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msgexymunson · 1 year ago

Text

Soft Touches

Description: you and your dealer Eddie get a little closer than anticipated.

Warnings: acquaintances to lovers, reader is AFAB, weed smoking (both parties so no real dub con), fem oral receiving, praise kink, p in v unprotected sex.

A/N: It's my birthday! And I'm high, and horny, so happy birthday! If you've read my work you KNOW I'm a sucker for the first time y/n fucks Eddie. When I'm a benevolent dictator it shall be a universal holiday ;)

4k words

Masterlist

“Eddie, what the hell was in that?”

Floating in a cloud of your high, the entire room seemed to glow in pink and orange, senses tinged in a sunset glow. You were definitely stoned out of your tree if you were comparing Eddie's stuffy, cramped room to a breath-taking sunset.

“It's a new strain I got from Rick. You feeling it?”

“Oh, I'm feeling it alright. I can hear colours.”

Eddie's rich laugh echoed off the walls of his trailer. He laid on the bed casually, one arm slung beneath his head making his tight t-shirt ride up slightly. Just a peek of his happy trail was on display, which you tried, and failed, not to stare at.

It was proving difficult, especially since you sat criss-cross apple sauce on his floor. His body was eye level, handcuff belt shining softly in the low light. The glint of that drew your eyes even lower, concentrating on the bulge you could see in his jeans.

You thought you were being sneaky. You absolutely were not.

“Hey, sweetheart, you gonna answer me or just stare at my dick?”

“Huh?”

Shaking your head as if to clear it, you finally met his gaze.

“I said, you can come lay up here if you want.”

Halfway between getting up and still in a weird little crouch his words finally filtered through your addled brain.

“I wasn't staring at your dick!”

“Whatever you say, baby girl.”

Frozen, mind empty of comebacks, you clambered out of your goblin stance and stood up, when the blood decided to rush to your head.

“Oh Holy shit.”

Your knees buckled, and you would have ended up face first on Eddie's carpet if he hadn't caught you.

“Easy there, I've got you.”

Eddie's firm hands held your upper arms tightly as he manoeuvred you to sit on his bed. The room was spinning, everything was drifting out of focus.

“I need to lie down.”

Eddie pulled you towards his pillows and laid you down gently, picking your legs up and settling them on the bed with you. Staring up at his off white ceiling, things began to drift back in. Once the room finally stopped swooping around in your vision, you started to come to your senses.

You are on Eddie Munson's bed. You knew him, sure, only in a ‘can I come round so you can smoke us out and listen to music’ kind of way. You'd hardly call him a friend. This though, feeling the heat of his body next to you, him leaning on his side staring at you worriedly seemed entirely outside of your current arrangement.

Suddenly the air was stifling, Eddie's warmth only exacerbating the matter.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just really warm. And fucking high.”

Eddie laughed, relieved.

“Thank fuck, I was scared for a minute.”

You fumbled at the hem of your oversized sweater, attempting to wriggle it up your body but all motor skills were beyond you right now.

“Eddie.” You pouted at him, flapping the edge of your sweater with frustrated hands.

“You want this off?”

“Please.”

He flashed you a mischievous grin and pulled up upright, beginning to draw the offensive sweater up and over your form.

“Didn't think you'd be begging me to undress you sweetheart.”

Rolling your eyes in response, you held your arms over your head like a petulant toddler. Sweater removed and tossed to the foot of the bed, you risked a glance at Eddie. He was entirely preoccupied, staring at your bare midriff that was now on display.

“It's a crop top Eddie, get over it.”

Flinging yourself back down on the pillow, Eddie coughed, looking a little flustered, and settled in next to you.

“Sorry, I didn't expect it. You always wear baggy shit.”

“Comfortable shit, thank you. I come here to smoke, it's not New York fashion week.”

Eddie ran a finger across you, just below your belly button. The barely there touch blazed across your skin.

“I didn't know you had your belly button pierced.”

Looking down, you watch as his fingers circle it, then flick the little jewel dangling off the end. Thighs clamping together out of sheer necessity, you attempt to ignore it.

“Yeah, got it done when I was like 15, two towns over. Probably my least painful piercing. Apart from ears, of course.”

Apparently, Rick's new strain also makes you run your mouth, as well as being insanely warm and horny. It seemed you had captured Eddie's attention. He turned further towards you, one hand holding his head up. The other, much to your relief, stayed on your stomach. You're not sure he was even aware he was still stroking your skin.

“Least painful? What other piercings do you have?”

You seriously considered dodging the question, but it's difficult to be devious directly to those big wet eyes of his. It's like trying to lie to a baby cow.

“Well, I got my nose done, but the piercing fell out and I didn't bother to get a new one. That one stung. But the worst had to be my… my nipples.”

The whole bed lurched as Eddie jumped up and sat cross legged facing you. He practically flew into action, grabbing his cigarettes and a lighter as if you were about to tell him some epic tale.

“Right, tell me everything.”

Whilst laughing at his wide eyed expression, you realise he's being completely serious.

“Well, they er, they like, sanitise the… area, draw a dot where they're going to pierce you and tell you to take a deep breath in and it's done. It's super quick actually. It's more the after part that hurts. Why are you interested?”

Eddie pushes his hair behind one ear, the tip of it is glowing scarlet, you notice.

“I was thinking about getting it done my last birthday but I didn't have the cash.”

He's staring at you, nervously chewing on a hang nail. You can practically see the unasked question dancing on his tongue. You weren't going to offer, hell no. If he wants to see he has to ask. The thing is, the way your tummy is bubbling right now, you don't think you could say no to those eyes of his.

The question remains unsaid. He merely offers you a drag on his cigarette which you take gratefully, before he's stubbing it out and laying back down next to you.

“How you feeling now? Bit less baked?”

“Oh I'm still fucked, but I can see straight and I don't feel sick.”

His fingers begin their dance again, skating over your exposed flesh, stroking down your side to your hip, across your stomach, and back again. You want to mention it. He's never touched you like this before, but you also don't want him to stop.

“Good. Not inviting you over again if you hurl on my bed.”

Giggling, you turn and face him. You're both on your sides now, knees close to knocking. His shirts ridden up again and before you can even register what you're doing you've placed a delicate hand on his hip. His eyes widened briefly, but that's it. Both of you are touching the others bare flesh, whispers of touches. Little, tentative things, like the bursting of soap bubbles on skin.

“I wouldn't hurl on your bed. I'm sure I'd at least make it to the bathroom. I'm not an animal.”

Eddie just grins in response, and you look at each other, really look. His dopey smile is the same as yours, and it seems neither of you want to mention how this seems to be rolling into very unfamiliar territory.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you touching me?”

He pushes infinitesimally closer, his knee now slotting between yours. It's a small gesture, but suddenly the situation feels even more intimate than before.

“Because. Because it feels good. You're soft, and warm. And you keep making little noises.”

“I do?”

He smooths his hand higher, thumb dragging along the underside of your breast, and you let out a tiny, quivering whimper.

“See? Like that.”

Opening your legs slightly wider, Eddie's knee pushes naturally further forward, his thigh now wedged between yours. His breath is fanning your nose; cigarettes, weed, and sweet snacks.

“So sweetheart, why are you touching me?”

Your hand presses a little more firmly, snaking underneath the hem of his shirt. With no complaint forthcoming, you reach further up, stroking his side, up over his ribs, and back down again. He responds in kind. Every kiss of fingers is electrifying, filling the room with a soft, dense tension.

“Because it feels good. Because I saw a bit of skin and I couldn't resist.”

“Yeah?” He's smirking as he says it, but you're beyond playing games at this point.

“Yeah.”

“I didn't know I was irresistible.”

You pinch his skin a little and he stares at you like you just betrayed him.

“I didn't say that, you're twisting my words.”

“Pretty sure I heard-”

Cutting him off with a tickle to the ribs, he grabs your hand to stop you.

“OK, OK! You were right, I was wrong. Nice touches again please.”

His hand swiftly makes its way back to your skin and you continue to stroke him.

“Nice touches?”

“Yeah, it feels really good.”

Running your hand up, you graze his nipple, and then bring it back down, down, until you reach the top of his jeans. You graze a finger, just one, under them, sweeping across his tensing abs. Then, you move up to more innocent flesh.

“Jesus Christ.”

Eddie's chest is heaving, fingers pressing indents into your flesh.

“Nice enough?” you're the one smirking this time, pleased at the effect you're having on him.

“Yeah.”

It's barely a word, more of a breath. You scoot closer toward him, just a couple of inches, but it's close enough to feel his thigh start to press against your heat. Gasping at the pressure, you rub subtly against his thigh to try and relieve your mounting feelings, no matter how slightly.

Eddie's hand starts making a trembling journey up your form, fingers twisting underneath your top. Feeling the underside of your bare breast, you both gasp. Eddie undoubtedly because you weren't wearing a bra, you because, well, the obvious. The slightest graze had your nipple hardening instantly, hips rocking forward without your control.

“Is this OK?”

“Yeah. Please.”

Fingers stretching further, Eddie finally brushes your nipple. The feeling is magnified by your piercing; they've felt more sensitive since you got them done.

The moan that escapes is louder than you meant but it couldn't be helped. This simple touch is igniting through your nerves and rushing to your high brain.

“Shit, they are pierced.”

It seems to be a thought that Eddie said out loud by accident as he rubs his fingers over your ruddy nipple, slowly circling the silver balls of the jewellery.

Another moan breaks from you, even louder this time.

“Fuuuuck Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

His touches become firmer, rubbing your nipple between thumb and forefinger, mapping the way your face scrunches up with his eyes.

“Yeah, jeez. They're really sensitive.”

Practically panting in each other's mouths, your noses rub together.

“Can- can I kiss you?”

His words are so hesitant that it makes you giggle. Pressing your lips in a swift kiss to his full bottom lip, you respond.

“I'd be mad if you didn't.”

Eddie wastes no more time, pressing a hot open mouthed kiss to you that you reciprocate in kind. You keep it slow, leisurely traversing new territory with soft, exploring tongues. Naturally your arms encircle him, pulling him closer, closer. His arm snakes around your back as your bodies press together, like puzzle pieces slotting together and finding their perfect match. Eventually you break away to take a gasping breath as Eddie presses kisses to your collarbone.

“I don't know why we waited so long to do that.”

“We? I thought you just wanted me for free drugs!”

You giggled loudly at that, so loud it came out as a snort, but it didn't matter. The moment was so honest that being cool had nothing to do with it. You were bare, in a way, and so was he.

Eddie chuckled with you as he slowly but surely pushed you onto your back, slipping both of his legs between yours. Pushing your hips up, you feel his hardness graze your pubic bone.

“Eddie?”

He hums a response, lips and tongue busy loving on your neck. You tug at the hem of your top and pull upwards. Eddie gets the message, moving out of the way briefly so you can strip it off.

There you are, bare chested in front of him. You'd be nervous, if you hadn't seen the longing in his eyes. He's kneeling, one arm leaning on the mattress whilst the other compulsively strokes your side.

“Jesus Christ your tits are perfect.”

The moment stretches just a little too long for comfort; you're a hair's breadth away from crossing your arms over your chest when Eddie leans down and runs his tongue around and around one nipple. Mewling pathetically, you lace your fingers in Eddie's soft waves and tug. In response his teeth graze you as he sucks softly; then he gives the other just as much attention.

Shuddering and wriggling under him, you can't do anything but whine, your hips undulating upwards to chase some friction, some release, anything.

“Eddie, please, I need you.”

“Umph,” He responds, muffled by your chest, “I need you to say that again.”

“Eddie I swear to God if you don't- ”

He laughs, cutting off your sentence.

“Alright baby girl, I got you.”

Working his way down your front, he takes his time planting soft kisses, making you writhe at each touch of his lips, until he reaches your shorts.

Flicking the button open, he slowly drags the zip down and finds the little sliver of red panties poking out.

“Hearts? Cute.”

Thick fingers plunge into your clothes and pull them away, flinging your shorts and panties across the room into the void that was Eddie's carpet.

Insecurity finally gripped its claws into you. What if he didn't like what you looked like down there, smelled like, tasted like?

A moment of unadulterated panic, and then Eddie licked his tongue, slowly yet firmly, between your lips and all the way up. Barging your thighs further apart with his shoulders, he rooted your clit out with his tongue, running dizzying circles and sucking at it desperately.

Eddie's moans rivalled your own, such neediness etched in you swear his fingerprints will be left on the outside of your thighs like tattoos, simply from the force he held you with. Barely able to shake, you compensated by pulling his hair and guiding his tongue exactly where you needed it.

He pushed a thick calloused finger into you slowly, looking up at you as he did so. You back arched off the bed. He felt around, staring at you with such intensity you that you were seconds away from telling him to quit staring when-

“Oh God, oh fuck!”

Eddie smirked, sliding another finger in gently to join the first, and worked your clit between his lips. He incessantly stroked a spot inside that you'd never reach on your own, a firm, beckoning gesture as if he were willing your orgasm to come hither.

It was working. Your insides tingle, a tightness pulling straight from your gut and shooting out to your fingers and toes. Beyond control by this point, your hand pulls his hair tightly. To your amazement, his other hand reaches out to you, seeking, and you lace your fingers in his own.

As soon as your digits touched, you were gone. Your release plummets out of you, shaking through every bone you have, leaving you a twitching puddle of a woman. His fingers chase after it, dragging every inch of squelching pleasure out of your insides until you're tugging him away and begging for it to stop.

As he moved back up your body, licking and sucking as he did so, you tried to think of an answer to the smug grin he was just about to flash at you.

There was none. Brain unravelled, threads wound into your nerves instead of your thoughts, you laid there, ruminating on how he'd made you come faster than any other man.

Eddie hovered over you, nose nudging your own. He must have wiped his mouth at some point whilst you were in la la land.

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Eddie, you're really fuckin’ good at that.”

“I know.”

You laugh, tapping his side.

“Cocky.”

“Confident.”

Before you can retort his mouth is back on you, peppering kisses to your jaw, as his solid member presses into your naked heat.

“Fuck Eddie, please, please please-”

“Please what baby girl?” He asks, then sucks a hickey on your neck.

Pulling him towards you by his shirt collar, you bite down sharply on his earlobe, pulling a little groan from his chest.

“I want you to stuff me full Eddie. I'm- I'm on birth control. Fill me up.”

You can practically feel Eddie's eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck, you can't just say that, I nearly busted in my pants!”

Pulling himself off you for the shortest time he could, he peels his t-shirt over his head and flops back on top of you. Desperate kisses and urgent gropes spill from you both; grinding, needy things that tore at clothes and grasped at flesh.

After fiddling and failing with his belt, you huff and tug harshly at his waistband. He chuckles, biting at your bottom lip as he unlatches it with ease and then wriggles his pants and boxers down his legs with urgency.

More desperate grasps, teeth and tongues clashing violently, your hand reaching down to clutch at his-

“Holy hell!”

His eyes widen, hands coming to a halt, waiting for the rest of your sentence. You're too busy trying to glance down his front as he hovers over you, your fist firmly stroking his hardened cock.

“You're huge Eddie!”

He smirks and thrusts into your hand, the velvet smoothness of his dick massaged by your palm.

“Bet you say that to all the guys.”

“Er, no, Rick's made some truth serum or some shit because that's the biggest I've ever felt.”

You guide him firmly towards your entrance, dragging the tip of his enlarged cock through your slickened folds. He quivers over you, arms thick with tension.

“Baby girl just, just slip it inside, please-”

“Now who's begging?”

Grinning mischievously, you wait for him to start forming an answer with his mouth when you slip the head inside your sopping opening. His open mouth turns into a long drawn out moan.

You would tease him if the feeling of him splitting you open wasn't all consuming. Which it fucking is. He just keeps pushing, and pushing, until his chest is flush with yours and he's mumbling platitudes in your ear.

“Doing so good for me. Such a naughty, naughty girl. Getting filled up by her drug dealer? Baby girls a little dirty, isn't she?”

You're trying not to let him know how much his words affect you, but the fluttering of your satin like walls tells a different story.

“You're not my dealer.”

“Oh really? I'm not?”

Pulling out nearly all the way and pushing back in, you bite your lip at the drag against your insides.

“Dealer implies I buy shit. You just give it to me, like a little simp.”

Eddie's mouth drops open in mock outrage.

“You want me to give it to you now? I'll fucking give it to you baby.”

