#IT WAS A BITCH AND A HALF TO FIND THE LAST THREE
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You finally finished your senior year of cheerleading. All the hard work you put in is starting to overtake you emotionally as you walk through the hallway towards the locker room for the last time. It's a bittersweet feeling.
Your eyes are a bit misty, and even though you've made this walk hundreds of times, the eerily quiet halls of the vacant school undistracting, you end up in the boys locker room. By the time you reach what should be your locker you realize what you did.
You turn around to try and leave but coming in the door are the three football coaches. A little buzzed from their celebratory end of season drinks...
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*Shit, shit shit!*
I scramble quickly into the adjacent shower room to avoid the approaching football coaches. I silently chastise myself as I hear the laughing coaches enter the locker room.
*I made it four years!* I think to myself, with my back pressed against the community shower wall. *Four years without making a fool out of myself, now here I am, trapped in the boys locker room! How could I have been so stupid?*
*Maybe they'll leave. Just come in to drop things off, then they'll head home ... Vanessa, what were you thinking?*
Click! The sound of beer cans opening echo through the locker room as the coaches cheer to another successful season. They weren't leaving anytime soon, and there was no way out past them.
I silently stand there, wishing that my absurd situation would just go away. The coaches start talking about the last game, their favorite players, prospects for the next season, and their least favorite players. Time seemed to go on forever, as they reminisced about their former days of football glory.
"Hey Tim," one of the other coaches called out. "Tell George about that chick you fucked, back in our Senior year of varsity."
I could hear him laugh loudly, clear his throat, and answer with a deep voice. "Who, Teresa? Come on, Steve. Alright, alright. Oh man, you won't believe this. So, it's homecoming, right? We're down 13 in the end of the second. Not the best for homecoming game, right? Well, half time rolls around and the homecoming procession is going to start in an hour. A lot of the candidates for queen were cheerleaders, so they had to be given some time to change into their dresses, all that. So, I head back to the locker room, figuring I'd freshen up, get my head back in the game. The other players stuck around the field. So, I get in there, and find, none other but Teresa, standing at the mirror!"
The coaches laugh, and George, the one who apparently was hearing this for the first time, says "What the fuck? What was she doing in there?"
"Well, see, apparently all the mirrors were taken in the ladies room. She figured that since all of the guys were out on the field, so she had it all to herself. So, here I am, football stud, standing alone in the locker room with the hottest girl in school, can you guess what happened?"
Steve starts to laugh as Tim pounds his fist rhythmically into his hand. "Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm, mmmmm! Fuck yeah, bitch!" George joins the laughter as Tim mimics the girl's voice. "Yeah, T, give me that big black cock!"
I peek my head around to see Tim scooting along the benches, humping the air as if he was fucking the girl all over the place, as the other two coaches' chuckling erupts into roaring throes of laughter. My eyes get wide as I slip back behind the wall.
"Man," Tim adds as he opened another beer. "She went on to win homecoming queen, but me? Man, I was literally floating on that field! Won that game with MVP, and that night is when I got scouted by Stanford. So, I have Teresa's tight and white pussy to thank for my football successes!"
The three men continue laughing as a couple of beers are opened again. I silently sigh, roll my head back, and squeeze my eyes shut, as if I could just wish myself out of this room. I knew guys could be nasty, but I was surprised to hear the coaches raunchiness.
"Fuckin' cheerleaders, man." Steve interjects. "Have you seen the ones we got this year? The varsity? Holy fuck!"
George laughs and chimes in. "Yeah, man, girls today are something else. Maybe it's the outfits, but they just look ... fucking hot!"
"I know! And they're nasty as hell! You listen to the team in the locker room, and what some of those 'young, innocent girls' be doin'? They'd be putting that girl Teresa to shame!" Tim resumes his impression of fucking, while pretending to spank the air over and over again.
"Well, let's play a little game. Marry, fuck, kill. Cheerleading varsity squad." My eyes widen. My heart begins to race. I've already heard too much, and the coaches had no intention of leaving any time soon. *How am I going to get out of this?*
Steve goes first. "Okay. First, kill. Brittany." The men all simultaneously groan. "She's fat, ugly, and a bitch. I mean, you gotta choice on at least one of those things, damn!" The men laugh in agreement. "Ok, now for fuck. Part of me wants to say Megan, you know, word in the locker room is she gives great head, and her body is alright, but ... fuuuuuck, have you seen that blonde one? Vanessa?"
I let out a sharp gasp and hold my breath. I don't think they heard me.
"Yeah man, that girl is ... she's the whole fucking package. Full tits, nice ass, she's super lean, and God! She's got a nice camel toe. You guys seen it during those jumps? Those shorts under her skirt fit nice and snug over that juicy pussy!"
I cover my crotch with one hand and open my mouth in indignation. I hide behind the wall, silently, listening intently to their conversation.
"You know, word is she's still a virgin." George replies. "I know, that's why I'd fuck her! What if she's no good? I know Megan can give good head, so I'll just marry her. Great blowjobs for life! If Vanessa turned out to be a freak, I'd keep her as a side chick."
I can't believe what I was hearing. It wasn't quite true, but close enough. I had one guy, fairly small, who popped my cherry in sophomore year. It was over in a few seconds, and we broke up soon after when he moved away. No one since then.
George speaks up. "Okay, kill?" They all speak in unison. "Brittany."
George chuckles. "Yup, who else. Marry? That Asian chick. She's got a tight little body, great for tossing around. Plus, I love some good Chinese food."
Tim chuckles and retorts, "She's Japanese man."
"Alright fine, I'll buy her a fucking Chinese cookbook, are you happy?" They all laugh gregariously. "And fuck? That girl Vanessa. Man, she is hot! She's got a porn star's body. I love that short blonde hair, just long enough to grab but short enough to see her shoulders ... and I bet you that bitch has some pent up sexual tension in her. I'd like to fuck that out of her!"
"Alright, Tim, you're up." He sighs and thinks about it for a moment. "Okay, blowjob girl, what's her name? Megan? Okay. So, I marry Megan, right? Stay married for a while, keep getting that nasty head for a year or two. Then I fuck Vanessa." The other two groan at hearing the same choice for all three.
"Hold on, hold on now. I'm not done. So, I fuck Vanessa, right? Then, after I show Vanessa the ropes, I kill my wife, ehhh, what her name again? Blow job girl. Then I fucking marry Vanessa!"
They all erupt into loud laughter as Tim continues while laughing, "No way I can just fuck that tight white ass once! Fuck man, and those titties on that girl? She looks like a God damn model!"
I stand there, in the darkness of the showers, wide eyed with my mouth hanging open. I couldn't believe what I was hearing! Three grown men, objectifying my body. So many feelings were rushing through me; indignation, dread at being discovered, fear of losing my reputation ... and something else. I felt ... vibrant. My nipples felt swollen. My pussy felt an ache, a sort of unfamiliar yearning, that I couldn't quite explain.
The guys continue to talk, and I feel a chill as the sun disappears from the locker room window past the men. I was only wearing my cheerleading outfit; a top that ended above my belly button, and a skirt that ended just below the athletic booty shorts the coaches were leering about earlier. I slip off my tennis shoes to tiptoe around the shower room, see if I could devise another way out. I sneak further onwards along the wall -
The motion activated lights that had previously not detected me blasted on with a blinding florescent whiteness. I gasp loudly and reach for the wall as I inadvertently grab the shower handle ... which then turns on and blasts me with ice cold water! I scream loudly in shock.
"AHHHHHH! Oh God, no!" I slip on the slick floor and fall ungraciously onto my back, still under the jet of cold water. I lie there, gasping and sputtering as the shockingly frigid water blasts my face.
"What the fuck is that?!" One of the coaches yells out. I hear them all jump up to investigate as I whimper, mortified, sprawled out on the ground.
Steve pops his head into the shower room and whispers, "oh fuck." Tim and George appear at the entrance as well. "Hey, that's Vanessa, fuck." They murmur to each other. Tim steps up.
"Hey, are you okay?!" He calls out. He turns off the water as I pant, still in shock from the icy blast and the bright lights.
Steve crouches down next to me. "What in the hell are you doing here?! This is the -"
"Men's locker room, I know." I retort, with a fair amount of attitude in my tone. I slowly try to get up and slip back down onto my butt. Tim chuckles a bit and helps me up by the shoulders.
"How long have you been in here?" George asks, a hint of concern on his face. I shoot him a venomous scowl and reply, "Long enough." The other coaches exchange glances as I pick up my shoes. "I heard you, talking about looking up my skirt, being gross about my body, just ..." I sigh as I start for the door.
"Look, I just want to go. I just want to forget about everything I just heard and - woah!" I slip backwards again, this time Tim catches my fall, his strong arms wrapped around me.
"Nuh - uh, no way." Tim replies as he spins me around to face him. "We caught you sneaking around, off hours, in the men's locker room. There's a lot of expensive equipment in here ... pads, helmets; what, were you stealing?" The other coaches gives Tim a quizzical look, and he waves them off.
Indignantly, I push his arms off of me. "No! Why would I do that?! What could I possibly gain from some old smelly equipment?"
Steve chimes in, obviously understanding the angle Tim was working. "I don't know, you tell us. Were you looking for some old smelly equipment? Maybe some jock straps to smell. Sounds perverted, what if the student body found out about your ... fetish?" Steve smiled with a devilish grin. I stare at him incredulously.
George stood by the entrance to the shower, arms folded. He was looking at me, as if I was a piece of meat. I glance down at myself, and see my wet uniform plastered to my skin, showing more of my stomach and thighs than usual. I return his gaze.
"How old are you, Vanessa?" George asks, an ominous air about him. I nervously stroke a strand of hair and put it behind my ears. "Ermm... eighteen." I should've lied, but I didn't.
The men chuckle, as I glance around, shifting my feet nervously. "Oh yeah?" George says, pulling out his keys from his pocket. "When did you turn eighteen?"
I glare at him. "Day before yesterday." George looks at the other coaches, and with a knowing smirk, flips his keys in the air and starts to whistle cheerfully as he went to the entrance of the locker room. I hear the key enter the lock and click. That click seemed to echo through the locker room louder than anything else.
Tim steps closer behind me, much closer than what was comfortable. "You know, Vanessa, you might be in a lot of trouble." I feel his hand graze the back of my thigh, just below my cheek. I shudder, and begin to cry.
"There, there," Steve says as he approaches me from the front. "We can work this out. You don't have to cry. Here, let's help you relax, then we'll talk it over. Hey, George?"
"Already on it!" He calls out as he comes around the corner with a bottle of Jameson in hand. He pours some into a small Dixie cup and passes it to Steve.
He turns to me and offers the drink. I've never had whiskey before. In fact, I have never been drunk. The most I've had was a sip of champagne at a wedding, but other than that, nothing. Steve sensed my hesitation. "It will help you relax, V. Can i call you V? Take this and we'll come up with a solution to our predicament.
I stare at him, nostrils flared and my fists balled up. I see right through his charade. I yelp when Tim reaches down and roughly grabs a handful of my ass. "Drink it." He states with a serious tone.
He continues to squeeze my ass as I shakily reach for the cup. I swirl the contents nervously as Steve nods. I first take a sip and sputter and cough. "Ugghhh, woah! It's awful!" "That's because you have to down it, V! Try it again."
I take the cup and swill it back. It burns as it goes down my throat. Steve tops it off as I stare at him incredulously. "Just one more, Vanessa." I drink it all at once and throw down the Dixie cup, still glaring into Steve's eyes.
Tim releases his grip on my cheek and chuckles. George rejoins the group as the three grown men stand facing me, arms crossed. I try to match their intimidation, but start to shiver uncontrollably from the wetness of my clothes.
Tim speaks up. "Where do you want to go to college, Vanessa?" I look at him, confused at the question. I start to feel a strange buzz in my head. "Uhm, I don't know. I'd like a UC ... but, that's expensive."
"What about cheer? You want to keep doing that?" Tim asks, pacing back and forth.
"Well, yeah. But it's hard to get in the better schools. Our cheer team doesn't place that high."
They laugh. "Girl, you have everything it takes to be a good cheerleader. You're gorgeous, you're athletic, you really have what it takes. And I have connections. Tell me, what do you think about Stanford?"
I gulp nervously. Stanford was my dream school, but I didn't have the money, grades, or cheer team status to get in. "I uhh ... I really like it."
Tim purses his lips and nods knowingly. "It's a good school. What if I told you, I could get you in? Full ride. Right into the cheer squad?"
My mouth opens. That sounded ... amazing! But I couldn't buy it. I continue to stare at him wordlessly.
"Because you see, my coach, back in my football days, is now the dean of the athletic department. And, he owes me a favor. I could call in that favor, guarantee your full ride scholarship ... but, the thing is, you've got to earn it."
I bite my lip, and draw my finger along it in thought. My lip felt funny, almost numb and tingly. In fact, my whole body felt that way. I couldn't think clearly. "My head, I ... feel funny."
The three men chuckle as they approach me. "She's a lightweight! Have you ever drank before?" Steve asks.
I shake my head no. George looks around and says, "wow, you really are a good girl."
Tim, who was standing directly in front of me, takes my chin in his fingers. "So, how about it, V? Want to earn that scholarship?" I weakly nod yes, a tear dripping down my face, mixing with the water droplets from the shower. "What do I have to do?"
George turns on the adjacent shower head. "First things first, Vanessa. You're cold. Get out of those wet clothes and take a nice hot shower."
I nod gratefully as Steve passes me a towel. I hook it on and walk to the shower. The water is already nice and warm. I turn around, halfway expecting to have some privacy. Then I realize; they want to watch me shower.
"Are ... are you going to watch me?" I ask sheepishly. The three of them laugh and tom says, "Yeah. Yeah, we're going to watch you."
*okay, this is not so bad* I think to myself. *i just strip down for them, they watch me take a shower, and they let me go.* The scholarship crosses my mind. I sincerely doubt it exists, but what other choice do I have? There was only one way out of this.
The three men confer with each other. I saw them gesturing to me, whispering under their breath. I stand there, arms crossed on my chest, shivering. I think about the three men just watching me as I shower. Leering at my butt, probably my breasts too. I want to get this over with.
"So, should I, like, start or something?" They turn to me, and George breaks from the group, nods to the other coaches, and stands by my shower head. "Be our guest!" He retorts.
I turn to face the other two men and bite my lip. I trace my thumbs along the waistband of my skirt and start to pull down.
"Nope." George says. He pulls me under the warm water. "You're already wet, undress under the water."
I stumble slightly, a little woozy from the whiskey. I resume pulling down my skirt, careful to leave my booty shorts on. As it slides over my hips, I let it fall down, and bracing against the wall, I kick it off with one foot.
"Good," says Tim. "Now, turn around, place your hands on the wall, look back at us, and shake your ass."
I do as he says. Standing straight up, I turn around and gently shake it. George laughs and very suddenly blasts the cold water from the shower. I jump and squeal!
"AHHH! Cold! Why?" I shiver under the water as he warms it back up.
"Like Tim said, you've got to earn this." Steve says. "Arch your back. Bend at the waist. Stick your ass out and sway it back and forth. Put on a show! I know you do it in the mirror at home." He winks at me.
He wasn't wrong. I know I'm beautiful. Even though I'm popular, I'm very shy with the guys. I'm much more conservative than most girls my age ... old fashioned, even. I always believed in the dream of finding a soul mate, and getting married. Every time I danced seductively in my mirror, I imagined doing it for him ... not these creeps.
I do as he says. I close my eyes as I sway back and forth. I gyrate my hips around in a circle, spread my legs then dip down low until my butt touches my ankles, before coming back up again. The men stare wordlessly at me as I continue to dance.
I feel so different. My buzz from the whiskey makes everything so hazy. I turn back around, and slowly remove my cheerleading top. All I'm wearing is my sports bra and booty shorts. I keep dancing, swaying back and forth. I try to imagine how a stripper would move.
*Is that all I am to them? Just a stripper?*
They continue to stare at me, and I reach up and grab at my sports bra. Turning red, I pull it off over my head, and let it fall to the ground.
The guys' mouth hung open. Tim whispers, "holy shit!" Greg comes around and stares at me. "Best. Rack. I've seen."
I blush and look down. He wasn't wrong. I knew I had amazing breasts. I was fortunate enough to develop early, and I developed perfect, shapely, full c cup breasts that caught many an eye. My nipples are small and perky, and I feel a rush of pride in the midst of my shame.
I look back up. The three man are staring at me expectantly. I continue my seductive dance as I run my hands up and down my wet body. Swaying my hips back and forth, I take my breasts into my hands and play with my nipples. They are perky and hard, and I let out a soft gasp as I surprise myself with the sensation. I continue with my show, crouching low again, lowering my hands over my abs. My knees are spread apart, pointing to the sides of me. I see their eyes drift down to the imprint of my pussy. They chuckle and start talking amongst one another.bite my lip nervously as I watch them conferring with one another. Tim looks at me and motions me over.
"Come here." I get up and timidly take a step backwards, towards the wall. I yelp as George blasts some more icy water on me and I fall to my knees. I sputter and shiver as the water cascades over my face. George slowly turns it off, as I kneel there, arms crossed under my chest, I notice that I am displaying my breasts even more fully than before by cradling them in my arms.
George comes up behind me and lifts me up under my arms. As I stumble to my feet and regain balance, I feel him slip his hands further in front of me. I gasp as he aggressively squeezes my breasts and pulls me into him from behind.
"Ahh, no! What are you doing?!" I cry out as he squeezes them together roughly. He laughs as I clasp my hands in protest over his. As I pull at his hands, he quickly reaches up and slaps me in the face! Not hard, but it was enough to stop me in my tracks. I stand there in dazed amazement, nursing my slightly red cheek as he continues his barrage on my breasts.
"Mmmmfph! Ow! You're hurting me!" I squirm under his rough embrace as George pinches my nipples, rolling them in between his fingers. Thankfully, Tim calls out to George in a deep voice.
"Bring her here, man." Tim motions us over as George walks us to him. As George releases me, I look back and glare at him coldly, before a shudder runs through my body. Tim, standing in front of me, begins tracing his hands over the outline of my naked torso. First, he starts at my neck. There is a mixture of force and gentleness as he caresses my neck, gently wrapping his thumbs around. I whimper as he squeezes gently. Tim was much more intimidating than George, and i look away, tears in my eyes. Just as quickly, he releases my neck and rubs his hands down my shoulders. His strong hands push down, massaging my them. My eyes drift shut slightly as I let out a shaky sigh.
He runs his fingers along my spine, massaging my back muscles as he continues his journey of exploration lower. Almost enraptured, I lean back and softly place a hand on his chest, as he traces the small of my back. I close my eyes and -
"Whoa- uhhhm ... what are you doing?" Tim slips his fingers down under my waistband, his index finger following the line of my crack. I stutter shakily as I feel it press in between my cheeks. "I'm ... err, I - not ... not, I just - oh!" He presses more firmly, intruding further between my ass crack. I tense up. Sensing my hesitation, his hand slides to the side, squeezing my bare ass cheek underneath my shorts. "Ha-oh ... ahhhhh ..." I moan as he massages my cheek.
He slips his hand out and takes a step back. I stand there for a moment, shaking. I've been humiliated and groped by these men, and as Tim and George joined Steve at the bench along the wall, I breathe a sigh of relief. *They're done with me. The got what they wanted.* I turn back to the shower and take the towel, clasping it around me to hide my naked chest. I bend down to pick up my sports bra.
"Where do you think you are going?" Steve calls out. I turn back around and stammer, "I-I ... I thought you were, like, done, with me." The three of them chuckle, and Tim steps up and pulls the towel off. I instinctively cover up. "Put your hands at your sides." Steve orders. I do it, shifting nervously from side to side.
Tim, Steve, and Greg sit on the bench as I stand before them. "You know how to make out, right?" Tim asks, taking the bottle of Jameson. I nod. He takes a swig and doesn't swallow, and motions me over to him.
I step in front of him, and he pulls me in aggressively for a kiss. I moan as our lips meet. His strong arms wrap around me as I straddle him, knees on the bench. He pushes some of the whiskey into my mouth, which i swallowed. I felt his tongue exploring my mouth, and I let out an involuntary moan. My breathing quickens as his hands move from my back to my ass. He squeezes me like before, this time with both hands. It surprisingly feels good.
"Ohhhhhh ..." my voice trails off as Tim leans me back and sucks on one of my nipples. As soon as his tongue dances over it, I yelp. "AHHH! Ooohhhh, mmmmm."
It feels good. Really good. I've never felt like this before. Tim moved to my other nipple and sent a similar jolt through me. I find myself caressing his shaved head as I bask in the moment.
Just as quickly as it began, Tim let my nipple pop out of his mouth and he passed me to Steve.
I stood in front of him, waiting for direction. Steve was physically fit, like Tim, but a little bit more on the lean side. He turns me around and lowers my still clothed ass onto his lap. He reaches around and pulls me into him by holding my breasts. He cups each with his hand and whispers in my ear, "dance for me."
I've never done a lap dance before, but I try my best. I dance like I did under the water. He obviously wants a little more contact, and he pulls me fully onto his lap. I straddle my legs around his, and bracing myself with my arms on the bench, I lean forward and grind on his lap.
I can hear him panting as I gyrate my hips on him. I also feel a growing bulge as I continue to dance. I let out a slight gasp and pause as I glance back to him. He smiles knowingly and smacks my ass, eliciting a yelp from me. I worry that these men wanted more than groping.
George stands in front of me, whiskey in hand. "Here. Another sip." He feeds me the bottle and I try to take a small swig, but he keeps tilting it towards me. I take a solid two gulps before George pulls back. "Can't have you getting sick on us! How do you feel?"
I look up groggily into his face. "I, uhmmm, I feel ... mmmmstrange ..."
George squats down in front of me and looks me in the eye. He is slightly older than the other two, and not in as good of shape. He grabs me by the hair and kisses me deeply, almost desperately. I feel his tongue swirling around my mouth.
In the meantime, I'm still grinding on Steve. I can feel his groping hands pulling at my breasts as his bulge gets harder. I feel so violated.
George pulls back, and I feel Steve gently push me off of him to my knees. As George stands up, I can see a bulge in his pants as well.
"Tell me Vanessa," he asks. Have you ever seen a dick before?" My eyes close as I fully realize the direction the night was headed. Reluctantly, I nod. "Probably a boys penis, am I right?" I nod again. "So, what, how big do you think it was? Show me with your hands."
I think back to my one and only sexual experience. I knew from stories that he was smaller than average. I placed my hands about 3, maybe 4 inches apart and displayed my measurement to him.
"So, did you fuck him?" Groggily, I nod my head, then frown and shake it. "I uhhmm ... he entered me, and he uhmmm, he ..."
"He what? Say it." George became more stern.
"I, uh, I don't know how to put ..."
"Fucking say it!" He says forcefully, yanking on my hair a bit as I kneel in front of him.
"AHH!" I cry out, a tear dripping down my face. "Well?" He asks. I look up at him, defeated. My mouth hangs open, as I work up the courage to say the words.
"He popped my ... cherry."
"Oh, he did, did he? With what?"
"He popped my cherry with his dick." My lip quivers in embarrassment as I look down.
"How long did he last?"
"Uhmm, not long. He didn't even fully enter me -"
"That's not what I asked." George says, clicking his tongue in disappointment.
"Fifteen, maybe twenty seconds?"
Greg pulls back a bit and laughs. "That's it? And you haven't had anyone else?"
I lower my eyes further and shake my head back and forth. George shrugs and looks back at the other guys. "Virginal enough for me."
"So ... did you suck him off?" George asks, pulling at my hair enough for my to lift my eyes.
"Umm, what?"
"Blowjob. Did you give him a blowjob?"
I pause and answer. "Well, no ... not him."
George chuckles and looks at me inquiringly, tugging at my hair as if expecting an explanation.
"I mean, I've practiced before. You know, on, uhh, fruit and stuff. Carrots, uhmmm, my toothbrush ..." my voice trails off as I see George holding back laughter. He looks at the other guys, who were well behind my view, and they all chuckled.
"What did I tell you?" George reports. "Pent up sexual tension." With that, George begins to pull on his zipper. I stare wordlessly, in a state of shock and resignation, as he pulls his pants down and his dick springs free. Wide eyed, I stare at this grown man's dick swinging in front of my face. It wasn't much longer than my first partner's dick. In fact, it was pretty comparable. He had maybe an inch longer, perhaps just shy of five inches. It looked different. There was curly pubic hair, and a number of veins running up and down it. The head was a purple hue, and a drop of clear fluid was collecting at the tip.
"Well, what do you think?" George swings his member back and forth close to my face. A drop of the fluid swings off and lands on my shoulder.
I look up at him quizzically. He strokes his throbbing dick once, squeezing out some more fluid and smearing it on my forehead. I could smell his salty, masculine scent.
"What are you going to do right now?" Even in the whiskey induced fog, I know his game. And I have to play along. I resign to my fate, as I take my finger, swipe off some of the fluid on his cock, and taste it with my tongue.
"I'm going to suck your hard cock."
A gleeful cheer comes from the two behind me. "There she is!" Exclaims Tim, as him and Steve exchange a high five.
George takes the base of his dick and guides it to my lips. I close my eyes tightly as my mouth makes contact with the tip. I slowly slide forward as his head fully parts my lips. He leans back his head and moans.
It tastes salty. I tilt my head back and pull backwards, running my tongue on the underside of his dick. I feel a shudder as it runs along the edge of the head.
*Okay, the head is the most sensitive. I'll focus on that.*
I twirl my tongue around him, while slightly bobbing my head. I thought of how sexy I looked when I blew a banana in the mirror. I run my tongue between his foreskin, and tease the head all around its edge. He jumps and moans with pleasure.
*He likes that. Keep doing that.*
I continue my pace as I feel his dick swell in my mouth. George begins to slightly thrust forward, and I could feel him going deeper in my mouth.
"Mmmmmph ... mmmmm ... mmmmmphhh." I moan, with a mouthful of dick. I feel so violated, so vulnerable ... but, a part of me, well, I can't say I enjoy this, but ... I'm intrigued. I place my hands gently on his thighs as he begins to thrust forward with a rhythm. I feel his shaft sliding in my mouth as the ridges of his head rubs toward the back. I frown a bit and pull my head off of him a little bit, yet he responds by forcefully pulling my head deeper!
"Wheeehh! - *cough* " my throat makes a gagging sound as his head presses firmly against the back of my throat. I make a wretching sound as I cough and sputter, thick spit shooting out of the side of my mouth. I angle my forehead against his body to try to get relief, but he begins to thrust into me!
"Gluh - gluh - gluh - gluh" my throat makes a sound each time he pulls back, and he cuts it off every time he pushes forward. Tears are running down my face from the intensity of a dick in my throat. I slap his thighs desperately, trying to get him to stop. He finally relents, allowing me to fall back to the bench. I gasp for air and wipe my face, as I look at him, wide eyed, with an expression of betrayal. I cough and sputter a few times, a thick line of spit coming from my nose.
"Now jack it off." George states, placing his legs on either side of me. I reach up with one hand and hesitantly grab his dick, my own spit draping around my forearm. I'm still panting for breath, as he continues to advance closer to my face while my hand strokes him. I cringe as he thrusts, trying to increase my rhythm, and his sloppy dick pushes out through my fist and pokes my face. "Suck it again." George growls. Reluctantly, I slide my lips over his head once more, this time keeping my hand on his shaft. He continues to pump harder into me, but this time, I keep him from going too deep. Thankfully, he seems satisfied with my hand in front of my mouth, stroking him completely.
George then removes himself from my mouth, stepping back and grinning as he grasps his wet dick. I wipe my chin as Steve speaks up.
"Alright, my turn" calls out Steve, who was still seated on the bench, now next to me. I look over and gasp. He has removed all of his clothing, and was reclined on the bench. Resting against his fit abs was a long and straight dick, pulsing and twitching every second. I stare at it in amazement. Steve smiles and says "you like it?"
The truth was, I kind of did. He was longer than George, maybe above 6 inches. But it was more than that. His dick was very ... attractive. It appeared to be well trimmed, and it was very sleek and smooth. He had nice, shapely balls draping down beneath his appealing member. He motions me over, and I stand up - only to freeze in my tracks.
Tim was also naked. His muscles rippled as he moved around. He watched my reaction as I stared, wide eyed with my mouth open. Between his legs, was an incredibly large penis. Maybe 9 inches in length, and thick. Very thick! It curved to the left a bit, and bounced with every pulse. It wasn't a pretty cock; not like Steve's, but it was definitely intimidating. He watched me, like a tiger knowingly watching its prey.
"Hey, Vanessa." Steve pulls me forward. Guiding me in front of him, he scoots forward and starts to suck on my breasts. "Ohhh ... ahhh." I moan as he pops one nipple out and sucks on the other. He seems gentle, much more than George. Even more so than Tim. Tim felt so strong, yet there was a gentlemanly, if not manipulative, way that Steve had to his movements.
