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silverskye13 · 2 months

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random thought, but i had a vivid image of, if helsknight and welsknight ever saw each other without armor (or just helsknight out of his armor tbh), helsknight showing welsknight the scar tanguish gave him and saying "this was intended for you."

i don't know how in character that is, but tbh it's haunting me. maybe it's part of helsknight's revenge against welsknight or something, calling out his unknightly behavior and unhonorable conduct.

"You didn't answer my summons."

Helsknight froze. It was a quick, momentary startle, a short-circuit of normality. The moment he did it, every instinct told him to keep moving. That old command [Do something.] blared loud in the quiet surprise of his mind. So he moved his hand to pick up the brush on his table, and pretended to be unconcerned.

"I'm not a dog. You can't call me to heel," Helsknight said simply. He smirked and growled, "Though if you feel like losing some limbs, feel free to try."

Behind him, Wels shifted uncomfortably. Helsknight liked making Wels uncomfortable, he didn't handle it well. He was a creature used to comfort and ease. Inconvenience often galled him more than a sword to the throat. Different tactics for different battlefields, and this battlefield was a delicate one.

Helsknight was cleaning his arms and armor, which was one of several reasons why he hasn't leaped for a fight when Welsknight had called him to one. He was only in a tunic and breeches. It was luck he even had his boots on. He had offered to run errands with Tanguish, but Tanguish had said he was visiting his church and wanted to go on rooftops. So Helsknight stayed home, and he left his boots on. That was the other reason Helsknight hadn't answered the call: Tanguish wouldn't know where he was, and he knew Tanguish got paranoid about being left behind. Besides, Helsknight had chores he could do at home [like cleaning his arms and armor] so he stayed. Cleaning the chainmail was almost a formality. Hels was hot and dry, and he wore it often enough that the rings clattering together cleaned themselves. But sometimes he just liked putting an extra shine on things, so he took out his brush and oil and started brushing it down for any miniscule specks of rust or broken links he could find.

Wels, always keen on the times he wasn't wanted, decided now was the perfect time to show up in his living room. He stood awkwardly, waiting on Helsknight to make some aggressive movement. When none came, he cautiously stalked further into the tiny living space. His emotions were loud and uncomfortable without the distance between their respective worlds to dampen them, and they clung like smoke against Helsknight's skin. Caution at an unfamiliar space. Disgruntlement at being ignored.

[Guilt, like ash on a burn.]

"Is this... Yours?" Wels asked, glancing around.

"No, I'm just squatting in a random house. Sounded like a fun way to spend a Tuesday."

Helsknight felt the ant-bite sting of vicarious agitation and smirked. He was already getting on Wels's nerves.

[Good.]

"Couldn't build something nicer?" Wels snapped impatiently.

"I'm a fighter."

Helsknight found a place on his chainmail to brush down and got to work. The rough, grating twinge of the coarse bristles on chain made Wels wince. Helsknight always found the noise pleasant. Like scratching an itch.

"So?"

"I have better things to do than spend hours building the perfect house."

Wels scoffed and looked around the room with renewed disdain. "Where's your little devil?"

It took Helsknight a moment to place what he was asking. He sneered, a quiet bearing of teeth, and caught the flicker of red in the reflective shine of his chainmail. Wels looked pointedly away from him.

[Like ash on a burn.]

"Not feeling remorse... are we, crusader?" Helsknight asked, finding a new place to polish. The coin-drop clatter of chain, and the shrill scrape of bristles filled the silence like an accusation.

"Of course not," Wels sniffed disdainfully, still refusing to meet Helsknight's eye.

"Careful." Helsknight murmured, that red flash reflecting off his chainmail again, anger simmering. "Lying's a sin."

"Why would I feel remorse for protecting my home?"

"A crusade well fought I'm sure."

"It's not a crusade!" Wels snapped, his own anger a living thing raising hackles. "A crusader invades! A crusader fights a holy war just for the principle."

"Right. And you're fighting because--"

"Because I'm protecting Tango."

"-because it's for his own good?"

Wels didn't exactly wince, but he did still, as though he'd heard someone draw a blade from its scabbard. Helsknight might as well have unseated his sword. He had stopped scrubbing, all pretense of work falling. The need to pace, to circle, to corner, rose up in Helsknight like a waking beast.

"Interesting choice of words. Protecting." Helsknight said, his voice low, his hands still. "I was under the impression they were friends. Do you often protect Tango from the people he's begging you to spare?"

"That doesn't matter." Wels said so firmly it was almost convincing. Almost. "People are convinced they need an abusive relationship. That doesn't change the fact it's bad for them."

"So many interesting words today," Helsknight hissed. He stood like a dark tower rising, all embered fury slowly stoking. Wels didn't bother turning to face him. He could feel his intent like thunder. "Abuse. Brings to mind the image of power. I do have a question."

"I didn't come here for your stupid questions."

"No, you came here looking for a fight."

"I didn't."

"You really do need to tame that lying tongue."

"I didn't come here for a fight."

"Did it feel powerful?" Helsknight demanded, pacing a step, and loathing the tiny room for denying him the space to circle. "The voice. The command. How did it feel."

"Shut up."

"To have someone begging you not to hurt them," Helsknight continued relentlessly. "Not your stupid play fighting on your stupid little server. True, shaking, terror. Did it feel good, crusader? Just?"

"I told you to shut up!" Wels shouted, taking a threatening step forward only to find Helsknight had closed the space between them and stood looming like a rook on a tombstone.

Fear, a caged thing howling, battered against Helsknight's anger. It made Helsknight feel almost giddy, the crash of malicious schadenfreude and self-righteousness against Wels; a flickering thing of brittle will. They made a terrible ouroboros together, fear feeding anger feeding elation feeding fear. They were always like this. No matter how calm either of them tried to be, once anger kindled in one, their emotions burned until there was nothing left but fury and loathing. Helsknight had been made to cut Wels down to size.

"Do you know what that kind of fear does to people?" Helsknight demanded again, his voice so near a whisper it was smothering. They were so close together, but they made so little noise, all will and wide eyes. "What happened to mercy for the helpless, crusader?"

"He wasn't helpless," Welsknight said, trying very hard not to back down. "He stabbed me."

"And a drowning rat bites. I wouldn't call it an apex predator. Certainly I wouldn't call it a danger to you, with your full armor and sword." Helsknight bared his teeth at Wels, something like a bitter grin. "I wasn't wearing armor."

Wels looked down, where Helsknight had drawn up his tunic to reveal the new scar in his abdomen. Wels looked like he'd stopped breathing.

"This was intended for you," Helsknight said. "You should thank me."

"You're-- you're here telling me he's harmless," Wels laughed nervously. "But he almost killed you. You."

Something in Helsknight snapped, and in the moment it took him to reach for it with white knuckles and compose it again, he'd shoved Wels hard in the chest. It didn't knock his other half off his feet, but he stumbled back hard enough hit the opposite wall. Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly hard enough to warn.

"He did," Helsknight snarled, pacing forward slow steps. "That's what terror does to helpless people, crusader. It makes them bite. It makes them beg. It makes them clamor to live. You. Did. That. What did it feel like to abuse that kind of power Wels? To turn someone into a scared animal? To make someone so desperate they would almost kill a friend? Did you find your righteousness there crusader?"

Helsknight didn't know what he planned on doing. Violence was in his blood like a serpent, and he wanted it. And Wels knew he wanted it. There was the ring of drawn metal, and the silver-bright glint of an enchanted blade in a dark room. Helsknight's advance stopped at the top of Wels's sword, not close enough to hurt, but close enough to warn.

"Stop." Wels said. A command. A plea.

"I'm unarmed."

"That doesn't matter."

Helsknight smiled, and there was loathing and euphoria in it, and the wine-dark dread of Wels right on the other side of it. The knowledge of a line crossed, a battle he hadn't even realized he was fighting made forfeit.

"Fine." Helsknight said. "My blood's already been spilled once on your behalf. At least this time do it with your own sword, coward. I'll make it easy for you."

He took a step forward, and nudged the blade with a knuckle, resting the point against his scar. The metal was cold, even through his shirt, the enchantments alive and writhing so close to his skin.

"How cruel have you gotten while I wasn't there to keep you in check, crusader?"

There was a long breath of silence between them. Helsknight stood, precarious and predatory, daring Wels to kill him. And Wels stood there, and dared himself to as well. And the room was dark, lit only by red anger and blue dread, and the pale, languid flicker of enchanted steel. And neither of them breathed. And the universe watched.

A loud clatter sounded on the roof. Both knights looked up towards the ceiling, Wels in startlement, and Helsknight in resignation.

"And he stays my hand once again," Helsknight sighed.

"What--?" Wels didn't get his full question out before Helsknight moved. He knocked the sword aside and lunged forward to grab Wels's shirt. In a move that would've made Martyn proud, he dragged Wels forward into his knee, knocking the wind out of him. In the time it took Wels to collapse to the floor, Helsknight had taken his sword, and held the point beneath his other half's chin.

"Go home Wels," Helsknight said, "before I send you there the hard way."

Wels, breathless on the ground, let out half a strangled laugh. "Why don't you?"

"Because I was asked nicely not to go running off and killing you."

"Helsknight?" A loud knock sounded at the door. Tanguish's voice, a bright comfort even in spite of its concern, called to him. "Is everything okay? I thought I heard something fall."

Helsknight glared meaningfully down at Wels, who only hesitated long enough for Helsknight to draw back the sword before slipping back to his world. The moment he did, Helsknight felt his breath leave him, the great void of being left to his own thoughts and emotions. In the wake of everything that was Wels, he felt ridiculous.

[What in hels had he even been about to do? Die on someone's sword to prove a point? Idiot.]

"Helsknight? The door is locked."

"I'm coming," Helsknight called, pausing only long enough to hide Wels's sword beneath the couch, where Tanguish couldn't see it and inevitably worried about it. He checked his tunic to make sure he hadn't managed to actually stab himself [he hadn't] and went to let Tanguish inside.

#rns ficlets #helsknight #welsknight #tanguish (kinda)#this one feels very dense and dramatic #i feel like wels actively seeks out hels when he feels guilty / bad / self loathing #its like a compulsion: punishing yourself because you did wrong #even though its ultimately unproductive #also something something helsknight making some kind of point about how #instilling terror in something to confirm your bias that its dangerous #is more even than the terrified thing causing harm #case and point i scared you into drawing your sword on an unarmed man #i dont know im tired and that was a really badass phrase to just drop on me anon #*evil not even alskdjfjf im going to bed

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ohdeerfully · 3 months

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AaaghhHfbfbfn I looooved 'your half of the deal' and I'm hanging on the edge of my seat waiting for part two 😩 absolutely adore your writing

hello anon u are in luck..............

Your Half of the Deal (ii)

Alastor x Reader

part i part ii part iii

TW: kidnapping, typical hazbin hotel cursing

join my discord!

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Your eyes cracked open, and your body ached all over. It took a moment for your thoughts to pick up and consider your situation.

Right, you groaned as you sat yourself up taller, sharp pains coursing from your neck and throughout every limb. Yeah. I got electrocuted.

You were positioned on a bed; not a very comfortable one, but you preferred it over being shackled in a dungeon or something. You smirked humorously at the thought. In your tacky spy getup, it would’ve made sense to be in a similarly stereotypical situation.

“Myy,” A voice purred from the corner of the room. “Glad to see those beautiful eyes open, finally!” Your nose scrunched at the smell of smoke, and you made eye contact with the Overlord that stood, leisurely leaned against a wall. Tendrils of his cigarette smoke curled throughout the air as he brandished a hand at you. One of his hands began tapping away at his phone.

“Vox will be so happy,” Valentino stepped towards you, and you tried to leap at him. You were shackled, you discovered, the chains clamoring against each other with the jerk of your body. “Feisty. I like that. A shame I can’t have you work for me.” A sigh so dramatic escaped his lips as he put his face right in front of your scowling expression. The smell of cigarettes made you scrunch up your nose. He slowly looked your body up and down, considering every edge and curve of your body.

You spat at his hand as he raised it to stroke at your arm. He recoiled his arm in disgust, raising it once more and bringing it down in a harsh slap that made your ears ring.

“Don’t forget whose home you broke into.”

You couldn’t help the tears that welled in your vision due to the stinging pain, but you continued to glare at him, showing your fangs and lashing your tail in a weak display of intimidation. You knew he was stronger than you, and you couldn’t even fight back with your arms chained up.

“My boss is going to tear all of those arms off your body,” You growled, “if I don’t get at you first.”

“I’m not too worried,” Vox’s voice fills the room as he slowly enters the doorway. You briefly think about calling him out on his dramatic entrance, but think better of it. You were in a vulnerable enough state already. “I mean, if he’s sending his little pet to do his chores, why would I be scared of him?” He erupted in some sort of over the top villain laugh.

The air was filled with the feeling of strange static when Vox entered the room, running up and down your arms in a sharp, buzzing sensation. It was sinister, threatening, and it made your throat feel dry. Your entire nervous system seemed to prickle, and you were suddenly hyper aware of the pain running through your neck from your previous electrocution.

You only frown at him, fingers fiddling with the shackles behind your back. They weren’t giving, and your nails were starting to crack as you clawed at your sore wrists.

“I’m not his pet,” you look towards the floor as you mutter back, partially as a lie to yourself. “He’s probably going to realize I’m gone any second now. He’s going to beat your ass, it was part of our deal.”

The two didn’t seem to mind your words, watching your desperate attempt at intimidating them with a pitiful look in their eyes. Why weren’t they worried? The nonchalance radiating off of them was making you feel less and less sure about your rescue.

“I have a question,” Valentino suddenly piped up. He sauntered over to you, and sat way too close, leaning towards you. You rocked your whole body to the side when the plume of his coat brushed your shoulder. Oh, how you wished you could move your hands to rip that fluff off of him. “How is my baby Angel doing up in that shithole?”

“Val,” Vox snapped, pinching his fingers on his non-existent nose. The sentiment was there, though, obviously tired of the moth’s shit. “Nobody fucking cares.”

“I do!” Valentino snapped back, a snarl on his mouth. He smiled and turned towards you again, waiting for an answer.

“Uh…” You looked between the two Overlords. Why was this guy trying to have small talk right now? And why were you even responding? “He’s… okay. I guess. Happy.”

That last word, happy, seemed to wipe the smile off of Valentino’s face again. He gave you a quick “hm” and stood up, all four hands crossed on his torso. He took a drag of his cigarette. Vox silently glared at him.

How is it possible to feel so awkward in such a dire situation?

And where is Alastor?

You began to think about the deal you made with him. Was it too naïve to think that he would actually come rescue you? Yeah, you literally sold your soul to him for his protection, but did you make a mistake in thinking he was being honest? You still didn’t have the most knowledge when it came to deals, and it wouldn’t surprise you if the Radio Demon managed to fudge his way out of his part of the deal.

You were dragged from your thoughts when you noticed the two Overlords began to bicker about something. Valentino had dramatically turned away from Vox, walking towards the wall to stare at nothing in anger.

“That old-timey, relevant wanna-be isn’t going to find us,” Vox stated, following Valentino. “So stop being such a bitch!”

“And if he does?” Valentino snaps back, whipping his head around to narrow his red eyes at the television head. “I’m too popular to get into your power-trip induced battles! I have a reputation to uphold.”

“What, a reputation built on the backs of sluts?”

“Yes! Obviously,” Valentino missed the insult Vox tried to stab him with. He turned his head to look at you, gaze hidden behind the glare hitting his heart-shaped glasses. He felt menacing, though. “...though, if we kill him…”

You wordlessly mouth a ‘fuck you’ to him, and look at your feet. What do they mean by find us? Your eyes scan the room you're in, trying desperately to find any semblance of recognition to where you were.

It was pointless, though, and you cast your gaze to the door. Bright, flickering lights colored the crack at the bottom, and you frowned curiously. You suddenly realize that the deep thumping you had been hearing for the past couple minutes was music.

Did these egotistical assholes really kidnap you in a club?

Alastor had quickly made it to the Vee’s headquarters, and stood at the entrance with a wide smile and furrowed eyebrows. He peered up at the tall doors for a moment before leaning forward and neatly rapping his knuckles against them. His shadow melted away from his feet and inked through the crack at the bottom of the door.

“Who the fuck is- What the fuck,” Velvette had opened the door, her eyes glued on her phone before she realized who was standing in front of her. She frowned at the sight. Alastor easily towered over her, looking down with a sinister grin.

“Vox isn’t here right now. So,” She began to shut the door, an aggravated look in her eyes. Alastor gripped the door, and easily held it open. “Dude, come on, I have the whole place to myself right now. Leave me alone. He’s not home!”

“What makes you think I’m here for that pompous nobody?” He replied, yanking the door from her grasp. He held a sickly sweet smile on his face. “I’m here to pick up what he stole from me.”

Velvette obviously knew all about the antics of the other two V’s. She also knew how serious Alastor was, and how fast things could get bad for her. She wasn’t easily intimidated, though.

“Kay, well, again,” She rolled her eyes, making a point to show her annoyance in the way she aggressively grabbed the door handle again. “They aren’t here. Get the fuck out.”

Alastor’s shadow returned without her noticing, stitching itself neatly back to the demon. Velvette was telling the truth—they weren’t here. You weren’t here. Alastor retained his grin, but it was tighter than before.

“Ah, my apologies then!” He said, his voice brightening in a fake chipper attitude. He squared his shoulders and stood up straight, folding his hands behind his back. “How rude of me to interrupt.”

With that, he turned sharply on his heel and left.

He hated the way his heart drummed faster when he thought about being able to find you, and he hated the way he could feel it send sick adrenaline through his body. His chest was annoyingly tight. He sent his shadow off again, and made his own way towards town. Surely people would have noticed Vox walking around earlier, and he could use them to pinpoint your location.

Alastor was a master at lying to others and even himself about his emotions, finding it advantageous to growing his power and manipulating those around him. This was harder, though, and he knows he's never felt something like it. The feeling of regret, of frustration, of worry. It made him mad at himself, and even at you. Why were you, some random sinner, making him, the Radio Demon, feel this way?

He had missed the way his shadow held a sharp frown on its features as it dashed away from him.

part i ... part iii

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taglist(sorry if i missed anybody!):

if you want tagged in the next part, lmk! i will be using a continuous tag list, so if you already requested to be tagged you dont have to again. and, if you want to be removed, let me know!

@enbytwink@wonderlife974@cannibalcoyote@reigenmagnet@tsukilover11@sophiasrant@bby-clowns@amurtan@sleepykittycx@radical-bunny@kimkimmm2411@mihuntress@lunaria1@spirlimpo@poppingaround@scrumpdidlyuptious@sammyaftxn@quinnofthevoid@fabii275@abbiedail@tuhlollo@venom-laced-words

#ohdeerfully #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #TW: kidnapping #kidnapping #sorry its a bit short )

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iwanty0uu · 10 months

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thick girls are the best girls🤭

“𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑃𝑢𝑚 𝑃𝑢𝑚 𝑁𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑠 𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑆ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟“~𝓁ℯ𝓁ℯ ✧˚ · . ✧˚ · . ✧˚ · .

pt1…

Growing up as a thick girl was tiring, always worried about not being thin enough drew the excitement and happiness out of your youth. Your tummy was the biggest issue, always thought it was too big to wear tight clothing and bathing suits. On top of that, you felt like you never got the high school experience you dreamed of. Being the gifted girl came with burn out and a lot of pressure from teachers, family and yourself. Yea going to Colombia University was cool and all but you never got to relax, you were so academically intense. You never snuck out or went to parties, never went to a kickback and you felt that freedom was robbed from you. But your freshman year of college made you reflect and realize that you need to take your freedom back and do all of the things you never had the chance to experience in high school. Besides, being in college meant that it would be ten times more interesting that high school could ever be, right?Regardless of that, you were now nineteen, in your prime, and the baddest bitch Colombia had ever seen.

