantically. “What color was I wearing today?”

“Blue,” he managed through clumsy lips. “Dark blue, ‘s perfect on you, oh.”

“Two: how many times have I worn that suit?”

Sirius stifled a moan in the crook of his elbow. “Once.”

“Last question.” Remus licked the salt from the crest of his shoulder and Sirius’ vision went for a moment; he gripped the headboard like it was his only anchor on earth. “Who is the only person in the world I will ever love like this?”

“Oh, fuck, me.”

A palm, broad and callused, wrapped around his shaft and gathered the precome that had been dripping onto the sheets for a glide so smooth Sirius thought he was dreaming. Then the world caught up to him at light speed and he was gone, tumbling over the edge with a shout and throwing his weight forward while Remus guided him through every ripple down his back as he reached his own peak.

Crack—crunch.

Sirius yelped as his knuckles hit the wall, pulling back on instinct despite the fact that he had nowhere to go but down. Remus cursed into his shoulder and they hit the pillows in a mess of limbs and sweat; Sirius pulled his hands to his chest as the smarting pain began to fade. “Ow,” he said, bewildered and pitiful.

“Oh, oh, oh.” Remus pulled out with a slight wince and carefully took his hands, pressing kisses over the reddened skin before horror overtook his face. “Did I—was that sound your hands?”

“No,” Sirius said quickly, kissing his flushed cheek. “It wasn’t me. I think…”

Remus blinked at him. “Did we…”

“That was the headboard.” A smile tugged the edges of his mouth until Sirius gave in and began to laugh, shifting back onto his stomach for a proper look. Sure enough, the wooden board at the top of their bed was both sideways and several inches further down the wall than it had been when they started their venture.

“Oh my god,” Remus spluttered, still laughing as he tried to pull it back into the right spot. “Jesus, this thing is heavy.”

“We broke the bed,” Sirius snickered. It was so beyond unbelievable that he couldn’t help it. “After all this time, it finally gave in. Mon dieu. I can’t…I don’t even know where to start.”

“We broke the headboard,” Remus corrected with a grin. “Well, you broke it.”

“If you try to pin this all on me—”

“I had you pinned pretty well a minute—”

“Remus John Lupin—”

They dissolved into laughter, bordering on hysteria as they fell back onto the sheets. The headboard groaned at the impact, setting off a whole new round with no hope of letting them catch their breath.

“So,” Remus managed once his lungs were functioning again. He quirked an eyebrow at Sirius with a troublemaker’s smirk. “The suit?”

“The suit,” Sirius huffed, shaking his head. “I thought I was going to die.”

“Now you know how I feel all the friggin’ time.”

He sighed through his nose and stared upside-down at the cracked wood. “We’ll need to replace that.”

“Mhmm. And never tell the guys about it, ever.”

Sirius ran a hand down his face. “They’d bring it up at our funerals.”

“Is there a way to get just the headboard? Do we need to buy a whole new frame?”

His jaw crackled as he yawned, wrapping both arms around Remus to drag him over for a snuggle. “Those questions can wait until tomorrow. Or at least after a nap.”

“How about a shower and a nap?”

“Definitely a shower,” Sirius agreed, burying his face in the bend of Remus’ neck. “After a nap.”

“Come on, cuddlebug,” Remus groaned, giving him a halfhearted pull. “You hate the feeling of cum on your legs.”

“I just broke a plank of wood with my bare hands,” Sirius mumbled into his soft skin. “I can handle a few extra minutes of cuddles.”

#sirius black #remus lupin #coops #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #smut #headboard #game suit

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wackywritings · 3 years ago

Text

Rafe Cameron - Stare into my eyes

Summary: Y/N and Rafe have a complicated relationship. One minute they're on the brink of kissing, the next they're fighting because he's wanting to get high again.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of drugs, fighting.

If it wasn't for the loud music at Barry's and the chatter of people under the influence of god knows what concoction of substances, perhaps she would've heard him arrive on his bike. But alas, she didn't. She was blisfully oblivious as he stumbled up the few steps leading to the trailer, his eyes searching the crowd for her.

"Country club! What you doin' here bro?" It was Barry's voice that made her blood run cold, the conversation she was previously engaging in long forgotten. He was here.

She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping over the wooden floor making an awfully high-pitched sound, piercing the ringing in her ears. She passed by him on her way to Barry's bathroom, not even having to spare him a glance to know he was trailing close behind as soon as he tracked her movement, only to leave a confused Barry behind. He never quite understood the relationship between the two. It's a good thing she didn't look up at him, because she would've no doubt seen the change in his eyes upon meeting hers; hard eyes void of emotion, fleeting around the room anxiously turning into a soft gaze that didn't focus on anything but her. If it wasn't him, now, it would've been almost endearing.

But it was.

He followed her into the bathroom, locking the door behind him as soon as they were both in the cramped space. It was quieter here, but instead of bringing some peace, it only made their thoughts louder. She wasn't looking at him yet, her back to him as he pondered over how to break the silence. How to address this wrack-up of a matter he'd gotten himself into.