I feel his hands run down my sides as he hooks onto my waistband and tugs at my shorts. I whimper with fear and pull away, but Steven is insistent. He stands up and forcefully yanks them down, just to my mid thigh level. He steps back as each guy cranes his neck to look at my exposed bald pussy. Steven lets out a low whistle, and chuckles in excitement while shaking his head in disbelief.
"What?" I ask, turning red in the face. I look down and gasp in surprise: strands of clear, thick pussy juice are dripping from my vagina, all the way down to my shorts. I reach down and scoop some out, and investigate the fluid by rubbing it in my fingers. It's slippery to the touch.
"Now ... THAT is the wettest pussy I've ever seen." Steve watches as I play with the fluid that is now draping down my fingers with embarrassed wonder.
"Taste it." I look at him in disbelief. He continues to watch me, and I slowly slide my finger in my mouth, wide eyed and embarrassed. I taste ... strange. Not like George's dick. It's a musky, yet sweet taste.
Steve leans forward, and without much warning, swipes a finger through my pussy lips. I jump and let out a dismayed yelp. He removes his finger nonchalantly and tastes my juices for himself. I hold back tears as he smiles. "Tastes great," he states, as he leans forward and reaches out to me again. I wince as his hand slides between my legs, his middle finger gently parting my pussy lips. I softly grasp at his wrist, but lack the courage to pull him away. Here I was, alone with three older men, having my innocence stolen from me. My shorts remain on my hips, allowing me to only spread them slightly apart as he continues to slide his finger along my pussy.
"You know," Steve says. "I've had my eyes on you for a while." I grimace and whimper as I feel his finger prod a little deeper between the pulsing lips of my pussy. "You're the prize of the school. Good thing we got to you first. You know, I bet you wandered into the locker room looking for a man."
"No ... I ..." I breathe in sharply as I feel his finger slide in slowly into my pussy. I tighten my grip on his arm.
"I bet you were even playing with yourself while you were eavesdropping on us, weren't you?" I gasp as I feel his thumb gently press and rub my clitoris.
"No! I - unnnghh!" I let out a guttural and unlady-like grunt and bear down as his stimulating thumb sends shudders through my body.
"Yeah you were. Admit it. You came in here looking for some dick." I push his arm back and pull my hips backward. "No! I didn't -"
In response, he reaches around and clasps my ass tightly, his fingers reaching into my crack and clutching me closely. His other hand is still resting against my pussy, my juices dropping down to his elbow and onto my partially removed shorts.
"If you don't agree with me, I'll just have to have George come back here and take over for me." I glance sideways at George with disdain. He wickedly imitates his clamped fist pushing up and forcing through the fingers of his other clenched hand, laughing as my eyes widened.
I quickly look back and Steve and shake my head. "Well then?"I feel his index finger join his middle, waiting at the entrance to my pussy.
"I ... came in here, looking for dick."
"Oh," he retorts. "Did you find some?"
"Yes." I shudder as his fingers wiggle and my entrance. "Whose?"
"Yours. And his. And ... his." I gulp as I stare once more at Tim's big member.
"That's right, Vanessa. So, do you like having your pussy fingered?" I softly nod my head. "Tell me what you like about it." He slides back into me, this time with two fingers. I gasp and squeeze his wrist once more, this time inviting him in.
"It ... mmmmm ... it feels good."
"Tell me more detail." Steve states in a warning tone.
"I like it ... I like it when you rub my ... clit." Steve resumes rubbing it with his thumb as I release his arm and clutch desperately to his shoulders. He begins to curl his fingers deep inside of me - and I lean further forward, my hands on the wall as I start moaning uncontrollably.
"Mmmmm! Ohhhhhh, oh, uhh, uuuuuhgnn!" Steve's pace quickens as he continues fingering me. "You like that?"
"Yes! Yes, oooh, it feels good."
"Should I stop?" Steve asks mockingly.
I start bucking my hips with his rhythm. I feel ashamed, but the unexperienced pleasures washing through my body are irresistible. I spread my knees wider, feeling my booty shorts around my thighs pull tightly against me. My legs begin to shake and quiver. My head lulls back and forth as my eyes flutter.
"Are you going to come for me, Vanessa?" I am almost horizontally leaning on Steve's shoulder, my breasts brushing his back to the rhythm of his arm. He reaches around with his free hand and pulls my waist against him. He continues to press on a sweet spot inside of me, previously unreached. My feet slide out further behind me, and I am unable to stop moaning.
Steve increases his pace to a furious rhythm. I can hear his fingers sloshing in my pussy as an indescribable feeling edges closer to me. "Ugh! Uhhhh ... Eh!! Mmmm! Ahhhh!" I feel wave after wave of what felt like the rush of a thousand shivers crash through me. My hands slide down the wall and I desperately grasp at the edges of the bench as Steve's fingers intuitively thrust to the throes of my very first orgasm!
"OOOOOH! MMMMPH! Huh ... huuuhhhh ... mmmm ..." I relax my tense body and slump down as Steve guides me past the bench and onto the floor. He gets up, bends over and wipes his wet hand on my backside.
"Get up. Come here. Lose the shorts and lie down."
Still panting heavily, I roll gingerly onto my back. Steve is standing over me, his impressive dick jutting straight out from his body. He reaches down his hand and grabs mine, pulling me up to my feet. I stagger unsteadily, my knees still weak and quivering.Lie down. I'm going to fuck you now." I blink with a sense of bewilderment. This couldn't be happening!
I nervously rub my arm and bite my lip. I don't know what to do! I'm scared, intimidated by these older men taking advantage of me. But yet, i feel this yearning desire in me. Whenever I look at Steve's dick, I feel a strange ache inside of me that I can't quite describe. Slowly, I lower my shorts past my knees, as they noisily slap on the ground. I stand before these men, completely naked.
"Turn around; slowly. Show off for us." I oblige the request, and I slowly turn around and bend over, at the waist, with my back arched. I look to my right: George stands at the entrance to the showers, slowly stroking his dick. To my left, I see Tim. His dick is now fully erect, laying on his chest. It goes well past his belly button.
I turn back to Steve. He motions me over and guides me to lay on my back. I lay down, my head closer to Tim's side of the bench, though I can't see him. Steven straddles the bench and positions himself between my legs.
I take in a deep breath. I shudder when I feel his smooth head slide up and down my sensitive, throbbing pussy. "Ooooooohhh ..." I moan as unique and intense pleasures wash over me. he brushes his dick like a paint brush, up and down my slit. It's almost too much sensation so soon after an orgasm ... my first one at that. Almost.
"Mmmmmmmm - OHH!" I gasp as I feel the head slide in. It doesn't hurt ... but an intense shiver crawls up my spine. Steve holds up my legs like a 'V' and slowly but steadily advances his shaft into me.
"Haaah ... aaaaAAAaah ... OOOH, MY GO- MMMMMPH!" I cry out as he slowly slides into me, inch by inch. The wetness of my pussy allows him to enter with ease, but the fullness! The tightness!
I grunt loudly as I feel his body press against mine, his dick reaching the untouched places in my pussy. I grit my teeth as he holds it there, then begins to gently thrust into me.
"GRRRRAHH! OH! AHHH! Oh ... oh ..." I feel more used to his dick, as his rate increases. "Huh ... mmmm ... mmm-OH! ... mmm, yeah, ugh, mmm, mmmhmmm..." I wrap my legs around Steve as he continues thrusting. I ... think I like this. No, I really like this ... but ... this is so wrong!
"WOOOAHH-AH-AH-AH!" Steve rubs his fingers on my clitoris, and all thoughts of regret leave my foggy mind. "Oh, yeah! This feels, OH, this is ... GAAAAAHHHHH!"
Steve increases his rhythm, and I can hear the slapping sounds of our bodies colliding. I feel his balls smacking against my asshole, as he leans back and pumps into me, finger on my clit.
"SHIIIIIIT! SOMETHINGS -AHHHH!" I feel a rush deep within me as wave after wave of pleasure crash over me once more. My mouth is wide open - but I can't breathe. I can't scream. My whole body tenses up as Steve grunts and pumps my pussy with his dick. As I continue to convulse, Steve starts grunting and moaning, and he thrusts mightily into me, scooting me forward on the bench each time.
As my second orgasm subsides, I realize that Steve is about to cum inside me. "Wait! No no no no NOOOOO!" It's too late. I prop myself up with my elbows and try to swing my leg over. I end up with my legs together on one side as he blows his load inside of my pussy. Tim comes from behind me and holds me down.
"Oh, no ... you came in my pussy!" I whine as Steve, panting and spent, continues to thrust his dick into me. He flips my legs back to the 'V' position and slowly slides it in and out of me. Tim is holding my shoulders, and he pushes down to make me flat on my back again.
Tim advances on the bench, and as I stare up on the ceiling, I see his massive cock fill my field of view. He keeps going, until his balls are directly over my mouth. His cock leaves a streak of precum from my neck to my chest.
"Here's what you're going to do. Your going to lick my balls, and press together your titties so I can fuck them. Repeat it."
I feel the impressive weight of his dick lying on my chest. Weakly, I mumble, "I'm going to lick your balls ... and press together my, uhm, breasts." I still feel Steve slowly humping me.
"Your what?"
"My ... my titties."
"And why are you going to do that?"
I place my palms on either side of my breasts and hold his massive member in between with my fingertips. I feel some reluctance and inhibition give way as I loudly say, "So you can fuck my perfect, sexy, 18 year old titties!" With that, I stick my tongue out and let it graze Tim's balls as he pumps his dick in between my breasts.
Steve, finally spent, slides out and sits back on the bench. Tim reaches down and scoops my wetness, along with cum, into his hand, and he spreads it on my chest. Soon after, i feel another dick at my pussy entrance. George has taken Steve's place.
George didn't have what Steve had. His dick was smaller, his thrusts were less sensual, and he paid no mind to pleasuring me. As Tim continues to slide is long cock in between my breasts, George speaks up. "What am I doing, Vanessa?"
I stop licking Tim's balls for a moment and say "Having sex with me."
George laughs and spanks me. "Dirtier."
"You're ... fucking me."
"Yeah? I'm fucking you where?" He slaps my ass once more.
"You're fucking my pussy!"
"Mmmhmmm, yes I am. What else can you call it?"
I rack my brain for any dirty words I can remember. "My ... snatch. You're fucking my snatch."
"Yeah, good. What else you got, bitch?"
I inhale deeply, and lick Tim's bouncing balls. "My, cunt. No ... no your cunt. My cunt ... it's yours." I begin to understand what George was looking for. He's a true chauvinist. The way he pounded my face, the way he fucks, the way he talks to me. I have to cater to that, maybe make him finish sooner. I already resign myself to the fact that he will probably cum in me too.
"Pound that cunt. Pound it hard!" I pant as he increases his pace, all the while with Tim in between my breasts. "Take it! Make it yours! Make it ... your hole. Your fuckhole!"
"Yeah!" George begins to thrust in me faster. It feels intense, but not enough to keep me from focusing. I tilt my head out from underneath Tim and look at him. "You like these titties? Huh? You like fucking my perfect little body? Yeah?"
With a final push, George cries out and pulls out of me, to my surprise. He jacks himself off for a moment before blowing his load on my pussy. I feel the warm spurts drape across my pussy lips, as it oozes down past my lips and into my asscheeks.
"Look at our girl!" Exclaims Tim. "She's turning into a freak! Vanessa, get up."
I pause for a moment. George and Steven have already fucked me. Tim was obviously expecting something as well. But he was too big!
I sit up. "Wait, now, let me, uhm, give you a handjob?" I turn around and scoot backwards, away from Tim. "Look, it's just not possible, right? You can't really expect to fit that ... cock ... inside of me. C-can you?"
He continues to follow me. My eyes widen. "No, no, no, please don't ... I don't think I could handle you ... haven't I done enough?" He stand up fully, his dick swinging freely. "You're done when we say you're done."
My lip quivers as I hold back tears. I slide to the edge of the bench, fear in my eyes. Tim grabs a towel, reaches out, and wipes off the cum from my pussy. Looking at it, he then smears the juices on my face. I gasp and look at him incredulously.
That upset me. I lash out and try to kick him. He just laughs and grabs my ankles. The other men grab my arms as I squirmed, and in unison, they quickly flip me over.
"Oof!" I whimper as I land on the hard bench. George stays at my head and keeps me low to the surface. Tim brings my knees together and up underneath me. He pushes down on my upper back, so my ass is jutting out straight in the air. I feel so exposed and open.
"Well, look at that!" Tim exclaims. I try to turn around and see what he was doing, but I couldn't. I hear him slowly spit and feel a drop of saliva running down my ass.
I start to whimper. Tim straddles the bench and leans forward. He uses his two hands to spread my asscheeks some more. I yelp loudly when I feel his tongue lick squarely on my asshole!
"AHHH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I squirm against the men holding me, but I can't break free. I feel his tongue lick and prod at my virgin asshole. "Oh, no, no no no please stop ..." I cry out, embarrassed. He responds with another lick. I jump slightly. "Ohhhhhhh, please stop." He licks again. I twitch in response.
Tim continues this for several minutes. I started out whimpering, but as time went on, that whimpering turned into moaning. I started to enjoy the unique sensations.
*This feels so ... wrong. But, it does feel kind of good. Mmmmmmm*
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmm, yeah." I freeze for a moment as I realize that just came out of my mouth. I blush with embarrassment as I hide my face in the bench. "No, no, noooo ..." my voice trails off into silent sobs.
"Looks like she like this!" states Tim. "Tell us, do you like that?" I shake my head, ashamed. He slaps my ass hard and curtly says, "Don't lie."
I nod my head sheepishly. "Yes. Yes, I like it when you ... uhm, lick my asshole. It ... it feels nice."
Tim nods. "I think she's ready." I cringe at what that could mean. I know he wouldn't try to put it there ... right?
I shudder when I feel the weight of his cock at my entrance. To my momentary relief, he was at my pussy. For a second I thought he was going to try to put it in my ass-
"WHOOOOAAAAAAAHHHHH!!" Any feelings of relief disappear as he presses his dick into me. I reach down and feel his shaft, and I trace the outline of my stretched pussy. He didn't get much more than the head in!
"Whooo ... whoooo ... whooo" I breathe through pursed lips. "It's so, it's so big - OOOOOOHHHH!" I cry out as he rams more into me. He positions himself a little higher, planting a leg down on the bench as he leans in further.
"OH GOD! YOU'RE DICK IS SO FUCKING HUGE! I CANT! I CANT TAKE ANY MORE! I-"
*GASP!*
I let out a deep, throaty gasp as he slides a finger into my asshole. George lets go of me and I raise my head, now on all fours. I can't breathe. I can't move. My mouth hangs open, and my eyes are squinted shut.
*GASP!*
Tim is fucking my pussy with a regular rhythm. I still can't bring myself to breathe, the sensations are too much! I manage to lift up a hand from the bench and slam it back down. Again. And again.
*GASP!*
"OOO - OOHH- ... AGGHHHH!" I manage to croak out as Tim stretches my pussy and finger fucks my ass. Finding my voice again, I start to make a long and constant wail. His dick was hurting me. His finger overwhelmed me. I look and see Steve and George to the left of me, both jacking off to the sight.
Tims barrage quickens, and I collapse fully onto the bench. Tim cries out and removes his dick from my pussy, as well as his finger. I could hear him jacking off onto me, and after a moment I felt load after load spurt over me, from my ass to my hair, and everywhere in between.
My pussy throbbed from the beating. I reach for the bottle of whiskey, and take a long swig. I cough a bit, but soon feel a heavy haze drift over me. Everything became blurry, and I just couldn't focus. I just laid there.
"Look at that!" George exclaims. "She wants more!"
The guys weren't done with me. As I lay down on the bench, Steve comes behind me and lets my legs fall to the floor. I just lie there, limp. I hear him spit and then feel a throbbing penis pressing against my asshole. With the whiskey and my exhaustion, I can't resist. I cringe at the discomfort as he slides his dick into me, inch by inch.
"Mmmmfph! Oooohhhhh ... my ass ... ohhhhh ..." I weakly cry out. I lay there, in a fog, as he fucks my hole, for, how long? Minutes? I reach back and grasp at his dick. He's only pushed in half of it?!
Steve props himself up over me. His cock, still in my ass, is pointing down. He reaches around my hips, locks his arms, and pulls upwards. I feel my hips lift off the bench as he sinks his dick fully into me!
"OH GOD, my ass!" He continues to lift me up until he is holding my full weight. I lean back against him and balance against the wall. Tim steps in front and watches, as I am fully exposed to him. With his fingers kept together like a salute, he tabs my pussy sloppily back and forth, eliciting screams from my lips.
Steve then sits down and keeps his cock in my asshole. He lays back as I sprawl against him, unable to get up. I watch as my tits bounce back and forth as he pounds my poor hole. I cry out again as I feel my pussy get invaded. Tim enters between my legs once more and I cry out loudly as he stretches me. I feel so full!
Everything is going so hazy ... I think I had too much to drink. Or maybe not enough. I can hear my screams, but they almost don't register as mine. I look down. I see my pussy being pummeled, and I feel my asshole being stretched. But it doesn't hurt as much.
My hand starts massaging my clitoris. "Ohhhhh ... oooooh ... ahhhhhh... oooooooooooohhhh!"
My moans sound like - moans of pleasure? My other hand goes to my left nipple. I play with it. I love the tingling feeling it gives me. Steve thrusts into me. I feel so ... good? No, good is definitely not the right word. But ... I feel something. Something intense.
Tim continues to fuck my pussy as I rub my clit. "Ohhhhhh, yeah. Mmmmmm ... mmmhhhmmmm. Oh! Ooohh! OOOF!" I feel so used, but, I don't want it to stop. I start grinding my hips up and down, feeling the movement of the cocks deep inside me.
George stands at my head and pulls my hair. I have just enough time to prepare as he slides his dick into my throat, pressing against me and thrusting.
"Gluh-gluh-gluh-gluh." I continue to masturbate as I feel George tense up. He presses into me as I choke on his load. Cum drips out of the side of my mouth as he finishes in me.
I feel a wave of sensation forming deep within me. I moan more frequently as the feelings grow stronger.
"MMMM! MMMMHHMMMM! I'm goin' to ... cum soon, I ..." my voice trails off as I continue to rub my clit. Tim cries out and pulls out of me, blowing his load on my stomach and chest. He then slides two, maybe three fingers into my pussy. Pushing on my pelvis, he thrashes them up and down in my pussy.
"IM ... ITS HAPPENING, OH FUCK! OOOOHHH, FUCK! AHHHHHHHHHH!!" An intense, indescribable wave of sensation washed over me. Pussy juice gushes out of me and onto the bench. I shake violently as my convulsive orgasm wracks my whole body. I could feel Steve blow his load in my ass as he joins me in the throes of orgasm.
Then I black out.
***
I wake up. The very first thing I notice is my splitting headache. "Owwww." I hold my head in my hands and squint my eyes open. Something had dried over my left eyelid and kept it shut. I rub my right eye and groggily look around.
"What, where ... was that real?" I notice that I am still in the men's locker room. I sit up fully and wince at the soreness of my ass.
Shakily, I stand to my feet. "Hello?" There's no answer. I stumble to the nearest mirror and look at myself. I was fully naked, and I had dried cum everywhere. My hair was matted, and a thick glob had dried over my left eye. I turn on the sink and wash my face.
I step back and examine myself more fully. Cum had dried on my breasts, my stomach, my back, and my ass. I turn around and notice distinct hand marks where I was spanked. I lean forward and spread my cheeks. My asshole looks stretched and loose. I whimper and delicately lift my leg onto the sink to examine my pussy. It is red and puffy, and feels stretched out. I can see into both holes.
I return to the locker room. All signs of the men's presence was gone ... save a camcorder on a tripod in the center of the room. I didn't remember that there!
There is a note attached. It reads:
Vanessa,
We got the whole night on tape. G set it up when he locked the door. I'm sending in your 'highlight footage' to the dean at Stanford. Trust me, he's already eager to provide you a full ride ... with a few ... conditions. He'll be in contact with you.
As for us, this never happened. The tape stays with me; if you rat us out, we'll leak it. I did leave some pictures on there for you to see. We had some more fun when you were out.
You were a phenomenal fuck!
T
I turn on the camcorder and scroll through the history. There's a few images. The first one is a picture of the whisky bottle neck stuck in my pussy. It appears that they had poured the rest on my body.
I scroll next. Steve was pumping his cock between my ass cheeks, smearing cum in my crack. I'm lying there, slumped across the bench.
I feel a sense of disgust at the next picture. George is sitting on the bench, and he had positioned me upside down so that my legs were draped on his shoulders. Only my shoulders were on the ground, and my arms were sprawled to my side as my face appears contorted in pain. One of his arms was wrapped around my waist, and he had worked in all five of his other fingers into my pussy, with the base of the thumb slightly visible. I shakily reach down and ease four of my own fingers into me. I wonder if I will ever be as tight as I was before last night.
I reach back and tenderly caress my ass at the sight of the last one. Somehow, Tim managed to shove his dick into my asshole! The entirety of his shaft is buried in me as he pulls my arms backwards in doggystyle. I appear to be awake, as I am standing on my own, but I can't remember it at all.
I shut the camcorder off and look for my clothes ... they're all gone. I'm too tired to be upset. I look around and find an large, old, dusty jersey. I slip it on, and the neck almost slips over my shoulders. I drape it around me and head for the door. It is unlocked. I peek out into the hallway. No one seemed to be around. The first rays of morning light were shining down. I walk out, heading for my car.
I smile as I feel a little cum leak out of me and drip on the floor. "College, here I come!"
#older man younger woman#oldermen#older daddy#older guys#teacher crush#dadyslittlegirl#fuck me dady#daddy's good girl#older dad bf
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part four of what songs mha character would use to confess during karaoke (based on the ship): Bakugo Edition <3
Bakukami: Soft Bitch by Rio Romeo. mostly bc of the "I wanna terrify you but instead we're friends". i think it fits their dynamic well. Bakugo would be talking about how loving Kaminari makes him softer to not just him but to everyone else. makes him a more loveable person by being loved by Kaminari
Bakugo x that one kid he was friends with in middle school: i saw you in a dream by The Japanese House. i dont even really ship this. but i heard the song and instantly thought of them. the whole, "past love that i never really told you about thing" would come into play. especially after not talking (which is mentioned in the song)
Bakujirou: Sailor Moon by lilbootycall. is this by any means a romance song? not really. pretty much not at all. but would Jirou get it? yes. would Bakugo know that Jirou would get it? double yes. it just works for them specifically bc all he would have to do is drop the most subtle hint that says "hey i like you but its cool if you dont bc ima keep doing what i gotta do regardless" and it would work. like thats all there really is too it
Shinbaku: Die For You by The Weeknd. the reason Bakugo would pick this one would be bc he recognizes that they boy struggle with their emotions and how they deal with them. he would choose this song to try and express that no matter how Shinsou feels about him that he is the one for him and will try his best to express it. it just works. the assertiveness of claiming to be the only one for him is very Bakugo and so is the extreme lengths he would be claiming to go for him if it came to it
Bakuiida: Blue Ocean Floor by Justin Timberlake. ive said it before and ill say it again, THIS IS THEIR SONG. the tenderness of saying he will always be there for Iida?? the absolute love and devotion being portrayed at the thought of always being there to help??? this song is so perfect for them bc it works from either of their perspectives. but specifically with Bakugo singing it, Iida would bawl his balls off. thats all i gotta say
Bakusero: Boggle by Mega Mango. the vibes are smth Sero would appreciate. also the theme of "i wanna show you things youve never experienced" is very very Bakugo. especially with the implied impatience in the lyrics
Bakuoji: Some by Steve Lacy. its simple. acknowledging that there are other guys he could love but he hopes he chooses Bakugo. is this a more chill song? yes. but specifically in this instance, Bakugo wouldnt realy have anyting to prove. hes simply making a request. how anything else progresses isnt really up to him and he would understand that specifically with Ojiro if not with anyone else
Todobaku: Sis by Clairo. its very metaphorical so how well Todoroki would understand it is up for debate. but it definitely fits. "your soft skin unbroken sin next to my rough calluses" "tell me more about your sister" tell me this doesnt work.
#IT WAS A BITCH AND A HALF TO FIND THE LAST THREE#anyways#kamibaku#bakukami#bakujirou#bakujiro#shinbaku#bakuiida#iibaku#bakusero#bakuoji#ojibaku#todobaku#bakutodo#tdbk#bktd#mha#bnha#hcs :D#bakugo ships
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I think the eight alarms thing is usually a maladaptation. You've trained your brain to ignore the eight alarms because you kept avoiding the training of willpower following the first alarm would require. I think some sleep therapy might help?
Hey so first of all fuck you, thanks.
Second: I love it when you read literature on sleep disorders, especially if it's on sleep disorders among folks with ADHD, and you see time and time again "when allowed to sleep on their preferred schedule subjects maintained healthy, normal, restorative sleep cycles" and "effects were not lasting without ongoing intervention; resetting the sleep schedule is a permanent effort."
Like, if I sleep *great* from 6am to 2pm and I wake up feeling rested and alert with no special help but I need to turn off the lights in my house and shut down all electronics at 8pm and beam a spotlight into my face starting at 5am to wake up at seven and feel exhausted all day, I think perhaps it is not actually my sleep cycle that is wrong it is perhaps society that is wrong.
BELIEVE ME, when I find the job that pays well and has decent insurance that lets me exist as a cheerful nighttime ghoul I am jumping on that with both feet. But until then I literally feel better getting six hours of sleep and occasionally sleeping so hard that i can't hear my alarms because of chronic sleep deprivation than I do turning off all the lights in my house and ceasing all activity two and a half hours after I get off of work.
Also: the eight alarms aren't all there to wake me up, it's just that sometimes I *also* sleep through the ones that are supposed to remind me to go sit at my desk and start work. One of the first three usually gets me up, but on a day when I sleep through all three of those I will be sleeping through all eight of them and usually a phone call and someone trying to shake me awake to.
ANYWAY after being treated with melatonin and light therapy and staring listlessly at the ceiling in the dark bored out of my skull with racing thoughts for sleep disorders that I didn't have for like twenty years the single most effective intervention that allowed me to get more sleep as someone with both ADHD and DSPD was to start hanging out and being active in places where it would be easy to fall asleep if the sleep caught me there instead of turning my bedroom into a dark, silent shrine of snoozing. Giving myself permission to fall asleep late instead of laying awake chewing myself up with guilt for not being asleep helped too.
Actually here's some tips for the sleepy bitches in the crowd:
1 - If you're laying down and not falling asleep in half an hour, you're not actually sleepy; read something or get up and do something because you're more likely to get sleepy faster that way than you are staring at the clock going "if I fall asleep now I'll have three hours and forty five minutes of rest when I have to go to work; If I fall asleep now I'll have three hours and twenty minutes of sleep when I have to get up, etc. etc."
2 - Allow yourself to be ambushed by sleep. Fall asleep on your cozy couch. Fall asleep in the comfy chair. Let yourself sleep where you fall asleep instead of dragging yourself to where you're 'supposed' to sleep if doing so will wake you up.
3 - The mythbusters thing. If you just lay down and close your eyes and pretend to rest you will feel more rested when you get up than when you laid down. Laying down to rest is better than nothing, it literally causes cognitive improvements similar to sleep in tests, and knowing that can help take off some of the pressure of not being able to fall asleep and can thus help you fall asleep.
4 - It's okay to "hang out" in the area where you're going to sleep. Read in bed. Play games on your cellphone in bed. If you want to go to sleep put on comfy clothes and bring a chill activity and hang out in your bed to do it so that all you have to do when you start getting sleepy is close your eyes.
5 - It's better to get some sleep than no sleep. Sometimes you look at the clock and it's six AM and whoops, fuck it. Okay, time for bed, don't stress that you're only going to get a few hours, a few hours is better than nothing. Lay down to pretend to rest at least and you'll probably feel okay.
6 - This one sounds silly and might not work for a bunch of people for a bunch of reasons but apparently there's some research suggesting that "well-rested" is a state of mind? I've had a reasonable amount of success with just telling myself "Yeah, I actually feel pretty good," and pushing through the day on a couple of hours of sleep. I don't *recommend* that and you should try to get as much sleep as possible, but yeah the next time you're low on sleep see what happens if you just try to decide to not be tired. It sounded like bullshit to me when I first heard it but I've found some success with it.
7 - This shit is cumulative. If you're doing a couple nights a week on low sleep that's not ideal but you're probably going to be pretty functional and you can work on it. If you overbook and overextend yourself for too long - I'm looking at you college students and new parents - it's going to add up. Try as much as possible to at least keep your sleep deficit nights spread out. (This message brought to you by writing 60k words of fiction in october and completely frying my brain because i wasn't getting enough sleep).