Walking into your physics class was at first easy, your tight tube top and leggings set hugged your curves and did your ass justice, gold bangles danced on your wrists ,while the gold necklaces that adorned your chest were swallowed by your cleavage, earrings sat pretty in your pierced ears, and your waist chains were secured on your lower hip. Your edges were laid as usual, eyebrows, lashes, and nails done all the way up, and you had your natural hair out which bounced when you walked. You felt good, better than you have felt for the past couple years and you knew you were gonna eat this year up. But anxiety settled in when all eyes shifted to you as you walked down the isle trying to find a good seat, purse strapped over your shoulder, phone in hand. But of course, you didn’t let it show. You fidgeted with your belly button ring scanning the room, when a hazel eyed boy caught your eye. In all honesty you caught his first. He was sitting in a cluster of people in the back of the auditorium, and you stared back. Not because you wanted too but his eyes were intoxicating.. you couldn’t help it. Whispers came from the cluster as they noticed their hazel eyed friend staring at you. “ouuuu connie got a girlfriend” a brown haired girl mumbled as she nudged him. She looked at you and waved “hey pretty.” Relief struck your body because of her friendliness which caused you to exhale, “thats all you my love” you said waving back.

~ “damn..she’s fine and nice?” connie thought while watching your movements like a hawk~

The curve in your waist made him go brain dead for about 5 minutes, your g-string rested perfectly on your waist and captivated him. As you realized where he was looking, the anxiety left your body, and you acknowledged that you had the upper hand in this situation. You already knew you looked good but this young man just boosted your ego and you knew you would cause chaos every day in that class as long as he was there. You decided to sit in front of him, holding eye contact all while walking to the back of the auditorium. Finally reaching the seat, his eyes shot to your back as you adjusted the leggings that made your ass move and pulled up your g-string that snapped onto your hips, making a slight curve between your skin and the piece of fabric. The mounds of your chest bounced as you sat in the seat due to the sudden movement, and you placed your purse behind your chair as you met eyes with the boy on purpose this time. You couldn’t help the smug grin that grew on your face seeing how captivated he was by your body.

His pink plump lips separated, revealing the gold diamond engraved grills in his mouth as he took his bottom lip in, bright pink tongue traveling across its surface made your clit jump getting lost in your own excitement . His face was shaved clean except for a small mustache hidden by his big lips, and a small diamond stud laid in his nose. His skin was clear, his eyebrows were thick and trimmed, two tear drops sat under his right eye, and his neck was almost filled up with tattoos. His head was shaved low, and the chalk on his hair line showed how fresh his neat cut was. The diamond earring in his ears made him look clean. The small but noticeable eye brow piercing fit perfectly on his face. As fine as he was, he looked like a player, the type of boy that likes to ruin girls’ relationships because he had the better dick and more money, but he couldn’t play with you like that.

A gold chain hung low on his red shirt and his bright eyes never left yours. “I like your tattoos” you said looking back up at him. “ Thank you beautiful, i like your cha-” the boy was interrupted with the sound of your professor clapping his hands together to get the classes’ attention. He kissed his teeth as you took out your note book and ignored the shuffling and sound of paper ripping behind you. “One second mama” he whispered to you, moving close , close enough to almost feel his breath on your neck. Minutes passed as you finished taking your first set of notes, and a crumpled piece of paper landed on your desk. You smirked looking behind you as the boy pretended to stretch looking the opposite direction, smiling.

You opened the note cheesing even harder. “My bad mama, that bald ass man interrupted me but i was gonna tell you how i like ya chains, you look better than everybody in here” damn this fucker was fine, you flipped the paper over and wrote back. “Not too much on Mr.Phelps he trying his best lolz but thank you boo <3” you folded the paper and handed it to him, minutes later, he threw the piece back and it read “My name is connie by the way” his number was under it and you ripped it off sliding it inbetween your breasts and wrote yours down. As soon as you put the paper on his desk class was over, so you quickly packed up your things and left.

“Wait- you didnt tell me your number” he said basically chasing you as you sped out of the auditorium. His fine ass would have to work for this pussy if he wanted it that bad. “Maybe i’ll text you, then you’ll get it” your words echoed through the bustling hallway as you turned back around. He searched for you desperately, refusing to take defeat but accepted his loss and compromised with waiting for tomorrow to see you again, already guessing the outfit you picked and hairstyle you chose.He would give anything, to see you again. He didn’t just like your body, Connie wasn’t shallow like that, but he admired your confidence and liked how you were a know it all, correcting the professor on mistakes, and even helping connie when he was stuck with equations that only a girl like you would understand. You were a genius and he wanted to see you in your element all of the time.So, from that day on, he would make it his goal to be the only one to see you in your element, the only one to see the vulnerable sides of you.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

ALRIGHT.

i really might make a part two but im so heated because i started writing this and like the WHOLE FUCKING THING DELETED TWICE SO IM RLLY PISSED THAT I HAD TO MAKE IT AGAIN AND ITS NOT AS GOOD AS THE OG but whatever. The name of the story and the actual story are yet to add up but in part two it will make more sense!! Yall better love ts but ill see you later😜 ~𝓁ℯ𝓁ℯ

#attack on titan #black reader #black coded reader #connie x black reader #fem reader #iwanty0uu #aot x y/n #aot x you #aot x black reader #aot fanfiction #aot connie

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thebearer · 10 months

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some carm + jewelry thoughts after reading your blurb about his dangling chain:

-he buys you a gold anklet with a “c” charm on it so he can watch it dangle when he puts your legs up on his shoulders to fuck you

-he has a signet ring embossed with a design (maybe a bear? st anthony? family crest?) and he turns it so the design is facing inwards and he spanks you so it leaves a brand on your ass

-after the big checks start coming in he buys you an exorbitantly expensive necklace and fucks you with nothing else on

omfggggg smut ahead minors dni 18+ but i have to elaborate

ok number one the anklet???? yes. yes. yes.

you mention wanting one, sorta in passing, and carmen's like weirdly adamant about you getting one lol??? you don't really understand why but he shows up a few days later with one you'd shown him online, except it has an embellishment. a tiny 'c'.

carmen's kinda blushy about it but you're beaming and squealing and just smothering him in affection bc it was so cute and sweet, and he really was too!!

then you quickly realize why carmen likes the anklet so much when he's putting it on you, then your legs are up in the air thirty minutes later as a "thank you".

your heels are digging into his shoulders, and normally his eyes are on you solely when he's fucking you especially like this. but you keep catching him staring at your anklet, fucking you hard, gripping your claves while he watches it bounce lightly.

maybe it's the thought that he has a sorta mark on you now. wherever you go, you've got something that symbolizes your his- that he's yours.

it was his grandfathers, then mikey's, and then his. mikey gave it to him when carmen went to new york because "you're a big shot now. need the ring to match since you're gonna be goin' to all that fancy shit, carm."

the ring was gold with a black onyx surface, a gold encrusted 'B' in old english font laid on top so it stood up. carmen didn't wear it often, didn't want to lose it or damage it, but every now and then- on date night, mainly, he'd wear it.

and you loved it.

the chain, nice outfit, plus pinky ring? you were drooling. watching him grab the door handle, cut your food, hold your hand in the car. you couldn't help yourself. he knew you couldn't either. it's why when you got home, he just nodded and you were over his lap.

carmen would take his time pushing up your dress, letting his hand glide over the small of your back, down your exposed cheeks, smug at the way you shuddered in excitement. he'd turn the ring around so the etched side was inwards, cracking his hand down on your ass over and over.

you'd squirm and mewl, gripping onto his legs or the sheets. carmen would just stare, mesmerized by the faint emblem showing on your skin only for a flash before fading.

the bear had made the chicago tribune after a raving review from a lifestyle travel influencer posted a video on the menu and it went wild. you were booked a year out, a waitlist a mile long, a million newspapers, magazines, and interviewers wanting a chance to write about the bear. it was buzzing around chicago, and carmen couldn't be happier. or busier.

he felt bad that with the newfound press, he'd been busy. you'd always been understanding but still, he felt bad, heart breaking every time your shoulders would fall when he said he had to work.

the two of you had just moved into the brownstone. you spent your days decorating and unboxing, showing him swatches of paint that you'd mull over for hours.

"carm, which one looks better?" you'd ask, turning around to see him standing there. only this time, he wasn't empty handed.

the infamous teal bag in hand, grinning at you proudly. "what's this?"

"a gift." carmen shrugged, pulling you over to the couch, setting you between his thighs.

you hummed, unraveling the tiny box. "you really didn't have to get me- oh my god." you were expecting a tiny piece of jewelry, not the dazzling strand of diamonds that sat on the tennis bracelet.

"carmen." you gaped, snapping the box shut, holding it against your chest. "how-how much was this?"

"doesn't matter." carmen shrugged, prying it gently out of your grasp. "let me put it on you. i wanted to get you somethin'. the restaurant is doin'... great. and ya know, i couldn't do it without you baby."

you pressed him about the price, but carmen waived it off. you knew he'd been making money- your new house and car told you that, but the kind of money to casually get gifts at tiffany's? it was new to you. a splurge still, but one that you treasured.

carmen left the necklace on, hips rolling while he fucked you in front of the fireplace, right on the new rug. he wanted to take a picture of the moment, watching you ride him, your head tipped back, diamonds sparkling still even in the low glow of the fire.

#thebearer #carmen berzatto #bearblahs #carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto fic #carmy smut #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x reader #the bear fx #carmy the bear #the bear season 2 #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fluff

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florence-end · 11 months

Text

Damsel in distress

Azriel x reader (use of Y/N a couple of times)

Warnings: a little bit suggestive at the end but nothing major

Summary: Rhys and Cassian have been training you to fight and control your powers. They decide to kidnap your mate as a little extra incentive.

You were so so tired. Spending your mornings training with Cassian and your afternoons training with Rhys was more draining than you could have ever predicted when you agreed to letting them help you hone your power, and your lack of progress was really starting to get you down.

Your power was linked to the passage of time; you could slow down everyone around you or make yourself so much faster than them that they couldn’t see you moving. Of course this would be so valuable in a fight… if you could use it. So while Cassian has been teaching you how to fight and strategize physically, Rhys has been teaching you to control your power mentally and manipulate it to your will. You were slowly improving but it’s exhausting and you just wanted one quiet night in with your mate.

Azriel isn’t allowed to partake in your training anymore after Cassian arrived at the training ring to find you both springing apart, hair messy and fresh hickeys on your neck. Rhys was equally displeased when you couldn’t concentrate on his training that afternoon with the memories of your morning with Az still fresh in your mind. The forced separation during the day made your evenings together more precious and you intended to enjoy it.

You and Azriel were curled up together in the library, books open in your hands and steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table in front of you. Your legs were resting across his lap, his thumb rubbing little circles on your knee and your head leaning against his shoulder as you embraced the peace.

The short-lived peace.

In the blink of an eye, Rhysand appeared behind Azriel, making you jump back in surprise. As soon as you were no longer touching your mate, Rhys grabbed his arm and winnowed them both away without a word. You caught a glimpse of the mischievous glimmer in the high lord’s eyes and your mate’s perturbed expression as they disappeared, and were unsurprised to see a note float down to your lap a moment later.

If you want your mate back, you’ll have to fight for him.

Although the magic was Rhys’, the handwriting was Cassian’s messy scrawl so you knew he was in on whatever plan had been hatched. There was no way Rhys would encourage fighting anywhere in the House of Wind other than the training ring, so you hauled yourself up and quickly ascended the stairs that took you up through the house.

As you emerged into the training area, you immediately clocked your mate crudely chained to a chair on the other side of the ring looking equally annoyed and amused. The chains were clearly not locked around him, and although he sent an affectionate tug through your bond when you entered, he didn’t say anything out loud.

Rhys and Cassian stood between you and Azriel in the centre of the training ring, grinning like Cheshire cats. You glanced around to see Feyre and Nesta sat to the sides. “Sorry Y/N, we tried to tell them to leave you alone but you know how they are,” your high lady shrugged apologetically.

“What is going on? You know he can just escape from that, right?” You directed your question to the smug males, gesturing to your bound mate.

“Ah my dear Y/N, he cannot. At our last poker night, I won an unspecified favour from my brother. I’m sure you noticed the new vow brand on his shoulder. I’m calling in said favour tonight, and Azriel is not to speak or stand from his chair until you beat both of us and rescue him,” explained Rhys.

“Rhys,” you whined, stomping your foot like a toddler. “I’m tired and it’s my night off. You already don’t let me see him during the day, you can’t take my evenings too.”

“You’d better save him quickly then kiddo. Let’s see what you’ve got,” Cassian stretched his arms above his head as he settled into a fighting stance. Rhys followed suit.

Sighing, you stepped into the ring.

Az is in danger. I need to save Az. He needs me.

You repeated this over and over again in your mind, willing your power to come to the surface. The two illyrians were beginning to circle you now, preparing to attack, but you couldn’t even muster enough power to slow down a leaf falling from a tree.

Cassian strikes, knocking you to the floor before you could defend yourself. You rolled away from him, springing back to your feet. The girls shouted their disapproval of the rough treatment but you knew Cassian was pulling his punches to avoid any real damage.

The males moved towards you again as you continued to scramble for any tangible magic within your body.

Rhys attacks this time, feinting to one side before whipping around you and pulling your back into his chest, one arm around your neck.

“Come on Y/N, what are you going to do when poor Azzy is really in danger? Are you going to leave him chained in a Hybern dungeon?” You knew he was only taunting to motivate you, but it was working. You could feel your power swirling in your chest and threw your weight forward to free yourself from his grip. Azriel tried to send soothing comfort down the bond to assure you that he wasn’t actually in danger but you slammed up your mental shields to concentrate on your magic.

This time, when Rhys and Cassian lunged at you, you stopped them. They continued to move at a fraction of the speed, and you used your opportunity to swipe their legs out from under them. They caught back up to normal speed as they hit the floor. The girls cheered, and you grinned at their sprawled forms through your gasps for breath as your power drained more of your remaining energy.

The males jumped back to their feet, on the defensive now but you had found your stride. Channeling the magic on yourself this time, you sprinted circles around the Illyrians, moving so fast they could hardly see you. At first, you didn’t attack and instead opted to tire them out as Cassian had taught you. You’d run toward them, feint to the side, and retreat only to attack again. Once, you ran toward Feyre and Nesta, just to show the once-smug warriors that you could reciprocate their actions and take their mates if you wanted. Finally, once sweat dripped from every pore on their faces and you could feel your magic dwindling fast, you pounced on Cassian’s back, pulling him to the ground. Before he could recover, you flipped Rhys into the air, ensuring he landed on top of his brother in a heap. Slowing down your unnatural speed, you looked down on the pile of Illyrian limbs and wings and rested your foot on Rhys’ back in triumph.

“That was so hot!” called Nesta from her seat, glass of wine in hand. She ignored her mate’s protest from underneath the high lord.

“Do you yield?” you asked smugly. The groans from the brothers was agreement enough.

You skipped across the ring to the chair that still held your mate. Pride and love and lust glowed in his eyes and you winked at him as you approached.

“Hey princess, need some help?” you teased as you pulled the chains from his arms and torso.

Az growled, immediately snaking his liberated hands around your waist. “It would be worth getting captured by Hybern if you come to rescue me like that,” he whispered. You giggled and tangled your fingers in his hair.

You could hear the sounds of Feyre and Nesta helping their mates stand up behind you. Despite their groaning, you could hear the pride in their voices as they shouted for you and Az to come down to the balcony for a celebratory drink but you both ignored them.

“Az? Y/N? Come on, let’s go!” Cassian demanded as Nesta fixed his messy bun.

Without looking towards his brothers, Azriel tugged you to straddle his lap and slid his hands down to your ass. You let out a quiet whimper.

“No guys, you know the rule! Not in the training ring!” The General complained as he realised Azriel’s plan for revenge.

Your mate began kissing up your throat to your jawline, making your squirm on his lap.

“Azriel, behave yourself!” demanded the high lord, trying to maintain some of his authority but you could hear the amusement in his voice as Cassian continued to whine.

You finally met Azriel’s lips with your own, feeling his smirk matching yours. Feyre and Nesta whistled as they dragged their complaining Illyrian babies back into the house. You felt Feyre’s whisper of approval against your mental shields and the door swung shut just as Azriel lay you down in the centre of the training ring with only the stars above you.

I hope you enjoyed reading! All feedback is welcome💕

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x you

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year

Note

Saw that requests are closed but I'm itching to share one scenario. He's a playboy & party animal. She shows up at his party. He's immediately interested. Trying to seduce her but she's tough. At some point she makes a comment about his last race. Then he finds out that she knows a whole lot about racing. People tell him that she got dumped by another playboy who she met at illegal street racing event when they both participated. Now she despise all the playboys but the F1 driver takes it as a challenge to prove that he's way better than her ex. Idk with who. Maybe Gasly? I'm just horny for that man

Playboy || PG10 {1}

Pairings: Pierre Gasly x mechanic!fem!reader Warnings: bad language, alcohol, violence WC: 2.9k F1 Masterlist || One || Two

Pierre slapped Charles' chest as he draped an arm over his friend’s shoulders. “Who’s that?” He pointed a ringed finger to the dance floor where you were dancing alone, eyes closed and hips swaying sensually to the beat.

Charles laughed and shook his head as he saw who Pierre was looking at. “Don’t bother, mate. She’s not interested.”

Pierre watched you start to sashay your way to the bar with an empty glass and swallowed the last mouthful of his own drink. “We’ll see about that,” he said with a wink before following your path.

“Hennessy on the rocks,” you ordered above the music. You probably should have mixed it with something but you weren’t in the right state of mind to think about the consequences. You only wanted to get drunk fast.

“Make that two,” Pierre said as he stepped into the narrow space beside you, half his body pressing against yours. “Put ‘em on my tab.”

You dragged your eyes over the man and knew his type in an instant. Self-assured and cocky, the top buttons of his shirt hanging open to show the sun-kissed skin beneath. Yeah, you didn’t need another guy like him in your life. “I can get my own drink, thanks.”

“An independent woman, I can appreciate the sentiment,” he said with a smirk that promised a whole lot of fun between the sheets. “Do you have a name? Or should I just call you Beautiful.”

“Wow, does that line actually get you laid?“

“Ask me again in the morning.”

You grabbed your drink from the bar top and turned your back as you rolled your eyes, making your way through the crowd to lose yourself in the music once more. When you chose your spot in the midst of the other dancers you weren’t expecting to feel an arm curl around your waist, or to see that it belonged to Pierre. Most men knew to keep away.

“You must have hit your head pretty hard when you crashed last weekend,” you said as you looked down at his hand splayed across your abdomen. Rings adorned his fingers and thick veins popped along his muscled forearm before disappearing under his rolled up sleeves. “Or, you’re just not very bright.”

“So you know who I am,” he chuckled in your ear and you tipped your head back to meet his eyes.

“So you don’t know who I am.” Your laugh was taunting and you hoped it would send him off with his tail between his legs but he seemed to be even more intrigued. “I’ve been with guys like you, Gasly. Playboys with fast cars only want a pretty face in the passenger seat, and that just doesn’t do it for me.”

