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mguvmii · 3 months

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⠀ ⠀わかさ // BABY SITTER'S CLUB ⠀ ༝ ༝ wakasa imaushi [ft. cousin!sano's/black dragons] ⠀ ༝ ༝ 4.2k words ⠀ ༝ ༝ some drinking ! ⠀ — shinichiro asks if you can babysit your younger cousin's for the night, and you get to have a late night convo with his pretty friend after.

you think you might’ve been doomed from the start.

shinichiro didn’t specify what you’d need to babysit your younger cousins for, just that he was desperate because his grandpa was out of town and none of his friends could be trusted to actually watch them. you could almost hear him falling to his knees to beg over the phone.

you like to think you’re a nice person. generous and caring, and you haven’t seen mikey or emma in a while anyways, so there was no real harm in saying yes. taking every penny from his wallet was a plus, too.

you get to their house right when he tells you, almost tackled by emma who is saying something about having a sleepover in the living room with a pillowfort in the mix the second you’ve finished slipping off your shoes, and you catch a glance of mikey pouting to his older brother while emma drags you further into the house.

“(y/n)’s gonna take good care of you guys, don’t sweat it.” shinichiro pats mikey’s head with a hum, then turns to you, “left some money on the counter for pizza or something if you want, but there’s food in the fridge too if you wanna cook. ‘m gonna be in my room for a bit before i have to leave, but i’ll prob’ly be home way after you guys are asleep.”

you offer a nod, setting your overnight bag in a corner of the living room, “s’okay, i’ll probably need a ride home tomorrow though, if that’s alright.”

“not a problem - thanks for coming, i really appreciate it-”

he’s interrupted by the front door swinging open, a man with a long scar going over one of his eyes coming in like he owns the place, with two kids running past his legs to greet your younger cousins. he drops their bags by yours, stretching and popping his back as if carrying them was the worst thing in the world before his eyes find your own wide ones, unlit cigarette between his teeth while he takes you in.

“you’re the babysitter, right? sanzu, senju, come introduce yourselves. ‘m takeomi.” he offers his hand, and he must be confused by your bewildered stare, because he takes his hand back and looks to your older cousin, “they okay shin?”

you whirl around to glare at him, completely appalled by his apologetic stare. “surprise?”

“you did not tell me i’d be watching four kids!”

shinichiro is quick for damage control, gesturing towards takeomi, “he’s gonna pay what i am, promise!”

takeomi looks surprised at this news, opening his mouth to argue, but deciding against it from the look shinichiro gives. he fishes out his wallet, counting out some money and offering it to you. you eye it, then him, then shinichiro. your cousin clears his throat, jutting his thumbs upwards as a sign for more. takeomi sputters, pulling out all the cash he has and placing it in your open hand.

“i am not a daycare.” your eyes narrow between them, pointed look enough to have shinichiro humming nervously. you shove the cash in your wallet, finally acknowledging the two new additions to your entourage.

“i’m senju! this is my brother sanzu.” the girl says, hands on her brother's shoulders as she pushes him forward.

“i’m (y/n).” you smile, and sanzu looks away from you before escaping his sister’s hold and scurrying back to mikey.

shinichiro and takeomi whisper between themselves while you and emma start gathering blankets from around the house, before shinichiro calls out, “okay, we’ll be out here for a bit! you’ll probably hear us leaving soon!”

“see ya.” you call back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you help senju put blankets on to chairs and set pillows over them to keep them in place. the door shuts, and you’re left alone with no one over the age of 10.

⠀ ⠀ ༝⠀ ⠀ ༝

shinichiro honestly expected you to come barrelling into his room far sooner than you did.

takeomi sat to his right on the couch, benkei to his left, and wakasa sat on the table in front of them. your soft knock was barely audible, but it made shinichiro pause in his talk about black dragon, turning to face it when you open it slowly and peek into the room.

“what’s up?” he asks, standing when you make your way further in.

“i just wanted to make sure sanzu and senju weren’t allergic to anything.” you look past him, to takeomi, who takes a long drag of his cigarette before shaking his head.

“not that i know of.”

“emma and mikey?” you’re looking at him now, head tilted slightly.

“nothin’.” he confirms, “you gonna make somethin’?”

“mhm.” you scan the room, eyes glossing over each of his friends, before they settle on one person for a second, then you’re turning on your heel to go back to the kids, “i’ll put some leftovers in the fridge if you want.”

he snickers, despite having no idea what could’ve had you leaving so quickly, “sounds good, thank you!”

the click of the door fills the air as you leave, and silence washes over the group before wakasa sighs.

“okay, i’ll bite. who was that.”

shinichiro turns slowly, acknowledging his friend for a second, and takeomi answers before he has a chance to open his mouth, “(y/n). babysitter of the night and thief of all the cash in my wallet.”

“they stole from you?” benkei laughs, the idea almost comedic.

“not directly,” takeomi’s eyes narrow to shinichiro, “but they are definitely making a pretty penny tonight.”

“and dealing with your monsters of siblings,” wakasa sighs out a puff of smoke, “it’s easy money well-earned.”

“think i could pay enough for ‘em to babysit me-”

takeomi gets hit in the back of the head by a shoe, jolting forward while shinichiro gathers the matching pair to slide onto his foot. “that’s enough of that, you guys ready to go or you wanna fantasize ‘bout my cousin all night?”

“cousin?” takeomi scoffs, throwing the shoe back to him. he slides it on then goes for his bike keys, “thought the attractive gene skipped over your generation.”

“more like skipped over you. we leavin’ or what?”

⠀ ⠀ ༝⠀ ⠀ ༝

you heard their bikes take off about two hours ago, finished feeding the kids right after that, and got everyone changed into their pjs in record time. babysitters around the world wish they had your skillset. it takes a bit to get them to quiet down into the fort you’ve created, but with the promise of tv and a snack before bed, they’re hooked.

it’s a surprise when the guys stumble in through the front door with the smell of alcohol following them, benkei supporting most of shinichiro’s weight with a nasty bruise on his cheek. wakasa follows behind the two of them, remnants of a bloody nose still flaked lightly under his nostril, and . . . you look between the three, making sure your headcount is accurate.

“aren’t you guys missing one?”

the men look between each other, then out the door as if he was waiting outside, then back to each other.

“oh.”

“oh?” you parrot, “the hell happened to you guys?”

“oniichan’s face is messed up.” one by one, the kids pop out from the blankets to see their siblings and friends alike. emma pouts, tugging on your arm, “he promised no more fighting (y/n), can you believe it.”

mikey almost laughs at his brother, “like he ever could, you know how he likes to pick fights.”

“where’s ‘omi?” senju rubs her eyes as a yawn slips past her lips, and sanzu nudges her shoulder.

“maybe he got arrested.”

she stiffens at the thought, suddenly very awake and pulling on your other arm, “he isn’t really is he? he’s just sayin’ that?”

your eyes narrow at the three men for riling up the kids right when you were getting them ready to sleep.

“out.” you point towards the garage door, gently pulling your arms from emma and senju and shoving wakasa by the shoulders when no one moves.

“what’d i do?” he whines out, eyes not leaving you as you grab benkei by the wrist and drag him in the same direction.

“‘s my house.” shinichiro grumbles, being pulled along by his friend.

you open the door for them and push them one by one into shinichiro’s room, ignoring the complaints from each of them while benkei gives an apologetic smile. he closes the door for you, and you’re left consoling senju while trying to get everyone back into the fort as if it will help get them to sleep faster.

and it almost works, shrek playing on the tv with sanzu’s head resting on your shoulder.

the door swings open, and each of you startle at the sudden sound, takeomi’s voice loud while he complains about being left by his dearest friends. you climb out of the fort to glare at him, and senju lets out a small omi! before you’re grabbing him by the ear and dragging him to the garage door. you push it open and all but shove him into the room, completely ignoring the whines he gives about his poor tortured ear.

“stay.” you threaten, glaring at each of them like they’re dogs who just won’t listen, and not one of them can find it in themselves to argue from the way you’re looking at them.

“‘s my house.” shinichiro grumbles again, once the door is shut and his safety is secured as you retreat.

an hour passes and takeomi sips idly on a lukewarm beer shinichiro keeps in his room, pout still very evident, while wakasa lights a cigarette. benkei breaks any leftover silence with a grumbling stomach.

“‘m kinda hungry. we never stopped at the store like we said we would.” he scratches his cheek, looking to his friends in hopes of a solution.

“(y/n) did say they made somethin’ for dinner, didn’t they?” takeomi sits up slightly from his slouched position, thinking dreamily about what you could’ve made.

“you wanna risk goin’ into the house?” wakasa takes a drag from his cigarette.

“it’s my house.” shinichiro stands, repeating that phrase for the third time in one hour. it’s almost like he’s trying to convince himself it’s okay.

it’s decided then shinichiro would go in, grab something quick, and be back in his room before you notice he’s even there. hoping time would be on his side, since it is very late, maybe you’ll be sound asleep and he won’t really need to be as sneaky as he’s planning. the plan falls apart very quickly at the seams, realizing the door that connects his room inside the house is locked from the otherside. he silently curses you, trying to turn the lock one more time in case his first attempt just wasn’t right, then sighs.

“gotta go through the front door.”

his friends watch with amused grins, wondering if maybe you’ve completely cut all contact with them until the morning, as shinichiro goes out the side door that leads to the front porch. he thanks whatever god is out there that the door is unlocked, opening so, so slowly to ensure it doesn’t make a creak, and slides into the room as quietly as possible.

quiet, until he knocks into the umbrella holder right beside the door. it falls with a clatter, and he can see you sit up slightly from your spot on the couch, hissing out a ‘shh’ while sanzu in your lap makes a noise of complaint in his sleep. he places it back as it was with a wince.

“the hell are you doin’?” you whisper scream, barely able to turn your body in fear of waking up the boy you’ve had to constantly pat to keep asleep.

“we just-”

“no. no ‘we’. if you wake up these kids, i swear-”

“okay! okay, okay, okay, you win.” he grumbles something under his breath that has your eyes narrowing at him in the dark, and he inhales sharply before going back to his friends.

attempt one : failed.

shinichiro arrives back to the gang empty handed and dejected at losing so easily.

and his friends have the audacity to laugh at him.

“an umbrella holder? shouldn’t you know that house like the back of your hand?” wakasa almost snorts, holding his stomach at the fact that something so small did him in.

“i do!” he assures, “one of the kids must’ve moved it closer to the door or something.” he explains in vain, “and i don’t see any of you guys stepping up to try.”

takeomi claps a hand on benkei’s shoulder, shaking him slightly after, “benkei’s my vote, he’s the one that brought up food in the first place.”

“i didn’t know we’d have to become ninjas to eat.” he argues, “besides, i’m the biggest here, what makes you think i’ll do any better?”

he makes a good case, but the idea of you whisper-yelling at someone twice your size almost makes shinichiro laugh. “i agree with takeomi, i think you should try.”

“i can’t believe you guys are plotting against me.” he looks to wakasa, who just shrugs and offers no help. so, with a sigh, he stands, taking the beer takeomi had been nursing, and chugs what’s left while ignoring the complaints that follow.

he goes out the same way shinichiro did, opens the door as quietly as he can, and . . . bumps into the same. fucking. umbrella holder. with the warning in mind. you whip around to glare, curses on your tongue as you take in benkei, who looks so sorry, it has the words dying on your lips. the two of you stare at each other for all of five seconds, before he’s wordlessly picking the holder back up, placing it where it was, and closing the door behind him.

attempt two : failed.

benkei returns to the group just as empty handed as his captain, just as dejected.

“couldn’t even get through the door.” he sighs, waving off the laughter that follows.

“they say anything to you?” wakasa snickers, offering benkei another beer. he takes it gratefully, chugging it easily and shaking his head.

“i kicked the umbrella holder,” louder laughter surrounds him, “didn’t even say anything. we just stared at each other and i left.”

“we’re never gonna eat at this rate.” shinichiro groans, “why is this so hard?”

“they aren’t even that scary,” takeomi hums, ear incident long forgotten, while putting out the remainder of his cigarette before standing, “i’ll show you guys how it’s done.”

takeomi is so self-assured, so confident that it doesn’t matter if he fucks up. he’s a smooth-talker, through and through. surely, if you get upset, he can just talk it out. that’s what these idiots don’t understand.

with that in mind, he takes the same route as the others. he decides, maybe their flaw is in opening the door so slowly. that must be why they keep kicking the umbrella holder. they let it sneak up on them, too worried about the wrong thing to even notice it. he pushes the door open with no regard to how loud he is, taking a step past the frame and cursing when he kicks the one thing he was meant to avoid.

it clatters across the floor, and he hears a groan from sanzu, both from the sound and from you shifting to face him.

“d-didn’t mean to-” he stutters out, and your glare hardens when he makes no attempt to keep his voice down.

“so help me god, if you do not go back to the garage right now you are going to wish you never met me.”

he audibly gulps, bowing his head while apologies fall off his lips. you throw a pillow in his direction, and he takes that as a sign to bounce, not bothering to pick up the umbrella holder like the past two attemptees.

attempt three : failed.

takeomi comes back, head still high with nothing in his hands, and the laughter that erupts is infectious.

“they threatened me! me!!” he explains desperately, “and it worked!”

shinichiro really thinks they should’ve just gone to a twenty-four hour store at this point, but each attempt seems to be funnier than the last. he turns to wakasa, who sips on a beer from the couch. he catches his eye, and shakes his head.

“nuh uh, no way am i going in there after all of that.”

“you’re the only one that hasn’t!” shinichiro argues, “and technically, you’re the one least likely to get caught! being the smallest and all . . . “ his voice trails off, and the comment has wakasa’s eyes narrowing to slits.

“i’m not even that hungry, it’s you guys who are so desperate.”

“it’s only fair you try, too.” benkei grumbles, still not over the look you gave him when he first walked in.

four of the toughest delinquents in tokyo, arguing about fairness. out of fear for their leader's younger cousin, no less. it’s laughable. wakasa grumbles profanities under his breath, almost certain this will end with you leaving shinichiro’s house with an attempted murder charge.

“fine, but if i come outta there alive, you guys owe me.”

“not if you come back empty handed.” takeomi opens another beer, plopping his ass back down on the couch, “careful, they have sanzu in their lap. that kid’ll be the reason they snap.”

wakasa takes the warning with a grain of salt, sure that the four of them bothering you is the real reason for your aggravation. with a sigh, he’s left walking to the front door and opening it quietly. you’re already glaring holes where he stands and he hasn’t even had a chance to do anything wrong.

“what could you guys possibly want so badly?” you ask through clenched teeth, and wakasa’s hands come up defensively, closing the door behind him and very aware of the umbrella holder takeomi left in the middle of the floor.

“we’re just hungry.” he assures, stepping past the couch towards the kitchen, “be in and out before you can notice.”

he stumbles slightly in his drunken state, and it has you heaving a sigh and slowly peeling yourself from under sanzu. you carefully place a blanket over him, and follow wakasa to the kitchen, finger pressed to your lips to make sure he knows to keep quiet.

wakasa is already shuffling through the fridge, hoping to find something quick and easy so he isn’t in your hair for any longer than he needs to be, but you’re pulling him back gently by his upper arm and grabbing something in a tupperware container.

“i made rice with some vegetables and beef i found in the freezer,” you say softly, and wakasa wonders for a second if you’re always soft spoken or if it’s because you’re trying your best to be quiet.

you pop the lid off and move to reheat what you made, leaning against the counter as the microwave counts down.