Hooking an arm under your thigh, Eddie thrusts into you hard and devastatingly deep. And again, and again, until you start moaning wantonly right in his face, all bravado forgotten.

“Yeah? Atta girl. That good baby? Wanna feel me right here?”

His other hand pushes against your lower stomach, the pressure deepening the pleasure he's giving you tenfold.

“Oh Eddie, oh fuckfuckfuck!!”

Your release explodes out of your cunt with a gush, liquid spurting out of you so hard you nearly force his impressive length out. It waves drastically, like the sea against the shore, washing and washing over you until it's hard to breathe.

“Baby, baby! Holy shit, I think you squirted.”

“Ya think? My God, that was… mind blowing.”

“Yeah?”

Looking up at him, you expect that arrogant grin, but he just looks pleased and innocent. Like a kid at Christmas.

“Yeah, fuck yeah.”

Rolling him over with all the power left in your thighs, you pin him down and move firmly into him, ferality taking over your actions.

“Jesus Christ, you are a dirty girl, aren't you?”

“Maybe just a little.”

Smirking, you hump against him, your swollen clit bumping against his pubic bone on each delicious pass.

“Holy shit, I'm not complaining- fuck, what the- what are you doing? Jesus Christ!”

You bounce hard on him. Seeing him writhe under you is a special kind of power, one you aren't willing to let go of. Ever.

“Fuck, b-baby girl, you're gonna make me come!”

His intense moans spur you on further. Unable to bounce so much on shaky knees you snuggle down close to him, arms clutching his shoulders, as you grind into him. It's massaging sensations into your clit, as well as teasing your g spot with his imposing length.

“I can't, I’m- baby girl-”

“I'm gonna come, Eddie please, fill me up, I wanna feel it, I wanna feel your cum inside me, please, fuckin’ breed me Eddie. Oh fuck!”

Quivering against him uncontrollably, your legs give out, collapsing on his body as he tenses and releases inside of you. It spurs your own orgasm, snaking up your spine and gripping on your system like a fly caught in honey. An open mouthed scream is all you give him, silent but chock full of feeling, as your back arches in its own tension.

As it curls out of you, your back gives up, and you flop forward, bones turned to pudding.

“Well.” is all that comes out, a puff of a word, just air escaping from a collapsing chest.

“Well.” Eddie responds, waiting for what you're about to say.

You're sure he doesn't expect it. A laugh bubbles out; a weird, inside laugh, that you probably should never share with anyone. But it keeps coming. And coming. Laughing uncontrollably, you roll off of him and try to get your stomach muscles in check.

You'd be worried about his reaction, if he wasn't laughing with you. It was this odd mixture of tension and relief that was bursting in the air, a barrier broken and left crumbling at your feet.

“Eddie. Fuck, Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

‘Yeah.”

His heated hand found yours, and squeezed your fingers hard. For some reason, it felt more intimate than all of this combined.

Giggling again, you lean into his chest, fingers dipping up to weave into his hair.

“Baby girl, you can't just-”

“What? Pull your hair? Because you like it?”

Tugging on his hair dramatically, Eddie tosses his head back and groans.

“Knew it.”

“Yeah, yeah, certified genius. It's like you don't wanna be railed again.”

Huffing, you pull yourself on top of him again, hardened nipples brushing softly against his flesh.

“Oh, I think I'll be the one railing you. You wanna make a bet, for next time?”

Smug grin forgotten, Eddie stares at you in disbelief.

“Next time?”

“Well, I hope so. Got to be the best I've ever had.”

Stupid Rick and his stupid strain.

“Best you've ever had?”

“Fuck you.”

“Only if you wanna.”

The teasing stopped. At least for now. It was pretty clear, your need for each other was outranking any goading you'd been sharing.

At least for now…

Taglist (Some permanents, some likely candidates, if you want to be added, jus say the word sweetheart)

@eddiesprincess86 @zestychili @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @roanniom @usedtobecooler @josephquinnsfreckles @mrsjellymunson

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libraryofgage · 1 year ago

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Good Vibrations Part One

Hello, it's me, back at it again with another Steddie AU.

Anyway, if I were tagging this AU, these would be the most important ones: Deaf Steve Harrington; Tooth-rotting Fluff; Getting Together

If you wanna be tagged in future parts, just let me know!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

----

Steve has blown through three pairs of hearing aids in the past year. The first pair had lasted a few years and needed replacement because of normal wear and tear. The second pair was sacrificed during that fight with Jonathan. He hadn't been wearing them, but they'd been in Steve's pocket, and he'd landed at just the right angle to feel them shatter. The third pair was taken by the Russians because, despite Robin's shouting and cursing at them for being dumbasses (and this was before she actually knew what they were for), they accused him of recording their kidnapping and torture.

Honestly, he wouldn't recommend fighting Russians and Billy and Mind Flayers and driving while nearly totally deaf.

The funniest part of it all, though, is that Steve doesn't even use hearing aids regularly. He normally only wears them at home. The pair lost to Jonathan were present because, well, that whole day had been a lot for Steve, and he needed the comfort of knowing he could stop reading lips the moment it became too exhausting for him. The pair lost to the Russians was because he'd been getting ready to tell Robin about being deaf. She'd already clocked the weird things he does (well, weird to her, normal to Steve), and he figured letting her in on the big secret would bring them a little closer.

Of course, that didn't go the way he expected. Robin thought he was confessing love and decided to beat him to the punch. That's how he learned Robin is a lesbian, and Steve couldn't let her be the only one admitting to something like that, so he told her about being bi and his long-standing, hopeless crush. And being deaf. But the bi with a crush thing seemed more important in the moment. She took it in stride, it brought them closer, and then Robin asked if Steve could teach her sign language.

Which meant that Steve had to learn sign language because he never had. Between not wanting to feel even more different than he already did and trying to convince his parents that, really, everything was fine and he didn't need to go to a special school for deaf and hard-of-hearing kids, he'd never learned. Learning it had somehow felt like an admission of weakness, and that was the last thing he wanted. But he learned for Robin, and they stumbled through sign language together, creating new signs only they knew.

But that's all in the past now, and Steve is working his ass off at Family Video to afford a new pair because he refuses to ask his parents for money. If he asks them, they'll come back, and that's the last thing he wants. They don't need to have all their worries confirmed that Steve is helpless, and he doesn't want them anywhere near Hawkins "Hellscape" Indiana.

So. Working his ass off, taking extra shifts, and babysitting the kids as much as he can to make up for the whole Friends and Family Discount he gives their parents. He's exhausted, but he gets to recharge somewhat during his lunch break.

About a ten-minute walk from the Family Video is a record store, which Steve has started visiting daily to just breathe. The lone worker in the store is usually too busy listening to her own music to pay Steve any attention, letting him wander and try to determine which records will best serve him.

Steve drifts over to the rock and heavy metal section, hoping to find a new album but unsurprised when he doesn't. He browses through them anyway, moving past Metallica and Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden. He already has all of these albums on his shelf at home. He has the cassette tapes for them, too.

But he really wants something new. He likes the novelty of experiencing unfamiliar vibrations through the speaker, letting them thrum through his fingertips and into his bones. It's fun and relaxing, and after all the bullshit he's been through lately, he probably deserves something relaxing.

After glancing over a few more familiar albums, Steve sighs and glances at the counter by the door. The lone worker is standing there, headphones over her ears, and idly flipping through a magazine. She's chewing gum, and Steve braces himself for the sheer hell of trying to read her lips without making it obvious he's reading her lips while she's got something in her mouth to disrupt the normal shape of words and sounds.

But he has to try. Steve takes one more deep breath before walking over, shoving his hands into his pockets when he comes to a stop at the counter. The girl raises a hand, motioning for him to wait, so he stays quiet as she finishes reading her page. She flips to the next one before looking up, not making any move to pull her headphones off.

"Hi. Do you have any new rock or metal albums coming in soon," Steve asks, feeling the vibrations of speech in his throat and hoping his words aren't too loud.

They don't seem to be. The girl doesn't flinch or pull back. She just looks him up and down, taking in the polo shirt and the nice khakis and the Family Video vest he forgot to take off before leaving. Finally, her neck and shoulders jerk slightly, and Steve knows she's huffed in annoyance. "No," she says, the word clear enough in the shape of her lips for Steve to know it immediately.

He frowns slightly, his fingernails digging into his palms. Steve wouldn't mind just leaving now, but something keeps him there. He just...he really wants new music. He needs something new. "Are there gonna be any shows nearby?" he asks.

The girl rolls her eyes and says something, her mouth distorted by gum-chewing. Steve can barely make out the words "you" and "check" from her response. Thankfully, it's accompanied by a vague gesture at something behind him. Steve looks over his shoulder to see a bulletin board with flyers plastered across it.

"Right. Thanks," he says, nodding to her before walking over. The flyers are all different colors with various fonts that scream for Steve's attention. Some of them are for bands, some are advertisements of garage sales or instruments in need of a new home, and others are just business flyers from stores nearby.

He's seen the bulletin board before, but he's never actually paid attention to it. Steve has always been laser-focused on browsing the records. But now, Steve carefully reviews each flyer advertising shows. Some are for comedy shows, which he immediately dismisses. One seems promising, but then he sees how far it is, and Steve definitely can't do an overnight trip like that.

Finally, Steve sees a flyer advertising a show at the Hideout later that week. It's close enough that he won't be out overnight. The place is kind of seedy, but Steve figures he can find some corner near the stage to hide. Or he can bring Robin and let her help him navigate any potential social situations. He tugs the flyer off the board, gaze lingering on the "Corroded Coffin" emblazoned across the top.

He knows the band. Of course, he knows the band. He's extremely familiar with their singer. From a distance. Honestly, Eddie Munson probably doesn't have the best impression of him, but Steve's heart never really cared about that. Because Eddie is like everything Steve wants to be: he's loud and unafraid of being so, he doesn't care about his image and how others perceive him, and he looks like his laugh sounds beautiful. Steve wouldn't know if he's actually right about that last point, but Eddie throws his head back when he laughs, eyes crinkled and hand over his stomach like his muscles ache.

His mouth suddenly feels dry, but he's also filled with unprecedented courage. Steve has graduated (barely), and that means a significantly lower chance of running into Eddie during the day if watching the show somehow goes wrong.

Steve folds the flyer into quarters and stuffs it into his back pocket. He'll be overly aware of it being there until Robin starts her shift and he can show it to her, but that's okay. He throws a quick thanks over his shoulder as he leaves the shop, glancing up at the bell he can't hear that signals the door's opening. He vaguely remembers what bells are supposed to sound like (he'd heard a few before losing the ability to hear them), but he doesn't let himself dwell on it.

Instead, he focuses on the trip back to Family Video, keeping an eye on the road to watch for any cars he wouldn't notice otherwise.

----

When the final bell rings, Eddie Munson can't get out of class fast enough. He'd been packed for the last five minutes, and he slid out of his seat the moment that first peal rang out. He has a gig to prepare for, and every second counts. At least, each second counts until he notices something (or someone) that could prove entertaining for a while.

He spots Dustin alone near one of the exits, and Eddie decides to relieve the kid of his isolation. He waits until he's behind Dustin to shout, "Henderson!" and throw his arm over the kid's shoulders, ignoring the way he jumps like he'd been expecting an attack.

"Holy shit!" Dustin shrieks, jerking back to look up at Eddie. "Don't do that, man, you're gonna give me a heart attack."

Eddie snorts, waving away Dustin's concern as he continues toward the exit. The general flow of students trying to get out helps him along, and Dustin doesn't seem to realize they're actually moving until they've gotten into direct sunlight. "You're fine," Eddie says, "Anyway, whatcha doing all alone, Henderson? Lose your way?"

"No, I have...stuff to do today," Dustin says, shrugging as he blinks to acclimate to the sunlight.

Oh, yeah, way too cryptic for Eddie to not dig for more. "Stuff? What kinda stuff? Got a hot date? Going shopping with your mom?" he asks, and then he gasps dramatically and moves to stand in Dustin's way. He puts both hands on his shoulders and very seriously says, "Be honest, Henderson, you're seeing another DM, aren't you?"

Dustin stares at him for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and shrugging his hands off. "Who else in this town DMs?" he asks, "Other than Will, I guess, but he's still working on a campaign."

"Fair," Eddie concedes, "so, whatcha really doing?"

After a few seconds of getting nudged by the students around them, Dustin sighs and says, "I have chores, okay? But that doesn't sound cool to say, does it?"

Fair. Eddie nods in agreement and moves out of Dustin's way, continuing to follow him. "So, what, your mom picking you up today?" he asks.

"No, Steve."

"Oh, the famous Steve."

Dustin nods, looking over the parking lot before pointing to one end. "Yeah, he's awesome," Dustin says as Eddie follows the direction of his finger.

And standing there, leaning against the hood of his car and looking to the side where a group of trees is swaying in the breeze, is Steve Harrington. Steve "The Hair" Harrington. King Steve. The worst thing, Eddie thinks, is that Steve looks good. His hair is still perfect, of course, and his stupid little striped shirt is pulling against his biceps and riding up just enough for Eddie to see a tiny sliver of tanned skin above his jeans. He looks a little tense, but Eddie chalks that up to him being back on the campus after already graduating.

"Harrington? You've been talking about Steve Harrington this whole time?" Eddie asks, his voice a little strained, "How the fuck do you know Steve Harrington?"

"He's my babysitter," Dustin says, his voice implying that much should have been obvious, but Eddie wants to grab his shoulders and shake until his head rolls off.

Steve Harrington doesn't babysit. He doesn't know nerds that talk about D&D. He doesn't drive nerds around. At least, he never did in high school. Granted, Eddie never actually talked to Steve, but everybody knew that Steve Harrington was too cool for, well, anything that wasn't the typical jock and popular guy shit.

As he's thinking about the last time he saw Steve Harrington (in the halls, while the guy had bruises and looked worse for wear), they get within shouting distance. And Eddie has zero impulse control when Wayne isn't around, so he doesn't think before shouting, "Hey, Harrington!"

Next to him, Dustin whips his head to glare at Eddie. And Steve Harrington doesn't fucking react. He just keeps staring at that group of trees like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. "Dude," Dustin says, grabbing Eddie's arm and yanking harshly, "don't shout like that."

Eddie frowns, anger beginning to simmer in his stomach at the complete lack of acknowledgment. "Why are you upset with me?" he asks, gesturing at Steve as he continues, "I'm not the one being a douchebag here."

Dustin opens his mouth, about to say something, only to snap it shut once more. He frowns like he's just realized he can't say something, and huffs with frustration. "Just...just don't do that," he finally says, keeping a hand on Eddie's arm and dragging him across the parking lot. And, yeah, something is definitely weird here.

Instead of just walking up to Steve, they make a large arch until they're within Steve's line of sight.

Eddie watches as Steve notices them, seeing Dustin first and pushing off the car. He relaxes for a split second until he sees Eddie and his shoulders tense again.

Great.

Once they're close enough for Eddie to count the moles above the collar of Steve's shirt, Dustin grins and says, "Hey, Steve." But it's odd, because Eddie has never heard Dustin talk this slow or this carefully, like he's doing his best to enunciate his words.

Steve flashes a grin and ruffles Dustin's hair. "Hey, twerp, you're late," he says. He then glances at Eddie, his grin becoming a little smaller, and says, "Hey, Munson."

Wait. Steve Harrington knows Eddie's name? And he called him by it? He said Munson, not Freak. Eddie stares at Steve for a few seconds before nodding. "Harrington," he says, "how the fuck did you become a babysitter?"

Is he just imagining things, or is Steve looking at his mouth? Like, really intensely. He's definitely not, because Steve looks up after a few seconds with a raised eyebrow. "I needed some extra cash. Also, don't swear around Dustin. I'm the one who gets in trouble when he curses in front of his mom."

Something about the words makes Eddie grin. Never in a million years would he have guessed that he'd be talking to Steve Harrington. And he would have laughed you into Mordor itself if you suggested their conversation would be about Dustin Henderson swearing in front of his mother. "What's his mom do when he swears?" he asks.

Because he can feel the conversation veering into something potentially embarrassing for him, Dustin lets go of Eddie and starts pushing Steve toward the driver's side of his car. "Okay, we gotta go. So many chores, so little time," he says, his voice back to that normal speed and enunciation.