“Then what does?”

His lips were only an inch from yours and you realised your bodies were still moving to the beat, his chest flush with your back. Turning to face him, you planted your palm in the centre of his chest and felt a chain of a necklace tucked under his shirt.

“You’ll never know,” you whispered as your breath kissed the shell of his ear before pushing him away. “Goodnight, Pierre.”

“À bientôt, Beautiful,” he replied with a smirk as he held his drink up. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I told you so.” Charles had watched his friend leave the dancefloor alone and shook his head when Pierre arrived back at his side. “Not. Interested.”

“That one was feisty, but I would argue she was very much interested.” Pierre took a sip of his drinked and inhaled sharply at the burn of the straight alcohol. “Jesus,” he coughed before stealing Charles’ cocktail. When his chest was no longer on fire, and the taste was washed away with the fruity mix, he jutted his head in your direction. “So, what’s her deal?”

Charles sighed, knowing Pierre wouldn’t give up until he knew everything about you and your past. It was the past that you were trying to forget as you ordered another drink and slapped away the wandering hands of men foolish enough to think they could take you home.

“To start with, that’s Leo’s ex you were grinding with.”

“From Street Kings?” Pierre’s eyebrows raised when Charles confirmed it with a nod. The Street Kings were well known in Monte-Carlo for dominating the illegal race scene along the Côte d’Azur and Leo was their top driver. The only thing the Street King was known to treasure more than his car was his Queen. “Shit. What happened?”

Charles shrugged. He was as clueless to the information as Pierre though there were certainly rumours whispered in the streets. The Street Kings were like a family and they kept their business close to their chests, all he knew was that you were no longer welcome in their home.

“She’s trouble, that’s all I’ll say.”

The heat of the bodies packed close on the dance floor became suffocating so you stepped out into the balcony. The fresh sea air filled your lungs and the cool breeze tousled your hair, making the moment almost peaceful. That was all ruined when a hand roughly palmed your ass before squeezing it and you placed your glass on the tabletop.

“Remove your hand before I break it.”

“Don’t be like that, baby,” the man said, his hands still on your ass. “Good girls don’t dance like that unless they want to be touched.”

You turned and tilted your head with a flirty smile that had the guy’s ego inflating even more. His hand came to rest on your hips and you caught Pierre’s eyes from across the room. “You're wrong, I’m not a good girl.”

He licked his lips and looked like he had won the lottery. “It’s my lucky night.”

A soft laugh passed your lips as you reached up and tucked a strand of his bleached blond hair behind his ear. His hands slipped lower to the hem on your short dress as he grew bolder and you rose on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Wrong again.”

You hated to be reminded of Leo, but you used a move that had taught you for self defence. You trailed your hand down his arm as if you were admiring his biceps before reaching his wrist. Turning with your whole body, you stepped back and twisted his wrist in one fluid movement. It was over in a second but the shock lasted longer as the man stared at his limp hand before realisation hit him and his lips parted before he screamed at the pain.

Walking away, you gave him one last glance over your shoulder. “I warned you.”

“See,” Charles said with a shake of his head. “Trouble.”

Pierre laughed to himself and watched you cross the room like you hadn’t just completely ruined the man. “Like I said, she was interested.”

“You, my friend, are a sucker for pain.” Charles sighed at the determined look in Pierre’s eyes and clapped him on the back. “Bonne chance.”

You were still nursing a hangover when you rolled up to work five minutes late on Monday morning. The guys in the garage knew to keep their distance the moment they spotted you arrive with dark sunglasses over your red eyes and an extra large coffee in your hand. They had been on the wrong side of your bad moods before and didn’t want to be there again.

“Charles’ bringing his car in. He asked for you specifically,” Giorgio said after he waited for you to finish your coffee and deemed it safe to approach. “I told him it would void the warranty but he still wants you to service it.”

“I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t trust those Ferrari mechanics to service a scooter, they obviously don’t give two shits about how his car runs, as we have seen.”

“Did you see him at the party? Was he there?”

You rolled your eyes as it only took 30 seconds before he wanted to hear the gossip. “Of course he was there but, before you ask, I didn’t talk to him.”

“Seriously? What a waste! If you’d’ve taken me…”

“Boo-hoo…You can embarrass yourself fangirling over Pretty Boy when he gets here.” You sent him away with a wave of your hand and grabbed your oil stained work shirt from your locker as the roar of a V8 filled the garage. Leaving the staff room, shirt in hand, you went to meet him and found a dark blue Aston Martin Vantage pulling in behind the black Ferrari 488 Pista.

The pair of sports cars parked side by side and you rolled your eyes when you saw who was climbing out of the Vantage. Pierre looked good in a casual white linen shirt, the buttons opened once again, and he tucked a pair of Ray Bans into the deep V of the shirt as he walked to the front of his car and leaned back on the hood. The only difference between his look on Saturday and now was the cocky attitude had been replaced with confusion.

“Hello Trouble,” Charles greeted warmly, twirling his car key around his index finger. He leaned in and kissed your cheeks before waving a hand to his friend. “I believe you two met already.”

“Hi Beautiful,” Pierre said with a smile as he managed to recover from his surprise.

“Playboy,” you nodded before turning your attention to Charles. “The usual, Pretty Boy, or do you have some concerns?”

“You two know each other?” You could hear the accusation in Pierre’s voice and the devil on your shoulder started to whisper in your ear.

You chuckled as you looked at your steel cap boots and kicked the loose stones on the asphalt. “It’s a small city, our paths have been known to cross on the odd occasion.”

“She’s one of the best mechanics around here,” Charles added.

“Ouch! Only one of? Last time you said I was the best you’ve ever had.”

“Is that right, Pretty Boy?” Pierre asked before running his tongue over his teeth and pursing his lips together.

“Working on my cars,” Charles clarified as his cheeks turned pink.

“He keeps it so clean under his hood,” you teased as you licked your lips seductively and gave him a wink that deepened the shade of his blush. “It’s always a pleasure to get up close and personal.”

You laughed as Charles whined your name before sending a pleading look to his friend. “And that’s why everyone calls her Trouble.”

“Trouble by nature, Trouble by name,” you said as you gave him a mocking bow. “So, standard service or…?”

Both men seemed relieved to have the topic return to something safe as Charles answered, “Just the standard service.”

“Perfect, but I hope that’s not your ride home,” you said as you pointed to the Vantage.

“Why not?” Pierre asked as his palm came to rest protectively on the warm hood.

“Did you seriously not hear it?” Your brows pinched together and you scanned their faces to see if they were messing with you. As a mechanic, it would be negligent to let a car leave your garage running anything but perfectly so you sighed and pointed to the driver’s seat. “Start your car, Playboy, and pop the hood.”

Pierre unlocked the hood and you found the latch to release it, lifting it up as he turned the engine over. He left it idling as he joined you at the front and you looked down at your graphic T, not wanting to ruin it.

“Hold this.” You shoved your work shirt into his hand before pulling your top off. You had been around the garage guys long enough that working in a sports bra didn’t even earn a second glance but Pierre wasn’t one of your colleagues and he couldn’t stop staring. “Eyes up here, Playboy.”

That cocky smile of his finally made an appearance as you took your work shirt back and tossed the graphic T at his face. “What?” he asked innocently.

Rolling your eyes, you leaned over the engine and tipped your head to one side. “What do you hear?”

Pierre looked at Charles who just shrugged. “An engine?”

“Gold star for you,” you murmured as you watched the manifold vibrate. “See that? Yeeaah, it really shouldn’t be doing that.”

Pierre joined you in leaning over the engine and a gold cross necklace swung out from beneath his shirt. “What’s wrong with it?”

You chewed on your bottom lip as you mentally ran through the possibilities in your head. “It’s a misfiring cylinder, but there could be…half a dozen reasons why. Let me get my scanner, unless you have somewhere to be?”

“Nothing I can’t miss,” Pierre smirked as he settled against his car and rolled his sleeves up. “Charles can bring his car back another day, right, Pretty boy?”

“Please don’t call me that,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’ll come back tomorrow, Trouble, and leave you two to your date. Don’t expect him to actually help, he just got a manicure.”

Pierre laughed at the good-natured banter and looked at his neatly trimmed nails before winking at you. “I don’t mind getting my fingers dirty.”

There was always a nervousness that settled in when someone watched you work. It didn’t matter that you could take an engine apart and put it back together, the moment an owner started paying attention to your work, your palms would turn clammy.

That didn’t happen with Pierre.

After Charles departed you had driven the Aston Martin into one of the empty bays and grabbed your scanner, plugging it into the ECU as Pierre let his curiosity spill forth.

“How did you get into all this?”

“Same way you got into racing, I should think.”

“Your father?”

“He used to own this place,” you pointed to his name on your shirt, the same name on the signage of the shop. “I grew up here. Always thought I would own it one day.”

You tried not to dwell on the thought that had escaped and instead focused on the diagnostic software as it ran its cycle. Clearing the lump in your throat, you checked the readings on your laptop but Pierre had caught the change in your tone.

“What’s stopping you?”

You looked up from where you were crouched beside the front seat reading the data and cocked an eyebrow. “Despite what Pretty Boy says, this isn’t a date, it’s a job. So, unless you have questions about your car, please shut the fuck up.”

He didn’t even appear taken aback by the acerbic words as he leaned against the car with his arms folded comfortably across his chest. “Fine by me, Friday night works out better for me anyway.”

“What are you on about?” You stood up and went to the tools, grabbing a wrench before heading to the open bonnet.

“Our date,” he stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world and followed close behind. “You know, dinner, drinks, personal questions.”

You paused from loosening the bolts that held down the protective covers around the manifold and pointed the wrench his way. “Yeah, you lost me at ‘personal’.”

He smirked and wrapped his hand around the end, giving it a tug and pulling you closer as you refused to ease your grip. You stumbled into his chest and your free hand grabbed his shoulder to steady yourself, smearing black grease over his white shirt. “Then I’ll settle for dinner and drinks.”

You swallowed at the closeness and tore your eyes away from his lips to fall into the trance of his eyes instead. “I’m not interested, Playboy.”

His smirk only grew and his laugh tickled your cheek as he dipped his head to whisper, “If that were true you would have broken my hand.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you whispered back before sighing. “You’re not going to let this go are you?”

“Not a chance, Beautiful.” Pierre brushed his lips over your cheek and your stomach did a little flip. “You better think of something else to call me, because I’m going to show you I’m not a playboy.”

“You might prefer Playboy when you hear the back ups I have,” you snickered. “Should I go alphabetically? A is for asshole, B is for b-”

“Boyfriend. No way, that’s what I was thinking too.” He grinned and it was infectious. “We’re already finishing each other's sentences.”

“You’re a bastard,” you said with a laugh before realising you were still standing chest to chest with him and took a step back. “You have one chance, one date, that’s it.”

He let go of the wrench and clutched his cross necklace to kiss it like his prayer had been answered. “That’s all I need.”

“Now can I please fix your car?” you asked with a huff that didn’t hold any of the annoyance you pretended to have. “You can’t pick me up in a car that’s not firing on all cylinders, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“I thought your reputation was breaking hands,” he teased.

“It’s actually breaking balls, you just caught me on a bad night.”

He winced and cupped himself as you chuckled and turned back to the car. “That was a joke right?”

You didn’t give him an answer as you held your closed fist out to him. “Hold these.”

“What are they?” he asked as he came closer to take them.

“Your nuts.” You unfurled your fist and laughed as he saw what you had removed with the wrench. “If I find out you are a playboy…consider this your warning.”

Click here for part two.

#pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 rpf

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siriusleee · 1 year

Text

a better year

a/n: i linked this one to ao3 a week or so ago, but i figured i'd do it now i'm procrastinating the next chapter to adamantine chains lmao this is my take on the bookstore au tags: mentions of sex but nothing explicit, cursing, signs of ptsd, , original female character, retirement from the military, bookstore au 6.7k words summary: He takes her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light. "Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night. She kisses him over the mask. She doesn't mention it the next day.

The official order rolled in on plain white paper, an unceremonious carrier of his future. He was the first to go: a sign that the team was being unraveled slowly. After all, they're not young men anymore.

"You'll receive your pension; it's enough that you shouldn't have to work again. And we've made sure that you have an official background. It's not much, but it's what we can do."

Laswell doesn't move her eyes from his, her fingers clutching a pen so hard her knuckles are white.

"It's for the best Simon," she says, setting the pen down carefully on her desk, "and if it makes you feel better: everyone will be released soon. I'm sorry."

He's not dumb; he knows these things only last so long. Forced retirement is something to be celebrated - celebrated that he lived long enough to have one, celebrated that his body isn't rotting in some foreign country, a home for worms. Celebrated that the 141 made it out mostly intact. Mostly together.

Johnny claps him on the back and promises that when Laswell brings him that paper when Johnny gets his own forced retirement, he'll come to find Simon.

Simon doesn't stay in England - he doesn't like the way the gray settles around him. He leaves the apartment Laswell set up for him untouched, a note for Johnny for where to find him.

He finds a small house to rent somewhere in the American Southwest, spitting distance of Alejandro's territory. It crosses his mind more than once to make the trip across the border, to see how Alejandro's doing; to see if Rudy is still scared of fantasmas .

But he isn't a fantasma anymore; he's just Simon Riley.

And it's just Simon Riley who paces the aisles of her bookstore, trying to find something to take his mind off of the fact that he is utterly and completely bored.

"This is the third time you've been here this month. I'm not putting you into debt am I?"

Her accent is different from everyone else's in town - still decidedly American, just not from here American. Simon ignores her, his eyes focused on the row of books in front of him. She sighs heavily, but drops it, leaving him behind to stock the end cap. Last week's murder mysteries replaced by this week's contemporary romances.

"I need to lock up you know - I can't stay here all night." She speaks as if it's not odd that Simon only comes in on Thursday nights - the only night of the week she stays open late to rearrange the end cap displays, to vacuum the floors to perfection.

"You haven't even cleaned the windows yet," Simon replies, pulling a fantasy book from the shelf: something about a world full of malicious fairies and a secret world beneath New York. It's something new.

"For your information, I did that before you got here," she says, pushing herself up from the floor with a groan. "And I have a life. I can't sit here all night and wait for you to pick a random book off the shelf."

"I never said you didn't."

Simon places the book as she dips behind the counter, a lukewarm cup of coffee left beside the cash register. She drinks from it, wincing at the taste as she rings the book up.

"That'll be seventeen forty-five."

Simon gives her a twenty and she breaks the change, counting out how many pennies he's supposed to have on her fingers.

"You going to be back next week?"

"Why?"

"I want to close early next Thursday; I need to know if my best customer is going to be here or not."

Simon doesn't speak as he takes the plastic bag from her hands. She waits for him, eyes never leaving his as she sips her coffee, waiting on him to answer.

"I can come by Friday instead."

"I'm closed Fridays."

"What about Wednesday?"

"I can stay late Wednesday."

He leaves her with just a crinkle of the plastic bag and the chime above the door.

***

He spends too much time at the gym ignoring Johnny's text messages. Johnny tells him Price was next - swearing that he was going to retire to the countryside where he can smoke his cigars in peace. Maybe find himself a nice girl to cook him dinner every now and then.

His fingers hover over the buttons, almost messaging Price to tell him congratulations. But Simon's not sure it really is.

He's alone at night; no one's in the gym at two in the morning. No one's there to watch the way he slams the weights down when he's done or hear the way he gasps for breath after lifting too heavy - the tear in his chest that never quite healed right burning him from the inside.

The walk home is quick; the stars shine brighter than anything he'd ever seen in England. The closest he ever got to seeing them like this was in the Middle East, but he hardly noticed the stars then. He wasn't expecting to be left looking up.

He sits in the shower at home. He can't stand the way the water hits his skin, but can't stand the idea of sitting in the water either. So he stays huddled in the corner of the bathtub, the water barely touching him.

Simon Riley thinks about death.

He thinks about what would happen if he died right now.

He thinks about what it's like to die twice.

***

The door is locked when he comes by Wednesday; he feels foolish standing there with his hand still pulling on the door, knowing it won't open beneath his touch. Foolish to think that she would-

Foolish when his heart ticks a beat as she comes around the corner. Foolish when he steps inside just a second after she unlocks the door.

"Sorry, my last employee must have locked the door on their way out. So did you like last week's book?"

"It was alright."

The silence is almost awkward as she locks the door behind him.

"Let me know when you're ready. I just made coffee in that pot behind the counter; you can have some if you want. I shouldn't drink it all myself."

She leaves him behind to disappear into the store room. He paces the aisles aimlessly, waiting for something to jump out at him. It's quiet tonight; the music that's usually playing softly over the speakers is absent. Simon can hear her through the storeroom wall moving boxes around, the sound of a box cutter piercing the quiet every so often.

She reappears, a box in her arms that she drops heavily onto the counter. Simon watches her over the bookshelf of non-fiction works as she pulls each book out, scans it into the computer, and stacks them on the counter

When the box is empty, she breaks it down and leaves it on the counter. She looks up, almost catching Simon staring at her. He ducks away, taking a book on the Korean War with him. At the counter, she can barely see him over the stack of books in front of her.

"Last week was fantasy and this week is the Korean War? You certainly have varied tastes."

Simon hands over the fifteen twenty-two he owes her, her hands linger in the distance between them.

"Do you have a job?"

"What?"

Simon's taken aback at her candor. I used to have a job he thinks, as he pockets his change.

"No, I don't."

"Do you want one? I need a weekend worker. It's just me on Saturdays and Sundays now my other guy quit to go to college. I can't pay you a ton, but I kind of get the feeling you don't need it."

He falters for a moment; that's all it takes. If he's being honest with himself, he misses taking orders, missing feeling useful to someone.

"I can do that."

"Can you start this Saturday?"

"I can do that."

She's locked the door behind him before he realizes they don't even know each other's names.

***

Her name's Billy.

"What's your name; I probably should have asked that before I hired you."

Simon doesn't answer, placing the box down slowly before he answers. It's odd, telling someone his name. His real name.

"It's Simon. Simon Riley."

She looks him over, elbows resting on the counter.

"What?"' He asks, uncomfortable under her x-ray analysis of him.

"Just didn't peg you for a Simon. You know with your general countenance; the mask and all that."

She doesn't ask why he has the mask on. Simon gets the feeling that she never will.

She works him like a dog; he's moving some of the shelves around when he thinks that this is probably the reason her last employee quit. It's like being ordered around by Price again, but this time his enemy is the dust. He doesn't stop moving until well after noon; sweat gathering in the small of his back. In her office, Billy is on the phone, yelling indistinctly at the person on the other line.

He doesn't have to watch her to know she's angry when she slams the phone down. He expects her to storm out of her office, to slam the door shut behind her. But she doesn't. When she comes out she's calm.

On Sunday she shows him how the books are organized, and she has him switch around the genres.

"Romance sells best during the spring, and mystery best in the fall and winter. So we need to pull the mystery books up to this front aisle and move the romance towards the back. These shelves roll so they're easier to move."

She's meticulous; Simon moves the same shelf four times before it's lined up exactly where she wants it. His constellation prize: cash wages handed to him at the end of the day.

"No paycheck?"

Her nails tap against the counter, the white paint chipped.

"I haven't processed your paperwork yet. I can take the money back if you want."

Simon pockets it.

They lock up together. It's warm outside, but she still tugs a hoodie over herself whenever she finishes, tucking her keys into the pocket.