“what’d you guys do for you to earn that?” you nod towards him, and despite not directly saying what, wakasa knows you’re talking about his previously bloodied nose.

absentmindedly, he taps at his nostril, honestly having forgotten to even clean what blood was there. “fight.” he says dumbly, and the simplicity of it has you giggling. he thinks he really likes that sound.

he watches intently when you grab a paper towel, dampening it with the sink water, then so very gently cup his cheek to tap at the blood to clean it. if he had any shame, he knows his face would be flushed right now. instead, he grins, eyes half-lidded while he absorbs your focused expression.

“you’re awfully sweet on me, huh?” the comment has your own cheeks dusting pink, but your reply comes by you squeezing his cheek tighter.

“quit movin’, makin’ this harder than it needs to be.”

by the time you’re finished, the microwave is seconds away from going off, and you drop both the paper towel and his face in favor of making sure the timer doesn’t have a chance to sound, stopping it right at :01. wakasa finds himself missing your touch, but the thought is lost when the smell of food hits. maybe he was hungrier than he thought.

he grabs a plate for himself, piling a portion onto it and groaning when it hits his tongue.

“you made this?” he finds himself asking, despite you literally explaining the fact that you did not even five minutes ago. you hum out a reply, already in the process of getting other plates and utensils for his friends.

“‘s very good.” he grins when he’s finished, “thanks for takin’ care of me.” he eyes you lazily, grin growing bigger when he sees that the pink dusting your cheeks spreads.

“don’t mention it,” you mumble, pushing the plates and now warm food to him, “should probably take these to them before they starve.”

“let ‘em.” he says with such confidence, it has a giggle passing your lips. he wants to hear that more. he pulls himself onto the counter with such ease, it makes you wonder how drunk he really is.

“so who’d you guys fight?” you lean against the counter beside him, tapping at his knee as if his undivided attention wasn’t already fully on you.

“some idiots,” he waves dismissively, “heard from people at the bar we're inna gang and started shit talking shinichiro.”

you grin, “he take the first swing?”

he mirrors your smile, and fuck does he look pretty when he does, “damn right. got socked right after,” he taps his cheek, “everyone was fightin’ after that. benkei had to drag us out ‘fore the cops came.”

“who hit you?” you muse, head tilting slightly.

“some random that followed us outta the bar.” his grin only widens at the memory, “shoulda seen the other guy.”

“i can only imagine.” you push yourself from the counter when a head of pink hair peeks around the corner, eyes widening slightly when they meet yours before he scurries back to the living room.

wakasa’s eyes follow your movements when you leave him alone in the kitchen, in favor of going back to sanzu who can’t seem to stay asleep without your comforting touch. in his inebriated state, he finds himself following behind you. in the time it took him to make that decision, you’ve already gotten comfortable on the couch with sanzu’s head in your lap. you rub his back idly, and he catches the faintest whisper of you asking if he had another bad dream, sees the way sanzu’s head barely moves with a nod.

it’s really domestic, seeing how well you’re taking care of a kid you didn’t even know about hours before, and wakasa finds himself almost jealous of the 9 year old. what a cockblock, coming in when he was reeling you into the conversation.

instead of voicing these concerns, he finds himself clambering on the other end of the couch, feet tucked neatly under him and looking at you.

“hi,” you whisper with a small laugh, “don’t you have a delivery to make?”

he waves off the suggestion with a hum, “they shoulda came on their own - kept tellin’ horror stories ‘bout you being mean, but i think they’re just scaredy cats.”

“that so?” you muse, and sanzu shifts closer to you when wakasa leans over him to get a better look at your smile.

“mhm,” half-lidded eyes scan over you, and he can honestly forget about the boy between the two of you easily with the way you’re looking back at him, “think maybe they can’t handle you like i can.”

you offer another giggle, putting a finger against his forehead when he invades too much of sanzu’s space, “i think you should tell me this sober.”

“i’d tell you it everyday if i could.” he whispers so seriously, it has your face flushing.

“try again tomorrow.” you tap his forehead twice for emphasis, then pass a blanket his way since it’s very apparent he won’t be going back to his friends.

his friends, who are mourning the loss of him the longer he takes to come back.

shinichiro, after his dear friend wakasa hadn’t shown up in the five minutes they’d timed him for, delved into horror stories from when you were younger. how you’d been suspended from school due to your temper, picking more fights than him when someone said the wrong thing. how he’d spend some weekend nights helping you tend to bruised knuckles after you’d defended him.

and it ends with each man giving a soft prayer for their friend, who, after an hour, still hadn’t come back yet.

unbeknownst to them, wakasa had fallen asleep listening to you tell stories about your cousin. how you’d protected him in grade school because kids were assholes, but you were a bigger asshole who didn’t take that shit. and on the couch, the three of you fell asleep peacefully, while the men in garage hoped you gave wakasa a quick and painless death.

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mguvmii · 3 months

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Morning sunlight ☀️

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mguvmii · 6 months

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Could you write a Stephen x f!reader with age gap where she’s ribbing him, calling him things like her “old man” (affectionately) and calling him out on his stamina, just to get a rise out of him and he shows her just how wrong she is (maybe with overstim on her end)

Thanks Xx

Show Me What You’ve Got, Old Man

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT! Explicit language, age gap, spanking, oral (f receiving), fingering, PinV (unprotected), degradation, slight overstimulation, slight voyeurism.

Word Count: 7,799

Reading time: ≈ 28 mins.

A/N: first and foremost, @vickie-mcmuffin just released a oneshot with a very similar prompt, go check it out and show her some love!!! second, one thing about me? imma write an age gap where doctor strange is concerned, LMAO. solid request, 10/10, no notes. enjoy the read <3

18+ or i haunt you like a ghost from ur past <;3!

Stephen was used to you testing his nerves. It was your favorite pastime, really. He supposed it had something to do with all that pent-up energy and wit— and there was a lot of it with you being so young and fresh. But some days— oh some days— he just wanted to tie you up in the nearest corner and put a gag in your mouth. You were relentless. And while your flirtations were normally sweet, you definitely had a brattier side that he found jumping out more and more. He liked when you flirted with him, and he should have known better than to flirt back. Though you’d made it abundantly clear that there was no hesitancy on your part due to your age gap, he found himself second-guessing the flirtation from time to time. He knew he shouldn’t be responding to it or entertaining it, but you made it so damn hard to ignore.

It had started out innocent enough that day. He was rummaging through the cabinets at Kamar-Taj trying to find his favorite tea when you’d saddled up beside him and bumped him gently out of the way with your hip, reaching up and pulling down the sugar for yourself before serving him a shy smile and going back to your own tea. As you put the sugar back in the cabinet, you also placed the box he’d been looking for right in his line of sight with a little smirk and sashayed away, hips swinging back and forth, mug cradled carefully in your hands.

Then about half an hour later when he was on his way to teach a beginners course for opening gateways, he’d seen you sitting in the courtyard, legs crossed, eyes shut gently, deep breaths forcing your chest to rise and fall at a slow and steady pace. The swells of your breasts were rather hard to ignore in the tank top you were wearing— you always wore one under the top layer of your robes, insisting that all the fabric was too heavy for you to concentrate in.

“It looks unprofessional.” He’d scold gently

“We’re magic wielders, Doctor. I don’t work in an office and I won’t spend the rest of my life in a uniform.”

“Why not? It looks nice enough on you. And the other students stare when you don’t have on the upper half. It looks like we’re playing favorites.”

“Oh…” You hum, “I see.”

“What?”

“It’s hard for me to concentrate in my robes, but it’s much harder for your other students to concentrate when I’m out of them.” You’d raise a quizzical brow, “Is it your students that have a hard time focusing or you, Master Strange?” Glancing up at him through your lashes you tease, “Just another old man perving on his student… how unfortunate. I believe the world suspects better of you.”

So you knew exactly what you were doing when you took off that outer layer. And even if it was hot and it did help you concentrate, even if that was the original motive, he was almost certain that motive had been entirely overruled. Though, he couldn’t say he actually cared. He just had to continue being a hard-ass about it… like most things you did.

Not to mention, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t play a part in some in it.

When he’d stalked into the library at around noon to find a very specific book to go over during lunchtime, he couldn’t help but stop and stare when he saw you. There you stood on your tip-toes, both hands stretched upward, fingers just shy of missing the book you were clearly so desperate to reach. And the space between the shelves was too narrow, but Stephen made his way over, wedging himself between you and the shelf.

He watched your body go stiff as his as he leaned forward a bit farther than necessary, leaned down a bit farther than necessary as well to whisper, “Pardon me, just trying to reach this…” Before pulling the book you’d been so desperately trying to reach from the shelf and sliding away, leaving the touch of his hand against your waist

And that was where he’d anticipated it ending for the day. Because the next time the two of you would see each other would be during a sparring class, and for as insistent as you were, you never pushed your boundaries when there were other students around. You were as big a believer in respect as he was, and you both knew exactly what it would look like if other students and Masters caught wind of your flirtations.

“Y/N, with Master Strange.” Wolfe demands walking by you during your warmup stretches

You crack open one eye and ask, “You’re gonna make me beat up an old man?”

Stephen did a double-take hearing the conversation. Old man? He wasn’t that old…

He watched as Sarah tried to quell a smile, “You’ve far surpassed proficiency in hand-to-hand. You’re a danger to the other students.” She tells you

You ‘tsk’ and roll your eyes, “You give a guy a concussion once.”

“And a fair amount of harsh bruising to others.”

“You know as well as I do it’s far less dangerous to bruise another student’s skin than to bruise a Master’s ego, Master Wolfe.” You could feel Stephen’s eyes on you as you pout, “What if I hurt his feelings?”

“Y/N…” She chides

“Sorry. Yes, Master Wolfe.” You relent with a smile

“Old man?” The all-too-familiar baritone creeps up your neck and causes chills to break out across your body, “I’m not old enough for that title quite yet, I don’t think.”

You close your eyes and hum, giving a shrug, “That’s your opinion.” You scoot over and pat the space next to you, “Come stretch. Don’t want you to pull anything when we get started, Gramps.” Stephen complied, lowering himself gracefully next to you on the stone floor and you smile asking, “Were those your knees I just heard?”

He scoffs, “You didn’t hear my knees.”

“I think I did…”

“Oh, very funny. Someone is in a mood today.”

You hum quietly, “What kind of mood do you think I’m in, Doctor?”

“Not entirely sure.” He huffs out, rather disappointed your eyes aren’t open to ogle his arms as he stretches them over his head… you normally do, “How was your time in the library earlier today?”

“Well, seeing as how someone took the book I needed, entirely ineffective. Thank you.”

“It’s too advanced for you anyway.”

“And how do you propose I better myself if I continue reading the same old same old?”

“I’ve always found hands-on experience rather helpful.”

“Hands-on experience?” He watches as you crack open one eye and look him over, “Offering your services, Master Strange?”

Stephen’s nostrils flared as he looked away from you, “I’m sure any of the other Masters or upper-level students would be more than happy to help you, Miss Y/L/N.”

You smile to yourself, “So shy with others around.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, that you have no problem rubbing yourself against me in private between bookshelves, but the second other people are around you’d rather put on that air of professionalism and pretend you wouldn’t rather be between the shelves.”

“I wasn’t— I simply needed that book.”

“Oh?” You ask, “And tell me… what did you need a beginner’s level book on astral projection for, Master Strange?”

Well… shit.

“It wasn’t me who needed it so much as Wong. He’d asked me to take it to the London Sanctum. One of their students needed it and their copy was missing.” Stephen lies succinctly

“And that required you to grind against my a—“

“I didn’t.” He denies, “And do lower your voice.”

He did. Round and wonderful. He’d thought about it many, many times. He hadn’t gotten as solid of a feel for it as he’d have liked.

“If you didn’t then you shouldn’t be worried about anyone overhearing the conversation.” You point out, “My apologies. I misinterpreted the interaction. I’ll be sure to move away next time.”

“Thank you.” He says simply in response, though secretly dreading you would actually put the threat into action

“I should have known anyways.” You sigh, “A nice old guy like yourself isn’t into creeping on little girls, is he?” You glance at him sideways and enjoy the way his jaw tenses, “You wouldn’t waste your time flirting and teasing someone so young and innocent. Not when there’s a line of women out there in the real world perfectly willing and ready to fall into your bed at the first glance.”

“Innocent is not the first word that comes to mind when I look at you, Dear.” Stephen says, glaring down at you

“Dear? Highly unprofessional, Master Strange. Really…” You stand and look down at him, “I’ll find us a nice private place to work. Come find me whenever you get yourself off the floor. I’ll give you twenty— or do you need more?”

He rolls his eyes, “I’ll be there in three minutes.”

“It’s better if we set realistic expectations for ourselves.” You chide with a grin

“You’re right.” He agrees, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Stephen actually took his three minutes. He needed it to compose himself. He wasn’t sure what you were playing at today, but he could tell you were up to no good. Your condescending tone and catty little attitude made him want to spank the disobedience right out of you. He could imagine how satisfying the action would be… how nice the imprint of his hand on your ass cheek would look. He’d bend you over the nearest surface and serve one for every snotty little remark you’d made today. You’d be writhing beneath him by the end of it, ass wiggling, little hands clawing at anything and everything, looking for something to hold on to. He’d lean over you, pressing his half-hard—

Shit.

Stephen huffed to himself as he walked over to the spot you’d chosen. A back corner beneath the shade of a tree. A growl bubbled up from his throat when he saw the top half of your uniform slung over one of the branches in the tree. Your too tight tank top with itty-bitty straps sitting far too low on your chest, exposing the black sports bra beneath it. Stephen wasn’t exactly understanding the dynamics of that sports bra. He thought the point was to flatten, not push your tits up to your neck.

“Put it on.” He grit out immediately upon arrival

“No one else has seemed to notice but you. And Master Wolfe always lets me keep it off. Given she’s my instructor at the moment, it stays off.” You fire back immediately, you grin and bounce on the balls of your feet saying, “Besides, I can move a whole lot easier with it off.”

Yeah, he could see that.

He sighed, “Straight to it? First to tap loses?”

“Sure.” You agree

Stephen immediately stepped forward and hooked his foot around your ankle, pulling your leg from under you and watching as you tumbled to the floor. You looked up at him with pure disdain and pouted.

“I’m sorry, when did we call start?”

“You said ‘sure’ which sounded a lot like ‘let’s start.’” He smiles to himself, but does offer a hand to help you up from the floor

You reach up and gingerly take his hand before your grip goes a lot firmer and you pull him down so his stomach meets your foot. You huff and with what feels like far too little effort, throw him over your head, sending him flat on his back behind you. He lets out a groan and rolls over to find you standing and ready for whatever move he makes next. You did like to play dirty.

“Ouch.”

“You started it.”

“How old are you?”

“I wasn’t born in a year that starts with a one, if that’s what you’re asking.” You tilt your head and ask, “What were the roaring twenties like? Always wanted to know. Loved The Great Gatsby in high school.”

“Oh, c’mon…” He mutters, “I’m definitely not that old.”

“Show me what you’ve got, Old Man.”

He throws a weak jab to your left side which you sidestep easily with a grin, “Gotta’ be quicker than that.” He throws another, much quicker as you’d suggested to your right, “Not quite.”

The next jab he throws, you grab his wrist and twist so his arm is behind his back, his hand pressed between his own shoulder blades. A high uncomfortable stretch, and one which can genuinely hurt if the person were on the floor immobile. Stephen bends his free arm and elbows you in the ribs gently, just hard enough to force you to let go. He huffs when you don’t and repeats the same action with much more force, pulling a hiss from your throat as you drop his arm.