Steve frowns slightly, looking down at Dustin and tilting his head just slightly. "What?" he asks. Instead of actually answering, Dustin just makes some vague gesture with his hand and looks at the car. "Oh, right. Go ahead and get in the car. And, uh, see you later, Munson."

"Is that a promise?" Eddie asks before he can think better of it.

Steve pauses, looking at Eddie's mouth with a slight scrunch to his nose. He seems to be considering something as Dustin scrambles into the passenger seat, watching them with narrowed eyes. Honestly, Eddie is surprised he's not blasting the horn to hurry Steve up. Finally, Steve comes to a decision and meets Eddie's eyes again. "Your band has a show tonight, right? At the Hideout? I was planning to go. So, yeah, I'll see you then, I guess."

And with that, like he hasn't just fucking rocked Eddie's world, Steve Harrington gets into his car. He makes sure Dustin is buckled before waving at Eddie and pulling out of the parking spot.

Eddie finds himself waving back, staring dumbly at the car as it pulls onto the street. It only hits him a few seconds later that Steve Harrington is coming to his show. At the Hideout. His metal show. A Corroded Coffin gig at the Hideout.

Holy. Shit.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #deaf steve harrington #Good Vibrations Steddie #that's the tag for this one lmao #it's all fluff i swear #I hope you guys have as much fun reading it that I have writing it!

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heartpiratedrabbles · 9 months ago

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Indifference

Prompt: Sanji starts treating you differently from normal and it's taking a toll. It all comes to a head when you get hurt.

~~ Part 2

Sanji X Fem Reader

You’d been on board the Sunny for a while now. Enough to know all your crew mates’ personalities. Enough to brace for impact when you hear your captain yell your name, strike a pose when the shipwright yells super, even joining the helmsmen to meditate every now and then. Reading a book just to discuss it with Robin or discussing fashion with Nami. Eagerly sitting and listening to Usopp’s stories, or waking the swordsman up for dinner, even along to music played by a Skeleton were common days for you. Chopper loving your company in the med bay when you sneak him more Candy than the chef would like.

And then there was the chef. The curly browed, blonde-haired chef. You had heard warnings of him before joining the crew, how his nose bleeds came from his perverted thoughts. How he doted on any female in his sights. Even Nami had pulled you to the side to tell you how to kick or slap him away if you felt it got to much. Robin giving the advice to just ignore it.

The first couple of weeks you had proven those rumors true. Sanji would go out of his way to make sure you felt comfortable, making you snacks and drinks constantly and praising the very land you stood on. At first you were taken aback by it, but quickly realized that it was just who he was. He treated you the same as Nami and Robin and it brought you comfort that, while a little strange, it wasn’t different from others.

You’d even join him to help prep the food or wash the dishes, he protested at first, but never truly tried to stop you. The gentle humming you’d hear as you peeled the vegetables or set the table would sometimes make your heart skip a beat. He’d always turn around to have you taste his food prematurely, his cooing as you gladly took the spoonful.

Maybe that was your problem. Maybe you had fallen too hard for the stupid chef. Going out of your way to wake up earlier to help him with breakfast, or staying up late at night to see him prepare a snack for your gluttonous captain. Making sure you could spend as much of your precious time with him while attempting to make it seem like a coincidence.

But now here you were, staring at the man cooking with his back turned to you. It started about 2 months ago. His indifference to your presence. The way he’d barely glance at you, sharing only the bare minimum of words needed to not ignore you completely. The silence in the kitchen hung on your heart as you stared at the back of the chef in front of you. It started slow, but now it was hard to avoid. Sanji had just asked you to stop coming to his kitchen. His voice had been low, and he hadn’t even turned his head to talk to you, You swallowed the lump in your throat, deciding not to speak as you listen to his words.

Deciding to go to the aquarium instead. It’d be quiet there around this time of day, with the rest of the crew distracted in their own daily routines. Holding your breath as to not let a single cry out as your chest burned. You sat against one of the couches, staring at the fish swimming buy thinking about what happened.

You noticed right away when he stopped fawning over you, the praising tones towards Robin and Nami seemingly falling flat as he would turn to you. And you noticed how the dishes and drinks you got no longer were presented with perfection, often getting a closer presentation to Luffy or Zoro. The sing-song voice slowly turning mono-tone towards you over the weeks. Last week he had stopped talking to you in the kitchen, opting instead to just place your task on the opposite end of the kitchen from him but still saying thanks as you finished.

You brought your knees to your chest, biting your lip hard to remain quiet as his last words to you echo in your mind. The dry tone telling you to leave. You could feel your nails starting to break the skin on your palm and the subtle taste of copper on your tongue. Maybe you weren’t welcomed. Maybe everything had been an illusion and Sanji was just the first one to give up the act.

You were quickly snapped out of your mind with the sudden jerk of the ship, falling at the unmistakable feeling of a cannon ball hitting. Your mind going into action mode, forgetting all about your feelings as you go to the deck. The captain and his wings were already on the attack as Franky was switching the ships mode for battle, and you join the line-up to help the fight.

At one-point Marines had started to board the ship. You fought them off as quickly as the came aboard, slashing and dodging as fast as you could. At one point you had been surrounded, a marine attempting to disarm you by grabbing your wrist, forcing you to turn away from most of the enemies before you fell to the ground. You broke free from the grasp quickly enough, slashing at their ankles as you stand back up. The blood in your veins burning as the fight raged on.

By the end of it, everyone was exhausted. 5 marine ships surrounding the Sunny in hopes to sink it. The adrenaline had kicked in quickly for you with the shaking of the ship and the movement of fighting. You breathe out a huge sigh of relief as Zoro and Sanji take care of the stragglers, throwing them overboard as you slump against the mast, sinking into the grass beneath. Now that the fight was over it was harder to breathe.

Franky and Usopp going to fix the ship right away, as Jimbei jumped in the water to see if there was damage to the hull. Chopper complained about the smell of blood but chocked it up to the marines Zoro took care of as Nami and Robin whisked him away to clean up in the bathhouse. You glance up as Zoro heads to the crows’ nest to keep watch for a bit while Brook follows Luffy and Sanji into the dining hall, the captain yelling for food.

Standing up, you notice a stain of red on the mast and grass from where you sat. You felt the shreds of your shirt on your back when you fell but now you could feel the warm liquid dripping down your back and legs. The stinging pain hitting you as you try to straighten your back a bit more, before quickly heading to the med-bay.

You could hear through the walls Sanji yelling at Luffy to not eat raw meat as you grabbed some bandages and anti-septic. You didn’t want to bother Chopper, Robin had probably made a bubble bath for the cotton-candy lover. It took longer than you would have thought to find the bottle that was sure to sting, and grabbed a clean cloth, wetting it with the liquid. The cheerful laughter in the other room ringing around you as you prepare yourself to clean the wound you couldn’t see.