It's a complete coincidence that they set off in the same direction.

Simon wants a cigarette; his fingers itch for the pack in his pocket. But she'd said earlier in the day that the smell was disgusting and she couldn't breathe whenever someone with cigarette smoke on them passed her by.

They split up two blocks away from the bookstore. She motions up to the upstairs apartment of a shitty duplex. It's not the kind of place he expected her to be in.

"This is me. I'll see you next Saturday right?"

"I'll be there."

"Good night Simon."

She doesn't wait for him to say anything; not that he would have known what to say. She's up the stairs and inside (she didn't unlock the door; he has to restrain himself from going upstairs to tell her to lock it next time) before he can think of anything to say.

He smokes a cigarette at the bottom of her stairs; watches the outline of her against the curtains in her window. A fat black cat peers down at him, peers down at the cherry of Simon's cigarette in the darkness. The street lamp is burnt out, the shadows dark. He stubs the cigarette out on the sole of his boot and throws the cigarette butt out in the street.

He's almost certain she'd chide him for that - the same way she did a kid who had the audacity to throw a cigarette down in front of her shop.

His apartment is extra cold when he gets home.

***

"Maybe Price has it right: a life in the countryside. A pretty girl to cook you a few meals. Maybe a dog to curl up at your feet," Johnny drones on the other end of the line. Simon doesn't answer, his focus on cutting the potatoes in front of him into meticulous cubes. Johnny doesn't need him to speak.

"What about you L.T.? What have you been up to?"

"I'm not a lieutenant anymore Johnny."

"You'll always be L.T. to me. And don't ignore the question."

Simon drops the potatoes into a pot, waiting on the answer to unstick from the back of his throat.

"Not much. I go to the gym a lot."

He doesn't tell Johnny how he has to break his gun down and put it back together three times each night before he can sleep.

"That it?"

"I'm working at a bookstore."

"A bookstore! A few months out and you're domesticated."

"Watch it, Johnny."

A pause.

"I have to go L.T.. Gaz is yelling at me."

Their goodbye is the silence that follows.

***

Billy's arguing with a customer when he arrives Saturday morning.

"Listen, dude, I don't care what price you want to pay. This is my business and I set the prices. If you don't like it, you're not being forced to come here."

The customer drops it when Simon steps behind the counter.

"I hate that guy," Billy tells him as she hands him a box cutter. "He comes in every week and tries to get me to lower my prices. It's a bookstore; I'm not getting rich off of this. I can't afford that. Anyway-"

She sweeps her hair behind her shoulders. Simon catches a hint of a tattoo behind her right ear and a glint of cold chain disappearing beneath her shirt.

"Finals are coming up for the local community college so I had two different study groups book the tables in here today. They're usually pretty good, we just have to make sure to keep the coffee pot refilled for them because they'll drink it dry. It's $5 if they want coffee - per person don't let them try to swindle us - but they can refill it as much as they want."

Her fingers tap against the counter. Her nails are blue this week.

"If they ask about selling us their textbooks, tell them to come back next week. I have a shipment of children's books coming in - you can sign for it if I'm busy. Do I need to show you how to use the cash register or can you figure it out?"

"I can figure it out."

"Ok. The code is 4532. For now, do you mind breaking down the boxes in the back room and taking them to the dumpster? It's hard for me to reach to open up the dumpster lid."

She doesn't wait for him to answer before she disappears into the back room.

This Saturday is busy.

Simon's about to snap at a kid who won't shut up about how the comic section is too small when Billy appears beside him.

"I'll take over here Simon. There's lunch in the back room."

He's thankful for her in that moment.

He's more thankful when the storeroom shuts behind him and locks. The table has a small bag with his name written on it. A sandwich from the deli across the street and a bottle of water inside.

There are no tomatoes on the sandwich.

Just like he always orders it.

***

He smokes a cigarette again outside her apartment. But this time he tucks the butt back into the pack. He'll throw it away at home.

***

"I want to put a coffee shop in here," Billy tells him when the store is slow. She traces the right side of the store with her fingers.

"And I want to open the shop up earlier and stay open later."

"Why don't you?" Simon asks without looking up from his task of the day: putting 'half-priced' stickers on books that aren't selling well.

"I'm not making enough money. I have just enough to pay you and my weekday employee and the overhead cost of this place, plus pay myself. There's not any extra coming in. The bank-," she pauses, red nails scraping at a piece of tape on the counter, "the bank is willing to give me a loan on the coffee shop stuff - the machines and all that - but I don't have the money for the renovations. My contractor told me he'd have to build the cabinets, open up the drywall and put an extension on our water pipe. A water filter needs to be installed. It's just - it's just a lot."

She slides the stack of books he's already put stickers on off of the counter and into her arms.

"Maybe next year."

***

The next time Johnny calls, Simon can hear the strain in his voice.

"It's my turn L.T.. Laswell said I failed the psychological and I can't stay."

"You going to keep good on your promise to come to be my annoying neighbor Johnny."

"Not yet. I want to go home to my mom for a little bit. Maybe next year L.T.."

"Next year's going to be a big year I guess," Simon says more to himself.

"What's that L.T.?"

"Nothing Johnny. We should be happy we made it out."

Simon knows Johnny's not happy: not happy he never received the rank he wanted, not happy he has to go back home and take care of his mom again.

"You're right L.T.. I'll call you again when I'm home. How's the bookstore thing?"

"It's going alright. Bye, Johnny."

"Bye."

In the silence after the call, Simon thinks he should get a cat. Something to make the apartment less quiet; something to give him purpose when he's there.

Something that won't crawl all over him at the end of the day.

***

He needs something to do with his hands.

That's what he tells Billy when she arrives at the store on Saturday morning and Simon's ripping up a portion of the carpet, a stack of flooring waiting to be installed.

"So you have to do it when I'll have customers here?"

"Tell them it's a new addition; they'll be alright."

"I'm not paying you extra for this."

"I didn't ask you to."

Billy looks at him, one foot tapping a sharp staccato muffled by the carpet.

"Fine."

She pauses for a moment, Simon's knife running down the carpet to separate it from the floor beneath. She picks up one of the pieces of flooring, turning it over in her hand.

"What is this?"

"It's vinyl. It's waterproof in case you spill something."

Billy drops the plank back onto the stack and leaves to unlock the front door.

Simon revels in the way his shoulders burn at the work, the way the rough concrete scratches his knuckles once everything is pulled off the floor and he has to start laying down the underflooring. He revels in the way his back cramps as he's bent over.

In the way he feels useful.

It takes him all day to get half the flooring down.

Billy doesn't speak to him about it, doesn't ask where he got the money from, or why he's suddenly doing free renovations on the place.

Simon knows she appreciates it by the way she drops down his lunch - no tomatoes, just a water to drink- beside him without expecting a thank you. By the way, she chides the little kids who come over to ask him a million and one questions, he doesn't know how to answer and brushes them away from him.

She catches him smoking in the back alley on his break. She's polite enough to turn back when she realizes he has his mask down and keeps her back turned to him.

"That shit's going to kill you."

"It can only hope."

Simon can tell she's giving him a withering look at him from her position half inside the doorway.

"If you come in smelling like that cancerous poison I'm not going to talk to you for the rest of the day."

He must smell because she doesn't speak to him for the rest of the day, not even saying goodbye when they depart at her apartment.

Simon hides the cigarettes in a drawer when he gets home.

***

It's Price that reaches out to him first, a quick phone call, a holdover from their days in the field.

"Are you holding up?"

Not "how are you holding up?", but "are you holding up?" The difference between three letters is so vast Simon doesn't know how to cross it.

"I'm doing fine."

"Johnny told me you've got a job?"

"Just something to keep me occupied."

"Is that all you've got?"

"What more do I need?"

The receiver is filled with the sound of Price inhaling a cigar; Simon can almost smell him through the receiver.

"You're not Ghost anymore Simon. It takes more than that to survive this."

Survive this . As if this is the most dangerous mission Simon's ever been on as if being forcibly retired has some sort of great mortality rate.

"Understood."

He listens to Price's dial tone for five minutes before he hangs up.

Maybe it does.

***

He paces the town at night. Once the gym doesn't become enough to wear him out, doesn't help his brain relax, he walks the streets.

He thinks more than once that someone is going to call the cops on him and report him for being suspicious.

But Simon Riley isn't Ghost anymore. Simon Riley is someone not worth noticing.

It's almost surprising how well the little town sleeps with the remnants of Ghost stalking through it; how now one seems to have any idea of what he was once - and still is - capable of.

He steals a lot of time sitting on people's steps, on the stoops of little houses, picking the petals off of the flowers in big pots, and lining up the shoes and toys that were left disarrayed in the chaos of the daytime. He wonders if someone is going to catch him on their security camera and name him the town freak, but no one does.

He keeps up at it enough that he can feel the shift in the air, feel winter creeping in. He notices it in the way more and more boots are left outside, by the plants with plastic coverings over them, protecting them.

He finds himself, more often than not, taking the long way around to stop at the bottom stairs of Billy's apartment. Most nights the lights are off, and the window open. He wants to tell her to stop doing that, to lock the window, but he doesn't know how to say it without giving away his nights. So instead he keeps watch, hands buried in his pockets as he counts the moths in the streetlights.

Sometimes though the lights are on and he can hear the sound of her house through the open window. Sometimes the cat peers down at him as if prepared to leap through the window screen at him - sometimes she grabs the cat, never looking down at Simon; more often than not the cat curls up in the windowsill without budging.

A few times he could hear her talking to someone, the conversation muffled from above. He wondered about who she could be talking to so late at night. Why she was up in the middle of the night to talk to someone?

He makes his way home as the town starts to wake up.

***

He moves once - to a tiny house in the middle of town, just enough to have a yard big enough to cross in two strides.

He tells Johnny it's because he was tired of the noises of the neighbors.

He tells Johnny it's because he's taken up woodworking and needs a spot for the tools.

"What are you building you old bastard?"

"Some cabinets."

"For what?"

"Mind your own business, Johnny."

It takes weeks to get them perfect. Eventually, though, they're good enough to put in the back of a rented truck.

He does it on a Friday when no one is around. He tells himself that it's easier that way, no one walking underfoot.

That night he lets himself admit - just for a moment as he sits on the shower floor - that he didn't want to see her face if she's disappointed by it.

***

She refuses to open the door for him the next day, opting to yell at him through the glass instead.

"You cannot keep making renovations to my store without asking me!"

"It's no big deal; open the door."

"No big deal: you put a floor down, you handbuild cabinets, and you broke into my store to install them!"

"You gave me a key."

"Not for that!"

It's a stalemate: Simon poised with his hand on the door handle, her hands tucked into the pocket of her jacket.

"I still have to do the plumbing."

She massages her eyes before leaning forward to turn the lock. Simon steps inside with the biting wind.

"You're fucking irritating, Simon Riley."

I know .

She makes him put up the Christmas tree - a fucking monstrosity that takes up the entire front window. It takes him all day to get the decorations to her standard; her yelling through the store at him to move something incrementally to the left or right.

Billy leans on the counter, shuffling through official-looking papers and refusing to look at Simon when he's finished.

"Thanks to you," she says, never looking up at him, "I have to start getting the paperwork processed to be able to serve food and drinks here."

"Is it difficult?"

"It's not easy."

Their conversation pauses just long enough for her to check out a customer. She turns back to Simon as soon as the door shuts.

"Why are you doing all this Simon?"

He doesn't answer, and he realizes as he stands there, hands folded behind his back and spine rigid that he needs to tell her something, but all he notices is the black ink mark on her cheek. She doesn't pressure him to answer, but she doesn't let her eyes leave him.

Simon breaks first, eyes cast down to the floor.

"Ok," Billy whispers under her breath, "you don't have to answer, but just let me know when you're going to do something else. Can you text me next time before you start?"

"I don't have your number."

She doesn't ask for his phone, instead, she tears a corner of a piece of paper off and scribbles her number on it. Her hands don't shake when she holds the paper out to Simon, but his shake when he takes it. Simon can tell Billy notices. He stuffs the paper into his pocket, pushing it past his keys and his phone.

"Hey, Simon," Billy chews on her lip.

"What?"

"Are you busy tomorrow night?"

***

Johnny's chatting his ear off, Simon's barely paying attention to him as he stares at the shirts thrown out on his bed.

"- L.T.? Simon?"

"What? Johnny, what?"

"Are you even listening?"

"No, Johnny. I'm not."

The static of Johnny's disapproval.

"What could be distracting you from my wonderful conversation?"

"I'm busy Johnny."

"With what?"

"Nothing Johnny. I just have somewhere to be later - I'm trying to get ready for dinner."

"Dinner? Like with someone else?"

Simon hangs up on him.

***

Simon wants to pretend that he doesn't have the path to her house memorized; doesn't have each step calculated to know when exactly to stand on the bottom step at 6:59 so that he can knock on her door right at 7. But he does, so he hovers on the bottom step for an extra minute.

She doesn't answer when he knocks; she yells through the door for him to come in. In his pocket his phone buzzes every few seconds, Johnny sends another message insisting that Simon tell him who he's eating dinner with. Simon thinks for a moment about blocking his number for the night.

Billy smiles at him from behind the counter, elbow-deep in bread dough. All at once, Simon feels overdressed taking in the large shirt covered in flour Billy's wearing.

"Hey. Sorry, dinner's going to be like 30 minutes later than I said. I couldn't get this shit to rise properly for like an hour."

"It's alright."

Billy must sense his apprehension because she jerks her head at a chair pulled up to the counter.

"Come sit down."

Simon appreciates the order. Billy rolls the dough out on the counter, measuring the thickness with her knuckle with a precision Simon would expect out of her. He has to keep himself from staring at her; instead, he analyzes the rest of the apartment.

He can see everything but the bedroom from his one spot; that door is firmly shut. It's clean but the type of clean houses have whenever someone new is coming over and everything is thrown into a closet. After a few minutes, Simon thinks he needs to speak.

"What are you making?"

"Rolls. I made - uh - what is the fancy word for it - beef bourgine?"

"Beef bourguignon?"

Billy smiles down at the dough as she cuts squares out.

"I'm glad one of us can say it - I can cook, I just can't speak French."

"Do you always cook like this?"

"Only on special occasions."

Special occasions .

It's awkward at first for Simon to sit there while she moves about the kitchen, putting the rolls in the oven and cleaning the counter; Billy doesn't speak much and Simon knows she doesn't feel the need to fill the silence either.

His phone buzzes again - under the counter he checks it.

Johnny:

don't leave me hanging lt tell me whos it is

"Your girlfriend?" Billy teases without turning to look at Simon from the other side of the kitchen.

"Not exactly," Simon says, muting the phone and shoving it back in his pocket.

"Do you have one?" Her voice is prying, but she doesn't look at Simon as she pulls bowls down from the cabinet.

"A girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

It bubbles inside him - just once - the urge to tell her about himself . He swallows it down.

"No."

"Not even back home?"

"Back home?"

She grins at him slyly, setting two glasses of water down in front of the two of them.

"Why do you think I have to keep paying you in cash? Your um….paperwork didn't exactly list you as being an employable American. And you have - you know - an accent."

Simon doesn't realize he's leaning toward her until his elbows hit the counter.

"No, not back home."

She seems satisfied by that answer - or she doesn't have time to ask anything else. Behind her the oven timer beeps and she turns to pull the rolls out. They're barely out of the oven whenever she ladles the stew into the bowls and pulls two rolls off one for each of them.

Pushing the bowl towards Simon she opens her mouth - Simon thinks she's going to ask something else but she just shakes her head.

"I'm going to eat over there, so you can eat too," she says passing him a fork.

"No cameras?"

"None you can see."

She retreats to the other side of the room and drops down on the couch so that she's facing away from him. Muffled behind a door to the right, Simon can hear her cat meow once.

They eat in silence; Simon knows she's only eating slowly to give him time to finish without her accidentally turning to see his face. He doesn't need it: he realizes he hasn't had a meal that hasn't consisted of a sandwich or some form of potatoes in weeks; he eats fast, slowing down just as he finishes to keep from embarrassing himself.

He sets the bowl down with enough dramatics that she can tell he's done without having to turn around. It's quiet again when she comes into the kitchen and takes his bowl to rinse it out in the sink. The sound of the water makes his skin crawl; it clashes with the domestic feeling of being taken care of.

She laughs quietly to herself as she dries her hands on her shirt, lifting it up just enough to expose the little shorts she has on underneath.

"Something funny?"

"Not really funny," she says, hands stilling in her shirt, "I don't know - it just - I - well it's about this time of dinner that guys usually try to take me to the bedroom. I was just thinking about how different this night would be with anyone else."

With anyone else .

That bothers him some.

"I don't suppose that's what you came here for," she grins at him as she speaks, resting her elbows on the counter. "Besides we don't even know each other."

"We work with each other every weekend," Simon retorts, not sure why he feels the need to prove her wrong.

"And we barely speak the entire time."

She points at him, her bright yellow nails glinting in the light.

"I've never seen you in anything other than long sleeves, even on the hottest day. You could have like fucking tentacles under there and I wouldn't know. And you don't even know anything about me."

For once, Simon doesn't think - he does.

He pushes his sleeves up slowly, each one nearly to his elbow. Billy leans forward, just enough to see the tattoo ink and scars that mar his forearms. Her fingers twitch against the countertop like she wants to reach out and touch him, but they stay still.

"Do you - do you only have tattoos on your arms?"

Simon reaches up to hook one finger in his collar and pulls it down just a half inch - just enough to show her the ink there.

"Your turn," Simon says, dropping his hand down. Under the counter, it lies fisted on his thigh.

"My turn?" Billy asks eyebrow cocked at him.

"Do you have any tattoos?"

She licks her lips once; Simon can see her thinking. After a pause she reaches down to grab the edge of her shirt - Simon's heart clenches. She lifts the hem up, just enough to show him the edge of a tattoo on her side, disappearing beneath her shorts and rising above where she lifted. She laughs a little as she drops the shirt.

"Is that all we need to know about each other?"

"It's a start."

***

He finally tells her he was in the military four Sundays after the first one. She'd told him at work she was too tired to cook and apologized, promising to make it up to him. So when he showed up at her door with a pizza and a promise that he was just dropping it off on his way home, he was surprised when she asked him to come in.

Each week they coaxed something new out of each other: a snippet about their families, about their travels. He loves Kentucky; she's from the East Coast. Her father died young. He's from England.

She's curled up in the recliner the cat on her stomach - they're watching something on television but they're both not really paying attention to it. So he blurts it out - a new confession in this weekly therapy.

"I was in the military."

"I guessed. The British Armed Forces?"

"The SAS."

She frowns and Simon stiffens.

"Is that like a unit or something?"

"Yeah."

This time she grins.

"Is that why you always lock my door behind you when you come in?"

"No. I do it because you never know who could come in when you're alone."

"You mean when you're not here."

Yes.

"No."

She rolls over, clutching the cat to her chest so as to not dump him on the floor until her feet hang over the arm and she can eyeball Simon across the room.

"I can shoot straight."

"Can you?"

***

She can. She takes him through the desert on Friday afternoon, bundled up against the cold. Out where they can target practice without anyone bothering them.

She hits every target.

***

"Christmas is this weekend."

"Yeah."

"So you know we're closed right? I'm not paying you time and a half."

A pause longer than he's used to.

"Are you doing anything for Christmas?"

"No."

"Do you want to come over?"