“You understand the point of sparring is practice without any real damage to your partner, correct?” Stephen chastises, “If you weren’t so stubborn, you’d make it out unscathed.”

“Unlike others, I don’t worry about my paper-thin skin bruising from a little pinch, Doctor.”

“Shut up and swing.” He grouches

Instead of your arm, your swing your right leg up at him. Stephen raises his arm and lets you kick him in the ribs, only to bring his arm back down and trap your leg. As Stephen was trying to decide what to do with you from this position, he ducked out of the way just before your fist made contact with his jaw. He glared at you seriously, his nostrils flared.

“Have to be honest, kinda glad I missed that one. Don’t wanna ruin the money maker.”

Stephen’s ego received a boost from the comment if nothing else, though he still lectures, “You’re going to hurt someone swinging full force like that some day.”

You groan and wrench your leg from his hold, “Isn’t that the point? What the hell are we training for if not to hurt someone?”

“We don’t train you so you can hurt someone else, Y/N. We train you so you can protect you.”

“Where is the difference?” You throw your arms in the air

Stephen swiftly wrapped one arm around your own and pulled the other back with it, standing behind you with both your arms trapped over your head in his hold. You wiggled for a moment before deciding that would get you nowhere. He was stronger and taller— a huge advantage for him in this position. Think and buy time. Stephen waited patiently to see your next move. He could practically hear the cogs turning in your head. Not to mention he could smell your shampoo… clean and floral, something sweet but soft— so very much the opposite of you.

“What’s the difference?” You repeat quietly, tensing yourself a little so his arms would have to spread wider to keep you in their grasp

“Hm?”

“What’s the difference in hurting someone and protecting me if I have to hurt them to protect me?”

Stephen couldn’t resist drawing you back just a little farther, masking it as trying to gain a firmer hold, “Because protecting you means we get you out of the situation in as little time, with as little energy as possible. Hurting someone just because you have the ability to is cruel. When they’ve surrendered, you let go. That is what you need to learn. It is not about the power.” Stephen brought his lips closer to your ear and whispered, “Think of all the things I could do to you from here, Dear. Some I’m sure you’d find more painful than others— but the fact is, I could do them and you couldn’t stop me. But just because I can, doesn’t make it right.” He felt you shift on your feet, your body wiggling in his grasp, your cheeks flushing pink, “Would you like to tap?”

“No.” You huff, “Rather like where I’ve found myself.”

Stephen ducked his head and smiled, “Though that may be, you do have to get out… can’t spend all day like this.” He lowered his voice and asks, “So, how do you get out?”

You seem to contemplate for a moment before admitting, “I don’t know.”

“Dead weight.” He responds, “You’re overestimating the strength of my arms. They’re the weakest part of my body. Make yourself dead weight and you’ll fall away without a problem.”

“But now you know my next move.” You pout

Stephen chuckles in your ear sending a chill up your spine, “I don’t know what you’ll do after the fact.”

You wait a moment before making yourself dead weight as he says, and you appreciate the fact that he does still try to hold you up, he doesn’t just let you go. You land on your knees and with a smile turn to face him, making your eyes wide and innocent as you stare up at him, chin tilted up. Stephen took in a steady breath. It was a nice sight, he had to admit that much.

“Any good?” You ask

“Perfect.” He agrees

You reach forward and grab him in the bend of his knees. His legs give out and he falls to the ground with a groan. You immediately scamper up his body, straddling over his waist, crossing your arms and grabbing his lapels to place him in a choke hold.

“Not cool.” Stephen mumbles, rubbing the back of his head

“Why not? I thought it was pretty good.” You wiggle a little, sliding your hips down over his crotch

He gives a little grunt and his hands come to your hips on reflex. He glares up at you and you just smile down at him.

“Stop.” He hisses

“Stop what?”

“That!” He exclaims as you wiggle again

“I’m just waiting for you to tap out.” You feign, “Though… doesn’t exactly feel like you want out of this position…” You wiggle against the bulge becoming quite a bit more prominent in his pants

“Y/N. Enough. We are in a public setting with other students and Masters—“

“We’re training.” You roll your eyes, “Already too worn out? C’mon, where’s your stamina, Old Man?” Stephen shift below you and you settle your weight over him more firmly, your lips parting ever so slightly at the pressure

“Cut the Old Man shit.” He grits out

“Awe…” You pout down at him, tightening your hold on his neck, “Are your feelings hurt, Master Strange?”

Stephen steeled his hold on your hips and flipped the two of you so you were face down on the stone. He pinned you wrists above your head, straddling over your thighs… his hips more or less pressed against your ass, but that was just a fact of the position, not his own will. It was however his own will when he leaned down, pressing his half hard-on between your ass cheeks. He couldn’t have missed the little whimper you gave if he tried.

He put his lips beside your ear and growled out, “We need to have a serious talk about your boundaries and sense of professionalism, Miss Y/L/N. You will come to my office at the end of the day. Am I understood?” You phrased below him and Stephen snarled, pressing more of his weight against you, “Am I understood?”

You swallow hard and nod, “Yes, sir.”

He released your hands, “Now tap.”

You tapped and Stephen immediately lifted himself off of you and turned to leave, “Tell Master Wolfe had a matter of urgency to attend to. You’ll need a new partner the rest of this session.”

“Yes, sir.” You agree, voice shaky as you lift yourself from the ground

“As soon as your day is done. Your schedule is free after seven. I expect you to be in my office before or at eight. No later.”

“Yes, Master Strange.”

But he was already storming away.

Stephen was sitting in his office waiting for you. He kept glancing toward the clock. A quarter til eight and you still hadn’t shown. He started to wonder if his tone hadn’t been serious enough for you. He was at his wit’s end. That little stunt you pulled… completely inappropriate. Even more inappropriate was the face he had to continue reminding himself how inappropriate it had been. But the image had been… enticing to say the least. The idea that one of the other students or Masters might have seen only made the situation more arousing. But he was supposed to be the adult in this situation. He shouldn’t be considering… entertaining such behavior.

There was a gentle knock on the door and he straightened up behind his desk, calling, “Come in.”

You stepped through the door timidly, hands laced behind your back, “Door opened or closed?”

“Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”

You nudged the door to with your foot. Stephen didn’t look up from the book he seemed to be absorbed in. You walked farther into the room and took a deep breath. It smelled so perfectly of him. There was a little fireplace on the far side of the room that made the smaller area nice and warm. Three different rugs were layered over themselves in front of it, a large regal-looking chair slightly to the side. His desk was large, deep oak wood with a chair to match. The space suited him very well.

“Good evening.” You murmur

“How were the rest of your classes?”

You shrug, “Fine. Still no luck opening a portal. Not even a spark.”

“And you believe you’re ready for astral projection?” Stephen asks, glancing up at you through his lashes

You weren’t in your robes. Your hair was half-dried and falling over your shoulders, face glowing fresh out of the shower. You wore a ratty old tee shirt with a seriously worn-out collar and a pair of little bitty sleep shorts. He knew it was what you preferred to relax in, and he seriously doubted you were still trying to cause trouble after this afternoon… but it really wasn’t helping your case. The sight of you looking so pretty undone only made him angrier. You had him by the throat even when you weren’t trying.

You give a little stomp, “It’s the only thing I haven’t made progress on. I can conjure, I can fight, I can even transmute smaller objects—“

“Really?” Stephen asked, rather impressed and unaware of such progress

“Yes.”

Stephen looked around his desk and placed a pen in front of you, “Go on.” He gestures to it

You stepped forward tentatively and picked up the pen. You closed your eyes and focused on breathing, focused on exactly what object you wished the pen to become, trying to see it clearly in your mind’s eye. The more detailed the picture, the closer it would come out how you wanted. Stephen watched your palm illuminated with magic, a soft golden light cast onto your face, eyes closed softly in concentration. He smiled when he saw your nose twitch, lost deep in thought. Such a pretty girl. He gave you an impressed look when you opened your eyes and gently held the former pen out to him. Instead, a small white wildflower was placed in his palm.

“Just started practicing inorganic to organic… much harder than one inorganic object to another.” You admit

“Still… very nice work.” Stephen compliments, “You do learn quickly when you want to.”

You shrug, “Not in any rush, Master Strange.”

“That’s a nice change of pace from the usual.” Stephen admits

A silence settled over the room. You looked down at the hardwood floor and dug your fuzzy-sock-clad foot into one of the cracks. Stephen sat there observing you. In his fury, he hadn’t exactly considered where to go from here. To let you off the hook would be a grave mistake, that much he was certain of. But to scold you too harshly meant that it would all come crumbling down, and he didn’t exactly want that either. So what did he let win here? His head or his dick?

He pushed the chair out from under the desk and turned it slightly to the side demanding quietly, “Come over here.”

You swallowed hard and tiptoed around the side of the desk, feeling very much like a little kid who got sent to the principal’s office. But this was so much worse— because the principal was awfully hot when he was angry, but your flirtation is what had landed you here in the first place. You stood in front of Stephen with your arms laced behind your back… he was still nearly at eye level even sitting down. He drew in a long breath and sat up farther in his chair, looking you over.

“Master Strange, I apologize for what happened at sparring this afternoon.” You decided to take initiative, “I may have gotten a little carried away.”

“Carried away?” Stephen repeats, watching you look to the floor

“Yes, sir.”

“And are you referring to the name-calling, the flirting, or the grinding yourself against my cock?” Your head snapped back up, eyes a bit wide, but Stephen just chuckled dryly, “Well, if you can do it, might as well be able to talk about it.”

Your mouth went dry but you mustered enough courage to mumble, “All of it.”

“I don’t want you acting that way in front of the other students and Masters ever again. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” You agree

“Now, what to do with you…” He muses, bringing a hand to his chin to rub over his goatee, “There’s always library duty. Everyone’s favorite.” You pout a little at the idea but don’t object, “Could have you sent to the New York Sanctum to act as a maid. Or scrubbing the floors of the courtyard— been a while since someone’s done that.” Stephen muses, trying to hide a small smile behind his hand at the twitching of your nose once more. He lets the idea hang in the air a while before tutting, “Ah, no. I have a perfect idea for you, Dear.”

You shuffle on your feet, waiting to hear that he’s making you stand in this room until you can open a portal, or write out lines on a chalkboard over and over again. Classic cursive knowing him. One line again and again until you got it through your head he wasn’t interested in you like that: ‘I will not be horny with my Master in public.’ Instead, he reached forward and grabbed your hips, pulling you forward between his spread legs. Your heart rate immediately skyrocketed from such a gentle touch— just a taste of the proximity you craved. Stephen watched your face, your brows knitting together in confusion.

He spoke softly, “Pull these little shorts down for me.”

You swallowed hard and stammered out, “P-pull down my..?”

“Mhm.” He hummed simply in return

With shaking hands, you put your thumbs through the waistband of your shorts and let them slide to the floor. Stephen smiled at the little panties you were wearing covered in hearts. How cute.

“Now straddle my lap for me.”

You swallowed hard and moved forward, carefully placing your knees on either side of his legs in the large chair. You hovered over him and Stephen grabbed your hips roughly and forced you down. You gave a little gasp, your hips shifting forward as you landed over the bulge in his pants once more today. Stephen tilted his head up and placed a gentle kiss on your neck, smiling when goosebumps broke out beneath his lips. He ran his hands up and down your arms gently, caressing from your wrists to your shoulders.

“Hands on the back of the chair, Sweetheart.” He commands lowly, “And keep them there until I say different.”

“Master Stra—“

“Uh-uh. No talking. Just do what I say.” He cuts you off, glancing up to find your face flushed a violent pink, “Unless you need it to stop.” He raises a brow, “Do you want it to stop?” You bite into your bottom lip and shake your head no, placing your hands on the back of the chair like he asked and Stephen gives a pleased little smile, “Then just do what I say. This is your punishment for the way you acted today.” He explains, trailing his hands from your was it to your ass, giving a little grope, “And if you’re a good girl, I might give you a reward. How’s that sound?” Your brows are still tensed in confusion, but you give a nod of permission, “That’s good. Stay quiet for me, yeah?”

You nod a shift a little, not quite certain what his next move will be. Stephen’s hands grope gently at your ass, setting your nerves ablaze. You can feel him semi-hard beneath you, even the thick material of the robes can’t hide that. You let out a little gasp as his hand pulls away for a split second, only to meet your ass hard and fast. You jump a bit in his lap and Stephen smiles to himself. You let out a whimper and bury your head in the crook of his neck, his cologne overwhelming your senses quickly.

“You know… I’m used to your little attitude, Sweetheart. But today you were outright mean.” Another slap to the globe of your ass cheek, another little squeal, “Why’s that, huh?”

“I… I thought I wasn’t supposed to speak, sir.”

“If I ask you a question you can.” Another slap, “So why were you so mean to me today?”

You shake your head in the crook of his neck and deny, “Wasn’t trying to be mean…”

“No?” A slap harder than the previous three makes you let out a bit of a groan, the noise traveling straight to Stephen’s dick, “What were you trying to do then?”

“I- I just—“

“Uh-uh.” Stephen interrupts, bringing his free hand up to your chin and forcing your head back to look at him, “Look at me when you speak.”

You swallow hard, your lip stuck out in a pout as you say, “I didn’t wanna be mean… only wanted your attention.”

Another slap, “And making fun of my age, calling me Old Man, teasing me for my stamina… that was your way of doing it?” He pouts back at you, “A little girl teasing her crush on the playground. Really? How old are you?”

“Too young to be sitting in the lap of a dirty old man.” Your tongue replies before your brain can check it

Stephen serves you an unamused glare and lets his hand down over your ass much harder, the sound echoing through the room. You give a yelp and rest your forehead against his shoulder, your body shaking slightly.

“If I’m so dirty and old, why are you in my lap letting me do this to you, Sweetheart?” He whispers in your ear, “You wanna’ know what I think? I think you love it. You love how much older I am, you love that you have my attention, and as you’ve very well proved this afternoon, you’re willing to do anything to keep it.” He hears you inhale sharply, “Hit the nail on the head, didn’t I?”

You wiggle a bit and Stephen brings his hands to your hips to still you. You don’t answer, keeping your head buried in his shoulder, completely embarrassed by the situation at hand. Because of course, you loved it, and of course, he knew it. He’d known it from the moment you started this mess. But he would be the one to finish it. He spanked you again, and again, and again.

“Now be a good girl and say what you really want instead of firing insults at me over and over again.” He demands

“Want you.” You mumble

“Look at me.” He growls, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tilting your head back

“You. I want you.”

“Want me to what, Little Girl?” His eyes bore into your own, the blue enveloped almost entirely by his pupil, his lips only millimeters from your own

“Fuck me.” You whisper

Stephen leans in closer, his lips ghosting over your own, “All you’ve ever had to do was ask, Dear.”

You held your breath, waiting for him to press his lips to yours. Waited and waited… but it never came. Instead, he twisted and grabbed beneath your thighs, sitting you on his desk. He pried your legs open and wasted no time in ducking down, burying his face in your clothed cunt. You gasped as his tongue jumped out and licked a long, thick, shameless stripe over your sex. Your knuckles hurt from the strength with which you gripped the edge of the table. Stephen grabbed at the waist of your panties and manhandling you dragged them off. You closed your legs on instinct and he pried them open once again, giving you a dangerous look. He leaned forward and wasted not a moment before thrusting his tongue into your hole. Your head fell back and you let out a moan.

Stephen slapped the side of your thigh and demanded, “Eyes on me.” He thrust his tongue into you once more and loved watching you strain trying to hold back another sound of pleasure, “Already wet for me. Were you wet before you walked in? Were you thinking about me all day, Sweetheart? Desperate to have this pretty little hole filled?” He licked a fat stripe from your hole to your clit and you keened, “Mm, feels good doesn’t it?”