You tried turning your head to look in the mirror but only felt light-headed when you saw how much blood was coming out, your flayed skin curling back from the center of the cuts. Seeing the glimpse of how bad it was seemed to also fully awaken your body to how much it hurt as all of your muscles tensed, every movement now seemingly shooting unbearable pain through your body. You can’t seem to fully move yourself anymore as your throat tightens enough to stop your breathing.

~~~

Sanji left the kitchen after feeding his wild animal of a Captain. Opting for a smoke after the battle was over. It was tougher than he’d like to admit and he was in a foul mood as Zoro had defeated 3 more marines than him. Walking around a bit to lean on a railing while staring at the half-sunken ships now far behind them.

Everyone should be in their normal post-battle routines, Food on the table for those who needed the energy, some fixing anything that needed it or cleaning any messes about. And of course, the women and Chopper taking an extra bath to rid themselves of any sprayed blood, dirt, or gunpowder.

Dinner would be soon but Sanji still had a good amount of time before he had to truly start any prep. Especially recently with your help, what would normally take him an hour had been cut down to half that… Smoke blew out past his lips as he remembers how he told you to stop helping just earlier that day. How you hadn’t even responded to him, the silence hanging heavily in the air before he heard your soft footsteps and the door opening and closing. It was for the best that you stayed away, after all he-

“Hey Sanji, have you seen Y/N? She didn’t join us for a bath.” Nami walked by with slightly damp hair, distracting Sanji from his current thought. He turns around offering her his full attention, shaking his head to her question as he fawned over her new outfit.

Robin holding Chopper who seemed to have fallen asleep, “Perhaps she was too tired to join us. She hasn’t been sleeping well.” The suggestion seemed plausible, at this point everyone knew how you’d walk the ship for hours at night to try and wade your insomnia away. Chopper had even tried giving you some medicine for it, but was woefully out of the primary ingredient needed. Even Sanji had altered your meals to have no caffeine or ingredients that would promote sleep. Not that he’d ever tell you. It came naturally to shift dietary needs to the person no other reason to it.

Nami and Robin starts walking away just as Nami steps in a puddle, “Ew, Sanji didn’t you guys clean the deck? There’s still blood everywhere.”

“I’ll get right on it Nami-swan~” The reaction was immediate and they continued to walk away. But Sanji looks down, he could have sworn he saw Usopp cleaning the deck earlier. Frowning a bit as he sees it’s a trail. A stupid Marine must be hiding on board. Badly at that. The least they could do is hide the fact that they’re bleeding.

Following the trail of still wet drops of blood, some larger pools and some streaks until he’s in front of the med-bay door. Kicking the door open to find their apparent intruder, his foot catching a flame as he peered inside. But instead of seeing a badly injured marine, he saw you. Your frozen stare into the mirror behind you, your arms in the air as your pale face turned towards the startling noise. His cigarette falling from his lips as his leg falters. He sees a cloth and a fallen bottle of anti-septic, pooling around your feet mixing with blood that was a shade to dark. Glancing back up to the mirror to see the horrific scene on your back as you let out two anguished gasps before falling.

Sanji lunges forward, barely catching you from falling on the floor as he calls for help. Quickly placing you face down on the bed, grabbing anything to apply pressure to the gushing gashes, quick footsteps getting closer as his mind started to race.

#Sanji #Sanji X Reader #One Piece #One Piece Angst #One Piece X Reader #Angst #Part 1

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taeghi · 4 months ago

Text

casual | teaser

full release : read here

you thought you could handle being casual with notorious fratboy!heeseung, but when feelings get involved, you soon realize that 'casual' isn't so simple.

PAIRING : fratboy!heeseung x reader

GENRE : smut, fwb to lovers, enemies? to lovers?? & a little angst?? + 5 smut scenes lol

WC : probs 20k

taglist : ???

YOU LOVE CASUAL SEX.

you've always prided yourself on being the type who keeps things casual. it's not that you're afraid of commitment; rather, you find comfort in the simplicity of fucking and then never seeing the person again. there’s no messy entanglements or feelings. it’s a way to satisfy your desires without the emotional baggage that comes with more serious relationships.

you’d rather be alone, but you still have fun with your friends when you go out. you've never been content with surface-level explanations or shallow interactions. you crave depth, in people and experiences. which you have found to be, truthfully, hard in today’s day and age.

you’re sensitive to most things, so you try to cover it up– protect yourself– with all the partying, the drinking, the sex.

and tonight, like every other normal friday night; you’re at a party.

there’s a familiar thump of music and loud chatter around you that you’ve grown accustomed to. yooyeon and gracie, your closest friends are an inseparable couple, are by your side. they've been together for what feels like forever, the kind of relationship that makes you simultaneously envious and relieved you're not in a relationship.

as you continue to sip your drink, yooyeon leans in with her knowing smile, “so, y/n,” teases, “have you decided when you’re gonna settle down? find yourself a nice guy and stop with all these one night stands?”

you roll your eyes playfully, used to this conversation. "never," you reply with a grin, "casual hookups forever, remember?"

gracie chuckles, shaking her head fondly. "come on, yn," she chimes in, her voice warm with affection, “you know it’s gonna have to get boring at some point.”

you shrug nonchalantly, though their words do make you pause for a moment. "maybe someday," you concede, though deep down, you're not so sure. relationships have never been your thing, and the thought of settling down feels suffocating.

"come on, yn," yooyeon nudges you gently, her expression softening, "we love you just the way you are. but don't close yourself off to the possibility, okay?"

you nod, grateful for their understanding. deep down, you know they're right—they always are. but for now, you want to find someone to relieve the ache that’s been in your core all day.

you turn to gracie, the one who always knows all the drama on your college campus, “who is here that i can hook up with?”

gracie rolls her eyes and looks around the crowded frat house, “hm,” she thinks outloud, “well jeongin and bella broke up this week…”

you shake your head, “too soon, i don’t want to be a potential rebound for him.”

yooyeon scoffs and continues to drink, listening to your guys’ conversation.

“how about,” gracie, “mark? he’s real chatty though.”

you groan, “then no.”

gracie goes on a small list of people that she sees around, but none of them suffice. none of them are your type or seem to be able to satisfy you. you tell your friends that you’re going to go get another drink– you’ll need one.

the kitchen table has a handful of drinks to choose from. there’s punch and beer and vodka, half of it has been spilt all over said table.

“the punch is good,” a voice suddenly says from beside you.

when you turn, you instantly recognize him– he’s one of the frat boys that lives in this house, maybe the most popular one of them all.

lee heeseung stands beside you with an air of confidence that is probably more on the cocky side. his posture is relaxed yet demeaning. his hair is tousled and his clothes give off a carefree attitude.

pretty much everyone at your college knows lee heeseung from his parties, his stories, the multiple girls he has slept with. you’ve heard enough stories about him to write an entire book, yet his entire persona is more annoying than appealing to you. his entire act is one that you’ve seen played out too many times before.

“good to know,” you say and grab a beer instead.

heeseung raises his eyebrow at your choice, “i’m heeseung.” his voice is smooth and cuts through the noise of the party.

you take a sip of your beer, “i know who you are.” you reply bounty, not bothering to hide your disinterest.

intrigued by your coldness, “right,” he acknowledges with a smirk, “and i know who you are.”

“congrats," you say dryly, with a fake excitement to your tone.

heeseung suddenly leans in closer to you and whispers into your ear, his voice low, "you're the girl who only does casual sex, right?"

you're taken aback by his boldness, but there's a flicker of curiosity in your eyes. "i might be,"

heeseung smirks down at you at your answer. you let yourself think that maybe the notorious fuckboy is pretty handsome. his complexion seemingly glows, his eyes are full of a flirty playfulness, and his smile is charming enough.

“well, do you wanna have casual sex with me?”

if it wasn’t lee heeseung standing in front of you, you would be surprised.

instead, you let out a groan, your face contorts in disgust, “god no.”

heeseung tilts his head, “why not? i thought you were into that.”

“because you’re like a walking std.”

instead of getting offended like you had hoped, heeseung bursts out laughing in the middle of the kitchen, his eyes squinting.

"damn, straight to the point," he manages between chuckles, clearly amused by your blunt response.

you roll your eyes, trying not to let his laughter get under your skin. "just being honest," you retort, though there's a hint of begrudging amusement in your tone.

“i’ll see you around, y/n.”

you turn on your heel, your back already faced him when you reply, “no, you won’t.”

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)

stay safe everyone :)

#enhypen smut #enhypen #smut #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #heeseung x reader smut #enhypen x reader smut #heeseung #heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung #enhypen heeseung smut #enha #enhypen hard hours #lee heeseung

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sturnioz · 4 months ago

Text

fratboy!chris has no reason to hang out with girls if there's no fucking involved — but it's a little different with shy!reader.

the subway car is fairly quiet, the faint hum of the train along the tracks the only sound breaking the stillness. a few strangers occupy random seats, each absorbed in their own world — some listen to music through plugged-on earphones and bluetooth headphones, some are busy reading their books, turning their pages softly, and others have surrendered to their tiredness, their eyes closed, heads leaning against the cool metal poles or the windows.

you're sitting on one of the wall seats beside chris, your anxiety bubbling beneath the surface as your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip, a nervous habit. your leg bounces restlessly, tapping against the hard floor as you glance up at the digital clock on the train's schedule, the late hour staring back at you.

now, you don't have a curfew at all — but you've always been mindful of getting home at a reasonable hour to avoid worrying your parents, and with your phone dead and unable to call them about your whereabouts, a wave of unease washes over you at the thought of getting into some sort of trouble.

chris is calm and relaxed beside you, his legs comfortably spread, knee bumping against yours as the train ways. his head rests back on the wall, eyes closed, while he chews on a stick of a lollipop that he devoured minutes ago, the muscles in his jaw twitch with each chew.

spending the entire day together was a little odd. you were originally heading to the city alone (after mustering up the courage when your friends had told you they all had plans) and you had bumped into chris on the way into the station. he was straightforward with his questioning, wondering why someone as shy as you would go to the big city alone, before announcing that he was coming with you.

the two of you spent the day walking the busy streets of the city, going into your favourite little thrift stores — which you felt embarrassed with when chris followed you inside instead of heading to a different store, making small comments under his breath and snorting at the little trinkets he came across. when he had led you towards the large stores, the price tags that made you squirm, you trailed behind like a little puppy, feeling out of place.

and when you went to go eat, that's when time had seemed to go by so quickly. you were enjoying yourself in the markets, eating delicious foods at stalls that left your stomach full — although you definitely made some room when chris brought you to one of his favourite dessert stalls, sharing a chocolate fudge and cherry sundae.

"will you fuckin' stop, kid?" chris grumbles suddenly, interrupting you from your memories of today, and your eyes flit to him. his hand lands firmly on your knee to stop your restless bouncing. "you're pissin' me the fuck off with your thumpin'... like a fuckin' rabbit, jesus christ."

"sorry." you whisper an apology, warmth riding to your cheeks as you try to steady your nerves, but it only spikes when you realise chris' hand remains on your knee.

"you need to relax, a'ight? because you on edge right now is.. well, it's makin' me all fidgety 'n shit. just relax... breathe," he tells you as he shifts, his head rolling to the side to meet your gaze, his eyebrows scrunched. "seriously, kid, what's got you all jumpy? huh?"

"it's late," you murmur quietly, glancing at the digital clock once again.

"late?" chris echoes, the corner of his lips twitching in amusement. "what? don't tell me that you got a curfew or some shit?"

"no, no," you shake your head. "it's just that... i always make it home at a certain time so my parents don't have to worry about me, and not only did i go into the city today, but my phone is dead too. i'm really worried that they've been trying to call me and—"

"okay, okay, okay," chris interrupts your rambling, a huff escaping his lips as he shifts his hips, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. "you know your parents' number, yeah? jus' call from my phone, kid. tell 'em you got busy and your phone died — it's easy."

you nod slowly, taking a much more relaxed breath as you accept his phone to do just that. chris scoffs quietly, resuming his chewing on the lollipop stick while squeezing your knee, before slumping his head down nonchalantly on your shoulder, listening as you speak to your parents — completely unaware of you trying to keep your voice steady and ignoring the flurry of butterflies through your stomach at the close proximity.

#©sturnioz #☆ fratboy!chris #☆ shy!reader #☆ fratboy!chris x shy!reader #★ ⋮ sturniolo hours !#★ ⋮ chris hours !

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spookykoolkat · 5 months ago

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summer breeze | eddie munson 18+

wrote a drabble cus im just thinking about drugdealer!eddie at a party (ones that hes tired of going to) to sell and make money, but you take him completely off of his game once he notices you.

drugdealer!eddie x plus sized!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ only! minors do not interact or get BLOCKED. pwp (sorta), eddie and reader are both in their early twenties (eddie is a year or two older than reader), flirting, p in v (protected pls wrap it up!), fingering, mentions of oral (fem receiving), descriptions of feminine fat bodies, itsyyy bit of body issues (reader isn't insecure just aware of her body), very light choking if you squint, dirty talk (i think hes filthy here), body worship, use of pretty girl, daddy, baby, sweetheart, etc lmk if i missed something.

please do not forget to read and educate yourself on the genocide in gaza! please do your daily clicks and donate to families in need for sudan, congo and palestine + more. https://arab.org/ scroll down on my page for resources and posts about palestine! it will always be free palestine and boycotting the show stranger things as there are three raging zionists on set! no longer taking requests for stranger things or tlou!

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i definitely see eddie munson being the one that's invited to the party to make money, find customers, manage to provide the entire party with weed and other drugs people wanted. maybe he's not the most fun, given he was burnt out after his teen years from doing crazy shit like trying pills and psychedelics to skipping class to drive two towns over, drinking and partying to make up for a life time.

he's not there to necessarily party. he's there to make money, drink, and observe. he doesn't even really miss the partying, or the people. since he was the plug, it was only ever about business. how much can someone get, what can they get, for what price, thanks, have a good night. he didn't get much socialization done in his life right now, so his best bet was to just watch.

he took his place on the couch, somewhere in the clouded area of the living room of whoever's house he's in right now. it was almost deja vu for him.

eddie would be SUCH an observer. quiet, listening and watching to everyone and everything since he was always in the corner unless he was needed. so when his eyes scanned the room after taking a puff of his blunt, it wasn't odd that his eyes latched onto you first.

you were wearing your usual, tube top, fishnet and jean shorts that rode up your ass and hugged the dips of your hips and waist. i think eddie tried to stop looking at you, especially when you saw him staring from your spot where you poured yourself another drink. but even you catching him didn't make him have any shame.

he was checking you out unabashedly. he was staring at the way your tits squeezed against the fabric of the tube top, how your tummy poked out of your shorts because they squeezed into your curves, how the fishnets had holes in some spots on your legs probably from stretching over the width of your thighs.

i think eddie would definitely try to make a move on you, his confidence wasn't lost on him, but he would wait. and while he would wait, he would think about touching you, talking to you, maybe even talking you through it.

he was a freak.

he waited until you finally decided to dance with a few of your friends, getting up from his spot and mixing in between the bodies to get next to you. eddie wasn't a dancer. not in these settings, even he surprised himself.

the obsession was mutual. your hands couldn't stop touching him as you two danced, whispering little things in each other's ears.

"you're really fucking pretty, you know that? like, insanely pretty. i couldn't stop looking at you from across the room." his voice was all you heard even when the music tried to drown it out, he was the only one you could listen to.

"eddie right?" you asked in his ear and your voice was even sweeter than he thought. he just nodded and let his hands fall onto your hips.

"you think i'm pretty?" you asked, your eyes fluttering up at him and biting your lip.

eddie only put his hands on your waist and squeezed, pulling you into him and smiling as you both danced together. putting your hands on his chest as he moved his hands to the lower part of your back and dipping his finger tips into your shorts, he leaned down and whispered in your ear,

"more than pretty. can't even focus on my job when you're right there in front of me just begging for me to come and take you away."

your eyes flutters again, this time with your lips parted and small hitch in your throat.

it was the same expression you had that night, upstairs in the guest room as everyone partied below you when he pushed his fingers inside of your heat.

"oh, ooh baby," he would say as he watched your cunt suck his fingers in, coating him in your juices and making a mess over his hand.

"i-i'm, eddie, oh my god eddie," you groaned, jean shorts discarded and panties moved to the side as he played with your cunt.

his hands ripped the fishnets between your thighs, letting his fingers spread the thick of your cunt and press his finger pads onto the glistening pearl that made you flutter your eyes shut.

it was the same expression you gave when he pushed his length into your sopping heat, and grabbed onto every inch of skin he could. once he entered you after making you cum on his fingers, he got eager.

eddie pulled your top down and let your tits free, becoming even more obsessed you might end up having to put a restraining order on him. it turned out, eddie was a tit man. he played with your tits as he slid in and out of you, squeezing your pebbled nipples and teasing them. sucking on his fingers just to play with your nipples, grabbing your tits and pushing them together to watch them bounce as he fucked you.

he was in love.

you didn't know eddie much, but he took his time with you. even when the party seemed to get even more rowdy, he only fucked into you harder. his hips snapping against your thighs, now calves on his shoulders as he quickly grabbed a pillow and slid it under the small of your back.

"my fucking god, sweetheart, look at you," he said, slipping back into you and adding a stretch that added to your pleasure, "even fuckin' prettier like this, you know that? goddamn, i'm gonna fucking get addicted to this pussy,"

the wind had been knocked out of you, breathless and scrambling for something to say but without missing a beat eddie ran his fingers through his hair and grabbed your ankles, spreading your legs wide beside him to see you open for him.

"i, i, daddy please, i can't, too much, can't breathe," you could feel his cock in your throat, punching into you and making your legs twitch at his lace.

"just like that, pretty girl, hold yourself open like that, be good for daddy." he groaned, sitting on his knees to slide back into your gaping hole as you placed your hands on the back of your thighs.

"there we go, so fuckin' good, so pretty," he whispered to himself, watching as tears ruined your perfect makeup and sweat collected on your forehead and chest. you were ruined, aching and throbbing, still begging for him even when he was giving you what you wanted.

