#be just like. a little fucking frayed. a bit on edge
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certain beloved members of vm and m9 are similar levels of morally ambiguous and unable to decisively deal with their personal shit that imogen temult is but only one them is constantly shit on for it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
#cr spoilers#vaguely? I don't even wanna tag that bc this is a little controversial in tone#'but imogen's shit doesn't make sense bc she has a support system and still refuses to deal'#liam obrien had an evil caleb playlist READY TO GO like????#taliesan has talked On END about how percy is a piece of shit#(affectionate)#god forbid the woman who had her entire life repeatedly wrecked from before the first episode and every five or so episodes after#be just like. a little fucking frayed. a bit on edge#also she repeatedly REPEATEDLY asked to just be told she was wrong all episode. she was BEGGING for clarity#not because she thought they were right. but because it's so hard for her to say that her mother is wrong#when she so badly wants to be able to save her and love her#she just wishes her mother wasn't involved how she is???#oh I'm sorry I forgot she's supposed to just. get over that. in a totally believable and human way#this is the closest I'm gonna get to Discourse bc it's not worth it but keeping these thoughts in my brain is abt to make me explode so#also!! this is not me shitting on percy or caleb!! they are also The Skrunkly of their respective campaigns for me!!#and I don't think either is a bad person!!!#I do think they were given more incentive to heal in less episodes than imogen has been given all campaign tho lol#also yes I know that people exist who Do shit on these two for exactly this#even with that it is not nearly what I have seen go imogen's way#also the universal queer sentiment of 'she tried to show me a world that was peaceful if only I went back to being normal'#I just don't get it 😭
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it's yearning steddie get high with the others and make out about it hours (smut-ish)
Eddie hates being reminded that making promises to himself, and only himself, is pretty much useless if the only person holding him accountable to stick to his promise is one Eddie fucking Munson. Because that guy can’t be trusted.
Especially not when it comes to Steve and his stupid perfect hair, his stupid perfect dimples, his preppy fucking everything, and — perhaps most importantly — the breathy note his voice gets when the boy replaces his beautiful piece of brain with Eddie’s finest weed.
Steve in all his sober glory is unbearable at best, sure, that’s old news. But high? When the pained frown he’s not even aware of until he complains about a headache smoothes out and the tension in his shoulders disappears? When his scars no longer pull at every movement and he can hold himself again in the way he used to before everything — broad movements with a clumsy little edge to them that have Eddie’s heartstrings play rope skipping with his sanity.
That. That’s it. That’s it for Eddie.
And it’s no surprise that it’s also what leaves him helpless in the face of Nancy hopefully suggesting they get high again tomorrow night; all of them. Offering Eddie the chance at getting to see that tension fall away again, and that pale smile be replaced with an easy, genuine, lingering one — dreamy and so fucking pretty.
Luring Eddie with the most beautiful insanity.
So he says yes, despite having promised himself that he wouldn’t. Not after what happened last time. With Steve all the way up in his space, brushing his hair behind his ear with wonderment, trailing his hand down that lock until he forgot what he was going to say. What he was going to do.
Forgetting, too, that Eddie was sober, because he wanted to watch Steve without getting caught — but Steve, all high and sweet and tactile, apparently decided to do the same. He looked. And touched. And smiled and breathed and stayed right there. Fingertips dancing around the frayed ends of Eddie’s hair.
Something shifted — first between them, then around them. And then between them again when Eddie stepped back and turned away, in desperate need of a cool drink to stave off the feeling of being caught, of being trapped, of being so fucking gone on the prettiest god-damn boy in all of Indiana. And of having said boy look at him like that.
They shouldn’t get high again. They shouldn’t.
But he knows it helps with the pain like their meds never do; he knows it helps Nance sleep better, breathe better, exist in this post-apocalyptic world that doesn’t even remember the apocalypse, whose only reminders lie in the scar tissue of some teenagers and some graves that nobody knows are empty.
He knows that if he says no, they’ll find someone else to provide; and he doesn’t like the thought of that. Not one bit.
So it’s not even the thought of Steve’s dazed little smile that gets him to agree, nodding at Nance with an easy smile, saying, “Sure, let’s do it.”
But it is the thought of Steve’s dazed little smile, his breathy voice, his tactile nature that comes out even more when he’s high out of his mind like he knows he’s floating and needs someone to anchor him, and the memory of that stolen little moment, that makes Eddie curse himself to all hells once Nancy’s blooming smile is out of sight and he’s free of judgment to kick the kitchen counter beside him with a hearty curse.
He can do it. He can. All he needs to do is not stay sober this time, take the edge off and get out of his head about all of this, because he’s actually far less likely to do anything stupid under the influence, and also not look at Steve All Eyes On Me Harrington.
Easy.
Right?
Totally.
Except, as it turns out, ignoring Steve is both easier and harder than Eddie expected. The thing is, he’s good at diving into any conversation with just about anyone, making it larger than it needs to be until everyone in the room will give him funny looks but still roll with it, because Eddie Munson is just Like That, right?
But Steve doesn’t give him funny looks. Oh, they’re far from fun. There’s something in there that reminds Eddie of a kicked puppy in those fleeting moments that he lets his eyes meet Steve’s, never letting them linger, never letting them take him in and hold him and bask in the sunlight that is stored in those… Those beautiful, beautiful eyes. And that pretty, pretty face.
A face that shouldn’t look so sad.
He wants to ask what’s wrong, ask him if it’s a bad pain day, ask him if he didn’t sleep last night either, or if something happened. But how is he supposed to ask, to let any words come out of his mouth, when Steve just won’t look away. When he’s looking at Eddie like that again, when the little something that has shifted between them suddenly becomes massive enough to steal all the air away from his lungs and make his arms tingle in a way that he knows will only get better if he gets to wrap them around Steve.
He can’t. So he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask. But he doesn’t look away either, and he knows he’s already lost. He knows he broke this promise he made to himself.
But it’s fine, maybe, if the slight twitch in the corners of Steve’s lips is anything to go by. Like he, too, wants to say something but can’t. Like he knows Eddie is the same. Like his heart is racing, too, and he tried not to look but they’re so stupid and looked anyway and now they can’t—
“Guys?” Robin interrupts their little moment, the bubble bursting with a loud snap of her fingers that makes Eddie physically flinch.
He looks at her, spooked to shit and gasping because he does not do well with sudden loud noises or the impromptu bursting of bubbles — not after everything that happened.
“Shit, sorry, oh my God!” Robin’s there immediately, reaching for his hand, Nancy laying hers on his shoulder, Jonathan making himself known with a gentle little, “You’re fine, man.”
Eddie regains his footing and breathes away the panic, thinking that maybe getting high today wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He hands Robin the baggie and stuffs his hands into his pockets, making himself a little smaller by muscle memory alone.
Steve’s hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades — reassuring and warm. Like a flower, Eddie rises to follow it. He catches Steve’s smile out of the corner of his eyes and wants to rest his face against it. Wants to feel it against his skin. Wants to feel it shift into something deeper. Something real.
God, he’s so hopeless.
Good thing that Robin’s got the blunt under control, because Eddie does not trust his hands right now.
They grab the snacks and drinks and head outside to where Steve and Robin laid out pillows and blankets on the lawn, framed with dimly glowing white Christmas lights that Robin insists upon whenever they do this. Makes it feel a little less fucked up for her. Like we’re doing this because we want to, and not because we need it to sleep or to cope with the pain or whatever, you know? Put pretty lights anywhere, and it’s a choice.
Eddie has to admit that she has a point there, but the truth is he’ll smoke anywhere, fairy lights or no. Although there’s something, a capital-s Something about watching Steve framed by a thousand little lights smoothing out the worry lines on that beautiful face and making him seem all the more angelic for it.
Eddie actually called him angel once — the first time they did it like this. Made Steve smile like nothing else Eddie’s said to him since. Or anyone else for that matter. If he were any better at feeling the ground beneath his feet and the air in his lungs, he’d call him that again. Make him smile like that again.
But the ground is shifting and air is always scarce these days, with Steve’s hands on his body so fleetingly, so accidentally leaving marks on scar tissue, making Eddie wish he could feel more of Steve’s warmth there.
Making him wish he could ask. Touch me higher. Lower. Longer. Make it last. Make it count. Let me feel it, just for a second. Let me feel it where they didn’t steal chunks of my skin and my soul and, apparently, my sanity.
Argyle is the first to spread out on the blankets with a hearty groan that leaves everyone with a fond smile, gathering around him in a semi circle of amusement. He makes grabby hands at Robin, or maybe at the unlit joints she’s safekeeping — but either way, she follows suit, cuddling up to Argyle and in turn making grabby hands at Steve, who does as he’s told and laughs in that gentle, melodic way that they so seldomly hear these days.
Steve’s eyes fall on Eddie then, but a surge of worry and panic overcomes him, half expecting Steve to follow Robbie’s and Argyle’s example and reach for Eddie next. Or not reach for him. Either way, Eddie doesn’t want to find out, his heart beating in his chest at the endless possibilities stowed away in his overactive imagination. Instead of waiting for Steve’s next move, he sits down right here at the opposite end of the blanket, reaching for one of the pillows so he can hug it to his chest and have something to hold on to, just to keep his hands busy.
“Just don’t crush the goods there, birdie,” he grins, watching Nancy and Johnathan find a place to sit, too. He scoots over to make room for them, moving further from Steve in the process and feeling the distance in his chest. It’s so stupid. Fucked up, really.
“Oh, the goods are plenty safe, my dude,” Argyle says, earning himself a giggly groan from Robin that sounds a lot like, Gross!
Jonathan throws a pillow in Argyle’s face, which he deftly catches with just as salacious a grin.
Eddie tunes them out for a moment as he catches Steve’s eyes boring into him. He cocks an eyebrow and inclines his head, silently asking him what’s up in way less magical a way than he has with Robin.
He doesn’t really expect Steve to react in any way other than maybe a shrug or a brief, reassuring smile that really has no meaning other than, I’m fine, except for all the ways you know I’m not.
But Steve doesn’t smile. And he doesn’t shrug. He keeps his eyes on Eddie and fucking pouts. Looks like he’s not even aware of it, his eyes a little glazed already, seeming far away. Far away and right here and looking so fucking sad about it. About the few feet between them and Eddie being all the way over there.
It’s a bit like the moment they shared earlier, with Steve looking so sad and Eddie wanting to do something about it. He couldn’t then. But now…
Eddie’s breath hitches a little as he mirrors Steve’s position, falling backwards and leaning on his elbows., never once dropping his eyes. Stretching out his legs until he can nudge Steve’s ankle with his foot. Watching as those eyes snap down to the briefest contact in surprise, watching as Steve looks caught. And watching, too, as his lips twitch and his foot slowly, incrementally moves closer to Eddie’s like he can’t help it. Like he needs to touch him. Always, always needs to touch him.
And Eddie can feel it there, so he doesn’t move away. He wants to hold his hand, wants to run his fingers through his hair and for Steve to do the same. He wants to breathe him in, wants to live in a Steve-filled world and feel welcomed in it.
But he can’t. Because they’re not like that. And because this moment is not like that. And Steve is… Well, he is like that, he’s pretty sure. But maybe not for Eddie. Maybe not like that.
Steve’s foot is warm against his, pristine white baseball socks so stark a contrast against Eddie’s; threadbare and black, with more holes than fabric these days. He can’t really help the wave of embarrassment that washes over him, or the urge to pull back his feet and hide them in his shoes again. Sacrifice the warmth for safety.
But then Steve seems to notice just a second after Eddie does, and he smiles. Huffs a little with it, like it just bubbles out of him. Eddie wants to lean across the blanket and chase it. Chase the fondness and keep it there forever.
And that’s another thing about Steve that is so very fucked up: he doesn’t let Eddie hide. He doesn’t let him trade warmth for security, because — smile in place — Steve slowly moves his feet along the side of Eddie’s like he’s playing fucking Connect the Dots with the holes in his socks. It’s ridiculous.
It’s ridiculous, and Eddie is helpless. He’s so gone, a hundred percent. He’s so fucked up over that silly boy and the way he smiles at the most lamest of things.
It’s not his fault that he leaves his feet where they are, the warmth of Steve’s slow, teasing touch shooting electricity up his legs that leaves him with goosebumps and a sudden case of uncomfortably tight jeans.
He’s glad there’s still a pillow in his lap. And he’s glad, too, that the night is dark enough, the fairy lights not bright enough, to reveal the flush rising to his cheeks as it feels like the bravest thing he’s ever done stay like this. To have Steve looking at him like this. Eyes hooded and intense. Like he sees right through Eddie. Like he likes what he sees.
With a dull click, Robin’s Zippo pulls him back to reality in what must be the gentlest of ways, and Eddie manages a smile as he watches her gently place the doobie between Steve’s lips before she lights it, one hand on his cheek. Their faces light up, leaving the rest of the world in the dark, and Eddie is struck with how good they are together.
There’s something in the way she lights the joint for him, some kind of love language from the girl who burnt down the hell dimension below them and left it in ashes, and the boy who held her hand through it.
She holds his eyes as the flame dies and something passes between them as Steve slowly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Takes that first hit.
Eddie’s smile falters as he watches, the glowing cherry coming to life and lighting up Steve’s face, revealing that relaxed little smile on his lips as he holds it in for five, six, seven before exhaling around it in a slow, drawn-out way. He blows it in Robin’s face like he always does, and Robin laughs and shoves him back, like she always does.
And Eddie wants to trade her place. Like he always does. Eyes transfixed on Steve as he takes the next hit and pulls the joint from between his lips. Holding his breath again. And Eddie wants to be held like that. Wants to fill Steve’s lungs like that, wants to leave an aftertaste that is both sweeter and biting as he does to Steve what that first hit does to him. Leaving him all soft and gentle and so, so at ease, his eyes droopy and all those lines of pain and worry smoothed out by him. Eddie. On his lips. In his mouth. Fuck, anywhere, really. Everywhere.
He follows Steve on his exhale, his head getting a little dizzy with the lack of air, but still he is slow to breathe in again. It feels strangely intimate, watching him like this. Watching as that tension falls away and he hums a little around the bud — relaxed and relieved and appreciative. It feels like they’re the only people left in this town, in this state, maybe in the whole world.
Eddie wants to stay alone like this forever, chase Steve’s breath and wish it would hit his face like that, caress his cheeks until the air around them claims it and erases all traces of Steve; but not from Eddie’s skin. Never from his skin.
But they’re not alone. And Steve opens his eyes. And Eddie is caught.
Still he doesn’t move, doesn’t look away as Steve blows out the smoke, sweet and earthy in the air between them as it slowly finds its way to him across the blanket. He imagines that he can feel it as the smell grows stronger, imagines the smoke to feel warm against his cheek as he breathes it all in, holding those hazel eyes in the dark that refuse to look away from him.
It’s like that moment the other day in Steve’s kitchen when he was so close Eddie could smell all of him, frozen as he was, rooted to the spot — too scared to move and reveal himself, reveal all of himself, all the ugly truths and dreams. His wishes. His desires.
Why do you keep looking? Eddie wants to ask. What are you looking to find? Am I just an experiment to you, are you looking at yourself through my eyes? Say something. Anything.
But Steve doesn’t. He never does. Steve Harrington isn’t really the type to just say what’s on his mind, too used to Robin by his side to just read it all and react in her own way. Too used to Dustin, who’d do the talking for him. Too used to just letting his eyes, his arms, his posture convey his message.
Too used to people knowing him. Getting a good read on him. But not Eddie, because Eddie never learned how to fucking read people like Steve Harrington cast in pretty light and relaxation. Angry, he can read him no problem. When he’s pissed, when he’s annoyed, when he’s sad. Tense. Worried.
But not this. Never this. This intensity, this steady gaze resting only on him. He never looks at Robin like that, and he doesn’t fucking look at anyone else lately.
It’s driving Eddie insane.
It’s too much.
He snaps when Steve passes the joint back to Robin, and sits up to pull his feet back to himself, covering them with his hands to pretend the warmth is still there. Frowns at the holes in his socks, feeling more exposed than ever. He curls in on himself a little, pretending to be very fascinated with a little thread that’s come loose in the blanket beneath him while the others hold casual conversation around him.
This was a bad idea. He’s so fucked.
Part of him debates if he should leave, if he should just call it a day and bid them goodnight. The other part of him wants to just close the distance between him and Steve and settle in beside him so the weight of that gaze won’t fucking wear him down any more.
But knowing Steve, that wouldn’t work.
Knowing Steve, nothing works.
Feeling pathetic and small, Eddie lets himself fall to his side, hiding his face behind Nancy, whose hand comes to rest in his hair, combing through it just a little bit. Allowing him to collect himself. This isn’t new, and they don’t really question when Eddie just randomly lies down anywhere, or if he just stops talking all of a sudden.
It’s why they do this, after all. No judgment. No questions. Just the sweet, sweet release of Mary Jane.
It helps, having her hands in his hair like this, grounding him. It helps, finding no question or worry in her eyes as she looks down at him with a little smile — her way of including him in the conversation. He smiles back, just a little bit, and closes his eyes to better focus on her hand rather than the moment. She chuckles when he begins to purr, and then the smile stays a little longer.
After a while, when she offers him the joint, Eddie shifts to lie on his back and gazes up to find the clouds have cleared and revealed the night sky behind them. It’s pretty, the summer sky, and he takes a long drag trying to think of nothing else. A hot wave of smoke hits his lungs, and it tickles a bit just like it always does, but the urge to cough it back out has been gone for years. These days, his lungs allow the warm embrace of the smoke and allow him to hold his breath as long as he wants, feeling a pleasant buzz after the fifth drag. It’s the good stuff after all. Munson’s Finest.
He passes the joint back to Nancy, too comfortable to get up and pass it to anyone else, trusting her to do it without complaint. She does. She’s an angel like that. Puts her hand back in his hair and plays with his overgrown bangs a little while Eddie just stares up at the sky.
Steve’s talking, but the words don’t really translate. It doesn’t matter, though. Just hearing his voice is enough for Eddie to sort of drift into a pleasant sphere of nothingness, his chest tightening a little with it. Always, always tight when he hears that voice. Like his heart has grown three times its size and his ribcage didn’t get the memo that Eddie Munson is hopelessly, helplessly, endlessly gone for a boy who refuses to look away.
The thing is, Steve has always looked. Always. Even in the Upside Down. The first time, and the second. And then, the third. And Eddie wants it to mean something. Wants it to mean everything, or at least carry that possibility.
But there’s no way to find out. There’s only him and the stars and Nancy Wheeler’s hand in his hair after his life took several wrong turns that left him with more scar tissue than skin these days, and the horrible realisation that, after the world ended and rebuilt, he can fall in love. That he can want. That he can have these cravings that he’d always heard everyone else talk about, wondering if that was just another layer of freak to him, or if he was simply Like That.
They’re lonely realisations, he finds. Alienating, in a way. Because not only does he not know how to navigate Harrington, no, he’s a riddle even to himself right now.
All he knows is that he wants to touch. To hold. To kiss. To crawl into him, on top of him, beneath him, and pull his own name from those lips in tiny little gasps that have nothing in common with the frantic gasps of panic after their first stint with the hell dimension. He wants a do-over. He wants a chance. A real fucking chance to have all these smiles, all these looks mean something.
Arm outstretched, he reaches for the blunt again, taking it from whomever has it right now, aiming to shut off his brain a little more. Not to suppress it, but to shut it off. Even if that means he has to finish this thing. It’s fine. They have more. They always have more, because Jon and Argyle have an unreal fucking tolerance.
With a chuckle, Nancy bypasses his hand and puts the joint between his lips and ignores his indignant hum.
“Treat yourself”, she says, her voice wonderfully slow and lower in pitch. “I’ll be right back, yeah?”
“‘Kay.”
The warmth of her hand leaves his scalp, and with her body gone — getting up in way too swift a motion even for sober people — the night air seems a little colder. Eddie shivers a little, refusing to look at anyone, and just takes drag after drag, deciding he’ll finish this one. It’s his weed after all.
By the sounds of it, Robin is already lighting the next one. Good girl. Smart girl. Best fucking girl in the whole wide world.
Thick clouds of hot smoke waft through his lungs and all the way through his body up to his brain, leaving his arms and legs with a tingling feeling and his head with a pleasant buzz and tunes out most everything else around him. It’s great. It’s good. It’s wonderful.
It’s why he doesn’t realise that the air is warm again and a body shielding him from everyone else until there’s a hand in his hair again. He opens his eyes to snark at Wheeler, but—
It’s not Wheeler. It’s Steve. Knees pulled to his chest, chin resting on top as he smiles down at Eddie.
Neither of them says a word, but Eddie’s breath hitches. Stops, stutters. Just like his heart. And yet all he can do is stare up. Wonder if it’s real. Wonder if it’s real.
“Is this okay?” Steve whispers, fingers barely touching Eddie’s skin as he sort of plays with his hair.
After a beat or two, Eddie nods, careful not to move too much. Careful not to chase those fingers and all the things they could mean.
“Good.”
And then Steve pulls the joint from between Eddie’s lips, and Eddie wants to warn him because this one’s close to the end and bound to be stronger, but it doesn’t seem to faze Steve as he just sucks in the smoke like it’s the first lungful of air he gets after a long day stuck inside. Smiling around the bud as it dies between his lips, he presses it into the grass beside him, extinguishing the last of it.
He exhales, and Eddie can make out a tiny cloud of smoke against the night sky, watching as it wanders toward him. He waits for Steve to say something. There is what feels like intent in the movements of his hand, in the sudden appearance by his side, and in the way he— he fucking looks at him again. The sky is full of stars, the backyard full of fairy lights, and Steve Harrington is looking at him.
“You okay?” Eddie asks at last, breaking the silence, wondering if his voice always sounds so small, so quiet, so endlessly tiny. Wondering if Steve even heard.
But he did, because he smiles again. He did, because his hand stills. Touches Eddie’s skin. His scalp, his temple.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, looking from Eddie’s eyes to his own hand with something akin to wonder. Or marvel.