You swallow hard and nod, “Yes, sir.”

“What if I do this..?” Stephen stuck two long fingers into you making you whimper, “That feel good too?” You nodded emphatically, looking down to where his fingers disappeared inside of you, “I know it does. I know a lot, Little Girl. Like you’ve made clear all day, I’ve been around a lot longer than you.” Stephen curled his fingers and searched gently until he found that spongey spot that made your eyes roll back, “That’s the spot right there, huh? Sure you’re used to a bunch of bumbling idiots who don’t know how to make you feel good. You just want someone to take care of you, isn’t that right?”

Your hips bucked as he curled his fingers into that spot over and over again, a gasp bubbling up your throat, “M-Master Strange!” You cried out

He tuts, “I know you wanna’ yell, but you have to keep quiet for me. Can’t let anyone hear what we’re doing in here. Gonna stay quiet for me?”

“Yes, sir.” You agree, “Please, Doctor…” You give him beggar’s eyes, “Please give me your mouth.”

“Where?” Stephen licks a circle around your clit, “Right there?”

“Fuck, yes.” You sigh, head falling forward

“You’re so much prettier when you’re compliant.” Stephen says, just to rile you up

He smiles when your nose twitches, your lips pulling into a grimace, eyes snapping open. But you were in no position to bite out the ‘fuck you’ you so desperately wanted to. So you kept your mouth shut and blocked out the sound of his voice, instead focusing solely on his tongue tracing patterns on your clit. Fuck, his mouth felt good even if it was used primarily for talking shit. You were already embarrassingly close to cumming. It was too soon, and you were sure to get an earful if you—

“Oh? You about the cum, Sweetheart? I feel you squeezing my fingers. You trying to hold out on me?”

“No.” You snap

Stephen tilts his head and gives you a knowing smile, “Come on, Y/N. None of that right now. Be a good girl and cum for me. No holding out on me or I’ll just stop altogether. You won’t get my cock.” Your cunt fluttered at the suggestion and he chuckled, “Yeah, I know. You want it.”

Stephen leaned back down and placed his mouth over your clit. He stroked his tongue over that perfect spot one, two, three…

“Oh… shit, Steph—“ Your whine was cut off as your body convulsed above him, a silent scream leaving your lips, head thrown back, one hand coming to Stephen’s head to hold him there, “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” You chanted over and over under your breathe once it’d come back to you

Stephen growled and pulled away from your cunt, standing and shoving his chair back and leaning over you, one hand going around your throat. You stared up at him wide-eyed and he leaned down, taking you in a bruising kiss. With his free hand, he shed the top layer of his robes and pulled down his pants and boxers. He was too eager to take the time to undress himself fully or even magic the clothes away. He jerked himself a few times, moving his hand from your throat and pressing it over your mouth, entering you in one quick, rough thrust. Your mouth wasn’t muffled enough, he could hear the squeal you let out plain as day, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Stephen rested his forearms on either side of your head and leaned over you, drawing his hips back to snap them into place, another squeal echoing through the office space.

“This what you wanted, Sweetheart?” He grunted out, “This what you been beggin’ for all day? Just needed my cock in you?” You whimpered, your voice shaking from the ferocity of his thrusts, “I know it’s what you wanted. Look at you… hasn’t even been half a minute and this pretty little pussy is fluttering around me. Don’t even have to touch your clit, do I? Make you cum… just… like… this.” He punctuated each word with a harsh thrust

Tears gathered in your waterline and he smiled down at you. He uncovered your mouth and ripped your shirt upward, smiling at the little bralette you wore beneath it. Red to match the hearts on your panties.

“How cute is that? All matching for me.” He grinned, watching your tits follow the momentum as he rocked you against the desk

“S-stephen…” You whimper, “S’big. C-cock is so b-b-big— fu—ck.”

“I know.” He pouts down at you condescendingly, “And this hole is so goddamn tight— shit, Baby Girl. You keep fuckin’ choking my cock.”

“I can’t help it…” You sob, “It’s— it’s so much. It’s too—“

“Oh, no, no, no. Can’t be too much, Little Girl. You can take it. You can’t be tired already? Only cum once for me. Gonna’ make you cum at least three more times.” Stephen brings himself back to his full height, reaching beneath your hips and angling you upward. You give another cry of pleasure and he shushes you, “Uh-uh. Gotta’ keep quiet for me. Don’t want anyone to hear you getting fucked in here, do you? Think of all the trouble we’d be in.”

He was drilling into your g-spot over and over and you felt like you weren’t on this plane of existence anymore. Because it was too much— but it was too fucking good to quit. His cock was stretching you in a way no one ever had… and he was so fucking deep. Christ, he must be massive.

“M’sorry, sorry.” You say as quietly as you can, “It just feels so good, Stephen.”

“Yeah, Sweetheart? Everything you hoped it’d be?”

“B-better…”

“Cum for me again. Wanna’ feel you cum on my cock.”

And again your body obeyed him. He watched as your back arched, shoving two fingers in your mouth as it opened. You grabbed onto his wrist and suckled on his fingers, staring up at him all teary-eyes and lost. Nothing but him, only him. Stephen withdrew his fingers from your mouth and started circling your clit and you whined, shaking your head, but not able to say a word against the action. Too blissed out to care.

“Feel so good, Sweetheart. So damn good.” Stephen grunts out above you, “Gonna’ give me another? No holding back, remember?”

You shake your head, “S’too—“ You give a cry as Stephen jackhammers into you, “S-stephen, too much, please…”

“Please to another? I think we can make that happen.” He grins down at you evilly, “You want it on my cock or you need my mouth—“

Stephen paused entirely. His thrusting, his speech. He put a hand over your mouth and held a finger to his lips once more, looking toward the door, listening intently. Your eyes went wide when you heard the handle on the door turn, but Stephen just watched, not moving a muscle, not moving to pull out or pull away in the slightest. When the intruder realized the door had been locked— you weren’t sure how, you hadn’t locked it when you closed it, they called out.

“Master Strange? Are you still here?”

Stephen gave you a small smile and drew his hips back, resettling in you slowly as he replied, “Yes, Master Wolfe, just finishing some work up for the day.”

“May I come in? I’d like to discuss what I saw during sparring this afternoon. I can’t find Ms. Y/L/N—“

“Yes, she’s at the New York Sanctum playing maid as punishment.” Stephen continued pushing in and out of you, “Though, wouldn’t be surprised if she’d finally managed to open a portal to escape her punishment.”

“Oh, alright.” Wolfe hesitated before asking, “You know— there’s no technical rule against relations between a student and Master. But… it’s still frowned upon by many.”

Stephen rolled his eyes and leaned down over you, his nose brushing against yours as he circled small tight circles around your clit and called back, “And what about two Masters fooling around, Sarah? You’ve been making an awful lot of trips to the Sanctum recently—“

“Stephen!” She exclaimed, but you could tell from her tone that the observation startled her

“I’m just saying— most would find it rather uncouth for the Sorcerer Supreme to be distracted from his duties—“

“He’s— we are not!” Wolfe stuttered out, “Strange, you open this door right now and come speak to me, or I’ll open it myself.”

“I really doubt that’s something you actually want at the moment.” Stephen warns, “Though, given I’m here, the Sanctum is rather empty. I’m sure our Supreme is unoccupied for the time being.”

There was a pause at this and you had to bite into your bottom lip to stifle a giggle. Stephen smiled back at you, his shoulders quaking with amusement. What an odd position to be in— though you were undeniably turned on. The man wasn’t even willing to pull out of you to go settle the conversation. While Stephen waited for an answer he reached up and pulled the cups of your bra off your tits. He immediately leaned down and began to suck on one, his hand leaving your clit to toy with the other. You threw your head back in pure delight, and Stephen smiled to himself when your walls fluttered around him.

“I think I see why Wong is so perturbed by you now.” Wolfe mutters through the door

Stephen picks his head up long enough to reply, “Wong only pretends to be perturbed, he’d fall apart without me.” And reattached his lips to the opposite nipple, making your back arch, your hands flying to his hair to keep him there— fuck, that mouth

“This conversation is not through.” Sarah says before the sounds of retreating footsteps echo down the hall

Stephen immediately praises, “Good girl… so good for me, Sweetheart.” He kisses up your neck and bites into the soft skin making you whimper, “I’ll only take one more from you, after that you just have to wait me out.” He starts thrusting into you more insistently again and grins like the devil, “Unfortunately for you, you’ve severely underestimated my stamina.”

You shiver as his warm breath touches your neck and nod, “Yes, sir.”

He looks down at you softly, a moment of tenderness showing through as he asks, “You are okay, aren’t you?”

You nod and return a soft smile, “I’m okay, Stephen.”

“Good.” He changes his pace, thrusting into you slow but hard and laments, “You know— shit— I wouldn’t be opposed to doing this again.”

“Mm?” Is all you can hum out in response

“If you learned to behave yourself, that is.” Stephen admonishes, “Can’t go around humping yourself against me like a bitch in heat in front of other people— holy fuck, Baby— pussy’s so tight, she always this tight?” You flutter around him and he smiles, “God, you love hearing how much I love this pussy, don’t you? You love hearing how good you are for me.” Stephen reaches back between the two of you to toy with your clit, “And you are so, so good. Such a sweet little girl when you’re getting what you want. And what was it you wanted this whole time, huh? Remind me.”

“Y-y-you, Stephen. W-want you to f-fuck me like this.” You pant out, clawing at his back as electricity courses through your body, “I’ll be good from now on— p-promise.”

“Mm, don’t make promises you can’t keep, Sweetheart.” Stephen teases, “But if you are good, remember where you end up. Laid out on my desk and dumb and fucked out.”

You nod, “Yes… yes, sir.” You agree, “Y-your cock is so big. It hurts.”

“Mm…” Stephen smiles against your shoulder, “I know it does. But it hurts so good, doesn’t it?” You nod emphatically, “And you take it so fucking well. I’d take you for a whore if you weren’t so clearly desperate for me and me alone.” Your nails digging into his skin felt like heaven to him, “Be a good girl and cum for me one more time. After that you just have to lay here and let me play with you. Don’t have to move, don’t have to speak… just gonna let me use this pretty body, yeah?”

“Yes, sir…” You manage out, body in overdrive and mind reeling, on the verge of an explosion

“That’s right. Good girl. You gonna’ let me cum in you too? You want to take it in—“

Stephen was cut off by an obscenely loud moan as your orgasm ripped through your body. He didn’t let up as you convulsed beneath him, grinning ear to ear at the the idea that such a simple suggestion sent you hurling toward your finish.

You were filthy.

“Good girl, so good for me.” Stephen praises, “Now just give me about fifteen more minutes, Baby. I’m gonna take my time with this…”

tag list: @yuu-chan-is-still-a-student12 @fireworksinthesky @strangesslut @cemak @pinkthick @cumbrbatchbenedict @newavenger @evelyn-kingsley @aphroditesdilemma @vi0letdaze

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mguvmii · 7 months

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Tender Love and Care (Buggy x Reader)

A/N: Ah yes, another 'taking care of Buggy's head' fic to take up space on the internet. Just gotta indulge in giving this man some tlc. Did I write four thousand words of simping for the cringefail pirate clown's hair? Yes. And I'd do it again >:p

Word Count: ~4 k

Warnings: feminine leaning afab!reader (no pronouns or gendered terms), Lots of Feelings, yearning, possibly angst?, probably hurt/comfort?, waxing very poetic, Buggy being a prickly bitch who doesn't know how to receive affection, Buggy also being a delusional bitch who immediately latches on to that affection

amab!reader version to come!

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Touch the makeup and I’ll bite your fingers off!”

“I’m quaking.”

“...I’ll spit in your face.” His eyes narrowed while you blanched. “I’ve got damn good aim too so you better watch those big ol’ eyes.” Almost a compliment? Progress.

“To save us both from catastrophe, I’ll let you keep your grease-face,” you promised. After a few more seconds of giving you the stink eye (really, you should be taking notes because his form is exemplary), Buggy finally settled back into your hold. His stubble scratched lightly at your palms and you allowed your thumbs a scant few passes from his cheek bones to the back of his jaw. That was easy enough to play off as mindless movements while you examined him for the coming wash. Hopefully. You were at least putting in the effort to keep the affection in your chest from blooming into a wide smile on your face, lest he begin spitting like a wet cat again.

After placing him down on your clothes chest, you began gathering together the things you’d need to clean him up. You had already prepared a large basin of steaming water before you had grabbed Buggy from Zoro for your night shift with him. If he had truly protested against you then you’d just have extra water to pamper yourself with for your nightly routine. What a loss. While you flitted around grabbing a cup, a pile of towels, and care products, Buggy took to commenting about whatever his eyes fell on around your room. Your half-assed replies did nothing to discourage his gentle roast of your safe space. He only shut up when you picked him back up and brought him over to the basin.

You were taken by surprise when you took off his bandana. You had guessed that his hair was thick from the pieces that framed his face, but you hadn’t expected long locks to be wrapped up in there. They slipped and fell down like silk despite being in clear need of a wash, and you started to become a bit excited to see how they would come to shine under your care.

“What’s wrong with you? Never seen hair before?” There was a bit more bite to him all of a sudden and it hit you that he may be self-conscious from your staring.

“Never seen yours before, duh,” you teased. “You should wear your hair out as a power move against all the scrangly ass men in these waters.”

Buggy took a blank-faced moment to process your words. Probably weighing your sincerity against the backlog of insults he’s heard in his life. Unfortunately, one joking compliment never stood a chance.

“Whatever, just do your job.” His bitter tone made you keep your mouth shut and drop the topic. For now.

Seeing how he had a lot more hair than anticipated, you got up again to grab yet another towel so that you could use it as a cushion. Finally settled, you grabbed Buggy in one hand, the cup in the other, and got to work. You had laid a small board across the basin so you could rest Buggy on it instead of having to hold him up the whole time. You may have gotten strong in this life, but you were not masochistic enough to try holding him up through this process. You made sure to be extra gentle when you put him to rest on the back of his head, mindful that the hard plank wasn’t the most comfortable.

Wetting his hairline was taking longer than you thought. The soft noises from the pouring water hitting his scalp and trickling through his hair into the basin below felt loud in the stillness of the room. Everything had a languid air like you could breathe freely without thought or time to measure the passing of each exhale. Wanting to check in, you looked down from your task and into Buggy’s face. Despite all his past showboating, Buggy was having difficulty keeping his gaze anywhere near your face. You decided to take pity on him in his discomfort but not too much. “So how’d you get your damn good aim?”

Silence.

You’re beginning to think that him looking at you like you’re stupid is his comfort zone.

“You know, that ‘damn good aim’ that makes my ‘big ol’ eyes’ easy targets?” you supplied. At first, you thought he would roll his eyes and make more digs at you, but he finally caught you off guard.

“It’s a trade secret,” he said with a growing smile and a glint in his eyes. His face grew even more pleased when you smiled mischievously back at him.

“Clown trade?”

He hummed out an affirmative. You saturated the last of his hair at the front and sides and now needed to dunk the rest in the basin. The sheer amount of long blue locks that this pretty, pretty man had may cause it to overflow, but you supposed that’s just a workplace hazard when becoming a glamor clown’s hairdresser. You paused in lowering him to look around quite dramatically (squinty eyes, pursed lips, and all) before leaning slightly closer to stage whisper, “You can tell me; I ain’t no snitch.”