"please, please, so fucking good s' so fucking big," you said, out of breath as he moved to your liking.

he couldn't fuck you like that for long, not when he was watching the weight of your tits bounce and move to the rhythm of his thrusts, not when you begged for him, not when he looked at the way your legs pressed against your stomach that was so soft and round for him—now becoming his favorite part to touch as he lifts himself from his knees and putting his weight into your waist.

he got a good grip like this, you thought, feeling how his hands molded into the skin you bashed for so long just to fuck you deeper and more relentlessly.

it was when someone knocked on the door, asking for eddie, (after your second orgasm) when he decided to flip the two of you over so that his back was now against the random headboard of the bed and your thighs sat on top of his.

you were positioned at his tip, most of him sliding out after your orgasm pushed him out. you couldn't help but feel yourself drip onto his length as you looked at the state of him, hearing the man call for his friend outside of the door, and watching as eddie got lost in your curves and softness.

"fucking hell. goddamnit, look at you," he breathed, hands moving all over you, "this will never leave my mind. i'm telling you right now. gonna be thinking about this for fucking ever, thinking about this pretty fucking body on me,"

he was touching everything, all over you, squeezing parts of you you'd never though you'd let anyone see. kissing the stretch marks and moles and the extra flab of your arms and leaning you back to kiss the width of your tummy.

"sit down on me, baby, please, let me have it, let daddy have it, i've been real good for you, baby," he begged, whined, pressing the side of his face into your tits and gently suckling on the skin.

he was growing tiresome, feeling your hole clench around his weeping, red tip that ached for you. eddie didn't even realize he could throb this hard for anyone, or that he even wanted anyone as bad as he wanted you when he saw you. he didn't even know he could last as long as he did, not with you being right in front of him begging for him to fuck you.

you were beautiful, you had something about you that he couldn't take his eyes off of, something he knew he wasn't going to stop thinking about even if he tried.

"but, they're asking for you," you whimpered, fingers dragging through eddie's hair and fingernails scraping his scalp as he groped your tits and sucked on them. "the party, you have customers,"

he leaves kisses when he speaks again.

"the fuck does that matter, hm? as far as i'm concerned," he said and leaned back, watching the way your cunt looked so he could remember every detail. how juicy your cunt was, how he could palm it and rub your clit at the same time, how well your cunt wrapped around his cock when he gave everything for you to take,

"i got the prettiest, juiciest fucking pussy i've ever had in my fuckin' life right here about to sit on my cock, you think i'm gonna stop trying to make you cum so i can get a 20 dollar bill?" he scoffed, "absolutely fuckin' not. fuck that party. now let me fuck that pretty cunt baby, please, let me feel it again,"

he whimpered when he met your eyes, desperation for a nut especially like this, and you melted. you clenched around his tip and he winced as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. you were gasping at this point, trying to fight for air while you let your cunt take all of him until your clit was pressed against his thatch of hair.

"oh fuck, FUCK, fuck baby," he practically yelled, throwing his head back against the headboard and you couldn't help yourself. his hands were gripping your asscheeks so hard they left hand prints, pulling and spreading them apart just to leave slaps to imagine how your ass would jiggle with it.

it left him moaning even more.

your lips attached to his neck and kissed everywhere you could, licking his pale skin and sucking on his neck and chest. you left hickies where you could. the soberness in you wanted him to remember this, to be looked at so people can know someone fucked him this good and it was you.

the drunk in you just wanted to claim him as yours. let everyone know he was fucking you. and only you. or so you convinced yourself to think.

as you buried your face into his neck and suckled and licked, your cunt clenched around him and slowly you lifted your hips up, just to slam them back down and make lewd noises fill the room. his moaning was turning you on even more, knowing his was sounding fucked out like this because of you.

"eddie, yo what the fuck? i'm tryin' to get some weed man! come on!" the obnoxious voice was drowned out by eddie's moans and whimpers as you decided to speed your bouncing up.

you did it for a hot minute, rolling your hips and bouncing your ass on your knees as you took him in with every lift of your hips. he was so much more filling this way, so much more bigger and reaching places it felt like was your stomach.

"eddie, e-eddie, p-p-please, eddie," you were crying into his neck when you whined and it only made him release a guttural groan as he quickly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your body down to his.

"eddie, what, wh-" you tried as he fixed positions, planting his feet and raising his hips before continuously slamming up into your cunt.

"oh, oh, oh my, f-fucking, mmphf, my," you really tried, to make sense of what he was doing until your mind went blank, until you felt the head of his pink cock hitting your cervix over and over again until it began to mix pleasure with pain.

it was delicious, it was everything, and yet the man was still at the door. "eddie, eddie," you moaned, sort of forgetting about everything else but the man ramming into your sore hole, you corrected yourself quickly as he fucked you harder, "daddy!"

"woah, hey, are you, are you fucking in there?? eddie!!! my man!!" the man cheered through the door but to you it was muffled.

you couldn't hear anything but the messiness of your cunt, the squelching, the groaning and crying, the moaning and whimpering, his words making you tighten around him.

"take that fucking dick, baby, take what daddy's giving you, yeah?" he growled in your ear as he kept his pace up, your tears hitting his shoulders and your whines being muffled by his chest.

"i know baby, you're taking me so well, being so good, feel so fucking good,"

"cmon baby, let me have another one, cum again for daddy,"

"next time i'm gonna bury my fucking face between those thighs and let your ride my tongue, just wanna taste my pretty girl the right way," he was breathless, and listening to you cry from his words and beg after every sweet nothing he couldn't hold it anymore.

"get it man!" again. eddie was almost getting pissed off. actually. he was pissed off.

this random man was able to hear the way you sounded just for eddie, the way you called for him and said his name, the way you cried when his cock hit your spot over and over again in this angle.

"get the fuck out of here, fuckface!" eddie screamed angrily away from your ear, only making you clench harder as he then flipped you to lay on your side.

his cock was still inside of you, only now he laid behind you in the same position and lifted your leg by the thickness of your thigh and held it there as he lifted his thigh and slipped further inside of you.

"m' the only one that should hear you like this, not him, nobody else. look at that," he says in your ear as he uses his other hand to point your head downwards to see the way his cock slammed into your cunt over and over again, barely being able to see it over your tummy, "see how she's crying for me? god i wish you could fuckin' see yourself, how fuckin' pretty you are,"

"daddy, daddy, fuck, fuck me, fuck my pussy please, make me feel good," you managed to get out as he moved his hand from your hair to your throat, forcing you to throw your head back against his.

eddie puts his chin right at the top of your head, somehow seemingly bigger than you and crowding you as he kept his pace.

"touch yourself, princess, touch that pretty little clit for daddy, daddy's gonna make you cum all over his big fucking cock, how's that sound, pretty girl? you like that?" he asks, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

it only grows deeper when he sees your weak hand move to your messy cunt, finding your clit and rubbing firm circles into her. eddie can feel you clench and drip onto him, covering his cock in your cum and juices as you reach your climax for the third time.

you didn't know eddie. he didn't really know you. but in this moment, holding you to his chest as you leaves kisses in your hair and on your cheek sweetly, fucking you roughly and messily, palm still at your throat.

you were crying by now, tears slipping down just for eddie to dry them back up.

"i know, i can feel you baby, can feel you gettin' close for me," he boasts, his own thrusts getting sloppy and missing the rhythm as he struggles to hold his own release back.

"so good, feels so good daddy," you gasped, voice dry and strained, "gonna make, fuck fuck, baby i can't, too much,"

"uh-uh baby, what were you gonna say? gonna make you what? cum? gonna make this pretty little cunt cum all over my cock again?" eddie's balls pulled taut, fighting back his orgasm until you clenched hard one last time and yelled out.

"yes! yes! yes! make me cum, you're making me cum, i'm cumming, daddy please," you shouted, body shaking in his hold as you move your hands to grab at his wrist and try to wriggle out of his grasp, his thrusts becoming too much too fast.

"oh fuck, oh fuck, baby, fuck," he whimpered, wincing and releasing a string of moans and groans as he cums in the condom; desperately wishing he could've painted your walls. you were still shaking in his grasp, whimpering when eddie pulls out of you and moves his hands to fix your hair.

eddie moves you to lay on your back as he sits up on one arm and admires you, the lipstick smeared and eyeshadow messy, eyeliner running and your face makeup staining whatever pillows were there.

eddie wasn't the type to think he was going to call back. thats for sure. he wasn't a dating man, a 'see you more than once in a year' man. eddie was confused for the most part, not knowing where this was gonna go next depending how he went about this last part of the interaction. he especially wasn't a girl. not that girl who asked what we are on the first hook up. not the girl who day dreamed about someone when they weren't near.

he wasn't a girl. he especially wasn't that girl.

you opened your eyes to him staring with a lopsided smile, scanning over your face and chest.

"what?" you smiled, breathlessly and sleep pulling at your eyes.

he shakes his head with a small smile and drowns out the music playing from downstairs, watching you scan his face.

"so, are you gonna call me after this? when can i see you again?"

1K notes · View notes

seiwas · 11 months ago

Text

₊˚⊹｡ keep this drive to just us two | fushiguro megumi

wc: 2.7k

summary: megumi is a liar, but there’s a reason for all this.

contains: f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, college!megumi, pre-relationship stuff, feelings, some swear words

a/n: happy birthday to our boy ♡ set in the same universe as this megumi fic (so a ~kind of part 2); some songs that inspired this & ones i imagine playing in the car: the shining by the neighbourhood, paradise by chase atlantic, & over the moon by the marías

part: 1 | 2 | 3 series m.list: by your passenger seat

It’s just you and Megumi on a late night drive—a quarter past 11 p.m.

The passenger seat has long since been adjusted to you, his car a somewhat second home. There’s that characteristic reverb accompanying the deep bass of the music he listens to, and his knee is bobbing to the beat of it, like it always does when the music is good.

Megumi’s car always smells of mint, a fresh, crisp scent that cuts through—an accurate depiction of the man: level-headed, cool. A sharp honesty exists in every word he speaks; it’s the only way he knows how to be.

Except, maybe, lately. Like this moment.

Megumi’s a liar right now.

He feels a little guilty for it, tricking you into coming out tonight. But how bad can it be to invite you under the guise of it being from Yuuji?

“Yuuji said he’ll meet us there?” you settle into your seat, dragging the seatbelt across your body before locking it into place.

Megumi shifts the gear to drive, nodding as he turns the wheel to get out of the parking lane. He can’t trust himself to speak.

The ride is quiet save for the music, a comfortable silence he seems to only have with you. Nobara and Yuuji like to talk, to fill in the empty pockets of air he never feels the need to. You—you adjust, read the room; you become what the situation calls for all on your own.

That’s what he likes about you, among many other things—he’s stopped lying to himself about that, at least.

The streets whiz past you in a blur, both vaguely familiar and unrecognizable. There’s a fast food joint your group of four frequents as a post-party drive-thru, and the holiday lights are strung up on lampposts lining the sidewalks.

Yellows, reds, and greens melt into one another as the backdrop of your window. But all Megumi sees is gray—

When he dislodges his phone from the stand clipped to the AC vents at the center console, handing it over so you can control the music. His eyes stay locked on the road until he feels it, the slightest brush of your fingers against his.

He turns to you, a quick glance; you’d shrugged off your puffer jacket some time during the drive and tossed it to the backseat, leaving you in this right now.

—the gray sweater that he knows all too well; that you haven’t returned but you wear like it’s yours, as if this piece of him is something you’ve chosen to keep.

It looks better on you, anyway, he thinks.

He turns back to the road, breathing a little quicker, grip tighter and knuckles a bit whiter.

If he listens carefully, the comfortable silence between you hasn’t actually been all that silent lately. A constant beat’s been drumming in his ears, exacerbated only every time you’re near. You’ve locked eyes far too often for two people sitting in a car, driving from point A to point B, and this isn’t the first time your fingers have brushed, nor is it the second, or third (or even fourth if he’s thinking about the technicalities).

He finds himself smiling too easily when you speak, the corners of his lips aching by the time he’s dropped you off on the way home. You’ve looked at him fondly too, a handful of times, when you think he won’t notice; but it’s impossible not to when he’s paying just as much attention—from the corner of his eye, in his periphery. A responsible side-glance that inconspicuously catches everything.

There’s something between you two, and he’s grown more confident of that the more he’s accepted his fate:

He likes you.

It’s why he called you tonight, out of all nights, in the first place.

Aimless driving can only be so convincing up to a certain point, and that point comes fast approaching as Megumi is about to pass the same street for the third time. You don’t notice because you’re queueing songs on his phone, but he has to think of a diversion—just something to tide him over past midnight.

“I’ll get us some snacks,” he signals to the left, pulling over to a 7-Eleven.

“Oh!” you look up from his phone, swapping it for yours, “I’ll ask Yuuji if he wants anything. Did he mention if Nobara’s coming?”

Megumi freezes, panic setting in—if you message Yuuji now, you’ll realize that he’s been lying. He holds his breath, shifting the gear to park before pulling at the edges of his sleeves.

Think.

“He’ll eat anything, it’s fine. Nobara probably won’t come too. Wouldn’t pick up when he called.”

For someone who always puts things bluntly, he’s surprisingly good at coming up with lies right now.

You hum, nodding, “Okay. Do you want me to go down?”

“I’ll be quick,” he shakes his head, fishing around the center console for his wallet, “you want anything?”

Then he looks at you, your head tilted to the side as you think. A little pout causes your lips to jut out and he can’t help it, how his eyes fall to them, shiny in the way only your lip balm can make them.

“Maybe something warm?”

Your voice snaps him out of it, but the moment is frozen—like he’s been caught red-handed. He’s so sure you saw him staring, your eyebrows shooting up, flustered while watching his gaze shift from your lips to your eyes.

He doesn’t expect it when you do the same thing.

It’s freezing outside and his lips feel chapped; he wonders if they’re cracked, if you’re studying the grooves of split skin—if he should buy lip balm by the counter, on the way out.

He looks away, clearing his throat, one hand to the door handle.

“Okay,” he opens it, “turn up the heat if you’re–”

You nod.

“Yeah, okay.”

He steps out.

The cold is biting as he tucks his hands inside his pockets, rushing to get into the convenience store.

(You watch his back retreat from the window of his carseat, and the influx of cool air should make you shiver, but you feel warm, heat rushing to your cheeks.

This whole night has been confusing; the subtle touches and lingering gazes—ones like just moments ago, especially. Being alone with Megumi lately has been both comfortable and nerve-wracking; you have feelings that you aren’t quite sure are reciprocated, no matter how much Nobara teases the both of you already.

You can’t take it; you need a buffer—where is Yuuji?

11:41 p.m.

< are you otw already? we just went to grab some snacks

You wait, fingers tapping on the back of your phone.

11:42 p.m.

yuuji 🍡

> huh?

> otw where?

> who’s we?

> i’m outside fushiguro’s rn! with gojo-sensei!! apparently he surprises him every bday…

> you should come! you live near right?

You scrunch your eyebrows, confused. There are too many thoughts in your head right now—has Megumi been lying?

11:43 p.m.

< oh ok, i probs misunderstood!!

< and i’m out tonight, idt i can make it but lmk how it goes!!

You’ve never known Megumi to be a liar, but he’s definitely in it right now for some questioning.)

The 7-Eleven doors swing open, revealing Megumi with his shoulders shrugged up to his ears, hands deep inside his pockets as a plastic bag hangs around his wrist. He opens the car door, immediately settling in his seat before shutting it.

He still won’t meet your eyes, fishing through the random snacks he bought instead. It’s awkward, the air in the car tense; and it takes the biggest guts in him to look up as he hands over the warm bottle of tea he got you, just like you wanted.

It’s even worse when you’re staring right back, expecting—almost like you’re about to confront him.

“Be honest,” you start, eyes squinting.

Shit. Sweat forms at his palms as he blinks, the beat drumming in his ears intensifying.

“Did you bring me out here to murder me?”

He raises an eyebrow, expecting you to convict him for lying, “The fu–”

Which you do, bringing your phone up so he can read. Your text chain with Yuuji casts a white light over his face, his eyes darting from side-to-side as he scans each message.

(You aren’t mad or anything, just even more confused than you already are; some clarity would be nice, once and for all.

Embarrassment is painted on his face the more he reads through your phone screen, lashes entirely too long as it bats against the tip of his cheeks; a faint pink blooms on his skin, like winter peonies.)

There’s a reason for all this.

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath; he’s dreading having to open them—do you think he’s weird now? That he had some ulterior motive bringing you out? His jaw clenches at the thought—

But then you laugh, a soft chuckle that accompanies the ‘click’ of your phone turning off. And when he takes a peek, squints one eye to catch a glimpse, you’re smiling; your lips are pressed together with the corners curled up slightly, as if you find this entire thing funny.

The tension dissipates, but he frowns, eyebrows scrunching as he considers whether he wants to be the reason for whatever it is you’re thinking.

“Stop it. Don’t make fun of me.” his head turns to the side.

You chuckle again, biting your bottom lip, “You’re just too cute.”

A beat.

(It slips out before you can catch yourself, heat rising to your cheeks. Megumi isn’t doing any better; his ears are flushed red, crawling down to the sides of his neck as he swallows.)

The plastic bag crinkles on his lap, cutting through the silence.

How can you just… say that?

You clear your throat, “So, uh, did you know about the surprise?”

(Your eyes shift to the corner of the infotainment system, 11:52 p.m. in white.)

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he leans back on his seat.

“Gojo-sensei tries to surprise me every year, I didn’t think he’d call Itadori this time.”

“You sound like that’s a bad thing…” you tilt your head, curious.

He pauses, staring ahead as he considers his response, “Not bad… just,” his fingers fiddle with the plastic bag, “too loud, sometimes.”

(Megumi’s mentioned a bit about this ‘Gojo-sensei’ guy, his kind-of-mentor slash benefactor since being orphaned with his step-sister at age 6. You’ve never met him, but Yuuji never stops talking about how fun he is, how cool.

It makes sense why Megumi finds him a bit much, if anything.)

“And you think I’m any better?” you snort offhandedly, joking as you turn to the side, facing him.

He tilts his head towards you, leaning back on the headrest; your eyes lock for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting subtly before he looks away, straight ahead again.

If he had the courage, he’d tell you that you’re the only company he wants to spend this birthday with—

That there are songs in his playlist he’d otherwise never listen to, but repeats and repeats and repeats because it reminds him of you;

That he looks forward to doing deep cleans on his car every weekend, but has started to dread it once he noticed that it washes away your scent from the Fridays that he drops you home;

That he’s a liar because he really likes you, but can’t find the words to tell you.

So he doesn’t say anything, shrugging.

The silence is telling.