***

She makes Chinese on Christmas. A tradition she says because when she was younger the only places open were Chinese restaurants and her dad couldn't cook. They didn't have real dinners until she learned to cook herself, but it was always Chinese on Christmas.

The cat has a bell around its neck for the holiday and it latches onto Simon for the night. She wrinkles her nose at the cat and calls him a traitor. The cat doesn't seem to care.

"I didn't get you a present," she says, putting her bowl on the coffee table. From his spot in the kitchen, Simon speaks.

"I didn't get you one either."

"Well, you're slowly building me an entire coffee shop."

"That's not present."

"Well, it's not exactly in your job description either."

He leaves his half-eaten bowl on the counter to drop down on the couch. She's sideways in the armchair, shirt riding up and a bruise on her shin. She's back to white nails.

"I can make out with you for Christmas; other guys have liked that present."

Simon's heart nearly stops.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just kidding Si."

Just kidding .

***

She begs and pleads with him to please go out to the bar with her for the new year. He doesn't have to drink, she says, she can drink enough for the both of them.

She does. She doesn't even make it until eleven.

He carries her home on his back. Her door is unlocked and wants to think about how dangerous that is, but all he can think about is her warm breath on his neck.

He drops her unceremoniously onto the couch - he thinks about carrying her to the bedroom, but that's one place the door has always been shut to.

He does take her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light.

"Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night.

She kisses him over the mask.

She doesn't mention it the next day.

***

By summer, Simon has the entire cafe portion of the store finished. He's embarrassed when she hangs a sign over the area: 'Simon's Spot'.

"What?" She asks, peering down at him from the top of the ladder. "You built it."

***

He breaks during the summer. Billy calls him on a Tuesday, asking if he knows anything about air conditioning systems.

"You built the cafe, so I know you're handy."

He doesn't. But he can figure it out.

After hours the bookstore is sweltering. Billy has the blinds pulled down in a futile attempt to keep out some of the heat and the setting sun. Her shirt, already cropped short, clings to her with sweat when she unlocks the front door for Simon.

It takes him two hours but he figures it out. When it kicks on she looks up at him, one arm resting on his shoulder, and tells him he's her hero.

He makes it all the way to her apartment - the promise of something for dinner and a cold drink as for payment the ruse - before he does it.

It's dark inside, dark enough that when he locks the door behind him, he slips his mask off. She turns to ask him something - he doesn't hear it; he's too busy kissing her, pushing her back against the kitchen cabinet.

It's messy - the kissing - he can't remember the last time he kissed somebody like this - all teeth and tongue and need.

When they stumble into her room, he doesn't take his shirt off, and she doesn't ask why.

***

"Come visit me L.T.. Scotlands beautiful this time of year."

"I'll have to book two tickets Johnny; that's not cheap."

"Alright, you cheap bastard you can afford it."

#my fics #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #ghost cod

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harrywavycurly · 2 years

Text

I’m just gonna toss this idea out here because it’s been sitting in my head for too long.

The idea of a marriage pact with Eddie, where if you’re both single by the time you’re 25(because to an 11 year old 25 is old as shit) you two will get married and live happily ever after. Like Eddie went as far as getting you a little plastic ring and said “I’m sure when I’m older I can get you a better one but here, take this for now.” and you did, you happily took the cheap plastic ring and put it on your finger and eventually it found its way around your neck on a chain that also housed one of Eddie’s guitar picks. But that was when you two used to do everything together, before you found yourself packing up your truck a few days after graduation with a hopeful smile as your best friend hugged you goodbye and mumbled something about not forgetting him into the crook of your neck.

You never forgot him, making weekly phone calls and letters keeping each other updated on your lives. He knew about every important event and every heartbreak while you got the inside scoop on all his D&D campaigns and how his band was doing. He knew by the tone of your voice if you were in a good or bad mood while you knew if he sighed as soon as he got on the phone that he call was going to be short due to him being exhausted from the day. The two of you never lost touch, instead you grew closer and feelings started to develop, at least for you.

You still have the silver chain around your neck, the plastic ring a little worse for wear along with Eddie’s guitar pick hidden under your shirt, as you pull into your old driveway. You’re back in Hawkins just in time for your 25th birthday next week. You smile as you close the door to your car and look around, it’s like nothings changed as you spot a familiar head of brown curls leaving the trailer across the street.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You’d know that groan anywhere, having been on the receiving end of that very same sentence a few times over the course of your friendship. You quickly made your way across the street as Eddie popped the hood to his beloved van.

“Told you this thing would be a bigger headache than it’s worth.” You watched Eddie’s whole body freeze as you approached him, his back facing you. You felt like time was moving in slow motion as the screwdriver fell from Eddie’s hand as he turned so he was facing you. His eyes roamed your body as if he wasn’t sure if it was really you or not but when his eyes locked with yours all you could focus on was the smile that took over his face and how much you’d missed it.

“Am I dreaming?” He asked as he took a small step towards you, the smile never leaving his face.

“Do you often dream about your van?” You teased as you took a step closer to him, he laughed and you realized how much you missed hearing that sound in person, hearing it over the phone all these years didn’t do it justice. “Actually don’t answer that.” Eddie just shook his head as he closed the distance between the two of you, allowing there to be a small gap between your two bodies.

“I’ve missed you.” Was all he said before his arms wrapped around your shoulders pulling you into his chest. You instantly relaxed in his hold as your arms snaked around his middle giving him a little squeeze as if to check that he really was here in your arms. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what the hell are you doing back here?” He asked as he pulled away just enough to look you in the eyes with a raised eyebrow, because once people left Hawkins it wasn’t often they voluntarily came back.

“Well it’s my birthday next week and I was missing home so figured it was the perfect excuse to come for a visit.” You answered as you grabbed at your necklace with one of your hands. Eddie’s eyes followed your hand as you mindlessly messed with the plastic ring and guitar pick hanging off the chain.

“Uh you know I could get you a better one if you want.” You looked at him confused as he removed his arms from around your shoulders. But you felt your heart begin to beat faster as one of his fingers came and messed with the plastic ring.

“Why would I want a better one? This is the pick you played master of puppets with for the very first time.” You knew he didn’t mean the guitar pick but you just wanted to see the smirk on his face as you spoke.

“Okay so the pick is fine but,” You felt him drop your necklace as his thumb pressed to the bottom of your chin so you’d look up at him. If you weren’t used to the Munson charm the look in his eyes would’ve been enough to make you weak in the knees, but lucky for you this wasn’t your first time experiencing this type of look from Eddie. “I’m more worried about the ring.” You reached up and pushed a few wild strands of his hair out of his face making him lean into your touch.

“Well I would like one that at least fits my finger.” You shrug as Eddie smiles as your hand rests on the side of his face.

“I have what?” He looked at his watch and then back to you with a smile. “Four more days to make that happen.” He leans down as your hand moves from the side of his face to rest on his shoulder.

“Think you’re up for it?” He knows what you’re really asking and he just lets out a chuckle as his lips press a kiss to your cheek.

“I was ready to marry you when I was eleven sweetheart.” He answers before kissing the tip of your nose making you giggle. “I’m more than up for it.” And with that his lips are on yours in a kiss that’s been years in the making as your arms slide around his neck and his hands drop to your waist.

#don’t ask where this came from i have no fucking clue lol #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson concept #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #Eddie Munson #stranger things fanfiction #my little dungeon master baby

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starlightsearches · 2 years

Note

Your Eddie NSFW Alphabet and what you said about oral makes me want to ride his face on the picnic table with his ring-covered fingers digging bruises into our thighs, keeping us in place and rocking against his face, maybe even despite our protests because he loves eating pussy so much that he doesn't care if he drowns or never breathes again as long as he gets to go between our legs.

Body Electric

I'm SCREAMING with out the S, my friend! Here's something I wrote for the idea 💖 comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, infidelity (reader cheats on her boyfriend 🫢), fingering (f), oral (f), a wee bit of overstimulation, drug mention, I think that's it!

You've never met a person as flirtatious as Eddie.

He flirts with everybody, but it's different with you. He flirts with you all the time—even when your boyfriend's around.

Especially when your boyfriend is around.

Which is probably why he suggested that you meet up with Eddie alone today, sending you off with a patronizing pat on your ass. "Maybe he'll give you a discount."

Eddie's giving you more than a discount.

It started with a game. Is that what he called it? A game? Or maybe it was a bet.

All you know is he was sitting next to you at the picnic table, making jokes, asking where your shitty boyfriend was with his shitty taste in music and his shitty stick and poke tattoos.

You hadn't meant to laugh. Really. But you couldn't help it when he smiled at you so wide, light dancing in his big brown eyes, his whole demeanor screaming I could be better than him, if you let me.

You'd watched his fingers stroking up the bare skin of his arms, admired the corded veins in his hands and the heavy rings he wears. He was still smiling when you looked back at his face, but there was something heavier in the air between you, something that makes the breath in your lungs catch on the way out.

"I bet he's shitty at a lot of things."

That’s what he'd said to you in a voice that just dripped with sex, your cheeks burning under his smug grin—practically chewing your lip off because he was right and for some reason you were the one embarrassed.

His hands slipped out of sight beneath the table, the tips of his fingers tracing along the inside of your thigh, his touch sending your head spinning better than weed ever had.

And then he'd shifted closer, the ends of his hair tickling at your jaw, hot breath on your neck and you had to keep your eyes closed because if you looked at him, there'd be nothing stopping you from burying your hands in his hair and tasting the cigarette smoke off his lips.

"Me? I'd never be a shitty boyfriend," he whispers, "especially if I had a girl like you."

That's how you ended up with Eddie the freak Munson knuckle deep in your cunt.

And he's definitely not shitty. Got you in tears with hardly any effort, stroking his long fingers against your sensitive front wall, just barely tracing circles over your clit with his thumb. The picture of patience.

He watches you the entire time, gnawing on his pink bottom lip, eyes so wide it's like he's forgotten how to blink, like he doesn't want to miss a second of this. Your own hands are clenched around the collar of his denim jacket, his wallet chain jangling with every shift of your hips. You're waiting to combust, to just burst into flames in his lap.

And then Eddie stops moving, his fingers slipping from your wet folds, leaving you empty.

God, the whine that leaves you is loud enough they should hear it all the way in East Hawkins, but you've got no chance pulling his attention away from his own fingers. He holds his hand up between you, silver rings glinting in the sunlight.

And that's not the only part of him that's glinting.

"Holy shit."

His fingers are shiny where they've been inside you, slick stretching in strands between the digits when he spreads them apart.

You'd thought you'd gotten rid of all your shyness, tossed somewhere among the leaves along with your underwear, but that's not the case. You're on fire all the way down to your neck, burning with shame you're not even sure if you should feel. Maybe you should apologize, just in case it's not normal.

But Eddie's not looking for an apology. He just slips his digits into his own mouth, kissing at his rings before pulling them back out with a wet pop. His spit smears against your cheek when he cups your face in his hand.

"You have got to let me taste you."

Jesus. You should really be more careful about what you're willing to smoke. All that shit is starting to make you hallucinate.

"What?"

Eddie's already on the table, rolling onto his back, flecking off chips of the faded red paint with every shift of his hips.

"Come on," he says, gesturing you over with a nod of his head.

He's actually serious. You press your thighs tighter together, and they stick a little with the spend he's already coaxed out of you. Your ass still stays on the bench.

"What if- what if I hurt you?"

Eddie just shrugs. "What a way to go, am I right?"

You're sure you don't have to tell him that your boyfriend's never gone down on you before, and you're definitely sure that he can tell you've never sat on anybody's face. The pile of nerves in your stomach shifts restlessly, and you know he can see that, too.

"I'm not above begging, baby," he shifts onto his side, leaning close enough that you can hear him when he whispers, "there's a very exclusive discount for girls who ride my face."

For a second, your nerves gone—replaced with an acrid jealousy. "Exclusive?"

He takes your hands in his, fingers intertwining shyly. There's some red in his cheeks when you look at him. "This is the first time I've offered it."

Okay. Okay. There's no way you could say no, even if you wanted to. He could get you to do whatever he wanted with one look from those big, brown eyes. Lucky for you, this is something you really, really wanted.

You press your lips to his before you can lose your nerve, breathing in the smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne and the barest earthy scent that follows him everywhere.

He's good at this, too—damn him—tracing the gap between your lips with his tongue as he helps you onto the table, pulling you into place until you're straddling his hips, body electric at the feel of him.

Eddie urges you up onto your knees, shifting a little beneath you until everything disappears under your skirt except for his smiling eyes.

"Ready, baby?" He asks. His breath feels cool against the burning skin of your thighs.

You breathe a yes, and he's on you, open-mouthed kisses everywhere but where you want him. Your legs are shaking, knees threatening to buckle when you feel the nip of his teeth, his wide, warm hands cupping your ass underneath your skirt, pulling you closer.

"Fuck."

You fall forward, catching yourself with one outstretched palm, totally ignorant to the splinters burying themselves in your hands as he guides your hips against his mouth, tongue spread wide and flat, dragging across your cunt.

Oh god. His lips wrap around your clit next, sucking a teasing little pattern, just barely nipping at the sensitive nerves. You're already overwhelmed by the sensation, trying to lift away from him, trying to find some relief, but there's nowhere to go. His fingers tighten around your hips, cool rings biting against your flushed skin. He's in no position to speak, but you can imagine what he's trying to say well enough. You'll get used to it.

You don't think you could ever get used to this.

He eases off your clit, like he's hoping to make this last, but that’s not gonna happen. Not when he flattens his tongue again, gently guiding the shift of your hips, letting you grind down on him.

"God, Eddie." You don't even know if he can hear you between the pillows of your thighs, but you've got to say something, easing a little more weight down onto his face, adjusting the pressure until it sparks through you again. You have to let him know how good this feels, bracing one hand against the ripped knee of his jeans, arching back for the right angle.

Eddie Munson is smiling against your pussy. He's never shut up for this long before, so you have to imagine what he might say, read the language of his hands and the shift of his hips. Hear his voice in your mind saying the dirtiest shit you can imagine. Use me, baby. Get your fill. Cum on my fucking face.

You're going to. There's no way for you to avoid it, not with one of his hands slipping around to the cleft of your pussy, his thumb sliding between your folds and massaging your clit as he french kisses at your core.

"Eddie, I'm- fuck."

No chance to warn him. You're disappearing, lost in the heat of it—your own personal solar eclipse. It has your vision dimming at the edges and your body shaking as it's overcome, cunt pulsing and head emptied of anything but the places where you connect.

And still he doesn't stop, laving his tongue over your ruined pussy, circling your thrumming clit until you're sure you are going to explode.

"Jesus Christ, Eddie."

You really do fall this time, slumping forward until there's cold air kissing your wrecked center instead of his hot, heavy mouth.

He's laughing, when you look down at him. Slick, shining mouth stretched wide over his perfect teeth, dimples in his cheeks collecting your arousal. He wipes his mouth off on the back of his arm, still grinning when he sits beside you, nudging your shoulder with his own.

"You good?" he asks, like he hadn't almost killed you. Could you die from an orgasm that good? You can't help but feel like you cheated death, like your spirit almost left your body.

And then your heart rate slows, and he's nuzzling his face against your throat, pressing little kisses along the ridge of your jaw.

"You there, princess?"

He whispers the words right up against your ear, nose pressed flat against your cheek, and you've got enough of your breath back to laugh.

"Yeah, I'm here."

You can taste yourself on his lips when he kisses you, slow and way too romantic for what just happened, hand resting on your own.

"Come on," he says, jumping off the table, "sun's gonna set soon."

He picks up your pink cotton briefs from off the ground, brushing the leaves from them. There's a mischievous glint in his eyes when he looks back at you.

"Can I keep these?"

You nod, still a little dizzy. You'd give him a kidney after the way he just made you feel.

You're as shaky as a baby deer when you stand, but he's right at your side, holding you up with a surprisingly strong arm around your waist.

"You okay, baby?"

You nod, biting at your lip. "Can I, uh, would you give me a ride home?"

It's not that far a walk, normally . . . when you can feel your legs.

He just laughs again, pressing another sloppy kiss to your cheek.

"Sure thing, princess. Maybe we can stop at a payphone on the way so you can call up your piece of shit boyfriend and tell him he's not your boyfriend anymore."

#eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #my writing #requests #minors dni

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dirtybitfic · 2 months

Text

so wrong yet so right part 2

contains~ strong language, fight during lecture, punishment , dirty talk , slight touching.

y/n pov-

I woke up this morning exhausted i've been working on this god damn story for class the entire weekend . I couldn't figure out a feeling to portray in my writing , Saturday I spent sitting in my bed thinking about Professor sturniolo then I went out with friends got shit face drunk to try and distract myself from my thoughts then woke up on Sunday with a pounding head ache and spent most of my day rotting in bed . Sunday night it finally clicked what feeling to portray would be and that was confusion. Confusion with the way i'm feeling about my professor . Given I couldn't write my story about my thoughts about him because we're sharing these ones with the class too .

I grabbed all my shit for class and made my 8 minute drive to campus blasting desire by meg Myers.

After parking I made my way into the building and into the lecture hall. Walking into the quiet room joining the other early students deciding to sit closer to the front not because really want to but I feel its best after my conversation with professor sturniolo last week .

I sit down in the fifth row and take out my computer and the printed pages to my story for today .

As i'm reading something a friend texted me the rest of the students enter the lecture hall and take their seats and professor sturniolo comes in ... my jaw almost drops . He's wearing a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up showing off the tattoos he has on one arm and the veins that run from his large hands to his elbows the top two buttons open showing his chain . His black pants fitting perfectly around his slim waist and his black shoes looking clean and sleek ... but the rings I notice on his fingers make me think things I shouldn't .

I follow his every move with my eyes as he walks to the front of the class to his desk setting his bad down and looking up at all of us seated around the room.

Good evening everyone I hope you all had a good weekend . Lets get started with the rest of the story left from last class and then well move onto the story you've all written over the weekend.

he looks at me with a hard stare that has my breathe catching . I maintain eye contact until he breaks it to call up the first student to read their story.

after about 45 minutes we finish the stories that were left from last week and I take a quick break for the restroom then come back in as one of the students is reading their story , His feeling was jealousy .

Not gonna lie from what I heard of his story it was about an ex girlfriend who has a new boyfriend I couldn't help but laugh when his voice broke as he said something along the lines of " remember all the things you and I did first" all I couldn't hear in my head was want you back by Cher loyd .

his eyes snapped up to me and I froze in my seat .

are you laughing at my story he asks as he angrily looks at me

I guess I didn't laugh under my breathe like I thought I did .

yeah sorry ... I mean where did you get these line Cher loyd I say as I look at him with a smile on my face .

girls behind me laughed knowing what im talking about .

your a fucking bitch you think your better than me

I gasp making him think I was offended by his words before a smirk appeared on my face .

no I just think its embarrassing you wrote a dramatic fucking story about an ex girlfriend who has obviously moves on from you

he throws his papers on the ground storming up to where i'm seated but before he can reach me professor sturniolo interrupts .

James your excused from the rest of class you need to calm down... he snaps his eyes to me and my smile drops as his eyes pierce through me so harshly I feel it in my Bones . And ms y/l/n I don't know what has gotten into you today but you'll be staying after class to talk am I understood ?.

I roll my eyes and nod my head .

I asked you a question ms y/l/n he says making me look back up at him .

