#i will BREAK YOUR LEGS. I MEAN IT THIS TIME. WATCH YOUR FUCKING STEP'
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Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of May. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!
1) My Heart's In Overdrive, And You're Behind The Steering Wheel | Explicit | 1,649 words
Being late to class means Harry and Louis have to pose together for figure drawings.
That being said, the hate each other, but maybe they don't?
2) It's A Question Of Lust, It's A Question Of Trust | Explicit | 2,258 words
Louis is shaken up after being assaulted at the barricade in Panama City and feels guilty, he can't get it out of his head. Harry knows what he needs to escape the worry.
Harry steps over, speaking quietly into his ear. "Good boy, doing as I asked."
He looks beautiful, his skin golden, dark nipples puckered, his cock starting to get hard. His breath already ragged.
"Not that you always do, eh?"
"Sir?" His blue eyes stare at Harry, nervous, uncertain.
"Letting those tarts fondle and grope you after each show. When you know you belong to me."
3) If Walls Could Talk | Explicit | 2,394 words
Louis is waiting backstage for Harry after his second show in Coventry. It's their last night together before Louis leaves for his own tour. Harry's mission for the evening is to worship Louis' body and make him see himself through Harry's eyes.
4) In An Octopus's Garden With You | General Audiances | 4,682 words
Autistic alpha Harry, a teacher, spends an overwhelming day on a field trip to the aquarium. Luckily, his omega, Louis, knows just what he needs.
5) I Didn't Have To Search Cuz I Still Know Your Number| Explicit | 5,161 words
As Louis approaches the front of the old flat he sees a light on upstairs in what used to be their master bedroom. A memory flicks through Louis’ mind of Louis spread open on the duvet with Harry between his legs nipping and sucking on his hole while Louis whimpered and writhed, clutching the sheets and moaning out Harry’s name. Louis looks down to see his dick at half mass and sighs.
Louis flicks the butt of the cigarette to the ground and pulls his phone back out of his pocket. He exits the Uber app and pulls up his contacts, scrolling down to the H’s until he lands upon Harry’s name in his phone. He pulls up their messages and sees the last time they talked was right after the break up all those years ago. Louis begins to type out a message to Harry, hoping he hasn't changed his number.
Louis: U up? (sent at 1:14am)
6) You Have Me | Not Rated | 5,529 words
Louis is escaping his mundane reality, avoiding his fiancée, and going to an anonymous hook up party in the woods. When the mysterious stranger who has been eyeing him all night asks him to come back to his tent, Louis is game for anything. He doesn’t know that he’s going to get an offer he can’t refuse.
7) All My Life | Not Rated | 5,553 words
The four times Harry tries to propose and the one time he gets it right (or does he?)
8) Limping In The Limelight | Explicit | 5,832 words
Harry breaks his accessory navicular during a concert in Birmingham in 2015.
9) I Like to Watch | Explicit | 9,287 words
If there’s one thing Harry loves, it’s watching his husband Louis get fucked by other men. After picking up a lad called Zayn who is baffled by this concept, the three men are in for a wild night.
10) House Husband | Mature | 11,853 words
Louis and Harry are happily married with two beautiful kids.
Harry is a lawyer who provides for his family and Louis is his sassy house husband.
This is a week in their life.
11) For A Sushi Restaurant | Explicit | 13,345 words
And yet, in the depth of the sea, where water started to go from that sky blue to the dark petrol blue, almost black, of the unknown, creatures moved, ready to attack at a moment’s notice, sleek tails and pale, blueish skin helping them with mimesis.
Or, cecaelia Harry and human Louis.
12) Peaches And Soft Myth | Explicit | 36,192 words
“Greta kissed me,” he said at last. It wasn’t the main issue, but it was a start.
Louis’ smile was radiant. Eyes sparkling with genuine happiness. Harry’s stomach felt a little funny, wishing he could feel as happy as the cheerleader. "Oh, my god? We did it! I’m a genius ! Was it long? Slow and sensual, full of lust and passion, tongues intertwined—" he gasped. “Did she tremble in your arms?” He hugged himself.
“That’s not—”
“No one believes me when I say I am a good matchmaker. They are always like, ‘Oh Louis, you have the worst eye for couples and men. You always miss the real connections.’ Who missed now? Not me. Nuh-hu, I saw the potential. Your grumpy attitude did not deter me. I'm probably the greatest matchmaker on campus. Don’t you think?” Louis’ smile faltered. “Wait… why do you look as if you were about to throw up?”
“She told me her roommate leaves for a few days after spring break. She invited me to her dorm room.”
“Okay?” Louis said slowly. “Am I missing something? Is it about clothes? Because I can totally find something—”
Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not about that.”
“Then what?”
“I…” Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m a virgin.”
13) The Maddest Obsession | Explicit | 100,974 words
One fears the dark. One rules it.
Harry Styles, the dangerous mob enforcer, finds himself entangled with Louis, the strong-willed mafia-princess. As they navigate the treacherous underworld of New York, their forbidden love sparks a deadly game of loyalty, betrayal, and passion. Will their devotion to each other overcome the chaos surrounding them, or will their love be their downfall?
14) At Our Seams | Explicit | 185,290 words
Newly mated and happily engaged Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, are moving into a new phase of their lives.
Together, their world felt complete. However, the world beyond their bubble has been strung into chaos. Political strife is raiding the streets and oppressive policies are being enacted everyday.
Louis is desperate for something to change, to finally set the record straight for omegas and non-soulmate children everywhere.
Harry is determined to keep his mate safe, even if it goes against Louis’ wishes. Unfortunately, he can’t control everything, and things quickly fall out of his hands.