(You feel too warm, whether from the heating system or from the implications of this moment. The 11:58 p.m. on the clock adds a pressure that it shouldn’t, an almost taunting presence that tells you if you act now, tomorrow could be very different.

Are you reading the signs right?

Should you just say it?

Each second drags on twice as long, and you think—

Fuck it.)

“Megumi?” your voice breaks through softly.

The plastic crinkles on his lap as he turns to you.

He could be any other place right now.

But he’s chosen to be here, with you, parked outside a 7-Eleven, minutes before midnight.

“If I tell you something, will you be honest with me?”

He blinks before humming, nodding. This is the least he can do after today’s blatant lying.

There’s an intensity to your gaze that makes him nervous; your fingers tug at the edges of his (your) gray sweater, a piece of him you’ve taken with you. Then you speak—

“I like you,” you say it plainly, unblinking, “and I need you to tell me if you don’t feel the same.”

—and you take the rest of him too.

12:01 a.m.

He stares at you, turning the confession over and over in his head. He’s always had a feeling but it’s different when it’s out in the open, when it’s from you and isn’t based on some gut-feeling.

There are so many things he can say, but you did ask him to be honest—to tell you if he didn’t feel the same.

“Do I stay quiet if I do?” he mumbles, cheeks deepening into red.

There’s a smile he’s trying to hide, one he won’t allow himself to let out until he gets one from you too.

You visibly relax, releasing the breath you were holding. Your lips curl up instinctively, wide and infectious—that feeling of your heart bursting.

“Smartass,” you scrunch your nose before glancing at the time, “happy birthday.”

When you look at him this fondly, there’s not much else he can ask for, really.

You eat the snacks in his car (an exception—whether it’s because of you or his birthday, you’re not sure) and tell him that your actual gift is back home, sitting in dog-patterned wrapping paper by your entryway.

The drive back is, for the most part, the same—lingering gazes when the stoplight permits, a brush of your fingers when you hand him his phone after queueing songs. You’re wearing his sweater and his car still smells like mint.

But you both can’t stop smiling.

And when he drops you off, he’s tempted to tell you to stay longer for just one more song, but he figures there’s lots of time for that now. So instead, he grabs your puffer from the back, gets down and rushes over to open your door, helping you out.

He holds up your jacket as you slip your arms into it, zipping it up so you stay warm and toasty. Cute, he thinks, when your grin reaches your cheeks; he could pinch them, would you complain if his fingers are too chilly?

Your hesitance is evident in the way you bite your lip, but you go for it anyway, diving in to land a soft kiss to his cheek. It happens so quickly, it barely registers to him—the touch of your lips to his skin. When you pull away, you look shy.

He doesn’t say anything, heat rushing to the place you’d kissed. You take this as a sign to go ahead, so you move, but he can’t—

—can’t let you go just like this.

Not when he’s been thinking about those lips since he last laid his eyes on it.

It’s reflex, the way he grabs your wrist, pulling you back to him. He lets go immediately, hovering, but his eyes drop dangerously, down to your lips—shiny and plump from the lip balm he knows you carry.

His breathing quickens and he asks so softly, “Can…”, he gulps, nervous, “Can I?”

You nod, humming.

(When Megumi leans in, long lashes fluttering over your eyelids, you think, this can’t possibly be real. But then his lips slide over yours, cold but not cracked, and you move yours against them, gentle in the same way he is.

His fingers slot themselves at the edge of your jaw, palm pressed to your cheek; it makes you shiver, how cool it is, but it warms up quickly.)

The kiss is over far too soon (you think so, too), and when you part, you’re beaming, a twinkle in your eyes that makes him want to kiss you again, if only to keep them shining the way they do.

It’s the end of the night, but the beginning of something new and Megumi’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the noise; this constant beat drumming in his ear is all he can hear now, swiping his tongue over his lips to taste mint—your lip balm of choice.

thank you note: to everyone who was just as excited abt this as i was—@soumies @mysugu @augustinewrites @mididoodles @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @selarina @pastelle-rabbit @mymegumi @kagelun @irisintheafterglow & @shidouryusm for making me see that paradise is so megumi 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

2K notes · View notes

nats--sw · 4 months ago

Text

Gold chain (pt6) | Leah Williamson

First rounds of Wimbledon note: Well,, I tried to wrap all on this part but it was taking too long to fit everything in one go, so next part is coming. The opponents' names are made up by the way warnings: fluff and slow burn, a bit suggestive(?) nothing really pt1 my masterlist

Music used to relax you, there was nothing better than blasting your ears with tunes at full volume while taking a little nap during a massage session. But now, that seemed impossible with Jane, your physiotherapist, working on your legs, pressing hard on your most tense spots.

“Fuck, Jane, are you sure you're a physical therapist? It feels like you're wrecking my legs,” you complained, wincing as you clenched your fists. You were lying on your stomach, your face sunk into the hole of the massage table.

Jane just smiled, a mixture of amusement and professionalism in her expression. She would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy seeing you like this after all the frustration you caused by not listening to her advice about overdoing your workouts.

“Stop whining, this is good for your muscles,” she said softly, still working on your legs.

“It’s not whining, it’s just-” you started to say, but another particularly firm squeeze shut you up, and you let out a whimper. “Jane!”

Jane leaned over a bit and took off your headphones. “If you’d listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this mess. You told me you don’t want to have any problems with injuries, and for that, your body needs to relax and recover from all the overactivity you’ve had.”

You knew she was right. You sighed heavily, but you wouldn’t admit it. Jane knew that all too well. “Can you at least be a little gentler?”

“If I were any gentler, it wouldn’t be effective,” she said, shaking her head. “Besides, you mentioned you want to be 100% for your game tomorrow. My guess is you’re trying to impress someone, but since I’m not a specialist, I’ll keep that to myself,” she added with a cheeky grin.

You managed a small smile despite the pain and her teasing. “Yeah, okay, I’ll shut up. But seriously, how much longer?”

Jane glanced at the clock on the wall, but when she saw your coach walk in, she didn’t answer.

“Hmhm,” Lucas cleared his throat, standing by the table. From where you were lying, you could only see his legs. “Can you explain what’s going on here?”

Jane’s hands stopped immediately as she turned her attention to Lucas.

“What’s going on now?” you asked, reluctantly sitting up on the table and facing your coach, who was holding a bouquet of flowers. “Since when does Wimbledon send flowers to players?” you chuckled, it was a pretty classy move, just right for an English tournament.

“It’s not from Wimbledon,” Lucas said, pulling out a small pink envelope from the flowers. “I haven’t read it,” he assured you, handing both the envelope and the flowers over.

Lucas didn’t look happy, but surprisingly he didn’t seem mad either. His face was more a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“I think I have a guess about who sent them,” he said, glancing over at Jane.

“Was it you? Aww, how sweet! They say you get nicer with age,” you teased the woman, giving her a playful nudge.

“It wasn’t me,” Jane said, playfully pinching your cheek with a grin.

“Ouch! Don’t do that,” you said, rubbing your cheek and then looking at the flowers. They were perfect, not too flashy, not too small. With a smile you didn’t even notice you had, you figured out who must’ve sent them. It was pretty obvious.

You set the flowers aside on the table and opened the envelope, with your coach and Jane watching intently. As you read the note, your heart skipped a beat.

[Best of luck for tomorrow, darling. I can’t be there, but I’ll be rooting for you no matter what. Kisses, L.W.]

“Is she blushing?” you heard Lucas mutter to Jane.

“Tell me, have you ever seen her this calm? She almost looks like an angel,” Jane said, shaking her head with a grin.

“I’m hearing you loud and clear,” you said, trying to keep your cool, even though you could feel your cheeks warming up.

“So, who’s the flowers from?” Lucas asked again, crossing his arms and giving you a serious look.

“The card doesn’t say,” you said, trying to slip the card back into the envelope.

“But you know who it is,” Jane said, her tone more certain.

“Nope.”

“Ah, well. We know who it is,” Lucas said with a smirk.

You stared at them, unsure of what to say.

“You’re just trying to get me to spill the name. I’m not telling you,” you said firmly.

“Oh, we know,” Jane insisted, her grin widening.

“Alright, then tell me who it is,” you said defiantly, crossing your arms and copying Lucas’s posture.

“Leah Williamson,” they answered at the same time. Lucas was dead serious, while Jane had a cheeky smirk.

You choked on your own saliva, realizing you’d just heard the name of the person who’d sent the flowers.

“W-what are you talking about? Have you both lost it?” you stammered, trying to cover up but failing miserably.

“We’ve seen her leaving your hotel a few times these past weeks,” Lucas said, staring at you with that intense, questioning look.

“Just a coincidence,” you said, turning your back on them, cursing yourself (and Leah for not being more discreet). “She could be friends with another player. The hotel’s packed.”

Jane giggled, and Lucas sighed, crossing his arms with a resigned look. “Yeah, right. And I’m the king of England,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I get what’s going on here. Just make sure you don’t mess things up. Focus on tennis during the matches. You can do all your talking and showing off with Williamson after you win your match. Got it?”

“Got it”

Wimbledon, day 2. Round of 128. Court 2.

The first match was usually the easiest since your opponent was often weaker, but tennis isn’t always about rankings and stats. Knowing that anything could happen made you a bit nervous. Even though those nerves hadn’t shown on the court so far, with a score of 1-0 and a pretty straightforward 6-3 win in the first set. But you still felt the pressure.

Your opponent’s first serve wasn’t the strongest, but you stayed alert. As the ball bounced on the grass, you got ready to return it. You adjusted your visor to block the sun, reminding yourself how crucial it was to stay focused between points.

When you saw your opponent toss the ball for her serve, you sprang into action, returning it with force. Unfortunately, you hit it a bit too hard, and it landed just inches outside the line.

The next serve was a bit stronger, and although you didn’t handle it perfectly with your racket, you still managed to get the ball over the net. Your opponent went for a volley but missed, giving you another point.

You glanced over at your team and saw Lucas grinning and giving you two thumbs up. You took a deep breath, feeling pretty relaxed knowing you had the match under control. You were almost there and could almost taste moving on to the next round.

The rest of the points were pretty smooth, though your opponent switched things up towards the end. She figured out that when she hit a low, fast ball, you had to work harder to return it.

On the last point to win the match, she did exactly what she’d been doing for most of the last set. When you saw that low ball coming, you rushed forward without thinking, got to it just in time, and smashed it across the court in the opposite direction your opponent was running.

And just like that, you’d made it through the first round.

Relief washed over you. You grabbed the gold chain around your neck, giving it a little tug as you walked over to your opponent. With a subtle smile, you shook her hand. She gave you a firm grip and a tired smile back. There weren’t many words exchanged, neither with her nor with the umpire.

As you waved to a few people in the stands, you couldn’t help but wonder if Leah had been watching. You really hoped she had.

“Great game, fast and on point. Nicely done,” Lucas said when you met after, giving you a friendly pat on the back.

“I made a bunch of unforced errors though. We need to work on that,” you said, handing him your racket bag.

“We’ll sort it out after the press conference,” he replied.

Leah was pretty nervous. She had no idea how you’d react to the surprise. After a match, she figured you’d be wiped out, and here she was, standing in your hotel room with dinner ready on the table. She’d made sure to keep it alcohol free, just as she promised Lucas early.

She still couldn’t figure out how she ended up with messages from your coach in her DMs. You hadn’t said much since yesterday, just sent her a selfie with the flowers she gave you.

Then she heard footsteps and voices outside the room. The door opened, and there you were, looking exhausted. You shut the door behind you with a bit of a struggle.

“Surprise,” Leah said softly, trying not to startle you.

You couldn’t help but jump when you saw her standing there. All that tiredness from the match seemed to disappear in an instant. You rushed toward Leah, and luckily, she reacted quickly, opening her arms just in time to catch you. As you practically threw yourself at her, she wrapped her arms around you, keeping you both from crashing to the floor.

“Leah! How the heck did you get in?” you asked, still stunned.

Leah didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked at you with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, clearly taken aback by how close you were. Then, without missing a beat, she leaned in and kissed you. You closed your eyes, melting into the kiss as your lips met hers.

“Congratulations,” she whispered against your lips before kissing you again, this time with more intensity. She wrapped her arms around you, lifting you slightly so you could wrap your legs around her, holding you close in the air. “You were incredible today,” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “Loved the new white outfit”

“Stop trying to flatter me while you’re kissing me,” you said, scrunching your nose with a playful grin.

“Why?” Leah asked, tightening her grip on your waist just a bit more.

“Because it turns me on, and I’ve got this no-sex-on-tournaments rule,” you explained, trying not to roll your eyes at Leah’s mischievous grin.

“You know that sex doesn’t actually mess with your performance, right?”

“It’s not about that,” you said, holding up your gold chain for emphasis. “It’s just bad luck for me, and I’m super into my rituals and all that.”

“Sounds kinda boring,” Leah said with a laugh, clearly enjoying teasing you. Then she set you down and, before you could say anything else, she cupped your face in her hands. She made you stand on your tiptoes and kissed you again, this time gently and tenderly.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you said, almost against your will, as you gently pushed Leah away. “Now, without sounding like a stalker, how did you get into my room?”

“Well, it’s pretty much common knowledge that your coach knows about us now,” Leah said, giving you a knowing look. You nodded in agreement. “Well, he messaged me to thank me. He says your backhand’s gotten way better since we started talking” she added with a smirk, clearly pleased with herself.

“That’s got nothing to do with you,” you shot back, trying to play it cool.

“Anyway,” Leah said, brushing off your comment, “he told me I’ve got his blessing to be around you, especially now.” She playfully tugged at the laces of your joggers, pulling you so close you could feel her warmth and her breath on your skin. “He thinks I bring you luck.”

“It doesn’t,” you said, feeling your heart race and your stomach flutter from her closeness.

“Well, you won Roland Garros with me in the stands,” she murmured with a soft smile.

“I won because your mom was there,” you replied, trying to stay serious.

“Ugh, don’t mention my mum when we’re this close,” Leah said with a glare, giving you a playful shove. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way she tried to look frustrated while you both stood so close.

You’d never had company like this during a tournament before. Sure, your parents would show up for the big matches, but it wasn’t quite the same as seeing other players with their partners by their side throughout the whole tournament. You couldn’t help but feel a little envious.

“And besides,” Leah said, taking your hand and guiding you toward the table where dinner was set up. “I’m here to make sure you eat something decent, not just shove sandwiches down your throat.” She gestured at the table with a playful sigh. “It’s something light and flat- I didn’t pick the menu,” she said, wrinkling her nose at a plate full of vegetables.

Even though it was just a simple thing, having Leah here made your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected. It was something new and comforting that you didn’t realize you’d been missing.

“But it has the right amount of protein-” Leah started again, but you gently pulled her arm, making her turn to face you. Before she could say more, you leaned in and kissed her, your lips brushing against hers with a smile. She looked surprised for a second before smiling into it.

“I adore you,” you murmured against her lips, feeling the warmth of her presence make everything feel right.

Wimbledon, day 4. Round of 64. Court 3.

Having Leah in the stands was a whole new level of intensity. Sure, she’d been there before, but this was the first time you were fully aware she was just a few feet away, watching your every move. She was standing next to Jane, who was chatting away as you walked onto the court. You didn’t want to draw too much attention (though it was already a bit odd that the captain of the Lionesses was sitting with your team), so you just gave a casual nod and a small tilt of your visor to acknowledge her.

“Who’s the blonde?” your opponent, Feya, asked from her chair. You got along with her well enough, so it was more curiosity than anything else.

You glanced over at Leah as you opened your first bottle of water. She was wearing sunglasses, but her blonde hair was still pretty noticeable. However, in a tennis crowd, people would probably recognize a top 50 player faster than a female football star, so Leah wasn’t really standing out.

“Just part of my team,” you said, trying to keep it cool as you headed to the center of the court to warm up.

“She’s really locked in,” Leah said, nodding as the first set ended 4-6 in your favor. She’d been worried that having her here might throw you off, but it looked like you were totally on top of your game.

“You know,” Jane chimed in, still keeping her eyes on you as you rested with a towel over your face. “But Y/n can be quite... full of herself,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “She loves the spotlight and showing off. And trust me, having you here today is like adding fuel to her fire. She’ll be pushing herself even harder, wanting to impress you. When it’s over, she’ll probably act like it was easy, but she’s doing all this to catch your eye.”

“I don’t think that-”

“It’s not a bad thing. ” Jane said with a chuckle. “We’ve seen it before, I mean, trying to impress her parents. That’s why her coach isn’t bothered by you being here.”

Leah sighed, glancing over at you. You were hunched over, focused on a spot on the grass, completely in the zone.

“If she keeps this up for the rest of the match, she’ll have it in the bag. Let’s just hope it stays that way,” Jane said softly, her eyes full of admiration and concern as she looked at you.

The first few games of the second set had been going great. You were already 1-2 up, having just broken your opponent’s serve. Now it was your turn to serve, and you were locked in. You adjusted your grip on the racket, focused on your routine, bouncing the ball, eyeing the service box, and preparing to unleash a powerful first serve.

Just as you were about to toss the ball, the umpire’s voice cut through your focus. You glanced around and saw people talking and walking away, and the ball boys darting across the court. You muttered a curse under your breath, feeling a wave of frustration. Looking up, you saw a massive black cloud rolling in.

“Fuck me” you muttered, frustration thick in your voice. You looked up at the sky again, knowing what was coming.

The umpire’s voice came through, barely audible over the commotion, “We’ll see if we can resume play in an hour.”

The din of the crowd grew louder as the reality of the rain set in. You tried to keep your frustration in check, knowing that any outburst could earn you a warning. You bit your lip, took a deep breath, and tried to calm your racing thoughts.

You wanted to scream, but you knew better than to lose it in front of everyone. You bit your lip and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You were playing some of your best tennis, every shot was spot on, and now rain was messing it all up. It was definitely going to give your opponent a breather, and you could practically see her smiling with relief on the other side of the court.

Grumbling, you grabbed your stuff and headed back inside, your eyes almost blank. You didn't want anything to distract you. You put on your headphones, letting the music fill your mind and block out the chaos around you. You walked to the bathroom and locked yourself in. The echo of your footsteps bounced around the empty hallway, and every second of waiting felt like a hit to your concentration.