I narrow my eyes before answering him.

yes sir

good and since you want to shit on other peoples story how about we hear yours I obviously upset him with my outburst which in hind site I probably shouldn't have said that to James but i'm not sorry about it .

sure I say with an attitude as I garb my story and step up in front of the class and stand at the podium getting my pages situated .

whenever your ready he says making me sigh before I start reading

I stand In the garden as my mind runs wild with the memories of my interactions with mr braves earlier this evening. The breeze is blowing through the tress that surround me as the sweet smell of summer rain invades my nose. I cant get the feeling of his hand on my shoulder out of my head . His touch felt like lava burning through my skin touching my soul . His words like honey as he calls me things that he shouldn't , things that make me feel what others would deem immoral in society . The way mr braves is older than me should throw me off but it only makes my attraction to him stronger , I could go for any guy my age wether its at the bars Saturday night or in the coffee shop but ... the only man that occupies my mind is mr braves. Ive tried everything I can to get him out of my mind but my methods only seem to make it worse . As these weeks have gone by the connection has grown stronger , I tried distancing myself from spaces I know he occupies on a regular bases like this garden i'm standing in right now but I just cant seem to stay away for too long . I see the way he looks at me when I sit only a few feet away from him and I know he is feeling the same but we both know this relationship can never be . So why do I want him so bad , why does he invade my every thought .The rain starts pouring down on me as I tilt my head back to let the rain fall upon my face as I wish it would just wash away my sinful thoughts and feeling for this man I know I cant have but all i'm left with on my run home is confusion .

I finish reading as I look up at the other students in the class who seem to have been interested in my story as the nod at me . I look over to Professor Sturniolo as he looks at me with a expression I cant seem to place .

That was very well written y/n I could understand throughout the whole story that your feeling was confusion . Your vocabulary you used throughout set the scene of the garden and the time period it could have been set in. I think you did a great job at keeping the reader interested as well good gob

thank you I say with a small smile before grabbing my pages and sitting back down at my seat

After a couple more stories class was over and the students packed up and left leaving me and Professor Sturniolo in the room.

He leans back on his desk closing his arms over his chest as he looks at me sternly .

now would you like to explain what the fuck your little outburst was about he says tilting his head as I mirror his actions .

I don't know guess I was just feeling a little ... on edge

mmm well I thought after our last conversation you would know to behave yourself but I guess I was wrong

yeah guess so I bite back not enjoying him scolding me .

y/n ... he says as he takes a deep breathe to calm himself . fix your attitude before I fix it for you

I gulp as I try and keep my thighs from clenching not trying to show any reaction to his threat

oh yeah and how would you do that I ask which a smile seeing how much I can test him before he breaks.

he smiles and shakes his head as he looks down before he brings his eyes up to me .

trust me sweetheart you wouldn't like my methods ... now lets talk about your story a bit. Was that based off real life or did you makes it up

I look down at the ground as my face gets red .

it... I made it up

mmm okay he says as he walks over to me .

he stands in front of me and I look up at him as I swallow thickly trying to keep my composure .

he smirks down at me as he walks around the back of my chair and he places his hand on my shoulder . I sigh softly as I feel heat build in between my thighs from his touch.

he leans down and I feel his breathe on my neck and ear causing me to shiver.

does my touch feel like lava y/n he whispers in my ear causing me to let a small whimper out .

I - n-no I try and lie but my stuttering gives away my true feelings.

he chuckles before his hand slithers over my shoulder to my neck and he squeezes softly and I cant help the moan that slips out .

yeah ... I think you wrote that story thinking about me didn't you

I swallow against his hand as I shake my head but we both know he's right.

try to deny it all you want but you and I both know ... im your mr braves

I sigh expecting the fact I cant hide it.

even if your right you my presser its not right

isn't that just so upsetting he sighs as he takes his hand off me .

I drop my head looking at the desk not wanting to meet his eyes as he walks back in front of me .

now next class are you gonna be my good girl ... his hand moves to my thigh and I look up at him with widened eyes in shock of what he's doing. or are you gonna act like brat again

I- ill be good

no... I wanna hear you say you'll be my good girl he says as he squeezes my inner thigh making me whine and drop my head back .

ill be your good girl I breathe out as his hand moves dangerously close to my heat.

good girl now go home and start a new story ... maybe write it about mr.braves he says with a knowing smirk .

I sigh when his hands leaves my thigh and he makes his way back to his desk packing up his stuff .

I grab my stuff and makes my way out of the room but stop when he calls my name.

oh and y/n

yes

make sure to throw in some degrading and bondage in your next story I hear mr braves is more of the dominant type

my jaw drops as my pussy flutters . he smirks at me as he makes his way to the other door at the bottom of the room

I quickly exit as my thoughts run wild . He quite literally just referred to himself as mr braves and told me something he definitely shouldn't have but Jesus Christ does knowing that information drive me wild.

I race home and immediately got too writing my next story and after finishing my 6 page story felt with the most horny story I think i've ever written I send it to him and close my laptop.

I hop in the shower then get ready for bed when my phone rings as I got to turn off my bed side lamp .

it's an unknown number but I decide to pick it up .

hello ?

Hello ms y/l/n

its him ... how the fuck did he get my number

professor sturniolo... how did you get my number?

We have your emails and numbers on a sheet when your in our classes

oh... well what can I do for you

you can get in your car and drive to the address I just sent you

w-what are you... its 2 am right now

y/n ... you better be in your fucking car in the next 5 minutes or you'll stay after for the next 6 classes

what - why i'm in bed in my pajamas right now you think I can get ready in 5 minutes I say frantically freaking out .

I don't care what you look like all I know is that if I don't see your car pull up in the next 30 minutes I will be angry... you don't want to make me angry do you

n-no sir

good then get your ass out of bed and start driving here

then he hangs up leaving me confused and intrigued .

I know if I get in the car there will be no going back from anything that happens tonight… but I want it more than anything .

As my keys turn and the engine roars a smile breaks upon my face …

Professor sturniolo here I come

Tags-

@blahbel668 , @sturnsjtop @skyslondon

#matt sturniolo #fanfiction #smut #spotify

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wooahaes · 5 months

Text

a light at the end of the tunnel

pairing: non-idol!wonwoo x gn!reader

genre: fluff. comfort.

word count: 1.0k~

warnings: one joke about reader being blindfolded by wonwoo (to receive their present). implied death of a family member.

daisy's notes: don't take this as a sign to worry abt me btw, just wrote it to get a few feelings out. merry christmas and happy holidays, my loves. i hope the rest of the year treats us as kindly as it can.

Christmas seemed a little quieter this year than it did before. The two of you made your calls, visited friends and family, and now you were watching out the window as Wonwoo drove the two of you home. Your thoughts had started to drift away from where Wonwoo was talking about his family’s dog again (or maybe he’d started talking about his brother? You couldn’t remember anymore, it all seemed to blur together) to how much more subdued this year seemed. Last year there’d been little holiday parties with his friends, or things at work to preoccupy you both. All you could do was twist your grandmother’s ring between your fingers, the chain it hung from warmed from your skin.

“Honey?”

Wonwoo only called you sweet things like honey and my love and baby in three different circumstances. The more common one were the nights he was a little tired, but a lot more affectionate than usual, nose nuzzling against your skin as he whispered loving things to you. The second were the moments he decided to tease you, always dropping an ever-so-loving “baby?” in that deep voice that always seemed to have an effect on you. And the third was why he did it now: he was worried about you, eyes unable to leave the road to look at you long enough to try and figure you out.

“Sorry,” you said, shifting in your seat. “I got distracted.”

“I know.” He reached over, squeezing your thigh gently. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You dropped your hand down from the ring around your neck, opting to hold Wonwoo’s hand instead. “Not tonight,” you said. “Maybe tomorrow.”

He nodded, “Okay,” and pressed his palm against yours, fingers intertwining. “I still have to give you your present.”

It was around this point that the two of you had neared your apartment complex, and you’d spotted Mingyu’s car almost immediately. You furrowed your brows, looking at Wonwoo, who was hiding a smile now. He knew that you would notice: it was hard not to recognize Mingyu’s car when you’d seen it so many times. Wonwoo pulled his hand from yours, reaching into the glove box to pull out a long black strip of fabric, his eyes meeting yours.

“It’s a surprise,” he said softly. “Do you trust me?”

With your life… but Wonwoo already knew that. You climbed out of the car, circling around to his side to join him as he gestured for you to turn around. Carefully, he folded the fabric over your eyes, tying it comfortably. His hand slipped into yours again as he whispered for you to just hold onto him as he guided you into the building and then into the elevator when it came. One ride later, he guided you down the hallway.

“Whoa, what are you—”

That was definitely Vernon’s voice, barely above a whisper but loud enough you could hear it in the silent hallway. The smack that followed had to come from Mingyu. “Shh!”

Wonwoo chuckled. “They know you’re here,” he said, “hide your car better next time.”

Mingyu’s warm laugh bubbled up, and you felt him pat you on the shoulder as he was presumably passing you. “Merry Christmas,” he said, “send us pictures later.”

Suddenly, you wished you weren’t blindfolded. You needed to see his face to have an inkling of what way he meant that, and you definitely needed to see Wonwoo’s to know if Mingyu was joking. He pushed open the door to your apartment, and guided you inside. Soon enough, you were sitting on the couch, and waiting for Wonwoo to bring out whatever surprise he had for you.

“Hold on…”

Wonwoo moved away from you, and you could hear the sound of a door opening—the bedroom or the small bathroom right next to it, you weren’t completely sure which. His steps approached again soon enough, and the couch dipped beside you as he sat down.

“Hold out your hands.” When you did, he chuckled, “closer together.”

A moment after you did so, Wonwoo set something small and soft into them. It immediately wiggled, and suddenly you just knew. He pulled the blindfold off with ease, and in your hands sat a calico kitten that was only kept there by Wonwoo’s hand. She blinked up at you, already trying to scramble onto more stable ground. You brought her into your lap instead, and the wiggling stopped as she curiously decided to sniff you instead.

“When did you…?”

“Mingyu offered to come set up a few things,” he said, nodding toward the cat tower that had been put together and placed in the corner of the room. “And Vernon was watching her for us today.” Wonwoo reached out, scratching her behind the ears, “and last night, too.”

“Wonwoo…” You looked down at the cat in your lap, who was happily turning her head so Wonwoo could scratch her where she wanted. All you bought him were a few games he’d been eyeing up. Sure, that had been pricey, but it felt different that he bought you a cat. “She’s cute, but…”

Wonwoo knew how to read you like a book at times, and he reached up, hands cupping your face as he brought your attention back to him. “I know life has been hard for you lately,” he said, eyes glancing toward the necklace you wore for barely a second, “and I hate that I can’t always be here for you since our work schedules don’t always line up. So now… We have someone who can be,” he smiled, eyes dropping down to the kitten again. “She’s sweet. Seungkwan said a lady came into the coffee shop asking if she could put up a poster since her cat had a litter and she needed to find good homes for them.”

“Did you get pictures?”

He chuckled. “Yes, because I knew you’d want to see them. She said her name is Churro, but we can change it—”

“I love it,” you said. “I love her,” you wiggled your fingers at her, and Churro seemed happy to paw at them playfully. Your gaze met Wonwoo’s again, and you smiled. “I love you.”

His lips pressed against yours for a long, loving kiss before he drew away again. “Merry Christmas,” he said softly. “I love you, too.”

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune @staranghae @porridgesblog @weird-bookworm @bangchansbae @laylasbunbunny

#wooahaes.dec23 #wooahaes.fic #seventeen imagine #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt x you #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x y/n #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x you #wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff

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freshfraise · 1 year

Text

FULL OF SURPRISES - PART 2

pairing: richarlison x reader

summary: Y/N is lavishly flown to Qatar to accompany her industrious boyfriend in the World Cup. When Richarlison finally manages to get an evening off his busy schedule, he makes sure not to waste a second more away from his solicitous girlfriend, whose mind is occupied by one shameless scenario. Him, her and their massive private pool.

author’s note: enjoy :) + apologies for any bad portuguese - PURE EXPLICIT CONTENT/SMUT!!! You’ve been warned lol — (also i can’t believe i spelt surprised wrong in my last title 😭😭)

He walks us down the pool steps, and his hands stay glued to mine even in water. He peppers heavy kisses alongside my neck and collarbone, forcing me to produce light whimpers in response. The kiss was frantic. My legs still are wrapped around his, trying to relieve any friction.He pecked me on my cheeks, nose then chin before kissing me on my lips. Tongues grazing and biting my bottom lip, a raspy groan emitted from his throat making my back arch from the pool wall. We pull back from each other, and take in each other's state. I look at him, a slender silver chain hanging from his neck.

Richarlison re-positioned me so I was right on top of him. His hand ran through my navel, caressing my skin, eventually travelling to the curve of my lower back. His hand touched the button of my bikini top and he looked at me.

“Can I?” He whispered, I nodded embarrassingly fast hoping that it would satisfy his question, but it didn’t. “Use your words, princesa.” He said, with a stupid grin on his face.

“Please.” I said little under a whisper, shame coursing through my body at my eagerness. His eyes solely stared at my lips as I commented. Biting back down a smirk, he made his way to my back. I leaned down to his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around me to unhook each button. My skin came in close contact with his chain, stinging my skin with its frigid touch. He was smooth with each clasp, soothing every fragment of exposed skin that was left under the cover of my top.

Once finally removing my top, he embraced my chest and began to leave love bites in the valley of my breasts. Shuddering moans left my mouth involuntarily which in turn, made Richarlison ridiculously lustful. He shifted under me and his chain glistened against the city lights. He noticed my staring and I realised my slight obsession with it.

Before getting to react, he unclipped the chain and clipped it around my neck.

“Fuck. It definitely looks better on you.” Richarlison practically groaned out, adjusting the necklace against my breasts. Spontaneously, I decided to pick it up and place it between my teeth and suck on it. After popping it out, I could’ve sworn I heard a weak whimper from him. His hands moved to my lower half, smoothing the material of my swim bikini. He peels my bottoms off me as I look down at his black trunks before he quickly begins to unzip them.

Once it was off, we attached our lips together once again, fitting together like the missing puzzles in a puzzle piece. His tongue intertwined with mine, leaving absolutely no room for breathing. His hands moved against my skin frenetically, cupping and squeezing my breasts making me moan deeply into our kiss. I firmly grabbed onto his broad shoulders, guttural groans leaving his mouth. I shivered at his noises, adjusting my position on him. His head whipped back, breathing heavily.

“Deus, a maneira como você se move deve ser ilegal.” (God, the way you move should be illegal.) He stated, completely exasperated, his mouth slack and his eyes glued to our bodies. I smirked confidently and before I even got to relish in any sort of cockiness or superiority, he grabbed my throat with his ringed hand and began to shift under me, with the pressure of the water creating a sensational feeling. An unmanageable amount of whines and moans left my mouth.

“I hate you.” I declaimed in embarrassment of how quickly he can make me submit to him, my head leaning back to the ceiling.

“No, you don’t.” He replied, grabbing the tip of my jaw with his thumb and forefinger and reconnecting our lips. As we kissed roughly once again, I got off him and submerged into the water. I pulled him down to meet me underwater, air bubbles floating around our faces, I smiled at him before closing the gap between us. I kiss him again, my hand firmly planted on my jaw and his hands on my lovehandles.

We emerged from the water and I practically whined at the lack of touch. “Touch me, please , just touch me.”

“You want me to touch you?” He asked shamelessly, wanting to hear me beg. I nodded in response. “Is that so?” Richarlison questioned, cupping my face. “Well, what do you say then?” He whispered, our faces in such close proximity that his breathing made my eyelashes flutter.

“Please.” I moaned out, my back arching uncontrollably.

“Good girl.” He began to lower his fingers towards my heat, past the water, and swiped his fingers through my mess.

“Tão viciante. Why are you so fucking addictive? Your lips,” He began kissing me, before ripping apart from me. “-addictive. Your skin,” His tongue swiped against the skin on my neck. “-addictive. You,” Richarlison dragged his hands against the curve of my body seductively. “-so, so fucking addictive.”

“Richarlison, I need you in me now.” I breathed out, almost under a whisper. The truth being, if he said anymore, I would come before he properly even touched me.

He stared into me, silenced by the request I gave him. He bit his lip and opened his mouth to confirm and I nodded my head before he even finished asking. He turned me around, as I faced the city view as he stood behind. Before I realised, he was placing himself in me, a loud and throaty moan erupted from Richarlison’s mouth. He felt so good, it didn’t even feel real. His hands were on my waist, as my eyes were pinched shut. He guided me rocking back and forth as I rode him. I brought his chain back up to my mouth and bit on the tip of the silver, restricting my noise. Deciding to go at a slightly faster pace, He pounds into me hard, a moan leaving my mouth. He filled me up, as I practically felt his bulge in my stomach. His hands left my waist, as he ran his hands through his hair and then started to grip onto my ass. Another whine left me, as I felt his piercing hands on me.

“Tell me how you feel.” Richarlison demanded, through moans. I don’t know if I had the capacity to speak or if I could. Pure pleasure and bliss took over my body, leaving me no choice but to ignore his request.

One of his hands wrapped around my lower waist and the other grabbed my neck, squeezing the sides. It felt euphoric and I was once again moaning. “Princesa, I said tell me how you feel, speak to me.”

“Good, Rich. So fucking good.” I could practically hear the smug, satisfied smile that formed on his face as he continued pounding into me so hard that tears clouded up my vision. Wanting to hear him vocal again, I began to sink all the way down him, making him create the most confounding and intense moan I’ve ever heard and I was completely adherent to it.

“Oh my God, - Por favor, assim mesmo.” (Please, just like that) He groaned hard, the water splashing against our torsos. Somehow, I sank even lower, and his cock confidently reached my G-spot. Before I cried out in intense pleasure, he cupped my mouth to prevent extreme levels of noise leaving the room. I was still biting on Rich’s chain, my red lipstick staining his silver. I bounced up and down his length, as he leaned forward, creating a love bite on the left side of my neck as I moaned overtly. I kept bouncing up and down, a ringing clapping noise filling the room with the sounds of our skin. Rich’s hands made their way back to my hips and started slamming me down into him.

“Richarlison, oh my-“ I responded to his motion, black mascara stained tears falling down my cheeks. “I love it when you say my name like that..” He said between pounds.

Before getting to reply, my body shakes and tightens around him as I’m a couple rides away from coming. “How are you this tight?- Oh-” He muttered in disbelief, his moans thundering throughout the room.

“I’m so close-” I essentially scream out, my climax reaching me. Richarlison’s pace goes faster, slamming into me with such force, leaving both of us a whimpering mess.

“Y/N-, just come all over me.”

My climax hits me, ecstasy spilling out of me as I come in him. Leaking everywhere, he carried on and groaned with every hit whilst every limb of mine shook. The water suddenly began to feel heavy, as it began to feel like I was floating. Eventually, he came too with an accompanying booming groan leaving his lips as he filled me up. Every nerve in my body and brain was electrified. My body had a temporary paralysis, my mind unable to process the pleasure so fast. I fell backwards into him, shaking in his hold as he wrapped his arms around me. Pulling out of me, I realised just how sore I am, but all is forgotten as I’m in his hold showered with Richarlison’s kisses.

“That was a great surprise, princesa.” He whispered into my ear, kissing the back of my neck.

“Sim,” I agreed and turned around to face him, leaving a kiss. “But didn’t you score twice today?” He smiles and looks me straight in the eye. “What are you suggesting?” He says, tilting his head.

“Dupla surpresa?”