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i am yet to have a positive experience with a man… the universe hates me
#broke up with boyfriend of three and a half yrs and this bitch finds a replacement gf within a WEEK… absolutely sickening#pursued some weird thing with a friend.. the bitch decides to just be friends despite feeling the exact same as i do#an old friend reached out last night to tell me he thought i was the prettiest girl at college… i miss him more than anything right now and#will never forget his touch#why must i crave male validation#sick
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Back Home
To my lovely anon 🙊.
Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x SisterFriend!Reader
When Johnny finally comes back home, only to find his sister's best friend living in his house.
Soap got injured on the last mission. A bullet too close, well, not close, through. And not a bullet, a knife to the shoulder which left him in a sling. And now he needed almost absolute rest for a month until he was re-evaluated to see how it was healing.
It was Price's idea to go back home, it's been years since he saw his family and when Price mentioned it, guilt started to pool in his stomach.
So he took the first plane home and flew back. Reaching land in the middle of the night, he picked up a cab and went home. The humidity and coldness of his beloved Scotland made his shoulder hurt more; he couldn't wait to get home.
Once there, he picked up the key from under the mat that he so often told his mum to put away and entered the house. Making a beeline to his room, silent so as to not wake up anyone. And as soon as he took off his shoes, he threw himself into his bed. And the bed talked back.
“Bitch, I told you to go to your bed, I don't want a fucking sleepover.” A girl's voice erupted from under the cover, a hand pushing him off the bed. Well, he stood up, there is no way you would move him with just a hand while half asleep.
“Excuse me?” Soap asks, more offended than surprised he was pushed off his bed. The man's voice woke you up fast, whipping your head around at it and turning on the bedside lamp to see anything in the dark.
It only takes you a second to recognise your best friend’s brother, the mohawk recognisable everywhere. “Johnny?” You asked.
He asked your name back just as surprised. “What are you doing here?” He asks
“It's… it's a long story actually, I-I’ll go to your sister's room.” You say standing up, leaving his bed for him. “What happened to your shoulder?”
He peels his eyes away from you, suddenly remembering the one thing outside of his family that he always thought about.
His sister is just a couple of years younger than him, and they always went to the same school, and later on, high school. His sister and you met in kindergarten, and ever since you were joined by the hip. Monkey 1 and Monkey 2, his mother would joke about how she didn't know she birthed twins.
When the three of you were younger, you were just another annoying brat like his little sister. But once he reached puberty, he started to look at you differently. You were still an annoying brat, but he started to like the way you annoyed him.
Johnny loved to be in his room, but whenever he knew you were coming he would insist on being in the living room; even if it was just to catch a glimpse as you walked up to your sister's room.
The thing he hated the most about you? Your boyfriend. The fucking stupid boyfriend that couldn't see how amazing you were, the fucking stupid boyfriend that you cried about so much, the fucking stupid boyfriend that he would fight with so much.
The last thing he knew about him before he enlisted, was that he had proposed to you and that you had said yes.
But know, until just a moment ago, you were sleeping on his bed, with an old sweatshirt of his on. He was smiling to himself, the “long story” suddenly short when he connected the dots.
He wanted to tell you to stay and sleep with him. But he was exhausted and cold, and his shoulder only hurt more and more. And if you hit it on your sleep, he wouldn't forgive you, no matter how much you were the love of his life.
You were still looking at him, waiting for his answer. Even pointing at his shoulder so he would remember. “Oh.” He said looking at his shoulder. “It's classified.”
You rolled your eyes at his answer and started to walk out of the room; and just when you were almost out you turned to look at him.
“I'm glad you are back, Johnny.”
And in that moment, he knew he had a chance.
The next morning he woke up incredibly late in comparison with his usual time to wake up. But to the rest of the mortals, it was still early. In fact, only his mom was awake when he walked into the kitchen.
Giving her a warm hug that the both of them so desperately needed after being away for so long. With a cup of coffee in between, they talked on the kitchen table until his sister woke up as well and after you told her he was back she flew downstairs hugging his brother in a crushing hug.
You went downstairs too after stretching out and when you saw the image you remained at the doorway, not wanting to intrude on their reunion.
“Say hi to Johnny, you cunt.” Your best friend lovely said.
“I already did last night.” You say, before thinking of the double meaning. Johnny catches immediately, a mischievous grin on his face. He wishes you had welcomed him that way. “I thought it was you, crying about wanting to sleep together again.”
“Whatever, who came to my bed last night at the end?” She answers, smiling proudly.
You scoff at her. “Well, I'm sorry that I let the wounded soldier that came home after three years to sleep on HIS bed.” You say chuckling, you turn to him. “You are allowed to make arrests, right? According to your sister, seems this is my fate.”
You put your hands together, extending them before you for him to put handcuffs around your wrists. He'll put them soon, he still needs to choose if he wants to tie you to the bed or to him.
His sister slaps your arm, calling you dramatic, before working on making breakfast with your help. Something about the way you fit in just right with the people he loves the most, still wearing his sweatshirt truly warms him inside.
“So… how's Adam?” Johnny asks, he needs to know if the coast is clear. But the way both his mom and sister look at him the moment he talks makes it regretted. And the way the knife you were using falls from your hand on the counter, lets him know everything he needs.
“He's fine.” You answer quietly, and Johnny can almost see the walls building around you. Shit, shit, shit.
You wipe your hands on the tablecloth, turning around. “I think we are out of milk, I'll go buy some.” You say, walking out of the kitchen. Johnny is quick on his feet walking behind you. “I'll go with you.”
You look up to him as you tie your shoes, nodding without saying anything more. He puts his boots on as well, trying to tie the laces with just a hand. “Let me do it.” You say, no room to argue and you tie his boots quickly.
Once on the street, you walk next to each other. The shop is not far, but you walk slowly. Johnny knows you want to talk but he doesn't push it. Leaving you to choose the moment. “I actually don't know how he is doing.” You admit, looking at him. “Adam, I mean. I haven't heard from him since the wedding.”
“You got married?” Johnny asks, frankly surprised. He didn't get the invite.
“No. Thank god, I didn't.” You answer quickly, disgust clear on your face. “Almost, but I didn't.”
“What happened?”
“He cheated. With one of my bridesmaid, during the rehearsal dinner.” You laugh, but without a bit of humour on it. “I was talking with his mom about what we would name the first grandkid, and he was getting another girl pregnant in the bathroom.”
As you talk, your voice breaks, tears flooding your eyes as you cover your face.
“Hey, hey, c’mere.” He motions, hugging you with his nice arm. Good thing he wasn't invited, or else you'll know perfectly fine where the asshole was. Buried six feet under.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” You say, but still burying your face on his chest. “I should get over it, I know. It's been months now, but…”
“No apologies, bonnie. That's a perfectly acceptable reaction.” He says, cupping your face to look at your face. Fuck, are breathtakingly stunning when crying. “Fuck him, all right? You were always too good for him anyway.”
He knows he is exposing himself like this, and that it is obviously not fair to you. But his eyes land on your parted lips, and fuck does he wants to bite. Something must click inside your head, because you suddenly turn around, walking again and wiping the tears from your face.
“Yeah, you are right, Johnny. Fuck him.” You say, smiling at him but sadness is still in your eyes.
It isn't until a couple of days later that he doesn't get to talk to you alone again. He is lying on his bed, scrolling through his phone before going to sleep. A knock on his door disrupts him.
“C’mon in.” He says, looking at the door waiting to see who is it. Happiness floods his senses when he sees it's you.
“Are you busy?” You ask, only your head poking in. Soap quickly shakes his head, patting the bed next to him. You walk inside the room and sit cross-legged next to him. “Is it okay if I sleep here tonight? Your sister is beating me up on his sleep. At least I hope she's asleep.”
He simply peels the covers back, letting you get inside. He lets his phone on the bedside table, focusing only on you, and lays on his side, grateful the wounded shoulder in on the left side.
“How's your shoulder?” You ask, grabbing a finger from the hand resting on his chest.
“It's better, glad it's not my right one. I wouldn't be able to do anything.” He says
You smile at him, your hand moving to play with the name tags on his chest. “Do you know that Adam was deadly jealous of you?”
“What? He had you, what could I have to make him jealous?” He asks, not even realising his declaration of love.
“My attention.” You answer, looking at his face. “He always said that he didn't know why I was marrying him if it was clear I was in love with you.”
He looks at your face, catching you looking at his lips. “Were you?”
“Hm?”
“In love with me, were you?”
“To the bone.”
And that's all he needs before he's crushing his lips on yours. He hates he can't move his arm, needing to push you closer. But lucky for him, you do it yourself. Moving your arms around his neck, getting as close as you can.
He rolls, moving you along to lay on top of him, finally moving the arm he was propping himself on to pull you closer. Butterflies on his stomach going nuts at his lifelong crush kissing him, taking the breath from his lungs.
You straddle his hips, leaning down to keep kissing him as his hand finds its way to the back of your head. “I love you, bonnie. I have loved you for years.” He whispers against your lips, making you whimper.
“Show it to me, Johnny. Show me how much.” You whisper against his lips, moaning when he grinds his hips around your clothed cunt.
His hand pulls his sweatshirt off of you, you help him take it off, and it leaves you bare from hips up. He groans at the sight, his hand moving to your arse to push you forward so he can kiss your boob.
You sit at his chest, his hand getting under your pants and underwear, him grunting when he feels your wetness on his fingertips. You arch your back when his finger easily slips inside because of how slick your entrance is, him moaning around your chest; sucking and licking at your nipple making you moan.
“Johnny.” You moan, him shushing you quickly.
“I ken, bonnie. But I need to get this tight pussy ready, right? Make you feel good.” He moans when he feels your hand palm his crotch. “Fuck, press it harder, love.”
A second finger enters your cunt, stretching you as he scissors them. You pull his pants and underwear down, enough for his dick to spring free. You marvel your eyes on the thick, veiny, heavy piece of meat between his legs, wondering about the taste of the oozing precum from his tip; a sharp pain on your nipple pulling you away when Soap bites down.
“Don't even think about it, bonnie. Not today.” He says, his fingers pulling out of you and tugging the pants down. “Take them off, love. And lay on your side.”
You quickly do as he says, hating that you need to stand away from him to do it. You lay next to him, his eyes glued on your body. He grunts, managing to keep his arm under you, pulling you against him.
This one is officially his most hated injury up to date, needing to push you closer. He latches at your neck, tasting, sucking and biting your skin. Wanting more, needing more.
“You need a hand, Johnny?” You ask, heavy breathing when you feel his hard dick probe around your pussy but not being able to enter you without a hand around it.
Johnny chuckles in your ear. “Bonnie, I'll rip my arm off to do it if you don't help me right now.”
You laugh back at him, lowering a hand between your legs parting them and fisting his dick making him moan as you align it with your entrance.
Your laugh turns into a moan when he slowly starts to sink in. When he finally bottoms out, he stays still for a minute, hugging you, pulling you close. You turn your head back and kiss him deeply, he starts to move his hips, catching with his mouth every moan that slips from yours.
It is such a chaotic situation, one of his arms is trapped inside of the sling, the other is trapped under your body, he is still wearing all his clothes, and you are having sex on his childhood bedroom with his mom and sister just on the other side of the hall.
Still, it's the best sex of your life. His dick is stretching you as no other dick has ever, he is reaching places inside of you that have never been touched before and that now will need to be touched forever, he keeps kissing you like you were an oxygen tank in the depths of the ocean and you wish you would stay like this forever.
But with the way his hips are thrusting into you and the hand under your body finds its way to your clit, you know there is not much left.
“I love you, bonnie. I fucking love you so much.” He says between moans. “I'm gonna marry you and I'm gonna love you forever. Gonna make a family with you, bonnie. I love you, I can't wait to fucking marry you. Marry me, please, bonnie.”
“Yes, fuck” you moan back, nails sinking into the skin of his ass when you grab him urging him to fuck you harder.
Johnny thinks is the longest couple of minutes until you finally cum, wanting to hold on just to feel you clench around him; milking him dry when you do with his name in your mouth.
The two of you stay panting, still in each other embrace. Johnny's dick still softening inside of you with no urge to get it out.
“Did you mean it?” You ask him.
“Did you?” He asks back, suddenly too aware of what he just said.
“I meant it if you did.” You say childishly, turning your head around.
“I did.” He says, looking at your eyes. “We should probably date before getting married, right?”
“Maybe not.” You say, still looking at his eyes.
You stay looking at each other eyes, looking for any kind of doubt in them. You speak first; “The courthouse opens at 9.”
“We can have breakfast after.” He says, as if that's the correct answer.
“I'd love to have breakfast with you tomorrow, Johnny.” You answer, because to you it is the right answer.
Hii, lovies!! 💗
Let me know if you liked it and if you'll like to write any of the other options of the ask 💗
Oh, and also, there is BIG little something starting today hehe so stay tunned my beloved ❤️❤️❤️
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#call of duty#john soap mactavish#soap x reader#soap#john mactavish#soap smut#cod x reader#cod#cod smut#task force 141#call of duty x reader#cod modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare#cod mwii#task force 141 x reader#141 x reader#call of duty smut#john soap mactavish x reader#soap cod#soap mw2
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The Temptations of Jennie Kim
BLACKPINK Jennie
Words: 4,000
A/N: Boo! 👻
Jennie Kim is a pure unadulterated bitch.
Obstacle one is making it past the bouncer; having your name on the guest list makes that an easy task. Obstacle two is the sea of people; a VIP wristband solves that little inconvenience. Your expected prize for completing these side quests is a night of dancing, ending with divulging in the salacious body of a world famous idol. The light at the end of the tunnel is anything but. Obstacle three is something you couldn't see coming. That world famous idol has already found her seat, only it's on the lap of another man.
Your mind goes a million miles a minute trying to figure out a plan:
1) 'I should go up and confront her.' No, causing a scene wouldn't be good for anyone.
2) 'Fuck this I should just go home.' No, I can't let her just win so easily.
3) 'Fuck it, I'm already here, might as well grab a drink.' I guess this is the winner.
Probably not the best plan, but the one you've chosen.
"Don't tell me you're obsessed over her too."
An unfamiliar voice. Your eyes follow the voice, finding yourself face to face with a beautiful woman. It shouldn't be a surprise, this club is crawling with them. Too busy wallowing in your pity to notice her join your table and too late now to do anything about it.
"Huh?" Admittedly not the most suave response, but it's the one that comes blurting out.
"Jennie. Half the guys here are just sitting here staring at her, what's so special about her anyway?"
"Are you really surprised? BLACKPINK is a pretty big deal. Besides I want staring I was just-"
"Look at yourself, you're even sneaking in little peeks while talking to me."
Her hand is placed under your chin, forcing you to finally take a good look at her. You start to speak but she cuts you off.
"What’re you drinking?"
"Whiskey."
It's rare to see a woman take control. And here you were, sitting face to face with one. She flags someone down and orders you a fresh drink.
"What's your name?" You regret your lame choice of ice breaker the moment it's said out loud.
"Unimportant. Let's just have some fun and see where it leads."
Maybe there is a god. So far nothing you've said could be constituted as smooth, yet here she was, still giving you a chance.
Where things led was more surprises: first, a dance. A hot body pressed close and shaking, accompanied by a mind clouding cocktail of scents. Your eyes dart all over her: the glow of the mysterious woman's pale skin under the multicolored lights; her plump lips; her toned midriff.
"Still thinking about Jennie? I think you've got enough room to squeeze me in."
Both her hands come to rest at your hips, gently pushing yours forward and squeezing your body closer to hers. Your eyes lock, the music from the club fades out, and you find yourselves with your noses an inch away. This insanely hot girl, not the one you intended to spend tonight with, but not the worst thing you can think of right now. The tip of her nose brushes yours and her hands push forward one last time, the kiss can only be delayed a second longer.
"What the fuck are you doing?!"
Jennie Kim has some nice timing. Just when you were about to give into this other woman, there was a tug on your shoulder and you're spun around–Jennie Kim's face, contorted with a mixture of anger and jealousy.
"You. Step the fuck back, he's not yours." Jennie shoves her hand out to your impromptu date, but that was apparently not an adequate barrier to keep her away. The girl comes up and wraps around your arm, not allowing Jennie to steal you away.
"He was until you got in my way."
"In case you didn't hear: step the fucking hell away." Jennie is nothing short of livid. People have stopped dancing, staring at the unfolding scene. Your new date notices the attention.
"Fine! He's not worth it anyway." And just like that your new acquaintance storms off, her hips and the smoke trailing from the bottom of her black dress being the last you'll ever see of her.
"Walk. Right. Now." Jennie drags you towards the hallway, likely intent on either berating or maiming you somewhere in private. In any other scenario it would sound like the fantasy of every man in South Korea, but right now you know it's bad.
A private room behind the dancefloor, a much better place to be killed and your corpse dumped than in front of hundreds of witnesses. She shuts the door with a slam hard enough you think it might shatter and locks it with an unnecessarily loud click.
"Who the fuck was that? You've only been here two minutes and you're already on top of another woman?!"
"Hey, hey, fuck you Jennie. Do you know what I saw when I came here? After you invited me? Oh you were totally there, sitting on another man's lap."
"That's not the same."
"Not the same my ass. Can you even begin to explain what it is then? No of course you can't. Because you're a spoiled fucking idol who does whatever the fuck you want."
You turn to leave, but are pulled back and receive a rough slap across the face. There's no pain, only the sudden red color filling up that side of your vision. She did it again. This time it brings with it the burning sensation. A stinging radiates across your cheek, an angry mark that burns more as the adrenaline fades.
Then in almost cliche like fashion you grab her face and slam her into the nearby wall, returning her slap with an aggressive kiss. Jennie doesn't try to pull away, in fact she gives just as much as she receives. If her jealousy made her slap, her frustration makes her kiss harder, her teeth digging in slightly at her efforts.
"Someone is still obsessed with me hmm~?"
"Fuck you." The reply is snarled out through the tears in your teeth.
"Why don't you? Make sure everyone out there knows who you belong to. You weren't even interested in that slut anyway. All you could think about was me."
Any rebuttal was silenced the instant a hand traced the outline of the bulge forming in your jeans. No words need to be said; she's right, there's only her. Her face, her smell, her voice. Jennie bites your collarbone through the shirt to try and get a rise and boy does it. A firm hand groping her behind and pulling her into you, meeting the hardness growing in your jeans. Jennie chuckles, enjoying the reaction.
"Do it. Go ahead."
Jennie fucking Kim. The girl of your dreams. The girl of your nightmares. You've fallen into her trap. What's happening right now can only be described as karma's cruel payback, an attempt to dangle your greatest desire right in front of your nose–before a final humiliating insult is slapped on it.
"You little bitch." Jennie taunts you, unraveling her flirtatious intentions as her skirt rides higher and higher along with your patience. "Go on. Put me through the wall. Pull it out and fuck me as hard as you can."
It would be too easy, wouldn't it? Giving her what she wants after what she did. Instead she's dragged to the couch and bent over you knees. Jennie yelps in surprise, before realizing what's coming to her.
SMACK.
"I didn't say stop." Jennie responds after feeling the forceful slap at her backside.
Another. Jennie cries out, before letting the sweetest sounds come tumbling out of her mouth. Your palm raises once more, pauses, and then swings down and impacts against the exposed skin. A large pink spot forms on the exposed skin as a result and you're starting to think Jennie is actually getting turned on.
"P-please."
"Well since you asked so nicely."
Her panties are brushed to the side and two fingers plunge in and begin exploring without any warning. Jennie squeaks and curls up at the sudden and bold invasion, but it doesn't take long before those two fingers find the sweet spot and stimulate a cascade of pleasurable electricity. In and out they go, aided in their efforts by the squelch of their occupant's excitement. The couch rocks as Jennie arches and bucks wildly, alternating between sporadic whimpers and full on screams of delight.
"I'm so close...so so close..."
Your fingers pull free then another smack against her ass again, interrupting her moment of bliss.
"You think you deserve to cum Jennie? Hmm?"
Jennie answers with an arch to her back, a long, sensual moan that turns into a low pitched growl.
"Yes...Yes...just let me cum please please."
She's grinding at the air, her desperation on full display. You're just a few seconds away from finishing her, of making this cute bitch cry out and go rigid as waves of pleasure radiate all the way from her groin to the rest of her body.
"Feel that pressed against your stomach Jennie? I think you need to suck it. Prove you deserve it."
Her feet meet the ground as she kneels between you legs, and with a final lustful glance, begins to pull away the zipper to your jeans. "You're a real fucker aren't you? Fine, I'll show you."
Down goes your underwear, tossed to the side of the couch, and up Jennie comes with the heaving package in her face. A tiny lick along the bottom of the shaft and then a more robust and adventurous one the entire length. No preamble this time, only the sudden heat and wetness as the girl with a history of petty remarks envelopes your member, coiling her tongue around the sensitive areas and sinking further into your lap.
This girl, Jennie Kim. How can she be so talented at such a crude act? The walls of her mouth shift in a thousand ways as she draws a throaty groan out of you, her tongue expertly knowing all the ways to drive you crazy. This fucking bitch, going deep, purposely drooling all over it, and looking up in satisfaction as she gags and chokes. Up and down she goes, swallowing and sucking back a mouthful every single time she rises. The picture perfect idol, loving nothing more than a throat full of cock, a wide streak of mascara under her eyes and spit all over her face.
The room grows ever hotter, the look in Jennie's eyes begging, imploring for you not to hold back. You sit upright and clutch onto her hair, fingers locking as tight as possible to guide her, taking charge of her bobbing head, sending yourself all the way up to your pelvis. Her arms are limp, her face is a mess, you've reduced a famous singer and model to a panting wreck, and that sight is almost too much.
"Fuck my mouth..." the pleads of the famous superstar when you let her up for air. Her request is granted, her hair gets pulled and the momentum carries your pulsating member all the way to the base. Inch by inch, millimeter by millimeter until the tip of her nose touches the pubic bone and her jaw is stretched as wide as possible, the outline of the member embedded into her throat.
The unholy gags are the hottest fucking thing ever. And the little flutters, her struggle not to cough, the spasms. Jennie Kim, proudest bitch alive. Choking and gagging on your cock, no thoughts in her brain of anything else but to please. She loves it, she wants it. More, more, more, always more, begging with her eyes the only way she could.
With a heavy gasp, you finally let up, letting her burning lungs draw air. While she is a coughing wreck, her face slick with tears and saliva, the thought that fills the forefront of her mind is exactly what's about to happen. The thrill, the idea, the exhilaration, she can't contain the giggling smile.
Jennie was a bad girl, touching herself while you fucked her face, showing off her fingers covered in her own juices and licking them clean. This woman was going to be the end of you, that smirk.
"You and that stupid ass cock." Jennie takes matters into her own hands, straddling your lap, lining up the tip. She's in control, now she'll decide just how far you'll sink into her.
"Dumb fucking whore." Your fingers wrap around her delicate neck. Her eyes widen, not in fear, but in excitement. They darken, her pupils dilating, the clear response to the aggression is reflected in a quickened pulse under the flesh. It isn't surprising the more forceful you get, the wetter she seems to get.
And holy fuck it feels so fucking good, Jennie's lower lips engulfing your tip. The walls of her cavern part and pull you deep within her, her breathing changes pace and volume, whimpering and panting as it sinks in further. She's warm, she's welcoming. Every inch is a bit tighter, the friction causing your heart rate to rise, and her arms, encircling you in a vice grip, coaxing a tighter hold on her throat. You can almost see the lightheaded effect it's having, the subtle shifts in her vision, the dream like daze that accompanies such euphoric sexual bliss.
Up and down Jennie bounces, the tempo of her breathing just a second out of synch, every moan coming just a second later. You don't try to hide your own pleasure either, groaning with a volume only a centimeter away from yelling and definitely noticeable beyond the walls. With a firm slap to the ass, her pussy responds in the best possible way; squeezing tightly for a moment and sending a pleasant shiver down your body.
Jennie fucking Kim. Her tightness, her perky tits, the fucking supermodel and worldwide heartthrob, riding you. That's a story to tell. The sight of this gorgeous bitch bouncing up and down like her life depends on it, the sound of flesh colliding reverberating throughout the room.
Her cries of pleasure come louder, with no sign of the fun ending any time soon. Another thrust and her eyes roll to the top of their sockets. The adorable scrunch in her nose, the contortion of the expression of carnal pleasure, the euphoria right after. The small smirk in the corner of her lips and the grinding of her hips into yours. She's close. Her face gives that away. Her walls pulsate, and if that doesn't sell it the pitch change of the moans certainly do. Her noises shift in timbre. Whines and loud whimpers, the sudden erratic nature.
There's no stopping her now, it's out of your control, and it's fucking beautiful. Jennie fucking Kim, cumming on your lap. Her thighs begin to spasm, a waterfall of juices spilling all the way down to the floor, pooling around your ankles. That fucking face, a cacophony of ecstasy. Then with one final, powerful groan, she suddenly stops. Her eyes shoot open and she curls up, freezing and grinding away. You pull her hair back, forcing the perfect idol to bare her neck and shriek, as her orgasm consumes her senses, her legs thrashing about and toes curled into their arches. Jennie fucking Kim came, her face red and a smile creeping upon the ends of her lips.
It's not over, not even close. Jennie's face a mask of desire, her breathing deep, still needing more, the short, panting breaths catching the tiny pieces of her hair waving across her face.
"Fuck me like you mean it." Jennie goads you on. Your hands wrap around her tiny waist, fingers digging into her flesh, and you start thrusting. Up into her body, down into her lap, each of her downward drops meeting a upward thrust, your hips meeting hers halfway. In no time her squeaky noises are echoing against the walls, your pelvic bones colliding hard, both of your bodies jerking about as you throw everything into each pump. Her eyes turn dark, a drunken gaze. Fuck yes, those lips curling back into a naughty, crazed smile.
"You can't fucking resist it can you?" Jennie screams the question, feeling your hands force her up and slam her back down with your hips surging forward. Her whole body lurching backwards from the impact and then snapping forward from the following motion. Another one, the smack of flesh meeting flesh resounding once more and the squirt of liquids spraying the air and wetting the sides of the couch. Jennie no longer cares, letting her body get fucked and then roughly jammed downwards and impaling herself repeatedly, filling the room with the loud slaps.
"You're nothing but a fucking whore aren't you?" You say it directly to her face and as expected the deprecating talk turns her on like nothing else. A genuine laugh followed by a growl and a "you want this tight pussy all for yourself?"
And another smack, a spank and a squeeze of her delicate ass. Her neck tilts backwards. Yes! Look into those deep pools, her gorgeous, intense stare. Losing control, that face, her mouth, it's open and wet and covered in saliva. That cute kittenish tongue sticking out of the edge of her lips.
Another thrust. Jennie's body flies forward from the impact, a lustful grin stuck on her face, burying your face in her small tits. Her chest jiggles with each pounding, a single moment of freedom followed by an instant of being engulfed in their softness. Those perfect mounds of flesh, enough to drive any sane man or woman mad with obsession, bouncing inches from your eyes, sweat coating their supple surface. Her giggle erupts and she sees that dumb smile plastered all over your face. Her nose rubs against your own. The stare is intense.
"We really fucking hate each other huh?" Jennie teases then goes in for a kiss. A sloppy, messy affair, her nails dig into your back, leaving a series of scratches as her pussy tightens around the engorged member within her. She's cumming again, the contractions drawing out another series of grunts.
"That's right, keep your dumb cock buried inside, you fucking love this tight pussy."
Oh how far this idol has fallen, the foulest mouth coming out the prettiest lips. Then she whispers in your ears to hold her hips tighter and fuck her harder, and fuck did you deliver. Her throaty groans filling your ears, a crescendo and a rapid beating pulse under your palms. You're close, this little superstar making sure you're as deep as you can be and clinging for dear life.
Jennie's hands wrap around your throat, squeezing, choking the life out of you, your vision blurring, and at the same time she's squirting a second wave and shaking violently. Her hips never stop moving, fucking herself silly. She doesn't stop, the nasty smirk has returned and a mumbled string of 'fuck fuck fuck' under her breath.
Jennie fucks you. Those perfect abs, her slim body, the smell of sex radiates all throughout. You're getting lightheaded, this cute piece of ass a violent whirl of raven hair and painful grip. The harder she orgasms, the harder she squeezes your neck. Then, stars start filling your field of vision and your vision goes white, the pulses start firing. Sick sadistic oxygen depravation brings one of the hardest orgasms in your life. That twisted smirk of the psychotic woman, the evil in her gaze as the heat fills the pit of her belly. She feels it, your load splashing inside of her womb. As you release, so do her fingers, the blood rushing back to your brain not a moment too soon.
Her expression, oh how proud she is for her conquest. You couldn't look anywhere else, this perfect devil in front of your eyes. The cute, tingly and erotic feeling flowing from your groin, it never stops and only grows, the continuous shots, emptying everything you have into her. This little fucking bitch, controlling you until the very end.
Jennie fucking Kim sits satisfied as you gasp for air, a mixture of confusion, satisfaction, and pleasure overwhelming your body. That beautiful little smirk, her hips rolling about, enjoying your final twitches before everything softens.