And Eddie shivers again when that hand travels down. Caressing his cheek, definitely with intent. Electricity shoots through his body again, and the intensity in Steve’s eyes leaves him with goosebumps. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t dare. Barely even swallows as Steve bites his lip absently and moves on, trailing from Eddie’s cheek down to his...
He’s touching his lips, and Eddie doesn’t breathe. Steve runs his forefinger along Eddie’s bottom lip, and in another world would he open his mouth and nip on his fingers or gasp at the touch and be better at this, be so much better at everything. But in this one, he lies motionless as Steve just fucking… explores.
And his touch is so light, it’s so gentle, so sweet on the rough scar tissue, and yet so absent, it doesn’t have to mean anything. He could pull back his hands now and claim that Eddie had something there. He could pull back and live his life unchanged. Leave Eddie behind in this state of paralysis, changed irrevocably, and be safe.
But that’s not what Steve does.
Steve was never one to choose safety over bravery, and he has the scars to prove it now. The permanent stiffness of his back that barely lets him feel anything these days. The set in his jaw when he breathes through the pains phantom and real, the crease between his brows when the memory pains flare up.
But his back is hunched in comfort now rather than in pain, and his shoulders are at ease. His lips are lightly ajar around a barely-there smile, and the skin between his eyes is smooth. Eddie wants to reach out and trace it, wants to caress it in the hopes that it’ll stay smooth forever.
He’s so pretty. Golden light catching his skin in all the right ways, leaving him positively glowing with that look he gives Eddie. That look.
Eddie’s never felt so exposed. So vulnerable. Laid bare, ready for dissection and willing to be taken apart in the hopes of letting him find what he wants and take it. Rip it right out of his chest. Now that he has Steve’s hand on his skin in the lightest of touches that’s anything but fleeting, he knows he would let him take anything he wants. Knows he would be helpless to stop him.
Helpless in the face of that gaze that trails down to his lips now, if only to follow his fingers.
“Steve,” Eddie breathes, barely moving his mouth at all around that single syllable.
Golden hazel eyes flit back to his, and they widen a little. Like suddenly it’s Steve who’s caught.
What are you doing? Eddie wants to ask. What are we doing? Don’t stop. Never stop.
But words are for moments lighter than this one. Words are not meant for a world that’s changing.
Maybe that is why Steve puts his hand on Eddie’s chin, tipping it up and turning his face toward him in a gesture so tender it’s almost possessive. Electricity shoots through Eddie again and the air between them is sizzling with it, sizzling because Steve is moving, shifting, dipping his head, his hand coming to rest on Eddie’s throat to keep him from moving away — except there is no force in his touch, and Eddie could still run.
He could. He should, maybe. Like last time.
But he is suspended in time, chained to the ground by the weight of Steve’s gaze and the hand on his throat, and his heart is beating so hard, so fast, that he is sure Steve can feel it. Imagines that those fingers move to find his pulse. Imagines that they find their home there, imagines that they hear the tales of stolen hearts and desires that leave his blood rushing.
Imagines that Steve falters a little, hovering just above Eddie. Dreams of it all, dreams that this is real and that he can have this, just for tonight. He nods, and it’s a tiny little thing, far from enough to ruin this moment or wake him from his dream.
But then Steve captures his lips with such care that Eddie snaps back into his body and realises that this is no dream. Steve is kissing him. Hovers above him with one arm resting in the grass above Eddie’s head, his other hand pulling Eddie’s face towards himself and being oh so gentle about it.
A whimper escapes him when this new reality settles inside his body, leaving him reeling and pulled towards a world of possibilities as those lips, those warm lips, rest so indulgently against his.
No longer chained, Eddie carefully lifts a hand to Steve’s head, because Steve can feel him there, too, and because he doesn’t want this to end. Because he needs to touch. All night, all week, all this time he has needed to touch. To cradle. To hold.
To keep.
Steve hums, and those lips pull into a smile before closing around Eddie’s bottom lip. The first touch of Steve’s tongue has jolts of electricity and arousal zinging through Eddie’s body again, lingering this time and making a home in his legs that begin to tingle with want.
Eddie opens his mouth, tilting his head a little to get a better angle, and is rewarded with the careful, addictive touch of Steve’s tongue against his. It makes Steve smile again, just for a second — but long enough to make Eddie’s heart jump.
He chases those lips when they pull back, capturing them with a little hum as he realises he comes more and more unchained, regaining feeling and control over his body, his mind, his scared little heart. Steve doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, pushing Eddie’s head down into the grass again with an urgency that Eddie is beginning to understand matches the hunger he’s feeling.
The hunger that is reserved only for Steve. It leaves him breathless, leaves him with the sudden need to gasp for air, but then Steve’s tongue is in his mouth again and maybe he doesn’t need to breathe ever again.
He loses himself in the wet slide of their tongues that feels so sensual it’s almost obscene, and all he can do is tangle his fingers in Steve’s hair and keep him right where he is while Eddie himself lies boneless, all the blood rushing down, down, down. Every nip of Steve’s teeth as he devours Eddie so entirely and yet so innocently, so sweetly, so carefully, and every time he sucks on his lips or his tongue results in another wave of intense arousal. And Eddie is stuck in the riptide of it.
It doesn’t take long for the first moan to break the silence, a gasped little thing, almost like an afterthought, and he’s not sure if that was him or Steve; but he doesn’t really care either way, because he’s so hard, he feels like he can come from just Steve sucking on his tongue alone.
And isn’t that an enticing thought.
“Steve,” he whispers, not entirely sure what he’s going to say, or if that’s really all he needs to say. All that’s left to say. Steve, Steve, Steve.
The only response he gets is a breathy little, “Fuck,” and it sounds like a revelation. Like an epiphany. And Eddie wants to hear it again, wants to swallow all the little noises and murmurs and everything Steve will give him.
“You’re so—“ Steve begins, interrupting himself with another deep, hungry kiss. “Fuck. You’re…”
“Yeah?” Eddie counters, breaking the kiss by pulling on Steve’s hair a little. “I’m what?”
Steve hesitates, panting breaths dancing over Eddie’s skin and he smells so fucking good. Eddie wants to lick the aftershave and perfume and sweat off his neck and keep the taste on his tongue for days. Dark, blown eyes wander over his face, and the hand that was on his throat comes up to rest on his cheek again in a gesture so gentle that it almost gives him whiplash. The hunger is gone — or, not gone, but unimportant now.
Steve smiles, hazy but genuine and so, so sweet, eyes zeroing in on Eddie’s no doubt swollen lips.
“Been wanting to do that forever.”
Eddie’s heart jumps, falters, falls. Just a little. Just the rest of the way. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Wanna kiss you forever.”
“Yeah, well,” Eddie breathes, voice barely there because his breath has well and truly been taken away, and this moment feels so fragile. So easily broken by quick movements or thoughts that are just a little too loud, just a little too soon. “‘M not gonna stop you.”
Steve’s eyes snap back to his, and there’s something in there that not even the weed could ease away. “Yeah?”
Eddie nods, frowning a little, wondering what makes him so unsure.
“Cool,” Steve says, and it’s almost nonchalant and definitely charming in that way he always is. Makes Eddie laugh a little, his other hand coming up to wipe a strand hair out of his eyes. “So…” He trails off.
“Hmm?”
“Wanna stay here? Or go inside, or…”
And then it’s not arousal that overcomes him but worry. And guilt. And a bit of fear, because that’s not what this is for him. Not like this. Not when they’re high, not for the first time.
He swallows, schooling his face to cooperate and not give it all away right now, not give away how helplessly gone he is for that boy and how he would do anything Steve wants, how he would take anything he can get and try to make it be enough. But instead of choosing the easy thing and betraying himself, he moves his hand from Steve’s hair to his cheek, melting at the way Steve leans into it, moving his face to press a kiss to Eddie’s palm.
“Steve,” he says, and his voice is shaky again. And small. So, so small. “That’s not what this is for me. I don’t… I wanna kiss you forever. And more. Much more. But not… I don’t—“
“Not while we’re high? Inebriated?” He says the word with a chuckle, referencing the way Robin will always use big words when she’s hammered. There’s a gentle sort of understanding on his face after the chuckle, though, and Eddie melts a little again. “Wanna do it right, hmm? Wanna treat me right and make sure I won’t regret it, angel?”
Eddie whimpers at the sudden use of that nickname, because he’s not, but he does. He didn’t realise until Steve said it how scared he was — is — that Steve will regret this. The kiss. And anything that might follow.
Not trusting his words right now, he can only nod, wondering if his eyes are as blown as Steve’s are. If Steve thinks he’s pretty, too.
“God, you’re unreal,” Steve whispers, coming down again to press a kiss to Eddie’s forehead, brushing them down to the tip of his nose. He leans into those kisses, tips his chin up to chase it, but Steve pulls away again, his thumb tracing the pout he leaves behind on Eddie’s lips.
“You’re one to talk,” Eddie grumbles, watching the delight on Steve’s face and deciding that he’s addicted now. Fuck the weed, fuck everything else. Steve can get him just as high.
Along with that thought, reality works its tendrils into Eddie’s consciousness again, and he looks around the backyard around them — but there’s only him and Steve out here on the blanket, framed as they are by the fairy lights.
“Hang on, where are the others?”
Steve huffs, his face shifting into an expression of fond amusement and gentle annoyance. “Last time I checked, Robin and Argyle were raiding the fridge, Nancy was lying on the living room carpet, marvelling at how soft it is, and Jonathan was just kinda spaced out on the couch with a bowl of chips. Don’t think they’re gonna come out here again in the next half hour or so.”
“How convenient,” Eddie grins, wondering just how obvious the two of them had been all this time. Wondering, too, if it can really be that easy. If he can have this. If they can; after everything they went through.
“Hmm,” Steve hums, his body shifting so he’s half lying on top of Eddie now, positively vanishing any and all thoughts Eddie could have spared anyone else. He would worry about the hard-on he’s sporting, but it becomes obvious very quickly that Steve has the same predicament. It’s enticing, feeling him against his thigh like that, and Eddie has half a mind to do something about that, especially when Steve keeps shifting against him. “So. Do you wanna make out some more before we light the next baggie? It’s fine if not. We can just… I don’t know, cuddle or something.”
“Steve,” Eddie says, pulling on his hair a little bit to underline his deadpan. “What about I wanna kiss you forever was unclear?”
“Hey, I said that first,” Steve retorts, digging his fingers into Eddie’s sides, making Eddie squeal and squirm right into his arms. “I also kissed you first,” he continues, sounding so damn smug about it. Eddie’s never wanted to kiss him more. “So I’m winning.”
“Hmm, I don’t know about that,” Eddie murmurs, pulling Steve all the way on top of him, his hands finding his way to those magnificent thighs, so firm underneath his grip. “‘M feeling pretty lucky right now.”
“You think you’re so smooth,” Steve hums, dipping his head to hover just above his lips.
“Is it working?”
“Unfortunately.”
They’re both laughing when their lips meet again, but that doesn’t deter them from kissing and tasting and swallowing moans like they’ll find new purpose in each other. Like they’ve already found it.
Just like Steve’s hand finds his, weaving their fingers together and pressing him further into the grass. Eddie holds on tight, not ready to let him go anytime soon, and marvelling at how sensitive his hand has become.
There is no urgency in the way Steve slowly begins to move against him, grinding their crotches together in slow, sensual motion like waves of the ocean gently lapping at the shore. Eddie meets him right where they both need it most, not once breaking their kiss even when it becomes open-mouthed panting and moaning that the other is trying to chase and swallow and keep only for himself.
“You feel so good,” Steve rumbles, catching Eddie’s tongue between his teeth and pulling a high-pitched whimper from him. “So fucking good, Eddie.”
“Don’t stop, Stevie, fuck.” He’s panting, his legs tingling with want and need and a weightlessness he’s never known before. “I know I said— We can stop. We can stop, we can, but— fuck, I’m close.”
“Yeah?” Steve taunts, and oh, there’s purpose now in the the way he’s lifting his chest off Eddie, putting his weight behind the way he’s grinding into him. “You gonna come in your pants, baby? While the others are still inside? Means you’re gonna do this with me again later, right? Try again when we’re not high, hmm?”
“Yes,” Eddie rushes to say, working his fingers into Steve’s belt loops to keep him from stopping. “God, yes, I wanna—“
“I’ve got you,” Steve says, kissing the words right out of his brain, chasing his own pleasure, too. “God, you’re so pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, Eddie. Wanna come with me?”
“Uh-huh,” Eddie can only nod and moan around all the words he wants to say, all those cheesy fucking words that leave him all the more vulnerable for how true they are. The tingly feeling builds in his legs, climbing to his core, and he wonders for a split second if Steve can really make him come like this — worries that somehow it’s not enough and that he’ll ruin this, that he’ll fuck it up and make it awkward between them because he doesn’t actually have any idea how his body works when someone else is taking the reins.
But then Steve kisses him like that again, sucking his tongue into his mouth, holding his hand and groaning when Eddie moves in just the right way, and the sizzling pleasure finally finds its release.
Eddie comes with a broken groan that Steve swallows greedily, panting into his mouth as, shortly after, his hips begin to stutter in their movements and he follows Eddie off the brink of this beautiful madness. Steve was always beautiful, there’s no question about that. But like this, face slack, kiss-swollen and spit-slick lips open around a silent moan as he grinds his trapped cock against Eddie’s, wrecked with aftershocks as his orgasm washes over him? He’s a fucking revelation that makes Eddie’s eyes roll into the back of his skull, over sensitive as he is and yet so helpless against Steve’s aborted little motions.
Getting high on weed doesn’t compare to getting high on Steve. It’s a high Eddie wants to chase forever, and he starts by wrapping his arms around Steve and pulling him down onto his chest again, just to hold him. Steve purrs as Eddie’s hand finds its way into his hair, combing it away from the sweaty skin it sticks to. He cages him with his legs, too, tingly as they remain on either side of Steve’s body.
It’s stupid, maybe, and a bit much, but he wants to keep Steve like this for a little longer. Putty in his hands, his weight on top of him grounding him after that high, and allowing them both to come down slowly.
“Man,” Steve says after a while, just letting that word hang in the air as he regains conscious thought.
Eddie hums, prompting him to say what’s on his mind even though he’s scared he won’t like what he’s about to hear. Still, it’s only fair to let Steve say what he wants.
“I like you so much.”
Eddie holds his breath as he waits for the but. For the regret. But none follows. That’s really all Steve’s saying; and soon Eddie can’t fight the wave of giddiness that overcomes him.
He hugs Steve a little tighter, not entirely ready yet to look him in the eyes and face this new reality they’ve kind of just created, needing to be a little scared for just a bit longer. But still he laughs, because scared is no longer all he’s feeling. There’s so much more now. So much more.
“I like you so much right back.”
Now it’s Steve who hums, shifting to lift his head and look at Eddie, but Eddie closes his eyes before Steve can catch them.
“Said it first again.” A hand lands on his cheek again, just above the ugly scars that Steve doesn’t seem afraid to touch. “So I win.”
And Eddie is looking now. Dares. If only to drive his point home when he says, “God, you’re so fucking lame.”
“Is it working?” Steve grins, and Eddie never stood a fucking chance.
“Unfortunately.”
@izzy2210 here you go darling hehehe 🤍
#steddie#steddie fic#steddie fanfic#steve harrington#eddie munson#the spicy six get high together#spicy six#yearning hours#yearning hours but make it smut#steddie smut#i like this one so much#high yearning makeout fic#this takes so many turns and i blame the flu for it actually#tone consistency?? don't know her#dio words
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Elevator- JamesPotter x GN!Reader
WC: 950
You are stuck in a muggle elevator with James Potter, Who wont stop flirting with you
Tags: Fluff, angst(?), Sarcastic reader, Slytherin reader, Flirty James Potter, Insecure reader
A/N: Wrote this from a prompt, trying to dip my toes into the Marauders fandom not a fully fleshed out fic or anything. A little experiment
“This might be a bad time to mention it, but I really like your perfume.”
“Oh shut up,” You said with a scowl as you once again pushed the emergency button.
Professor Corbyn had thought it a wonderful idea to assign the seventh year class a lengthy list of ‘muggle activities’ to complete. She had also thought up the brillant of idea of assigning partners randomly. Though you had your doubts about the “randomness”.
Still, it was a project worth a good chunk of your grade. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't blow it off. Which is how you ended up stuck in an elevator with James fucking Potter. James who thought your perfume was of utmost importance at the moment.
“No seriously, it's quite lovely.”
You ignored him and pressed the call button. A moment passed…..Nothing. Great, not even the phone was working.
“Where did you get it? From Diagon alley or-”
“Can you be useful for once?” You interrupted.
James pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning on, “Can you apparate?”
“No.” You admitted begrudgingly. Getting your license was on your to do list, there just hadn't been enough time. You were really starting to regret not putting it up higher on your list. You fanned yourself with your hand.
“Someone will come for us eventually.” James said with a shrug. He seemed completely care free and not at all worried about the situation at hand.
“Yeah. If we don't die from heatstroke before then.” You settled against the wall opposite of him and slid down till you were seated. It was just a tad bit cooler down on the floor.
“I know how you could cool off.” James said with a smirk. Just in case you hadn't understood his comment, he lifted just the hem of his shirt to reveal a sliver of tanned skin. You quickly looked away, but not before you caught a glimpse of a dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.
“Oh fuck off.”
James copied you and slid down to the floor. Instead of sitting with his legs tucked up to his chest like yours, he instead stretched them all the way out. The elevator was tiny and James’ legs were long, the sides of his red converse knocked against your thighs. Cloth shopping had been another part of the project.
“Have I told you your shoes are ugly?”
“Many times,” James responded unphased, “You just don't like them because they're red.”
“Horrible color.”
“I think you'd look really nice in red. Got one shade specifically in mind actually.”
“Yeah, no” You fidgeted with the fraying sleeve of your dark green jumper. House pride was taken very seriously in Hogwarts. Wearing gryffindor red was an act of betrayal.
“You would,” He insisted, “I even have a jumper that would look perfect on you! Says ‘Potter’ right across the back.”
“Careful now James, I might think you're hitting on me.”
“Did it take you this long to notice?”
You knocked his foot away with your palm. James allowed it before he returned it back to tapping against your thigh. He was such a tease. He had been on this since you two got assigned partners.
“Ha Ha very funny,” You replied dryly.
He tapped his foot rhythmically against your leg, you tried your best to ignore it. The elevator was completely silent. The music had cut off when the elevator had come to a sudden stop with a metallic screech. There was nothing but the sounds of James and your breathing.
Your whole body was on edge. You couldn't help but keep anticipating the worst. Any movement made you feel like the elevator would go crashing to the ground below, You were stuck on the seventh floor and you had heard one to many horror stories.
“I'm bored,” James said, “We should do something.”
“Like what?”
“Why don't we play a game of truth or dare?” suggested James.
“Truth or dare? Seriously?”
“What else do you have in mind?” he replied smugly.
“Fine, let's play.” you agreed reluctantly.
“Okay, I'll start. Truth or dare?” James challenged.
You sat for a moment, mulling over your choices. There weren't many dare options while stuck in an elevator, but everyone and their mothers knew James Potter was a master prankster. He could probably come up with something within a second. Hell, he probably already had fifty dares planned out. Better to play it safe then.
“Truth.”
“Okay..” James pretended to think for a moment, he stroked his chin and gazed up at the roof dramatically, “Why don't you like me?”
Oh. Straight into it. You looked away from him uncomfortably. The thing was, you didn't not like him. Honestly, it was the opposite. But you couldn't let him know that. You would never hear the end of it.
“I don't not like you…You're just loud…” You said carefully.
“I think i’m quite charming honestly,” James smirked.
“Yeah, you think that.” You said with an eye roll
“You don't think I am?” James tilted his head to the side, one loose curl fell in front of his eyes. God damn it. Yes, you wanted to say. I've thought that you are charming since fourth year. But of course, you don't say any of it.
“Not at all.”
“You're forgetting the rules of the game again.” He teased. He leaned forward, only a couple inches closer than before, but still all too close.
“I’m not lying.” You attempted to sound confident and self assured but you couldn't manage to bring your voice above a whisper.
The gods must have heard your prayers because the phone on the wall rang. James and you stared at each other for a moment. He finally pulled his eyes away from you and stood up to answer the phone. You and your feelings were safe for another day.
#james potter#james x reader#james potter x reader#james x you#james potter x y/n#mauraders#mauraders x reader#harry potter x reader
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Can you do a bit of arrogant or idk like…. Mean dom Harry teasing you while you suck him off? That would be so good
Oooo… yes I can.
Patreon
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“Said to stick your tongue out.” Harry mumbled, holding her hair in a makeshift ponytail with one hand while the other handled his cock. Y/N’s eyes shifted from the dribble of precum on his tip to his eyes, the dark gaze making her want to shiver. “Or did your pretty little head empty out once you saw my cock?”
Harry had an affinity to be the biggest asshole in the world, but Y/N simply couldn’t stop seeing him. Spending her Saturday half annoyed at him as he teased her and make her irritated when they were with her friends -she refuses to say his because she was there first, damn it!- only to end up in his living room on her knees, burning slightly from the carpet underneath. He sat on his armchair, pants pulled to his knees and his cock glistening in her spit from when she had greedily taken him into her mouth. Without asking, of course.
“Hm?” A tug of the hair made her fuzzy vision clear, lips shaped in an ‘o’ before she laid her tongue out flat. Sometimes, time moved slower when she got into this headspace. The good thing about Harry, though, was he wasn’t ever an ass after sex. He had morals, surprisingly, and liked to indulge in this. This was the only time they weren’t at each other’s throats. “Look at that. Baby’s got a brain after all.” His sarcastic coo damped her, her poor panties a waste of fabric at this point.
As much as she hated his arrogance in most scenarios, seeing him like this was something else entirely. Broad, smug, controlled. He likes to watch her submit in the only way she would ever allow. His hand stroked his length a few times in front of her face, that all knowing smirk on his raspberry lips making her want to squirm.