Inside the bathroom, you leaned against the wall, closing your eyes and trying to keep your focus. You replayed every point won in your head, every strategy planned. Hopefully, your opponent was the one freaking out during this break. But Feya had way more experience and probably knew exactly how to handle this situation. You, on the other hand, had only a couple of rain delayed matches under your belt and had lost all of them after the restart. The statistics weren’t in your favor.

Pacing back and forth, you tried not to get cold. Your heart was still racing from the match, and you didn’t want to lose that. This was only the second round of Wimbledon, and going home this early was not an option, especially not with Leah watching you so closely.

You took a deep breath, still leaned against the cold wall, and grabbed your phone. Without hesitation, you dialed Leah's number. It didn't ring for more than three seconds before you heard her voice.

"Hey..."

"Leah," you said, but then froze. Damn, you had to stay focused, you were still halfway through the game.

"I wanted to call you, but your coach said it wouldn't be a good idea."

You put the phone down for a moment and adjusted your headphones. Your breathing started to hitch. You brought your forearm to your face and covered your eyes.

"Why? Did he say it would be a bad idea because I might be upset?" you said, letting out a nervous laugh.

"He said exactly that."

"Well, he was right, damn old man," you said, laughing despite the lump forming in your throat. "Would it offend you if I said how much I hate England right now?"

Leah's laughter calmed you a bit. It seemed as if she was oblivious to the whole situation that had you on the verge of collapse. That helped. Maybe everything wasn't as bad as your head was making it out to be.

"It's not the first time I've heard that," Leah said. "But England has good things to offer too. You just have to give it time."

"I would if it wasn't for this damn rain," you mumbled. "I was sure I could win 1-6. I just wanted to finish the match, and now I don't even know if it will be over."

"Your coach says the weather isn't too bad. Just hang in there..."

"Leah, I think I'm gonna lose this round," you said, rubbing your face with both hands, frustration bubbling up. "I don't wanna go home." You didn’t want to cry, but the tears were already starting to fall.

"You're not going home," Leah said firmly. "Remember last year? You made it to the semifinals with no problem."

"Yeah, but... I didn't have any rain delays last year," you sighed. "I got lucky last year. That's what I kept telling myself throughout the tournament. But this time feels different... maybe it's a sign that things aren't going my way this time."

"No," Leah cut in, her tone sharp. "It's not different. You're more experienced now, you've just won a Grand Slam, and you've worked on your game and your mindset. Don't let a cloud ruin all that."

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, letting Leah's words sink in. You needed that reminder, that spark of trust, to know she believed in you.

"Thanks, Leah," you whispered, feeling the lump in your throat start to dissolve. "I'm going to try."

"That's all you can do. Now, breathe, relax. You're in control."

"Promise me that if I lose... you won't leave," you asked in a soft, vulnerable whisper.

Leah was silent for a few seconds before she spoke again. "You won't lose. You'll win the next points, get through this round, and then we'll go rest."

"That's not what I asked," you said, almost pleading.

You heard Leah sigh. "I promise, I won't leave, no matter what."

Leah kept talking after that, slowly helping you keep it together, distracting you from the chaos around and within you. Her voice was a steady anchor, grounding you in the moment, making you feel like everything might just be okay.

An hour later, the game finally resumed. As soon as you stepped onto the court, it was clear you weren’t the same player from the first set. Your arms felt heavy, and your legs were shaky. The sky still looked threatening, and the air felt different from a few hours ago. You glanced at Feya, who seemed to be loving this new scenario, walking energetically to her spot while you felt like you were moving through mud.

Passing by your team's section, you couldn't even lift your head so you just shook it. You needed to pull yourself together. Unzipping your top a bit, you grabbed the chain around your neck. This was where you were supposed to be, and you had to push through. You wouldn't let Leah see you as a loser.

But thinking about it was easier than doing it.

Your serve was awful, like you had butter on your hands making the racket slip. You couldn't get any balls inside the lines. With each missed serve, frustration built up inside you, making it harder to rally and cheer yourself up.

As the match dragged on, you were piling up unforced errors, practically handing points to your opponent with every shot. You needed to pull yourself together before Feya completely wrecked your game.

"Focus Y/n," you muttered, adjusting your visor, sweat dripping from your forehead more from nerves than from running around. You took a deep breath, trying to channel all your frustration into your wrist as you prepared to hit the ball. Unfortunately, your swing lacked precision, and the ball ended up hitting the net.

The game was now at 40-15 to Feya. One more mistake and she would go up 4-2. You hadn't won a single game since the rain delay. Right now, you just needed to get the ball over the net, just that one simple task first. Trying to stay calm, you managed a clean serve. Luckily, Feya returned it weakly, and you seized the opportunity, smashing the ball with all your strength, aiming for the line.

The ball landed just behind Feya, and you heard the crowd cheering, but there was no time to celebrate as Feya immediately challenged the call.

"The ball never touched the line!" she argued with the umpire. Your stomach knotted up as you watched the exchange.

You knew she was right a minute later.

“Game, Feya,” the umpire said into the mic, giving the point to your opponent. Feya was already celebrating, waving to the crowd.

You felt the weight of the match pressing down on you. It was a tough blow, but you couldn't let it break your spirit. You had to regroup and fight back.

Hearing the crowd go wild for Feya was overwhelming. Every cheer and clap made you feel smaller and smaller on the court. The cheers that used to lift you up now felt like they were weighing you down.

You glanced over at Lucas, hoping for some reassurance, but his face was as blank as ever, trying hard not to show any concern. Hesitating, you looked towards Leah, just a couple of seats to the right. She gave you a small thumbs up and a faint smile, a quiet gesture that seemed to offer a bit of calm.

“Come on!” Feya shouted after nailing another winning shot. Her excitement felt like a stark contrast to your growing despair.

When you went back to your chair, you took a sip of water and tried to calm your breathing. Leah’s words kept running through your head.

“You’re in control”

But right now, it felt like that control was slipping through your fingers.

“Come on, breathe,” you muttered to yourself, but it felt like the air was stuck in your lungs. You shut your eyes and clenched your fists, feeling the sweat and frustration mix on your palms.

When you got back to the court, it was like your body was on autopilot. Every swing felt off, and your movements were sluggish. Your opponent was all over you, dragging you from corner to corner, wearing you down physically and mentally.

By the last game of the second set, you weren’t even trying to win points anymore. You just wanted it to be over. You promised yourself you’d pull it together and make a comeback in the third set.

You sank into the chair again, trying to catch your breath and calm your racing thoughts. Taking a long sip of water, you glanced around. The sky was finally starting to clear, with the sun making a slow comeback behind the clouds. A gentle breeze brushed against your face, and you shut your eyes for a moment, trying to recapture the focus that had slipped away.

Man, if only the weather had been like this all day. Leah was right, you’d need some time to really appreciate this place, but you were willing to give it a shot, just for her. You daydreamed about hanging out with her, going for a lazy walk, or just chilling at her place, breathing in her scent and running your fingers through her hair. If only you could wrap up this match and get to enjoy those moments, where you could kiss her, let her hug you, and hear all those cheesy lines of hers that make your heart flutter.

But first, you had to win this. You didn’t want Leah to have to comfort you; you wanted her to celebrate your victory and be proud to be with someone who had accomplished something great. You were determined to give her that.

The umpire called you and Feya back onto the court for the start of the third set. You knew you needed to grab an early lead to turn things around. Feya was looking pretty cocky, flashing a grin that made it seem like she was reading your every move. But you couldn’t let that get to you. It was all about focusing on each point.

You took your spot on the baseline, mentally gearing up for battle. The umpire's voice cut through the tension, announcing the start of the final set.

Feya served first, and the ball came toward you with impressive speed. But you were ready for it this time. It was the same serve you’d seen throughout the previous set. You sprang into action, positioning yourself for a powerful forehand return. You whipped the ball with a deep, precise cross court backhand, the kind you’d been perfecting ever since Leah had pointed out how well you were executing that shot in some or your previous dates. Feya managed a weak return, and you seized the opportunity, charging forward and smashing the ball into the opposite corner. Feya was left scrambling halfway down the court.

0-15

You felt a burst of confidence. You looked over at Leah and for the first time in the match, flashed her a big, genuine smile. It was like a switch had flipped, and you were right back in your element.

The next point turned up the heat even more. Feya tried a serve and volley move, but you were quick on your feet. You lunged forward and nailed a backhand volley that just skimmed the net, landing right on the baseline. Feya had no chance of reaching it.

0-30

You could see Feya starting to lose her cool. She was slipping back to the nervous player from the first set, just like you were getting back into your game. Realizing she needed a new strategy, she started hitting higher and deeper shots to mess with you, but you stayed calm and took your time to set up your shots.

In one of the rallies, you spotted your chance. Feya sent up a short, high ball. You smacked a topspin drive that landed perfectly in the corner of the court.

court.

0-40

The game was slipping into your control. With every point you won, your confidence surged back. You knew you had to keep up this level of play. You took your position to receive the next serve, focused and ready. Feya tried an open serve, but you anticipated it perfectly, firing back with a powerful cross court shot. After a few intense exchanges, you decided to end it, pushing Feya into a tough spot. With a decisive forehand, you wrapped up the game.

“Game, Y/n” the umpire called out.

You celebrated with a big grin, clapping your hands together, just like Feya had done earlier.

“Williamson,” Lucas’s voice made Leah jump. She turned to find him with a serious look on his face. “What did you do to her?”

“Huh?” Leah was confused.

“Whatever it is, keep it up. My girl’s on fire.” Lucas said with a huge smile, almost with a hint of pride.

“I didn’t do anything, sir,” Leah tried to explain, as she watched you return to your spot after the break.

You had a serious look on your face, eyes focused straight ahead. Leah swallowed hard. You were a whole different player now compared to the previous set. Back then, she’d seen your hands shaking. Now, you were celebrating each point with passion, flashing her big smiles and winks after every great shot. Leah couldn’t help but think you were dedicating those moments to her, and she wasn’t wrong.

All Leah wanted now was a cold shower, and if she could share it with you, even better.

The score was 2-5 in the final set, and it was your turn to serve. The whole court felt electric, with everyone hanging on every move, knowing this moment could be the game changer. Leah sighed deeply, watching as you neared the end of what had been one of your toughest matches.

You stood at the baseline, gripping your racket tightly, trying to calm the nerves buzzing inside you. You were determined to finish this match on a high note. You took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand, knowing that you could turn things around with the right mindset.

You tossed the ball into the air and served it with precision and power, landing right in the corner of the service box. Your opponent barely managed to get her racket on it, sending back a high, weak shot. You moved in quickly, taking full advantage and smacking a winning volley that left no chance for a return.

0-15

The next point was a real battle. You and Feya were just slamming shots back and forth from the baseline, moving side to side all over the court. Then, you broke the pattern with a killer cross court backhand that pushed your opponent into a corner. Desperate, she tried a smash, but it went wide.

“Out!”

0-30. You were almost there.

The crowd was now buzzing with excitement, sensing the win was within reach. You took a deep breath and got ready for your next serve. This time, you went for a powerful serve to the corner. The ball shot off your racket and bounced before Feya could even react.

“Ace!”

You were on match point.

The court fell silent after a second, everyone waiting for you to close it out. This was your moment, the chance to turn things around and give the crowd something to cheer about after the previous set. With a grin, you adjusted your visor and shot Leah a playful look as you tightened your gold chain. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you hoped she did too.

You tossed the ball up again, locking in on it. Your serve was fast and right on target, aimed at the T. Your opponent reached for it, but the ball zoomed past her, landing perfectly in the corner.

“Ace!”

“Game, set, match,” the umpire announced.

You raised your arms up as the crowd went wild.

After all the interviews, press conferences, and autograph signings, you finally had time for Leah. You spotted her, she was chatting with Jane, and without a second thought, you sprinted over to her, not caring about the hours your legs spent on the court before. You jumped into her arms, knowing Leah would catch you, no matter what.

“Careful, darling!” she laughed, catching you with just one arm around your waist. You were drenched in sweat and out of breath, but Leah didn't seem to mind at all. “How do you feel?” she whispered in your ear.

“Like I’m the best tennis player in the world,” you said with a cheeky grin.

“Hm, you might not be feeling that great tomorrow,” Jane said with a roll of her eyes, giving you a friendly shove to get you off Leah. “Let the poor girl breathe, she was on edge the whole game, and her legs must be killing her now.” she added, grabbing your bag and heading off, leaving you alone with Leah.

After you two were alone, you noticed Leah was carrying a huge bag and that’s why she’d only used one arm to hold you. “What’s in the bag?” you asked

“Oh, um… ” Leah’s face went red as she scratched the back of her neck. “Well, I had a lot of free time during the rain delay and... I was a bit nervous too, so I ended up going to the Wimbledon store.”

Before Leah could react, you snatched the bag from her hand.

“Damn, Leah,” you said, trying to hide your laugh by covering your mouth with your hand. “What the heck, did you bring the whole store?”

“Hey, I didn’t get to shop last year, and I needed some stuff,” she said, cringing as you started pulling things out of the bag. A lot of keychains, strawberry-shaped ones, little tennis rackets, and balls. “How many keys do you have that you need this many keychains?” you teased.

“Some of them are for gifts,” Leah said, quickly snatching them from your hands.

You reached in again and pulled out a huge green blanket. “What’s this for?”

“I was freezing! Unlike you, I was standing around and it was cold!” Leah said, her eyes wide as she almost panicked.

“Please tell me you didn’t get the Wimbledon socks,” you said, barely whispering, but Leah’s guilty look said it all.

“Don’t look at me like that! They’re absolutely my style!” Leah shot back, looking offended. “I can definitely pull them off!”

You thought about it for a second... Yeah, Leah had this way of rocking whatever she wore.

"Alright, you’ve got a point there, babe,” you said with a bit of a chuckle, feeling a bit defeated.

"Thanks," Leah replied, her smile warming up as she heard the nickname. “And I got one more thing,” she said, getting serious as she grabbed the bag and pulled out a giant tennis ball. “Here,” she said, handing it to you.

“What do you expect me to do with this?” you asked, eyeing the ball, it was one of those that kids get autographed all the time. “Leah, are you for real?”

Leah didn't say a word at first. Instead, she walked over to you and gently placed both hands on your waist. Leaning in close, she whispered, “What do I need to do to get my favorite tennis player’s autograph?” She gave you a quick, sweet kiss on the tip of your nose. “Is that enough?”

“I’ll think about it,” you murmured, almost lost in the sensation of her breath brushing against yours.

Leah shook her head with a playful smile and cupped the back of your neck, guiding you into a deep, tender kiss.

“Congratulations on making it through the round,” she murmured between kisses, her voice filled with warmth and pride. Your smile widened as you let the joy of her affection wash over you.

“Maybe you are a lucky charm” you whispered.

#leah williamson x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x you

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kiyoomi-levin · 11 months ago

Text

Morning Routine pt.1 [nsfw]

(Wakatoshi Ushijima x F!Reader)

a/n this is something i wrote and edited today in a single run >.< I wanted to release a haikyuu fluff fic for my tumblr debut but i was just possessed by something this morning and rolled outta bed and just typed this up hehe.. reblogs and comments appreciated!! i have like 12 unfinished works rn and i am busting my ass off to get those finished and published! please be on the lookout for more from me!

summary:: wakatoshi has a bad habit-- his morning routine revolves around you. more specifically, cumming to the sounds of you. warnings:: wakatoshi is highkey a creep/stalker but this fic is fluffy i promise music rec!:: 2fast by superm <AKA the song i listened to when writing> word count:: 1.9k

6:33 AM, the blinking clock reads.

He doesn’t even need an alarm now.

Silently, Wakatoshi rolls over, reaches over to his nightstand and grasps the two items he needs most– lube and toilet paper.

Sighing, he sits himself up, leaning against the headboard of the bed, and, as if awaiting instructions, goes very, very still.

In a way, he is waiting for orders. You just aren’t aware that you’re the one giving them.

6:34 AM. A mere minute before you’re up and he can get started with his day. It doesn’t feel right, yet he can’t stop. Shaking his head, Wakatoshi shifts his weight around, impatient.

I should stop.

There it is. That nagging voice of reason that scolds him every morning. But really, at this point, he can’t function normally without you.

There’s a certain amount of stress that comes with carrying the title of ace. All the papers praising his skills, cheering fangirls, and words of encouragement from coach only added to the ever growing expectations that people had for him.

Luckily, when he was a senior in high school, Wakatoshi had discovered what best alleviates this pressure– not meditation, not Tendo’s comics, but sexual relief.

Every morning, a quick handjob does the job, gets him into prime condition. He even checked with his primary doctor to ensure it’s safe and healthy to release everyday– “you’ll be fine, Wakatoshi, as long as you don’t consume too much porn,” the old man had advised kindly.

He took the doctor’s words to heart– since he had discovered this method of relief, Wakatoshi had never viewed porn. Some of his teammates laughed at him when they found out he almost religiously avoids it, but he doesn’t want to contaminate his brain with potentially intrusive or disturbing visions. His imagination has always been enough, after all.

Until he met you.

In a way, you’re both a blessing and a curse– probably the latter, he admits to himself. Because since he’d met you months ago, the only thing that’s been able to get him up is you.

He’s never slept so well, his skin has never looked so clear, and, most importantly, his condition on court has never been better. He’s considered the possibility of you being a goddess, or possibly his guardian angel and can only rule those out with the fact that you, like him, masturbate.

More accurately, masturbate. Every. Single. Morning.

Then he hears it. The first soft moan. Wakatoshi glances at the time– 6:37 AM. You’re getting a slightly late start today.

No matter. He lifts his hips, gently rolls down his gray sweats to his lower thigh. He’s already hard. He doesn’t even have to touch himself now to get excited. Your quiet voice and the thoughts of you are enough.

Poor you. You’re unaware that despite residing in a luxurious, single-person room reserved for school athletes, the walls are criminally thin.

Wakatoshi pops open the lid of the lube, squirting a glob into his warm hand. He throws aside the bottle, barely registering as it bounces off the bed, only intent on listening into the sounds of you and your body.

When he first grasps his cock, he has to hold back a groan. Despite it being an everyday routine, he still feels the same surge of pleasure as when he first started this nasty habit months ago.

You're breathing slightly more heavily now, and he hears the sounds of your fingers inserting and exiting your body at a familiar pace. He follows along, carefully stroking up and down.