"See, now tell me that wasn't worth the wait."
Jennie collapses forward, a content sigh, a murmur in your ear about how her body feels. Your legs and feet tingle, a sort of numbness and buzz from the powerful waves of euphoria. Jennie stretches like a cat, all while nuzzling against your neck.
She leans in for a kiss, soft, gentle, uncharacteristically kind. Fingers thread into her hair, your palm resting against the side of her neck. She's warm, and tired, the once energetic and brash girl now settling down, almost vulnerable.
"You know why I keep coming back to you?" Jennie seems almost kind, running her hands through your hair and looking at you with loving eyes.
"Must be my big cock." You tease her, pinching her bum, and stealing another kiss in the process.
"Of course you can't be serious for a single fucking minute." Jennie shoves her shoulder against yours. "No you idiot. When we fuck, it's so fucking good. And look at you. Trying to act all tough, but when I tell you to fuck me harder you do just that. And when I tell you just like that you don't change pace for a moment."
The affection, her soft words. Jennie Kim loves to act hard, to show herself off. There's the world's most famous pop star, snuggled into your shoulder. Her finger tracing along the outline of your chin, the last few beads of sweat dripping down her forehead and her eyelashes. Jennie almost looks sweet, smiling down upon you. That signature gummy smile, the tiny dimple on one side. How can someone so rough, have such a charming side?
"Give me your jacket fucker."
Now this, this was much more of a Jennie thing to say. What a cute and silly request after something as passionate as what the two of you did. Jennie's sweat soaked body. Your brain is a fog, still lost in the moment, struggling to take the demand seriously, still looking at those flawless thighs, now tinged pink.
"I can't leave this place looking like this. You're taking me home. Don't think I'm done with you yet." The look in her eyes, that mischievous glimmer. A girl bent on devouring you. Her knee pressed against your crotch drives you back into reality. "Did you not get the fucking memo? Hurry the fuck up."
There is no shortage of nerve in this girl, and fuck if her confidence and commanding tone isn't doing anything for the part of your brain in charge of desire. If anything, you know she's not exaggerating, she still isn't fucking done. Not by a long shot.
It'll be another long night, the same pattern of anger and lust. Spoiled fucking idol Jennie Kim, turning you into a fucking puppet. Letting you do the strangest things to her in the middle of the night. That bitch. That perfect little devil.
And you wouldn't have it any other way...
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Summary: After making a scene and storming out of Eddie's trailer, you're left to wonder if you even have a boyfriend anymore, since he hasn't spoken to you in three days.
a/n: congratulations. you bitches wore me down. you all know how much i HATE angst with no happy endings so enjoy me fixing it.
𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
word count: 3.3k
It’d been days since the fight in Eddie’s trailer. Days.
You were mad as hell when you’d left, so mad you almost appeared calm. You’d angrily cried on the drive back home, hot tears leaking steadily past your lashes as you scowled and you were sure they left a trail of mascara behind.
You’d dodged your mother when you got home, unwilling to face the barrage of questions she’d send your way that would no doubt trigger a breakdown. The last thing you needed was anyone asking if you were okay.
Besides, you thought you’d be fine. Eddie would get the point, come to his senses and be at your front door a little past dinner to apologize for hurting your feelings.
You’d composed yourself to the best of your ability while you ate, forking the food on your plate down with the excuse of having not had lunch when your mother started questioning you and then hurried back upstairs to your room.
Your landline was plucked from its place on your nightstand drawer and set on your bed in front of you. When half an hour passed, you assumed Eddie was still wrestling with his pride. When half an hour turned into an hour and a half, you started wondering if maybe he was still cooling down from the argument. He’d call.
By 2 a.m., the tears were back and speeding effortlessly from the corners of your eyes, down the bridge of your nose to meet your pillowcase as you realized he wasn’t going to call.
He didn’t call the next day, either. Or the day after that.
The two of you weren’t in school anymore, so you couldn’t track him down in the halls but you didn’t want to go find him. You wanted him to come find you, you wanted him to chase after you when you left his trailer, you wanted him to call you and tell you he loved you and you wanted him to not bring girls who wanted him the way you did over to his trailer.
You wanted Eddie. But you wouldn’t go crawling back, your heart may have been wailing in agony but your pride was howling at you, wounded and bleeding.
Were you broken up? You hadn’t intended for your exit to be the end, but by day three, you were starting to get the feeling it was over.
And despite how badly you wanted to, you couldn’t rot in bed. You had responsibilities, a job. You’d called into the arcade the first two days but you couldn’t put it off forever, couldn’t avoid leaving your house because you feared running into Eddie.
Yes, you were desperate to see him, but under your specific conditions. What if you ran into him and he confirmed the two of you were over? What if he was with that girl you’d seen leaving the trailer? He said he’d given her a deal for flirting with him, had it progressed? Was he rebounding?
The more you thought about it, the more sad you got. Samantha Stone, your former lab partner and current co-worker had stepped in to awkwardly comfort you when you kept dipping into the back room to cry and eventually sent you home with the promise she could handle the riveting crowd of three plaguing the arcade.
You’d kicked off your shoes and thrown your bag onto the floor the moment you got into your room, but you hadn’t changed, just fell face first onto your bed as your tears mingled with your comforter.
And that’s how you found yourself thinking about how long it had been since that damn fight. Maybe you were overreacting. Sure, Eddie had been a little intimidating in high school, but he’d also had no trouble in the romance department. He’d told you he’d been cynical about it, since it never went beyond sex, but he’d also said that had been before you had looked twice at him.
Unfortunately for you, the stupid ass curse that comes with having a boyfriend struck you. Now that Eddie had a girlfriend, all of a sudden he was a wanted man, even more so than he had been in the past.
You’d seen girls overstep, had been waiting for him in the van during a deal while you watched one reach a hand out to caress his arm and it had taken everything in you to not storm out of the van to tear the offending appendage off and beat her silly with it.
Maybe you really were just blowing things out of proportion because of your jealousy. Maybe you owed Eddie the apology. Would he even accept your apology? It had been days, after all. Maybe he’d take you back if you groveled. Tears were a no brainer, you were pretty emotional and aware you were in a somewhat manic state, so they’d come the moment you caught sight of him again. Your feelings, your love for him, and this stupid mess would overwhelm you.
You glanced at your phone, still poised on your bed and taunting you without a single ring. Your mother would have mentioned it if he called. He hadn’t.
You wanted Eddie.
That singular sentence plagued you, wrapping around your heart over and over again, constricting like a boa until you felt like you couldn’t breathe, like you were about to have a heart attack. You could hear the loud and insistent banging that was your heartbeat, beating in time with your much too fast breaths.
Eddie was the last thing you thought of before you shut down, body allowing exhaustion to overcome you to stop your impending panic attack.
You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep, eyes prying open to your room shrouded in darkness. A lazy glance at the window confirmed night had fallen and you sagged further into your bedding, sighing when you remembered you’d fallen asleep in your work uniform which meant you couldn’t slip back under the veil of rest and peace until you’d gotten out of it.
You sat up, fingers gripping onto the hem of your shirt to lift it.
A flash of movement at the foot of your bed caught your attention just before you raised your shirt over your head and you nearly had a heart attack as you fell back, quickly reaching for your lamp.
The warm glow of it illuminated the room and revealed Eddie standing near the foot of your bed, hands up to show he meant no harm.
“Sorry,” he gave a brief huff of laughter, mouth pulled into a nervous smile, “didn’t mean to scare you. Your mom let me in.”
Your heart calmed instantly at the sight of him, but your anxiety made its presence known, sinking into your belly.
He’s here to break up with you, it whispered.
You pulled your shirt back down, smoothing it out to give you something to do. Suddenly, you were incapable of words, nonverbal as your mouth refused to part. Your heart had won the battle with your pride and was desperate to beg him to forgive you for overreacting, would say anything to get him to hold you but you were paralyzed.
Eddie cleared his throat, a hand reaching up to scratch his head before he sat down on the edge of your bed and you took him in.
The most apparent difference in his appearance was the dullness of his eyes and the bags under them. Eddie was usually so full of life, an eccentric being buzzing with a sort of energy at all times, even when he was pretending to be the cool, collected bad boy. Now, he looked tired. And he had a light dusting of scruff on his jaw and cheeks.
Eddie never had facial hair. Hated it. He’d tried it out once, he wasn’t fond of not being able to feel your kisses directly against his skin, and it made him itchy so it didn't last long.
He shaved everyday to make sure he could feel your lips on him and the reminder made tears pool at your waterline once more.
“Look, I─”
“I’m sorry!” You rushed out, cutting him off as emotion muddled your voice and made your throat thick with it. The tears followed, just as you’d predicted they would when confronted by Eddie, “I’m so sorry, you were right, I was overreacting! I was just jealous, you can bring whoever you want to your trailer, I know it’s just business. I was just stupid and jealous and upset, you were right to not call me, and I’m sorry!”
Eddie’s mouth parted, eyebrows rising in bewilderment.
Then he was kicking off his shoes and climbing onto your bed, softly hushing you as he pulled you into his arms and you sobbed against his shirt, relieved to finally have Eddie back.
You hadn’t thought he’d ever hold you again so you clung to him like a lifeline.
Eddie held you tight, hand rubbing comfortingly over your back as he pressed kiss after kiss to your head and nuzzled his face there, trying to make sense of what was happening.
After you’d left, he’d trashed his room. Well, more so than its usual state. He’d wanted you to come right back after you stormed out, was hoping you would—but like an idiot, Eddie just stared at the door as his mind replayed the entire conversation, emphasizing the moment he’d crossed the line. By the time he finally snapped out of his stupor and ran out after you, you were gone.
Eddie was frustrated with himself, so he took it out on his room. When that was done, he’d grabbed a beer from the fridge, a joint from his stash and got crossed on the couch out front as he thought about the fight.
He had no interest in anyone who wasn’t you. None. And for some reason, you didn’t understand just how much he loved you, how not a singular fucking person on this giant rock could compare to you. Not Cindy Crawford, not Pam Grier, not Irene Cara, not a single member of Metallica, no one.
You were Eddie’s favorite person. You were his person.
And he made you feel like shit. The longer he thought about it, the guiltier he felt. It was easy to write off your behavior as jealousy, but your jealousy hadn’t been unwarranted.
He couldn’t see the big deal about having her pick up weed from his place since she’d phoned to let him know she was already in the area, but when he imagined some random guy coming out of your home, you walking him out?
Eddie saw red. The thought alone knocked the air out of him and it was a feeling he was keen to not experience.
But you had. And instead of just owning up to his slip of the mind, he’d stuck to his guns and had promptly shot himself in the metaphorical foot, not before hurting you. You were upset, and you lashed out when you got like that. Eddie had realized a long time ago that you only made digs like that because you wanted him to tell you you were wrong without having to ask him.
Only, Eddie hadn’t told you that no, he didn’t give her a deal for being ‘pretty and flirty’ as you’d accused. She had been flirty—yes, he felt even more guilty when he thought about it—but he’d been blunt and brief, exchanging the bag of nugs for cash before he was sending her back the way she came. You’d just been on the other side of the door when he’d opened it for her to leave.
It looked fucking terrible. How the hell was he supposed to make this up to you??? He’d spent the remainder of the night lingering near the phone, picking it up and then putting it back on the receiver. Nothing he could think of was a worthy enough apology for you, and he assumed you didn’t even want to see him. Fuck, you’d been so upset.
He ended up passing out on the couch.
The next few days went the same, he tried to figure out what to say, how to to explain himself and dove for the phone anytime it rang. It was never you, but of course it was when Eddie was desperate to hear your voice on the other end of the line that all his usual customers had run out of weed and other things.
And she had called.
Eddie wasn’t stupid, she’d smoked with him and a group of friends at a party once, she hacked up her lungs and coughed herself into delirium after one pull; there was no way she’d finished what Eddie had supplied to her that quickly. It certainly didn’t help that she knew Eddie had you, and she still kept up the flirting. You were right, Eddie knew what she was trying to do and he was a shit boyfriend for not turning her down outright. Eddie had nipped that problem in the bud over the phone.
In his desperation, he’d done multiple drives by the arcade, too. You were never behind the counter, only that gothic chick that liked to curse people was.
He got anxious fast, hoping like hell that you hadn’t broken up with him. When it became too much for Eddie, who missed seeing your beautiful face, he caved in and drove to your house, despite the fact that you might not want to see him. When your mom let him in instead of throwing pots and pans at him like he’d imagined she would, Eddie figured you hadn’t told her about the fight which gave him hope.
Maybe you did still want him.
There was no light under your bedroom door and when he knocked you hadn’t answered but Eddie walked in anyways, heart clenching at the sight of you sprawled on your bed asleep.
God, how he’d missed you.
Eddie found himself blinking back tears as he stared down at you. It was selfish of him, but he really wanted to wake you up, touch you, hold you, kiss you.
And then he realized he was at your house uninvited, in your room, watching you while you slept. Could he get any fucking creepier? Jesus…
Eddie had been in the middle of pacing a circle in your carpet, trying to play out how this conversation would go when you stirred and he froze.
Then you sat up and he got a little excited when you started taking your shirt off, but Eddie was aware of how bad this could go if he didn’t announce his presence.
You hadn’t started yelling at him like he expected, no. What you did was worse. You were apologizing.
He’d been inconsiderate, he’d put himself in a situation that would look bad to literally anyone who saw him knowing he was in a relationship, had hurt your feelings—even more so because you’d apparently been waiting for him, wanting him this whole time and he’d just been holed up in the trailer, phone in hand but never dialing.
“Baby,” he mumbled against your head, leaning back and moving his hands to frame your face, thumbs wiping your tears away as he angled your head up at him so you could see the sincerity on his face, in his eyes, “you have nothing to be sorry for.”
You hiccuped and started, “But I─”
“Shh, no. Let me say this okay?” Eddie waited for you to nod and when you did, he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead and another to the tip of your nose.
“You didn't overreact or do anything wrong, sweetheart. You were right. I knew exactly how she felt, and while I promise you I had no intentions of letting anything happen, I still shouldn’t have had her over. If the roles were reversed, I would’ve been jealous, mad, and really hurt. She called, tried to come over again and I told her I’m in love with you and I’m not interested in her. If she needs to replenish her supply, she’ll have to get it from Rick from now on. And I’ve never given her a deal. The only person who gets free weed is you, pretty girl.”
You sniffled and his thumb stroked over your cheek once more. He added, “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings and I’m sorry I didn’t call. I wanted to, so badly, but I didn’t know what to say or if you even wanted me to. I've been dying to see you, drove past the arcade a ton of times just to see if I could get a glimpse of you—your coworker, the scary one, flipped me the bird whenever she saw me, by the way.”
That got a laugh out of you and Eddie grinned victoriously, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours, “I love you. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.” Your gaze dropped from his eyes, the brown in them now swirling with warmth, to his lips, “Can I kiss you?”
“Oh, baby. You don’t ever have to ask.” Eddie didn’t wait for you to make the first move, closing the small distance to press a deep, chaste kiss to your lips. Once you were returning his kiss, he got a little more insistent, you realized this was Eddie’s way of asking for reassurance and you were more than willing to give it to him, parting your lips so your tongues could meet again.
The two of you made out on your bed at a leisurely pace as you reaffirmed your love for each other. When things got heated, and you soon found yourself on your back with Eddie on top of you and between your legs, he pulled away from your mouth with a smack, and winced.
“I really want to have makeup sex, baby, but I’m about to pass out. I haven’t been sleeping well.” Rarely has Eddie slept without you, add in you being upset with him and he could barely sleep at all. The last thing he wanted to do was pass out while he was inside you and leave you unsatisfied.
You laughed, pulling him down for another kiss, “That's okay. We can fuck in the morning.”
Eddie let out the most pornographic moan at the mental image and you laughed again as you shushed him, “Eddie! My mom will hear you!”
Reluctantly he rolled off you to undress, yanking off his pants while you shimmied out of yours, pulled your shirt off and discarded your bra. When Eddie yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it towards the ground, you’d intercepted it and pulled it over your own head.
Eddie gave you a very appreciative onceover before he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will his hard-on away, “Down, boy.”
You snuggled up to his side, and he pulled you into his arms, throwing your blanket over the both of you and letting out a sigh of content as you nuzzled your face into his neck, “Fuck, I missed this. Missed you.”
“Missed you, too, Eds.”
“Next time you get mad at me, I’m sitting on the hood of your car so you can’t leave.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“Or maybe you can just kick my ass instead of leaving.”
“No, I like it too much.”
Eddie’s chest shook with quiet laughter and you smiled, eyes fluttering shut.
This time, when sleep finally overcame you, your heart wasn’t in pain or beating loudly in your ears. It was nestled against you, and snoring into your hair.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x reader angst#eddie munson blurb#stranger things#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x black!reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic
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Nectar and Bane - Pt. 1
Pairings: Hunter!König x Witch!Reader
Pt. 2
Summary: König is hired to hunt down a pesky witch by a warlock, who paints you as the most evil thing in the past three centuries. With the promise of finding true love (or, the closest thing the warlock can offer: a brainwashed woman who is forced to dote on the hunter), König sets out on his journey. However, you aren't what he was expecting at all, and he develops a newfound obsession with making you become his.
Warnings: dubcon, mentions of rape, manipulation, kidnapping, sex pollen (kinda? If you squint? not really, but better safe than sorry), corruption kink, mentions of blood and violence, mentions of consuming human organs, unrequited pining, angst at the end, death (not for main characters), cowgirl, missionary, mating press, biting, hair pulling, nipple play, power imbalance, handjob, obsessive thoughts and behaviour (please let me know if I missed any!)
Notes: thought I'd try my hand a fantasy au version of cod, or at least of König. This is really long (over 15000 words) so I split it into two parts. The next part is pretty much done, I'm just exhausted and wanted to at least crank out half. Let me know if you would like to be tagged in pt 2!
ps if anyone has any suggestions or tips on how to make collages or banners for fics, pleeeaseeee lmk
translations at the end
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Watch your every step. From the moment you step foot into those woods, you can’t trust anything you see.
That’s what the sorcerer had drilled into his head before he had begun his journey. He called you dangerous, cunning… “A sneaky, meddling bitch…” he had grumbled over the table in that crowded tavern.
Two small pouches, one of silver, one of gold, sat in between the two patrons on the table. Stains of ale and coffee rings littered the unvarnished wood. The wax of the thick candle had trickled down and formed small, hardened pools at the base – its flame flickered weakly, casting unflattering shadows against the man’s weathered features, and making the portentous hood covering König’s face only that much more ominous.
He'd listened warily as the sorcerer described the witch – you. Tens of centuries old, too much knowledge and too little wisdom to use it sensibly. You take whatever you want by whatever means possible, and your favored method was using your physical assets and the promise of sexual devotion to coerce those within your web to do your bidding. “Sometimes it’s for her personal gain – sometimes, she does it for fun.” The warlock added bitterly. “Akin to a serpent, she winds you into her embrace, and then crushes your bones before she swallows you whole, saving your heart for last.” You’d done it to him, ensnaring him into your alluring trap, before stealing his spellbooks, his potions, his most prized collections… and vanishing into thin air.
An enchantress, König had concluded.
The warlock’s request? “Kill her. And be quick with it. The sooner this earth is rid of that swine, the sooner we can all rest. And, better yet – bring me her eyes! Potent things, witches’ eyes can be – of course, that is if they’re still working. If the bitch has gone blind, don’t waste dulling your dagger. A handful of her hair would do just fine.”
König had killed much worse for much less, and this sounded like it would be on the simpler side of things. A few days’ worth of hunting and a quick, efficient kill – hopefully, one of his easier jobs, although with the way the sorcerer described you, that might not be. He’d dealt with magicians before; up until now, they had been rather boring to hunt – tedious, but nonetheless, boring. Most of the time, they tried to end him with some elaborate incantation in the few seconds remaining of their life after he’d ambushed them. His silver blade would be slicing across their throats before they could utter five syllables. They were always so intent on murdering their victims slowly and in a flashy manner. With König’s preference for a more immediate result, he was usually the one collecting the fingernails, teeth, and tongues.
(Over time, he’d had noticed that it was always sorcerers ordering the assassination of other sorcerers. He wondered why they had so much of an issue amongst themselves, but he didn’t question it. Whatever kept him fed and paid for his room, he would do it.)
The picture the warlock was painting of you, however, made you seem much craftier and more calculated. You couldn’t resist the glamorous ways of murder via magic – it was written in your nature as a witch. But you played the game with your charisma and wit, too; something magic users didn’t typically rely on (half of the time, because they weren’t charismatic, nor witty). You waited until your assailant would fall to your wicked charm, before dissecting him like nothing more than a toad for your cauldron. If not an easy kill, you at least sounded like you would be an exciting one – but König knew he could get something more from this client for killing you.
“What more can you offer me?” he asked.
The warlock chuckled. “The gold is insufficient, is it?” he leaned forward and hunched his shoulders, speaking in a hushed tone. “Tell me, what do you desire? Recognition and respect? Revenge against someone who’s crossed you? To bring back a loved one from the dead? Or, perhaps, to find a love of your own?”
König’s shoulders tensed, and the rest of the warlock’s utterances fell on deaf ears. Could he possibly give him a chance to find himself someone to love? Someone that he and only he can worship? It was true that he would be happier to live alone, in whatever way that would allow him to be independent of society… but the thought of being able to live alone with someone, someone who was devoted to him, someone who could decorate his hut with signs of life and warmth, someone with a kind smile and a sweet voice, someone who he could spend hours upon hours with, memorizing each curve of their body, the taste of their nectar on his tongue…
He called it love. Others would call him insane. He’d heard it all before – how no one would ever love him, given his profession, his awkwardness in carrying a conversation about anything normal other than how sharp his knives are, and how he uses them… that, and the fact that he never shows his face (“He must be hideous under there…” they would speculate). Nonetheless, he still craved the devotion of an obedient, warm body waiting for him in his cabin at the end of the day – once he did get a cabin. Why should he be denied what everyone else wants?
He knew he was a hypocrite; he couldn’t expect someone else to be so willing to leave everything and run away with him. Not with his insane ideations and obsessions – hell, not with who he was as a person. But if he killed enough healthy rabbits to keep her fed, and if he fucked her hard enough that her eyes rolled back into her head and she couldn’t muster enough strength to escape the mattress… would she ever care about what kind of man he was?
The warlock smiled slowly. “Of course… that’s what all of you sick bastards want.” He said, leaning back and folding his arms. “If it will seal our contract, I will give you whichever woman you choose. I’ll make her yours, and only yours, with unconditional love – even for your damned soul.”
A fair deal, König had thought. Which is exactly what had him currently trudging through the dense woods, searching for any traces of a witch – a sack with two loaves of bread and some apples hung over his shoulder, along with his well-worn tashka stuffed with the coin he had earned over time. His sword was strapped to his hip in its sheath, his dagger (a short sword, when it was compared to the average person) stuffed into the lead-lined, deerskin sheath on the side of his boot; and a pelt, heavy and thick, hung around his shoulders. All he had to his name.
König had done a day of research on you – testimonies and sightings of you ghosting the perimeter of the woods at an early age, hoping to lure some poor soul away as your very first victim. “I imagine she was a succubus in her previous life,” the warlock had spoken, “maybe too much of a whore for even the devil to handle.”
He had caught you one night by luring you to his cabin with the scent of a savory meal. Guessing by your inexperience, and the way you avoided using words as you snarled and thrashed in the warlock’s grip, he assumed you had not yet reached one hundred years old. You were still young and fresh-faced, appearing no more than twenty to human eyes. “After a few decent meals, and reintroducing her to the work of her past life – she’d settled in as the perfect student. It almost felt like having a pet.” He added with a smug smile.
König questioned how happy you were with being reintroduced to the work of your past, but he didn’t comment on it.
After living with the warlock as his student and whore for a few centuries, you turned into a strong, young witch. You didn’t care to go into town, preferring to stay at the cabin and watch over the brews whenever he had to make deliveries or run to the shops. The warlock had no complaints about your desire to stay holed up in his home – fewer people to ogle at you, fewer glimpses into a more civilized life that might tempt you to run away. He’d much rather you be a brooding, antisocial bitch, than watch one of his clients stare at you with a yellowed, lustful grin, like you were some harlot in the window of a brothel.
On one particular day, without any indication of what you were planning, he had returned home from his rounds to an empty cabin – not just empty of you, but of his potion stock, his rarest ingredients, and his most prized spellbooks. He’d run into the woods in fury, screeching your name and hurling threats into the trees around him – but you were gone. Not a trace of you could be found within a five mile radius of his home.
It was like you had never been there, save the absence of his personal belongings.
In König’s opinion, you didn’t strike him as an extremely dangerous individual. Sure, the warlock had harped on and on about how cunning and deceiving you were – but all you had done was lie to him. And from the way he had described the conditions you were under, König didn’t exactly blame you for running away. Maybe this job was a waste of his time…
Still, he couldn’t find it in him to complain, despite the nip of the mid-autumn air, and the fact that he was embarking on what might be one of the most treacherous endeavors of his career. He was getting a decent payout for it – that is, if he lived to finish the job. Additionally, the scenery was a comfort to his journey; wiry birch trees stood high and thickly clustered, their brown and black spots like ever-watchful eyes, staring at the gargantuan hunter as he moved. Their golden leaves mimicked the light of the sun, the real thing blocked out by the overcast skies. A whisper of wind flew by his ears, carrying down and blowing the leaves further along his path with a gentle sigh. As if nature herself was telling the world to be quiet, be still, and prepare for winter.
It was times like this where König became unsure of himself. What if he hated having someone else to care for? What if, deep down, he preferred the silence and the solitude? But then, the loneliness would strike him. The longing to be understood (if that was humanely possible), and the desire to have something warm, alive, and sentient to acknowledge him. It consumed him on those sleepless nights, perfectly warm by the hearth of whatever inn he resided at, yet so hollow without having someone to wrap his arms around.
A swaying movement in the branches above pulled him from his thoughts. Hanging down by a twine thread, tied to one of the spindling birch branches, was a tiny, burlap pouch. It reached a few feet above König’s head, and was drenched in a dark, thick liquid that dripped rhythmically onto the forest floor. Looking to where the drops landed, he noticed the matter on the ground was decaying – a steaming pile of rot was all that was left of the leaves that were once there.
He frowned. The trap was clever – for a witch in their first century. König had expected something a bit more dangerous for someone your age. Maybe the last hunter had been too gullible, and you stereotyped them to all be oafs. Or, maybe you were too old and couldn’t craft traps with the same skill and precision as your younger self.
He drew his dagger from his boot and quickly sliced the twine thread. The pouch dropped to the floor with a squelch, landing in the very puddle of death it had created. The liquid beneath it bubbled and hissed, and the bag soon dissolved to reveal its contents: bits of bone – a kind of reptilian foot, from the looks of it – dried pomegranate seeds, and a fuzzy layer of mold, all appearing to be drenched in some kind of blood.
He carefully stepped around the stinking mess, his eyes turning back onto the path to continue his hunt. He both hoped for and against finding more evidence of your existence. He wanted to get back to town as soon as he could, so he could hole himself up in an inn until his money began to run out – all the same, his mind craved a puzzle and a chase. Though, with how old you were, he doubted there would be much of a chase.
More leaking, swaying hex bags hung from branches as he trudged on, pointing him in the right direction. He didn’t bother to quiet the sound of the leaves beneath his footsteps – the rustling of the wind through the foliage was doing the job well enough. He held onto his dagger tightly, his other hand on his longsword, as he carefully toed through the dense forest. He had to be close – the smell of fennel and turmeric settled around his presence, along with the babbling of a nearby stream.
The sound of a distant tune danced through the trees. The voice was soft, yet clear, and whoever it belonged too was much too confident that they were alone in these woods. König wondered if it was actually you, and not some poor soul who had been foraging for the autumn mushrooms and berries – but he was nearly a day’s trek into the forest. No one would dare come out this far, unless they wanted to be alone. And, they were potentially hiding from something; their own past, perhaps.
He cautiously followed the sound of the tune, still disguising the sound of his own steps within the rustling leaves and wind. His heart thrummed with both uncertainty and excitement; he always did get too thrilled at the idea of a struggle and blood covering his hands. He took a deep breath in through his nostrils, focusing his attention on the voice that carried through the trees, pulling him closer and closer… He gripped his dagger tightly as he crept, reminding himself of the warlock’s warning: cunning, sneaky – be on your best wits.
The voice brought him to the edge of a clearing. The birch trees parted and encircled a few meters of earth, and a few bushes huddled along the far edge, dotted with purplish berries and thorned branches. A wicker basket, woven clumsily and rather lopsided, sat on the ground and caught each berry and branch that was tossed into it. A figure knelt in front of the bushes, carefully plucking the berries with thin, delicate fingers, stained purple from the juice of the berries, and nails that might need a trim soon, unless they were intended to be claws.