"So. I'm a bit high." He cringed immediately after the words left his mouth, internally cursing at himself.

"Yeah, I figured that much, Cameron." She held up her hands in exasperation, but her frustation soon turned into worry as she finally took in the boy's appearance. His right eye sported a new bruise, green and purple and red mixing together on his sunkissed skin.

"You're hurt."

"Clearly. Why else would I get high?"

"Because you have an addiction?" Her eyebrows raised as she crossed her arms over her chest. She was not afraid of him in the slightest. "C'mon, Y/N." His tone was pleading, no, begging. In any other instance, he would've loved her having an attitude, doing anything in his power to rile her up even more. But right now he just needed someone to take care of him.

Her stance softened considerably as she took in the rest of his appearance: the bags beneath his eyes, the locks of hair - not gelled back like usual - sticking to his forehead that was covered in a sheen of sweat, not unlike his polo.

"Okay." She whispered, ever so slowly nodding her head, before moving past him to unlock the door. He didn't smell like the cologne he normally wore, a mix of alcohol and sweat floating between the small space between them. "Let's get you something to change into, alright?" Though she didn't wait for his answer as she opened the door, moving straight to Barry's room.

"You gonna dress me in a wifebeater or some shit?" He inquired with a chuckle as he followed her, plopping himself down on the bed as he intently watched her rummage through Barry's wardrobe. Most of his high had worn off already, and he could begin to feel it.

"Are you kidding? He'll notice it's his and have your ass for it. I'm sure he has some decent shirts he never wears. It'll be less obvious." She reasoned as she opened multiple drawers to find what she was looking for. A victorious 'aha' left her as she finally found what she was after, turning around with the blue longsleeve held high in her hand, only for her proud expression to change into shock, her mouth hanging open.

He'd taken the liberty of taking his shirt off already, something she hand't noticed him doing. She should've said something- anything, so he wouldn't question her change in demeanor. Joked teasingly with him, or even just asked if he thought it would fit. But she couldn't utter a single word as she looked at him. His shoulders broad, arms more muscular than she imagined them to be under his usual attire. Not to mention his chest, or the muscles in his abdomen that rippled underneath his skin (God it looked so soft. She wondered what it would feel like under her grazing fingertips) as he moved to stand up from the bed. She felt her heart hammer against her chest, flushed cheeks as she tried to look anywhere but his shirtless form.

"Gonna give me that?" He was pointing to the shirt still firm in her hand, an amused look on his face. The smugness made her snap out of it - as if his ego needed any more boasting.

"Don't flatter yourself." She scoffed, though she made no attempt to throw him the shirt. It took three, maybe four quick strides for him to be right up in her personal space. She was trying to stand her ground, straighten her back and keep eye contact to seem less affected by their current predicament. She was sure he could hear the hammering of her heart anyway. "Just took me off guard, 's all." She managed to murmur, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from shyly smiling.

He wasn't one to play with her feelings - he knew the kind of effect he had on her. But he quite enjoyed dancing around the subject with her, flirting and teasing and tender touches shared after spending long days together. It was their thing. He had convinced himself it was all he needed from her. God forbid he was honest about how much she meant to him, how much he craved her presence.

"Hm. Did you rather have me change in the bathroom, doll?" He came incomprehensibly closer to her, a breath too deep would have their chests touch. His eyes were boring into hers, now at eye level with her as he bent down slightly.

"I-" She wanted to say something. Tell him a warning would've been sufficient, adding a wink just to tease him back. Maybe say she wanted to be the one to take his shirt off, if she so dared. But his blue eyes were so mesmerising - specs of light shimmering in the dark blue pools of his irises, his pupils focused on her and only her. She could look away to stop the tight feeling from spreading in her chest, sure, but then she'd have to look at his large shoulders covered in freckles and sweat, or his chest rising with every breath he took. Warm breaths that she could feel hit her lips ever so softly. Getting lost in his eyes really was the only option she had. Inevitably, so was losing her words.

And it made him smile. A real, genuine smile. If he wasn't so close perhaps she wouldn't have noticed the way his eyes twinkled, how creases at the corner of his eyes formed, how that dimple arose on his chin.

As if that wasn't enough to make her weak at the knees and her breath hitch in her throat, the bolt of electricity that she felt when his long fingers touched hers, tracing around them like it was some kind of game to him, would've done her in.

"That's what I thought." His voice was raspy and dangerously low as he whispered it - so close to her mouth she wished he would just close the goddamn gap already. But it's Rafe, so of course he didn't. He just tugged on Barry's shirt held tight between her fingers, grabbing it and putting it on a split second later.

"How do I look?" His questioned as he couldn't find a mirror in the room, hopefully glancing at her.

"Peachy." She nodded as she wiped her hands on her jeans. She was upset at the loss of proximity, so perhaps what was supposed to be a comment of teasing nature came out harsher than she meant. Something that didn't go lost on him. Maybe he did take it too far just now.