He wonders where you’ve learned this from, because you always go at the perfect pace. Somedays, you go slower, teasing yourself, pausing just before you orgasm, but it’s always.

It’s always exactly what he needs.

God. He knows this is wrong, even as he pumps faster with his left hand to keep up with your quick fingers. It feels so good.

Next door, you’re beginning to let out soft cries.

He presses his thumb against the tip, holding back a moan of his own as he envisions you jerking him off.

He’s seen your hand before– extra soft from being in gloves for multiple hours daily as a fencer.

Thinking about your sport has him thinking about his, and now he’s back to thinking about how wrong this is. But he can’t help it, he’s already tried to give it up once– yielding horrible results.

The day he held back and skipped a morning fap session with you was also the hardest day of his life. He had found himself unable to focus in lecture, especially grumpy towards Tendo’s typically bearable antics, and worst of all, all his hits were off.

“Your schedule must be off,” his captain had said, casually tossing a ball high into the air.

“Bad sleep? Rough morning?”

Wakatoshi had blinked at him wordlessly, wondering how the tall setter had guessed accurately.

“It’s fine,” the third-year had reassured him, “just get back on track tomorrow.”

With that, Wakatoshi had found himself ‘back on track,’ masturbating with– no, to you– every morning.

You’re moaning out loud now, almost whimpering. His cock pulses in his hands, veins bulging, growing hotter and heavy. Fuck, he just wants to see you right now. Your cute face, your sexy neck, gorgeous arms...

He can almost see it now– your smooth thighs shaking and twisting as your small hands would grasp your pillow. He’d make you feel so good, he just knows it. He’d lean against you, kiss your neck and ear before whispering how good you are, how you’re making him cum, how much he loves you!

You’d cum, and he wouldn’t stop. He’d want to see your eyes roll back over and over again, and he’d memorize every inch of your face.

Wakatoshi holds back another groan. His fisted hand feels so good against his cock, especially as it imagines it’s your tight pussy.

Contrary to what Tendo believes (the only one to know about this bad habit) it wasn’t just your soft moans and quiet gasps that had him clenching his sheets as he lifted his hips.

He had long fallen for you, since you had first locked eyes with him in the long hallway.

There was something about you. The way you always smile up at him gently– not in the way that other girls smile at him, as if they want something (usually his number)– but a genuine smile, eyes crinkling slightly.

This unexpected attraction was only exacerbated when you sat next to him at the first-years’ dinner party. You smelled so fucking good and listened to his words with actual interest, asking him about his family and laughing at his lame jokes.

Unfortunately, he was also scared.

He had heard about the countless rejections you’d dished out since the first day of university.

Despite his perceived sexual ignorance, Wakatoshi knew everything there was to know– he was popular, too, in his own right. Tall and lean, there were girls throwing themselves on him left and right.

But he only wanted you.

Today, he must be extra stressed (especially with that upcoming psychology exam that he hasn’t studied for yet) because he’s so, so close, yet can’t seem to finish.

Fine then.

He leans over, grabs his cell phone. He only does this in emergency cases, which occurs about once or twice a month.

Swiping up, he’s greeted by his photo gallery, opened the night prior for this cause.

In his locked gallery awaits dozens of photos of you.

Obviously none were taken by him!

Wakatoshi’s a creep, but one with manners and boundaries.

This gallery is cluttered with headshots of you from the school’s official website, silly photos of you that were sent into the college athlete’s group chat, and his favorite– photos of you from your close friend who sells them to him at fair prices, starting at $10 minimum.

None are suggestive. But they still rile him up, maybe because the only connection he has with you is through your early morning activities.

Wakatoshi desperately taps on the newest picture he bought for $40, quadruple the usual price– he can hear your breath hitching, and he knows you’re almost done.

He wants to finish with you so bad.

He was going to save this picture for next week, when he knows you’ll be gone for the fencing nationals and he’ll have to cum without you for an entire miserable, dreadful, god-forsaken week–

but he doesn’t care now. Nothing matters.

It’s a glorious photo– when he heard your friend had it, he had grabbed her by the shoulders and demanded a price.

You. On the beach. Under an umbrella. Lying on a purple towel.

He had paid an extra ten dollars for the motion picture– so he could watch you go from ass up onto your back, breasts jiggling and cheeky smirk in full action.

That’s enough.

He holds his fist tight–one more pump and he’s finished, but he wants to make sure you’re cumming first– and he hears it– to his relief, you’re moaning and whispering– “‘m cumming!”

Yeah, he’s cumming too. His hips lift again, and he drags his closed fist downwards against his wet cock. His vision blurs.

“Fuck!”

He can’t help it, today’s orgasm is especially strong, taking control of his full body. He’s shaking, mind barely in control as he continues to slowly pump to ride out the whole orgasm. After all, that’s what you’d do, right? You’d keep riding him, even as he finished and begged you to stop.

Thank God we came together.

Sometimes, you bait him. More often than he likes, you switch it up, holding yourself back and not allowing yourself to cum before masturbating all over again for an even more powerful orgasm. Those days suck– when he’s already softening, cum all over his large hands, and you’re still going.

He hears your bed squeak, and he sighs– as soon as it starts, it’s already over.

6:45 AM, his phone reads. Wakatoshi tosses it aside.

Thankfully, he had pulled his phone away in time, avoiding tainting the device with his release. A few times a month, he gets careless and cums onto an open picture of you, causing him to have to run through his shower extra fast so he can leave time to wipe down the device.

Rolling off the bed, he heads towards the shower leisurely. It’s also become a part of his routine to time his shower. It makes him feel even more intimately connected to you.

Wakatoshi’s grateful you take long showers– you’ve never taken less than 24 minutes to shower, typically, they last about 34 minutes on average. That gives him the time to jump out first and wait to exit his room at the same time you depart from yours.

Under the heat of warm water, he’s usually consumed with thoughts of you, impossible thoughts, like maybe you know.

The wall between you and him is equally thin, and your hearing may be as equally good as his…

Maybe you know, and you like masturbating with him.

And then, just as a precaution, he douses himself with cold water at the end of his shower, and those thoughts dissipate with the steam escaping towards the vent.

Like everyday, Wakatoshi laces his shoes, sprays on his favorite cologne (that your friend claims you like) and inhales, bracing himself to see you.

As he hears your feet shuffle, he pushes his door open first, stepping out into the warm hallway.

“Good morning, Wakatoshi!” You greet, eyes brightening. He nods, gulping. That’s an acceptable form of greeting, right?

As the two of you walk towards the elevator in silence, Wakatoshi can’t help but hope that this morning routine won’t be coming to a stop anytime soon.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n and that's a wrap :,) i really hope you liked and sorry the ending is highkey shit LOL as i kept editing i kept adding and removing more and more and honestly that's kind of my biggest weakness:: i'm never satisfied with my work and i'm scared ppl won't like it ... but i'm trying to overcome that!

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu #wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu wakatoshi #hq wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima smut #haikyuu ushijima #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader

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cameronspecial · 1 year ago

Note

Hey could you do one where rafe x reader have sex for the first time. Virgin!reader. SMUT!!

In the morning she wakes up and can’t move her body because she is so sore. 🥰 “I can’t get up”

He carries her to the bath they have together.

Do You Want Those Things?

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: HARD SMUT and Name Calling During Sex

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.6K

Masterlist

Y/N wasn’t planning on losing her virginity today, but it all happened so fast. Rafe always thought his girlfriend was innocent when it came to sex. It didn’t bother him. He knows she isn’t waiting for marriage, just the right person. He respects her choice and doesn’t push her, letting her come to him if she ever feels ready. The boy didn’t think his girlfriend was interested in anything sexual; she reads most of the time for heaven's sake. All her thoughts must be so pure. Right now, she rests between his legs, back pressed against his chest. Her focus is on her book while he just listens to the sound of the music. When her legs first move, Rafe thinks nothing of it. She must be trying to get comfortable. Yet the second time she readjusts her legs, he notices how the movement is actually about creating some pressure between her legs. This surprises him. She’s never gotten this worked up with him around and he wants to know what is getting his innocent girlfriend so wet. He concludes it must be what she is reading, so he looks at the page and reads the words on the paper.

His eyes widen at the practically pornographic words. He never would’ve suspected that this is what his girlfriend likes to read and it’s driving him crazy that he isn’t the one bringing arousal to his girl. He doesn’t want to push her to do something she isn’t prepared for, but he needs to be the one to make her pussy wet. “Do you want those things done to you, Princess?” he whispers in her ear. Y/N freezes in his hold, uncrossing her legs and looking up at him with doe eyes. She knows she has been caught and honestly, she considers taking up his offer.

They love each other. She knows it. He knows it. She trusts him, so what is stopping her from feeling the pleasure she craves to read about? She closes her book and flips herself in his hold. Her chest presses against his and she can feel his hardening length pressing against the area just above her vagina. Her need for a release increases at the feeling. She nods a little, “Yeah. Rafe, I want you to make me feel good.” Rafe grins down at her, resting his hands in the dip of her back, just above her bum. “Is that right? Do you want me to be nice and sweet with you? Or do you want me to bring your fantasy to life and fuck you as he does to her?” he questions. She knows it is her first time, but she desires to recreate the impurities written in her book. “Fuck me like the little whore I am.” Rafe couldn’t possibly get harder at her words. Before he gives in, he needs to make sure she knows this isn’t a locked-in commitment, “Okay, Princess. I need you to know though, that if you ever want me to be gentle instead, you say yellow and if you want to stop at any point, you say red. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Rafe. Now, please, make me feel good,” she pleads with want dripping from her voice. A dark glean crosses over his eyes and he flips them over so he is on top of her. All she is wearing is his shirt, so her hardened nipples are peeking through the thin material. He needs to feel the skin of her breast against his bare skin. His hands meet at the neckline of the already fraying shirt and she gasps as he rips the shirt apart. She feels an ache between her legs at what just happened. His lips meet her right nipple. His fingers play with the other. Her head throws back at the feeling of his warm tongue circling her bud. Her hair threads through his hair, “Please, Rafe. I need you in me.”

He removes himself from her skin with a shake of the head. “I’m sorry, Princess. Not yet. I need to make sure you are nice and ready for me and then I can fuck you like the little slut you want to be,” he promises to her, moving down her body. His eyes land on her lacy pink underwear. The pretty little bow at the top makes it feel like it’s the wrapping of a gift for him. He tears her underwear off of her body and throws it into the trash. She won’t be needing those again. He sits up and brings his fingers to her mouth. He forces his index and middle finger into her mouth, using her own saliva to get his fingers ready to penetrate her vagina. His big fingers shove to the back of her throat and she gags a little at the feeling. “You wanted to be treated like a whore. This is what they get,” he growls into her ear. After a few seconds, he pulls his fingers out of her mouth with a string of saliva connecting the two still. He brings his hand down between her legs and shoves them into her hole. Not checking to see if she is wet enough to handle two fingers yet. Fingers aren’t a foreign feeling to her, but his are definitely different from hers. Y/N knows Rafe thinks she has never done anything remotely sexual. He is wrong though. She wasn’t immune to her own sexual desires and had masturbated many times before.

This is a new feeling though. She is being shown a new side of intimacy when it comes to fingering, even though his movements are fast and rough. The first moan she lets out is when he curls his fingers to meet her G-spot. Rafe’s teeth nip at her ear, “Those beautiful sounds are all mine. No other man is going to get to hear you like this, Princess. I’m going to be your first and last. You got that?” “Yes, Rafe. I’m about to cum,” she cries out. His movements stop, causing her to complain. “My slut cums on my cock when I tell her. If you don’t, then you get punished.” He pulls away from her, ordering her to take off the ripped shirt while he gets up to take his clothes off. He is left in his boxers. His dick straining to be released and touched by his girl.

He points down to his crotch, “Come here and show me what you can do with that mouth of yours, Princess. Show me how much you want me.” She doesn’t know what she is doing, but she scrambles onto her knees in front of him. Her hands eagerly tug at the waistband of his pants. His cock slaps up against his stomach and she stares at it with a little worry. How was all of that going to fit inside of her? From what she’s read, she knows she needs something to lessen the friction, so she spits in her hands and wraps them around his shaft. She starts moving her hand slowly up and down. “Like this?” she seeks his approval and he nods with his head falling back. He ruts into her hands and she figures he needs her to go faster. She speeds up her movement, but he takes her hands off of him. He takes his cock in one hand and moves it to her mouth, pushing it past her slightly opened lips. He doesn’t ease into her mouth; instead, he thrusts until she can feel him hit the back of her throat. She knows she needs air, yet all she wants to do is make him feel good.

She lets him thrust into her mouth, drool forming at the corner of her lips and her eyes pooling with tears. “Look at you taking me like a good girl. You feel so good,” he praises. He continues his thrusts until he feels his release is imminent. He pulls her head off of him even though her lips itch to stay wrapped around him. “Tsk, tsk. I know you want more, Princess. But the only place that gets my cum is that sweet pussy of yours. It’s what he does to her in the book, isn’t it?” She manages a small nod as she pants for air. “Then that’s what my princess deserves. I’m gonna show you how much better I am than him.”

He pulls her to stand up and pushes her onto the bed on all fours. His hands rub the skin of her smooth, round ass and he can’t help but give it a harsh slap. This causes her to flinch forward in surprise with a moan. “You like that? My little whore likes to be spanked,” he laughs, giving her another hit on the butt. He keeps spanking her until a red print in the shape of his hand blooms across her skin. At the last slap, his hand rests on her butt cheek, giving it a squeeze as his other hand lines himself up with her hole. She can feel the tip being teased against her and she tries to force herself onto her boyfriend’s length. Rafe lets out a low chuckle, “Damn, my princess is desperate to feel me.” With that, he slams into her at full force. The stretch she feels from him being inside her hurts and feels uncomfortable, but he doesn’t give her time to adjust. He does as he promised her and thrusts into her as hard as he can. He pulls back so his tip is the only thing left inside, snapping his hips back against her ass in an instant. At this pace, she can’t keep staying up on her hands and drops down to her elbows. This causes a delicious arch in her back, which provokes Rafe to place his hands on her hips to bring her down on him harder. The pain starts to ebb and pleasure creeps in between her legs. This is when her quiet whimperings start to turn into screams of pleasure. “God, Rafe. This feels so good. Keep going,” she yells, feeling confident enough to start meeting his movement without any help.

“Yeah? Am I making you feel that good? Look at you, my sweet little virgin acting like a freak on my dick. Is that how good I am? I’ve corrupted you?” he questions with an edge of arousal to his voice. “Only sluts like to be fucked without any emotions. Without facing each other.” Y/N wants to reply but can’t seem to find anything else that wants to fall off of her lips except for her breathy moans. The building pressure in her lower stomach has returned and she is focused on chasing that feeling to her release. “Aww, is my princess speechless? How does it feel to be cock drunk for the first time?” he teases with a slap to her ass. He can feel his climax is nearing and he wants to bring her to the edge at the same time. Normally, his stamina is way better, but the newfound intimacy he gets to have with the woman he loves and the previous ruined orgasm shorten his abilities.

He needs more skin contact with her, so he brings his arm under her armpit to bring her back up to his chest. His hand goes up to her opposite shoulder to lock her against him. He can feel her tightening around him. “Is my little whore going to cum? That’s it. Keep getting tighter around me so that I can show you how good you are making me feel,” he demands. She can only groan at his remark. His hips stutter as his semen comes out of him and flows into her. He places his head in her neck, so he can give her soft kisses. He slows down as he lets them come down from their high and collapses on top of her. He rests on his elbows so his full weight isn’t on her. He slips his dick out of her with both of their fluids following. She turns in his arms with a sleepy look in her eyes and cuddles into his neck. He wants to get up to get her to the bathroom, but sleep takes them before he can

———

Y/N awakes to a different type of ache between her legs. One that makes her question if she’ll be able to stand or even walk. She wants to stay in bed with Rafe; however, her bladder is calling for the bathroom. Plus, the dried-up cum in between her legs is in great need of being washed off her skin. She doesn’t want to wake Rafe because he looks so peaceful, so she tries to get up by herself. She makes it a few steps toward his bathroom, looking like a spinning top about to collapse, when she falls to the ground with a thud. Rafe immediately bolts up and looks toward the source of the sound. He sees his girlfriend on the ground and concerns flood him. “I can’t get up,” she complains, reaching for his help. He scrambles out of bed and scoops her into his arms, trying his best not to keep how turned on he is by the sigh of a slight bruise forming on her hips and bum. He doesn’t want her to feel obligated to help relieve him of the growing tension in his stomach now that their sexual relationship has begun.

She softly asks him to set her down on the toilet and he does so once they get to his bathroom. He lets her take care of her business while he gets a bath drawn for them. She finishes up and waits for Rafe to take her to the sink to wash her hands. This is all down in comfortable silence. They can clearly see how tired the other person is from last night. Rafe has a million questions running through his head, except he knows they need to wait. He gets the bath bombs and bubble solution from under his sink and drops both into the tub. They watch as the warm water slowly fills up the tub. The water reaches up almost to the brim when he stops it. His hand pushes past the bubbles to check the temperature of the water. It’s perfect. Hot and on the verge of turning warm after a few minutes. He picks her up and sets her into the tub. She does her best to sit forward as she observes him getting in behind her. The water spills over the edge but neither of them cares. The towel on the floor can handle that. He brings her to rest against his chest.

“I didn’t go too hard on you last night, did I? You didn’t use either of the safe words but I should’ve double-checked while I was doing it,” he starts to worry. “It was your first time. I should’ve gone slower and been more gentle. I’m sorry, Princess. I just wanted to give you what you wanted.” He can feel her head shake against his chest, “I’m okay, Rafe. Don’t worry. It hurt a little bit at first, but I did say I wanted it to. You made me feel so good. Thank you for being so amazing last night.” His fingers laces with hers. “You’re welcome, Princess. All I want is to serve you.” They sit in the tub for an hour, just spending the intimate moment together and taking care of each other’s needs. Y/N couldn’t have asked for a better first time with the man she loves.

Taglist: @loves0phelia

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