The cloaked figure confused König. The voice was too melodic, too clear and fresh for an old witch. He had assumed you weren’t much younger than the warlock, but still old. He remained a few yards away from you, shrouded by the trees and dense foliage outside of the clearing.
It was when you turned your head, dropping your handful of berries into the basket, revealing your face, that he realized how wrong he had been in his assumption.
Your skin was soft, he could tell even with the distance between the two of you. Your lips delicately moved as you sang your tune, your eyes sparkled in contrast to the dull autumn colors that surrounded you. Small wisps of your hair danced around your cheeks as the wind caressed it. Your entire body looked soft, warm, and pliable… exactly what he needed. Craved.
It wasn’t hard for him to imagine it: leaves tangling into your hair as he pressed his fingers around your neck, pushing you to the cold ground and watching as you gasped for air. He’d use his knife, but not to kill you. He’d drag it over your hardened nipples, watching them perk up even more at the prickling sensation, before he’d carve his name into your stomach. Smear your pretty blood all over your pretty face, watch as your eyes widen with horror, as you question how someone can be so deranged and cruel, how he can take so much pleasure in something so vile and horrible-
Or maybe, he could convince you that he just wants a fuck. You looked like you could use one – when was the last time you’d had someone’s lips on your breasts, or their cock in your cunt? It had certainly been too long for him… he couldn’t imagine how long you had gone without being thoroughly ravaged, living in these woods all alone. He could take care of that. He could be gentle, for a little while; holding your wrists above your head as he pushed you against a tree, whispering praise and encouragements into your ear, “… so gut, so Schön, genau so…” taking you from behind as your nipples perked up from the rough texture of the bark, listening to you whine and moan in that sweet voice of yours as he lets out months’ worth of pent up frustration by thrusting his cock into your warm pussy, over and over and over until you scream and tighten around his length, milking the cum right out of him as he fucks you deep, maybe sinking his teeth into the junction of your neck-
He growled quietly, palming his rapidly-growing erection as he tried to clear his head. Stay focused. Kill the witch, and then you’ll get what you want.
Remember the warlock’s promise.
Even if he didn’t need you to satisfy his needs, he could still make this interesting. Not like you could outrun him, anyway.
He stepped into the clearing, and as if by some ironic joke, the wind died down immediately. The crunch of his heavy boots was enough to make his presence known to any living thing within a mile radius.
Your singing stopped. You whipped your head in his direction, and immediately a look of fear fell upon your face. For a moment, the two of you were frozen in a staring contest. You reminded him of a doe, staring at the crossbow of the hunter you had noticed, wondering if this being was actually dangerous, or nothing you needed to worry about. He wondered what he must remind you of, and he wished to hear the panicking thoughts flitting through your mind.
Finally, you broke the trance – you gasped, stumbling backwards and awkwardly standing as you ripped a pathetic, little knife from your boot. You faced him and pointed the knife at him – you held it improperly, and if he truly wanted to make this messy, he could easily make you stab yourself in a struggle. He wondered what it would feel like when your nails dug into his rough skin, dragging marks down his forearms (or his back, if he played his cards right).
You pulled the thick cloak tighter around your body – you were tiny. Well, everything was tiny compared to König. But you were unexpectedly small. With the way the sorcerer had described you, he had expected you to reach his shoulders at least. But there you were, craning your neck to look up at him with fearful, owlish eyes.
“State your business!” You demanded, your voice cracking slightly.
König chuckled in response. You really were too pathetic for your own good, weren’t you? He took you in – your lips were pulled into a frown, parted slightly to reveal your perfect teeth, the way the fabric of your cloak quivered where it bunched in your fist… perfectly ordinary things that ordinary people do. But, besides the fact that you were a witch, something about you made it all so captivating.
“Hey!” you shouted, bringing his eyes back to your gaze. Your fear had given way to a judgmental ire. “Gods, have you ever seen a woman before?!”
König scoffed. “Woman? Yes, of course. I’ve seen witches, too. None as young as you, however.”
Your eyes widened in panic once again. You stretched your knife out towards him as he stalked over to where you stood. “S-stay back! I’ll kill you!”
Your meek threat didn’t slow him down. He continued his advance until he had corralled you against a tree, your one hand bracing against the trunk behind you, and the other holding the knife under his ribcage. The only thing between his flesh and your blade was his linen tunic, which wouldn’t do much to protect him should you decide to stab him – but were you capable of that? Your eyes were so filled with fear as they stared at him, your chin to the sky to take all of him in. Your fingers trembled around the handle of your knife as if the prospect of having to nick him made you uneasy.
“Not with magic?” he asked, his eyes flitting to the bush next to you. He plucked one of the berries between his thick, gloved fingers, rolling the onyx sphere between his thumb and middle finger before squashing it.
You pouted (a sight König could never grow tired of). “I’m not a wi-“
He snatched your forearm, and you yelped, dropping the knife to the forest floor. His fingers easily wrapped around you; he wondered how easy it would be to break it.
“Don’t lie, now.” He ordered, his eyes narrowing with a hint of annoyance. “You’re not good at it.”
He released your arms with a shove. You scrambled back with a fearful expression, swiping the blade from the ground. He watched with interest as you stood several yards away from him, pointing your weapon towards him once again.
“Fine.” You said, holding yourself a bit taller. “You’re right. What’s the crime in that?”
For a moment, König was lost. Why weren’t you trying to weaponize your magic? It was almost as if you had forgotten you weren’t a human. For someone who was supposed to be a cunning bitch, as the warlock had put it, you weren’t very smart.
“I’m not here for justice.” He replied, wiping his glove on his shirt. “Just doing my job.”
“Hunter?” you asked.
He extended his arms – gods, he could have crushed a pillar between those arms – as if presenting himself to you. “Was it not obvious?” he asked, and you could hear the smirk in his tone.
You huffed. “Well, you’re not a very good one. Most hunters don’t make conversation with their prey.”
Prey. He liked that you understood your position, that he was the one in charge here. Maybe you were a clever girl…
“I like to listen to the begging.”
“Begging?”
“For your life.” König folded his arms over his chest, inspecting you closely. The only thing you had to protect yourself was your cloak, and that hardly provided a shield against the wind. Even though you were obviously wary of him, it wasn’t wary enough. You had spoken too many words with the hunter, and had it been anyone else, you might have been dead long before now.
You seemed malleable – book-smart and spitfire, yet all too gullible. Easily manipulated. Just what he needed to brainwash you into loving him. Or, at least, being his pet. You’d never truly love him, he had come to learn that from experience. But maybe, if he could somehow convince you that you needed a big, scary man, who could protect you and fuck you nicely, it would be enough to make you stay. After all, you were too naïve to be alone out here, weren’t you?
Could the warlock perhaps make you his prize? It’d kill two birds with one stone, he could convince you to return whatever knickknacks you had stolen, and your presence would never bother anyone ever again – besides him, but of course, it would never be a bother to bed you every night.
Your expression turned sour. “I don’t beg.”
The tone of your voice sent a shiver down his cock. He’d have to pound that little attitude right out of you.
“Who hired you?” You asked indignantly. The knife in your hand had slowly lowered, now pointing at his feet. Your initial fear seemed to have worn off. Were you brave, or just that stupid?
“It doesn’t matter.” König replied.
“It does to me.”
“You don’t know? How many people have you wronged?”
You scoffed. “I haven’t wronged anyone. People just don’t like it when you call them out on their atrocities.”
König hummed. You had a point. “Your teacher – the warlock.”
For a moment, you scrunched your face in disgust. Teacher. Only a fool as mad as the warlock himself could consider he was any such figure in your life, other than a torturous one. Then, you sighed, shoulders slumping defeatedly, the knife now aimed straight at the forest floor. “That old toad can’t even kill me himself…” you muttered. “What payment did he offer you?”
“He promised me anything I desired of your possessions.” König replied, taking note of the change in your presence. He purposely left out the warlock’s promise to find him a “companion.”
“And what would you do with cursed fig seeds, or stag’s blood?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest (which, König noted, framed your breasts perfectly). “I have no gold – not enough to be a reward for the trouble of killing me.”
“He gave me three hundred gold coin, too.”
Your lips turned down into a scowl. “That’s all?! That absolute hypocrite!” You lodged your knife into the tree behind you and placed your hands on your hips. “I took everything from him, save that disgusting old shed he called home, and that’s all he’ll pay to kill me?!”
Your outburst pulled König from his obsessive staring. “You’re… insulted?”
You turned back to him and huffed. “Well, obviously.” You retorted. “I stole all he had to his name, and he treats me like a fly buzzing in his ear. I deserve a bit more recognition than three hundred gold coin.”
“You admit to it, then.” König said, stepping closer. You appeared to be too angry to notice how near the hunter was to you. “You are a thief.”
You laughed – a sound that König did not expect to be so sweet. “I’ve done much worse than thieving, mind you.” You shook your head. “And he’s done even worse to me.” You sighed, pulling the dagger from the tree trunk and sheathing it back into your boot.
Once again, he was reminded of how small you were. Why weren’t you afraid of him? Sure, you had the advantage of magic while he did not, but you weren’t even acting defensively anymore. You treated him like a traveler who had stumbled across your path, starting up conversation and sharing your story.
“What has he done?” he asked, his interest in you growing by the second. An outcast, despised, hated by others. He felt that the two of you were kindred spirits, and he would not risk losing a connection so rare – one he had never felt.
“You mean he didn’t even tell you?” you said, sounding more hurt than anything else.
“He did.” König sheathed his own dagger as a peace offering. “But I’m coming to think he was not entirely truthful.”
You sighed, looking down at your basket, then back at König. “I suppose I could tell you, since he brought you all this way to kill me. Walk with me – but keep your dagger away. And if you try anything, I’ll slit your throat. Understood?”
He suppressed the urge to laugh. Could you even reach his throat? “The warlock said you would lure me away to your hut, and carve out my heart.”
You huffed disappointedly, walking back to the bush near König. Completely calm, like he had only ever come up to you with the intention of finding a friend. “And yet, he’s still alive, after all the chances I had to kill him. We can stay outside of my hut, if it eases your mind. I’ll let you make your own tea, too. But if you aren’t set on killing me right this minute, I really should return to start drying these out.” You held up your basket. “Before too much time passes, and I can no longer use them.”
König had never given his prey more than a few moments to try and beg their way out of his crushing hands. He couldn’t believe he had even given so much lenience to your baseless trust in him – what he should have done was take the opportunity to grab your face and snap your neck. But he was starting to doubt the warlock’s testimony; you were a thief, yes, but had you really committed any crime? Or were you simply just taking the revenge you deserved from your captor – or, as the warlock called himself, your master?
König sighed. He gestured his hand out, signaling for you to lead the way.
You frowned. “First, give me your word.” You demanded.
“I will not harm you.” He said, with a hand over his heart. He didn’t care about forcing you to make the same promise – you were harmless enough. He did, however, make sure to avoid saying that he wouldn’t touch you. Although he was developing a few ounces more of respect for you, who knows? Maybe you would find a reason to drag him into your hut and satisfy both of your needs – and, if he was lucky enough to get that far, maybe you’d offer for him to spend the night in a warm bed, and he could be saved from sleeping on the cold earth for one night.
His word seemed promising enough to you. Threading your arm through the handle of the basket, you began marching through the woods, watching the ground carefully as you stepped over roots and twigs.
König followed by your side, watching you from the corner of his eye. You really were helpless – all it would take is a strong push from him, and you’d be tumbling down, maybe hitting your head on a stone, or rolling down the mountainside until your neck snapped. Even if the fall didn’t kill you, he could easily land one hit to your chest and pierce your lungs with your own ribs. But here you were, worrying more about the uneven forest floor than the lumbering creature by your side.
“What did he tell you?” you asked, pulling him from his fantasies. “About the beginning, when he took me.”
König laughed in pity. “He made it sound like he caught you, not that he took you.”
You sighed. “He didn’t catch me… well, I suppose he did. More like how animals are caught.” You adjusted your grip on the basket, still watching the ground beneath you. “I was the botanist’s assistant before he came along. Stared at me like I was naked. He would come more often than he needed to - asked me where I was from, who my father was – things I didn’t understand why he needed to know. I still don’t.”
König didn’t understand himself. He continued to listen, the sounds of his footsteps drowning out your quiet ones. He began to wonder just how much of the warlock’s testimony was true.
“He came to the shop one night.” You continued to recount the story. “I was lighting the lanterns in the greenhouse. It was storming, and I didn’t hear him. He bludgeoned me and dragged me into the streets like I was some sort of animal.” You paused, turning your own words over in your head. “I suppose I was, to him.
He brought me back to his cabin – that’s when he started the curse. All I remember when waking up is feeling sick. I tried to stand, but it- everything felt heavy, like I was stuck in mud. I managed to crawl outside, and he was there. Saying my father wouldn’t recognize me, that he had killed the old lady at the botanist, that everyone would think that I had killed her… that I would be burned if I returned to the village. That I would forever be an outcast as long as I lived – as a witch. As what he made me.”
You paused again, for longer this time. König looked down at you, observing how your face twisted in… disgust? Anger? Your eyes were somewhere else, possibly somewhere where you could light the world on fire, drain the life from everyone who had ever done you wrong. König had felt that same hatred before, and he had learned to let it pass. You were still stuck there, wishing you could drive a blade into the warlock’s neck – and more.
“You stayed, then?” König asked, returning his gaze to the trees before him. “Why?”
You scoffed. “It’s not like I could go anywhere, not during the change. For the first fortnight, I couldn’t do anything but crawl on the ground and wail. And he let me – I’d get to the edge of the woods, and he’d be there to drag me back. Drug me into the hut at night and held me, fucked me, saying he was protecting me and similar bullshit. Of course, he was right; at that moment, I was as good as dead if I had ventured out on my own. And once I’d gotten my strength back, I was still a new witch. I’d never be accepted into the village – witches never are, despite the warlocks being the vile ones – and I had no idea how to live as one. So I relied on him for a while, until I knew enough to make it out on my own.”
König hummed in thought. Despite the initial desire to snatch you himself and have his way with you, his fists clenched at the thought of you being dragged around by the warlock. This life wasn’t one you had chosen, and yet the very person who had forced it upon you was killing you for it. It made something within him boil, something deep and buried, that he had thought had been tucked away for good.
You didn’t deserve any of this. He was fighting with himself in that moment, but the desire to show you what you should have been given was consuming him. He wanted to tell you that he knew what it was to be an outcast, he knew what it was like to feel lonely and crave being alone at the same time. To wish that you had the power to hurt anyone you deemed deserving of it, yet to have that someone who would never hurt you.
He would do it. He would be that person for you, he would be the one to kill for you. He knew he was getting ahead of himself – after all, he was hired to kill, you, not fall for you. And he knew it was just another one of his delusional fantasies… but he couldn’t help himself. You were like him, which was something that he had not yet been able to find. Something primal in him told him to sink his teeth in, to hold onto you until you stopped your struggling and realized that this would be good, for the both of you.
He was insane. But did it matter what he was, as long as he could give you what you needed?
“So, yes-“ you continued, bringing König out from the depths of his thoughts. “- I stole from him. Took the books he used to teach me, maybe a few ingredients for potions, a few seeds to start my own garden… but compared to what he took from me, I might as well have taken a loaf of bread.”
You stopped suddenly, and König came to a halt beside you. You nodded your head to the scene before you. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”
König looked ahead: the trees parted into another clearing, larger this time. A rickety hut leaned against a wall of rock, made of thin, birch logs and mud slathered on top to keep out the wind. In the center of the clearing was a large stone, positioned near a pile of ash and rocks. A log lay near it, possibly another place for someone to sit. A small garden sat closer to the creek before your hut – it didn’t look to be doing very well, but that was expected as winter approached.
By the creek, there was a large, twisted oak. Its roots hung directly off of the bank and down into the water. Its leaves had fallen to the earth and mingled with the rest of the foliage by now – the entire thing had crimson paths winding around it, hauntingly similar to blood-filled veins. Several pieces of clothing and fabric hung from the branches and swayed in the autumn wind.
As you marched ahead, placing your basket down by the makeshift firepit and disappearing into the hut, König took a few, cautious steps forward. He was both charmed by the simplicity of it, and despondent that you were forced into this lonesome sort of life. He wanted to drag you from this measly hovel and show you something better.
But how? He was no better off than you were. All his earnings were spent on a room at the nearest tavern and a decent amount of ale to help him fall asleep. He never cared about having a home, as long as he had a place to keep out the cold. He didn’t think it would be good enough to drag you back to the village and convince you to spend the night with him in a thin-walled, noisy inn… but, even if he didn’t end up killing you today (something that seemed more and more likely with each passing second), he refused to leave you in this hell. If it was a cozy cabin, built so far away from civilization for the sole purpose of privacy and comfort, he could understand. Maybe even plead his case to you so you would let him stay. But this – this was a last resort. A broken down spot in the woods that you made for your banishment, for hiding. This wouldn’t do.
Call him insane. Call him crazy, hopeless, sick in the head… maybe his desires were founded on the thought that he would give you what he had never received.
You emerged from your hut, the thin, wooden door clanging shut behind you. You looked at him with a puzzled expression. Why was he still standing at the edge? You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and made your way over to him, your hair blowing across your face.
He watched as you stopped in front of him, your brow creased with question. Your head tilted back to look up at him, yet any traces of fear that you had shown earlier were gone. You looked at him like you’d known him for the past hundred years. It made his heart ache within his chest.
How could anyone have painted such a wretched picture of the woman who stood before him?
“Is everything alright?” you asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Like I said before, if you’d rather we stay outside-“
König interrupted you, reaching down and grabbing the sides of your arms firmly. You sucked in a breath warily, but you were still not afraid of him.
“I- you-“ Scheisse, what is he trying to say? He wanted to take you away, he wanted to show you how similar the both of you were to each other, he wanted to show you what (he thought) love was – slow, gentle, possessive, and strong. He wanted to keep you in his pocket, both to keep you safe from the world, and to make sure you couldn’t be taken from him. He wanted you, you, you –
This is insanity. He knew it. But that didn’t stop the fire in his chest, and the questionable throbbing in his trousers.
You knew. Your eyes said everything as they softened, as your lips pressed together into a knowing, sad smile. Were you going to turn him down? Would you say that you preferred it this way, that you liked being alone and living like a prisoner on the run? You took his face in his hands, and he had a foreboding sense in his gut that you might tell him to leave.
Quickly but gently, he cupped one hand at the back of your neck and pulled himself down to you, pressing his lips to yours before you could speak. It was only right, he thought, as he held the kiss – you didn’t understand that he could help you, he could build the life you deserved and keep you safe from any other hunters and warlocks. He placed his other hand on your lower back and pulled you in, moving his lips against your own and praying you wouldn’t deny him.
Like an angel answering his prayers, you tilted your head and wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your toes and kissing him back. He tugged his teeth at your bottom lip, and you so graciously allowed his tongue to slip past your teeth, letting him taste you. He whined, flooded with relief that you didn’t try to shove him away and call him deranged.
His cock was quickly growing hard, but he ignored it. Right now, he needed to figure out exactly what he needed to say to make you-
A raven’s call tore through the air, piercing his thoughts. It was much too close than any bird would naturally be.
He tried to turn his head in its direction, but you dug your fingers into his hair, making him stutter and freeze on the spot. He grabbed your hips, about to pry you away-
You pressed your lips firmly to his, and he heard you faintly muttering incoherent words against him. The world around him was suddenly showered with colors: purples like the berries that had stained your fingers, oranges like the leaves that were scattered across the ground, silvers like the thick clouds that blanketed across the sky… The black spots on the birch trees suddenly blinked and flitted across his vision; thousands of them stared at him, and he heard your sweet laughter echoing in the distance as the world spun, spun, spun…
He felt the cold earth press to his cheek, and the last thing he remembered was a sickening ache in his stomach.
He should have heeded the sorcerer’s warning.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"… so gut, so Schön, genau so…”
... so good, so beautiful, just like that...
#konig#konig x reader#konig x you#konig x yn#konig cod#konig fanfiction#fantasy au konig#cod fantasy au#cod x reader#konig x reader smut#konig smut#konig nsfu
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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7
Summary: Eddie's past in Chicago is revealed after he reaches his breaking point, but he's not the only one facing a crisis.
Warnings: mentions of drug use/addiction, neonatal medical trauma, panic attack, mentions of learning disability, brief allusion to Kurt Cobain's death, Reader's grandma has dementia.
WC: 7.2k
Chapter 7/20
Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed
Divider credit to @saradika
Eddie was no stranger to bad report cards, failing grades, and dissatisfied teachers. You don’t fail twelfth grade twice without dealing with all three of those. He’d learned to shrug it off and move along with his day, mostly unfazed.
Those same things directed towards his son was a different story.
Ms. Marion’s words rattle around in his brain, wrapping around his lungs and choking him from the inside out.
Constantly interrupting
His heartbeat pulses in his ears, drowning out the background noise of other parents chatting as they wait their turn to meet with the teachers.
Incapable of paying attention and following directions
A bead of sweat trickles down the back of his neck to his spine, then another, until he feels his t-shirt sticking to his skin. Despite the stifling heat building up in his body, his teeth chatter together noisily as a deep shiver rips through him.
Socially and academically behind his peers
He knew this day might come; he should’ve been prepared for it to happen. Has he only been fooling himself, pretending like everything was going to be fine?
At this rate, he won’t be ready for kindergarten
Eddie swears he’s walking to the parking lot, one foot in front of the other, keys clenched in his right hand until he feels their serrated edges digging into the calloused skin of his palm. Yet he finds himself at your classroom door jamb, leaning up against it with a soft thud.
You’re struggling to stay awake after the long day you’ve had. You roll your shoulders, wincing as you hear the small pop. You’ve just finished the last conference with Frankie’s mom, Carol, and she was a bitch and a half. She’d insisted that her son was gifted and demanded that you recommend he start kindergarten early.
A noise draws your attention to the door, and you’re suddenly wide awake when you see who’s there.
“What’re you doing–hey, what’s going on?” Your curiosity morphs into concern when you clock Eddie’s ragged breathing and tear-streaked face. He’s repeating something, but his voice is so low that the words resemble a hum, and you can’t catch them until you get closer to him.
“Harris–falling behind–all my fault.” Eddie speaks as though he’s in a trance. His brown eyes are saucers, and more tears fall with each blink of his eyelids. “Falling behind–all my fault.”
You haven’t the slightest idea what he’s referring to, but you do know that you need to get him inside the classroom before anyone else sees him breaking down. You reach for his wrist, and he instinctively flinches and pulls away before seemingly snapping back to reality and resting his hand in yours. One calloused palm trembles in your smooth one as you lead him to the table where you’d just been speaking with Carol Perkins, only letting go to steady himself into the chair.
“Falling behind–all my fault.”
You take both of his hands this time, and he doesn’t draw back when you do. “Eyes on me, okay? We’re gonna breathe together.” It’s the same technique that you’d used with Harris on Halloween. In for three, out for three. Eddie watches you a few times before joining in, breath hitching slightly before evening out. “There ya go…here, let me get you something to eat.” You offer him a small, kind smile that he doesn’t reciprocate before rummaging through the bottom drawer of your desk and pulling out a little bag of mini pretzels and a half-pint of water. “These good?”
He manages a nod, eyes locked onto you even as he twists open the snack and absentmindedly pops one in his mouth. He’s still in a daze, but no longer at risk of hyperventilating. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” you cautiously ask, not wanting to trigger another panic attack.
A solid ten seconds passes before he answers. When he finally does, the hoarseness in his voice startles you. “Could you, um, close the door?”
“Of course.” The wheels of your swivel chair skid against the tile floor, but Eddie’s too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice. When you return to your seat, he doesn’t even register your presence until you say, “whenever you’re ready.”
“I, um,” he clears his throat. “I just had the parent-teacher conference thing with Ms. Marion. And, apparently, Harris is destined for failure, just like his old man.”
He relays everything the old woman told him; the racing thoughts all spill out like bees fleeing their hive.
“She starts off by saying that he’s already behind the other kids, which may not seem like a big deal now, but, apparently, it means he’ll fall farther behind as he grows up.” He gnaws on his lower lip and continues. “And then she said that him interrupting and not paying attention is because he ‘lacks structure at home,’” he adds with a grimace.
“But y’know what really fuckin’ got me?” he asks, rubbing his hands over his jean-clad knees until his palms are tinged red. “She said to me, ‘Some kids aren’t cut out for school, and if Harris is struggling with preschool, it’ll be a long road ahead of him.” Eddie’s eyes are shiny with the prospect of a fresh batch of tears. “What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”
You try to quell your temper for the sake of professionalism, but your boiling blood makes it almost impossible. “None of that is true. Harris having trouble doesn’t make him impossible to teach. And it doesn’t make you a bad parent.”
Eddie can’t manage eye contact when he says, “But what if I’m the reason why he’s having trouble?” His voice is so small that you can barely hear it.
“I’ve taught a lot of kids with a lot of different needs, and none of them–”
“You’re not listening!” Eddie slams his fist on the desk, rattling your jar of pencils, and you reach out to steady it. His eyes blaze with fury, but this time, it’s not towards you. “It is my fault, because I am a bad parent! I let this happen!”
You crease your brows. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” What, exactly, is his fault? What could he possibly have done?
Eddie shakes his head despondently. “I-I didn’t know…Harris’s mom, she…Christ, it’s a long story.” But you can practically see the words on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for permission to be spoken.
So you give it to him.
“You can talk to me,” you murmur, resisting the urge to grab his hand and lace your fingers through his. Just to comfort him, you tell yourself. “You can trust me.”
Eddie lets out a slow, low breath and looks up at the ceiling. There’s a long silence; for a moment, you worry that you’ve said something wrong. Overstepped your bounds. Harris technically isn’t your student anymore, and God only knows where you and Eddie stand.
Finally, Eddie begins to speak. “I met her out in Chicago when I was twenty-four? Twenty-five? She was a groupie, I guess. We never said we were seeing each other exclusively, but after a while, I realized that she was the only person I was sleeping with, so…” He shrugs. “A couple nights before my band and I left for tour, she told me she was pregnant. Too far along to, um, do anything about it. She apparently didn’t even think to test until she complained about gaining some weight and her friend brought it up.” His gaze shifts to the window over his right shoulder, and all you hear is the sound of his sneakered feet nervously tapping a fast rhythm against the tiled floor. “Look, I’m not proud of this, but I used to party. A lot. And at these parties, there were, um…”
“Drugs?” you supply before you can bite back the comment, clenching your fists at your side where he can’t see you chastising yourself.
Eddie just laughs, a throaty chuckle that escapes despite the seriousness of the conversation. “A shit-ton of ‘em. I was partial to coke; helped me stay awake when I wanted to crash. But I swear, I only used when I was partying. And when I found out I had a kid on the way, I stopped using completely. Cleanest tour of my life.” His lips turn up in a semblance of a smile that doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “Figured she’d do the same…she said she would, but…”
Your heart sinks; you know exactly where this is going, but you don’t dare interrupt him this time.
“I was at some dive bar in Cincinnati when I got the call that she was in labor; ran right off the stage and caught the first flight back home. I got there in time to watch him be born; and it was the best goddamn moment of my stupid life, until…” His voice breaks on the last word, and he can’t stop the tears from leaking out of his eyes. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. “He was six weeks early. Fuck, I shoulda known, but I was just so excited to be a dad. He was shaking so hard that his tiny little body was practically blurry, and, like a total moron, I’m going, ‘Is he cold? Does he need a blanket?’ No one would answer me; they just fuckin’ whisked him away before I could even hold him. And when they brought him back, they told me that he tested positive for cocaine and had something called Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome because of it. Said it can affect his learning, his attention span, everything. Kid wasn’t even two hours old and I’d already fucked him up.”
Your response seems meek; far too pathetic for the intensity of what he’s just admitted. “But it was his mom…”
He tucks his lips into his mouth, pressing them together until the outer edges turn white.
“Yeah, she was the one using,” he relents, but his tone is so thick with self-loathing that you couldn’t claw through it if you tried. “But where the fuck was I? On the road, thinking I could be a rockstar and take care of a family. If I had stayed back, I could’ve stopped her. I would’ve seen that she wasn’t just doing it at parties or shows; she was an addict. I could’ve gotten her help; I could’ve saved my son from being born a goddamn coke addict!”
“You can’t make someone stop doing drugs,” you say feebly, though you’re certain he already knows this.
“But I could’ve done something! Fucking anything! And it would’ve been better than not being there.”
You have to choose your next words wisely, mulling them on your tongue before talking. “Is she still involved in Harris’s life?”
He shakes his head forlornly. “I invited her to his first birthday party, and she came, surprisingly. All the way from Chicago. I thought maybe she was getting her life together. Then, right before we were gonna cut the cake, she came out of the bathroom with white residue under her nose. I told her to leave and not to come back until she got clean.” He barks out a gruff laugh, as though he still can’t believe it. “Haven’t heard from her since.”