“Y’know, you just had to ruin it. Had to ruin my plans by being greedy. Was planning on kissing on you a bit, getting you in my lap and make you cum on my thigh. Filthy little thing you are, you like working for it but… no.” He sighed, rubbing his thumb over the drippy slit of his prick. “No, you apparently are too cock starved from my two weeks away, had to take it down your throat. Couldn’t even do that correctly today either, coughed around it and making a mess before I asked for it.” He shook his head in disappointment, tilting her head further back and tapping the head of his cock over the flat of her tongue.
“Could have just asked. Begged, really. But instead, you got on your knees and took my cock into your slutty little mouth.” He rubbed himself over the wet muscle, groaning lowly as he watched the filthy sight. “Think I didn’t know you’ve been gagging for it all night? Think I didn’t see you shift around and squeeze your thighs when I sat next to you? Pretend to hate me but really, you hate that you can’t just climb on my lap and sit on my cock whenever you want.” He rambled sometimes, a talker during sex, but when Y/N got to have him she didn’t care. Her brain did indeed like to shut off.
“Go ahead. Close those lips around it and suck, but I’m in charge. You want me to fuck your mouth?” His request for consent never wavered, despite her previous discussions of being fine with it. Y/N didn’t have it in her to speak, whining and nodding frantically as she scooted closer on her knees. That was one of her favorite things. Being useful, watching that polished control he has fray around the edges. The release.
“Course you do. Should have known.” he paused for a moment. “You know how to get me to stop.” Gripping her locks, he pushed her down onto his cock. Ignoring the gagging, he used his hand to push her mouth down on him, the wet, nasty sound of her throat being fucked filling his otherwise silent living room. His thighs were spread a bit, his black jeans bunched under his knees as he used her. The silk of her throat and the hot spit dribbling down to his balls, he never had anything better.
“There you go, mama. That’s all you need to calm that fiery temper down, hm? Need my cock in that hot little mouth.” He hissed, pulling her up slightly so her sucking focused on the tip. Tears went down her cheeks from the gagging, but the smear of black mascara down her skin only added to his favorite vision. “Could treat you so, so nice, but you hate that. You want me to use you as a whore, and I aim to please.” He pulled his cock from her mouth, hushing her as she let out a whine. It was true. It weirded her out when he had tried to be gentle during sex.
“Christ… if only our friends knew about you. If they knew that you love to get on your knees for me, after bitching about me all day long. How you beg for me to stuff that sweet little cunt full. Mm, or that ass.” It had been twice, the first times you’d ever done anal but good god, did you like it. Harry was surprisingly gentle for that. “I’ve taken all your holes. So you can sit there and complain that m’an ass, that I’m mean, that I piss you off… but always remember that you’ll end up begging for it at the end of the night.”
#jarofstyles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry writing#harry styles imagine#harry drabble#harry styles blurb#harry styles writing#Harry smut#harry smut blurbs#Harry fluff#Harry angst#harry styles fanfics#jarofstyles blurb#Harry styles fluff#Harry styles angst
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part ii of the demon prince shouto au (1.5k)
SUMMARY: You learn just what kind of ancient bond Shouto has invoked to protect you, and come to terms with what that means for your future.
TAGS/WARNINGS: modern supernatural au, aged up characters, demons, bonding bites/bonding fever, fem pronouns + afab reader, demon courting behavior, no nsft stuff in this one but discussion of nsft topics, 18+ mdni please!
"What the hell was that?" you demand, rounding on Shouto.
You think you catch the flash of slitted pupils before the demon prince blinks, the snarl fading from his mouth. He looks down at you, eyes flickering over the torn collar of your shirt, your blood already drying into the frayed edges. There's some at the corner of his mouth, and he runs a thumb over it, swiping it off.
You try very hard not to notice that he presses the pad to his mouth, tongue flickering out to catch the droplets.
"Touya," he says by way of explanation. Like that was at all what you were asking about.
"Obviously that was Touya!" You frown up at him. "I mean the biting, Shouto! What the fuck?"
Shouto's gaze flicks to the bite mark marring the space where your throat meets your shoulder. He blinks slowly, like a cat surveying a roll of toilet paper it's shredded, pleased.
"He wanted to take you in punishment," he says, his fingers lifting to linger over the bite. "But he couldn't take you if you were mine."
"Is that what this is?" you demand. "Your nameplate? 'Property of demon prince number three, do not touch'?"
Like a kid who had to have their name scrawled onto the tags of all their clothing, the cover pages of their books! Un-fucking-believable.
"It is...a bonding bite, yes," Shouto admits as his fingers finally touch it. A hot stinging sensation rises to meet them and you wince.
You do not quite love the sound of that.
"A what?"
"A bonding bite," Shouto repeats, his voice hitching into a strange, almost-purr that you've never heard from him before. His fingers brush the mark gently again this time, and there is some whisper of feeling at the corner of your mind.
"Why are you saying it like that?" you ask, a weird feeling rising in your chest. It shivers through your limbs, leaving you feeling hot and thready and a little bit weak.
You find yourself gripping Shouto's bicep in an effort to stay upright, the feeling under your skin growing even hotter when it dawns on you how large and solid it is under your palm.
Shouto adjusts you against him, and you realize you're still caged in the circle of his arms. The demon prince is so very warm against you, hard all over with pale, lean muscle, and there is a look on his handsome face that you've never seen before.
"We will need to complete the bond," he says, his voice dipping even lower, softer. Those mismatched eyes flicker back to your bite, and his fingers smooth over it again, petting gently. "I will wait until you are ready."
You squint at him, trying to pay attention to the shape of his words through the sudden fog in your brain. "What bond? What completion is there?"
Shouto's eyes darken, and the hand at your back tightens on you just the tiniest bit. "The marriage bond. It will be completed with our coupling."
It's only his grip on you that stops you from meeting the floor when your knees give out from underneath you.
"Marriage bond?" you echo, a thousand feelings flashing through you all at once with the force of a firebomb. "Marriage bond? You just demon married me?"
This time, Shouto does purr. You can very much feel the thrum of his chest under your hand.
"Yes," he says, his thumb smoothing across your back. "It is a little different than human custom—and far more serious. There are points of connection you cannot sever."
You feel like you hear the echo of his words again, in the back of your own mind, and you realize all at once that that wasn't just you hallucinating. You could hear him, in your mind, his voice as soft and low and perfectly clear as if he'd spoken out loud.
Demon married. You had just gotten fucking shotgun wedding demon married with some sort of telepathic connection to the Third Prince of Hell.
It was even more of a fever dream than when you'd learned what Shouto truly was, and even more unbelievable than when he decided to stick around, picking out all your shows on Hulu and eating through your shrimp chips.
He was super weird, but strangely sweet, and toe-curlingly, brain-meltingly, jaw-droppingly handsome. You could not deny you'd enjoyed your time spent with him, these past couple of months. You thought of him as a close friend and a treasured roommate, weirdly enough. But to get married? Just like that? To a literal demon prince born in the fires of hell itself?
"Why...? What could possibly mean that we have to...?" you garble out, still woozy.
Shouto takes this as his cue to hitch you higher in his grip, carrying you over to the couch you'd abandoned when Touya had first stepped through the portal into your living room. He arranges you over him, still pressed chest-to-chest, so that you're half-sprawled on top of him, his expression still that of a pleased tomcat.
"He wanted to take you," Shouto says, the hint of a growl in his normally even, deadpan tone. "But if you are mine he cannot touch you, as it would be equivalent to touching me. It would open up a succession war."
His hands smooth over you, down your back, down the skin of your waist where your sweater has ridden up, his touch sweet but possessive.
You suppress a shiver.
"He wanted me to claim you, I know that much," Shouto continues. "I want to figure out why. But we will need to complete the bonding before I can leave you to talk to Natsuo and Fuyumi."
Complete the bonding. The words clatter around in your brain, their implication clear. The coupling he mentioned.
He wants to—Shouto wants to—with you?
"Shouto, are you sure you want this? I'm sure you really don't have to protect me, like this," you insist, trying to push yourself up off his chest. "We could try thinking of another way—"
It only has the effect of settling you more firmly over his hips, however, and Shouto hisses, his grip on you tightening.
"You have been mine since I decided to stay," Shouto says. "In all but name. Humans require time, and courting, mother says. So I have given you time, and I have been courting."
It suddenly dawns on you what he's been doing with all those horribly cooked meals, the weird trinkets that occasionally pop up around your apartment.
Courting.
Shouto's been courting.
"But you are mine. And you always have been," he says matter-of-factly. Like it's any other fact about the world. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and you have always been mine.
Another wave of something hot flashes through you, and you're immediately embarrassed by the way your thighs reflexively clench together around his hips. But Shouto's eyelashes flutter, and his normally sweet two-toned gaze grows even heavier with intent.
"I will wait until you say you are ready," he tells you, his voice thick. "Humans always require time. But the bonding fever is settling in, you will not want to wait too long."
Bonding fever—is that what has you feeling like a drippy, melting puddle of foggy confusion against him?
Dear god you have gotten yourself in way above your head, you don't know how to make sense of things.
But Shouto is so strong and sure against you, so sweetly, angelically beautiful, so luxuriously and sinfully warm. Another wave of heat sweeps through you, and you grip onto him for dear life, suddenly sure of only a few things.
You'll have time to figure this all out when your head is back on straight. But for now, you know Shouto would never hurt you, and you know Shouto wants you. And you, even in the thick of the weirdest situation a human being has ever found themselves in—you want him too.
You let youself grow slack in Shouto's hold, blinking up at him.
"Okay, let's do it," you say, embarrassed when your voice comes out so eager and high. "I don't know what's going on but I know I trust you. So Shouto, let's complete the bond. And we can figure everything out after."
Shouto smiles then, not just the amused, fond little quirk of his mouth he usually does.
It's a blindingly beautiful thing, clever and sweet and so devastatingly handsome. There's just a flash of his sharp canines, longer than any human's, the very teeth he's given you the bonding bite with. He is otherworldly, and for just a moment you can do nothing but gaze up at him, lost in the fever, lost in the look of him, lost in the power of the situation you've found yourself in.
And then he's gathering you up into his arms, stalking towards your bedroom.
The door closes behind you with a final, resounding click.
#todoroki x reader#todoroki shouto x reader#shouto x reader#todoroki shoto x reader#shouto x you#character: todoroki shouto#third prince of hell au
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toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader
part 7/8
synopsis: two weeks into your uneasy truce, simon gets introspective.
wc: 811
cw: afab!reader, angst, banter that becomes arguing, hurt and the tiniest bit of comfort, language, trust issues, simon's pov, no gendered language. no use of y/n ever.
author’s note: well, we back at it, the second last installment of this verse. i'll still take requests/thots for it of course, but soon we'll get closure for these two. for now, simon's thoughts on their situation.
new to baby blue? start here.
It’s disarming.
And Simon Riley doesn’t like being disarmed. He doesn’t like being caught off guard, off kilter, unstable.
It’s been happening more and more often though.
When you and Tommy look at him in perfect unison, he is struck stupid by your eyes, like you copy and pasted them onto your son. His son. His kid. His perfect, funny kid. Unmuddied by everything bad in the world. His life is pancakes and dinosaurs and that horrible fucking tv show that he’s sure rots his little mind. His life is you. Your smiles, your laugh, your cooking, your hugs. Things Simon cheated himself of when he walked out on you, choked with fear and bleeding misery.
Simon is disarmed, totally fucking helpless, a veritable babe in the woods when you let him hold you. When for the first time, in a long ass time, he gets to watch your lids flutter closed and slip into unconsciousness, in that quick, carefree way he’s always envied.
He barely sleeps, even less so lately.
After all, no sleeping meant no nightmares. No cloying, choking smoke-like fears reaching for the frayed edges of his subconscious. No sleeping meant he couldn’t play on your kindness, your goodness, and guilt you into holding him back when he woke up screaming, sweating, no matter how bad he wanted it.
It’s two weeks later. Two weeks after sleeping together but not sleeping together. After breakfast and an uneasy truce. Two weeks after kissing you and touching you and holding you like you both had all the time in the world.
You’re not in a good mood. And he knows that. But he pushes you anyway, pokes and prods you even as you slam through your kitchen, noisily pulling out a pot and a huge bag of pasta shells.
“Let’s talk.” He approaches, arms crossed, full kit traded in for a skull emblazoned cloth mask, jeans and a threadbare black t-shirt, one he’d found in your bedroom days ago, stashed in the back your drawer, crumpled in a wrinkled ball, like you didn’t want to see it, but you didn’t want to trash it either. He’s been doing that lately, staying over for days and rifling through your shit, finding old relics and artifacts from a time neither of you can let go of. An old mask, a hat, t-shirts.
So many goddamn t-shirts.
“Talk?” you snort derisively, filling the pot with water. He watches you test the water with your fingertips and curse under your breath, mumbling something about shit pipes. When the pot is full, you turn to face him, lips curled, sneering. “I wasn’t aware you were capable of that. Thought you just communicated in grunts.”
“You’re funny. That's new.” He jabs, advancing in the conversation much faster than he should have, comforted in familiar territory, finding solace in what used to be commonplace for you, banter, barbs, teasing. The tense set of your shoulders should’ve warned him off it, should’ve told him you’d take it as well as a bullet in the back. But God help him, he’ll take whatever you give.
“Mm.” Your tone is casual but your answering nod is jerky, too fast, “Yeah, I developed a sense of humour when I realized our relationship had been a joke.” You slam the pot onto a burner, giving him your back.
The air is suddenly devoid of mirth, utterly obliterated where it had been floating between you before. Now the living room and kitchen are a smoking crater, an oil rig on fire, a disaster site.
He’s never been more grateful for his son’s propensity to nap like he’s dead.
Neither of you say anything. Simon is waiting for you to say something, to dress him down, but when you lower your head and sigh, heavy and deep with pain and exhaustion he planted within you, Simon withers. He slinks back to the living room and drops himself onto your couch.
You wait, he’s not sure what for. He used to be so good at preempting your actions, your thoughts, your words, now he handles you like you’re a venomous reptile, looking for exposed, vulnerable flesh to strike, to bite.
You set down the glass you’d been drinking from hard. And he’s surprised you didn’t crack it.
“What do you want, Simon?” Question of the goddamn century, it is. And you’ve asked it of him plenty of times. But he never has an answer, can never really deduce just what the fuck he’s doing here, with you. With Tommy. Playing a game? Playing a role? Punishing you? Himself? All of it could be true, but none of it seems right.
“I want to try.”
All he knows is that before this, four years seemed like a short time, nothing really. But now?
It’s an eternity. Reflected back to him in broken glass, in half full drawers, in his son’s eyes.
In yours.
comments + tags + reblogs are so appreciated
oh simon...what do you want?
series masterlist here
#ghost x black reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#ghost smut#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#ghost x you#ghost x black!reader#simon riley x you#kechiwrites#baby blue fic#baby daddy ghost#ghost x gn reader#cod fanfic#cod imagine#cod x reader#cod mw2 x reader#cod mw3 x reader
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mention of injury, unstated relationship but you love each other dearly, mention of mizu’s past
i haven’t finished the series but wanted to write for her SO BADLY, she might be slightly occ im not sure (breaking into hives because of this) but here you go mizu nation, may u be fed FOREVER ^_^
mizu’s on a formidable path for revenge, and what better pill to choke on than leaving you, her best friend and keeper of her love and devotion, behind?
Mizu, who has known you since the two of you were but little nippers. Kids with enough knowledge of the world to know that it was dense and dark, places lit stem-winding, where she was uninvited and tables filled where she was not welcome. Still, you’d asked her for her name when she’d sat caked in mud on some clammy, piddling day. Still, you’d wrapped your arms around her shivering form during the deluge, taken up on her silent promise to “Be there when you wake up. Promise,” when the Smith’s fire bayed up behind her form, lighting the room in tinges and spills, red and then genially orange.
Still, you gather your things when she leaves in a single swear for revenge, catch her up in the snow and demand an answer, or refusal or something, other than that cold look she gets in her eye more than usual now. Your hands feel cramped, threading desperately within the skin to find warmth (which was once, too, her) but you hold yourself back, enforce bite behind your words. Flit back the tears that threaten to line the edge of your eyes — threaten yourself to bide your time and let her deal her blow with you. Leave you for good.
But it’s unexpected. Cruel. Sweet and smelling of tart, when she softens under your words. Her brows twitch when some breath hitches in your throat, bogged down and she knows it’s her fault. She’s leaving, keeping a place for you in that old, warm house, with its old and warm silence and her old and warm absence. Leaving you in the snow, whilst she leaves for blood, gore and teeth.
There’s no words out of her, just a simple, longer silence than her cruelness. Her kindness knows no curbs with you — so her crumbling hands, bearing your cheeks with patience and shivered judgement — come to surprise you, just as her kiss does. It’s cold, and when you catch her lip slowly, the two of you break into a frisson. She grips you tightly in time, hands that burn against your hips as her kiss comes to tear you at the throat, rips a dirge out of it with full force, so that when she parts from you for the air she needs, she quietens you slowly. In a way you have always done with her when her lips bled or her worth shrunk past her feet.
“Just take me with you,” you snivel against her, a child again, but holding the fraying edges of her apparel like she’d hold the fort here for longer, but Mizu lets you crumple the blue fabric beneath digits of bitter flesh. Looks at you with resignation and a little bit of that old warmth, too.
“It’s dangerous.”
“I know—I know,” a pathetic moan, “But you won’t be here.”
“I can’t.”
“Take me with you,” with a voice so hoarse, you repeat. Your fingers bind with the strings and Mizu grows airy beneath you, this affinity that she’s brewed for you (long when you were kids) coming crumbling down beneath her. She imagines a world on fire, flowers that eat at their own roots. A sky full of a burst of water, your watery eyes, the brutal flesh of her wound festering past her hip, her neck.
“I don’t want to lose you — you, out of all people. Please,” she grips your neck, kissing the skin and gooseflesh that simmers with softness, “I love you. Fuck, I really do.”
You fight with a sob then, because, of course you love her. And she loves you. And she will leave you here, with the snow as a tactile reminder of her departure and the cruel winter nights to wonder if she’s fed, if she’s alive, if she’s cold like the rest of the Earth.
“I love you—too,” a choke, “Mizu—“
And perhaps it’s the way you roll it off your tongue, the way the tenderness messes with her like a faint pair of hands, kills any sense of resolve.
Maybe she remembers your face in the dark, years prior, when you’d let her latch onto you, despite the mud and grime flicking into her own clothes. Your kindness, a friendship and the love she’d borrowed from you and made it her own, with sickly hands. With healthy hands. With growing hands.
And perhaps the blood strips off her own hands, clouds your eyes red where she remembered it not being. And perhaps, she grows a little afraid of being away from you, too.
Because she’s gripping you tight, tighter than life. The cold air no longer bothers the two of you, for there’s a newer, tender heat beneath the limbs that hold onto each other like a promise. One that she spoke of — a quiet utterance of “I’ll be there” — before you depart with her, holding the two of you together as one and the snow beneath your footwear.
© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.
#mizu x reader#mizu blue eye samurai#blue eye samurai x reader#blue eye samurai x you#mizu x you#mizu x y/n#mizu blue eye samurai drabble
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Are You In? - Luca x Reader x Carmy (eventually) 18+ ONLY Pt. 1
Content warnings: explicit language, smut (18+ only), male masturbation, a hint of voyeurism (reader watches Carmy), eventual threesome
Summary: Reader is in an established relationship with Luca and deeply in love with him. But, Carmy comes to Copenhagen and crashes at their shared flat. When she catches him in the act, why can't she get the image out of her mind?
A/N: SURPRISEEEE! :P Part 1 of the (eventual) Reader/Luca/Carmy threesome! Honestly, I might have to make this more than three parts. We'll see how I feel. The full threesome doesn't happen in this chapter (probably not in the next either). We've got a bit of a slow-burn on our hands, which I usually don't write. Let's see how it plays out, lmao!
The sound of breaking glass jolts you awake. Your heart's racing before you take in the familiar surroundings. Stretched out on the couch, Real Housewives reruns play on the large TV in the center of the family room. One of the women just threw a drink across the table, starting a cat fight. You chuckle to yourself, watching as the rest of the scene plays out.
The show actually wakes you up a little bit. As they plan a dinner party, you ponder what you all will eat tonight. Glancing down at your frayed tank top and sweats, you're definitely not getting out to grab groceries. Takeout it is.
Sending off a quick text to Luca, you ask him about Italian food for dinner. He agrees quickly. You figure you'll go ask Carmy if he'll be eating with you guys tonight.
He's visiting you and Luca at your flat in Copenhagen, having flown out to get some inspiration for his own restaurant. As far as houseguests go, he's nearly perfect. He cleans up after himself and always offers to help you guys out around the house.
Slinking off the couch, you head down the hallway towards Carmy's room. When you arrive at his door, it's slightly cracked. There's a possibility that he left to try some restaurants while you were napping, but it can't hurt to peek in really quick. Boy, were you wrong.
It's an erotic sight, and you can't tear your eyes away. Airpods rest in his ears, lewd moans leaking from them.
Carmy's soft groans fill the air. He stands over the bed. One knee propped up on the mattress, while he pumps his aching cock. He's only wearing a pair of black boxers, pulled down just enough for him to stroke himself.
His head is thrown back, showing the veins running along the column of his neck. A thin gold necklace rests there, and a brief image of it dangling in your face passes through your mind.
His tattooed bicep flexes with every pump of his shaft. He strokes himself from base to tip, precum oozing out. When he reaches the tip, he squeezes the sensitive skin, bucking into his own hand.
"Shit," he moans out, clearly in his own world. He uses his other hand to cup his sack, pushing himself closer to the edge.
"Fuuuuuuck," he groans, overwhelmed by the pleasure. Teasing himself, he runs a hand down his abs and back up to tug on his nipple. A light layer of sweat covers his skin. It resembles oil, highlighting the definition of each muscle. The sight goes straight to your clit, causing you to squeeze your thighs together.
Carmy pauses, bending down to push his boxers towards his ankles. He kneels on the the mattress, haphazardly reaching for a pillow. You watch in shock as he bucks into the pillow, working his cock into the cool fabric, desperate for a release.
He's biting his bottom lip, humping the pillow like a starved man. Finding a steady rhythm, his toned thighs tense with every stroke. You can't help but imagine if this is what he would look like while he pounds into you. His strokes are deep and drawn out, making you even wetter.