"Alright, well. I gotta find Barry." He discarded her previous comment, rubbing his nose. The high had officially worn off completely now, and he was dying for more. Though he wasn't sure if it was because he wanted to forget his earlier fight, or forget her. How he felt about her, and how he wasn't ever gonna be enough for her. How he would never have the guts to do something about it.

"Rafe-" She started sternly, glaring at him. Though she quieted down as he held his hands up.

"No, not this again, okay? You don't have shit to say about this, you hear me?"

"What, that's it?" She let out a dry laugh as she stood in front of him, blocking the door. "You're just gonna get high again. Seriously?"

"Y/N, don't start with me now." His voice was threatening now, glaring on the edge of venomous.

"It always ends the same, Rafe, and you were high just minutes ago. Don't you think that was enough? Don't you ever get bored of this shit?" She was asking too many difficult questions for his liking. Her tone was exasparated, too. Tired of having to deal with him and his stupid issues. Of having to patch him up and take care of his pathetic self that just couldn't get fucking clean. He felt the urge to scream, but bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from acting on it.

"What, you're not even gonna say anything?"

"Stop." He gritted his teeth, jaw clenched as he spat at her.

She threw her hands up, before running them through her hair. How was she supposed to stay calm - or approach this situation when he wouldn't even talk to her?

"I just- you're hurting people with this. You're not you, Rafe. Not anymore. I mean look at you." She gestured towards him.

"You don't know who I am."

"But I do!" She all but screamed at him. He kept his composure and his cold glare, but she noticed the way his shoulders tensed upwards at her outburst. So she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to try and calm herself down. "I know you. You're sweet and gentle and caring and so incredibly smart."

"Y/N." He wasn't used to compliments, or feeling this many emotions, for that matter. He could feel the need for another line coursing through every inch of his body. He just needed a little bit. Just needed to be able to breathe again.

"No, I'm serious. You're a great brother to Wheezie, you're great to me."

"Don't." He twisted his head to the side, his eyes rolling back as he felt his whole body heating up again, Barry's shirt no doubt already showing sweat stains. But she was far too invested in telling him how amazing he was, eyes trained on the ground as her brows furrowed, words flowing from her mouth at such a rate that in any other situation would've made him wonder where she found the time to breathe. So she didn't listen nor notice how he was struggling.

"You're always trying to please your father."

"Y/N, do not-"

"No, Rafe. I know how much he means to you, but you're never gonna be able to please him if you keep using! He's just going to keep abusing you and you're gonna keep being disappointed and running to Barry to stop yourself from feeling it."

He was proper boiling right now. Sweat was trickling down his forehead, jaw shut tight as he balled his fist at his side. They always say anger looks red, but even with his eyes shut tight all he saw was white. Pure, white, blinding rage. Everywhere in his mind - dying to creep out all at once.

"And it's just this vicious cycle that's never gonna end. And I worry for the day that it becomes your death, Rafe!" She all but yelled his name, voice hoarse and filled with unplaceable emotions.

"Shut your fucking mouth!" He bellowed out, two quick steps bringing him right in front of her, his fist making contact with the door behind her before he even knew he moved his fist in the first place. She cowered down at the proximity of the sound. His body was flush against hers now, even closer than they were before. He was breathing hard, his arms on either side of her as he trapped her between him and the door. His skin touching hers felt hot and damp, but it still made her shiver. Not in a good way though, not like before.

The worst of it all wasn't even his anger, or the drugs, or the fact that she knew she wouldn't be able to stop him.

It was his eyes.

The ones that she had so lovingly stared into mere minutes ago. The ones that held so much adoration and passion for her. The ones that twinkled under the light, sparkled with mischief as he playfully teased her. The ones that she could look into and feel safe - no matter what. The ones that she considered to belong to her home.

They were darker now. Harsh and fierce, flaring up with anger as he looked into her frightened eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed hard, a frown between them. The shadows they casted leaving sharp edges prominent on his face. The specs of light weren't not visible anymore, they were simply gone. She couldn't even distinguish the blue from his pupils. She'd never been the subject of his rage before, and she never understood how most people feared him. But now? As he looked down on her with no emotion but anger written on his face, he looked scary to her for the first time. And she wondered if his eyes would ever feel the same again as her own filled with tears.

"Don't talk about my father again." His voice was strained but louder than she expected. He leaned into her even more to give power to the threathening statement, before completely pushing off. Large hands wrapped around her arms, fingers digging into her skin bordering on putting enough pressure to leave a bruise. He forced her away from the door. Perhaps he expected more of a struggle from her, but she was so shocked by his behaviour that she could only take small and hasty steps away from the door, scared to anger him more. He janked the door open, the sound of the loud bass of the music hitting her ears. The sensory stimulation was too much for her to bear, and she looked up both in a prayer for him to leave and to keep the tears from falling.

"And don't talk to me. We're done." He added. She wanted to look into his eyes. As much as they scared her now, she needed to know if they held any more emotion than his completely void voice just did. But he'd already slammed the door shut.

She was left looking at the closed door as she finally allowed the tears to soak her cheeks.

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