You don’t know how to respond to this. It’s going to be okay seems too patronizing, because nothing about this is okay. I’m sorry? What are you sorry for? Harris’s mom is an atrocious excuse for a human being, and so is Ms. Marion? Kind of tips the balance towards the unprofessionalism you’re striving to avoid.
Eddie continues, not noticing your failure to respond. “The doctors would tell me that he was developing slower than he should be–walking and talking and stuff–but he always got there eventually. But hearing his teacher say that he wouldn’t…fuck, if that’s true, I’ll never forgive myself.” He puffs out his cheeks as he exhales; tendrils of hair flow upwards and flutter back down with the exaggerated breath, and you realize that he’s trying to ward off another crying spell.
You can’t remove the guilt that eats him alive, but maybe he’s not asking you to. “I’ve never met a more determined little kid than Harris Munson,” you say truthfully. “Name one time that boy gave up.”
“For better or for worse, I can’t think of any.” His eyes still don’t meet yours, but you see a flicker of happiness at the mention of Harris’s perseverance before his expression darkens again. “Call me stupid; that’s fine. But my son is gonna be better than I ever was.”
Your heart pangs with sympathy when he puts himself down. “You’re not stupid.” He bristles at your reassurance, puzzling you even more. “What?”
Eddie runs his tongue over his teeth. “That’s not what you said before.” The comment isn’t accusatory, just a simple fact, as though he’s talking about the weather. “On the first day of school, you told me to leave before I said anything else ‘ridiculously stupid.’”
“I just–”
“Look, I’m not saying the Cat-and-Mouse is the nicest thing to do,” he interrupts, cheeks aflame at the mere mention of it, “but I guess it really fucked with me for someone I…someone I just met…to call me stupid.” The phrasing is clunky and awkward, and he sinks his teeth into the tip of his tongue in a paltry attempt to stop the word flow.
You take in his shameful expression, mulling over a response. Knowing what you know now–that his little game was a poorly-designed coping mechanism after being put through the wringer–your comment was harsher than he deserved. “I was hurt, and I…I should’ve just said so. I don’t think you’re stupid.”
“Just an asshole?” He tilts his head, finally looking at you. The corners of his mouth turn up to form his first smile of the evening.
“Just an asshole,” you confirm playfully. Another silence fills the room, only interrupted by Eddie crunching on the pretzels you gave him. He’s nibbling on them from the outside, as though savoring each bite. “Mr. Munson?”
“Eddie,” he says, crinkling the empty pretzel bag in his fist and tossing it into the nearby waste bin. “Please, just call me Eddie.” Mr. Munson awakens memories of his father; specifically, the way the cops addressed him each time he got arrested for various offenses.
“Eddie.” Though you’d called him that on the night that you two had fooled around, the name feels foreign in your mouth. Too casual for what you’re about to propose. “Eddie, um, back to the stuff with Harris…” You swallow your nerves and push through, knowing that you need to do what’s best for Harris, even if you have to face his dad’s wrath. “If I suggest something, promise you won’t get mad.”
Eddie flinches, but not for the reason you think. No, it’s because he hates that you’re fearful of his reaction. He hates that he’s made you afraid of him. “Fuck. I mean, yeah. I promise.”
“What…what if we talked to the school psychologist about getting him evaluated for a learning disability?” The words tumble out, and you worry that whatever semblance of acquaintanceship will shatter, leaving you unable to pick up all of the pieces. And even if you can, even the best adhesive can leave visible fractures.
His jaw clenches; his shoulders draw up and biceps flex with a twitch, fight or flight instinct kicking in. This was a horrible idea; he’s already emotional from the conference with Ms. Marion, and now you’ve crossed a line. You’re so caught up in deciphering his body language that you don’t catch his softening eyes as he silently reminds himself that you’re on his side. On Harris’s side, at the very least.
“What does that involve?” he asks. It’s inquisitive, not judgmental, and you permit yourself a small sigh of relief at the narrowly-averted crisis.
You explain the process as Eddie intently listens, nodding to acknowledge that he’s following along. “Nothing invasive; just asking him questions and giving him some tests, and then if he does have a learning disability, we’d figure out what modifications we can make so he can learn alongside the other kids.”
Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, considering your recommendation. “Will they know? The other kids, I mean. Will they know that he needs, like, extra help to learn?”
“Nope.” You shake your head. “I don’t know how Ms. Marion runs her classroom, but I always emphasize that everyone learns differently anyway.”
He nods, drumming his fingertips on the desk in a rhythm you can’t decipher. “Do you think…if we do the evaluation, would he go to kindergarten on time?”
“Well, as a teacher, I’m not supposed to say. But as a friend,” you shrug, “I think it’s worth a shot.”
As a friend. A friend. Friend. The word reverberates around Eddie’s brain, replaying like a melody he can’t pause. But he doesn’t want to stop it. He wants you to call him your friend over and over again, enveloping him in your kindness, never letting him go. He wants to wrap his arms around you in a hug and bury his face in the crook of your neck, while he laughs or sobs or a combination of both.
Do friends do that? Or is that something more complex than he can allow himself to imagine?
Your voice brings his perseverations to a grinding halt. “And you can be there while they evaluate him. So he won’t have to be alone.”
Another nod, another pregnant pause. He twists his curls around his pointer finger, brushing them over his lips. “Could you come, too?” he murmurs, quickly clarifying, “for Harris?”
“Of course.” You agree without a second thought, watching as his body unstiffens when he leans back in the chair with a sigh. “And if you want, I could tutor him after school once a week. Catch him up and stuff.”
Eddie’s eyes go wide. “You’d do that?”
“Mhm,” you beam. It’s like cracking a complex code after aimlessly spinning the dial, hoping to land on the right combination of numbers. “Just…it would have to be at my place, so I can stay home with Grandma. Medicare only pays for her aide to be there for a certain number of hours. I’m actually paying out of pocket so I could be here tonight.” While you’d initially been annoyed at having to spend your hard-earned money just to talk to ungrateful parents, this time with Eddie has made it worth every penny.
“Yeah, no problem,” he easily agrees, starting to stand and brushing some rogue pretzel crumbs from his jeans. “Oh, um, how much do you charge? For the tutoring?”
At this, you giggle. “Eddie, you’re not paying me to work with my,” you lower your voice mid-protest, even though the door is closed and no one else is around, “favorite student.”
Eddie crosses his arms over his chest defiantly, denim jacket creasing at the elbows. “Well, I’m not gonna let you work for free, so name your price.”
“Fine,” you huff, feigning annoyance. “It’ll cost one…pizza.”
“Seriously?” Eddie asks, cocking an eyebrow.
“Seriously,” you confirm, walking to the supply closet and grabbing your coat. The inside of the sleeves are chilly, having not been exposed to the heat churning through the classroom, and the temperature shift makes you shiver. “Saves me from having to worry about making dinner. And Grandma loves pizza, so it’s one less thing for her to argue about.”
The arguments in question were still happening frequently, though her verbiage was decreasing with each subsequent spat. Last night, you’d told her that she had to turn her TV down so you could sleep. Grandma had repeatedly yelled “no” and “hate you” until you gave up and smushed one half of your pillow over your exposed ear in a pathetic attempt to muffle the sounds of the infomercials blasting from her room.
“I can do that,” he agrees, following you towards the door and stepping out of the way so you can flick off the light, plunging the classroom into total darkness. “Any toppings?”
You think for a moment, tapping your forefinger to your chin as your other hand rotates the key in the door until you hear the soft click of the lock. You twist the knob just to make sure, only turning from the door once you’ve confirmed that it doesn’t open. “Ooh, we both love olives. Get those.”
Eddie scrunches his nose in disgust. “I’ll do half olives, half plain, so Harris and I won’t have to suffer.”
You stop in your tracks. Eddie’s chest bumps against your back. “Oh, I…”
“Shit, that wasn’t an invitation, was it?” He’s blushing, cheeks turning a deep crimson at his gaffe. “Sorry, totally misread–”
“No, no, I’d like the company.” You’ve come to appreciate how much easier it is to navigate Grandma’s moods when there are other people around, but you can’t ask someone to endure that just for your comfort. “‘S just that my grandma…well, you saw her at the hospital that night. She says things that are mean, or inappropriate, or don’t make sense…I don’t want Harris to hear that.”
Eddie just laughs, waving off your concern of Harris. “He grew up around me and Wayne. He’ll probably be teaching her some bad words.”
“Oh, God,” you shudder at the thought of Harris and Grandma swapping swear words. “Then, yeah, I’d love to have you over for dinner. Are Wednesdays at four okay? We can start tomorrow, if that works.”
“Perfect!” Eddie chirps, tossing his car keys upwards and dramatically snatching them mid-air. “I teach guitar lessons, so Wayne’ll drop him off. I’ll swing by around five with the olive pizza.” His pronunciation of the topping is obnoxiously whiny and snide, and you roll your eyes, pushing open the main doors to the school while he trails behind you.
You’re normally not at work this late, and it feels almost unnatural to walk out to a night sky. Clouds obscure the stars, and the dim streetlights do little to pave a discernible path. Eddie seems to be walking in the same direction, and there’s a sense of comfort knowing that you don’t have to navigate the parking lot alone.
The volume of Eddie’s voice lowers considerably as he says, “You’re…you’re kinda the best, y’know that?”
“About time you realized.” You smile as the two of you approach your car. You slide into the driver’s seat, tugging the seatbelt over your shoulder. “Where did you park?”
“Um…” Eddie squints, pointing to a spot clear across the lot. “Right there.”
Your jaw drops. “Eddie!”
“What?”
“Why’d you walk all this way, then?” Your keys sit in the ignition, waiting to be turned over.
“And leave you to trek across this vast terrain all by your lonesome?” He presses his hand to his heart, staggering backwards until he bumps into another parked car. “Ow, shit. So, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yup.” And as he closes your car door with a small wave, it occurs to you that you’re actually looking forward to seeing Eddie Munson.
Elise wasn’t exaggerating when she’d warned you that Grandma was in a mood today. In addition to the usual song and dance to the tune of “those pills aren’t mine,” she’s insisted on changing her clothes no less than four times in the hour since you’ve been home, grumbling that every outfit doesn’t look right. As you wipe down the kitchen counter, sweeping crumbs from your after-work snack into the garbage bin, you hear banging against the living room wall. Never a good sign.
“Grandma?” you call out as you abandon your chore and start towards her. She’s struggling to hold onto the large painting of a sailboat that should be mounted on the wall. You get to her side just before she can topple over, grabbing the artwork from her grasp. “What are you doing? Why did you take this down?”
She looks at it–and you–with utter disgust. “S’ugly,” she mumbles.
There’s no sense in telling her that it was her favorite or that she picked it out herself years ago. Instead, you heave a frustrated sigh. “Okay, well, we’ll just leave it here,” you say, carefully leaning the cherry-lacquered frame against the wall.
“No!” She shakes her head, tousled gray hair brushing against the wrinkles etched into her cheeks. “No, no!” Anger creeps into her voice, and tears appear along her lash line. Truth be told, your tears are not too far behind.
“Look, I’ll just…turn it around. See?” You swivel the painting so it faces the wall; all that’s visible now is the sad beige frame backing. It’s hard to believe that she finds this view more appealing than the soft watercolor brushstrokes of blues and greens, but you leave it as is, until she inevitably demands to know why it’s no longer hanging up.
The harsh buzz of the intercom brings your quasi-argument to an abrupt end. You can hear some shuffling, and then an older man’s raspy voice instructs, “say who you are so she knows you’re here.”
“HARRIS!” The little boy exclaims loudly. “Oh, and my Grampa Wayne!”
The sound of his voice alone is enough to bring a smile to your face. You press the button that lets them into the building, quickly ushering Grandma into her room and putting on the Animal Planet. A rerun of Wildlife SOS blares through the TV, and you can only hope that Harris won’t be too distracted by the noise. It certainly beats being the recipient of one of her incoherent rants.
The frantic knock on the door ushers away your anxious thoughts. “Ms. Sweetheart, I’m here!”
“Relax, buddy,” the older man–Wayne–gently reminds him.
You open the door, grinning as Harris barrels into the apartment. His little arms wrap around your waist as he envelops you in a tight hug. “Ms. Sweetheart! I’m at your house!”
“You are,” you agree with a laugh, patting his back with your palm before offering your hand to his grandfather. “And you must be Grampa Wayne.”
The older man chuckles as he shakes your hand in his own calloused one. The whiskers above his lips and on his chin are white, flecks of gray stubble peppered along his jawline. “‘S nice to put a face to the name. All I hear about lately is how wonderful Ms. Sweetheart is.” He bashfully scratches at the wisps of hair that lay flat along the crown of his head.
Taking compliments is not your strongest suit, but you manage. “Trust me, I’ve heard some great things about Grampa Wayne, too. I’m just glad Harris loves being my student as much as I love teaching him.”
“Huh?” Wayne’s forehead crinkles in confusion before he catches himself. “Oh, yeah, Harris. Right.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, Ed’ll be here at five.”
“He’s bringing PIZZA!” Harris shouts, unable to contain his excitement as he pumps a tiny fist in the air.
Wayne shakes his head, as if to say, this kid. “C’mere, Har. Give me a hug goodbye.” Harris all but leaps into his grandpa’s arms, spider-monkeying his legs around his waist. Emotion wells within you as the gesture reminds you of the easy way love used to flow between you and Grandma. No questions or doubts about who you were or how she would perceive you in that moment.
As soon as Wayne leaves, Harris tugs on the hem of your shirt, peering up at you with a gigantic grin. “Daddy telled me that you’re gonna teach me again! But not at school.”
“Mhm!” you say, guiding him over to the kitchen table. You’ve cleared a spot for the two of you to work. There’s a stack of flashcards in front of your chair, and Harris eyes them curiously. “Those are gonna help you learn letter names and sounds. You’ll be reading like a pro in no time.”
He eagerly nods, flinging one little leg onto the chair and climbing onto it haphazardly. He’s facing the back of the chair with his knees tucked underneath him, and he shifts until he’s sitting on his bottom, eye-level with the tabletop. “I can’t see anything!” he harrumphs grumpily.
“Here, you can face me,” you tell him, holding the chair steady as he swivels around again. “There ya go. This works out better anyway.��� You tap the deck of cards on the table, watching as Harris kicks his feet in anticipation. “We’re gonna play a game with these,” you say, keeping your tone full of excitement. “I’ll hold up a letter, and you tell me what the letter’s name is and the sound it makes. And if it’s a little tricky, there’s a picture on the back that might help you out. Sounds good?”
Harris considers this, tongue poking out between his lips, and you can’t help but notice the way he mimics Eddie’s actions. “Can I see the picture even if it isn’t tricky?” he asks.
“Absolutely.” You shuffle the deck, making a dramatic show of closing your eyes and folding the cards into a bridge. “Let me give you an example.” You grab the card off of the top, the letter R printed in bold, black lettering. “This is the letter R. It makes the rrrr sound.”
“What’s the picture?” Harris squeals, clapping his hands together, the sound muffled by the cast on his wrist. When you flip the card around to reveal a cartoon robot, he cackles like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. “He has triangles for eyes! That is so silly!”
“That is silly,” you agree with a laugh, putting the card at the back of the deck and holding up the next one for him. “Okay, now it’s your turn. Remember, just do your best. This is just so I can see what we need to work on.”
He nods, sitting up straight as he reads the letter F.
“Nice job, Har! And what sound does F make?” This is more difficult for him, and he squints as though it will help him remember.
“Umm, eh?” He knows it’s not correct, and you watch as his shoulders begin to slump dejectedly. “I…I don’t know.” His lower lip juts out, quivering as he admits it.
You keep your tone light and breezy. “No worries! We can always look at the picture, and if it’s still tricky, we can figure it out together.” You show him the french fries on the back of the card.
“French fries!” Harris exclaims giddily.
“And what sound does french fries start with?” You enunciate the start of the words, but he still can’t seem to get the pronunciation. His breath hitches with frustration, chubby fingers digging into his tousled curls to pull at them. “You can ask me for help if you need to. That’s what I’m here for!”
His tiny “need help” is almost inaudible, head drooping towards his chest in defeat. “Everyone needs help sometimes,” you say kindly, pointing to the flashcard to draw his attention back to it. “F makes the ffff sound. Go ahead, try it.”
Harris emulates you, bits of spittle flying as he makes the noise over and over again. “This is fun!” he cheers, eyes widening when he comes to a realization. “Hey, fun starts with the fffff sound, too!”
“Sure does!” You raise your hand for a high-five, shaking it in mock-agony when he slaps it. “Wow, Har, you’re super strong! Okay, let’s try the next one.”
With a few breaks to release some energy, Harris continues stumbling through the rest of the alphabet unceremoniously. He’s definitely behind, you realize, but not so badly that he’s unable to catch up with some extra help.
“Only a couple more to go,” you assure him, presenting the card with the letter P.
“P!” he yells, a grin spreading from ear to ear across his sweet face. “An’ it makes the puh sound!” He reaches out and plucks the flashcard from between your fingers, turning it to see the picture on the back. “It’s a princess.” His eyes flit between you and the pink poofy dress-clad cartoon. “Me an’ Daddy think you’re pretty like a princess.”
There’s no time to ask for further clarification before a loud bang erupts from Grandma’s bedroom. You swear silently, somehow still aware of the four-year-old beside you as you dash to her door. Instinctually, you grab the knob and twist, only to be met with resistance.
“Grandma!” you call out, pounding your fist as loudly as you can. “Grandma, open the door!” You hear the soft, slow pad of her footsteps, watching as the door knob turns slightly before it stops.
“‘S broke,” Grandma says from her side, and relief temporarily floods your senses with the knowledge that she’s unscathed enough to get to the door.
“No, it’s just locked. I need you to unlock it.” Another brief twitch, then nothing. “You…you have to turn the little dial on it. See how it’s horizontal—um, left to right? It needs to go up and down. Can you switch it?” Jiggle jiggle, silence. No attempt to toggle the dial.
“Ms. Sweetheart? ‘S everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, honey,” you lie through your teeth. “Why don’t you go look at the pictures on the—”
BZZZT!
“Pizza delivery!” Eddie croons through the intercom. “One half plain, half gross—sorry, half olive—”
“Eddie!” you press your finger to the button, cutting him off more sharply than you mean to. “Eddie, my grandma locked herself in her room, and she can’t remember how to open it.” Your voice catches in your throat, and you swallow the lump in a determined attempt not to break down in front of your guests.
There’s a pause before his voice floats through the box again. “Gimme a sec.” That’s all he says before he’s gone as quickly as he arrived, and you turn to face the inquisitive little boy who remains glued to your side.
“Har, why don’t you go sit at the table until Daddy comes.” Thankfully, he doesn’t put up a fight, and you’re able to turn your attention back to the crisis. “Grandma, can you please turn the dial?” But when you’re met with another disheartening turn of the doorknob, you have to accept defeat.
BZZZT!
“It’s me; let me up,” Eddie’s words are straightforward but not brusque or curt, and you buzz him in without wasting any time. He’s at your door in a hurry, and you open it before he can knock twice. He’s got the pizza box balancing in his right hand and a small rectangular container tucked under his arm. “Is she hurt?” he asks, handing you the box as you lead him towards Grandma’s room.
You shake your head. “I don’t think so. She’s been twisting the doorknob, but she doesn’t understand what I mean when I asked her to unlock it.”
He nods, examining the knob for a second before unfastening the box’s latch and pulling out a tool that resembles a miniature hook. Splitting his stance, he squints and pokes his tongue from his mouth, just as his son had done earlier. Within seconds, you hear the telltale click of the door unlocking, and you exhale audibly. Relief floods your body as your shoulders untense; you hadn’t even realized you’d pinched them together. Behind Grandma, the TV has toppled to the floor, screen now resting on top of the beige carpet, but that’s the least of your concerns.
“Are you all right?” you ask her, checking for scrapes and scratches, but she luckily appears to have escaped unscathed. “How did this even fall?” You pick up the TV, wincing as you get a glimpse of the spider web of cracked glass right in the center.
“Dunno,” Grandma shrugs, moving past you to get to the piping hot pizza that you’ve placed on the kitchen table. She slides into the chair you’d just been sitting on, pushing the pile of flashcards away clumsily. “‘M hungry.”
You look at Eddie and Harris and muster up a smile. “Guess it’s dinner time! Oh, Grandma, wait for a plate.” You grab four of the plastic pale blue plates from the cabinet to set the table, giving one to Grandma first. You place one at the spot Harris had just occupied, and one in front of the third and final chair–
“Shit,” you whisper under your breath before addressing the boys again. “Um, we only have three chairs. ‘S normally just me and Grandma, and sometimes her aide–”
“No worries,” Eddie waves off your concern, scooping Harris up and resting him against his hip. “Harris can sit on my lap.”
“Or I can sit on Ms. Sweetheart’s lap!” Harris squeals, wriggling out of his dad’s grasp. “Or Ms. Sweetheart can sit on your lap!”
You cough as Eddie turns bright red, cheeks the same shade as the marinara sauce buried under a thick layer of cheese. He sweeps Harris on top of his thighs and snags a slice of pizza for each of them. “Uh, yeah, no,” he mumbles, taking a gigantic cheesy bite in an attempt to end the conversation.
Dinner goes as well as it possibly can. Harris asks to try an olive, promptly spitting it onto his plate as soon as the taste hits his tongue. Grandma tells Eddie no less than five times that she likes his shirt, thoroughly embarrassing you, but he just politely says “thank you,” each time as though it’s the first. At one point, Harris gives him a bewildered glance, but before he can say anything, Eddie whispers, “I’ll explain later, bud.”
The rest of the meal is filled with conversations about work and school. Eddie tells a story about how a customer came into the store completely frazzled after listening to a Nirvana album. “She thought it was about Buddhism, and was very distraught when she got Kurt Cobain instead. Guess she missed the whole…” He mimics holding a gun to his head, and you laugh at the crude gesture, slapping his hand out of the way before Harris can see. Luckily, the boy is too engrossed in dissecting his slice to notice.
Grandma retreats to her room as soon as she finishes her dinner, and Harris gets bored soon after, squirming to the floor and dashing to the living room TV set–now the only working one in the house. That leaves you and Eddie at the table alone.
“I can take your plate if you’re done,” you say as you lean over, scoffing when Eddie starts to get up and bring his empty dish to the sink. “Hey, let me clean up. You brought the pizza.”
“Yeah, because you tutored Harris,” he reminds you, swooping in to grab your plate as well. “So we’re even.”
“Even?” you ask incredulously. “After you rescued my grandma and kept us company during dinner? Do you know how long it’s been since I had an actual conversation during a meal?”
Eddie chuckles at this. “I think ‘rescued’ is a bit dramatic. All I did was unlock a door; not exactly superhero stuff.” He shakes his hair back behind his shoulders.
“She could’ve been hurt,” you point out earnestly, following him to shoo him away from the pile of dirty dishes, “and without you, my only option was to take a battering ram to the door. I don’t even know where I would buy one of those.”
“Have you tried Melvald’s? They sell everything there. ‘S actually where I got Harris.” Eddie teases, hand inching towards the faucet.
“Eddie, sit down and relax. Don’t you dare turn on the water.” Your eyes widen as he locks his gaze with yours, flicking on the spout indignantly and grabbing the sponge without breaking eye contact. “Eddie, I mean it–”
He smacks the sponge against a plate and harshly brushes it up and down, still staring at you. “Oops,” he deadpans, rinsing it and haphazardly placing it in the dishrack before picking up another one. “Oops again.”
“Give me that!” you charge over to him, yanking it away before he realizes what you’re doing. You squeeze the bottle of soap over the already-saturated sponge just to emphasize your point. “Go watch TV with your son and let me clean up.”
He’s quiet for a moment, leaning back next to you. The hem of his shirt makes contact with some water that sprayed out of the sink, but he doesn’t notice; if he does, then he doesn’t care. “I don’t usually have anyone to talk to at night, either. And with Harris–I mean, I love him to fuckin’ death, but a guy can only hear so much about the latest episode of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.” He clears his throat, but the words come out even softer somehow. “I like talking to you.”
The water runs uninterrupted by any movement as you look into his warm eyes. Flecks of gold punctuate the deep chocolate orbs that are drinking you in. They're the same eyes that you looked into on the night that he’d brought you back to his place. The eyes that shot daggers at you while he spewed venom at you in the music store. The eyes that could barely look at you when he’d somberly confessed his past, more motivated by anxiety than trust. The eyes that could flip your world upside down if you let them.
He lets his thumb graze yours as he grabs the newly clean plate from your hand, wiping it with a towel until it’s impossibly dry. You can’t look away from his lips, the way they practically scream kiss me. And you want to. Fuck, you want to so badly.
But you’re not stupid. Possibly naive, hooking up with him nearly three months ago and thinking it would have no emotional impact on you, but not stupid. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…
“Same time next week?” you blurt out, taking you both by surprise. It’s too abrupt to be natural, but you don’t care. You need to stop this before it starts. Again.
Eddie recovers quickly, though his nod is a bit delayed. “It’s a date. Uh, a tutoring date. For Harris.”
“For Harris.”
Harris is at your classroom door the next morning, knocking excitedly. “Ms. Sweetheart, I got something for you!” Digging into his backpack, he produces a plastic bag tied in a knot. Bradley’s Big Buy is stamped on the side, but the contents aren’t anything you’d find in the supermarket.
It’s a lockout kit; the same kind that he’d used last night to unlock Grandma’s door. There’s a note Scotch-taped to it, and you read it silently:
I hope it doesn’t happen again, but I wanted you to be prepared in case it does.
-Eddie
P.S. Don’t try to pay me back. It was much cheaper than a battering ram.
--
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#eddie munson#eddie stranger things#eddie x reader#eddie x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x f!reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson smut#eddie munson angst#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#fanfic#eddie munson stranger things#stranger things#tui
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All mine
-Plug!Eren x reader
Warnings: Fluff, Protective! but chill Eren, kissing, making out, drunk college people, unwanted flirting/touching, groping, f!reader, Eren beats up a boy for you
Summary: In which a boy named Floch won’t leave you alone during a party. You think Eren isn’t looking over you, but he happens to be watching everything happen. As he observes, he notices something he doesn’t like happen infront of him, that’s when he’s on his way to you, and making sure your okay.
A/N: you and Eren are dating in this one and are happily inlove
Eren knows his girlfriend is pretty, the prettiest out of everyone in the world. As in Jeans words, his girlfriend is a bad bitch. And fucking around with a bad bitch meant immature boys, not men, flirting with his girlfriend at parties. Unknowingly, he’s the one to sit and observe and step in once something fucked up happens. Which involves, touching his girlfriend in ways she doesn’t like.
As of right now, Erens sitting on a couch by the pool table accompanied by his friends, Jean and Reiner. The three of them, watch as another boy comes up to you, asking if you’d like to dance. Obviously you say no, in the politest way you could.
When you say no the guy, he gets defensive and accuses you of lying to him. That’s when you bring your hand up showing the promise ring Eren bought you for your one year anniversary which was 2 weeks ago. You loved showing off the ring, especially in front of guys who were trying to hit at you.
You looked absolutely beautiful today, and everyday in Eren’s eyes. He falls more in-love with you as the days go by. Even if he’s not the one to seem like it, the only person who knows he’s like that is you. His beautiful, loving, girlfriend.
“You letting a ugly ass boy hit up your girlfriend, Eren?” Reiner questions, holding up a red solo cup filled with hennessy. Swirling it around as he continues to watch you deal with Floch as he’s trying to get at you once again.
Eren shook his head, and lets out a half chuckle along with tsk. It’s normal seeing down-bad men go up to you, but it’s the same every-time. You deny them, and then you brag about how beautiful and perfect your boyfriend is.
“Nah, i’m just waiting to see what y/n does.” Eren spoke, putting away the stiiizy pen into his pocket. Jean whines as he sighs. The feeling of not having a hot girlfriend kills Jean everytime, especially when he would watch one of his best friends go through what he wants.
As the scene continues to unfold. You eventually get super disgusted and begin walking away from Floch, not wanting to be around him no more thanks to his inappropriate and desperate words. When he starts following you, out of Erens sight, that’s when he gets up from the couch.
“Aight, that’s when i do something ‘bout this shit.” Eren grunts, walking towards the direction you and Floch left in.
“Don’t kill him, Jaeger!” Connie yells out from the pool table, knowing that if someone was to lay hands on you shit would go down. And not in a good way for the dude that would be flirting with you.
From your point of view, you were getting annoyed. Pushing past many drunk college students who didn’t have the minds to comprehend anything wasn’t helpful aswell.
“Dude! just leave me alone. I’m taken!” You yelled out for what it seems like the billionth time at the male. Floch rolled his eyes and pulled you back, having a tight hold on your wrist.
“C’mon baby, stop playing so hard. Y’know you want me.” Floch whispers the last thing. Your heart drops when he pulls you in closer into a uncomfortable embrace, your hands were on his chest trying to push away from him.