He pauses his hips, resting back on his heels. Bringing a hand up to his mouth, he spits into his rough palm. You audibly gasp, prompting Carmy's to blue eyes cut into your own.
"Fuck!" he shouts, scrambling to cover himself with the pillow. He quickly stands, reaching down to pull up the plain boxers, unsuccessfully concealing his hard-on.
"I'm so sorry!" You blurt out, too shocked to do anything else. You're looking anywhere but at him, blood rushing in your ears. The only sound is the rustle of fabric as Carmy digs around for something to cover his body.
"I-, I swear I didn't know. I came to ask you if you wanted Italian for dinner tonight," you ramble, ringing your hands as you try to think of a plausible excuse for your behavior.
Rapidly nodding his head, Carmy pulls a t-shirt over his body, radiating just as much nervous energy as you.
"Yeah, yeah, Italian is fine," he stammers out. His cheeks are bright red and it carries down to his neck, made even more obvious by the black t-shirt he's pulled on.
"Shit, Carm, I'm so sorry. I totally shouldn't have barged in like that" you cry out, feeling the tears well up in your eyes.
"No, it's fine, I swear. I should've locked the door," he replies, cheeks still flaming. He's across the room now, digging through the drawers for some pants to throw on.
"No, this is totally on me. I'm sorry, again," you tell him before turning away to hide in your bedroom.
What the fuck just happened?
Is all you can think to yourself as you sit on the large bed in the center of the room you share with Luca. The reminder causes more guilt to well up in your stomach. You love Luca with all your heart and can't imagine a life without him.
Then, why did the image of Carmy jerking off cause you to change your panties?
"Ugh, fuck," you grumble, plopping down onto the soft duvet. Staring up at the ceiling, you know there's only one thing that might make you feel better. You're reaching for your phone before you can think better off it. Of course, he picks up on the first ring.
"Hey Luca," you sigh out, toying with one of your dark curls.
"Hey love, what's up?" You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the line, likely heading towards the walk-in freezer for privacy.
"I'm so embarrased right now." Your voice breaks, an embarrassed tear running down your cheek. The reality of the moment is sinking in, and the sound of Luca's voice is only making you feel more guilty.
"Woah, woah, what's happened?" His voice is steady and calm, trying to keep the panic out of his tone. He's worried, but he doesn't want to overwhelm you when your emotions are running so high.
"I-, I walked in on Carmy," you whisper, the blood rushing back up to your cheeks. Even in the privacy of your bedroom, you feel like you've just announced it to the world.
The line is quiet for a while, before you're met with a low chuckle.
"Are you laughing right now?" The way your voice has risen three octaves, only makes Luca laugh harder.
"Shit, I'm sorry love," he chokes out, in between bouts of laughter. His reaction actually makes you feel a little better. You nibble on your lip to stop small smile that's forming.
"How are you so amused right now?!"
"How are you not?!" He's nearly hysterical at this point, causing a giggle to slip through your lips.
"Luca, c'mon, be serious," you whine out, fighting back your own laughter. You hear him taking deep breaths, trying to reign himself back in.
"Sorry, love, I hear you. Go ahead," he answers, but you can still hear the smile in his voice. You groan playfully, but continue.
"I swear it was a total accident. I was going to ask him about dinner, but the door was kinda cracked, so I thought it'd be okay for me to come in," you explain, giving him the full run down.
By the time you're recounted the events, he's fully calmed down, knowing you need some reassurance right now.
"Babe, it was an honest mistake. I'm sure Carmy isn't going to hold it against you," he soothes. His deep voice washes over you, slowing down the rapid beating of your heart.
"I don't want him to feel uncomfortable. He's our guest. I totally violated his privacy."
"I know, love, I know. If it makes you feel better, we can all sit down tonight and talk about it, hmm?" Luca suggests, knowing that you'll all feel better if you can address the elephant in the room.
You're nodding your head before you remember that he can't hear you.
"Yeah, that's a good idea," you agree, happy to have reached a solution. You feel relaxed now, grateful to have a boyfriend who understands you so well.
"Good, how are you feeling now?"
"Hmm, I'm better now," you answer honestly, relaxing further into the duvet.
"I'm glad. You sound better," he replies. He feels your own relief in his chest, glad to have been able to talk you off the edge. You two exchange a little bit of small talk, before you wrap up the call.
"I love you. I'll let you get back to work now."
"I love you too, babe. See you in a couple hours," he hums, blowing a kiss into the speaker. Your heart skips at the gesture, blowing a kiss back to him, before you end the call.
You're staring up at the ceiling, with a dopey smile on your face. Luca always knows the perfect thing to say, and you can't wait to see him when he gets home. A quick thought cuts into your head, disturbing your short-lived peace.
Why do I feel excited about facing Carmy again?
..............................................................................................................................
Taglist (please let me know if you want to be added/removed):
@nolita-fairytale @wakandamama @wakandama2 @blowmymbackout @douceurrrr @mercang @eddiemunsonreader @cryobabyy @superhoeva @kdoxkeic @notmocca @live-love-be-unique
#chef luca#pastry chef luca#luca x reader#luca the bear#the bear fx#the bear fanfic#the bear fanfiction#carmy the bear#carmy berzatto#carmy x reader#the bear smut#carmy smut#will poulter#will poulter fanfic#will poulter fanfiction#will poulter x reader#will poulter imagine#jeremy allen white#𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⊹ ˚˖⋆｡ ra ra fics
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Chapter 6
Yandere Teacher Nanami x Student Reader
Warning: Abuse, (force) smut. Abduction, violence, rough play, toxic behavior, age gap, everything from all above. Mainly from his point of view...somewhat... modern au- ish idk. College teacher x student.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
-------------------------------------------------------
Give in. It's the only way. Just give in.
It's better than nothing. It's better than feeling the ropes on your wrist, forming a harsh mark all around. Everything was better than that. Everything was better than staying inside this room for a long time. You wondered why? Why is everything feeling like an eternity? It was driving you crazy.
He's in the other room, working. You could hear him typing the next lesson plan and worksheets on his computer.
Soon, the typing stopped and the sound of light, and creaking floors began to surface. His footsteps came closer to the room.
You want this. You want him to destroy you. Just give in.
he placed his glasses on the nightstand and started to unbutton his blue dress shirt until he saw you sitting up and turning your body towards him. You were on your knees on top of the bed, staring at him. "What's wrong? Need to use the bathroom?" He asked.
Your hands were bound together, gathering enough warmth so you could stop the shakiness. " Pl-please untie me. I won't run. Please."
He tilted his head but then moved to the other side of the bed and got closer to you. "Why would I do that?"
"I've-I've been good. I won't do anything, and if I do then punish me. My wrist hurts." You said, trying to show him the deep red marks. A rope won't always stay in the strong condition it was before. The slick condition made it a bit smooth won't last forever. Rope frays.
He touched your wrist and looked at them. He then started to untie them. "You run. I'll catch you." You felt the rope freeing from your wrist. Once it was done, you touched your sore wrist from the little pokes the rope had caused. He went to the headboard and untied the rope from there as well. When he placed the rope onto a bag he turned and saw that you were getting near the edge of the bed. "What are you doing?" He got in front of you as you were kneeling on the bed.
You sat up straight and felt your hands tremble. You hesitantly placed your hands on his chest. "Yo- you love me?" You asked, softly.
He placed his own hand on top of yours that was on his chest. You felt his other hand on your cheek. His finger, caressing your cheek down to your chin. "I love you." He whispered to you, loud enough for you to hear. "You drive me fucking insane."
You placed your hand on his cheek but he quickly grabbed it. It made you jump as fear came over you. "Kento?"
"What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me." He asked getting closer to you.
"I-I'm lonely, Kento." He grabbed your face and wiped away the small tear running down the corner of your eye with his thumb.
"Lonely?" He tilted his head.
"I- I want to go outside." He quickly let go of his grip on you. "I don't want to be here." He palmed his forehead staring at the floor of the room. You could feel the tension. " If you love me like you said then you wouldn't do this. You would let-"
"What! Let you go!" He yelled at you causing you to fall back. "Do you have any fucking idea the work I did to get you here!? and all for you to leave me!"
tears were going down your cheek "N-no that's not what I-"
"Shut up! You fucking bitch! You really think that would've worked on me. Is that why you wanted me to untie you! So you can pull that crap! Acting like you care by touching me!"
"N-Nanami?" You felt a pit forming in your stomach. The air became so thin. You felt his hands on your ankles and with a fast movement, he pulled you in closer to him. "No! Please!"
"I'm done waiting for you. You'll do whatever I fucking to tell and like whatever I'll do to you." He grips onto your clothes and tears them apart.
You shut your eyes tightly while you felt his touch all over your naked body. He kept groaning and whispering things to you.
"Fuck~ you're so tight for me baby."
"You're so good~"
You couldn't make out the words. It didn't matter anyway. In the end, whatever he says is all lies. He told you he wouldn't do this to you, but here you are. Your head buried on the white pillow feeling him inside you. The sound of the bed springs fills the air. The feeling of his ball slamming into your parts that are making loud lewd noises.
When the feeling stopped, you stayed still. You felt his hands moving you and pulling you closer to him. You haven't opened your eyes since you felt him.
"You're fucking mine. You got that."
You gave in.
"No! Please!"
"I'm done waiting for you. You'll do whatever I fucking to tell and like whatever I'll do to you." He grips onto your clothes and tears them apart.
He pulled down his pants and boxers. He stroke his cock feeling his precum slither all over his shaft. He griped on your thighs and spread your legs apart. He stood at the edge of the bed with his pants and underwear down on his ankles. He felt your touch. Your hands on his arms tugging him away. He grabbed your neck putting enough pressure to make you stop moving too much. He traced your opening with his tip, pushing it inside. The size difference was too much for you to bear. The more he tried to push it in, the more your entrance kept rejecting it.
Eventually, with one swift movement from his hips, he fully inserted himself inside of you causing him to tilt his head back making him groan with pleasure. "Fuuck!~ that's it baby~"
He finally let go of your neck and gripped onto your waist. Your legs dangling in his sides. His hips moved back and forth while his hands moved your body along with it. He felt his cock hitting all your spots. The bulge forming in your stomach caused him to go feral. He knows just his part can cause any woman to feel loads of pleasure without him making any more movements. However, he's with you and you drive him insane.
He pulled out and flipped you over. He got on top of the bed causing the bed to sink a bit. He held your ass cheeks up in the air while your lower half was on the bed making your back arch.
He didn't need to hold on to you as much since his hips caused your ass to bounce back and forth on its own. He looked down and saw your ass cheek recoiling on his cock. His hands being free made him take the opportunity to roam around your body.
"Ah~ fuck!~ I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna cum inside you." His eyes rolled onto the back of his head as he felt his load exploding into your womb.
It took him a couple of minutes for him to pull out. He was so out of breath, he couldn't think straight. He pulled you in closer and cuddled your naked body up against his.
"You're mine."
#nanami jjk#kento#kento smut#kento nanami#yandere jjk#yandere nanami#yandere#nanami smut#nanami kento#jjk smut#jjk#jjk nanami#nanami x reader#yandere nanami kento#jujutsu kaisen nanami#yandere jujutsu kaisen#kento x reader#kento x y/n#kento x you#nanami x you#yandere nanami x reader#nanami x y/n#kento nanami x reader#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#nanami kento x y/n#nanami kento smut#nanami
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S-L-U-T 2 - Eddie Munson
Authors Note: CAN BE READ ALONE, but if you want there is a first part on my page.
Word Count: 5038
Warnings: this is just pure porn with very little plot. Good luck
(Thank you for the gif @gayshipsandanxiety )
Enjoy!
(Last warning. This is pure porn with very little plot. Turn back now)
Never in your life did you expect to be in a situation like the one you’re in today.
Tarzan Boy, a random pop song, playing on the stereo of the vans speakers as said van rocked quite a bit under the movement of the two people in the backseat.
It had started out as Eddie driving you home from school, which lead to the both of you arguing over the music choice, him wanting his classic rock and metal music and you begging for anything else. He had been mean, not mean enough to elicit an actual fight but just mean enough to lead to you lifting your tiny skirt to your hips and flash him your panties as he drove. You were going to to teach him a lesson today.
He had, no shocker here, swerved to park his car in the woods and followed you into the back of the van where you ended up straddling him with all your clothes still on. He was leaning against the wall, eyes wide as his hands gripped at your hips harshly, looking panicky and awed all in one go. His lips swollen and open wide in an “o” shape as you dug your clothed heat down onto his own clothed tent, enjoying the feeling that fizzed through you.
“Eds….” You mewl, another swipe of your hips that has him moaning loudly, feeling him tense under you. The van rocked, squeaking a bit as you kept riding him through both your clothes. “Ed’s…….”
“Oh fuck.” He growls, eyes cinching shut as his hips rise to grind against your own, his hands pushing you down to add pressure as the somg keeps playing.
His breath came out in heavy pants, and while one hand dug its fingers into your skin the other fisted in your dress as if the cloth was keeping him grounded. You made sure to lean down, your hot breath blowing on his ear as you moaned out a simple “uh huh…”
And he tenses more, thighs clenching as he tries to pull you close but you’re too quick, immediately lifting your hips from his that has him crying out and opening his eyes with a frantic “no!”
You had been playing with him for close to an hour now, had edged him more times than you can count, and he was beginning to fray. But you had yet to get what you needed from him.
“What do you say?” You pant out, leaning back as his hands tighten in an attempt to keep you close.
“C’mere.” He pants, teeth gritting together.
“What. Do. You. Say?” You try again, hand moving to his chest to keep him still.
“I’m sorry.” He whines out, bangs clinging to his forehead. “I’m so sorry baby. I’ll fix my attitude I swear it.”
“What a good boy.” You smile, leaning your hips down to his own, and just at the mere touch of your clothed heats together once more he groans out.
“Iswearit” he whines out as you beginning moving your hips back and forth again.
“You want it slow or fast baby?” You offer, watching him struggle beneath you. You already know his answer, he’ll say fast. That he wants all of you, every ounce of power you have.
“Use me.” He moans. “Gimme everything.”
So you do, smiling and biting your lower lip as you press your hips together, humping him in the back of his van like it was the only thing keeping you both tethered to this earth.
His moans and growls were constant now, one hand sliding up to paw at your breast in a skilled manner, pulling the flimsy material covering it off so he can pinch your nipple which makes you shudder above him.
“M’ close.” He snaps, canting his hips into yours as the van rocks some more.
“Me too.” You moan out, leaning forward the same time he does as your bodies press together and your arms wrap around eachother, letting your hood keep moving as your lips meet and clash.
He moans through the kiss, his tongue making its way into your mouth as you shudder and come undone above him, making him cum in his own pants soon after.
Even after your hips finish riding our your shared highs you stay meshed together, chest to chest as you make out in the back of his van.
When he pulls back to breath his hair is completely messed up and his jaw is red from your hands rubbing at it, lips swollen and red themselves.
“We switch music back and forth then?” He asks, hands rubbing circles on your back slowly.
“I mean…. If you want.” You blush, avoiding eye contact.
“Baby, you just made me cum in my jeans over it. You won.” He laughs, pulling your jaw to look at him once more. “Don’t get all shy and docile. Own that shit. Own me.”
“Yeah?” You laugh, playing with his hair. “Then when can I have you?”
His face shudders at the memory of his rule he made a month ago, when you had dragged him back to your room to show him what you wanted and he had declared it.
“I will not fuck you until you’re ready.” He had said, and you had laughed asking what he meant.
Eddie would not be fucking you in that final way until he was sure you were ready and comfortable to tell him what you wanted or needed. He claimed that he wanted you to learn your sexual life at your own pace. Which right now included a lot of dry humping, and that sucked for laundry but boy was he in heaven.
And just like you had the last time you both did this you brought up the rule and he felt lame and ready to fuck you.
But then he remembered that you hadn’t had him finger you since that original night, and there were plenty of other things in between that he wanted you to experience.
She’s rushing.
“It’ll be worth the wait when you’re ready.” He smiles.
“For me?”
“Oh no. For me baby. You’re gonna hate it.” He jokes which pulls a laugh from you that has his heart melting.
-
“Did you do the homework for English?” A voice blurts to your right, drawing your attention away from where you were searching through your locker for one of your books.
Your head whirls to find Wes from your class smiling at you, leaning against the lockers by your own and taking up too much space in general.
“You mean the homework we got last period?” You ask, raising an eyebrow and risking a glance over to the lockers across from your own where the boys of Hellfire (Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Paul) had been waiting for you to head to lunch.
The three boys pretend to be looking anywhere else, giving you privacy but you see all their fists clenched. Eddie however watches carefully from his spot, a soft smile on his lips as you make eye contact.
“Hello?” Wes snaps, actually snapping in your face which has you blinking.
“I’m sorry? What did you say?” You rush out, feeling a little guilty he had asked you a question and you hadn’t been listening.
“I asked if you wanted to get together to do the homework later.” He sighs, irritation laced on his features before his eyes cast down to where your cute dress showed off some cleavage. His eyebrows raise slightly and a red adorns his cheeks before he looks back up at you with excitement, irritation suddenly gone. “Say my place around 7?”
You risk a look down, wincing when you see that your nipples were now visible through the dress from your little staring contest with Eddie.
“Can’t tonight. I’m busy.”
“Oh? Doing what?” He laughs, moving a little closer and reaching a hand out to play with your hair. “I’m sure you can make time.”
“Ready to go?” Eddie interrupts , smiling softly at you as you close your locker and grab his arm to lead you away.
“Fucking slut.” Wes sneers and within a moment Eddie has him pinned. It’s a flash of leather and chains, whirling to follow his figure as he shoves the jock into the lockers.
“Watch your mouth. You hear me?”
“Fuck. Fine. I’m sorry!” Wes grunts as Eddie’s forearm shove into his throat. “I’m sorry man!”
“Not to me. To her.”
And just like that Wes whirls to you and repeats the words. You grab Eddie’s arm, pulling him softly.
“Come on baby.” You whisper.
“You two dating now?” Steve asks, shuffling closer with a wide eyed look. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since last year and he looked entirely different, nicer now if that made sense.
“Yes.” You bite out.
“Easy. I was just asking. Came to make sure you were okay.” He smiles and holds up his hands as Eddie walks past, keeping his arm held at an angle you could hold onto.
When you both are a decent enough distance he shakes his head. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say you’re dating me.” He mumbles and you panic.
“I’m sorry. I assumed and I- well all the ….. stuff and I just-“
“Hey hey. No don’t think that.” He rushes to stop you, hands on your jaw to pull you close. “I just meant even with all the mind blowing stuff we do I want you to have options. Don’t feel the need to be tied down to me, okay?”
“Will you be seeing other people?” You blurt.
“God no. I wouldn’t be able to get it up if I tried.” He smiles.
“Then I won’t either. I want to date you.” He smiles at your words, leaning to kiss you before the rest of the boys are there pushing you both into the lunchroom.
-
The bowling alley was a terrible make out spot as you’d come to learn, not because of the music or the smell, no. It was terrible because it was everyone else’s make out spot as well which frustrated you beyond belief.
Friday nights at Hawkins there was nothing much to do so a lot of the teens ended up driving to neighborhood towns to check out their own places. Shadyside bowling alley was one of them.
Shadyside had an extremely bad reputation, one that ended up being wrapped into some insane conspiracy of a witch cursing the land and that’s why tons of kids from this town ended up slaughtering one another.
You had been a little nervous when you found out the boys were all going and they were all begging you to come with them, well all but Jordon who still made snide comments about your attire to this day. Not in front of Eddie because he would pummel him and you never bothered to tell your boyfriend because you didn’t want him having to kick out the kid from their dnd game.
But nonetheless they convinced you which had led to you attempting to bowl as everyone around you drank and had fun. A couple hours in you decided that you had enough to drink and now you wanted nothing more than to kiss your boyfriend so you did. He enjoyed it, humming pleasantly as he deepened it before pulling back and giving you a knowing look.
“Hey guys. We’re gonna go smoke. Switch up teams for next round.” He mutters, pulling a cigarette from his pocket to place between his lips as his hand grasps yours and he leads you away. Gareth smiles and flicks your forehead as you pass, which makes you laugh until Jordon glares harshly and you trip over yourself a bit.
Then the issue of finding a nice spot became apparent, because every corner was taken by couples that seemed to have the same idea you two had.
“Fuck.” He grunts, kissing your cheek. “There’s the van?”
“It’s cold out.” You shake your head, watching him nod in agreement. Warming up the van for a quick make out session would take far too long and wouldn’t be worth it.
So he chooses to kiss you lightly with his hands rubbing your back softly. “Okay. Let’s go back. We can catch another game-“
But then you’re tugging his jacket and he grunts out as you lead him into a stuffy closet that smells like mold and has terrible lighting.
“Is making out really worth the black lung we can get in here?” He laughs, only to get cut off when you pull him in for a deep kiss, moaning into it a little.
Then he realizes what this is, excitement filling him a bit as he pulls you closer. “There’s not enough room in here baby.”
Even as he says it you bump into a mop while trying to move closer. “Jesus. This place sucks.”
“Hey now. Mop closets can be fun.” He coos, rubbing your hips before helping you turn around. “Hands on the door princess.”
Without any hesitation you do as he says which makes him smile, still rubbing at your hips slowly while you use to door to keep yourself upright. Slowly, so slowly, he moves his hands down until he can start shuffling your skirt up a bit.
“Is this okay?” He whispers in your ear, waiting a moment before he keeps doing it for your confirmation. When you nod he shakes his head. “You know the rules.”
“Yes.” You snap, pulling your head back to look at him. He smiles, even with the attitude and keeps working your skirt up.
“I just want your consent princess. Is that so hard?” He huffs.
“If I said no would you stop?” It’s meant to be an off handed jab, he knows this, but the second the words fall from your lips he freezes, not moving a single inch as a quiet rage fills him.
“I’m sorry?” He snaps.
“It’s just….. well wouldn’t you be like… upset?” You ask, gazing behind you for eye contact.