You barely caught the laugh that he choked short in order to keep up his serious facade. He let his eyes wander the room to double check your surveying and pretended to be in thought. He let out a heaving sigh and said, “Okay, okay, but you have to lean in close. Can’t have this getting out.”

Ever obliging, you turned your head and leaned until you felt his warm breath on your skin and the roundness of his nose tickling to top of your ear. You were thankful he couldn’t see the little shiver down your spine or the goosebumps spreading down your neck. He was thankful you couldn’t see him close his eyes to savor the scent of your perfume. All was still for a few breaths too long.

“The secret?” you prompted, thinking he was waiting for your urging or that he was just trying to make you squirm. You didn’t see his eyes flutter open while he forced thoughts other than your closeness back into that head of his. Okay, he really needed to do something to reel himself back in and get some control of the situation. Easier said than done when he’s only a head.

You felt as much as you heard him take a deliberate inhale… only for a loud raspberry to be blown right next to your ear.

Nearly dropping him in shock, you quickly pulled your head back and held him at arm’s length like a misbehaved puppy. Through his canting cackles, Buggy met your wide eyes with a proud grin. It didn’t even need the help of his makeup to split his face. Damn, you could stare at that forever. He had just the prettiest eyes you think you’d ever seen. The way they shifted color under the low lights and sparkled with his smile had you feeling entranced. It had the same commanding presence and addicting warmth as flames with their own swirling colors and sparking embers. You thought your poetic idioms for him would always center around the sea, especially for his blue-green eyes, but here we are.

The corner of his smile started to twitch downward under your stare until wild and cheerful giggles burst from your lips. They were the kind to shake your shoulders and scrunch your cheeks up into your eyes and he’s now certain that he has fucked right up. Buggy felt alarms blaring in his mind as he took in your joy and was certain he would make an absolute fool of himself in any and all ways possible to keep getting hits of it. Between your settling laughter, you managed to say, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring that wisdom with me to my grave.”

Readjusting your grip, you moved forward and dunked the back of Buggy’s head fully into the water. He sighed out at the sensation, but he fully melted when one of your hands went to support the back of his skull and the other flowed through his tresses to make sure all of them were wet. You let yourself take your time, both to make sure you were thorough and to indulge yourself in the comfort of the moment. A tenderness spread through you when you saw that this was also indulging Buggy. His breath was slow and steady, and his eyes were resting closed to better focus on the sensations coming to him. You truly were a people pleaser at heart and seeing someone so bedraggled and affection-starved accept your care made your heart and head feel fuzzy.

You slowly leaned him more upright and used your other hand to wipe out some of the excess water. Buggy felt you shuffling around, and his eyes opened to see what you were up to. After you moved him to rest on the flat bottom of his neck on top of the softest towel that he’s felt in ages, he realized that you went through the trouble to try to make even that wooden board comfortable for his sake. He was starting to feel even more uncertain and out of his element.

Careful fingers carded through and spread out his hair behind him while an equally careful gaze watched over their work. After lathering your hands with a shampoo bar scented by vanilla and spices, you set to work giving him the scalp massage of a lifetime.

While focusing on doing the best job possible and maybe also the beautiful color of his hair was keeping you from thinking about anything else, Buggy had no such luxury. He had nothing to direct his nervous energy at - didn’t even have fingers to fidget with! - so he closed his eyes and tried to keep his face neutral. Everyone enjoys a good scalp massage or at least some kind of pampering so it wouldn’t have been weird for him to visibly enjoy it, but something watery and vulnerable was pressing at his throat under your tender care. His mind and body (well… head) were at odds. While his train of thought spun every which way only to be tethered back to the word ‘why’, his muscles melted until they were soft and pleasantly limp. Has his brow ever been so smooth? His jaw so loose? His lips so softly set? Oh God, you must have noticed the stubborn stiffness in his neck because your fingers abandoned his hair to firmly rub from the base of his skull to where he met the towel and that was truly his undoing.

With a rumbly hum, Buggy finally gave in to temptation and tied his mind to your movements. He let himself imagine affection there - imagine that this was special and just for him. You’ve never tended to anyone else like this. You offered because you simply had to know what his hair felt like. You just wanted to touch him. You wanted it much more than you ever wanted to touch anyone else. If he opened his eyes and looked up at yours, he would see them pouring with love, just like your hands were, and you would look sweetly down at him with your pretty eyes and pretty smile and say lovely things and you’d love him-

You’d love him.

Fuck.

You noticed Buggy suddenly flinch under your hands and you tensed up.

“Are you okay? Did I snag your hair?” You hadn’t felt anything tug but you supposed you could’ve missed it.

Buggy cleared his throat before stiffly responding, “No. Keep going.”

Something thick in his tone caught your attention and you looked to see his expression was tense instead of the blissed out one you had admired not too long ago. That won’t do. You went back to the tried and true pressure points on the scalp that you knew from experience eased anyone up. Checking his face again, you noticed it was more relaxed but still too guarded for your tastes. Deciding he must be getting antsy, you switched to working the shampoo down his hair after getting a touch more product on your hands. The time it took to get it properly sudsed and rinsed was calm, despite the fact that there was some undercurrent to the air that felt charged. Maybe it was just from seeing the talkative and bratty clown be so subdued. As you began spreading conditioner through his hair, you decided that it was time to engage him again.

“This bar is my favorite; nothing makes my hair softer,” you said. Already, his hair was relaxing to glide even more smoothly between your fingers. You weren’t ready to give the feeling up, so you spent the entire time that the conditioner was setting to run your fingers through his hair.

Buggy couldn’t do anything at the moment to judge your claim, but the smell alone made him understand why it was your favorite. It matched that of the shampoo bar, but the richer ingredients in the conditioner highlighted the comforting tones of the vanilla and the sensuality of warm spices and wood. He relished in it on every inhale, hoping to unravel and memorize its every undertone. Was that a touch of orchid in there? A little pink peppercorn? Maybe some incense and amber at the base? Buggy suddenly felt ridiculous. He was never one to give much thought to fancy perfumes, yet here he was trying to dissect your scent like a sommelier tasting a new wine.

You made quick work of rinsing his hair this final time and gently pushing and squeezing any excess water out. You set Buggy back on a towel, this time one that was spread on the floor. It was the one that you had just been sitting on. Buggy was embarrassed that he noticed and enjoyed the fact that he could still feel your body heat on it.

“How many of those things do you have?” Buggy scoffed as you pulled yet another towel over to dry his hair. You bopped his forehead with a finger in warning against further sass.

“You can never have too many. It’s something that you use daily and they come in handy during emergencies,” you explained.

“Oh yeah like what?”

“Well, I was thinking of situations like having to soak up a spill or blood, but the state of your hair definitely qualified.”

The outburst was immediate.

“I KNEW YOU WERE MAKING FUN OF ME YOU DAMN LIAR! HOW DA-”

Good thing you were prepared for this and stuffed some of yet another towel into his screaming mouth. He bit down on it harshly and glared at you with all his might. Snarls and grumbles still made their way through the cloth, letting you know just how displeased he was. You were a little shocked to find that despite being gagged and despite just being a head that his glare still actually intimidated you. The time spent with the crew treating him like a harmless little pest had helped you forget that, when push came to shove, he could back up his talk with violence.

The brief glimpse of fear in your eyes gave him a twinge of satisfaction but mostly felt a lot more hollow than he’d expected. Wasn’t this what he wanted?

When you reached back out to continue drying his hair, you were more tentative than he had ever seen you and his mood dropped even further. Even with your caution, the way that you moved the towel over his hair and gently squeezed more water out of it was filled with care. The whole thing felt very foreign to him. Buggy usually rubbed his towel through his hair chaotically like the more forceful he was the sooner he could get done with the bothersome task. You were working over him like any undue force would be an insult. Like he was something precious. That watery feeling started pressing on him again.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you started quietly. “I just meant to poke fun, not make you actually feel insulted.” After a few more soft pats with the towel, you slowly removed his makeshift gag. He took a moment to wiggle around his jaw and get the dry feeling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, well good job, dumbass,” he bit. You winced at the hurt in his tone. “Just finish up.”

You took a moment to recenter yourself while you grabbed your comb and brush. This was not how you wanted this to go. One wrong comment had sent this whole interaction spiraling and it made you sad. Sensitivity like that was usually built up from years of feeling the same hurts over and over again, and you didn’t ever want to be someone to aggravate an already festering wound, especially not on someone who you genuinely enjoyed. Not on someone who you were increasingly craving affection from. This needed to be fixed. Steeling yourself for the resistance you were about to meet, you began combing the ends of his hair and spoke, “The blue color is so pretty.”

He ignored you. As expected.

“It was one of the first things I noticed about you.” He still wouldn’t even glance up at you. “Also how it brings out the color of your eyes.”

He snorted dismissively in a way that very clearly told you he wasn’t believing a word you said. Also expected. You’re just going to have to soldier on until this eventually worked… maybe worked… hopefully worked?

Just as in the rest of the process, you were slow and thorough when combing his hair. You murmured compliments to him about how soft it is; how thick and how beautiful. By the time that you had switched to using your brush, he was showing signs of being worn down by your flattery. His face was more relaxed and he let himself look around instead of trying to burn a hole through the floor. All you could focus on, though, was how downcast and tired his eyes looked.

“Alright, I’m all finished up,” you told him. “I’m going to put you in the hammock for a minute while I get ready for bed.”

After placing him in the middle of your bedding, you disappeared behind a dressing screen. The routine of bathing yourself with a washcloth and bowl of soapy water eased you. Since you had taken so much time tending to Buggy, the last bowl of fresh water had become lukewarm. Despite this, the final wipe down had you feeling refreshed and ready to jump into bed. It was no soak in the tub, but still left you feeling much better after a long day of helping work around the ship.

You had set about your routine briskly so that you didn’t leave Buggy waiting too long. Little did you know, he didn’t mind the time of having nothing to do besides enjoy the soft blankets you curled up in every night. He was trying to soak it in before you inevitably put him back down on the floor. If the night had taught him anything, you’d at least put him on one of those fluffy towels instead of throwing him back in the bag like the others did.

You came over to him on the hammock and he admired how you looked, now clean and fresh in a modest slip. When you picked him back up, your face and body language were as placid as he had ever seen them and he was surprised at how content that made him feel. He readied himself to be moved away, left cold and forgotten, but he was astonished when you plopped yourself in your bedding instead with him still in your hands. The shock must have shown on his face because you giggled at him and gave him a bright smile. Even with the bumpy road that the night had been, your smile made him soft and content. He was realizing with more and more resignation that your smile and laugh would let you get away with anything when it came to him.

“So no floor? Trying to bribe me with favors?” His voice was mostly back to that sarcastic lilt you’ve come to adore.

Content that he was feeling better, you answered, “Nah, just using you so I can have a teddy bear. Haven’t had a good one in ages.”

Making good on that promise, you made sure that he was securely nestled into your neck and shoulder. You used both of your arms to cradle him there and both hands to continue your worship of his hair. It was just barely damp and the coolness felt nice on your hands, especially in contrast to the cozy heat emanating from his head. His long eyelashes tickled at your neck every time he blinked, just like the light scruff on his jaw teased at your chest. His big nose felt cozy rested on your clavicle, and you had to resist the urge to reach down and trail your fingers on it. A giddy and victorious feeling flushed through you when you felt him close his eyes a final time and sink into your embrace.

Buggy should have known that he was doomed from the start. He was having a hell of a time trying not to moan at your fingers scratching and massaging his scalp, both during the hair care and now, when he was held in your arms. He couldn’t stop his little movements to nestle into you and get just that much more of your warmth and touch. If he thought that he loved the smell of you before, he was absolutely intoxicated now that he knew what it was like when it floated over the two of you while wrapped in body-warmed sheets.

He wanted to ask you why you were doing all of this, but he didn’t want to know the answer. Not right now. Right now he was going to let himself go back into that place in his head where you lo- cared about him. A place where each night he would crawl into bed with you and, no matter how the day went, you would be there to empty his mind of anything but the two of you. You’d greet him with a kiss or a laugh or an embrace and you would shine with so much joy because he’s next to you again. He’d know what your love felt like, how your body felt under his hands, how your skin felt under his lips. All these daydreams swirling in his head started to make him sick with want, and he needed to know at least one of them. He couldn’t handle all of them staying forever in his mind.

The tiniest increase of pressure from his lips brought your attention to where they rested below your collarbone. The almost kiss was so heartbreakingly shaky and hesitant that you felt your eyes burn with the threat of tears. To reassure him, you dragged your cheek across his temple before turning to leave a deliberate kiss there. Buggy relished the contact, the satisfied sigh you let out afterward, and the gentle weight of your cheek as you snuggled back into him. Your reward came in the form of a grinning cheek pushing into you.

All his humor and posturing certainly caught your attention in the best way and even his explosive temper was something you couldn’t say turned you away. This gentleness, though, this uncertain and wounded place, had you bursting with affection and you were hoping to keep experiencing it. You’d meet it each time with steady affection until it turned into something he embodied with the same surety that he had in his beloved spotlight.

Both of you slipped more sweetly into dreams, curled up together as you were, and with more peace and ease than the years before had allowed. Neither of you would let the years to come be absent of this sweet treasure, either.

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mguvmii · 8 months

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Taking What's Not Yours (Dracule Mihawk x Reader)

a/n: soooooo, there is this pirate warlooooord. basically, i've watched the live action show on Netflix and immediately had to commit a one shot.

Warnings: Pure Smut (i had to get it out of my system), Wall Donging, Use of Alcohol, Stealing, Plotting, Lollygagging, inappropriate use of that cunty cross necklace.

Summary: A misguided attempt at impressing your friend lands you in a very peculiar situation. (cross-posted on AO3)

The bar buzzed with the energy of drunken people. Your throat still burned with the after-taste of the cheapest rum the establishment had to offer, and for a second you've become deeply worried about losing your eyesight, as faint notes of straight methanol registers in your brain. Then, the pleasant buzz hits your nerves like a suffocating blanket, and in one moment you sense all your troubles drifting away. And there has been quite a lot of troubles on your mind lately.

Mainly, the Marines, their presence an annoying nuisance. By no means were you a pirate, no. You searched for freedom in different ways, such as stealing as much, and as often as you could. Money was the driving force of your life, but you'd be lying, if you said it was the only pleasure you seek. The thrill of the chase, of finding that perfect little trinket you can grab, and your victim would be non the wiser. The euphoria of creating distractions in one place, so you can strike like a viper in another. It made your blood boil with excitement incomparable to anything else.

On top of that, besides the occasional confrontation, the Marines simply couldn't identify you. All it took, was a bandana around the lower half of your face, and suddenly you were able to march into a bar, such as this, filled with Marines, and no one would notice. Your eyes fall onto a rather skinny one, the belt of his too big uniform is digging into his waist, betraying how little there actually is of him. He looks back at you, smiles, and joins a group of his friends at one of the tables. You reciprocate the smile with a glint in your eye. The poor bastard doesn't know it was you, who stole an antique photo of his grandma right from his breast pocket.

In your defense, the small frame was made of gold. And damned pretty at that. It fetched you a pretty price too, one you were currently drinking away, waiting for your friend to join you in your efforts of landing under the table by the end of the night.

You barely manage to go through one fourth of the bottle, when they arrive, smile on their face and hair wild from running through the streets. It all goes downhill from there, as stories and alcohol flow freely between the two of you. It's a welcomed distraction from the gray reality of life, a small ray of sunshine in this murky town. They tell you about the latest heist they've pulled, eyes sparkling in the dim light, as they recount a particularly risky part of their daring escape. You snort into your glass, shake your head.