He continues invading your self privacy by digging his head into your neck, kissing, licking it, all of the above. Tears begin brimming up in your vision when his hand slither down to your ass. You helplessly look around to room to see if you could find anyone that you knew, but no one besides drunk college students having fun.
“Yo, what ‘are you doin?” A familiar deep voice comes from behind Floch, sending relief into your chest. Floch immediately takes his hands off of you and turns around, slightly shaking at the voice.
Once his embrace let’s loose, you run out of his arms and head towards Erens, holding him around his torso as tight as you could. Letting a few tears go freely down your cheeks.
Eren places a kiss onto your temple, and rubs his hands up and down your waist reassuring you that you were okay.
“Go back with the others, mama. I’ll meet you in a bit hm?” He hummed, waiting for you respond. He used his thumbs to get rid of the last tears that left your eyes.
You nodded your head and kissed his cheek, turning your head to look at Floch’s shaking form knowing that he couldn’t run, if he were to then shit would get 10x bad then it already was.
“Thank you baby.” You mumbled to Eren once more before walking away from the pair. You knew he didn’t want you staying around for whatever was going to happen, therefore he told you to go ahead with your friends.
luckily, you had Erens jacket on. Even if you were shaken up, you found comfort in his warm puffer jacket with his scent dazing into your senses.
“Jaeger! I-I didn’t know that was your girlfriend..” Floch stuttered as the puzzle began piecing together. When you hugged Eren, that was when Floch swore his heart dropped to his ass.
“What a stupid excuse.” Eren mumbled before walking closer, throwing a punch to the boys nose. Everyone around Eren begins distancing away from the scene, most of them staying to record. Many screams were heard inside the room. That was the last thing you heard before you headed outside to meet up with Mikasa, Annie, and Sasha.
Erens knuckles began to coat with blood, Floch’s blood. Assuming it’s from his now broken nose, or his broken jaw. Just from a few punches, Floch is knocked out. He couldn’t even fight back from the sudden punches, and since Eren was stronger and on top of him. Making him defenseless.
A distant sound of Connie cheering Eren on could be heard from the crowd. Connie had his phone up with flash, yelling “World Star!!”
Befofe Eren could land a final punch to his already swollen and broken jaw, Jean and Armin appear behind him forcing him off of Floch’s beaten, and bloody body.
“Alright! You win Eren now stop before you kill him!” Jean pleads, noticing how upset and tense Eren was. Not a single scratch being left on in. There was a chance Eren would have to make another stop by the police station once again. But it didn’t matter, only if you were safe and alright.
“Yeah! You wouldn’t be able to see your precious girlfriend if you were behind bars right?!” Armin yelled out, Eren still trying to get out of his best friends grasp.
Erens breathing gets heavy, the sounds of people cheering him on continues and gets louder. He looks around to make sure your not in sight, he feels a little bit of relief once he finds out you’re not in the crowd. He knew you didn’t like watching something like this occur, especially if your pretty boyfriend was involved in it.
“You fucker, that’s what happens when you lay your dirty hands on my girlfriend!” Eren yells out to Floch’s unconscious bloody face. Acting like he was able to hear him.
“Fuck get off me.” Eren shoves off Jean and Armin from him, frustrated. The one thing he does is begin finding you, his precious girlfriend. Armin, Jean, and a few of his other friend trail along behind him.
When he sees you, you’re sitting on a bench by the lighten up pool, accompanied by Mikasa and Annie. You were looking down at your lap, admiring your promise ring that was on your ring finger.
You notice people walking outside in the backyard, making you lift up your head to see who it was. When you see Eren, you get up from the bench and instantly run towards your pretty boyfriend who has his arms wide open for you.
You run into his arms, his hands instantly wrapped around your waist as you hide your face into the crook of his neck.
“im sorry, ren.” You pull away from him to spectate his knuckles. The redness making you look up at him with glossy eyes, and a worried expression. He smiles in return, cupping your face with his large hand. Rubbing soothing circles to your cheeks.
“It’s okay, angel. As long as you’re okay.” He props two fingers to your chin and brings his face down to yours. Connecting your lips together, sharing a sloppy kiss. His hands move from your waist to under your thighs, signaling you to jump which you do.
Now your legs are wrapped around his waist, the two of you sharing a lovingly, kiss which led onto a small make out session with your tongues fighting for dominance.
“Thank you, thank you rennie. I dunno what i’d do without you, i love you s’much.” You slurred out as you pulled away from his lips, a string of saliva trailing between you both.
He brushes his hand through your hair, giving you a peck on your forehead then a loving kiss on your plump lip.
“I love you more, mama. I’d do anything for you. you’re all mine, forever.” He motioned to the promise ring that was on his hand, and on yours. Making you smile brightly.
#eren <3#eren x reader#eren jaeger angst#eren jaeger fluff#eren jaeger#eren jeager x reader#eren jaeger x y/n#snk eren#eren snk#snk headcanons#attack on titan#eren yaeger#eren headcanons#eren x you#eren imagines#eren fluff#shingeki no kyoujin eren#plug!eren#headcannons#emotional#eren angst#eren smut#eren x y/n#eren yeager#eren aot
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Trailer park Steve AU part 32
part 1 | part 31 | ao3
cw: explicit sexual content, smoking
"Holy shit," Steve gasps as he shudders through aftershocks. Holy shit. Holy shit. He's never coming alone again; wonders if he could get away with asking Eddie to record some sort of audio for future use, because- because fuck.
Eddie's incredible. Made him tease himself for what felt like hours — featherlight caresses over his stomach, his hips, his thighs — and when he finally let him come, Steve nearly fucking died. Supernovas in his vision, trumpeting angels in his ears. Alpha and Omega; the beginning and the end type of shit. His heart went all off rhythm, and his entire body shook, and that melted honey feeling crystalized inside his chest; a sugar cube embedded in the center of his heart.
"Holy shit," Eddie echoes on the tail of a breathless laugh. He looks just as fucked out as Steve feels, flushed and fucking gorgeous, and Steve hears him shuffling around behind him; tucking himself back into his shorts, taking off his ruined shirt. He wipes his sticky hands on the fabric then moves to clean Steve up, using his t-shirt as a rag; dragging it over Steve's stomach, his pubes.
Steve giggles. "That tickles!"
"You're welcome," Eddie grins. He tosses the shirt onto the floor, and Steve moves to take his off.
"Here," he offers, "take mine." The thing's rucked up under his armpits, probably a little gross from sweat, but he doesn't want Eddie to be cold, and he especially doesn't want him to get up to find a new one. Feels like he might evaporate if Eddie leaves right now.
Eddie pushes him back down gently, and when he looks at him, it feels... reverent.
Like adoration.
Sugar cubes.
"Nah, Stevie." He bends to kiss his forehead with a wet, playful smack. "You keep it."
Steve settles back between his thighs and peppers kisses over the tattoos he can reach, stopping at one he asked about earlier. The fluffy cloud, the sleeping fox. "Will you tell me about these now?" Another kiss. "If you want."
Eddie sighs and sits up straighter; lights himself a cigarette. He pokes at each tattoo in turn, the skin dimpling under his touch, and says, "Fox, and Skye. My half-siblings."
"You have siblings?"
"Sure do. Four and seven last time I saw ’em. And yes,” he adds with a smirk in his voice, “my mom was a dirty hippie, in case their names didn’t make that abundantly clear.”
Steve laughs under his breath. "I see why you didn't want to talk about that before."
He traces the outline of the art; thinks about all the other stuff he doesn't know about Eddie, about his life outside of school, outside of Hawkins. Startles himself a little with how badly he wants to learn.
“Son of a bitch…” Eddie whispers. He sounds like he’s talking to himself, and when Steve glances up at him, his gaze has drifted to the middle distance, staring somewhere past the mirror and the guitar hung on the wall.
“What is it?” Steve asks. A dark smudge of anxiety cuts through the afterglow. It's probably nothing, but three years of fighting monsters has set him permanently on edge.
“Nothing," Eddie assures, blinking fast to snap himself out of it. "Sorry. I'm just— just realizing they’re both way older now." He licks his upper lip; clucks his tongue. "Jesus. I haven’t seen them since ’79.”
Oh. “How come?” He probably shouldn’t ask. Feels intrusive and rude.
Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. “Oh, you know,” he answers, and his tone is flippant, swooping melody, but Steve can hear the vulnerable quiver lurking just below. The slightest tremor; a flicked bass string. “Pretty classic tale. Mom remarried, I was the moody teenage step-son getting in the way of the guy’s fresh start. Also,” he sucks in another puff of smoke, croaking on the exhale, “turns out hippies can be homophobes, too, so...”
“Wait, seriously?” Steve twists to sit upright, to spring into action, as if he’s about to— what, exactly? Fight the past on Eddie’s behalf? (He’d do it, for the record, but he’s pretty sure it’s not an option. Not unless one of El’s siblings knows how.) "Eddie, that sucks; I'm so sorry."
“Down, boy,” Eddie snorts, voice gone husky from the smoke. "It's fine; it's old news."
He clearly doesn't care to wallow when he just got his rocks off, so Steve eases himself back down; borrows the cigarette. When he hands it back he jokes, "Should I be worried that it’s, like, kinda hot when you talk to me like I'm a dog?”
Eddie hollers out a laugh, his head knocking against the wall, all those wild curls bouncing around his shaking shoulders. "Jesus Christ. You're fucking dangerous," he beams.
Steve smiles back; pokes the comic bubble on Eddie's knee. "You like danger."
"Little shit.” He rolls his eyes and smiles, softer now, biting it back. The cassette reaches its end. A peaceful hush falls over the room. "Yeah. I guess I do."
—
Later, when the moon is high and the weed's all gone and sleep tugs at their eyelids like a needy kid; when they're curled on their sides face-to-face on the bed, Eddie reaches across the gap between them and says, "Stay?"
Steve takes his hand; brushes his lips over bare knuckles. "Kiss me?"
"In the morning," Eddie promises. "If you still mean it, ask me then."
—
part 33
tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)
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Karma's a bitch
Hi. So this was a request from someone and I hope I did it justice. I hope you enjoy it. Also - side note: I'M SEEING THE LIONESSES AT WEMBLEY TONIGHT OMGGGGGGGGG
Barca Femeni x Reader
Description: R is a little shit and likes to play pranks
Word Count: 1.7k
To say you were a little shit growing up would be the understatement of the century. You were a terror when you first joined La Masia. A little wide-eyed 7-year-old with a talent for football and finding trouble – pranks, jokes, a never-ending streaming of consciousness as you voiced anything and everything that came to your mind. Everyone expected you to calm down as you made your way up to the first team, yet by the time you were training with the first team at least three times a week, you were still the mischievous, playful person you always had been.
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You lounged on the pitch, soaking up the last of the summer sun as you watched Aitana take kick after kick at the goal. She had just broken into the first team’s regular Starting XI and was determined to keep her spot – practising well after training. Unfortunately for you, she was your lift home. You had initially joined her in her extra training, but you quickly got bored and let your mind wander. You couldn’t anger her too much – she was your only way home, after all – but you could irritate her a little. Despite being a good few years your senior, you towered over her, and when she got annoyed at you, she just looked like an adorable little chihuahua – all bark and no bite.
You came to stand just behind her – way too much into her personal space for comfort, but you didn’t care. She didn’t notice you as she stood with her hands on her hips, analysing the video she had just filmed. Quickly noticing she wouldn’t turn around any time soon, you lifted your hands,
“HEY,” you shouted as you whacked your hands down on her shoulders. She let out an almighty scream, dropping her phone and clutching her heart.
“Quina merda de veritat. Un absolut idiota. Oh, Déu meu, estàs molt molest!” You let the angry Catalan words wash over you, well aware of what she was saying. It was nothing you hadn’t heard before.
“Your face,” you cackled loudly, pointing at her as you doubled over. Her eyebrows were pinched together, and her jaw ticked.
“Oh, Déu meu. You are such a little shit. Ugh,” she batted your hands away as you moved to pinch her cheek. “You can walk home,” she said in faux anger. That sobered you right up.
“No, Aita, please.” You rushed to apologise, arms wrapping around her shoulders as you forced her into a hug. “I won’t do it again, prometo.” You gave her your best puppy eyes.
“We all know that’s a lie.” Aitana sighed, loosening slightly and accepting your hug.
“T'estimo,” you said cheekily.
“Yeh, yeh. Tens sort que jo també t'estimo.” And you were lucky that she loved you. You knew she wouldn’t put up with half the stuff you do to her if she didn’t.
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Alexia had been raving about her new boots, which she was trialling. It dominated all her conversations for the past week, and you were very much over it. It was lunchtime, and you couldn’t stand it anymore. Sneaking quietly away, you found her locker and fiddled with the keypad until it popped open. Her sister’s birthday – what a sap. There they were in all their tainted glory. They did look like nice boots, to be fair, but she had ruined them with how much she had spoken about them. You took them out of their prized place and closed the locker again. Removing the laces entirely, you crossed the room to Mapi’s locker. She had been irritating you recently as well. Again, you fiddled with the controls until there was a faint click, and it swung gently open. Ingrid’s birthday - ew. You left one lace in there, making sure the signature colour of the fabric was visible from the outside before moving on. You put the boot in the bathroom between the stall wall and the toilet. The other lace was left in the gym, tied neatly in a bow around a machine part. The final boot you kept with you until you headed to the field again – leaving it at the bottom of the ball bag. You had ensured they were all easily visible, but trying to find all the parts would be annoying. You knew the trainers had seen you walking around the grounds with not-your-boots in your hands, so you were sure they could help Alexia if she asked for it. You snickered as you imagined Alexia’s face. You could see the angry expression and the harsh Catalan being shouted at you. It made you giggle immensely.
“Where are my boots?” Alexia asked when everyone re-entered the locker room after the break. You had the gym next, but most people wanted to change into looser clothing in an attempt to combat the Barcelonian heat.
“Are they not in your locker?” Marta asked, sticking her head around the door. “Huh … I don’t know then.” You tried your hardest not to laugh, but you couldn’t help the slight grin that appeared. Your fellow La Masia/almost first team friend, Pina, smirked at you. She had many times been a victim of your harmless jokes. She raised an eyebrow, and you just shrugged innocently in response. Alexia wandered around the changing rooms, looking in people’s lockers and under the bench.
“Ah ha,” she exclaimed as she saw the iconic fabric through Mapi’s locker. “María, how could you?”
“I didn’t,” Mapi put her hands up in defence.
“Then what is …” she opened the door to find just a singular lace. “this,” she finished. She sighed, looking around the room.
“Oi, where are they?” She asked when she made eye contact with you.
“Where are what?” You countered innocently.
“My boots. Where are they?” You shrugged.
“How should I know?” You had mastered the innocent façade. She huffed and restarted her search.
“Found one,” Caro called from the bathroom, emerging with Alexia’s left boot in her hand.
“Gracias, gracias.” Alexia hurried over and embraced Caro as if she had just found a missing diamond.
“Hey, Ale. Is that a lace?” Ana asked, pointing to the neatly tied material on the equipment she was about to use. It had been a good 20 minutes before Alexia was forced to give up her search for her missing boots and join the session. You had remained the picture of innocence – even going so far as to help look for them. Everyone knew it was you. Even Alexia, but you still maintained the act.
“Oh, gràcies a Déu,” Alexia sighed – closer to being reunited with her favourite possession.
It was just before the final session of the day. You were all in the locker room, grabbing your boots and refilling your water before heading outside.
“Where is it?” Irene asked her hand on her hip and an unimpressed look on her face.
“I don’t know … maybe it’ll turn up when we’re outside,” you shrugged – giving a slight hint to the location of the final boot.
“Ale, it’s outside,” Irene called, glaring at you as you snickered when Alexia ran out of the room.
As you arrived at the pitch, you saw Alexia hugging her boots, whispering to them like you would with a lost child. You crept behind her, jabbing her side and watching her squeal at the ticklish sensation.
“Eres una pequeña mierda,” she shouted as she tackled you to the ground, attacking you with her own tickle attack. You writhed and screamed, trying to escape the onslaught, but she was way older and way stronger than you, so you had no chance.
“Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento.” You gasped for air.
“You will be when I make you run laps until you collapse.” She said with fake anger. How could she stay mad at you when you laughed like that?
“Te amo?” You said hopefully
“Sí, yo también te amo. But you’re still running laps.” She said, tapping your head and getting off you, offering a hand for you.
“Fine,” you agreed as you stood up, smiling when she let you wrap your arms around her waist, and she kissed the top of your head.
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You watched with quiet pride as Vicky kicked a ball at an unknowing Ona – the ball rolling to hit the back of her legs.
“Aye,” she squealed, turning to see Vicky laughing her head off. Ona stormed forward before lightly shoving Vicky away, the pair laughing at their playfight. You were legendary to the younger La Masia players. Your jokes and pranks were famous, and the fact that you didn’t let up, even after you made it into the first team and became a regular Starting XI, was something they valued highly.
“Be careful; you might have someone come to take your crown,” Lucy laughed as you looked at her offendedly.
“Oh, please. Who do you think taught her? I am an icon.” You stuck your tongue out at her as you ran off to push an unsuspected Patri, making her stumble into an unamused Cata.
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You were sitting in the sunshine, arms tucked behind your head, eyes shut. It was your own mistake. You knew it – the younger girls were becoming more and more adventurous with their pranks.
Ice-cold water jolted you from your peaceful relaxation. There was a moment of silence before the team broke into hysterical laughter. You scrambled to your feet to see Vicky and Martina with the ice water bucket placed in between them.
“Oh, you fuckers. You are so dead,” you shouted as you lunged for them, only for you to be stopped by a smiling Marta.
“Dejarlas ser,” she said, offering you a towel.
“We just wanted to cool you off,” Martina shouted from her place of safety behind Alexia.
“Yeh, you looked a little warm,” Vicky added from her hiding spot behind Paños.
“Cuida tus espaldas,” you pointed a finger at them menacingly. “You have just started a war!”
“What can you say,” Mapi laughed as she passed you. “Karma’s a bitch.”
I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3<3
#woso community#woso x reader#barca femeni x reader#woso#barca femeni#woso fanfics#fc barcelona#woso blurbs#woso imagine#woso oneshot#aitana bonmati#aitana bonmati x reader#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas#vicky lopez#mapi leon#barcelona femeni x reader#barca fc#fc barca#barca women#martina fernandez#marta torrejon#caroline graham hansen#ingrid engen
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bodyguard or bestfriend! katsuki who practically lives in your personal space, he's only "looking out for you" and "making sure you're okay" he definitely isn't dependent on feeling your warmth against him, he definitely doesn't get antsy when you're not near him, not at all
Second time writing this, tumblr ate it the first time 🥴 but no because I bet he leaves his shit there and then forgets.i have so many thoughts on this
Katsuki has practically raided every square inch of his apartment. He’s checked every basket, drawer, nook and cranny of the place— and he’s found four pair of boxers. Total.
There’s no way.
A frustrated groan leaves his lips when he notices missing sweatpants. His face twists into a scowl while he shoves the last of his dirty laundry into the washing machine. He snatches the detergent and tosses it in, pressing the button and turning on his heel.
He storms out of his apartment and shoves his keys into the door, locking it. And you know something’s off the moment he arrives. He huffs and puffs like he’s going to blow your house down. All the while, you sit perched on the couch with a basket of laundry and a no-brain-needed show on.
“I’m goin’ fucking insane.” Katsuki grits, carmine eyes peering into your ceiling.
You hum and toss a pair of panties into a nearby basket. A sigh leaves him as his chest sinks beneath the black tank top.
“You always are— but why now?” You raise a brow at his glare, resisting a snicker.
Your fingers lay purchase on a pair of his sweats. Effortlessly, you begin to fold and separate the rest of the laundry. Another pair of his sweats are in your hands as you pause to look at him.
“Searched the damn place top to bottom,” a sigh “- can’t find my shit. Got four pair of boxers. I’m losing it.” He grunts with an exasperated groan.
Katsuki peels his gaze from the ceiling to meet your own. You begin to chortle and snort.
The pair of sweatpants in your hands meet his face with a dull thud. Without thinking, katsuki yanks the offending fabric away and growls.
“Oí, asswipe-“ The second pair meets his face before he can finish and it takes all of three seconds for it to register.
“.. why d’you got my shit?” He takes a deep breath, just like his therapist told him to, trying not to jump to conclusions.
“You always leave your shit here— I’ve got an entire drawer. You’ve even got a toothbrush and face razor in my bathroom.” You challenge, holding up a pair of boxers you’ve just found in the basket.
Katsuki blinks. He has been over a lot. But it’s only because you can’t take care of yourself— you’d die! The blonde runs through memories of cup ramen and expired snacks in your fridge and pantry. His eyes roll.
“Well, I need my shit, brat.” He chooses to say instead.
You glance at the TV to see two of the girls arguing over what food to have at a party. Typical, there’s always that one bitch who wants fruit at a candy land themed party.
“Go for it, it’ll end up back here anyways-“ you chortle and toss a pair of clean boxers his way “-you’re over five days a week.”
Ruby orbs narrow, brows furrowing as he takes playful offense to your statement. A grin plasters across his face and he leans in.
“Wouldn’t have to if a certain shithead could take care of herself, now would i?” Katsuki taunts and assumes victory. He looks proud of himself.
Your brows shoot to your hairline and you laugh wildly. The task at hand half forgotten, fingers reaching into the basket to grab a random article of clothing and throw it at his head.
“Oh please, you come here for back rubs and head scratches.” The teasing tone of your voice has his eyes rolling. Hard.
Katsuki looks down at the fallen fabric and snorts. Big hands put the pink, scallop trim panties in the basket to your right while he formulates a good answer.
You’re not completely wrong.. but you can’t know that.
“Nah I c’mere cause’ you’ll get a scurvy if I don’t.” He lies, grabbing a towel to fold.
Banter continues on and off through the night. He talks shit on the show you’re watching but gets invested anyways. Like always. A plate of steaming curry is served for dinner and afterwards you show him to the stash of his items stored away in your bedroom.
He grumbles and flushes a peachy tone, throwing most of the items in his bag. He leaves two or three pairs, though.
You get lectured again on groceries even though he’s the one that cooks. And, now? There’s a grocery list on your fridge that says “k: bringing order on Monday” in not too-pretty handwriting.
Katsuki finds himself basking in the warmth of your hands later. Pretty fingers rub his taut muscles and tug at the roots of his hair. Nails drag up and down, up and down his shoulder and back casually. He’s out like a light in minutes.
He wakes up and chooses to ignore that he’s already left another set of clothing in your laundry basket.
#he gets nervous two days later trying to go on a “no staying over streak#and ends up in your place anyways#[ best friend au ]#< ping ! >#[ katsuki ]#bakugou x reader#bakugou#bakugou x you#bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#katsuki x yn#bakugo x yn
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truth | dare nsfw 18+ bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader
It wasn’t just a game.
Eddie was convinced Satan was a woman, and she was spread before him.
How could you do this? Work him into this frenzy without an ounce of compassion in those half-lidded eyes. Usurping his bed, his pillows, his blankets, to make yourself comfortable while he slowly lost his mind. Wearing a sleepy–smug–grin and nothing else. Finding amusement in the way he initiated the position, on his knees, hiking your hips up so your ass rested in his lap, and your legs leisurely fell to either side of his waist; the rest of you sloped against his thighs, relaxed in the entanglement of sheets as if you were about to nap.
Three years. You met three years ago when you were the new girl in town, and chose to sit next to him in his second repeat of Chemistry, introducing yourself by complimenting the pins on his vest. For three years he could’ve had your pussy wrapped around him. Fuck.
Your tits bounced at each desperate up-and-down pass of his fist in his lap.
Dare. He knew he chose his demise the moment your eyes came alive, and you gave a pause before answering. Letting the realization sink to the pit of his stomach. Sending a throb of regret to his inflated ego.
Payback’s a bitch. “Just the tip.”
Just the tip nestled into the warm, divine entrance of your drenched cunt. Your climax still wet on his face, arousal smeared around his mouth. The attainable just out of his reach while he stroked his shaft at a dire speed.
“C’mon, baby,” he pleaded, clenched teeth exposed by the mocking grin overtaking his lips as he became more frantic. Nose scrunched with snark. Digging his fingers into the fat of your ass with barely contained composure. “C’mon, sweetheart–baby–love of my life,” he uttered in shaky huffs of sheer urgency, “I’m gonna need a little more than this. Dare me again. Please. Just a little more. I’ve been good. I’ll be good. Give Eddie a little more of this perfect pussy.”
You had a clever refusal poised on your tongue, but it died under the weight of his thumb.
“Suck it,” he encouraged, driving his hips up in a pathetic grind, seeking the slick friction of his cock gliding over your cunt, brushing the tip over your clit in quick bursts as you obeyed him. “Yeah, that’s it, use that pretty mouth of yours in a God-honoring way, and suck, sweetheart.”
The consequences of his actions went weak. Pliant tongue circling his thumb, practically drooling over his authority, desiring nothing more than to please him. Whining when he took it away, and leaned back. A single stroke of his wet thumb over your clit, and your hips were moving on their own. Moremoremore. Rocking up on his demand, and descending past the lipped edge of his tip. Watching his depraved hand guide himself deeper. Deeper. A little deeper, inside the place that had his head dropped back, jaw slackened, exhaling a moan of relief at the ceiling. Exposing all the vulnerable spots for you to admire from afar.
“I dare you to fuck me.”
He was on you. He wanted to be gentle and sweet and caring, but that nonsense went out the window at the rate of your hands exploring his back, holding him tight while you shared your first kiss to the vulgar smacks of skin-on-skin, fucking into you raw and unhinged.
“Fu-ck.” His feral pace had him tripping over the syllable. “Can’t last–long–like, like this,” he panted, followed by, “God.” You nipped at a spot on his throat that had him hooking his arms under your shoulders to keep you still. Eyes shut. Sweaty chests verging with each powerful thrust. “So close,” he warned. Voice husky with lust, whereas yours went higher. Beautiful airy moans. You clenched around him. Each drag along his cock was heaven. “Close. Oh, fuck–I’m close, baby.” Incoherent. “Close to cumming in you, baby,” he said, even as his thighs shook, and his tempo stuttered, and he grunted into the crook of your neck. Cummingcumming. All he could say as you embraced his body, and accepted his weight. Running your nails along his heated scalp, whispering praise in his ear.
“Truth or dare?” he sighed against your salty skin. You chose dare. “I dare us to do that again in half an hour. Wanna eat you out ‘til you’re begging me to stop, an’ then I’m gonna fill you, like I am now. ‘Kay, sweetheart?”
You pressed your forehead to his messy hair, and nudged him until he picked his face up from your shoulder to witness your lopsided grin. “Eddie, I’d make you breakfast in the morning, and it wouldn’t have to be a dare.”
“Deal.”
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson#stranger things#eddie x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie x y/n#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things x reader#stranger things x you
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comeuppance | qz!j.m. x f!reader
masterlist | notifs blog
pairing: qz!joel miller x f!reader
summary: [post outbreak] when your recklessness causes an arms deal to go south, joel makes sure you regret it.
warnings: (18+ mdni) qz!joel, age gap (late 20s/early 50s), written with hbo!joel in mind but with game!joel lore, guns, mentioned executions, misogynistic names outside (and in!) a sexual context, canon-typical violence as in murder (joel kills a soldier 'on-screen'), reader is a little shit but joel is worse, darkish & dubcon, spanking as a punishment, gunplay, attempted boot humping, degradation, humiliation, one kick to the cunt, mean!joel, orgasm denial [no use of y/n]
word count: 2.7k
a/n: this is my (admittedly late) submission for @iamasaddie's writing challenge 2.0! my prompt was 'you can't hide forever'. the genre was technically dark but joel himself isn't scarily dark here. thank you so much to aly for, once again, bringing this fandom together with her challenges. it's a steep task but she does a great job every time! and even more thanks to @joelsdagger and @lovesickonmybed for helping me brainstorm! (i have half of a brain without my wonderfully creative friends).
It only takes one deal gone south to fuck everything up.
You know the compass is already ticking that way the moment you and Joel, your longtime smuggling partner, enter the abandoned warehouse. Much like everything else in the Boston QZ, it’s falling apart. The corrugated metal walls are pitted with rust, and old blood is caked all over the floors. In another life, it might’ve been a slaughterhouse, but there’s no real way of knowing. It’s been long enough that any signage has deteriorated. The building’s state of decay, however, isn’t what messes things up.
It’s the singular man that walks in from the opposite side of the atrium.
FEDRA’s favorite executioner. Slitted eyes far apart, thinned out lips, and graying black hair. Rarely seen away from the gallows, only recognizable to you from all of the nightmares you’ve had of his face being the last you see.
If it were drugs, you’d think nothing of it. FEDRA soldiers buy quietly from you all of the time – but they have no need for guns that they don’t already have.