“Did you say no to Harrington or Kelleck?” He snaps, his voice closer to a whisper but still powerful. “Princess if you-“
“I didn’t. Eds I didn’t say no. It was all consensual.” You rush out, trying to move to face him but he keeps his firm hold on you.
“Did they give you enough time to say no?”
“Steve did.” You nod.
“Not Kelleck?!”
“Baby please.” You huff, leaning up to kiss him quickly. “I want you. I don’t wanna talk about that right now.”
“But-“ before he can argue you are grinding back into him which makes him curse out sharply. “We’re talking about this later.”
“Mkay.” You huff, letting him nip at your ear before his hands begin sliding again. They move your skirt up past your hips and you with the waistband of your panties before sliding in.
“This okay?” He asks, fingers moving closer and closer.
“Yep.” Your answer is short and clipped, mostly because you were already focusing on that burning feeling in your lower gut as his fingers slip to begin rubbing through your folds.
Out of basic reaction your thighs try pushing together but his own leg is there slamming between yours to slot them open and give him better access, a loud moan passing your lips as you bend forward a bit so your forehead is pressed to the door.
He slides the pads of his fingers long your folds, leaning to his back was pressed to yours as his left hand comes up to your hip.
“Look at you.” He huffs. “Such a pretty fucking princess for me right now.”
“Eds!” You whine, hips wiggling. Without warning he slots two fingers inside you, making you inhale sharply and shut your eyes as he curls them.
“Are you my pretty princess?” He coos, kissing behind your ear.
“Yes!” You moan back, feeling his hands begin pressing in and out of you at a rapid pace, the metal chain bracelet he always wears pressing on your clit with every movement.
“This is my favorite skirt of yours.” He admits, the hand on your hip punching the fabric. “Your pretty in pink skirt.”
You can’t even find the words to respond and his thumb flicks you expertly , the tight coiling fleeing making you want to close your legs but his own leg keeps them shoved apart still.
“I knew I wanted you then. You know that?” He laughs. “The night you called me? Second I got off the phone and I fucked my fist with the image of you in my jacket.”
“Baby.” You try to catch your breath, but everything is a haze of pleasure. Your arms and legs are shaking.
“My sweet girl.” He mumbles into your neck, adding two more fingers and sending you right over the edge. One of your hands comes to grip his hair as the other scratches at the door as you cry out shaking wildly while cumming on his fingers. “Perfect. As usual.”
You try not to roll your eyes as he brings his fingers up to suck on them, but that feeling in your lower stomach coils again at the image.
“Fuck me….. please.” You whine and he laughs before shaking his head.
“Not in this place. Not even close.” He turns you around and works on fixing you up, setting your panties right and sliding your skirt down before licking his thumbs to swipe your makeup and clean it.
In a last ditch attempt you slide your hand across his abdomen. “I wore the jacket you know….”
“Hmm?”
“On the date with Steve? Wore it the whole time. Even when he fucked me.” Eddie’s eyes widen at that, pressing into you a bit as he blinks.
“Y-yeah?”
“And when we were fucking, I just couldn’t get into it. So I closed my eyes and inhaled your scent…..” you grasp his hand, sliding it up your body before landing it on your boob. He immediately squeezes. “And I imagined you touched me like this as you fucked me.”
“M-me? You imagined me?” He blinks, flushing a bit.
“Uh huh.” You pant, letting him squeeze at your breast.
“Fuck.” He grunts, leaning forward to kiss you before there is knocking on the door that makes you both jump.
“I need a mop fuckers.” Someone grunts and you smile, watching Eddie sigh out before shimmying his leather jacket off and helping you slide it on.
When you enter the lighter side of the door you have to blink to readjust as a blonde kid on the other side smiles at you both.
“Hey Simon.” Eddie grunts with surprise, and you note the nail polish on the kids hands.
“Hey Eddie. Eddie’s girl.” The kid smiles from ear to ear. “You christen my place up nice?”
“Perv.” Eddie mumbles, pulling you to his side as he leads you away.
“How do you know him?” You ask, playing with the chain bracelet as you walk.
“He has a friend named Kate. We both sell for Rick,”
“Sell? Like….?”
“Sell baby. Drugs.”
“Really?” You gape up at him. How did you not know this? “So do you…. Get high?”
“Yep. Why? You want to?” There is a gleam in his eye as you get closer to the group.
“No. Of course not.”’you huff, moving to hug Jeff the second he opens his arms for you.
-
“Oh. My. God.” You mumble, fingers digging into the carpet of his trailer as you lean against the couch, trying to relax a bit. Your eyes are closed, but the room is still spinning into a galaxy.
After a couple moments, you riding out the spins, you feel a tap on your thigh pulling your attention to Eddie. He sits beside you, head leaning against the couch as well, watching you carefully.
“You okay princess?” He mumbles and you can do nothing but nod.
His hand stays on your thigh, thumb rubbing soft circles and you can feel everything, your body rooting you back to this planet and keeping you there. “Keep your hands on me.”
It’s an order, one that makes him smile as you close your eyes. “Don’t let go Eds.”
“Never. Keeping you with me forever.” He grunts, squeezing a bit before you both close your eyes and ride the high a bit. Your head rolls to his shoulder, pressing your lips to his arm as you begin to trace patterns on his skin with your tongue.
“What are you doing?”
“I like you without a shirt.” You giggle, not opening your eyes but still able to picture him in his boxers all the same. “I want to see you naked.”
You hear him inhale sharply, hand squeezing your thigh harshly before easing up a bit. “You can’t say stuff like that without warning.”
“Why?” You whine.
“Cause I nearly fucking came right there.” He growls, pulling your attention to him and making you open your eyes before he is kissing you.
You don’t know how long you kiss for, could he seconds or hours, all you know was that everything felt so fucking good.
“Fuck me.” You plead. “Please.”
“Room. Now.” He orders, both of you helping each other there and landing on the bed quickly. You plan on him landing on top of you, only to be surprised when he remains kneeling above you and moving to ship your panties off.
“I’m not fucking you like this.” He grunts.
“Please-“
“No.” He snaps, fingers already sliding against you. You sit up, eyes narrowing at the tent in his boxers before you huff and slam your legs shut, pushing his fingers away.
“What’s wrong?” He mumbles, blinking slowly, too high to tell if you’re hurt or angry. “I’m sorry-“
Before he can back away from the bed your snatching the waistband of his boxers. “Off.”
“No.” He laughs.
“Fine. Then my panties go back on.” He stares yiu down before rolling his eyes and standing to shuck the boxers off. Holy. Fucking. Gods.
He was big. Wayyyy too big. You wouldn’t be able to fit that, he would break your cervix open and-
A hand covers your mouth, looking up to see Eddie breathing ragged. “Give me a fucking chance here doll. I’m about to cum.”
You hadn’t even realized you had been saying it all out loud. He lets go of your mouth, moving up the bed until you are both laying on his pillows against the headboard.
“Touch yourself and I’ll touch myself.” He offers, and how can you fucking refuse?
Within moments you're rubbing yourself, watching closely as his eyes train to your center, his own hand sliding down slowly as his thumb begins rubbing at his length. “Show me how you do it at home.”
“Eddie.” You whine, rubbing faster. One finger slips in and then another, and you try to keep it up but you’re just a little too high to keep anything going. So you let out a frustrated grunt, stopping and watching him instead.
His eyebrows are pinched together as he aggressively pumps his fist across himself. “Don’t stop.” He begs.
“I can’t.” You whine back. “Not enough.”
Just like that he stops, huffing with irritation before he nods and gets up. “I’ll be right back.”
You wait patiently, and watch when he comes back with….. “no.”
“Why not?”
“That’s a tooth brush.” You scoff, watching his face light up with joy when he turns it on.
“No.”
“It’s mine, not Wayne’s.” He huffs moving across the bed to get closer.
“It’s gonna…..” you bite your lip, watching as he kneels before you, moving both your legs over his thighs until you were splayed out for him.
“You trust me?”
“Yes.” You admit. Watching a smile crack out on his face before he plunges the vibrating toothbrush into you and turns it on, keeping his thumb right on your clit so the vibrations move throughout.
A moan slips from your lips, watching as he spits in his hand before beginning to pump himself again, eyes wild at the scene before him.
Everytime he pumps his fist he shoves the toothbrush back into you, starting a rhythm that has you moaning loudly.
“You’re gonna be so tight when i fuck you.” He grunts. “Arent ya?”
“You’re so big.” You coo, the high from the drug’s heightening your pleasure as you arch off his bed. “There she is. There’s my good girl.” He smiles. “You gonna be this good when I’m ramming into you?”
“I will.” You nod. “I’ll be so good.”
“Swear it?”
“I swear it. I swear it dungeon master.” You nod, watching in real time as his eyes widen at the name and white spurts explode from his length all over your thighs and center.
“FUCK!” He yelps, eyes slamming shut as his high racks through him. “FUCK SHIT FUCK!”
“You’re so hot.” You whine, leaning up to continue pumping and milking him. “You’re such a good-“
He pushes you back quickly,‘throwing the toothbrush across the room so hardly you hear it slam and shut off at the impact while he readjusts himself so his face was shoved between your thighs.
Next thing you know he is lapping at your cunt.
“OH MY GOD!” You gasp, immediately grinding up into his face, shuddering as his nose pressed to your clit.
He stays down there, devouring you like a madman and finally your high comes. Paired with the weed you feel like your spinning, thighs clamped around his head as you spiral before it ends and you try to back away. But his own hands snatch you to stop you as he keeps going.
“Baby?” You ask, overstimulated and whiny.
He looks up at you, face gleaming with yours and his juices as he growls. “Mine.”
“Uh huh.”
And just like that he goes back to it.
He doesn’t let up until you finish 4 more times, a sobbing shaking mess that he gets to cuddle.
-
You suck him off in a double feature of some weird Star Wars movies, sitting in the back row.
You had grown bored of the shit film quickly and took to kissing around his face, over and over over as he closed his eyes and moaned out in the nearly empty theater. Not that anyone could hear him anyways.
His hand slides across your thighs and to your center before you slap it away. “Watch your movies perv.”
He huffs a laugh, pulling his hand back to keep watching the film before your hands undo his belt.
“Woah.” He huffs, gulping down. “You sure?”
“Want it so bad.” You giggle, immediately leaning over to take him in your mouth once he is freed. He hisses through his teeth, hand immediately flying to your hair and you suck on the tip, licking in circles before sliding your tongue along the slit at the top which makes him hiss and thrust up.
“Baby-“ you whine and he whispers an apology before you take as much as you can in your mouth, gagging a bit as you blow out your cheeks.
As the background music and shooting of those weird blaster guns fills the theater he begins thrusting up, using your hair to pull you up for down with his thrusts and your eyes water in a good way.
He grunts out when he feels your hot tears fall onto the exposed skin of his pelvis, pulling you off so he can look at your tear stained face.
A wave of panic consumes him thinking he hurt you before your sliding to the ground on your knees, taking him into your mouth again, allowing him to begin thrusting once more as he cums in your mouth while Luke fights Vader.
-
(This next part might not be for everyone but sometimes sharing is caring so )
You ask so blow Jeff at the Dnd meeting 3 weeks later. You had been straddling Eddie in his seat, playing with his hair when Jeff came in early, eyes wide as he said hello.
He was always so respectful, even when he pitched a tent.
So you turned back to Eddie, leaning in to whisper “can I take care of him?”
“Only if you want to and he wants to.” Eddie smiles. “You know I won’t be mad baby.”
And so you smile, sliding off his lap and moving closer to a Jeff who stares at you with wide eyes.
“Can I help?”
“Shit- I’m sorry. I’ll go.” He rushes out, thinking it’s a trap until you stop him.
“I can help,” you smile. “Help me learn how to please Eddie bit more too.”
And just like that your friend is nodding, watching as you readjust his chair so you can slide down and undo his pants.
“I’m sorry eddie.” Jeff whines when you free him.
“Don’t be sorry.” He laughs. “You want me to leave for a little?”
Jeff doesn’t answer, so you turn to nod at him to help relax the boy. eddie winks, leaning to kiss your forehead and drape his jacket around your shoulders before getting up and shuffling off.
“You really don’t have to princess.” Jeff breathes out. “Really this was enough in its own.”
“You don’t want me to?” You coo, tracing your finger along his hip bone. “I wanna be Eddie’s slut.”
“Oh fucking Christ.” He moans, head falling back as you take him in your mouth.
-
That night eddie eats your out like his life depends on it, fingering you and lapping at your folds as you moan and squirm beneath him. “I want you so bad. Please!”
And he gives him finally, smiling from ear to ear and he crawls up your body and leans to his nightstand to grab a - shit. Where were the condoms.
“Baby.” He moans. “We might have a problem.”
“What?”
“I don’t have condoms…..” you glare for a moment before you both start laughing loudly at your luck, moving to hug eachother.
“I can suck you off and then we can watch a movie.” You offer, kissing along his jaw. “We can get some condoms tomorrow.”
“I’m in.”
{The request for this wishes to remain anon so hope you enjoyed it and don’t ever feel nasty about requesting cause sometimes we all need just pure filth. ;) }
#eddie munson smut#steve harrington x eddie munson#eddie munson imagines#eddie munson stranger things#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fanart#eddie stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson fluff
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The Only Destination
(Billy Hargrove x Gender-Neutral Reader)
Synopsis: Sometimes you can’t stand all the noise and the people. You want to run and hide, but you don’t know where to go. Until you spot the one person who you’ll always run toward.
Warnings: Language, overstimulated/sound-sensitive Reader
Word Count: 1638
A/N: So, I definitely did not mean to go over a month without posting a fic, but the creative juices have been sparse. Thankfully, I think they're slowly coming back.
This started as a Shy!Reader fic and turned into this. And I didn't use pronouns (I think), but I use the word "perfume." Just an FYI. Hope you enjoy it! (Also, I can't remember what gifs I've used already, so I'm just going with my heart from now on.)
Rubbing your chest, you force yourself to keep your hand there and not travel to your throat. There are too many people around. They’d think you’re trying to hurt yourself instead of self-soothe.
You’re mostly on autopilot as you down the remainder of your drink. It seemed the normal thing to do as you search for somewhere with fewer people—less noise.
Someone walks past you a little too close, and you want nothing more than to scrape your nails down your arms to stop the breeze.
It’s so fucking crowded. As if everyone is placed in just the wrong spot. You have no privacy, no space where you can go and breathe.
The kids splashing in the pool, the grill sizzling, the laughter and talking, it’s too much.
Your last saving grace is to go inside and find a bathroom, flee to a confined space, and hope you don’t feel caged—until you spot Billy. And your feet move before your mind can fully process what you’re doing.
He’s sitting on the edge of a lounger, watching the kids even though they all know how to swim.
You’re squeezing your fingers, scratching the back of your hand unconsciously as you walk toward him.
He glances your way, looks back to the kids, then returns to you when he realizes who you are. His brow pinches once he sees your face and the shift in your eyes.
He doesn’t move, only waits for you to get to him. You stand there, lifting your lips into what you hope is a smile, but when he doesn't return it, you know it isn’t.
You're unsure what you want to do but know Billy’s where you need to be.
But he knows.
He slowly places a hand over yours, tilting his head to the lounger in a silent “sit.”
You do, grateful to not stand there, feeling like all eyes are on you.
You slide your fingers through his absentmindedly and tuck yourself into his side, just behind his back.
He tightens his grip, scanning you.
“You wanna go?” he asks quietly, ever so slightly hunching toward you, hiding you from the others.
You don’t know.
You don't know what you want, and you don’t know what to do. And it makes you wish you could shut your brain off, but it keeps going. And the only thing that you know is that Billy makes you feel a little better. Like you don’t wanna crawl out of your skin.
You put your other hand on your intertwined ones and press your mouth into his shoulder, needing to feel as much contact as possible.
“Okay,” he whispers into your temple. “I’m right here.”
His thumb grazes your knuckles.
You concentrate on it—the warmth of his skin and the remanence of smoke. You hate the smell, but right now, it’s entirely him. It pushes your frayed nerves aside and ironically lets you breathe easier.
After a few moments, you open your eyes—not realizing you closed them—and meet Billy’s.
You rest your forehead on his shoulder, slightly embarrassed by how you pushed yourself onto him.
You inhale deeply and let it out before sitting up, still close enough that your hips touch.
“What do you need?” He keeps his voice low. You can't express how much that means to you.
You're not as on edge as you were, the shouts and laughs don’t make you tense as much, but you know if you move it'll get worse. You just need a minute…
“Can we go somewhere? Just for a bit?” It finally feels right to speak, like the words won’t get stuck in your throat and hurt your ears.
“You good to move?”
You like how he doesn’t say “yes.” He gets to the point—listens to your words and body language. And when you nod, he leads you to the side of the house surrounded by trees.
When you can’t see anyone and the voices are muffled enough, you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his neck. His arms encircling your shoulders feel like a barrier between you and everything else.
You search for the dip of his spine, and your fingers twitch along it. The press of his cheek on your head comforts you.
He doesn’t sway or shift, only holds you with the steadiness you crave.
And when you lift your head, he waits for your arms to loosen so his can, too.
You’re still touching each other as your eyes meet. Billy's hands are under your shoulder blades, yours on his ribs.
He waits, knowing too many questions will throw you back into that state. All you have to do is say the word, and he’d drive you home. He’d fill everyone in later and collect your stuff while you got in his car. He’d stay with you if you wanted, sit in your living room while you lay in bed, or stand together in your kitchen the rest of the day if it kept you grounded. Whatever you need.
You’re tracing the tattoo on his side without realizing it, and his chest clenches a little at how he's the one you sought out.
“Can we sit on the swing?” Your voice is slightly hoarse like you’re forcing it to stay hidden.
He glances toward the bench swing and nods when he knows no one’s there.
Again, he leads you, holding the swing steady so you can settle into the cushion first. As soon as he sits, you pull your legs underneath you and lean into his side.
You’re far enough away from everyone that they’d have to walk over to talk to you but close enough to watch as Will pushes Jonathan into the pool.
Billy’s arm is around your waist, hand secured on your hip. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he tilts his chin to whisper in your ear.
“Okay if I swing us?”
Slowly, you nod. And Billy gently rocks you both, waiting a few moments to see if you want him to stop. When you don’t say anything, he relaxes, kissing your head and keeping his lips there for a few moments longer.
It’s a gesture that makes you want to cry. You can feel the tears welling. If you focus on them, you know they’ll fall.
“Thank you.” Your meek tone makes him squeeze your hip.
“I’ve got you.”
—
You stayed there for almost an hour before you asked Billy if he could drive you home.
When you arrive, the thought of him leaving feels like one of your limbs is being ripped off. You want to hold yourself so you can try to keep your body intact.
But you don’t know how to ask him to stay. It’s like the words are stuck in your throat. So, you sit in his car for a moment. You can feel him looking at you. And you’re trying to force air into your lungs when he breaks the silence.
“Can I stay tonight?”
You nod, eyes soft in a way that tells him you’re still feeling like an exposed nerve.
Once you’re inside your apartment, you head straight into the shower. You’re not sure if you despise yourself or everyone at the party more, and you need to wash it all away.
Billy’s in your kitchen brewing you tea. Whether you drink it or not, holding the warm mug will comfort you.
He sets it on your nightstand. Then, strips himself of his shirt and shorts, climbing into your bed.
Yours is softer than his, and it smells like you. Whatever perfume you use always makes him a little dizzy—in the best way.
There are photos scattered around. Some on your dresser and desk, one on each nightstand, and one peeking out of the top of the book you’re reading.
He opens it and smiles almost immediately.
It’s you and him at his birthday party. The first one he had since his mom left. You threw it for him. Surprised him and everything—cake, streamers, presents, the whole nine.
Jonathan took this one—among many others. You’re in Steve’s kitchen facing each other. Your hands are in mid-motion as you tell him a story, smile wide and eyes bright. And he’s grinning.
It’s obvious how he’s leaning closer to you—like you’re in your own bubble. And he’s happy he didn’t catch Jonathan taking the picture, or he’d have moved away. He would’ve pretended he wasn't enthralled by you. At that point, he didn’t realize what he felt for you.
You walk into the bedroom then. The smell of your shampoo drifting over.
Wordlessly, you settle into your side and sip your tea. You close your eyes for a moment. Breathe. Then place the mug back.
He’s about to ask you if it’s okay when you slip down and press yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pushing your face into his side.
He almost blushes. You’re so damn cute.
“Can you read to me?” you ask.
“I don’t read smut for free,” he teases.
You bury your nose in his side. “It’s not that.”
He chuckles, resting his arm around your shoulders and propping the book on his lap.
He reads five pages before you’re out.
When he realizes you’re asleep, he puts the book down and looks at you.
You’re so relaxed, eyelashes fluttering as you sink deeper and deeper.
He doesn’t know what he did to deserve your trust. By some miracle, you feel safe with him.
Maybe…Maybe he doesn’t have to turn out like Neil.
Carefully, he lays down, pulls you onto his chest, and buries his nose in your hair.
He could stay like this forever.
The longer he breathes you in, the more sure he becomes.
You’re it for him. And it’s time he tells you.
Taglist: @moonlightfountain, @steph-speaks, @bookshelf-dust, @nix-rose-q
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#billy hargrove#Billy Hargrove angst#Billy Hargrove fluff#Billy Hargrove x you#Billy Hargrove x y/n#Billy Hargrove x reader#Billy Hargrove x gender neutral reader#Billy Hargrove x gn!reader#Billy Hargrove imagine#Billy Hargrove imagines#Billy Hargrove oneshot#Billy Hargrove one shot
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Coming Home (Part Fourteen)
Azriel x Reader.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen
Ahhhh, brace yourselves. This is a big one, folks. A storm is a’brewin’.
Happy Halloween!
Warnings: SMUTSMUTSMUT 🌶️🥵
⧪
You woke the next morning with a blanket draped over your body – and a leaden weight on your shoulders, in your heart.
You felt…numb. And not numb at all. Achingly empty and yet so full, you couldn’t possibly cram any more inside your head. Restless, like you wanted to run and run and not stop; where, you weren’t sure.
After the argument with Elain the day before, Az had spent the day plying you with tea and mindless, easy conversation. You knew precisely what he’d been doing – keeping a close eye on you, sensing that you were teetering on the edge of something catastrophic. But not once did he raise any of the pressing subjects that were dragging on you.