- See, that's where we're different. - you counter, leaning back into your chair - For me, it's all about stealth. In and out, so they won't know when they've been robbed.

Your friend giggles to themselves. The drink in their glass splashes slightly, as they place it forcefully on the table.

- You really think you're that good, huh? - they challenge, and already, you can feel the tingling sensation of excitement at the tips of your fingers.

- I know so.

They furrow their brows, turning towards the crowd currently hounding the bartender. There's a mischievous smirk playing around on their lips, as they turn their attention back to you.

- So, if I were to choose any person here, and told you to steal from them unnoticed, you'd do it?

The absolute gall of this question. Of course, you would. Hell, you'd do it multiple times, until this whole bar was filled with people suddenly missing their belongings. Because nothing compared to the thrill of reaching into someone else's pocket unnoticed.

- You know what? - your eyes run across the gathered crowd, smirk playing around on your lips, as you've spotted your chosen victim. - See that guy in the black coat? The one with the big ass hat. I bet I can get that fancy necklace off of him, in like, three minutes tops.

As you speak, your friend follows your gaze through the Marines, and the pirates, and all the in-betweens. But when their eyes finally land on your target, they freeze in their spot, before rather rudely grabbing your shirt at the collar. Then, so fast, the world starts to spin in front of your eyes, they yank you under the table. Your stomach lurches with protest at the sudden movement. You give your friend a confused shake of your head.

- Do you have any idea, who you're talking about? - they whisper-yell, eyes wide and clearly terrified.

- What, about the hat guy?

Apparently you've said it too loud, because your friend nearly launches themselves at you.

- That's Dracule fucking Mihawk.

From the way they've said the man's name, you gather, it should be at least familiar to you. Unfortunately, you can't say you know much of the world outside of the town, so your confused expression deepens.

- He's like, the biggest deal - Your friend continues, their grip on your shirt loosening slightly - Like, children read stories about him and shit.

- I didn't - you shrug, before rising slightly up, so you can peek from above the table.

The hat man has turned his back to you, his stature rather impressing, as he towers over everyone in the establishment. Your eyes follow the dark lapels of his coat, thief senses greedily gliding over the handle of his sword secured to his back. It's reminiscent of a cross, with gigantic, shiny gems nearly tempting you to do something unwise. Your friend tugs you back down, and your chin scratches on the rough surface of the table.

- What is he, like, a missionary? - you ask, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

- What?

- You know, the cross and all that...

- What kind of missionaries have you been seeing?

Fair point, you think, before risking another peek, against your friend's efforts to pull you down.

The man, Mihawk, takes a long swing from a flagon filled with something you can't really identify. You watch almost greedily, as his Adam's apple moves, when he swallows his drink. Then, your eyes drift to the necklace, nestled on his exposed chest. Gold, real gold, you can see it from here. Another cross, albeit, much simpler, than what he had on his back. A week of drinks, and fancy ones at that flash before your eyes.

- Don't even think about it - your friend warns, finally giving up, and letting go of your shirt.

Your eyes stay fixated on your prize. If you could just see where the clasp of the necklace is...

- Think about what...? - your voice betrays you, and you wet your lips with your tongue in concentration.

- He'll kill you - your friend warns - Like, actually kill you. This is not a man you should fuck with.

At that, you finally tear away, your eyes meeting your friends, a sea of mischief swirling in them.

- Who said anything about fucking? - you say with a wink, and before your friend can say anything else, you rise from your seat.

Taking the half-empty bottle of rum in one, smooth movement, you begin to make your way towards the bar, adding a stumble and a drunken giggle for good measure. The previous ungodly ammounts of liquor circulating your body definitely help with the impression, but you're pleasantly surprised, that your head stays relatively clear. Although, if your target is truly as powerful and dangerous, as your friend makes him out to be, then perhaps you really lost your mind for good. Best not to dwell on it though.

The man barely spares you a glance, as you collide with the bar right next to him, arm brushing against his in a deliberate movement. You make sure to press your chest against the countertop, before waving at the bartender a bit too enthusiastically. The leftover liquor in your bottle sloshes out, landing straight onto the man's chest and lap. At that, he finally moves, annoyance clear in his rigid posture. Traces of liquid fall all the way from his collarbones to the belt buckle of his trousers.

The truly magnificent performance of a drunken, apologetic girl you gave at that moment, would ensure you the entry to the most prestigious acting schools. Your eyes widen comically, as you follow the trajectory of your drink. He barely flinches, as his entire front becomes covered in alcohol, but he does react, as soon as you start apologizing, a lot, your voice quivering as if you're about to burst out crying.

Don't look up, you remind yourself, as your body moves closer to his. You pull down the sleeve of your shirt and reach towards him, trying to dry some of the liquor off his skin. For the split second you manage to make contact, your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. He's incredibly warm, his skin pulled taut against prominent muscles. Then, your sleeve reaches the golden necklace.

His arm immediately shoots out, grabbing you by the wrist and nearly shoving you off. It was enough, though. That short moment of contact revealed more than you've bargained for.

- Leave - you truly flinch at the sound of his gravely voice, no acting needed - You've embarrassed yourself quite enough, woman.

Your head nods fervently, hair jumping around your face. He releases your wrist, and you mutter another string of "I'm so sorry, sir". Then, you throw in a sniffle, for good measure, but your treacherous eyes drift upwards, desperate to catch a glimpse of the man's face, as you're only inches from him. Yellow envelops you in an instant, a piercing, unrelenting gaze, which breaks through all your defenses. Your gaze hardens in an instant, challenge rising in your posture like its second nature. One of the man's prominent eyebrows shoot upwards ever so slightly, and you know it's your time to exit the stage.

So you bow your head again and slip past him as quickly, as you physically can. His golden gaze follows you, the feeling of his eyes at the back of your neck makes your shoulders tense. With a stumble, this one not rehearsed, you push past the gathered patrons, until you reach the doors to the restrooms, nearly falling through them, in your haste to remove yourself from this strange situation.

Your body collides with the row of basins, as you lean forward to try and catch your breath. Your heart is thrumming in your chest, the sound of blood rushing through your ears deafening. It's fear, you're aware. You've never been so close to being exposed, no one has ever seen straight through you, and so quickly at that. Chills run the length of your spine with such force you physically cringe.

And then, something else starts to brew in the pit of your stomach. Something that starts at the tips of your fingers, spreading upwards, until it settles in your chest. The magnetic pull of excitement, the danger of a new challenge. Your brain feels hot inside your skull, as you gather all the information you managed to pull out.

The necklace is heavy, but strangely, not as heavy, as solid gold would be. The clasp is sturdy, but small. You could feel it, with how the strap tightened, when you pulled at it. And one more thing. As you tried to "dry" it, the body of the necklace shifted slightly, so you could see the clasp peeking over the man's shoulder. You were almost entirely sure it was one of those old-timey ones. The one, where two halves fit together, incredibly easy to open.

God, you really are going to pull this off. You hype yourself up, in front of the mirror, jumping from leg to leg, like a sportsman ready to fight for their team. Easy. Quiet. In and out. You've done it a thousand times, why would this one be different? After this rather pathetic pep talk, you make up your mind. Splashing some water onto your face, you give yourself one last look in the mirror, determination filling your eyes to the brim.

And then, you're out, the door to the bathroom swings behind you, as you easily blend into the crowd of rowdy patrons. He's almost impossible to miss amongst the ruckus, with his straight posture and that damned hat. There is a plan forming in your head, as you stalk towards him. The unfortunate waiter, with a tray filled with tall beer glasses walks towards you, and with ease, you slide your leg to the side, making him trip right onto the floor.

It creates enough of a distraction for you to smoothly move behind your target, and as he looks over at the screaming crowd, you hand makes its way behind the collar of his coat. With the warmth of his skin just under your fingertips, you touch the clasp of the necklace. It unravels immediately, sliding off of his neck, where, just out of his vision, your other hand waits. The cross lands in your palm just as the man realizes what is happening.

His entire body jerks in your direction, large hands immediately flying towards the gigantic sword on his back. Thankfully, you're faster. Fingers squeeze around the smaller cross, and suddenly all pretense is gone, as you bolt back to the restrooms. You don't stop to check if the man is pursuing you, a flurry of emotions chasing you out of the establishment. Excitement, yes, of course, but mostly impossible to explain fear. In that moment you know, you can't get caught if you want your life to continue.

So, you barrel through the doors to the restroom and immediately jump onto one of the basins. Your hands make quick work opening the small window just below the ceiling, its lock coming undone under the prying of your lockpick. Night air floods the bathroom with the crisp smell of the harbour. Putting all your concentration into athletics, you jump through the small opening, squeezing through. Your shirt catches onto the lock and tears with the force of your body. You land on your face, right into the cobbled street below. Only then do you risk taking the time, and looking around, eyes scanning the dark, as your breath quickens.

Nothing. A dog is barking somewhere, and even from the outside you can hear the sounds of the patrons screaming over each other. For a split second you wonder, if one of the voices belongs to your target, but decide against it. He didn't seem the type to raise his voice. Perhaps that was one of the things, which unsettled you about him.

Tossing the necklace a couple of times in your hand, you observe as the gold shines in the light coming from the lanterns strung out around the city. There, right under the lower half of the cross, you could see a tiny groove. As if it was meant to be unscrewed or something of the sort. Deciding against hanging around in the ark alley right outside the bar, you put the necklace around your neck.

You manage to take about five steps, before some force grabs onto the back of your shirt. A hand twists itself into the torn material, and yanks you back so fast, and so hard, you completely loose balance. The brick wall of the lower part of the bar greets you with sharp pain, the impact knocking the wind out of your lungs. Stars swim in front of your eyes and your stomach twists and turns, as a sudden wave of nausea overcomes you.

Then, all you see is yellow.

He's here, arm pressed right under your chin with unwavering strength, his golden eyes bearing into you, watching you struggle against him. The smell of smoke, seawater and wine engulfs you whole, and suddenly the weight of the stolen necklace on your chest becomes unbearable. It's getting harder and harder to breathe. If you thought you were scared of the strange man before, now you're downright terrified.

- Not many people would dare to steal from me - his voice is steady, almost bored, but your ears pick up on the subtle tone of curiosity - Let alone do so successfully.

Perhaps it's the alcohol in your system, or perhaps your ego has grown much too big, but you almost feel as if the man is impressed.

- Tell me, what is your name? - his arm digs a bit further into your skin before retracting ever so slightly, not enough to choke you, but enough to remind you, that he could do so very easily.

Your tongue darts out to wet you lips, and you will yourself to sound even a fraction less scared than you truly felt.

- I'm nobody - you whisper fervently - I'm nothing. It was a stupid joke, I'm so sorry.

His eyes scan your face, taking in your disheveled hair, the way your eyebrows scrunch together, the way your lips tremble. His gaze slides further down to your panicked pulse running rampant, catching slightly at your heaving chest, before snapping back up. Freezing chills run up and down your body, and your legs kick out slightly, trying to find better footing, to regain some control over the situation. He gives you no such chance, as his arm pushes your neck further into the wall, and as your breath leaves you, your body starts to struggle.

- Nobody. Nothing. And yet you've managed to steal from me - something akin to subdued mirth flashes in his golden irises - If only for a moment.

His other hand rises and your heart stops in your chest, as you feel the tips of his fingers tracing the line of the necklace, from the juncture between your neck and your arm, sliding lower. There is no mistaking the small gasp leaving your lips, when he reaches the heavy cross nestled right on top of your breasts. He taps the goden piece once, twice, before grasping it firmly and giving it a hard yank. The clasp at the back digs painfully into your skin before it gives out, snapping and falling right into his hand.

- You're a curious little thief - his voice lowers, as he inclines his head to look at you closer - For that reason, I'll let you live, this one time. The world needs some chaos, after all.

You expect him to move away, give you space to breathe and disapear into the night. Yet, none of you make a move. Your body stays pinned to the wall, the bricks spreading cold throughout your back. He never retreats, standing firmly in his place, as his arm still presses itself into the crook of your neck. Finally, you risk enough to get a good look at him, from the silky black hair, the perfectly trimmed facial hair and the elegant dip of his collar bones. And, oh, his pupils are dilated. For the first time, you discover a change in his unrelenting gaze.

The gold retracts, giving way to the swallowing blackness of his pupil, as his eyebrows furrow in confusion at the situation at hand. You'd be confused too, if you didn't feel the tell-tale buzzing forming in your guts, low in your stomach. Your tongue darts out again, wetting your lips, and with undeniable satisfaction you watch his gaze flicker downwards.

- Is there something else you want? - his eyes snap back up at the husky tone of your voice, and you give him just a tiny ghost of a smirk.

He recoils immediately, albeit, never taking the arm off of your body.

- I am not some teenage boy who can't control his urges - he sounds almost offended, as he straightens himself, and fixes you with a stern glare.

Too bad. His previous slip-up has already filled your head with devious ideas, which in turn, sparked a sudden flame of confidence. So, with a self-assured smile, you lean back, finally finding your footing, only to raise one of your legs, purposefully running your calf the length of his thigh. His breath hitches ever so slightly, evident more by the movement of his Adam's apple, than any sound. Then, you reach your prize, your knee knocking into something that could only be described as a sizeable erection.

- My research says otherwise, sir. - you counter with a pointed look, and the man before you freezes in his spot.

Time seems to slow down and stretch like taffy, as the man continues to stare at you, thoughts running through his head. Oh, how much you'd give to know them all. Will he kill you, you wonder as your eyes dart around the small creases forming on his forehead. Will he kiss you, his lips are parted and invitingly plush. Will there be more, your eyes follow the lines of muscles exposed under his unbuttoned coat.

At first you don't even notice, when he had taken his arm back. That is until you feel him take a firm grab of the back of your head, gathering the roots of your hair in his grasp. There is no denying the choked whine that escapes you, as he cranes your head back, nor is there a point denying the groan he gives out at your reaction.

An unspoken understanding blooms between the two of you, both of you suddenly knowing exactly how this encounter will end. For your part, you were more than excited, breathing heavily, as your mind became foggy from the feeling of his fingers in your hair. And if his darkened eyes and slight blush dusting the highest points of his cheekbones were any indication, you seemed to have similar effect on the man.

- For all the research you seem to be doing - your brain feels hot and heavy in your skull, as you try to shift your focus onto his words, and not the way his lips curled into something akin of a smirk - There's one thing you didn't bother to check, did you?

All you can do is stare at him blankly. his other hand starts to toy with the necklace, turning it in his palm.

- Have you checked, if my necklace is made of gold? - he asks matter-of-factly, tilting his head to the side.

Your mouth opens and closes, no words coming out, as you continue to stare with growing confusion. Then, a glint of a golden cross catches your attention, as the man moves it higher for you to see.

- Did you check it? - he accentuates his words, and you shiver under his intense gaze.

You shake your head no, and your neck feels as if it's made of lead.

- Use your words, thief.

- No

You don't recognize your voice, so meek and small.

Then, all thoughts leave your head, because he lifts the lover tip of the cross and places it on top of your lower lip, pressing slightly, and watching with fascination as the cold metal creates a small indent in the plush flesh.

- Check it.

Again, your brain seems to be moving in slow motion, but when it catches on, a glint of mischief swirls in your eyes. You open your mouth, let the necklace land on your lower teeth, and then, craning your neck, you bite down, like a good thief that you are.

It's gold alright. Albeit, the part currently between your teeth seems to be hollowed out. Your brows knit for a second, as this new information registers in your mind. So you were right before, the small indent is meant to separate one piece of the necklace from the other.