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pullhisteeth · 1 year

Text

the bone crush | eddie munson

summary you’re five years out of high school and your boyfriend's managed to get famous. some days are harder than others, but he goes to great lengths to make it better. [5.5k]

contains modern!au, fem!reader, rockstar!Eddie/famous!Eddie, established relationship, insecure reader, a fight (kind of), depression, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

something I dreamed up on the train home from work one evening because I was listening to Taylor and getting all emo. lots of love xxx

But I don't like a gold rush / I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush / I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch / everybody wants you / everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

A tingling sensation spreads from your fingers into your hand, creeping slowly up the length of you arm where it’s pressed between your body and the couch.

You’ve been lying here, on your side on the couch in your apartment, for three hours. The sun’s gone down but you’ve made no effort to move to switch on a light, or to eat, or to do anything, really, besides scrolling mindlessly through every app at your disposal. It began with TikTok, which you opened upon slumping down on the couch after work, still in your stuffy trousers and button-up shirt. It moved to Twitter for a while, then over to Instagram, and back round to TikTok. At one point you even entertained Pinterest, keying doomed phrases into the search bar that you knew would drive you further into the hole.

You’re on Twitter right now. Somehow, you landed on a thread dedicated to the lead guitarist of a well-known rock band. Each new tweet is another photograph of him showing another way that he is, as the poster claims, boyfriend material.

They’re not wrong. The photos are candid shots, taken behind the stage after a gig, or at stage-door late into the night. In each one he looks sleepy, soft, a direct contrast to the gritty stage persona he adopts. He’s got a dopey half-smile or he’s sticking his tongue out; in some, he’s wearing a beanie, and in others he’s got a black hoodie on.

You keep going, reading the replies to each tweet individually, scores of young women cooing over him. Your screen is awash with hearts and flames and flowers, exclamation points and capital letters.

One of the photos catches your eye. You linger on it for a few minutes, studying the details, reading the replies. You swipe up from the bottom of your screen to close the app, replacing it quickly with your camera roll. You swipe quick, scrolling upwards until you reach your photos from six or seven months ago.

Eddie had been on a tour across Europe. He’d left in February and come home in May, leaving you behind. But in mid-April he’d flown you out to Spain, where the band had a week break between shows. You’d spent six days trawling the streets of a small coastal town, eating your body weight in paella and swimming for hours in the sea. When you got home you’d posted a photo on your Instagram, just one. You like to keep these moments to yourselves, and usually you don’t share much of anything of your life with the world. When you do, though, the fans go wild.

It’s a photo of Eddie at a restaurant. It looks intimate, like it’s just the two of you, though no one’s to know you were surrounded by the band and crew. It was a clear evening, warm and fresh, and he was sat opposite you in a pretty shirt, top three buttons undone so his ink-splattered chest peeked out. He’d tied his hair back, though by this point it was loose, and the ring on the chain around his neck reflects in the light of the candle between the two of you.

He’s looking past the camera, up and over it to your face. You think about what you must have looked like, tongue between your teeth while you got the right shot, head pulled back, the angle unflattering, but it never changed the way he looked at you. The way he always looks at you.

His big, round eyes catch the light, too, deep and rich in the orange glow. His skin’s lit just the same, and so he looks softer than ever. It’s one of your favourite photos of him, which is all the more reason for you to regret ever sharing it.

You take the dangerous leap with this tweet in particular: checking the quote replies. The ones usually hidden from you, only seen if you go looking, which is precisely what you’re doing now. You know this never ends well, only ever leaves you with a deep pit in your stomach, but you have no will to stop yourself.

You know this because this has become routine for you over the past weeks. It’s like a drug, addictive though it does no benefit to you really. Acknowledging that the mean comments sent your way were increasing was your first mistake; seeking them out is where you fell down the hole.

As the window opens, the first tweet you’re greeted with is surprisingly tame and kind, something sweet about how pretty he looks. True.

But then the second, and the third and another a few tweets down, is where it gets bitter. See, when you’re as famous as Eddie is, with such a dedicated following of young girls, your life is never private, and never can be. These girls know who took what picture and when. They think they know how he felt in each one, or who was making him laugh, or where he’d just been. This one is no exception, and their biting remarks resemble thousands you’ve seen before.

He always looks so bored of her.

Surely he can’t enjoy being kept away from the band???

Am I the only one that thinks he hates her lmao

It doesn’t stop there - it goes on for ages, tweet after tweet after tweet of sarcastic or scathing comments about you. Your appearance (which has never been good enough for anyone, apparently), your personality (boring, stuck-up, controlling), and, most commonly, the fact you are a - quote - clout chaser.

Your arm’s completely numb now. You tell yourself that you couldn’t turn your phone off if you tried, despite the fact your thumb is scrolling just fine. You ingest every word, find new fan accounts to trawl and new insults thrown your way to soak up. There are maybe three photos of you online now, and they circulate through these accounts like paper money, exchanged for nothing but the venom of teenage girls. Are they teenagers? You’re not even sure; some of them definitely are, but you’re convinced most of these people are adults.

A call comes through just as you open another series of replies - this time to a thread titled times Eddie Munson looked good enough to eat. It breaks your concentration, your eyes flitting up to the little picture in the corner of the screen.

Eddie.

You can’t bear to answer the phone. You haven’t spoken to him yet today, and the last time you texted him was yesterday, on your lunch break. Sometimes he’s busier than usual; you’re no stranger to a bit of distance.

You let it ring out, the little green telephone going until it stops, the notification sliding back up the screen. Soon enough you get another, for a text, but you swipe it away before you can read the preview.

You stare at the replies for a while, lingering on the ones that claim they could be better girlfriends than her, before finally hitting the lock button and letting your phone drop onto the carpet. You roll onto your back, groaning when the blood rushes back into your arm and the tingling feeling comes back, and muster the energy to push yourself up and stretch.

As the joints in your back and across your shoulders pop, you toe your shoes off and stare blankly at the wall. There's that feeling that always follows these late-night escapades into the depths of the little yet dedicated following Corroded Coffin have amassed: it's a hollow feeling that somehow still fills you entirely. It rips through you, a deep and unwavering yearning for him.

He's been away since August, and now it's October. Two weeks ago, you'd laid here for a few hours after your friends had packed up the dinner party at midnight, looking up at the ceiling, counting the weeks you'd spent with Eddie this year.

So far, it was fewer than you'd spent apart. Of course, watching the man you love do the thing he loves so much is one of life's biggest blessings, but you'd be a fool if you tried to convince anyone that it didn't hurt. Even if you have friends, and your own life, and a job. That clawing yearning, it grows, expanding by the second every time he leaves for another grand tour of some continent somewhere, with his childhood friends and their insatiable libidos, their lowkey stimulant dependencies and the roadies.

He's home in a month, which is really a month and a half but giving yourself more manageable goalposts is something that helps. You're definitely not delusional.

You decide you’ll spend the rest of the evening offline. It’s 9pm, so you strip your work clothes and pull on something comfier. You put bread in the toaster and when it’s done you spread peanut butter on one slice and jam on the other, and on your way to bed you pick your phone up off the floor.

Your offline evening lasts maybe twenty-five minutes. Something about the comfort of bed and the need for something to entertain you while you eat two slices of toast lulls you back to the welcoming arms of evil fans.

It’s 1am when you get another call from Eddie. You managed half a slice of the jam-covered toast before discarding it in favour of your favourite meal - the insults of strangers - and you’ve been curled up in a ball scrolling TikTok for three and a half hours.

Should you answer it? Probably, yeah. For some reason, though, it feels like you’re angry at him, even though he's done nothing. Something spiky flares inside you when he calls, like you’re jealous, or bitter. It’s entirely your own doing and yet you’re punishing him for it.

He calls again when you don’t pick up, and then texts when you let this one ring out too. You try to swipe the notification away again but click it by accident, opening your conversation, which is awash with grey bubbles where he’s tried to reach you with no reply.

The latest one, above the bouncing bubble with three dots, reads: is everything okay?

No, you think to yourself. You watch the dots, addicted to knowledge that he's out there somewhere, texting you after a gig, when everyone else is getting drunk or high or laid. You know this isn’t healthy, but tonight you feel particularly self-destructive.

give me a call when you wake up. xxx

He thinks you’re asleep, so you’re off the hook for now. You can return to your mind numbing, to breaking down your brain cells one by one, until your eyes force themselves shut and your brain winds down, your phone still open in your hand, playing the same video on loop into the night.

It’s a restless sleep, broken too many times and not deep enough to really count as sleep at all. You eventually drift off properly, some time in the early morning, and when you wake, the light’s blinding. You didn’t close the curtains before you went to bed - did you even try to close them at all? - so as the sun’s moved across the room, it’s landed directly over your face. You’re splayed out on your stomach, drool in your hair.

The sun seems high, too high for an autumn morning. You reach around, patting the mattress and your bedside table in search of your phone. With no luck you sit up slowly, groaning, rubbing your sleep-laden eyes.

Your phone’s on the floor beside your bed. You reach it and find that it’s dead, so you tug the charger cable out from where it’s lodged down the side of the bed and plug it in.

For a few minutes you lie there, befuddled, with no idea of the time or how long you were asleep. Impatient, you get out of bed, aching and creaking because of how you slept, and pad across the room to the bathroom. After you pee and dodge your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you head to the kitchen.

The little fluorescent numbers on your stove read 12:08.

Shit.

Turning on your heels, you run back to the bedroom, throwing yourself over the bed onto your stomach. You grab your phone and try to power it up but it’s still flashing the little battery at you, almost like it’s angry you’d even try to turn it on.

Shit, shit, shit.

How long were you out? It’s definitely nearly 12 hours since Eddie last called, and it’s now 48 hours since you spoke to him on your break.

The wait for your phone to come back to life is agonisingly long, a painful three minutes wherein you pace and sit, break out in a sweat, and even start making your bed in desperation.

Finally it buzzes and you jump. As it comes to life it buzzes again, and again and again, and you freak out, dropping it onto the bed.

4 more missed calls from Eddie, and 3 texts. Normal, to be expected with your lack of response.

But the strange thing is the texts from your friends. Each one of them has text you multiple times, at various points since 6am. Even your mum has called, which is strange for a Saturday.

You’re not sure where to begin, so you start with where’s comfortable: Eddie.

I’m worried, sweets. text me soon x

this is getting weird, what’s going on?

any sign of life?

You tap a response quickly, too quick to keep up with yourself. You’re floating in a post-late-night haze, thick with guilt from the night before and head stinging from staring at your screen for so long.

I'm alive! give me a call when you’re free. love you xx

Almost as soon as you hit send, your phone’s buzzing again, Eddie’s name and picture flashing up on screen.

“Hello,” you say quickly as you answer it, bringing the phone to your ear and holding it with both hands, as though it might slip away if you’re not careful.

“Christ, y/n, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Sorry,” is all you can say. He sounds so breathless and it makes your nose burn.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just... I was worried, ‘s’all. Sorry for all the texts.”

“No, it’s okay, I should have called.”

“It’s fine, really, I thought you might be out, after work or something, y’know, didn’t wanna bug you, but-”

“No, Eddie,” you say, cutting him off. “It’s okay, I should have text you or something, I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” he says with a light laugh. “But you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, knowing he’ll see right through it anyway, regardless of the fact he’s miles away and hearing you down a phone line.

“What’s up?”

“It’s fine, really, I don’t wanna keep you.”

“’M not busy, sugar. Y’got me for however long ya need.”

“But-”

“Did you, uh... Did you read the news? This morning?”

“What?”

“I think you should, uh, check it. Now.”

“Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“No, no,” he says, laughing again. “Just...” Your phone buzzes in your hand. You bring it down, setting his call to speakerphone, and see that he’s sent you a link.

You tap it and it opens a webpage. It’s an article on Rolling Stone.

Corroded Coffin postpone US tour.

“What the fuck?”

“Heh...” His nervous laugh sets you on edge, your anxious sweats not letting up.

“What does this-”

“I, uh, I’m about fifteen minutes away.”

“What?!”

“Here, I’ll explain when I’m back, okay? Just... Just please call your mum, will you? And maybe text Robin and Nance back? They’ve been on my back all morning.” And then, before you can protest or ask questions, he says, “I’ll see you soon, sugar. Love you.” The line buzzes. He’s hung up.

You bask in bewilderment for a few seconds, staring at your phone. Your messages app has a little red 57 in the corner - unheard of for you - and you have 5 missed calls - four from Eddie, one from your mum. You call her and tell her you’re okay, and that you’re sorry for the radio silence, and that you’ll tell her everything about the tour when you know more. And then you text your friends back, mostly ignoring the 40 messages in the group chat about the news, telling them the same thing, that you’ll fill them in once you can.

Fifteen minutes passes like an age. You finish making the bed, and then put on some coffee. You tidy away yesterday’s clothes, which you’d left in a pile by the bed, and splash your puffy face with cold water.

Is he angry with you? He didn’t seem angry on the phone. But why is he coming home, and why has the band postponed the tour, because you didn’t pick up the phone for one or two days? Your relationship has been long distance just as much as it hasn’t; going a day without speaking isn’t much to shout about.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are still puffy and there are marks down one side of your face where your bedding’s made indents in the skin. You scrub the sleep from your eyes and the drool from the corner of your mouth and run your fingers through your hair, doing your best to smooth it down.

It’s then that you hear the familiar sound of keys in the door. Just as you round the corner into the hall, sliding across the wood in your socks, you find your boyfriend closing it behind him and setting a bag down on the floor.

You’re moving before you know what you’re doing. Your body caves in from want, from the deep-seated desire to be next to him, and you can’t - won’t - stop yourself from throwing your arms around him. You squeeze him, your arms around his middle, and feel him relax into you as his own come around you. The two of you stand like that for a while, him rocking you gently, and when he pulls you back so he can look at you, he finds that you’re crying.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, pulling you back in again. You slip from his grasp, though, moving so that you can reach up and paw at his face. You plant firm lips on his and let yourself drown in the euphoria of the reunion.

“Eddie,” you pant against his mouth. “Why-”

“Hey,” he laughs. “I’ll explain, okay? Just-” Kiss. “Missed you.” Another kiss.

“I don’t-”

“Are you okay?”

You speak at the same time, but he’s sterner where you’re unsure. He's looking at you with your face in one hand, eyes hard like he’s trying to get you to fess up.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, nodding quickly and ignoring the way the sound bubbles in the thickness of your throat.

“Here,” he says, the firmness ebbing and his face softening. He takes your hand in his and walks you to the living room, past the kitchen where a week's worth of dishes sit beside the sink. If he notices the state of the place, he doesn't say.

He sits on the couch and waits for you to join him.

He watches you when you do, and for a while it’s quiet. There are a hundred questions you have for him, but they dissipate when he holds your face in his hand again, tucking hair behind your ear like he’s in a movie, tracing the fading indents from your sheets down your temple and across your cheek.

You take in the state of him - the wildness of his hair where it’s pulled back into a scrunchie, your scrunchie, and the deep marks of tiredness beneath his eyes. Otherwise, he’s much the same as he was when he left you in August, your rockstar off to wow every state with that skill of his you love so much. He’d taken too long saying goodbye at the airport, nearly missed his flight to Washington, and when he’d finally let you go you’d stayed, sitting in a deserted café, clinging onto the last glimpse you got of him before he was weaved through security by their manager, Jason.

“What’s goin’ on, hm?” he asks, voice soft as ever and sweeter too. It brings you out of your head and you look up at his ridiculous, gorgeous face, his brown eyes burned with sorrow, the scrunch between his eyebrows that appears when he’s concerned.

“Missed you,” you tell him, whispering in case speaking louder will shatter what can surely only be a bitter daydream.

“Why’d you go all cold on me then?” He drops his hand from your face and holds your leg where it’s bent up underneath you.

“Been a bad couple days.”

“How come?”

“Just missed you,” you repeat. It’s all you can think about now he’s here and he’s got his hands on you - how you’ve missed him, his smile, his eyes, his hands, the way he smells, the space on his shoulder where your face fits when you hug him.

“Missed you too,” he tells you. “But I think you’re hidin’ somethin’ from me.”

You groan and twist in your seat, letting your legs drop off the couch, his hand falling to his own lap, and lean your head back. With your eyes shut, you breathe deep.

“Sorry I didn’t text, or call, I just... I’ve been really low.” You hear the tremor in your voice and know he can hear it too. He hopes you don’t hear his heart and the way it breaks at the sound.

“I know you don’t really go online, or whatever-”

“I know what’s been happening,” he says, cutting you off. You open your eyes and turn your head so your cheek’s pressed to the back of the couch and you can look at him. His eyes are harder now, trained somewhere away from your face, though his hand, now resting too on the back of the couch, toys silently with the ends of your hair.

“You do?”

“Yeah, Jason’s been keeping us, uh, updated, or whatever. Showing us some of it.”

His eyes meet yours and he looks back at you with a tenderness that pulls you limb from limb.

You crumble then, all the emotion of the past few weeks easing out of you like crackling smoke. You lean, without thinking, into his side and cry, wet and heavy sobs, gasping for air. Through cotton-wool ears you can hear him soothing you, feel his hands smoothing up and down your back. You listen as he coos pretty things in your hair and kisses the crown of your head until your breath’s a bit more level.

“Sorry,” you hiccup.

“Stop apologising,” he says, with that same feather-light laugh he had when he told you the same thing on the phone. And then he breathes out, slow, and says, “I knew somethin’ was up last week, when you called me from the store.”

“Oh, yeah.”

You think back to last Tuesday, when you’d been picking up groceries and only just made it back to your car before the tears had spilled over and left you in a miserable puddle in the driver’s seat. You were tired, of what you couldn’t tell: going home to an empty apartment, shopping for one person, the fact you’d had to buy a different shampoo because you’d used Eddie’s up and they didn’t have the one he usually uses at the store.

You’d called him after you’d cried, just to hear his voice, but it had been late in the afternoon wherever he was and he was getting ready to play another show so all he’d been able to say was I love you, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?

It’d left you feeling bereft, worse than ever.

“I don’t know what to do,” you choke out, mind on that evening and the hundreds of others just like it.

“What do you mean?” he asks, taking your hands in his own, his thumb smoothing up and down the sides of your wrists.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say flatly. “You being away so much, I... It’s so hard, Eds. I know I have friends, and-” Hiccup. “-and they’re great, they’ve been great, Nance and Rob especially, they... We have dinner every week and it’s not like I spend every night here on my own, waiting for you, or whatever, I just... Everything online is so hard to look at but it's also so hard to not look at, it’s so hard to see all these people being so invasive and weird, wanting you all the time, following you around, and sometimes it’s mean and then I think, you know, maybe they’re right sometimes. I miss you, and it hurts and I don’t know what to do because you’re so happy, and I love you and I love your band and you’re so talented but I just... I sit back here, waiting for you. It’s like I’m a... An anchor, or something, y’know? I feel like they’re right, I’m holding you back, I just-”

“Stop it,” he says. You take a well-needed breath and look at him, hearing the way his stern words come out filled with remorse, and find that his eyes are red round the edges and his mouth’s doing that thing it does before he cries.

“Oh, Eddie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

He squeezes your hands and says, “No, it’s okay, I just- I hate when you talk like that.”

He takes a breath and, letting go of your hands, pinches the bridge of his nose. After a quiet moment he sits upright and turns to you.

“I never, ever feel held back by you. Do you hear me?”

“I know, I just-”

“I mean it. Never.”

“Okay,” you sigh.

You see him ease a little, leaning back slightly.