Not once did he acknowledge the total shit show that was your life, and your relationships with everyone in it.
How could you face Starfall that night, when everything had piled on top of you so suddenly? When you felt a few steps away from a total fucking break? You wandered up to your bedroom, staring around the cold, empty area that, it seemed, no personal effects could fill or warm. It lacked life, lacked spirit.
You…you lacked life, you realised. Lacked spirit.
Returning to Velaris hadn’t been what you’d thought or hoped it would be. The initial reunions had been euphoric, of course, but it had taken a while for you to realise something that now seemed blindingly obvious.
You couldn’t be happy here – not right now. Couldn’t be happy anywhere, in fact, because you just weren’t happy, fullstop.
And it wasn’t just the situation that existed between you and Azriel. It was bigger than that, more than that. This thing went back years, had started long before you were old enough to harbour romantic feelings. It was a sickness, of sorts…a plague. A hatred. For yourself.
You stared in the mirror, not recognising one bit of the person that stared back at you. Had you ever been happy, even in those small moments of light? When your big brother had simply doted on his little sister, and it had nothing to do with him being a High Lord or ruling a court?
Had you ever had a chance to be happy?
Your father had hated you from your first breath to his last one. He’d told you what you’d become – a disappointment, a burden – and somehow, in your attempts to avoid those very things, you had, indeed, become them.
And travelling, seeing the world, had been nothing more than a ruse to get away. Because you’d thought, perhaps, that being away from the people who saw you for what you truly were, reinventing yourself every time you went someplace new, would somehow fill that chasm that lived inside of you.
Bandages. You’d just slapped bandage over bandage over bandage, and now they were all fraying, exposing your wounds, and you were losing the fight against them.
You never should have come home. Should never have turned up on your brother’s doorstep, shattered pieces of your soul in tow, and hoped that no one would notice how broken you truly were.
Home. Where even was that for you? You weren’t sure you had one. A place where you felt at peace, and whole…content and wanted and loved–
A thought struck you like a ton of bricks.
Frowning, you strode over to your dresser, pulling the drawers open and rifling through one by one. It had to be in this room somewhere – you knew you’d carried it everywhere with you and brought it back to Velaris with you; a tiny little keepsake you never wanted to lose.
Buried in the bottom of your armoire, tucked into a coin pouch, you found it.
The edges were torn, the colouring yellowed – the note was sixty years old, now, but you treasured it as much as the day its author had handed it to you.
A young, new High Lord who had been just twenty years of age and thrust into a daunting role, with views and opinions so aligned with your own, with a zest for goodness and peace. Your time spent in his company was, perhaps, the only time you’d felt true happiness. The only time you hadn’t thought something was missing from your heart.
You unfolded the note, smiling down at the neat handwriting. It gave you the comfort you absolutely needed in that moment.
I wish you weren’t leaving us, but should you ever travel this way again, or you simply want to come and play with us, you’re always welcome in the Summer Court. I’m deeply indebted to you for your counsel and friendship these past months. Don’t forget about me, Lady of the Night. Warm regards, always – Tarquin.
Tarquin. What a light he had been, in those few months you’d spent in Adriata, soaking in the sun and tasting the wine and helping a young male who was absolutely terrified of the responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders. You’d never returned to the Summer Court after you’d left – though you’d always sworn you wanted to – and only ten years later, they’d been trapped Under the Mountain.
Maybe you should have returned to Adriata, rather than Velaris. Maybe there, you would have sorted yourself out instead of spiralling.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to do so.
You weren’t sure. But with that little, folded note in view, you felt the slightest easing of the weight on your shoulders.
You gathered yourself together, did what you were supposed to do and began to get ready for Starfall.
But as you did, your thoughts were far, far away, on crystal blue waters and sandstone palaces.
⧪
“You wished to see me?”
The House of Wind had been rapidly filling up since the sun had begun to set over the city. Azriel and Cassian had flown back and forth, transporting the guests from the ground, up into the house where the celebrations were already underway, drinks and conversation flowing. Az had made true on his word to fly Killian up there, and the poor male was currently being pelted with questions from both Mor and Feyre.
And Rhys — Rhys had summoned you to this pokey little office to have a private chat.
He looked up at you, taking in the dress Az had bought you, your hair and makeup that you’d somehow found the will to perfect. His mouth kicked up into a soft smile. “You look beautiful.”
“As do you.” And he did — a true vision of the Night Court high lord. You stayed standing. “Why did you summon me here?”
“I know we agreed not to discuss anything too pressing until after Starfall, but…” He pursed his lips. “I wanted to check on you, see how you were doing after yesterday. After…”
You folded your arms. “After Elain suddenly decided she had a backbone? I’m fine. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve coaxed a cat’s claws out. If she keeps it up, she may actually start to look like she fits into this court.”
Rhys’s eyes closed. You watched as he pressed two fingers to each temple, gently massaging the area. A long, deep sigh was dragged from his lips. Like he was trying — and failing — to stifle his temper.
“What is it, Rhys?” You pressed.
Those violet eyes flickered as he glanced up at you. “Elain shouldn’t have behaved how she did yesterday — and I’ve made that clear to her. But you…I need you to have some compassion.”
“Compassion? Compassion for what?”
“Elain has suffered some terrible things—“
Your barked, incredulous laugh swallowed up his words. You shook your head. “I cannot believe we’re having this conversation right now.”
So he hadn’t summoned you here to check on your well-being —- but rather, to ask you to be kinder to Elain. If you weren’t already feeling so empty, so checked out, you may have actually screamed.
“Elain isn’t like you, Y/N.” Rhys said. “She doesn’t have your resilience. She isn’t brave, or confident, or—“
“If you truly believe that I am those things,” Your eyes met his, “then you do not know me at all, brother.”
For just a moment, he stared back at you. His brow furrowed, and his mouth became taut — like he was trying to puzzle you out, trying to find some semblance of the person he’d once known. But he wouldn’t find it; he seemed to realise that as he sat up in his chair.
“What is going on with you?” He demanded. “Since you came back to Velaris, it’s like—like you’ve been on a downward spiral. You’re acting out, pushing everyone away. And you’ve always been stubborn, and outspoken, perhaps a bit brash at times…but unkind? You’ve never been unkind. And yesterday—“
“Yesterday was not supposed to go the way that it did.” You pressed your lips together. “I simply wanted to talk to Elain, and I regret what I said to her when things got heated. But the way she’s acted, Rhys, the whole time I’ve been here…I can’t just sit back and ignore it.”
“She’s been through a lot—“
“And what about what I’ve been through?!” You snapped so suddenly, you shocked even yourself. You slammed your hands down on the desk, begging your eyes not to well up with tears. “What about what I’ve suffered?”
Rhys blinked at you. “I don’t know a thing about what you’ve been through because you haven’t told me.”
“You haven’t asked!” You needed to move, needed to get out of there before you truly lost it, but you couldn’t force your feet into action. “Nearly an entire fucking century I was away, and you haven’t even asked what I’ve been through. Whether I’m okay.”
“Y/N—“
“I’m not, Rhys. I’m not okay at all.” You hated, hated so much, that your voice cracked. “I’m broken. So fucking broken, I’m not even sure I can piece myself back together. I’m lonely. Bruised. And I’m so fucking tired!”
“You—“
“I saw death — out there, in the world. So much death, so much violence, it will never leave me. I may not have been trapped under that mountain with you, but I was still trapped. Trapped inside my head, moving from place to place and trying to find somewhere that I might actually feel whole. Somewhere I could become someone you would be proud of. And I tried to be that person…tried to learn things and help people and make things better, but I can’t do that because I’m the problem! So while you all assumed I was just galavanting around the world and having a merry fucking time, I was drowning. Suffocating.”
Rhys’s eyes were pleading, now, the colour so stark, you could be forgiven for thinking he was crying. “I don’t — I’ve never known how to help you, Y/N. I’ve always sensed something was wrong. I know that you went through a lot. Our father damaged you…and Tamlin’s father…and then Azriel…”
Just like that — just like that, you went so very, very still. A chill skittered through you like claws caressing your insides.
The words were the slap that Elain had failed to land.
“What,” you said bluntly, “does Azriel have to do with this?”
Rhys sat back in his chair. Squared his shoulders. The pitying gaze in his eyes made you feel sick to your stomach. And you…you felt smaller than ever.
You felt just as you had when you were a child. When Rhys would kneel down before you, to speak to you at eye-level. When he would soften his features and speak so gently, because you were his little sister — somewhat more like a daughter to the young male barely out of his adolescence — and he would do anything, anything to protect you.
Where had that relationship gone? That ferocious love? Had you, the hate and anger that ate you up from the inside, destroyed it?
“…it’s why you left, right?” He said quietly. “Because you were in love with Az — and he was in love with Mor. Anyone with half a brain cell could see it.”
Your eyes shuttered. No. You couldn’t talk about this. Not with him. Azriel had pushed you away for Rhys. To preserve his feelings — to keep to his loyalty for his friend, his brother, his High Lord.
And Rhys had known the whole fucking time? Had sat back and kept his mouth shut, like watching some shitty love triangle from a shitty romance novel play out? Like the whole thing was petty and meaningless, something you would have just gotten over with age?
And then he’d let you go out into the world, let you try to run from your feelings, straight into ones that were so much worse. So much lonelier. He’d let you build up such a guard, such a hatred.
And yet he was here, wanting you to be kinder to Elain.
You couldn’t stay here. In Velaris. There was no possible way you could stay here.
“I…” You spoke with dangerous calm. “I am not having this conversation with you, Rhysand. This ends here.”
“Y/N—“
But you were already turning your back on him, wrenching the door open. “Enjoy your night, brother.”
⧪
Churned up though you were, you decided to stay — for Starfall.
In some useless hope that the stars would zip by and carry your problems away. Maybe even carry you away.
Somehow, you floated around, drinking and dancing and socialising as if absolutely nothing were wrong. As if you weren’t a high fever about to break. A volcano seconds from erupting.
You’d given Killian sweet smiles that didn’t reach your eyes and pretty laughs that tasted sour in your mouth. You pretended to enjoy yourself — and when Killian plucked up the courage to talk to Rhys and Cassian, his eyes alight with utter awe at them — you felt relieved for the break. For the opportunity to drop your smile for a few moments.
But it was too noisy. Too much. Everyone had gathered on the main balcony once the sky’s displays had started, and you felt crowded, suffocated. Too hot and too boxed in.
With their faces tilted up at the sky, nobody thankfully noticed as you slipped away and went in search of some solitude. You quietly wandered inside, taking the staircase up to the roof that was unoccupied and just the right amount of quiet, even with the bustle of voices and music still audible from below.
You felt closer to the passing stars up here. Close enough to reach out just past the railing and touch. They seemed to dance around you, in front of you, cartwheeling their way through the endless expanse of night sky, and you couldn’t…couldn’t help wondering if perhaps one of those passing souls was your mother. Floating around you. Watching over you.
Couldn’t help wondering what she would think of you now.
Only when the door opened behind you did you realise you were crying. You jumped at the sudden intrusion, attempting to shield your face, to dab at the tears without completely destroying the artwork of makeup you’d painted onto yourself. Perhaps Killian had peeled away from your brother’s side and come looking for you. Perfect, you thought — you wanted distraction, to feel something or nothing, to feel reckless and dangerous and light on your feet—
“What happened.”
The question was dark, blunt — almost a snarl. Not Killian at all. Azriel shut the door to the roof behind him, and he was by your side in a couple of great strides, prising your hand from your face.
“What happened?” He repeated. “Has Kameron upset you?”
You couldn’t help but snort — albeit weakly, pathetically — dabbing your eyes. “His name is Killian.”
“…I really do not give a shit.”
No, you didn’t doubt that at all. Anyone glimpsing the Shadowsinger tonight may have merely seen his usual guardedness, but you knew him better than that. He didn’t like Killian, and he wasn’t pretending to. He’d barely breathed a word while Rhys and Cassian had plied the sweet male with questions.
“He didn’t upset me.” You said, leaning against the railing. “I’m just…reflecting, I suppose.”
“Reflecting.”
You could feel Azriel’s intense stare on you. He mirrored your position, bracing both arms on the railing and letting it support his weight. And gods, every bit of it — it was so much like that last Starfall. So much like that night that changed everything. The two of you alone together, the night sky a burst of brilliant shapes and sounds and colours. Your bodies brushing side-by-side. A host of unspoken words weighing on your tongue.
And you were…you were older. Obviously. And different. You just really weren’t sure, anymore, that the difference was a good one.
Az hadn’t torn his eyes from your face once; even with the exquisite sights that were happening right there, close enough to touch.
He angled his body towards you, the warmth of him brushing your bare arm. “What is going on in that head of yours?”
Good question. You wanted to laugh, to ask him if he had a spare millennia to puzzle out your complicated thoughts with you. But you merely focused on a passing star, your brow pinching.
“…Do you think she’d be proud of me?” You asked, your voice far smaller than you’d intended. “My mother, I mean.”
Azriel seemed surprised by the question — such a rare thing to catch him off guard. He blinked, frowned, and then touched your arm with a feather-like gentleness.
“Of course she would.” His voice was soft, quiet. “Why would you even ask that?”
Slowly, you shook your head. “…I don’t think I would be, if I were her. Proud. I don’t think she’d— “
Your words were cut off as Az’s rough hand suddenly gripped your chin. He turned your face to his, his jaw ticking as he stared down at you with that molten intensity in his gaze.
“I think she’d have more pride than she’d know what to do with.” He said. “I think she’d see how brilliant, how compassionate, how strong you are, and she’d know that no matter what, she wouldn’t have to worry. That somehow, no matter how bad things may seem, you would always be alright.”
Your eyes shuttered. You couldn’t stare at him — not like this. Not this close, with such words leaving his lips. It was easy to remember why you’d bridged that gap all those years ago and acted on your feelings. How simple, how second-nature it had been, to lean forward and kiss him.
You couldn’t make that mistake again. Not…not after everything. Not with everything else to contend with.
So you simply whispered “thank you”, and gently pulled your face from his grasp, angling yourself forward again.
He didn’t leave, like you half expected him to. He sidled closer to you, his arm pressing against yours, and you welcomed the warmth, the comfort, that he — and his wings — provided.
“You don’t have to keep me company up here, you know.” You smiled softly — I’ll be leaving soon enough anyway, was what you didn’t add. “You should go back and join the fun.”
“I think I’d rather be up here.” His eyes tracked a passing star, its light bringing out the flecks of green and brown that made up the hazel. “Besides — I think your lover is still drooling over Rhys.”
You rolled your eyes. But you were thankful for the lighter turn in conversation, the jesting in his tone. It felt good — normal. “He’s not my lover.”
“No?” He angled towards you again. “You fucked him. Isn’t that what a lover is?”
“I’m not sure it really counts if you didn’t get to cum.”
Az stared at you — and then threw his head back, and laughed. A great bellow of a laugh that was so at odds with his usual quiet, you couldn’t help grinning at the sound, the sight of his eyes crinkling at the edges.
“You’re not going to let that go, are you?” He smiled — a gods-damn breathtaking smile.
You shrugged. “Nope. Such an affront leaves one very frustrated.”
“Hmm, I’m sure.”
He pushed away from the railing, his feet falling into slow, relaxed steps around you. You wondered, for a moment, what exactly he was doing — whether he was returning to the party after all.
But then you felt the warmth of him at your back. The solid press of his body flush to yours, as he seemed to enclose you against that railing, the span of his wings cocooning you both from the rest of the world.
“Perhaps I need to make up for it, then.” He said. His voice was a deep, delicious rasp.
Your entire body had gone taut. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think — weren’t even sure you were breathing as your hands tightened on the railing. Every bit of Az was overpowering you in the most addictive way, his potent, spicy scent filling your nose, the warmth and hardness of his body holding yours upright, the fanning of his breath against the nape of your neck. He was tall enough to rest his chin atop your head, but he instead dipped it, angling it down.
His lips brushed your bare shoulder in a barely-there caress, and you sucked in a sharp breath. Tried to remember why this was a bad idea.
“This fucking dress.” He murmured, repeating the action with a slightly firmer press. As he did so, he snaked an arm around you, his hand brushing your navel.
Your eyes fluttered shut. “I…” You cleared your throat. “I thought you liked this dress.”
“I do. Perhaps too much.”
His lips ghosted along your shoulder again, moving further, further, up the column of your neck, where he seemed to settle. He pressed a gentle kiss behind your ear, and you released a shaky breath.
“…Az…” You whispered, letting your head fall back. “…what are you doing? What about…what about everything you said?”
With that one hand still rubbing light circles into your navel, he raised the other to your shoulder, toying with the strap of your dress.
“Maybe,” He murmured, “everything I said was what I thought I should say. Not what I wanted to say.” That hand on your stomach dipped slightly lower. “And maybe I’m tired of doing what I should over what I want.”
“…is that why you’ve been so different these past couple of weeks? The notes…the flirting…”
His hand inched lower, lower still. Now dancing just over where your waistband lay. “Maybe our conversation in Windhaven made me realise things. Made me realise that I want to be more than just the Spymaster. Want to feel more than just my duty. Maybe seeing Lucien defend you yesterday made me understand how I’d failed you.” Another light brushing of his lips. “I want…I want to feel alive, Y/N. And nobody makes me feel that quite like you do.”
You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think— “Oh.” Was all you managed to whisper.
“Oh, indeed.” He hummed. Pressed another kiss behind your ear. “Do you want me to stop, Y/N?”
Panic bleated somewhere far away inside you…because how could this be happening now, when you’d reached your breaking point? When it felt too late?
But if he stopped, you may just grab him by his wings and launch him off the roof. You…you could have this, couldn’t you? Mindless pleasure for the sake of it? A distraction from the fact that you were sinking?
Yes, you decided. You could.
You placed a hand against his, pressing it against you, as if to prove your point. You could have sworn he laughed.
“No.” You ground out. “I don’t want you to stop.”
“Thank fuck for that.”
Before you could register his movements, he was spinning you in his arms. Your back was pressed against the railings, and he gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“I cannot tell whether I want to stare at you in this dress or rip it off you.”
And then he was kissing you.
Hard, hungry, passionate. The railing was bitingly cold against the skin of your back, and yet every part of you was warm. You opened your mouth on a gasp, and he slipped his tongue inside, the taste of him — of the fruity drink he’d been nursing — drawing a moan from your throat.
His other hand — the one that wasn’t gripping your face — moved down and down until his fingers were skirting the hem of your dress and the skin of your thigh, the brush of his calluses a delicious scrape that you wanted to feel on every part of your body. He kissed you harder, exploring every inch of your mouth he could get to, and slowly began to lift the hem of your dress up.
You reached up, fisting the front of his shirt in your hand and attempting to yank him closer to you, harder against you, but you were stopped. He tore his lips from yours.
This, a horrible voice in your mind told you, is where he realises he fucked up and walks away. Again.
You stared up at him, your lips still tingling. A lick of worry rose in you—
But he smirked, his eyes studying your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips. His gaze seemed deeper, darker, somehow. You wanted to kiss him again, to taste him — but he stopped you as you leaned in.
“No.” He rasped. “I want to look at you while I give you that orgasm you didn’t get from Kristian.”
You gasped as his fingers brushed the lace of your underwear. “His name is Killian.”
“I know.”
Any suitable response quickly eddied from your mind as Az’s hand slipped past the waistband of your pretty, flimsy underwear. If he hadn’t already scented your strong arousal, he found it waiting for him as his fingers reached the gathering wetness at your centre.
“Fuck.” He growled. “You’re soaked.”
“Yes.” You breathed, pushing against his hand. “Because of you.”
The way he looked at you could have suggested that you’d given him the secret to eternal happiness. He bit his lip, his eyes locking with yours. And then dragged a finger right through your folds.
“Oh gods,” Your head fell back as his thumb pressed against that sweet spot at the apex of your thighs. He began to make slow, torturous circles, his other hand forcing your face back to his.
“Look at me.” He grunted, pressing down on the sensitive nub. “Don’t stop looking at me.”
He was…gods, he was perfect. You’d always known he was skilled, an expert with his hands — you’d seen him use them enough in training and in work. And you’d be totally fucking lying if you said you hadn’t imagined what else those brilliant hands could do, in the dead of night, when it was just you in your bed, your hand between your legs.
But this — the real thing? It put those heated fantasies to shame in an instant.
His eyes were locked with yours, tracking every one of your micro-expressions, the way your brow furrowed, how you kept alternating between pressing your lips together and allowing them to fall open, allowing a whole host of noises to fall from them. Not once did Az look away from you.
With his thumb still rubbing circles against your clit, he brushed a long finger through your wetness, dragging it slowly down towards your entrance. You bucked your hips towards him, practically begging him to slide that finger into you, and he released a deep, guttural laugh.
And then did exactly that.
“Fuck.” You gasped, your hips bucking again. “Oh, gods, Az.”
“Like that?” He’d stilled his hand — just to make sure you were comfortable. He couldn’t seem to resist leaning forward and kissing you once, quick, before he pulled back to stare at you again. “Feel good?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes, can you—“
His finger began moving inside you before you could complete your request. What started as a slow thrust quickly picked up, the pace of his thumb also increasing against your clit, and your head fell back once more as he slipped a second finger inside you. His free hand gripped the back of your neck, forcing your gaze back to his, and pure, feral need flashed in his eyes as he studied you.
It seemed to do something to him — watching you, maintaining eye contact, as his fingers thrust inside you, your release tightly coiling in your stomach. The whole world had melted away, and it was just the two of you, not even the passing stars able to compare to what you were feeling right then.
“Look at you,” Azriel ground out. “So fucking beautiful.”
“Gods,” You moaned, your hand clamping down on his wrist — simultaneously trying to slow and encourage his movements. It was too much, too incredible, and you could feel it unfurling rapidly. “Gods, I’m gonna—“
That was all you managed to get out before release barrelled through you, the words dying in your throat and becoming nothing more than staggering, breathless moans.