Joel steps forward, merchandise in the duffel bag over his shoulder, none the wiser. A knot ties itself in the base of your throat. You’re too busy trying to figure out what to do, what to do, what to do that you barely even realize that the soldier has a gun aimed right between your eyes until you’re looking right down the barrel.
Your hand jerks to your holster, drawing your pistol in one swipe.
“Drop your fucking gun!” he barks in your direction. It clatters out of your hands. “Don’t you dare fucking move.” Your hands fly up as you take a step back, nearly stumbling into a nearby crate. “Joel Miller and his bitch,” the man sneers. “What a lucky find. You two have quite the bounty on your heads.”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Joel says, face completely blank.
“Easy for you to say,” the guard says with a nagging smirk. “Your little cunt here already did. Pretty fucking dumb not to check who you’re selling your merchandise to, huh?”
Joel tenses, ultimately huffing through his nose. “Can we get this over with?”
“I’ll make it easy, Miller. Come with me alive so I get paid, or come with me dead so I still get paid.”
Joel’s fingers twitch behind his back, and after almost three years of working with him, it’s impossible not to pick up on the subtext. Keep him busy. His hand is already reaching for the revolver in his back pocket.
“Turn the other way. I can make this worth your time,” you say. “But you’re lucky if those sons of bitches you work for even offer you half the reward they’ve posted for us. Dragging the bodies from Area 5 to the closest checkpoint… you’d have your work cut out for you.”
“Yeah fucking right,” he spits. “You two have been running around free for too damn long. Causing too much trouble. Not anymo–”
The man’s mouth freezes around the words by the time the bullet soars throat the canvas fabric of Joel’s duffel bag and through the man’s jugular. The soldier’s hands claw for his throat while he gargles on the blood as he begins the descent to the ground. New blood, still pumping directionless from the split artery, joins the old.
Much like him, where he’s slumping against the ground, chest moving until the very end, your hands clutch at your own throat. “We need to go,” you say, knowing the rest of FEDRA will come looking for the firefight at any second now. Joel doesn’t move. “Joel!” You reach out to tug his sleeve, but he doesn’t react. “Jesus– move!”
Joel turns to face you, gun still hanging from his hand. His fingers flex around the grip. “What the hell were you thinkin’, little girl?” You can hear his breathing, amplified from how close he is to you. His once inexpressive face is now red, lips curled, skin tight like a crushed soda can.
“I– what?”
“Not vettin’ your buyers. First fuckin’ thing I told you all them years ago, wasn’t it? Gotta check so you don’t sell shit to the wrong guy, yeah?” He stalks closer to you – you stumble back.
Not vetting the now dead executioner, whose blood is currently creeping up to the soles of your boots. Your mistake, yes, a potentially catastrophic one that you’ll definitely never make again after this, but he’d been on your ass about finding buyers and after an entire day of burning bodies, the last thing you wanted to do was go asking around about the ‘John’ in search of guns that you’d talked to over the radio tower.
“We’re alive, aren’t we?”
Joel finally jerks his sleeve away from your grip. Your hand falls slack by your side, burning from his fire stoker touch. “And you oughta count your fuckin’ blessings for that. Dumbfuck of a girl, gonna get me killed,” he spits. Spittle flies across your neck.
You flinch – and not because you’re scared. You’ve never seen him like this before. You hear noise in the distance, the moving of FEDRA trucks, no doubt. “Joel! We can do this later – we need to fucking go–”
“Then you better start running,” he says gruffly.
You don’t need to be told twice.
You sprint out of the atrium, cursing as your bloodied soles carve tracks behind you. A stack of crates blocks the door, which you vault over and shimmy your way through the broken glass panel. The hallway ahead of you is dark, and you have no idea where the fuck you’re going, only that you can’t stop. Each impact of your foot on the ground is like being struck by lightning, carbonating the racing blood pumping through your body. More glass crunches behind you, and a shock of terror pierces you when you hear Joel’s snarls filling the corridor.
There’s a metal cart in your way, which you send whirling in Joel’s direction. He grunts, presumably hitting him in the stomach before it goes clattering on the ground. You make the most of the diversion, hurtling forward and lurching through a cracked door.
Dead fucking end.
An office, by the looks of it. Desks all over the place, leftover tasks still pinned on cork boards from outbreak day, chairs on their sides. You hear Joel huffing and puffing behind you, and fear forks through you. You fall to your hands and knees, crawling underneath the labyrinth of desks and tucking yourself against a wall, carpet-burned hand to your mouth to muffle your breathing. Your chest avalanches with every single breath.
“You ain’t off the hook,” Joel says, voice getting closer with every word. You can hear the thump of his boots against the carpet. See the spread of his shadow roaming across the wall. You squint through the seam of two desks. He's looking over his shoulder when you haul yourself across the room to the next closest desk.
You look around for anything that might get you out of this long enough to slip back out of the door. If you can make it back to the apartment, maybe he can cool off on his own walk back. You reach up for a stapler and take a brief second to peek over a filing cabinet before flinging it against the wall. It snaps open, spilling decades old staples all over the floor.
“Only a clicker’s fallin’ for that,” he tuts at you. His boots land on the floor again, one, two, three steps closer to you. You wince, balling your hands into fists.
All you can hear is the thrashing of your own heart. You scooch away from the desk – maybe if you throw something small at him, like a pack of sticky notes, it’ll be enough to abduct his attention long enough for you to slip by–
“You can’t hide forever,” Joel goddamn coos at you. You see him bending at the waist, scoping out the undersides of desks, seeking you out–
You crawl out from under the desk and book it to the door.
Stupid. Fucking. Idea.
Joel hauls you back by the belt loop, laughing as you cry out. You try squirming away, kicking at him, but his other arm wraps around your torso. It hits you then that you have no idea what he might do to you. You’ve trusted him with your life before, but what would he do when you risked his? You’d always been too scared to find out. He spins you, slamming you over the desk. You cry out as your chest meets the wood. His hand drags your wrists together, pinning them at the small of your back.
“Let me – the fuck– go!” you yell at him, trying to bend your elbow at the right angle to nail him in the chest.
He tightens his grip so much that you can barely move an inch. “Made your fuckin’ bed, gotta lie in it, sweetheart,” he tuts, shaking his head at you. His hand grazes over your ass, and you stiffen as he looms over you. He is just a man. Your mind spins to the worst-case scenario. No, no, no, no–
“How about an… old-fashioned corporal punishment to set ya straight?” Within the next second, he’s yanking your jeans down your thighs.
Oh. Oh fuck.
“Joel–” you exhale, breath shuddery. “Knock it off–”
“No panties? I was gonna be nice and spank ya over them…” Joel frowns at you. “Poor baby. ‘S gonna sting real bad.”
You snap at him, “What, you want me to go to the local QZ Victoria’s Secret?”
Joel swats, hard, across your asscheek.
You’ve seen how intense Joel’s brute strength can be. You’ve just never been on the receiving end of it. A cry pushes out of your throat, and you hunch over the desk as you struggle helplessly against Joel. Tears spring at your eyes.
Mercifully, Joel runs his calloused palm over the smarting skin. “Shh, shh, shh, shh. ‘S okay, Jus’ gotta teach ya a lesson. Make sure it sticks.” He strokes the nape of your neck as you whimper into the desk.
You tense up in preparation for the second hit, but, if anything, it just makes the impact worse. It prickles your other cheek, leaving your knees shaky. And God help you, your clit twitches. Twitches. Your thighs are already heating up, and you can’t help but squirm in a good way underneath Joel. A single tear slips over your waterline, and you have to tilt your head into the shoulder of your shirt to wipe it off. You don’t want him to see you weak – not that weak.
The next spank makes him grunt from how hard he swings his palm into your backside. “Joel!” you shout, pain nearly splitting you in two. Your feet raise off of the ground as you prop yourself up on the desk, kicking uselessly at his shins. All he does is chuckle at you.
Horror sinks like a cinderblock in your stomach when you realize that your hole, leaking slick, is practically fucking winking at him. You thank the darkness. It’s about the only good thing about this place.
“You don’t like that?” he mock-pouts at you. It’s enough to make you throb. The opposite, you’d say if you could.
A series of spanks follows, but at least these are lighter, and in rapid succession. Still, you jerk with each impact, squirming so that your fingers dance in his grip. “Stupid little girl. Thought you could sell our shit to a FEDRA bitch and get off scot-free? Really thought you could get away from me, huh?”
You try clamming up, desperately attempting to close your legs together. You squeeze your thighs together, relieved at the pressure – and then you hear a resounding click behind you.
You still.
Joel’s gun, still fucking hot from the bullet it’d fired right into the executioner’s throat, traces up the small of your back… all the way to your throat. “Could put one right here,” Joel whispers, more to himself than you. “Show ya what happens to girls that don’t follow orders.” He jams it into your skin, and you hiss at the pain, at the bruise it’s sure to leave. And in spite of it all, you fucking gush. God, you’re fucked up.
He wouldn’t kill you – he needs you more than you need him. But common sense isn’t enough to prevent the thrill, the arousal smiting your body from head to toe.
“I’ll reconsider if ya give it a kiss.” He nudges the barrel carefully against your lips and you stop breathing for a second, maybe two. “Go on. Give it some lovin’. Suck it like a cock. I know you’re good at it. Hear all the guys you bring over.”
You whimper at the thought of Joel listening to you getting your hook ups off – at the thought of him fisting his own cock while he listens. Obediently, you part your lips, slowly, ever so slowly, taking the gun down your throat. It fills your mouth up in such a strange way – all hard edges. It’d be freezing cold if not for the fact that it’s a weapon of death, a scythe in its own way. One press of the trigger, and you’d be just like the guard. You suck even harder at it, eyes rolling back in your skull. Your thighs twitch, stripes of slick running down your thighs.
Joel reaches between your legs, grabbing at the meat of your inner thigh to spread you open. Instead, he gets a handful of the arousal that’s been pooling between your legs since he first bent you over the desk.
You freeze, pausing your ministrations on the pistol. He himself freezes before he drags his hips over your folds. His finger pads hover over your swollen clit before he properly rubs you once, and then twice. Your hips cant into the closest thing – his hand.
Joel makes a disgusted noise and swats your leaking pussy before shoving you forward and stepping back. You’re panting, properly fucked out even though he’d barely touched you. Cross-eyed, tongue hanging out, face hot. He looks you up and down, brows furrowing with revulsion. “Horny fuckin’ bitch. Creamin’ all over me. That long since you got action that a spankin’ and a gun in your mouth is all it takes to get you riled up? Pathetic.” He shoves the gun back in his pocket, still shining with your saliva.
He wipes your wetness all over your leg, grabs the back of your collar, and drags you to the floor in one foul swoop. You fall on your hands and knees again, ass still stinging from his treatment, lightheaded from how needy you are. Even his brutal treatment makes you whimper.
You reach for his calf, pulling yourself up to brace your dripping cunt against his boot. You rut against it, not even fully cognizant of your movements as you roll your hips, praying that he lets you have this if nothing else. Your orgasm, wetting his boot thoroughly. Your scent, clinging to him on the walk back to the apartment. You buck into the boot, moaning as the toe bumps against your clit. It might be enough, if you could just do it one more time–
Joel tears his shoe out from underneath you, face pinched with aversion. “No!” you cry, still grabbing for his calf. You fall onto your back, legs spread and panting. Your ass needles from his spanking. The ceiling tiles spin above you.
The same toe you’d been humping kicks into your cunt, and you yelp, curling in on yourself. Another tear slides down your burning cheek as you reach down to cup your sore pussy. Even that pressure feels like touching a live wire.
Joel looks down at his shining boot and makes a disgusted noise. “Does humiliatin’ yourself always get ya dicked down?”
He turns around, already walking away from you without a care in the world. The gun grip pokes out of his pocket, taunting you.
“Pull your goddamn pants up and get a move on. Curfew’s soon.”
#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸#joel miller smut#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfic#joel miller/reader#joel miller fic#writing challenge 2.0
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to catch a thief
a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader
words: 3.7k
summary: (post-TLT, sea of monsters compliant/spoilers) The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. Your reunion with Luke is nothing you both could have ever expected. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)
a/n: we’re so back trouble!verse ;) sorry for the post birthday hiatus on this, hope you like it! crack banter but err... she got a lil angsty
(posted 3/22/24, semi-edited)
—
When you wake up to the gentle rolling of the sea, it feels like a comforting embrace in a distant dream. Tangled within pristine white sheets, you could smell the salt through the small opening in the bay window–though this was a far cry from a fairytale conjured by your mind. This was your reality.
You wouldn’t call it a nightmare per se, but the circumstances were definitely less than preferred.
This is not the CSS Birmingham. No, that went up in flames. Retracing your steps to what led you to this—cushy cruise line of a prison, you reckon it’s been a few days now since you’ve become a stowaway, or a hostage. You haven’t quite decided yet.
Gods, this is what you get for passing up on that summer research internship.
Dropping off Percy, Annabeth, and Tyson at camp was supposed to be a fun walk down memory lane—until meeting with your dad, finding out Thalia’s tree had been poisoned, watching Chiron get fired, and essentially getting kicked out by the troll of a man who originally got sent to the Fields of Punishment for marketing the taste of human flesh made you remember that nothing at camp is the way it used to be.
Not like before, when you and Luke used to run it.
Your dad told you to go home and wait till you were needed. Home. Driving away from it this time around was harder than you thought it would be. You’d never been the patient type, and to drop everything just because a god told you to? Hilarious, really.
But almost a week later, after rejoining your friends on an undead ship that you let the kids commandeer, your vital mistake was thinking that Clarisse’s quest would be a breeze. Rookie move, since the last one you were on left you as scarred as Luke was. Even thinking of him now, you run your thumb over the rough patch of skin on your palm.
At the very least you hoped Tyson was okay. The last memory you have of the young Cyclops was watching him from your place on the ladder as he stopped the engines from overheating. Maybe it was the ex-head counselor in you, or your increased threshold to pain, but there was no way in hell you were leaving that kid behind.
The sound of voices from outside your door gets louder now, your throat feeling like you’ve been swallowing wads of cotton and a persistent ringing in your ear that hurts just as bad as when you watch Chris Rodriguez walk in with a plate of food. The last one he slid through the door bumps against his boot, still uneaten and he sighs.
“So what, you’re on a hunger strike now? I forgot how difficult you could be.”
You bark out a laugh. Thankfully it’s loud enough that it almost conceals the rumble of your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you mumble, “Wish it could be an idiot strike. I forgot how much of a bitch you are when it comes to your brother, Rodriguez. How long are you going to keep me here? It’s been days.”
Your former friend rolls his eyes at your dramatics like he doesn’t hold the key to your freedom.
“Three since you woke up, actually. Come on, you’ve gotta eat, or I’ll get my ass kicked,” he grumbles. You raise an eyebrow at that, walking towards the window to dodge the uncomfortable tension that fills the room. He plucks an apple slice off your plate.
“He couldn’t splurge on a balcony view? Monsters aside, it’s not like you’ve reached full occupancy.”
“There are more mortals here than you think. To be honest, he was worried you would find a way to overthrow us,” the tanned boy admits, placing the tray on the dresser. It was always a wonder to him how you and Luke were more alike than you think, even now—even when Luke hasn’t come to see you. Talking to you reminded him that you’re both pains in his ass, and Chris was still unsure of who to be more wary of, but he’s been in charge of watching you for the most part.
“Well tell your stupid captain he has no right to be worried about me. I’d much rather try to jump if given the opportunity.”
There’s no response, so you turn to face Chris who’s eating a croissant with a bashful grin.
“Seriously dude?”
“Listen, I’m hoping if I think of the right words to say, he’ll come in and deal with you himself. Opposite sides of a war and you’re still both giving me a headache. Just like old times,” he chuckles, flakes of pastry dotting across his chest plate. Your mouth quirks into a bitter smile. Old times, when Luke would shove you if he couldn’t think of a reply fast enough. When you’d punch him to get your point across if he wasn’t listening. How a kiss could end any waging war between the both of you.
You swallow, turning slowly to watch your reflection in the glass of the windowpane.
Why hasn't he come to see you? The first day, you remember spending out on the sea—treading water with no land in sight, calling out to your friends until your voice went hoarse, but you didn’t cry. You know better than to show weakness now, even when no one’s around. Chris tells you over a gulp of orange juice that you washed up next to the Princess Andromeda on the second day like it was fate. Though fate was never truly that kind to anyone; it felt like it was laughing in your face. Knocked out cold for two days after, and ignoring all of Chris’s attempts to keep you alive in the days that followed, you’ve been in this room ever since. You barely notice Chris’s departure.
Entering the ensuite bathroom, you splash your face and sip on water from the tap before stopping at the doorway. A shadow flits at the seam near your feet, someone standing just out of sight when you peer through the peephole.
But you know Luke’s there. Sons of Hermes have almost undetectable footsteps, however, Luke walking in and out of your life for as long as he has—there’s no inconceivable way to not know him. Perhaps you couldn’t hear the sound of his feet, but there’s a way the wind shifts your hair, your heart slowing in ease at his presence, and the scent of him reminiscent of skin kissed with the peel of an orange. The skin you used to kiss and greet and know like your own.
The shadow fades just as your hand reaches out towards it, leaving like he always does. Always out of reach.
Even as the Princess Andromeda continues to set sail upon the calm waters of the Atlantic Coast, you look out to the unending horizon and still feel like you’re drowning.
—
“Status report, soldier?”
Chris rolls his eyes, popping the last piece of apple into his mouth as he strolls into the command deck. The both of you had a flair for the dramatic—it serves as his reminder of why you two worked so well. Luke is sitting in his captain’s seat, watching the waves crash against the hull as the sun begins to set on the skyline.
“She’s angry. Anyone would be if they were locked up like that.”
“Well, yeah, but tell me something I don’t know. Something useful, Rodriguez,” Luke says, flicking his pocket knife closed. It’s still sticky with the juice of the fruit, catching onto his finger. He hisses, but then the sound of loud footsteps boom down the corridor, along with the sound of maniacal laughter as the door slams open. The two sons of Hermes look at each other curiously, knowing it all too well.
“You know, the next time you send a 9-year-old to stand guard, remember to not make it the one we used to throw into the lake,” you drawl, sauntering into the bridge and looking around until your eyes land on your ex, “and also remember that you taught me how to pick locks.”
Ethan Nakamura heaves behind you, hands on his knees before he stands to attention and salutes his captain.
“Sir, I was just following orders… and I’m not 9 anymore!” he snaps, glaring at you. Laughing at the absurdity of the situation makes it easier to get through. You thought being surrounded by the undead on the CSS Birmingham was scary enough, but standing in a room with ghosts from your past was somehow worse. Honestly, you learned a lot more by being in that room than if you were to jump ship like you wanted to.
“I taught you how to tie your shoes, Ethan. You’re always gonna be a little kid to me,” you scoff, brushing him aside and walking towards Luke, “your new digs are fancy, by the way. I could tell by all the teenage soldiers chasing me through the tourists.”
He stands up and meets you head to head, as the both of you inspect each other closely.
It’s been a long year without you.
You look thinner. You’ve lost the softness in your cheeks and your eyes are tired. He wonders what you chose to major in, who your roommates are, if you still think of him with a smile on your face. You’re still beautiful.
“You know me, I like to travel in style,” Luke says offhandedly, a half smile on his face. For someone leading a war against the gods, he’s calm in your presence.
“Back when I knew you, we traveled in a tin can that we also called a car.”
His clothes are nicer than anything you’ve ever seen him in. He looks really fucking good, for someone on the run. It’s almost frustrating to see how brawny he’s gotten, muscles rippling as he crosses his arms. You suppose he has nothing to do now but practice and spar (that or he’s definitely flexing for you). Pulling at the drawstring of the joggers you wear, you realize his initials are embroidered on the pocket. Pretentious fuck. Did he change you once you got on board?
Chris and Ethan suddenly get the feeling that they’re interrupting something—a reunion in a blockbuster romantic movie they’ve seen the mortals play out on the ship deck’s projector on Friday nights. The two of you stand there arguing like a married couple despite the fact you are no longer lovers and the bickering continues even when more of Kronos’ army files in. You laugh again at the sight of children walking in—some strangers, others you’ve sung to sleep in cabin 11, all still children, even back from the time before when laughter didn’t have to have a reason, light and airy in the summer sun.
“You’re sick, you know that? Did you just plan to let me rot in that room until it was all over? You didn’t even talk to m—”
“Classic, you’re more mad that I didn’t talk to you over the fact that you’re a prisoner,” he seethes, but you don’t stand down—not now or ever.
“Prisoner? I walked out and none of your Boy Scouts could do anything about it!”
His face is turning red now, jaw tightening at the angst but deep down he misses this—the banter, the thin line between hate and love you both tread on. You may be a damsel. But you were not in distress. To further prove your point, you swing an arm toward one of the boys in black (their uniforms were annoyingly corny), and they all take a step back toward the wall. Your eyebrows furrow, “What type of prison has guards terrified of the prisoner?”
He shrugs, “It was only time before you came and found me. I even gave you a bay window.”
That was not the right thing to say.
“I’ll fucking kill yo—”
“Sir? So do we try and detain her, or….” one of the demigods you don’t know interjects, and Chris Rodriguez sucks at his teeth before he responds.
“Alright. We’ve seen enough of the show. Everyone file out and let Castellan reunite with his girlfriend.”
“GIRLFRIEND?”
“Girlfriend…”
The both of you look at each other, one in anger, the other in sheepishness now that you’re alone. It's even funnier that neither of you deny it.
“You left me there in that room, and by the sight of things around here you prefer being in the company of monsters than being with me, so by the gods, what do you want, Castellan?”
You fall into the captain’s chair exasperatedly, watching him watch you.
“I’m giving you a choice,” he says simply. “You can stay here with me, or you can go.”
“A choice? You captured me to tell me I have a choice,” you spit, as if that was the stupidest thing he could say. “You didn’t give me a choice when you left me.”
“It was a matter of the circumstances. And I didn't capture you—are you mad that I betrayed everyone or not, because I can’t really read you right now, trouble…”
Your eye twitches and your hands are in fists across your lap. Another wrong thing to say.
“Keeping me here until I get the nerve to talk to you is not a choice, asshole. Do you think you could just hide me away until the bad part’s over? To save me until everything's good enough for you?” Your eyes catch onto the droplets of blood that fall onto the hardwood flooring near your feet. His hand is bleeding, and like it’s nothing of the sort you reach out for it.
Luke thinks that if he lets you your hand will still perfectly fit in his, so after a moment, he pulls his hand away out of your reach. Pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket (also embroidered with his initials—note to self, never let a son of Hermes have money), you stand to wrap it around his hand to stop the bleeding. You pretend not to notice his heartbeat increase through the throbbing of the cloth.
“Don’t let my actions make you believe that what we had wasn’t good, trouble.”
“Stop calling me that. Why are they all scared of me? Why won’t you let me touch you?” you whisper, putting pressure on his finger until the blood clots. It doesn’t even hurt, to tell you the truth. Not touching you when you’re right here in front of him is a pain he can’t find the words to describe. But what he’ll never understand is that he’s right. You two were good together. You’d have him through the bad too, if only he let you.
“Because you might think you can fix me.” Or worse, you might change his mind. You don't have to say you love him for him to know it. A part of him wishes he didn’t have to do all of this to prove to you he feels the same.
“Would you have left with me?” he mutters. A wistful look cuts through your anger and he knows he’s finally said something right. His pocket knife is on the control board and your hands drop to your side again when you realize that he may have forgotten to tell his battalion of who you are to him, but he still remembers how you like your apples cut. The silence is loud, even with the twinge that comes with the pain in your eardrum as you sway a little on your feet. Your body still knows it can relax with him, knees buckling with a false sense of security despite your willpower.
“I would've made it so that there was no other option for you but to want to stay.”
A soldier bursts through the door and apologizes for the intrusion, but the both of you have found out all you need to know. The moment is over and Percy Jackson has been captured by the army in his efforts of trying to save the day. There’s a look shared between the two of you that wonders if this will become a trend.
—
Licking your lips as your…Luke guides you out onto the main deck with your hands behind your back, you can taste the salt in your air. It’s almost as evident as the surprise in your friends’ faces when they see you alive. This time, they don’t question your allegiance but in the chaos that ensues, for a moment, you do.
For a moment, you wonder what would change if you decided to stay with him. Would the sky fall under your feet? Would the gods kneel like Luke said they would? Looking at him in your periphery, you realize it’s not what the both of you want, even if it’s the easier way out—to be together despite it all.
The two of you against the world instead of the world against the both of you.
But he won't even touch you—he’s holding you over the sleeves of your shirt, too scared of what you’ve become in his absence. You suppose you’re scared of what he’s become too.
The realization hits that you could defect from your friends, family, and home. You could undo everything that you and your friends have worked towards. But nothing he can say will change the fact that he didn’t choose you.
Luke was right, then.
You did have a choice, one that he still forces you to make as you nod at Percy to flip his last drachma into the open water, opening a direct line of communication to your father to catch the thief—of both lightning and the beat of your heart, in the act.
You realize that if the gods were the least bit grateful that you’ve kept their kids alive for the past half-decade, perhaps fate would be on your side and Luke would still be yours. But life has a funny way of working itself out when Luke admits to the open air of another crime to tack onto his list.
“Kronos was right. I should’ve killed you, Percy.”
The son of Poseidon goads Luke into another duel and you survey your surroundings for a way out. Annabeth burns holes into the side of your head and it gets you thinking, moving faster than you have in days as you walk towards her and Grover. At the raise of your hand, the demigods holding onto the pair drop to the deck, incapacitated with illusions of madness they will never comprehend. The more of them that surround you drop like flies as Luke’s eyes flicker between you and the boy he has at swordpoint.
You’ve gotten stronger in his absence—you never needed to touch him to use your powers after all. Just waiting for the right moment to strike, attacking when Luke finally let his guard down for you. He cracks his neck, knowing you’ve made your choice, so he makes his.
“Get them.”
The monster scrambles across the deck but it approaches you first, clawing at the wood and barely missing your feet as you scream for help, defenseless without a sword and you hear Luke yell your name in alarm before a punching glove-tipped arrow sends it hurtling overboard.
Your eyes lock with his again as you disembark with the Party Ponies, you with your crew as he corrals the mess you made of his. It has to be the salt air that makes your eyes seem a little misty.
Your fates have always been tied.
You protect your home, and he does what he can to protect you. Luke looks over your form like he’s checking if you’re okay, even from a distance— and it makes you wonder if this is how it's supposed to be. Someone leaving, and the both of you apart.
It’s weird to be the one leaving this time, but it isn't as easy as Luke makes it seem each time he does it. You avert your eyes once you see him put his hand in his pocket, him finding what you snuck in on the way to the deck. Luke pulls out a leather bracelet with a black camp bead, the one he missed in the year he’s been gone. He rolls the bead between his fingers, the thing you last touched before leaving him, an emblem of his archnemesis and the summer that changed everything—the consequences of his actions ripping you away from him. When he slides it on his wrist, it lightly clinks against the hilt of his sword, the lone clay bead a force of its own against Backbiter's reverberating power. He feels nostalgia for what could have been crawling through him—though Luke supposes he’s always been too vulnerable when it comes to you.
Is this what you’ve been feeling every time he walks away?
It starts to rain after you leave. Luke watches his crew take cover from the downpour, running in all different directions to hide away from the storm that ravages the Princess Andromeda.
But he stands still, looking up at the sky and hating it for how openly it’s able to cry. Luke is far away from home again—from you and it makes him wonder how much longer he’ll have to be away from you when being with you is what he truly wants.
The mission continues and the ship keeps pushing forward even as the rain washes over him, soaking through his armor and straight to the bone. Raindrops pelt through every crevice, though this onslaught is much kinder, more gentle, even when it’s angry. He closes his eyes and lets it touch his skin.
For a moment, it feels like you.
—
A hand penetrates the tide searching for yours, gripping onto your unconscious one. He’s spent hours ripping holes through time to try to find you, an advantage given to him in a dream by the Titan. The agreement, what keeps him from not running back to you is that you live—and as Luke pulls you out of the ocean waterlogged and turning blue, he wonders if it’s all a farce.
Losing you isn’t worth the wrath of the gods if you’re lifeless in his arms like this.
He shouts your name, pumping your chest with his fists and breathing life back into your lips until you cough out saltwater, head lolling against his knee. Luke’s fingers stroke your hair, touching you for the first time in a year. As life slowly brings the color back into your cheeks he silently thanks Hestia for keeping your flame alight. His soldiers call out to him from the deck, and he steels his resolve as he rows the lifeboat back to the ship. Still, Luke has to uphold his side of the agreement.
He wonders if you’d stay. Even if he knows the answer, Luke wonders if you would ever change it for him.
—
And they tell me you are evil and I answer: Yes, I know. –Patricia Smith
½ luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri
#luke castellan x reader#trouble!verse#percy jackon and the olympians#luke castellan x dionysus!reader#pjo x reader
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