“I know you didn’t sign up for this, and the fact you’re still here is honestly... Maybe one of the craziest things ever. I know that it’s been bad recently, I’ve seen some of the stuff online and god knows I have to deal with it in person every time I leave a fucking building, but you can't listen to them, baby. I don’t want any of this if it’s hurting you.”

“Eddie-”

“I’m serious. I’d drop it all, leave it all behind, change my name and flee the country or something, if it meant I’d get to be with you.”

Your nose burns again, and there’s a simmering ache in your temples. You breathe and try to keep the tears at bay but it’s futile; they come without permission and quickly, thick drops down your cheeks.

“When you called last week, I... It broke my heart, sugar, I couldn’t bear it.”

“I had to get different shampoo,” you tell him bluntly, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world to cry over the little red out of stock sticker underneath where the bergamot shampoo would usually be.

He just looks back at you sadly. You’re not sure where to go from here, because whatever outcome you know your heart will break. You could leave him, abandon all of this and start afresh somewhere new, taking your time to mourn the loss but get over it eventually. You could stay, doing this every year for the foreseeable future, playing your role as the doting girlfriend who waits patiently for her world-famous boyfriend to come home. Or Eddie quits, and you live with the guilt of what he’d lose forever.

“What’s goin’ on in there?” he asks you, tapping your forehead softly with his index finger. “Hm?”

“What do we do?” you ask him, as though he's somehow wiser than you when it comes to this.

He toys with your hair again, tucking it behind your ear. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I’m here for now.”

“But you’ll go again,” you remind him.

“Yeah,” he responds reluctantly. “But there’re only two weeks left of tour.”

“But there’ll be another, and then another.”

“Not like this, there won’t.”

“Eddie, you can’t quit. That’s not fair, I can’t expect you to do that, I don’t want you to do that.”

“Who said anything about quitting?”

He’s suddenly got a smile on his face. It’s only small, one side of his mouth pulled up in some kind of mischievous signal.

“You can’t keep making music and not touring, that’s not-”

“I’m not quitting music, baby. Tours just won’t be this long.”

“But you’re getting more famous, you can’t-”

“Let me explain,” he drones playfully, not really fed up with you but playing into it to get you to listen.

“You’re right, you can’t expect me to quit and stay here with you, just like I can’t expect you to drop everything and come with me. I thought about it, y’know, the logistics of you coming but it’s not easy, I mean, we live on a bus for most of the tour and when we are in hotels we’re doin’ press all day, and just ‘cause we could afford it now doesn’t mean I want you to quit your job, or leave your life behind for me or anythin’. But I also... I hate this just as much as you do. I don’t know how it looks to you ‘cause my free time isn’t exactly a lot but I spend literally every minute I have on the phone to you, so much that Gareth’s started really takin’ the piss, givin’ me shit for it...”

He’s laughing and as you let yourself laugh too, feel the heavy weight of distance lifting off you. It’s been so long that you’d almost forgotten how blissful it feels to be sat with him, laughing like this in your little apartment. Almost.

“I’ve got some ideas about how we can make this work,” he continues, “but right now I’m just happy you’re okay.”

“How long are you home for?” you ask him in a low voice, hesitantly, lest you get your hopes up.

“However long you want,” he says softly, tracing the side of your face. “But probably a couple of months.”

“Months?!” you gasp, incapable of controlling your volume. He flinches and laughs again.

“Yeah. Won’t be able to sort new shows for a while anyway.”

The tears return, only this time they’re born of a deep relief. You feel it lift you and you fall into him, gripping on for dear life. Your arms wrap around his middle and your nose rests at his neck, and you squeeze him as hard as you can while he carries on laughing, his own hands matching yours. When his t-shirt is sodden with tears and your arms have eased up he brings you up to meet his eye. As you watch them flit between your own and your lips you get that feeling, the fluttering of a crush deep within. Suddenly you’re both seventeen again, when your biggest worry was whether the boy with long hair in your English class liked you back, rather than all the burdens of early adulthood and fame. And then he kisses you, a true homecoming kiss, warm and firm and sure, and you melt into him, sighing happy noises and kissing him back.

Four hours later, you’re still on the couch. He helped you clean, slowly undoing the wreckage of depression, and you both showered, washed his hair with the shampoo that will become his new smell. You’ve torn through an order of Chinese takeout and you’re halfway through a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, though currently it sits abandoned on the coffee table, the two spoons leaving melted ice cream across the varnished wood.

The conversation - about where you go from here, how you navigate this new life together - is saved for another day.

Right now you’re in his lap, right where you like to be, kissing him senseless and letting him do the same to you.

You dance your mouth across his cheek, down his jaw and onto his throat, over the scattering of pretty, blooming bruises that match your own (just marking what’s mine, he’d told you). When you reach his collarbone, he says, “Maybe we should get a cat.”

You sit upright and look at him quizzically. “A cat?”

“Yeah,” he says, a lazy smile growing. “It’d keep you company when I’m not here, and Nance would love lookin’ after it when we're away."

You dwell on the idea, your eyes dancing across his face which glows a pretty shade of pink in the low living room light.

“Okay,” you agree, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get a cat.”

One month later, you pick up Ozzy from the pound. He’s a baby, really, small but filled with restless energy. He’s black with white socks and though you dote on him endlessly, it’s Eddie he truly falls for.

At least you have something in common.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #Eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #st 4 #stranger things vol 1 #stranger things eddie

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lovejosephquinn · 1 year

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submissive!joe tied up having you kiss him all over his body, teasing and edging until he’s begging

i beg 🫶🏻

The longest smut I think I've ever done. SUB JOE HAS A SPECIAL PLACE IN MY HEART AS OF TODAY.

Under 18's DNI - This is feral all the way through.

Word count: 3.2k

It wasn't a common occurrence for you to be on the opposite end of things, in fact Joe was almost always the dominant one and that's the way it had always been. Sat on the sofa one night watching aimless television before bed, Joe brought up the idea for you to switch roles, the mention of it coming from no where as he sipped at the last of his glass of wine. A secret fantasy alluded from no where in which you never knew existed. Turns out that he'd always dreamed of letting someone have their way with him without him having a say in the matter. You were of course, more than happy to oblige in his darkest of wishes.

It was also part of Joe's wishes to be tied up, hands and feet both separated so he was tied to each side of the headboard and at the bottom, enabling you to have better access to where you wanted to be at different moments. You'd even planned it for the next night just so that you got enough hours in the evening to have your fun; it was all you'd thought about for 24 hours.

He'd bought new items home on the day of said event, a full set including cuffs to fit his wrists and ankles, a blindfold if necessary, a cock ring with added vibrator for if you wanted to get really intense and out of everything, the thing that stood out to you most was the giant feather that brought the box to life. You knew you'd be using each product on him tonight and it was allowing you to get riled up just thinking about over stimulating him the way you wanted to.

You both took a soft non sexual shower together, washing down one another, laughing and giggling like nothing of the sort was about to happen, the splash of the warm water blasting from above you was able to relax you for the time being, yet in reality every fibre in your being was fired up and ready to dominate your man; you were just hoping it would live up to his expectations. As confident as you were, you were also quite nerved that you wouldn't serve the part as well as he usually did.

You made no attempt in conversation as you concentrated on moving around the bed to put Joe into his restraints, a smile which creeped onto your face when you'd completed the first full task alerted you to Joe's face which which was in the midst of gulping his saliva loudly down his throat.

Joe whimpered as you stood at the edge of the bed before him, chained and trapped for you to use his body as you pleased. He was the one that had asked for this, begged to be touched and exploited. You couldn’t help but feel the excitement of being able to do whatever you wanted, a claim him as your own type of situation. There was nothing off limits according to him and you'd understood the assignment from what he'd brought home with him especially for you to use, there was no doubt remaining, you were ready to pull out all the stops.

His eyes were still trained on you, glazed with a slight anxiety but overwhelmed with excitement as you bit down on your lip; analysing his strained movements.

You started off from his face, moving down to his chest which was lifting heavily from his difficulty in breathing, down to his stomach where his erection stood proud, slapped against his happy trail which almost made you salivate, your fantasies getting the better of you almost immediately. His thighs were almost shaking in anticipation, you were keeping him waiting and it was agonising to him; oh how the tables have turned.

You laid out the contents of the rest of the objects beside Joe before removing your towel that you still had around you, letting him take a view of one of his most favourite sights in the world before you took a hold of the blindfold. Joe immediately lifted his head up slight so that you could move the elastic with more ease for it to sit comfortably, before you completely shut his vision into darkness, you leaned back to reach full eye contact with one another.

"I hope you're going to be a good boy for me." You whisper, your lips inches away from his. Joe moves up in attempt to kiss you, but you move away making him flinch at the reaction he wasn't expecting. Puffing his lips out like a child you make a sudden giggle towards him which echoes into his ear drums, a sound so erotic his cock twitches from the very sound.

"Tell me that you will and who for and maybe I'll let you kiss me before this blindfold covers your eyes." Joe stayed silent and you slowly went to push it down over his lids, a startled grunt leapt from his lungs when he realised you were serious.

"Wait. I'll be a good boy, your good boy. I promise." You gave an acceptive nod towards Joe, taking in each word as it sprung from his lips, earning him a soft, subtle kiss which you could tell he wished would last longer from the way you heard the chains of the cuffs rattle from the sides of the headboard.

"You're not going anywhere." You hum a slightly more challenging noise of a high pitched chuckle when he pulls again for good measure to make sure the cuffs are definitely intact and that he well and truly won't be moving out of the place he's been situated. You kiss him once more before settling the blindfold over his eyes, his head tilts from side to side, trying to listen out for which side you're going to. Of course it's the side where the objects lay brand new, ready to be utilized for their purpose.

Resume back to Joe's lips parted, heavy breathing commencing. You climb on top of him, kneeling between his thighs, you move your hands forward to drag your finger tips from his shoulders, down his chest, tracing his happy trail and one sharp stroke of his length. He chokes out a over dramatic moan from not quite anticipating where you were going to go.

You move yourself upward so that you're looking at him square in the face, his lips look delectable, soft and highly kissable. Your hairs tied back so he doesn't get a hint of where you are, only the shallow breath you're trying to hide as you push your mouth down onto his again, the chains rattle from above your heads as he attempts another sudden move, jolting in desperation to try to touch you. As your tongue slides in it's like a motion that sets off Joe bucking up his hips to find exactly where your crotch is, he needs the friction and it's like you can already tell he's beginning to struggle playing the submissive one.

"It's really dark under here, can I get a peak baby?"

"No that's not what bad boys get." You tapped your hand against his cheek, earning a short smirk before his lips pressed into a line again. Rolling his tongue over his lips after being denied, he was quick to over step the mark with his response.

"I'm not bad, I'm a good boy. Good for you."

"So why did you try to grind yourself up against me?" You tapped the other side of his cheek, leaning your lips down to the right side of his ear, taking a nibble, hearing him huff a sigh of your refusal and his irritation of his attempted coping mechanism had failed.

"I slipped."

You bring your lips to his neck, grinding your teeth against the vein that presented itself to you in the way his body began to strain, a moan slightly followed from the way you use the bottom and top to clench his skin lightly between your pearly whites.

"Ugh, shit. Please mark m-me." You'd barely even touched him and he was a mess, it's a possibility that leaving this thought to go to each other's head was in fact a bad idea as he was already stuttering his words and you were already ready to just be fucked and be done with it, but you'd made a promise and you were going through with it no matter how long it took. Teasing him was your number one priority, edging him and denying his orgasm several times before you allowed him to finally.

You dug in to his neck further at his request, your teeth now fully sinking into his skin, your mouth sucking against him, tasting your way through his scent which engulfed both your senses of taste and smell. The way you sucked as if you were dying to gain an appetite for blood, you had his body squirming from just adhering to the wish of fully marking the skin you could sink into.

Your lips left soft pecks up around his jawline, back down his neck and onto his shoulders, pinning sloppy slurping sounds during every kiss you left on each cell of his body. Just as you reach his breast bone, your hand smoothly slides down his torso, taking a fist full of his length and writhing your hand in a steady movement, pulling his foreskin back and then up again several times repeated, causing Joe to make a sudden gasp at another unpredicted gesture. His hips suddenly bucking again makes you stop and he whines out loud. You feel a sense of power wash over you and you can't help but congratulate yourself in your own head, a mental high five that you've already got him in this state.

"I need it, touch m-me please, please."

"Stay still and you'll get more." You said it with such a stern tone yet there was a hint of sincerity if you listened hard enough.

You continued your journey downward, kissing between his chest, around his nipples, taking your time to move further, when you reached his stomach you made a mark just above where the happy trail begun, your hooded eyes watching out as his teeth bite down on his bottom lip from a wince of pain from the hard bite you unleashed upon him.

"Fucking hell." He moaned out an usually large exhale of air, trying to regain it back in his lungs as quickly as he let it out.

"You like that?" Not that you needed to ask such a rhetorical question.

"So. Fucking. Much."

You could tell, he was leaking so much, you weren't about to back down and let him cum anytime soon, this moment was yours and you were not ready to waste another second. Your tongue slides it's way down the happy trail, brushing against the side of his cock, making his body tingle, you hear the clatter of the cuffs from his ankles, he's trying to close the gap but his restraints won't let him.

You lean up and hover over him, making sure your breath hit just where he needed it, elating the ultimate tension between the two of you, especially himself. You'd like to think he has an idea of where this is going, your mouth almost pressed to his length, that's when you move away. Grabbing a hold of the feather that's laid waiting next to him, making contact on his sides, up and down, moans mixed with bursts of laughter arise. Chains are rattling in all four corners, he's trying his best to break loose to stop you from tickling him any further, but they won't give.

"Stay fucking still and then you'll get your reward."

"Please I can't take it." Joe pleaded with sharp breaths attached to it.

You fluttered it up around his neck, a wicked grin upon your features. Removing it, you replaced it with your fingers. Seeing him relax a little, you take it upon yourself to trick him and bring the feather back in it's place to torture him further.

"Baby- I- Fuck. Stop. Please!"

You tossed it to the side, edging yourself further along the bed and without warning, took a hold of his cock and began jerking hard. Joe was emitting large groans deep from the pit of his stomach, the top of your grip sodden with pre-cum.

"Yes, yes right there baby. Shit, don't stop." You did the opposite to his plea. Dropping the erection which was now as solid as a rock back to his stomach.

"Wait, no I-"

You sat upon him and immediately Joe felt the slick you'd created from such excitement as his cock wedged between your slit, you rocked your hips back and fourth, moaning yourself as the closer you got, the more his tip elevated slightly touching your clit, you massaged your own nipples, moaning out his name from the friction of the movement, the wait had never felt this good. As much as you were teasing Joe, you were also exasperating yourself.

Whilst you continued your grind, you leaned over to grab the last object you'd not yet used. Lifting yourself off, you manoeuvred into an easier position at kneeling point where you'd first started between his thighs. Joe knew at once what you were doing when you placed it where it needed to be.

"Oh shit, this is where it all ends for me darling."

"You won't cum until I say so, got it?"

Not that he didn't understand your question, it very much sounded like he was against the idea. You left switching on the vibrator for the time being, watching him nod his head briefly, staying silent from the inevitable.

You settle forward, lifting his cock up once more and lick a stripe from the base to the tip.

"Yes, you know I love it when you suck-"

"Shut the fuck up." You warn him, trying to remain the dominant one at all costs, it's just so out of nature for it being the other way around that he's losing all control of subbing for that split second.

"Shit I- I- I forgot my place, I'm sorry baby."

With that, you took his tip in through your lips, heavily moving against it, making sure your lips clenched around it to really make him feel what you're giving out. Moving down and taking a couple of inches in, pushing the tip into your cheek, you felt him begin to rut his hips up against you, not giving in, you gathered your hands to his thighs and pushed all your weight down to stop him from continuing.

"I need to cum, please."

With your mouth full you ignored him, he knew the drill and understood that even though he needed to, he wasn't to do so. You pushed your thumb against the vibrator, turning it on and moving your head even further down. Your lips felt the tremors against the vibrations and Joe's sounds were borderline pornographic, his knuckles were turning white from the way he squeezed his own hands, his toes curling from the intensity of the notion.

"Oh fuckkkk, oh my fucking god, yes, fuck."

You take all you can in, his tip now touching your tonsils and through the juddering you can physically feel the way that every muscle Joe has is shaking with over stimulation. You cup at his balls, massaging and squeezing. You're so surprised at his determination and concentration in not releasing before you let him, he's straining and tears are seeping out, wetting his eye lashes.

Removing him from your mouth, you sound out clear as day for him to hear. "You've got two options, either I ride your face or I ride your cock." Joe's lips are parted and only etches of breath are forced out, no words, no sounds just huffing and puffing.

"Well?"

"Both."

Both is good. You climb over him and slam your cunt straight down onto his mouth, his muscle instantly getting to work, tasting what he'd been craving this whole time. Joe's already admitted to you before that he's addicted to your pussy, the way it looks and the very flavour of it. You begin to crumble instantly, rubbing around him, dampening the lower half of his face with your slick.

You feel the moment his tongue pushes it's way into your hole and you begin to mount over him, clutching at the headboard to try to gain more, impossible as you're already practically suffocating him from pressing yourself down all you can. He fucks your hole like a professional, dipping in and out of you at a rapid pace, he's savouring every second he gets to gain that tiny bit of control; after all you're only using him for the orgasm.

You quickly reach breaking point when the knot in your stomach gives way, you release straight into his mouth and quickly jump off, your thighs palpitating from the ferocity. As much as you wanted to ride it out and feel the full effects, this was about Joe and you quickly clambered down to the still vibrating cock ring, edging him over and over, little buzzes which shocked the solidity of his erection.

"You've been such a good boy for me Joey."

"I- n-need t-to c-cum s-so bad." He sobbed out, literal tears forming now, staining his cheeks.

"Soon." You bite down on your lip, getting into position and sink downward, his cock stretching your tight little hole just the way you like it.

"Your fucking pussy will be the death of me baby." He cries out. The way the cock ring vibrates in unison to your bouncing movements have every bone in his body aching, including the one inside of you which is ready to explode.

"Not a bad way to go." You lean forward, moving the blindfold away from his eyes, letting him see exactly what he's been missing. Joe squints when the light hits his eyes but they move straight to watching how his cock fills you with every thrust.

"Cum, you've done so good for me."

"I-I can cum?! Yes, yes. Fuck, please. Fuck. Yes." He lets go the second he screeches out the last word, exploding inside of you, heaps of his seed filling you and leaking out everywhere, making a chaotically pleasing mess between you both.

"Holy fucking shit baby." It's like his soul has completely left his body and he's just lifeless, all weight lifted as he relaxes himself completely against the bed, his hands and feet falling limp against the cuffs.

After riding out his orgasm and bringing him back down to reality, you climb off him, not worried about the mess that's currently dripping out of you. Leaning over to give him the sweetest and most gentle kiss as you put the dominant goddess trait to the side, becoming the all important darling girlfriend he loves and cherishes.

"You. Are. Amazing." Joe was still in the midst of getting the oxygen back into his lungs. As you undid the cuffs and removed him from his confinement, he grabs a hold of you bringing you down to lay on his chest, giving you a gentle squeeze in a silent thank you for bringing his fantasy to life, not just the fact he probably needed to stretch from being in that position for so long.

"So the role reversal will happen again?" You giggled.

"Maybe. But I'll be definitely using these cuffs to get you back."

#joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn angst #joseph quinn fanfiction

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