You’d never felt anything like it — never had a fucking orgasm like it. Like…like you were lightheaded and gasping for air, the world spinning around you. You swore you could see swirls and colours and shapes, as if the travelling stars had stopped right above you and Az and exploded, showering you in their shimmering dust and light.
Only then did you realise Az had gone completely still, his hand still in your underwear — and he, too, was staring up, up at the sky above you, and—
The stars were exploding directly above you. Raining down on you. Iridescent, glowing dust was falling onto your skin and in your hair. Never had you seen them do that before.
You didn’t know what was happening. Couldn’t think. All you were aware of was something rocking you to your very core, like the world was cleaving in two and making room for…for something else. Something more. You weren’t sure if the roof was truly trembling around you, or if that was just you, your body, your release—
Az tore his gaze from the sky and looked at you.
And there, in your soul, in your heart, in your thoughts, you felt it — a resounding snap. Like something clicking into place. Something taking residence in your entire being that felt old and new at the same time. And complete. So utterly complete.
The way Az was staring at you, his eyes wide and alarmed, his lips slightly parted — you knew he’d felt it, too. Felt that groundbreaking snap that was now burning and growing inside of you.
He pulled his fingers out of you. Eased his hand from your underwear. His mouth opened and closed around silent words as he took a simple step back, pure shock taking over his face. Like the shock he’d worn on the night of your return, but…more, somehow. Stronger.
“Fuck.” He choked out, and you swallowed.
You both knew exactly what this meant — could almost hear his shadows whispering around you: mates, mates, mates.
Az looked like he didn’t know whether to scream or laugh or cry or fly right out of there. His body had gone preternaturally still.
“Fuck.” Was all he said again.
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Tags: @theravenphoenix26 @safetypinxtales @historygeekqueen @smartiepants217 @mulansaucey @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @issybee0611 @goldentournesol @percyjacksonspeen @high-bi-andreadytocry @esposadomd @positivewitch @bsenpai @cityofidek @shannonsaid @topaz125 @azzydaddy @nobody00sthings @sfhsgrad-blog @elizarikaallen @hanasakr @ruleroftides @mis-lil-red @reiincarnatiion @moonfawnx @new-adventures-every-day @davinaclaire16 @i-am-fascinated @lucyysthings @margssstuff @magneticforceofaswifty @xxoverthinkerxx @marigold-morelli @owllover123 @vera0124 @thewarriormoon @the-book-gnome @favoritecrime1 @pricklepearbloom @icantthinkofanythingplease @ilovespideyyy @kitty-kait @hwas-housewife @localhopedealerr @magical-mischief-makers @holywolfsstuff @grungy-blue-hipster
#acotar#azriel x reader#azriel acotar#azriel spymaster#azriel shadowsinger#shadowsinger x reader#acotar fanfic#rhysand#mating bond#a court of thorns and roses#cassian#feyre#amren#morrigan#nesta#elain#azriel fluff#acotar fandom#acotar series#shadowsinger#spymaster#fluff#azriel fic#azriel fanfic#sarah j maas#acotar headcanon#acotar smut#acotar fluff#acotar writing#acotar x reader
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Hi ❤️ I found this beautiful red pair of pants at the thrift store a while ago, and I just got around to modifying them (also I fucked around with my photo editor for no reason)
I really love the embroidery on it and the material is extremely soft and breathable. But when I got them they were a bit too big for me and the drawstring was a pain in the ass to use. So I removed the drawstring and mended the hole, then I folded the waist band over itself in two places at my sides and stitched it in place. It's an elastic waist band so I was completely okay with removing the drawstring entirely (I forgot to take a picture of the waist band. Oh well)
I was thinking of adding more embroidery to the waist band but I'm afraid of compromising the stretchy-ness in any way so Idk yet. I think I'll leave it alone for now
I also changed the shape of the legs, they were flared out a little bit. I like the shape so instead of using elastic, I made drawstrings for the bottom of the legs so that I could achieve that poofy pants shape I like, but I also have the option to untie or remove the strings and bring them back to their original shape if I want to
I went from having this in my wardrobe and rarely wearing it to wearing it all the time!!! They're so comfortable and beautiful and they were fun to modify 🌿☀️
*****
[Image ID:
There are 5 total images. The first one is of me in my mirror wearing a black crop top and red pair of pants made of flowy fabric, they're embroidered with an intricate diagonal grid pattern and some vines around it in the same color as the fabric, across the middle of both legs and going down. but the embroidery doesn't show well in this particular image. My head doesn't show in the image so it's just my outfit. I edited the photo and put some sun stickers on it as well as two captions in white text placed near my waist that say: "took the drawstring out and mended the hole" and "tailored the waist band to fit" and a third caption at the bottom of the photo that says "cut open the hem at the bottom of each leg and inserted new drawstrings, changing the shape."
The next two images are pictures of the pants laid out on my bed, one image is zoomed in on the embroidery.
The next image is zoomed in on the bottom of the right leg where I put new drawstrings made of darker red yarn. There's red embroidered vines going down the seams and slightly lighter red embroidery thread on the edges of the hole I cut in the hem. There are three captions in white text in the photo that say: 1. "I embroidered the edges of the fabric I cut so they don't fray." 2. "Once i finished that i stitched it closed 1/4th of the way on the inside to prevent this part of the hem from sticking out." 3. "And I made two new drawstrings from yarn before I realized I could've used the one from the waist band instead"
The last image is of the same are of the pants as the last image but without the text and my hand. And the hole where the drawstrings are coming out of is less visible.
End ID]
#solarpunk#solarpunk fashion#solarpunk aesthetic#hopepunk#ecopunk#punk#punk fashion#mending#clothing modifications#embroidery#diy#punk diy#solarpunk diy#upcycled fashion#upcycling#sustainable fashion#sustainability#fashion#hatchet mends things
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Can you do a period comfort Hobie for fluffy Friday? Like Hobie comforting reader while she has bad cramps or mood swings? Like maybe he buys reader chocolates or makes them himself or something? I have PCOS(poly cystic ovary syndrome) and my period is currently kicking my ass :(
Thank you in advance! I love your work and ttn has me giggling and kicking my feet it’s so lovely :)
Oh I know the feeling 😞 hope you feel better! Thanks for requesting ❤️
Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader
Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, description of pain, FLUFF.
It's Fluffy Friday!
ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ
You groan out when another wave of pain sends you writhing on the bed, sheets crumpled out from under you, blanket kicked to the edge of the bed.
"Hobie!" You whimper out, clutching your stomach, tears prickling in your eyes. You already feel bad yelling his name, mood swings at an all time high, one minute you're clinging to him the next you're pushing him off you.
"Present!" He tries to joke, you meet him with a glare. Hobie winces, maybe he shouldn't have tried his luck. You asked him so nicely to warm up your heating pad. He thought you felt better, you even gave him your best puppy dog eyes and a cute pout to peck his cheek.
Hobie brings the heating pad on your lower stomach, briefly lifting off your shirt. You sigh, pain subsiding.
"'m sorry" you take his hand, "I'm being an asshole"
"What do you mean? You're always an arsehole to me" he tilts his head, trying his luck again at making you smile.
You chuckle softly, "I deserve that. Come here" extending your arms, you scooch a bit to give him space.
He lays next to you, your arm around his back so he doesn't fall off the edge, cheek on his rough jumper. Hobie rests his head on your hair, his long limbs cover your body.
"Yeah? But you're my arsehole" you snort at his efforts at making you smile. Hobie fixes your shirt so that the cold doesn't seep through your skin. "How do you feel now? One to ten?" He snuggles further into you.
"A seven" closing your eyes, you mindlessly play with the frayed edges of his jumper. Pain meds finally work its magic.
"What else do you need? I can quickly swing by and buy you somethin'"
"Just need you" you wait a few beats. "And chocolate" Looking up at him through your lashes, you give him a teasing smile.
"Pssh, how 'bout I make you some?" Hobie softly caresses your arms free of goosebumps.
"You know how to make chocolate?"
"What? Like it's hard?"
"That is the cutest fucking thing ever" you squeeze him, nuzzling your face on his chest. "So punk" murmuring out as you slowly drift off to sleep. "Teach me sometime, please" fighting it off for a few minutes, you kiss the tip of his nose.
"Get some rest and we'll make some" Hobie uses his feet to grab the blanket, laying it on the both of you. Tucking you in, he joins you for a nap.
Sure enough after you woke up, you felt a lot better with help from Hobie. You pestered him into teaching you how to make chocolates. But with the ache coming back, he lets you sit this one out.
"Just sit there and look pretty for me" He lifts you up on the counter effortlessly, hands squeezing your thighs for a moment.
Clutching your heating pad, licking the chocolate covered spoon that he's given you to keep occupied, you watch him whisk away, muscles doing all the work.
"Snack and a show" you tease, eyes glued to his biceps.
Hobie smirks at your comment, taking a small dollop of chocolate on his pinky, wiping it on the tip of your nose.
You laugh, eyes crossing to look at your nose. Retaliating, you do the same, wiping the chocolate on his cheek. He tilts his head mischievously, playfully fighting back.
"Don't even think about it–!" A good amount of melted chocolate smacks you on your forehead.
It's safe to say after your little food fight, the kitchen ends up covered in chocolate. Now you have months worth of it thanks to a miscalculation that you may or may not have done on purpose.
#request done#fluffy fridays#the kr8tor's creations#hobie brown x reader#spider punk x reader#spider punk#hobie brown#x reader#atsv fanfiction#spider man across the spider verse#atsv fanfic#atsv x reader#atsv fluff#atsv hobie#hobie brown x fem!reader#hobie brown x you#spider punk x fem!reader#spider punk x you#fanfic#hobie fluff
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MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
pairing: poe dameron x female reader
rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)
word count: 1077
summary:
General Organa needed more skilled fighter pilots, and there was no one more skilled than Poe Dameron, former spice runner and current New Republic commander. With the General’s messages going unanswered, you’ve been sent in to engage Dameron. All you had to do was convince him to return with you to the Resistance base.
author’s note: posting this as a sign of life, as it’s the only thing i’ve managed to finish over the last month 💀 i’m still working on my many joel, din, and frankie ideas. i’m just slow - hope you can forgive me.
tags/warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), able bodied reader, no physical descriptions for reader, no use of y/n, oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, praise, pet names, uh kidnapping?
It was supposed to be a simple mission.
General Organa needed more skilled fighter pilots, and there was no one more skilled than Poe Dameron, former spice runner and current New Republic commander. With the General’s messages going unanswered, you’ve been sent in to engage Dameron. All you had to do was convince him to return with you to the Resistance base.
Where it got complicated was somewhere around drink two, when Poe slid his arm around your waist and your heart skipped a beat as you met his dark gaze. His full lips tilted up in a smile that said he knew exactly what you were thinking and you were long gone, mission temporarily forgotten as he leaned in close and pressed a trail of kisses across your neck.
Now you’re on your back in a cramped bunk, fingers tangled in Poe’s curly hair as he devours you like a starving man, tongue lavishing your clit with agonizing determination. A thick finger presses to your entrance, sliding in with little resistance as your back arches from the bed.
“Maker, you’re a mess,” Poe murmurs on a breath, head raised to watch you as he works a second finger into you, pressing deep and curling them against your front wall as he withdraws. His tan skin is shiny with your arousal and his hair is a mess and you want to say something back about how he’s not looking too put together right now himself but you can’t, not with the way his skilled hands are driving you to the brink.
A few swipes of his thumb across your clit is all it takes to make you shatter, the walls of your cunt squeeze his fingers as you come and come and come. Poe’s hand withdraws slowly and he presses your thighs apart, watching as you pulse around nothing and you whine at the loss.
“Shhh, sweetheart,” he says, sitting up and working the belt of his flight pants loose. “Not finished yet.”
Poe shoves his pants down his thighs, only enough to expose his cock. He leans forward, elbows pressed into the mattress beside your head as he slides his length against your slick heat, brushing over your sensitive clit with each movement. His mouth finds yours and he kisses you deeply, his spicy scent and the earthy taste of your own release invading your senses as he does. The head of his cock catches against your entrance and he presses forward the slightest bit before pulling back again.
“Quit teasing,” you command, but your voice vibrates with need. He does it again, a little deeper this time, and again, a little deeper still.
“You can just say you want my cock,” he says, self-assured tone punctuated with a smirk. “Come on, say it.”
You stare up at him defiantly as he inches his hips forward, slowly, slowly, slowly. Your clenched jaw loosens, mouth dropping open on a gasp as he drags across a sensitive spot inside of you, and he stops, holding himself still inside of you. Despite all his arrogance, you can still see the way he’s fraying at the edges. It’s in the sheen of sweat on his brow, the way the muscles in his neck have gone taut, the crack of joints as his hands clench into tight fists on the bed.
“Fuck me, Poe,” you finally say.
And fuck you he does.
He sits up on his knees, your ass perched on his thighs and his hands holding tight to your hips as he slams deep, punching the air from your lungs. His pace is brutal, powerful, singular determination etched into his features as he uses your body for his own pleasure now.
Hi hands leave your hips to lean over you once more, one hand on the mattress by your head and the other pressing one of your legs up and to the side, opening you wide. His hips slow from a piston to a smooth wave, each deep slide of him making you moan his name.
“That’s it,” he groans, “Who’s making you feel this good, sweetheart, huh?”
“You, Poe,” you reply.
“That’s right.” He drops to his elbows again, pressed close against your body, thrusts morphing into a grind that keeps you full. He sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, soothes the ache with a kiss, and whispers how good you feel into your ear until you’re shaking, quietly begging for him to make you come again.
His hand slides between your bodies, fingers rubbing sloppy circles through the slick gathered on your skin. Another nip of his teeth sends you over the edge and he moans, deep and guttural against your neck as he fills you with a new warmth, cock pulsing as the waves of your own orgasm drag one from him.
You’re both panting, gasping for breath as you come down from your twin highs. Poe pulls out and turns over to land on the sliver of bed available between your body and the wall. He kicks his pants off into a pile at the foot of the bed and wraps an arm around your middle, pulling your body against his.
“Stay,” he mumbles against your neck, a kiss pressed behind your ear. You don’t respond, you don’t have to. He’s asleep within seconds, gentle snores filling the small bunk space.
When you’re certain he’s out cold, you slide out from beneath his arm and dress yourself. You try not to think too hard about how you’d like to crawl back into bed with him, not while you’re digging your comm unit from your pants.
Ready for extraction.
When Poe wakes up, the first thing he notices is that you’re not there.
The second thing he notices is that he’s not even in his own bunk.
He sits up, panic coursing through his veins. Where is he? Where are you? Are you alright? Is he—
“Commander Dameron,” your familiar voice says through a speaker. Poe looks up, finds you watching him from the other side of a transparisteel window. “You’re safe. You’re currently on a Resistance base in an undisclosed location.”
“How did—“
“You’re a very heavy sleeper, Commander. You should probably have a medic droid look into that for you,” you say, cutting off his question. “You’ve been brought here to speak with General Organa.”
Poe smirks. “Do they know how exactly you got me here, sweetheart?”
“It’s Captain, actually.”
All masterlists
#poe dameron#poe dameron x reader#poe dameron x you#poe dameron smut#poe dameron x female reader#poe dameron fanfiction#star wars sequels#poe dameron drabble#poe dameron fic
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Glory Days
no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader
Hungry Hearts masterlist
warnings | 18+ a little smut, the angst starts to angst again
wordcount | 6.4K
a/n | howdy, folks. the time has come, the angst is upon us, but only a pinch of it in this chapter. that being said, the next few chapters are going to be a little shorter, a little more crisp in that way. as always, i'd love to hear what you think, thank you for reading this one.
gif by @perotovar
..........................................
Growing up, she always liked going over to the Miller’s house. Always somebody coming and going, always warm, welcoming, always open arms and plates of that ritz cracker brittle Deedee always seemed to be making. The last time, she was maybe ten, and she can’t remember if there was any real reason for her visit. She thinks it was in the summertime, dropping her bike in the grass of their front lawn and ringing the doorbell to see if Joel wanted to play. But it’s a faint memory, and she’s a bit distracted right now, driving to the Miller’s house in the passenger seat of Joel’s truck, worrying at his hand that she’s stolen into her lap.
He has a good relationship with his parents. She knows that. She’s seen that. So it’s not that she’s nervous to have dinner with them, the only people that know what she and Joel have been getting up to this summer, because that’s how close he is with them. It’s guilt, a small prickle of it, because what they don’t know is that she has asked him to leave, and that they have been planning for it these entire last two weeks.
She brought up that concern with him a few days ago, asking him if he wasn’t worried about leaving his family. Joel had responded with all the nonchalance of someone who has never had to give much thought to his relationship with his family. Something about leaving a note for them, and calling them once they got up north, no big deal. Right, sure. But she knows that if she questions it anymore, if she keeps trying to find all the frayed edges of this plan they have tried to stitch together, that small scared flicker in her chest will build and burst into something bigger, something like backing out. And she’s not about to do that.
There will be no note for her family, no call home either, and it will be a long time before she even thinks about stepping foot in the south again. And while all of that feels easy for her, a relief, perfect and clean and clear, she thinks that it’s a much bigger ask of Joel, even as he seems hell bent on convincing her that it’s not. Though having dinner with the whole Miller clan seems a bit counter-intuitive to her in proving that point.
“Hey, Cherry! Blink twice if he’s holding you against your will!”
“Tommy, shut the fuck up!”
“Joey Miller, I better not have heard what I think I just heard!”
“No, ma, sorry, ma.” Still her Joey, she can’t help the laugh that slips out as she follows Joel inside, a quick blur of kisses on the cheek and Tommy slapping her on the back and Hank and Deedee both welcoming her, shepherding her with smiles and small talk to the dinner table, Joel sitting down beside her. She prickles at first when he slides his arm around the back of her chair, hand coming to rest idly over her shoulder, but then she remembers that his family already knows about them, no need to keep it a secret. At least not that part.
“So Joey said you’re studying English, but that’s about all I got out of him so I want to hear all about it, honey.” She has always liked Deedee. Always with care to spare, she remembers one time, maybe eight years old, sitting on the step to the Miller’s front porch in tears from a bee sting, and Deedee sitting alongside her, holding her arm so gentle and quick pinch, honey to get the stinger out before pressing a bandaid and a kiss over the wound.
“Oh, I don’t know if there’s much to tell. But I’m really enjoying it, yeah.”
“Well that’s what matters, kid, I’m sure you’re making your parents real proud up in Chicago.” She nods along to Hank’s words, though a sick swirl rises up in her gut, making it hard to swallow the bite of pork chop she just took.
“So, Cher, how did Joel finally get you to agree to go out with him? He tell you he has cancer or something?” That earns Tommy a swift kick to the shin from Joel, sending the whole table rocking, though Deedee is quick to quiet her boys with a very grave you two better not start at the table.
“Nice, Tom, very funny. I take it the freshly graduated lifestyle is suiting you well?” Tommy grins at her, nodding enthusiastically as Deedee rolls her eyes. According to Will, he had pulled quite the stunt at high school graduation, collecting his diploma and promptly tearing open his gown to reveal that he was only in a pair of briefs with the American flag emblazoned on them before darting off the stage like a bat out of hell.
“It sure is, got my whole life ahead of me and all that.” Joel lets out a poorly contained snort into his water glass, Tommy’s eyes immediately settling into a glare on him.
“Something funny, brother?”
“Nope, not a thing, Captain America.” He can barely get the words out before dissolving into laughter, Deedee scolding him with a pointed Joey, drop it, as Tommy pushes back from the table with a huff.
“At least I’m thinking about my future. That’s more than you can say, Mad Max.”
“That is enough.” Deedee always gets the final word, both Joel and Tommy hanging their heads and muttering out a respective sorry, Ma.
The rest of dinner is polite enough, though Joel seems to be sulking quietly beside her for most of it, Tommy too. The last light of the day is just starting to slip away into something hazy and purple when they step out onto the porch, more kisses on cheeks and tupperware getting shoved into Joel’s hands with an exasperated you’re skin and bones these days, Joey, from Deedee and honestly, she feels like her head is spinning by the time they get in his truck to go back to his apartment. That guilt has gotten bigger. All that ease and warmth even amidst the brothers’ squabbling, and she’s asking him to leave it.
“I am thinking about the future.” His voice startles her out of the slow spiral in her mind, glancing over, his eyes staying on the road, face awash in dipping and bending shadows.
“What?”
“What Tommy said– that’s not true, Cher. I am thinking about the future.” His knuckles are tensing and releasing over and over again over the wheel, and she’s already reaching out to take one of his hands in hers, smoothing out his palm against hers.
“I know you are, Joel.”
“I may not have a degree or-or some kind of well to-do job–”
“You know that doesn’t matter to me.”
“I know, Cherry, I know it doesn’t. But I’m telling you that I am thinking about the future. And while I don’t know much, what I do know is that it’s you and me.” It’s so earnest that it sends a hot prickle up her throat and behind her eyes. She draws his hand up to her lips, pressing a kiss into each knuckle, Joel glancing sideways at her, a smile finally crooking the side of his mouth.
“I know, baby. You and me.”
…
“Oh my land, it’s not every day we get a celebrity around here!”
“Ma, don’t.”
“Hush, Joey. Oh, honey, it is so, so good to see you.”
“Hi, Mrs. Miller, thank you so much for inviting us today. It’s really great to see you too.”
Joel has already decided that this was a bad idea, watching his mother pull Cherry into a crushing hug before she introduces her to Ellie, who is then also pulled into a crushing hug, her eyes going wide over Deedee’s shoulder as she gives her a big squeeze. No, definitely not a good idea to invite them to the Miller’s annual cookout, the whole brood of friends and family coming forward to fawn over Cherry and her kid as she shoots him a few errant and nervous glances in the fray.
It had seemed like a good idea, really. Like a trying to make things more serious idea. Because things have been anything but. Truthfully, he’s been feeling like a teenager all over again with the way they’ve been sneaking around. And it’s safe to say that her new porch is taking longer to construct than he originally thought, because, well, he’s been getting a little distracted.
There was the time they went to go look at materials for the porch at Home Depot. They didn’t even get in the store, Cherry ducking her head down into his lap while Joel held onto the ceiling handle in his truck for dear life.