With a slowly blooming smirk, you let your tongue dart out swirling over the metal. The man's eyes widen ever so slightly, and he pulls back at the necklace. With some fight, you let it go, but not before giving it another lick, this one much more suggestive and pointed.

- You're a devil of a woman - Mihawk breathes, before untangling his other hand from your hair.

Both hands now, he grips the necklace, and your mouth runs dry at the sight of his fingers smearing your saliva onto the metal. And then he pulls. Your heartbeat momentarily quickens, as your eyes register another form of metal glistening in the dim light.

A knife. Small but incredibly sharp, your body starts to shiver but it's not out of fear. He drops the other part of the necklace into his pocket, and gathers the front of your shirt into a tight grip. Your breath hitches, as you feel the tip of the knife slide up under your clothes. It scratches a path from your navel, up to your collarbones, and as the material bunches, the man suddenly yanks the blade upwards. Your entire body jumps from the wall, and your squeak of surprise is accompanied by the loud tearing of your shirt's material.

You fall back against the bricks, and Mihawk leans onto his heels as if he's appreciating an art piece.

- Now we match - you manage to breathe out.

He humms, deep in his chest, and as suddenly as he just tore your clothes off, he dives towards you, open mouth landing right between your breasts.

The moan he wretches from you would be embarrassing if you could only bring yourself to care. But you can't, not when his hot tongue traces patterns all across your stomach, stopping to swirl around each one of your nipples. Like a man starved, he drinks you in, hands pushing and pulling against your hips in a rythmn, that feels more and more like a promise of what's to come.

Your hands flail at your sides, desperate to find any sort of purchase. Fingernails scarpe against the bricked wall, as Mihawk's stubble tickles a path from your collar bones and up your throat, stopping for a moment, to give a few nips to the skin just below your ear. Another whine is wrenched from you, as the man places an open mouthed kiss to the scrape your previous encounter with the surface of the table has left on your skin. Then, finally, he pulls back for just a moment, drinking in the sight of your heaving chest and the redness which has engulfed your entire face.

- Beautiful - he concludes in the same, steady tone, as if he's stating an obvious fact, not paying a compliment.

It works on you all the same, and with a gasp, you lurch forward, your lips forcefully colliding with his. The kiss is deep and filled with passion you're not sure you've ever felt in your entire life. As his mouth and tongue work the insides of yours, you feel him slide his hand from your hips to the front, fingers pulling with urgency at the laces of your breeches. You can only pray, that there's no one taking a midnight stroll through the streets, as another loud moan escapes you. He does his best to swallow it, but something tells you he takes immense pride in the reactions you give him, as his efforts at keeping you quiet are haphazard at best.

Then, after finally winning the battle with your lacing, his hand pushes itself into your undergarments. Your head smacks back against the wall, when he begins to touch you where you need him the most. Expert fingers find your bundle of nerves in an instant, but before you get too carried away, one of your arms encircles his wrist.

Mihawk tilts his head, an unspoken question clear in his golden gaze.

- No time - you pant out, and for a moment worry, he doesn't quite register your words, with the way his focus shifts immediately to your swollen lips - No time, just... Just fuck me, Mihawk.

That seems to reach him just fine, because as soon as the words leave you, his arms shoot out towards his pants. He makes quick work of the massive belt buckle, and with impatient hands yanks his erection out of his underwear. You'd lie, if you said the view didn't worry you just a little bit. But excitement was your drug of choice, and right now you felt as if you could explode at any given moment. With shaky hands, you try to shimmy out of your pants. Seeing your rather clumsy efforts, Mihawk stops you.

With half-lidded eyes you watch him kneel down in front of you, gently pulling your breeches down, before lifting each of your feet, so you could step out of them.

- I think I like seeing you like this - you comment, as he leans forward to kiss the space under your right knee.

- The view from here is also quite spectacular - he counters, kissing up your thigh and making you gasp, as his stubble presses into the mound of flesh just below your stomach.

Still, there is no time, so you reach down towards his shoulder, and pull him up.

- Please - you whisper against his lips, and who is he, to deny a lady in need.

Lifting one of your legs in a tight grip, finally, his hips snap up, filling you to the brim. Your muscles tense, as you try to accommodate his size. To his credit, he stays still, face pressed into the crook of your neck, where you can feel his strained breath. Finally, you let yourself relax. tapping him on the shoulder, to let him know he can continue.

And continue he does, slowly at first, dragging your body from the wall every time he retracts, only to come back in with an agonizing pace. You don't really know who's more frustrated at that point, because as soon, as you try to wriggle your hips more, to force him to pick up the pace, all resolve seems to dissapear. His hand grips your thigh even harder, enough to leave a reminder for the later days. The other tangles itself into your hair, pulling at the strands. And then he truly puts in work, hips snapping in a punishing pace that makes your back scrape against the brick wall. You hide your face in his coat, inhaling his scent and praying that the thick material will be sufficient at muffling your moans of pleasure.

There's pressure, building steadily in your guts, and it doesn't take you long, to feel the band snap somewhere deep inside you. Your muscles tense and your eyes roll back, as you begin to shudder in his grasp, knees giving out completely, so only his own strength is saving you from colliding with the floor. Soon, he follows with a low grunt, nearly toppling over, when his own release hits him.

His arm holds you close to him, as he uses the other one to steady himself against the wall. Both of you are panting heavily, none of you ready to move just yet. You rest your cheek against his chest, and feel him press his face to the top of your head, inhaling your scent as if this wasn't just a quick dalliance in a dark alley.

- You should get back to your friend - Mihawk's voice is muffled by your hair - They must be dreading all the atrocities I could've bestowed upon you.

You laugh breathlessly, finally pushing him back and appreciating the flush on his cheeks, and the way his hair has flown out of place from under that impressive hat.

- Yes, those atrocities have been very great indeed.

***

Your friend sits alone at the same table you've left them. Their head is hidden in their hands, and three empty bottles litter the space before them. It seems they have already started to mourn your untimely death.

The inside of the bar has quieted down, as the closing hours began to loom over the patrons, a few stragglers still hanging around the bar, sowly finishing their respective drinks.

Unceremoniously, you sit down right in front of your friend, wincing ever so slightly at the discomfort still lingering in your muscles, kicking their leg under the table and watching them nearly jump out of their seat with fright.

- You... - their eyes have a difficulty focusing on your face, but when they do, it's like the heavens have opened before them. - You're alive!

Your eyes are glowing, and your face is still blushed from your previous encounter. You lean forward with a brilliant smile, hands slapping onto the wooden table.

- So - you can't help but laugh - About fucking with him...

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mguvmii · 8 months

Text

giving eddie a blowjob under the d&d table as he sits on his throne, legs spread as your head is slotted between his thighs. your tongue is teasing the swollen head as you bob your head up and down his leaking cock. (NSFW AUDIO WARNING)

4K notes · View notes

mguvmii · 8 months

Text

I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN' YOU. eddie munson.

navigation - masterlist - taglist

summary: the four times eddie knew he was a goner and the one time he told you.

warnings: no spoilers! don’t worry, you’re safe here. profanities. gif credits to @his-name-is-ed <3

word count: 5.1k

i. the first time eddie knew he was a goner was when… he found out that you love mötley crüe.

eddie knows his presence is hard to miss. aside from his wild hair and clothing choices, which apparently do not fit the social standards, he makes it exceptionally difficult for people to ignore him.

and yet, on a particular, normal, chilly friday in the school field, you effortlessly grab his attention. you didn’t need crazy hair or seeking clothes or loud eccentric speeches on top of a cafeteria table. you’re just… sitting there with a frown on your face and eddie thinks…

eddie can’t think. his mind draws blank as he continues to stare at you.

so like dominoes, his abrupt stop results in the rest of the hellfire club bumping into him, which causes a streak of groans and complaints, but eddie pays them no mind because as if his legs have a mind of their own, they bring him right to you. “carry on without me, my little sheep, destiny awaits!”

you groan in annoyance, slamming your hand onto your malfunctioning walkman. “stupid, stupid, little shi-”

“y’know, i don’t think mauling the poor thing will make it work.”

you look up at the voice with a glare, your face softens just a bit after seeing it was eddie, but the glare prevails nevertheless, still frustrated with your walkman.

“i mean, sure, i guess that could make it work, too,” eddie shrugs, hopping on top of the picnic table instead of sitting on the benches like a normal person.

“it will work,” you grit your teeth, hitting the side of the device as it did nothing to fix the distorted voice of vince neil. “it just needs a bit of tough love.”

after watching you for a few more minutes with an amused smile, eddie snatches it out of your hands, convinced that you would break it if it doesn’t revive the next second. he ignores your objections as he opens his black metal lunchbox.

“it’s not a lunchbox,” he absentmindedly retorts to your murmur as he goes through his things, silently muttering a quiet no, not this, nope, what the hell is this? and finally, aha!

he raises a mini screwdriver before you as if it will magically take your problems away. “this, my lady, will magically take your problems away.”

huh.

you hesitantly watch as eddie pops open your walkman, taking out the mixtape to find the tape itself burst out of its case. he tinkers and meddles with it carefully, doing wonders as he manually rewinds it.

you use his current distraction to take a good look at him. you’ve seen him around the school; in class, in the hallways, at the cafeteria, but you’ve never crossed the borders of his personal bubble or actually spoken to him until now.

he isn’t a bad sight to see.

his hair, although gone rogue, looks so soft that you physically have to restrain yourself from touching it. he has tattoos inked on his skin, slightly covered by his hellfire shirt as if teasing you and leaving you wanting to see more. beautiful silver rings graced his fingers making you want to study each intricate detail that embellished the jewelry.

his tongue is poking out of his lips, brows furrowed in concentration. his nose is slightly crooked as if it’s been broken before. he has dimples piercing his cheeks and the lightest of freckles sprinkled over his face, only noticeable if kissed under the sun.

all things considered, eddie munson is a sight for sore eyes.

“are you done staring, sweetheart?” eddie teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “if you’d like, i can pose for you on this table.”

you were too deep in your reveries that you didn’t notice he was done. you blink up at him and scoff. “shut up, i wasn’t staring.”

“it’s fine, y’know, it’s normal to stare at pretty things.” he encourages you, satirically playing with his hair. “especially if you’re one of those connoisseurs of art.”

“wow, someone learned a new word today.” you praise him sarcastically.

“now, now, y/n, is that a way to treat someone who just fixed your lil walkman?” eddie chastises, grabbing your headphones from your neck and putting it on his ears. “what were you listening to anyway?”

he gives it a few seconds before the familiar music comes in. he whips his head towards you with a slack jaw. he winces, his hand coming in contact with his neck, massaging the pain from snapping his head towards you too fast.

… i've been a poet always tongue in cheek,

i've seen some scenes man you'd never believe,

and like a supercharged rocket ride,

you know they'd have gasoline if they had the time.

“you- you listen to mötley crüe!” eddie blurts out, standing on the picnic table and pointing an accusatory finger at you. “you’re one of us!”

“shut up!” you pull him back down with a yank. you can still hear angela blasting through your headphones. you look at him with a sigh before muttering. “i love mötley crüe.”

eddie lets out a choked laugh, jumping off the table and squishing your cheeks with his hands. “you’re a cute little metal freak!”

“shut up, munson! you better get your hands off my face or so help me god.”

it came out as gibberish but the point came across.

“you say ‘shut up’ too much, is that your favorite word?” eddie calls into question, leaning closer to you with a roguish grin. his gaze flickers down to your pouting lips before staring straight into your eyes. “i can teach you more ways to shut me up, y’know?”

“scout’s honor that it’s even more efficacious than the words itself.” he winks at you before grabbing his lunchbox, leaving you bewildered and baffled beyond belief. mötley crüe did not do anything to blur the forming thoughts in your head.

that was strike one for eddie munson.

ii. the second time eddie knew he was a goner was when… you knocked someone out cold with a box of frozen waffles.

you shouldn’t have been out at an ungodly hour, quite frankly, but you really, really, wanted some eggos. so clad in sweats and an oversized shirt, you walk out of bradley’s big buy with three boxes of mini waffles in hand.

and as if the universe wasn’t satisfied with only one interaction, you hear eddie munson’s voice. “hey, come on, man. you’ve been my client for over a year now and you’re only doubting me now?”

“we talked about fifteen grams, munson, so i’m expecting fifteen grams.”

eddie sighs, rubbing his tired face with his hand. they’ve been going back and forth and he was starting to get annoyed. he wasn’t even supposed to be dealing right now, but when money calls, you answer it.

“look, man. it’s fifteen. if you don’t believe me, give me the money, go find a weighing scale, and weigh your shit. it’s fifteen grams.” he says, grabbing his lunchbox, but just as he wrapped his fingers on the handle, he gets shoved to the ground, his things crashing with him, skin scratched from catching himself on the rough pavement.

motherfucker.

“hey!” you didn’t want to. you really didn’t want to, but before you can think twice, you get in between eddie and the ridiculously tall buff guy.

you should really start thinking twice.

said guy, although high as a kite, looks at the box of eggos on the floor and back at you. you had thrown a box of waffles at his head.

“take your fifteen grams and leave,” you order calmly, ignoring the whispers of objections of eddie, who immediately stands up at lightspeed, startled by your sudden presence.

“i don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but this is between me and your little druggy friend, a’ight?” he sneers, pushing you aside to grab eddie by his shirt. “besides, the fuck do you know about packing shit right?”

“i know how to pack a punch, for starters.”

you didn’t give him or eddie to process your words before, CRACK! your fist comes in contact with his nose — a sickening crunch and a cry had them both freezing, well, except for the junkie clutching his nose.

“you bitch!”

with the throbbing pain of your knuckles, you could only whack him across his face with the box of waffles in your hand as he leaped to get you.

eddie, still frozen in his spot, can only watch in both horror and amazement as the guy gets knocked out cold, face kissing the sidewalk.

“holy shit…”

“how much did he owe you?” you huff, clutching your victimized hand as you stand over the guy.

“twenty.” he blinks.

you shrug, digging a hand in the jean pocket of the junkie and placing the crumpled bills in eddie’s hand. “twenty-five for being a shithead.”

eddie took you out for some ice cream treat after that.

“remind me to never get on your nerves, you scare me,” he said, but there was no real fear behind his words, just a twinge of wonder in his voice and a sparkle in his eyes.

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to, so you just grinned at him before taking a scoop out of his ice cream.

and at that moment, under the moonlight with frozen waffles aiding your knuckles and discarded ice cream cups on top of his van, eddie just knew that you would stick around.

and the rest was history.

that was strike two for eddie munson.

iii. the third time eddie knew he was a goner was when… traces of you were slowly starting to bleed into his life, and he didn’t mind.

“is this… MADONNA?”

eddie snaps his head towards the curly-headed boy in his passenger seat, eyes widening at the sight of the manifold of mixtapes that sits on dustin’s lap.

he splutters incoherent excuses as he chucks them back into his glovebox, a hand still on the wheel as he tries to keep the van steady.

dustin watches in amusement as eddie fumbles with the mixtape that fell from his grasp. he snatches it out of his mentor’s hand and snickers, “wow, abba, too? didn’t know you were such a pioneer of music, eddie.”

eddie thwacks him with the d&d gazette before turning his eyes back on the road. “those aren’t mine.”

it was his. you left it for him.

dustin squints his eyes at his friend as if staring at him like that will force him to tell the truth, and it almost did, but thankfully, he chooses to go through the mixtape-filled glovebox again instead.

you brought half of your mixtapes with you when eddie had asked you to accompany him on a spontaneous road trip out of town one day. he always looks back to that moment.

you were passionately talking about the songs that graced your diverse music taste, hands animatedly moving around as words spew out of your mouth every millisecond. he understood every single thing you said, though.

just because you love mötley crüe doesn’t mean you don’t love starship. you love kiss but you also love the beatles. you love metallica but you also love bee gees, and maybe he was starting to like it, too.

if you ask eddie, he’ll choose cyndi lauper’s time after time as his slow dance song. absolutely irrelevant yet very relevant.