Then there was the time Ellie was at practice and he was supposed to be building the frame of the porch. Cherry came out offering to share her lunch with him. He helped her disinfect the kitchen counters after they were finished, his jeans still unzipped and her shirt hanging from the neck of the sink.
And there have been plenty of times that he’s knocked on her office door around midday, and she has simply yanked him in by the sweaty collar of his t-shirt, both of them laying down on the floor right in front of her desk and frittering away a few hours with each other.
And it’s been dizzyingly unreal, to get so much of her, but still not all of her. Still not all of her, because they still haven’t talked, the serious, needs to happen kind of talk, Cherry always flitting away before he can work the words out of his mouth. So he decided that inviting her to the cookout would be a step forward, maybe a chance to talk, or if nothing else, a chance to spend sane time together without immediately going for each other’s clothes.
But now, sitting down at one of the picnic benches crammed with Millers at the park for lunch, with Sarah on one side of him, and Cherry on the other, and Ellie shooting him daggers from across the table while Tommy looks at him like he’s up to no good, Joel has concluded that this was actually one of his worst ideas, maybe ever.
“So you and my dad grew up together?” Sarah asks it, leaning across Joel to direct it to Cherry, who smiles and nods.
“Mmhmm, we were neighbors up through high school.”
“Aw, you’re selling us short, Cherry. I thought we were a little more than neighbors.” Tommy has a huge grin on his face as he says it, while Joel considers all the different ways he could smack that look clean off his face.
“Yeah, yeah, Tom, I suppose we were friends for some of it.”
“Why do you call my mom Cherry?” Joel can’t help but snort at the dejected way Ellie asks it, already gearing up the story in his mind.
“Your mom never tell you that story?”
“Joel, don’t.”
“Oh, c’mon, Cher. It’s a good story.” For once, it’s not Ellie who’s glaring at him, but Cherry, Tommy snickering from across the table.
“Yeah, mom, c’mon, I wanna hear it.” Cherry purses her lips for a moment, finally throwing her hands up as if to say fine, have at it. Joel feels a grin spreading across his face as he starts telling it to Ellie.
“You ever had a cherry coke, kid?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Well, back in the day, they didn’t sell cherry coke as its own thing. But our parents would make it by putting maraschino cherries, you know, the bright red kinds soaked in syrup?”
“Yeah, like on top of a sundae.”
“Exactly, so our parents would put those in the bottom of a bottle of coke and mash ‘em up a little bit and you’d get cherry coke.”
“Joel, she didn’t need to know that.”
“It’s a part of the story, Cher, let me finish.” She just scoffs, looking at Tommy who shakes his head at her.
“So anyways, when the summer came around, there wasn’t anything better than a cherry coke in the afternoon. Me, your mom, and Tommy there would sit out on the porch in the afternoon, probably rotting our last baby teeth out of our heads with it.”
“Okay?” Ellie says it long and drawn out like, yeah, get to the point, thanks.
“Well, one day, we were, what, Cher? Maybe nine?”
“Uh-huh, that sounds right.”
“So we’re sitting out there and well, I guess I said something really funny to make your mom laugh so hard that she snorted cherry coke out of her nose.”
“Don’t act like you don’t remember what you said.” He can barely hold back his grin looking at Cherry’s completely exasperated face.
“I don’t know, Cher, it must have slipped my memory. Do you remember it?”
“Oh yeah, I remember it.”
“Wait, what did he say, mom?” Ellie, who now seems riveted by this whole saga, looks at her mom with wide eyes, like this is the most dire information she needs to know. Sarah seems equally invested, leaning over Joel to look at Cherry.
“Alright, I’m gonna say to you what he said to me, okay?” Ellie nods, just a bit unbridled in her enthusiasm.
“Did you know that diarrhea is hereditary?” Ellie’s brow furrows, though she stays silent, waiting for the punchline.
“It runs in your jeans.” Ellie stutters for a beat, and then she starts to laugh, looking between Joel and her mom. Sarah meanwhile lets out something between a groan and a snort, clapping her hand over her face with all the exasperation that Cherry seems to have too.
Maybe not such a bad idea after all.
…
“Read it to me.”
“Seriously? You want me to?”
“Yeah, Cher, I’ve been wanting to hear something of yours all summer.”
“You’re probably gonna think it’s stupid.”
“I’ll hold my judgments until the end.”
“Oh, great.”
“Kidding, but I do want you to read it to me.”
She does, trying to tamp down the heat rising in her cheeks as she reads what she’s been working on to him. And she only feels a little ridiculous doing it, with the way she’s sitting with her back against his chest and his chin hooked over her shoulder so he can follow the words on the page of her notebook. Hot all over, even with the box fan blowing and the sheets kicked off the mattress and in nothing but one of his t-shirts and her panties. And that heat only gets worse when she finishes the story, not daring to look over her shoulder to catch his expression as she wordlessly closes her notebook in her lap.
“Wow.”
“Wow?”
“That was really good, Cher.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Cherry, goddamnit, just take the compliment.”
“You really thought it was good?” She clamors around so that her knees are framing his hips and her hands are resting along his bare shoulders, squinting for any trace of untruth, of sugar coating, though she doesn’t think she finds any in his expression.
“Yes, I did. Better than the shit they made us read in school by a mile.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m serious, I’d buy that story.”
“It’s too short to be bought, but that’s what I wanna do, you know? Write something– something a lot longer that could be bought.”
“I know, Cher. And you will.”
“How can you just say that?”
“Because I know it.”
“But how?”
“I just do.”
“You’re–”
“If you say that I’m just saying that I’m going to lose my goddamn mind, Cher.” She purses her lips at his exclamation, Joel quick to surge forward and smack a kiss to her mouth, his hands kneading up and down her thighs.
“Thank you for listening.”
“Of course, Cher. I always wanna hear what you’re working on.” That gets him another kiss, one that Joel chases after, palm rucking up her shirt on its path up her spine to hold the nape of her neck, still and steady as he opens up her mouth with his tongue. She sighs into it, her hips already starting to shift and drag against his, laughing a little when he groans at the close press.
“Did you just say all that so I would fuck you?” She punctuates her words with a kiss just below his jaw, nosing down the line of his neck, feeling the thrum of his laugh as she does.
“No, but I’m not gonna complain if you do that either.” His hands slip under the fabric of her panties to grip at her ass, encouraging her a little closer, a little harder into the throb of his cock in his boxers.
No rush, no urgency, no real end goal in the way they curl around each other, a lazy allowance of hands and mouths. Push and pull and quiet huffs of frustration in getting his boxers shrugged down his hips just enough. And she doesn’t even try to shimmy out of her panties, just bunches the fabric to the side so she can sink down around him with a sigh that warbles into a moan.
She stays still, her forehead pressed to his, the little puffs of his exhales fanning over her mouth. A kiss to the curve of his upper lip, just beneath his nose, one between his brows, smiling when she feels the scrunch smooth beneath her mouth.
It’s all small movements, her hips twitching in his grasp, the muscles in his thighs jumping against the curve of her ass with each small jolt. More comfort than their usual crashing, mouths open and slanted against each other, a pleasure that is slow and unencumbered with any real concern for time.
Eventually, when the night gets a little darker, a little deeper, they both become greedy with it, a little more desperate, a little more interested in an ending. She unravels with his mouth pressed to her sternum, a small prayer stamped into her skin.
“It’s you and me, Cher.”
…
“Outfield, back it up for this one!” He can’t help himself, Cherry shooting him an annoyed look from where she’s squaring up at their makeshift home plate, what was the lid of a pizza box about an hour ago. The rest of the bases have been fashioned out of tupperware lids and even someone’s old sweatshirt, spread out in the tall grass of the park, everyone gathered and split into teams while the older folks watch from the picnic tables.
He was only a little surprised when she happily volunteered to play in the thrown together game of baseball his family seems to get into every year, pulling out old mitts and bats from car trunks and riling each other up for a match, cousins, aunts, uncles, and now the young ones who aren’t so young any more as well. She’s never been one to back down from a little competition, and neither has he.
The classic lineup, with a few additions to the crew. Tommy on first, a cousin on second, him on short stop, an aunt on third, and, most surprisingly, Ellie pitching.
“Don’t go easy on your mom now, kid.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, old man.”
“Hey.” Cherry calls out to the both of them, her hand on her hip and her bat dug into the grass. Ellie just shrugs at her mom before turning and shooting Joel another grin. He’s liking this kid more and more as the day goes on.
One strike and a ball before Cherry hits a respectable arc right over second, landing herself on first before the ball can get thrown in to Tommy. And Sarah up to bat next.
“C’mon, Sarah, send me home, babe!” Oh, so when he cheers her on he gets death glares and grumbles, but when Cherry does it, Sarah practically preens under the praise, her shoulders rolling back as she settles into stance at home plate. Right, okay.
It catches him off guard when Sarah cracks it on the first pitch, sending the ball flying into the outfield, though it’s quick to get fielded and lobbed to him, just as Cherry is stepping off second to make a break for third. He’s going to enjoy this.
“Where you going, Cherry baby?” She grins, already shuffling back toward second, though Joel is quick to lob the ball to his cousin covering the base, stopping her dead in her tracks, a quick skitter and jumped jog. Back and forth a few times, both Joel and his cousin laughing as Cherry keeps changing tracks between each throw until finally, Joel has the ball and Cherry is panting, glaring at him in the no man’s land between second and third, crouched down a little in a stance that looks like she could bolt at any second.
“You’re in quite the pickle, Cher. Watcha gonna do now?” It startles him, he certainly hadn’t been expecting her to start running straight toward him, but just as she gets within tagging distance, she darts so hard to the side that it kicks up grass, Joel spinning on his heel so he can take off after her before she gets to third.
“No, no, no!” She shrieks it as he’s already hooking his arm around her waist, tugging her back and into his chest with enough force that they both end up tripping and stumbling into the grass, a tangle of limbs as Joel taps the baseball to the middle of her forehead with a satisfied huff.
“Better luck next time, Cherry baby.” Cherry scoffs, shoving him back down into the grass by pressing her palms into his chest, leverage for her to stand up and brush the grass off the front of her shorts. Though she still holds her hand out to him to help him up, pursing her lips to hold back a smile as he grins at her. The strap of her tank top has fallen down the slope of her shoulder, and he doesn’t think twice about hooking his finger in it to tug it back into place, smoothing his palm along her shoulder and down her arm with a hum.
“Whatever that just was, I’m pretty sure it was a foul.” The sound of Sarah’s voice shakes them both out of each other’s hold, turning to find the whole field watching their little display.
“The only fouls in baseball are the ones that get hit behind the baseline, Sarah. Besides, I don’t think your dad and Cherry are playing any more.” Tommy seems quite pleased with his statement, both hands on his hips and a wink dropped rather cartoonishly in Cherry’s direction. She looks like she’s about to fire some quip back his way, but before she can, Cherry’s phone starts ringing in her back pocket, her face falling as she pulls it out to see who it is.
“Oh shi– shoot, y’all keep playing, I’m sorry, I’ve gotta take this.” Tommy lets out a despondent oh c’mon, Cher, but she’s already got her phone to her ear and her thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of her nose as she stalks off toward the parking lot. Joel swipes the back of his hand under his nose before tossing the ball back to Ellie, just a bit sheepish under her pointed gaze, though everyone else is quick to get the game back up and going.
They finish one more inning, everyone getting worn out by the incessant sun and the drone of cicadas, huffing back to the picnic tables for drinks and shade. Phonecall finished, Cherry seems to be holding her own, talking to Deedee. And while Joel would like nothing more than to not have to join in, his mother is already ushering him over with an insistent Joey, come listen to this.
“I was just telling her how I have every single one of her books on the shelf in the den, and that whenever we have guests over I always tell them that I knew her when.” Cherry laughs and smiles, though Joel is pretty sure he can detect a thin scream right behind her eyes, never one for compliments that way.
“Aw, well, that’s really kind, Mrs. Miller. It makes me very happy to hear that you’ve read and enjoyed all of them. Apparently, that’s more than your son here can say.” It’s said in jest, but Joel can already feel a cold prickle settling along his scalp as his mother shoots him a quizzical look.
“Joey, that’s not–”
“Ma, I think Tommy just stuck his hand in that icebox cake you made.” That sets Deedee straight on the warpath, mercifully away from them and toward a confused looking Tommy who’s already bracing for whatever throttling he has somehow just incurred. Cherry just laughs, shaking her head before settling her focus back on Joel.
“So you still don’t play fair, huh, Miller?”
“All’s fair in– well, however that saying goes.”
“Looks like our kids are getting along though. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.” Joel follows Cherry’s gaze over to the picnic table where Sarah and Ellie are sitting, casting sporadic glances at them before promptly laughing in a way that sounds just a bit too sinister for his taste.
“Probably a bad thing.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Would y’all wanna come over for dinner? Leftovers probably, judging by how much potato salad ma made. But– I don’t know, get out the sun and all– could be nice?” He feels like an idiot asking it. Another idea that sounded good in his head and came out jumbled and a bit shy. And Cherry’s already starting to shake her head.
“Oh, I mean, I don’t wanna intrude or–”
“Not intruding, Cher, really. It’s just me and Sarah, and I reckon Tommy’ll butt in for a little while. Give our girls a little more time to plot our demise, if nothing else.” She seems to be considering it, her eyes settled on Ellie and Sarah as she sways a little side to side, her hip cocked out and her bottom lip worrying between her teeth.
“Alright.”
“Yeah?” She lets out a long sigh, a smile starting to spread.
“Anything to keep me away from my office. Would dinner and a movie be an option?” He tries not to smile too big at that, rubbing his palm along his scruff to temper his grin.
“I think we could figure something out, yeah.”
…
She’s been trying not to ask it all morning. In bed, with her chin resting on his shoulder blade and her palm skating up his side. Sitting at his table, drinking coffee and keeping her eyes on anything but him. Ducking over and under each other in his bathroom, stretching out time, the both of them, moving slow and careful like it might trick the clock into stopping just for a little while longer.
But she isn’t going to ask it, because she has been asking it for the last two weeks, making sure, just checking, giving him ample opportunity to back out. And everytime, he has reassured her, with an admittedly increasing degree of exasperation. He is in, just as much as she is, so she doesn’t need to ask anymore.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”
“What’s that look you’re giving me?”
“What look?”
“Cherry.” Said long and low, his hands on her hips steering her back until she’s pressed against the driver’s side door of her car, nowhere to look except into his face, eyes squinting at her and his chin tucked down.
“What?”
“Don’t ask it.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Her fingers find the first fastened snap of his coveralls, idly popping it back into and out of place, though Joel is quick to squeeze her hips and duck his head down to catch her gaze.
“Good, because you already know my answer.” She goes to speak, but it’s only that damn question again, skittering up her throat only to be stopped when she lets out a huff instead. Not much time to think about it though when Joel hooks his arm around her waist, her feet shuffling and stuttering a bit with the way he ushers her around the side of the shop to the front, his hands settling on her shoulders to push and pull her until she’s standing facing the front office.
“You see that front door, Cher?”
“Yes, Joel, I have eyes.”
“Don’t be smart about it, just look at it.”
“Okay?” His hands slip down along her arms, his chin settling over her shoulder, crooking to look at her sideways.
“Tomorrow morning, nine sharp, just like you said, your highness–” That earns him an elbow into his ribs, a small oof and a laugh before he quickly recovers.
“As I was saying, nine sharp, I’m gonna be standing in front of that door, waiting for you to pull up in that shitty little station wagon of yours.” She can’t help the smile starting to spread, especially not when he punctuates his words with a kiss to the arc of her cheek.
“And then?”
“And then we’re gonna get the fuck out of here, Cherry.”
…
“I’m, uh, gonna use the restroom.”
“Sure, Joel.” He chooses not to respond to Tommy’s quip, getting up from the couch to a chorus of oooohs spurred on by the girls who have only gotten more chummy since Cherry and Ellie came over for dinner, now settled on the couch in front of some movie he wasn’t really paying attention to.
First, that was because by some grace, or maybe some curse, he had ended up at one end of the couch with Cherry pressed close against his side from the way everyone else had squeezed into their seats, the feeling of her thigh pressed against his nearly burning a hole through his jeans. But then he had been distracted after Cherry’s phone started ringing, and she sheepishly asked him if there was somewhere she could take the call. Without much thought to it, he offered up his slapdash office upstairs, more of a catch-all room, really. But Cherry was already quietly thanking him and shuffling up the stairs with her phone pressed to her ear.
It’s been thirty minutes. He knows. He’s been watching the clock and the stairs instead of the movie. By the time it’s been forty minutes, he has convinced himself it’s a good idea to check on her, just a little caught off guard when he finds her in the upstairs hallway, squinting at the photos hanging along the wall.
“You alright?” He almost didn’t say it at all, not wanting to disturb her quiet concentration. Cherry startles slightly at his words, eyes wide like she’s been caught red-handed.
“Sorry, I got a little nosey I guess. But you look good in a tiara.” He steps closer to see what photo she’s pointing to, laughing to himself when he does. It’s Sarah, her smile all lit up from the glow of the candles in her birthday cake, Joel crouched down beside her with his arm slung around her chair.
“That was Sarah’s fifth birthday party. If you think that’s good, you should’ve seen Tommy.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Sarah wanted Rapunzel to come to her party. She got Tommy in a dress and a wig so long he kept tripping over it.”
“I bet she loved that.”
“She was mortified.” Quiet smiles, and the thought that now, now would be a good time to talk, though he still can’t seem to figure out the right words to string together.
“I like watching you with her.” He laughs at that, though Cherry shakes her head, her hand coming to his shoulder.
“I’m serious, it’s– you’re at your best for her, you know? It’s nice to see.” A close, quick heat starts creeping up his throat at her words, the careful squeeze she lays to his shoulder. He swallows it down before he speaks.
“I could say the same watching you and Ellie.” Somehow the wrong thing to say, her face falling and her hand dropping from his shoulder back to her side.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I mean it, Cher. I never thought that I’d– getting to see you– it’s–” It’s coming out all wrong, is what it is, stopping himself with a sigh before he can mess up the words any more.
“She’s everything to me, and I know you know what that feels like. She’s it. And I feel like I’m messing it up, missing it.” At some point, their words have turned into rasped whispers, stepping closer to each other to catch the sound. Instinct, impulse, an inkling of want to reach out, his hand moving along the line of her jaw, coaxing eyes.
“You do your best, Cherry. It’s all any of us do. And that kid is smart enough to know that.” It’s never going to get old, the feeling of her nose grazing the line of his, the ghost curve of her smile over his, so close he can feel the quick fan of her lashes when they drop to the tops of her cheeks.
“Thank you, Joel.” They should keep talking, he knows that. The perfect opportunity to finally pull the chain of the past into the present, to make this right and real. But, always a but with her. But, he’s already tipping her jaw open in the cup of his palm, this movement so much easier than talking, she accepts his mouth with a sigh. Push, pull, hands slipping under hems as he guides them in a close stumble to his bedroom. And yes, Tommy and the girls downstairs are probably snickering to themselves about how long they've both been gone, but they can be quick, quiet. Want overriding any shame.
How quickly he has taken for granted the fact that if he dips his palms up and along her ribs, she will simply lift her arms so he can peel her shirt all the way off, silent call and response leaving her bare from the waist up as he ducks his head to lay a kiss over her sternum. Her arms drape along his shoulders, head tilted back on her neck, stretched long to give him more room to mouth along every tendon, smiling against the jumping muscles when she hums at the feeling. Still walking them back toward his bed, not getting very far before she freezes in his grasp, palm pushing against his shoulder to get more space between them.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” She’s not looking at him, but at something over his shoulder, brow furrowed and a small frown parting her lips.
“Is that?” Already slipping out of his hold, brushing right past him before he can realize just how badly he fucked up. He wasn’t thinking when he started stumbling the both of them toward his bedroom. Wasn’t thinking about the fact that they still need to talk. Wasn’t thinking about the ribbing they were going to get from Tommy and girls when they go back downstairs. And no, he wasn’t thinking about the bookshelf in his room. Mostly filled with things other than books, more photos and detritus of the past. But, well. Always a but.
“Cher, I–”
“You have every single one, Joel.” She hovers her hand over the spines like she’s afraid to touch them, fingers ghosting over her name, her real name on each of the books.
“I– yeah, I do.” She doesn’t look at him, just swipes her shirt from the floor to tug it back on. His stomach sinks and sickens when he hears the quiet sniff and sees the small shake in her shoulders, her face still turned toward the book shelf.
“You read them?” No use in giving her anything but the truth now, though all he wants is to reach out for her and somehow make this whole thing not real. He doesn’t know why he even lied in the first place. Maybe that it’d be easier for him to not admit to himself that he’d been waiting for two decades, grasping at scraps where he could get them.
“Probably read them all three times through, Cher.” Finally, she looks at him, and she’s mad, he knows that look, not the first time he’s gotten that look from her. That broken, jagged look.
“I don’t understand. Why– why did you tell me that you didn’t? Why lie about that?”
“I don’t know– I, really, I don’t. I thought it’d be better, easier if you didn’t–” She scoffs, eyes everywhere except on him, and he braces for impact.
“Well, you always were so concerned about making things easier for me, Joel. Always had a funny way of doing it too. But I’m glad to know this is still some kind of game to you, really.”
“And it isn’t a game to you? What do you call what we’ve been doing, Cherry? Sneaking around like– like it’s fucking eighty-six all over again and–” She’s up in his face now, always able to dish it out as good, if not better, than he could, eyes narrowed and her finger digging into his chest.
“This is nothing like eighty-six. You wanna know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not gonna stick around long enough for you to make another promise you can’t keep.” A snarl and a scoff when he doesn’t respond, his mind going blank as she turns on her heel and hurries down the stairs.
He follows behind her in a dumb stupor, Tommy shooting him a questioning look as Cherry tells Ellie that it’s time to go in a quick, clipped voice, tight and high in her throat like she’s trying to hold something back. She murmurs a polite thanks to Tommy and Sarah both, not sparing Joel another glance as she ushers her kid out the door before slipping out herself. Gone just like that.
“Brother, what the fuck did you do?”
“Shut up, Tommy.”
..........................................
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