“why the hell are you smiling like a crazy man?” dustin pokes his cheeks, effectively snapping him out of his daydream.

eddie slaps his hands away from his face.

aside from mixtapes in his glovebox, eddie also has a special drawer with the clothes you often leave at his house, and with the best detergent he has – a discounted brand from a dollar store – he voluntarily washes it for you to wear next time.

“did… did you wash my clothes?” he remembers you asking the first time.

he turns away from his notebook to look at you. “uh, yeah. you left some of your stuff here and i decided to include it with mine last wash day.”

“oh,” you beam, pulling the material to your nose and breathing it in. “thanks, babe.”

eddie ignores the warmth of his cheeks and goes back to doodling in his notebook. “‘course, would you like me to wear a maid outfit while i’m at it next time?”

you laugh. “i’d like that very much.”

you bring the soft fabric back to your nose, it smells just like him.

you start leaving more clothes in his room after that.

that was strike three for eddie munson.

iv. the fourth time eddie knew he was a goner was when… he wanted to be the best version of himself whenever you’re around.

“okay, so i have a bag of those honeycomb cereal you like, some pringles, juice boxes, pints of ice cream…”

as you continue to list off the snacks you brought for the d&d campaign with the boys, eddie leans forward to buckle your seatbelt, letting you catch a whiff of his cologne. he tugs it twice to make sure it’s fastened properly. “safety first.”

you pause. “you literally never wear your seatbelt.”

“that’s because i sold my soul to the devil for immortality,” eddie pats your thigh before backing out of your driveway. “and because it will cause a decline in my precious reputation!”

“what, common road safety?” you snort. “do tell, kind sir, what would the great eddie munson be known for?”

“you don’t know?” he scoffs in mock disbelief. “i’m an evil self-proclaimed attention whore – i’m known for a lot of things, sweetheart.”

“speaking of being an attention whore,” you gravitate towards him to sniff him again. “are you wearing a new perfume, munson?”

“sit back down, dumbass! and it’s cologne, not perfume.”

“same shit. are you trying to impress someone?” you tease, settling down back in your seat before letting out an overdramatic gasp. “is it dustin? is it because he’s been hanging out with steve the past week?”

“what? no!” he wavers for a moment before sniffing himself. “why? does it smell bad?”

you laugh. “no, no. i actually like it better than your old one.”

“good, i bought it especially for you.” he winks, turning the volume of the music up before you can even reply.

“i can’t believe erica rolled a d20!” eddie exclaims, packing up the boards.

“and twice,” you agree.

as usual, you and eddie stayed back after the campaign, ushering the kids — and gareth and the group — out of the room as soon as you heard the distant rumble of the sky. you knew they’d be biking home, so you asked them to leave early, much to your best friend’s displeasure.

you pick up the empty chip bags and discarded juice boxes, prolonging the chat you’re having with eddie.

mid-conversation, you lean against his throne, garbage bag in your hands. he was talking animatedly and you’re not quite sure what he’s even talking about anymore.

the lights of the room give him a glow that makes your heart beam. the perfect combination of green, orange, and blue; it makes him look like a fallen angel. a devil in disguise. the right fusion of both.

his eyes are soft, it’s kind. his smile is, too. everything about him is. he doesn’t show anyone, but you always get the opportunity to see a part of him that makes you fall in love with him even more.

“…and then just as i was about to dream of rubbing their loss in their puny little faces — she slaps me with a crit hit! that’s twice!”

“yeah,” you whisper, a gentle smile on your lips. you push yourself off the chair and start helping him around the room. “maybe it’s a sign that you’re getting a bit rusty, buzz.”

“drop it with the nickname! it’s been years and i was only forced to have it shaved after stupid anthony chopped my hair nasty in history.”

you double down in laughter. “and wayne has been so gracious enough to show me the pictures.”

eddie glares at you before running towards you. you only advance two steps away from him before he catches you from behind and pulls you against him.

“salvage yourself, you insolent little minx.”

“no! i shan’t yield!”

giggles escape both of your lips, sounds slowly getting muffled by the drops of rain starting to patter one by one, making you and eddie stop in your tracks.

you exchange wide-eyed glances before hurrying with the packing.

you run out of the building, shoes splashing over the formed puddles, you didn’t even notice eddie shrug his jacket off to shield both of you from the rain.

a few meters from his van, you pull away from him and let the water hit you, dampening your clothes all within a second.

“what the hell are you doing?” eddie shouts over the loud pour.

“come on!” you pull him towards you, cold hands grasping his warm ones, you dance in the rain.

eddie watches you in disbelief, though there’s a smile on his face. “fuck it,” he mutters. “wait here.”

he runs to his van, almost slipping on the wet ground. “i’m okay!”

“idiot.” you snort.

eddie opens the door to the passenger seat and opens the glovebox. he grabs a random mixtape and fumbles to put it in the player, only then realizing that he didn’t even start the van.

a minute or two later of waiting, you hear a bees gees song blast from eddie’s van.

“come on, baby,” he whoops, grabbing your hands as he starts shimmying. “let’s dance!”

you let out a blissful laugh as he twirls you around. you jump around in the puddles, soaked clothes slightly weighing you down from being drenched. you attempt to twirl eddie around, too, which was a struggle due to his height.

he sings along to the song and you gasp in surprise. “you know this song?”

“do i- do i know this song?” he repeats in incredulity. “of course, i do! i’m in-”

adrenaline getting to his head, eddie realizes what he was about to say so he rectifies it. “you only sing it every second of the day. that damn song is engraved in my head!”

he pulls you back against him with a grin, a hand intertwined with yours and another supporting your back. he dips you, and you yelp in surprise.

the both of you are panting from all the dancing, but the smiles never left your face. you stare at his face, he stares at yours. you tuck a wet strand of his hair behind his ear, letting your hand rest on his jaw. he has a light stubble.

his eyes flicker to your lips, you do the same.

should i kiss him? should i not kiss him?

the loud boom of the thunder makes the decision for the two of you. the sound startles both of you, resulting in jumping away from each other faster than the next flash of lightning.

“we should head home if we still want to have this movie marathon,”

“yeah.”

eddie goes over his thoughts for a moment as you adjust the heater of the van. he recollects the resolution he made earlier, pondering over the idea of being the best version of himself though he already feels like he became it the first time he met you. how can one become the best-est best version of themselves?

that was strike four for eddie munson.

but for you… you lost count of how many it’s been because every day with eddie adds a tally to your strikes.

v. the time eddie tells you how he’s a goner for you.

“harrington? fucking harrington?”

“it’s a friendly date, buzz,” you point out, hand steady as you do your eyeliner in his bedroom mirror.

“with harrington?” he stresses, his own hands tugging at his brown locks.

“yes, eddie.” you sigh, it’s been a repetitive back and forth. “it’s not a date date. it’s friendly, as i said. robin will be there.”

he sits up against the wall, lips moving before his brain can process his words. “well, if buckley’s gonna be there then what else does he want with you?”

you pause, dropping your hand to look at him. “okay, ouch.”

“no, i-” he groans dramatically into his hands. “i didn’t mean it like that. i just- i don’t understand why you have to spend a perfectly great night with harrington-”

“and robin.”

“-and robin, when you can just spend it with me.” eddie pouts. he sounds pathetic, he knows, but he’s jealous. what if you decide to leave him for steve? – and although he understands; it’s steve harrington, for god’s sake. he would, too, if he can – life would have no other purpose for him if you do.

“aww,” you mimic his pout, walking over to him to pat his cheeks. “don’t worry, hotshot, you’re still my favorite boy.”

“whatever,” he swats your hands away, though the grin tugging at the corner of his lips persists. he takes his time admiring you properly. you looked gorgeous, as always.

“c’mon, you big baby,” you protested. “robin will be there! plus, you can always come wi-”

“well, why didn’t you say so?” he exclaims, leaping towards the door clad in his hellfire shirt and boxers. “let’s go! we better get goi-”

you throw his jeans at him. “for your modesty.”

eddie was glad he came along. he looks at you with clear fondness, watching as your eyes light up like a child on christmas day. you jump in excitement, dragging him into the fair.

“hey, you made it!” steve jogs towards you, but then his eyes flicker to your company. “…and munson.”

“harrington,” eddie grins, a hint of mischief in the glint of his smile as he bows to him.

you roll your eyes at them. “where’s robin?”

“right here, lovebug,” she smiles, offering you a pink cotton candy as she takes a bite off the blue one. steve’s mouth slowly falls slack in bewilderment.

“aww, my favorite,” you pout your lips as you clink your sweets like glasses of wine.

“that’s mine!”

“buy your own cotton candy, dingus,”

“you paid for those with my money.”

eddie pays them no mind as they continue to bicker. he snatches a piece of cotton candy as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “i see a kissing booth we can go to… the marriage booth, too, maybe?”

“stop,” you smack his arm. “let’s start with the basketball — eddie, they’ve got those big teddy bears!”

“well, the night is young, sweetheart,”

the night is young, indeed. you go around the fair with the group, steve has the giant teddy bear propped on his shoulders as if it was his child — “he is!” he argued. “his name is harry harrington.”

“harry harrington?” you had asked in incredulity. “that’s a shit name, steve!”

he gasped in mock offense, bringing the bear down to cover its ears. “don’t listen to her, harry, she’s just jealous you aren’t hers.”

eddie’s jealous he isn’t yours, too, but he wasn’t going to say that.

you felt as if you’ve managed to go through every single booth but according to the map robin had somehow snatched, there were more than half of it you have yet to explore.

“c’mon, there’s a ball toss over there,” eddie says, grabbing your arm to drag you away from steve. “gonna win you that giant fucking elephant.”

although as soon as you stop by before it, eddie does a double-take. “six dollars?”

“six dollars.” the merchant confirms.

he looks at you and whispers in disbelief. “six dollars?”

you shrug at him, letting out a chuckle at his expression. “capitalism, baby,”

eddie sighs. he’s glad he brought his wallet with him. he’s willing to spend all of his income if it meant getting you that elephant — and he will.

“we don’t have to, you know,” you reassure him, eyeing him as he reaches out for the dollars. “there’s still a lot of booths we can go to.”

“nah, i’m getting you that elephant.” he slams the money on the counter. the merchant smirks. three balls.

eddie grabs one and exhales. “wish me luck.”

he throws the ball, and again, and then again. and then he slams more money onto the counter, and then again, and again.

his aim’s good, but not enough to knock all the cans down. steve and robin managed to do a round before returning to the both of you with corndogs in hand.

with his promise of a last round, he sighs at the sight of what’s left of the standing cans. he gives you the last ball.

“are you sure?” you hesitate.

“do the honors, my lady,” eddie smiles, eyes so soft that subtle crinkles show at the corners.

and with a swift throw, you somehow manage to knock down all of the cans. you and eddie whoop in excitement, jumping up and down as the merchant sighs exasperatedly, grabbing your oversized prize.

“oh my god,” you whisper, hugging the elephant to your chest. “it’s so fluffy!”

eddie looks at you with a dopey lovesick smile. maybe it was the sparkling fairy lights overhead, or the distant music playing, or maybe it was because you’re practically bouncing off the balls of your feet, a giddy smile adorning your lips… or maybe it was because eddie cannot take it any longer so he says, “i’m in love with you.”

you falter for a bit, uncertain if you heard him correctly. “what?”

and steve, who had initially asked you on a date — although as friendly as he claims — leans against the wooden pillar, face contorting in realization, lips forming into an unmistakable o as he grasps what is happening.

robin grins, a quiet finally! unleashing from her lips. to give you two some privacy, well, as private as a conversation in a public place can be, she drags steve to a very friendly competition of high strikers. steve lets her, sending eddie an encouraging thumbs up.

“i-i’m in love with you,” eddie repeats, voice wavering at your blank expression. he couldn’t read you and it’s making him anxious. “i’m so terribly and undeniably in love with you – i knew i did the moment you said you love mötley crüe.”

you let yourself feel all the emotions bursting in all at once. he likes you. eddie munson likes you, so you ask stupidly, “are you sure?”

eddie scoffs a laugh. “am i- am i sure? are you asking me if i’m sure about my own feelings?”

you shrug.

he looks at you before breaking into a run without another word.

“eddie, where are you going?” you call out frantically.

eddie eyes the haystacks in the center of the park and clumsily mounts on them and nearly falls. he catches himself before he can tumble down. his eyes flicker to yours as he cups his hands over his mouth. “fair people of hawkins, i have an announcement to make!”

“what is he doing?” steve asks as he and robin appear from beside you.

“i have no idea.”

some people stop by to watch, some go on with whatever it is they were doing, and you just stand where you’re planted, unsure of what he’s about to do and what you’re supposed to do.

“i, eddie munson, a self-proclaimed attention whore, have something very important to say.” he starts – “well, get on with it now!” a guy exclaims. eddie ignores him – “i am in love with y/n l/n. i’ve been in love with her since i found out she loves metal, i’ve fallen for her since she knocked a guy out cold with frozen waffles–”

“frozen waffles?” robin questions.

“– i fell for her even harder when she introduced me to madonna – that’s right, i love madonna! but most importantly, i knew i was a goner when i wanted to become the best version of myself for her. i wanted to become the person she deserves because i am in love with you, y/n, always have.”

you soften and the world disappears around you; it was just you and him. there is an ache in your chest, but not because of heartbreak, it’s because it feels as if it will burst out of your chest out of love.

“we can’t help who we fall for,” eddie breathes out, walking down the stack. “but honestly, i’m glad it’s you because there’s no one else in this world whom i would love to love if it’s not you.”

you shove the elephant in steve’s hold and walk straight to eddie.

he sends you a small smile, arms extended. when you’re a step closer, he whispers. “i’m sorry, i just had to-”

“shut up,” you command, pulling him in for a heated kiss, fingers getting lost and tangled in his hair, his arms snake around your waist to pull you impossibly closer, no gap left unfilled.

your lips dance a fast-paced song, it’s all but intense and passionate – a hint of eagerness and the satisfaction of longing. you forget that it wasn’t just the two of you, that there was a crowd watching you both kiss. you can hear the faint coos of the moms by the corner.

“get a room!” a guy barks out. simultaneously, you and eddie flipped him off but the kiss decelerates into soft and sensual, a contrast to the shared feverish one, now easing up to the feeling of content and delicate love.

you pull away a second later, forehead touching his as you don’t dare to open your eyes yet. “i’m in love with you, too, if it’s not obvious yet.”

“well, i should hope so,” eddie laughs. he gives you a quick peck on the lips before fixing you with a teasing grin. “how about that marriage booth now, sweetheart?”

“take me out on a date first, loverboy.” you interlace your hand with his as you walk away from the spotlight.

“how about a kiss on top of the ferris wheel?” he proposes instead.

“sap,” you scrunch your nose up with a smile. “but i’m not opposed to the idea.”

that was strike ??? for you and eddie.

“just to let you all know, i am not going to sit next to steve on the ferris wheel.”

“what do you mean? i’m an amazing ferris wheel companion.”

“would you like to get shoved off the seat once we’re on top?”

“... how about the bumper cars?”

“deal.”

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