Who’s this new alpha who’s entered the beloved couple’s life, giving Louis another purpose Harry hadn’t been expecting?
What happens when the soulmates don’t exactly see eye to eye?
Will the protective alpha get his wishes, or will he concede to his cherished but oh, so stubborn omega?
How strong are the seams that bind?
Only time will tell.
Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.
You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.
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now that zukka is happening a friend of mine made a joke like "who's going to give the shovel talk because the swt loves both of them so much?" and even though none of them would actually give a shovel talk all I can think about is some of them (hakoda perhaps) agonising over who they give a gentle "pls be nice to them" to.. like none of them are going to hurt the other but what if they DO who do they talk to in this situation
hakoda won't even consider a shovel talk bc he's just so chuffed to bits that zukka is happening like he can't think of anyone better for sokka than zuko and he can't think of anyone better for zuko than sokka this is AMAZING for him. i think chena would shovel talk zuko and kanut would shovel talk sokka tho
#like kanut would be so subtle and borderline terrifying about it like giving a small smile while he's threatening to let sokka bleed out#next time he gets brought to the infirmary if he even THINKS about hurting zuko#meanwhile chena is being so fucking bait about it 'if i think he even looks like he's having a bad day under your watch#i will BREAK YOUR LEGS. I MEAN IT THIS TIME. WATCH YOUR FUCKING STEP'#ironically zuko is there rolling his eyes like uhuh whatever but sokka towards kanut is like. actually shitting it LMAO#ask#taob asks
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Unbelieveable! (Theodore Nott x Reader)
theo nott x fem!reader | drabble | fluff
... in which theo is distraught by the news you've given him
"you are unbelievable!"
"theo, my love, it's really not-"
"you are an evil, wretched witch!"
y/n sighed heavily and dropped the book she'd been trying to read so desperately. "honey. it's not that big of a deal."
theo shook his head and grimaced at her, crossing his arms over his chest as he gazed down upon her. "it is. it's a big deal to me and that means it's a big deal."
"just because i said i couldn't go to italy with you all summer doesn't mean i'm evil or wretched," y/n drawled, crossing one leg over the other. theo had been pouting for the last ten minutes, all due to the fact she'd informed him that his grand plan to spend all of summer break in italy with her had been immediately shot down by her parents.
theo dropped his body weight on the couch beside her, groaning as he laid his head on her shoulder dramatically. "yes it does," he mumbled, "you hate me."
y/n laughed, running a hand through his hair. "they were never going to say yes to that, babe," she informed him, watching as he seemed to curl up to her side. oh, how clingy he could be. "they said i could stay a week at a time, no more and no less."
"that's like not seeing you at all!" theo shouted out, latching his arms around y/n's waist.
"it's definitely not," she corrected, shifting around until she found a comfortable position for the both of them. "my grandparents are staying the summer with us and would absolutely disown me if they knew i was spending the entire summer with my boyfriend and not my family."
theo grunted in what seemed to be annoyance or disapproval. "they suck, then."
"they do," y/n agreed, twirling his hair between her fingers. "but they're rich and spoil me, so i must submit to their whims."
"i'm rich and i spoil you," he added miserably, "and i'm way hotter than your grandparents."
y/n recoiled a bit, snickering at theo's antics. "don't use my grandparents and hot in the same sentence," she retched internally, "and i'll do my best to come as often as i can. besides, after next year we can just move in together."
theo perked up at that, the prospect of never having a second away from y/n delighting him. "you're never allowed to leave the house. you have to stay with me all the time."
"not happening," y/n deadpanned.
"worth a shot," theo chuckled, tightening his hold on y/n's body. "can we go to bed so i can actually hold you and not get a fucking neck cramp?"
y/n laughed and nodded, moving to get up from her position on the couch, waving her wand at her book to transport it to her own bookshelf. theo followed her as she took steps away from the common room.
"i can't believe you'd still want to sleep in the same room as an evil and wretched witch like me," she joked as she opened the door to her dorm room.
theo pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "as evil and wretched as you are, you're mine and i'll always want to be with you."
y/n smiled up at him, meeting his eyes. "unbelievable."
"mine."
#theo nott#theodore nott x reader#slytherin boys#drabble#theo nott drabble#lorenzo zurzolo could get it#theodore nott
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imagination part three
part one part two
words: 1.6k
warning: 18+ only! smut, groping, semi public dirty talk??, male receiving handjob, mentions of male receiving oral mentions of losing virginity
taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl
“what is it darling?” rafe asks, waving his hand in front of your face to break your trance.
“nothing.” you shake your head, moving closer to rafe so you can lean your head against his shoulder.
“nothing?” rafe questions, placing his hand on your waist. “you're not thinking about my cock right now?”
“rafe, oh my god there are people around!” you whisper shout, eyes darting to the other people sitting near you at the party. they're involved in their own conversations, but that doesn't mean someone isn't eavesdropping on you and rafe.
“aww, you don't want anyone else to know how much of a slut you are for my dick?” rafe says, but at least he lowers his volume this time to not get picked up by anyone else, especially not over the music pumping from the speakers.
“i have sucked you off one time, i wouldn't call that being a slut.” you cross your arms over your chest. truth is, you wish you could be a slut for him, but ever since rafe fucked your face, he has absolutely refused to fuck you, always claiming that he wanted to give you more time to think about losing your virginity.
“and you've thought about doing it again every day, haven't you baby?” rafe presses a kiss to the top of your head. “my little cutie. my little slut.”
“stoooop.” you whine, shifting how you're sitting so your legs are pressed tighter together.
“what? you don't like me talking dirty to you? so you wouldn't like it if i got my cock out right now and shoved your face down on it?” rafe smirks at your reaction, suddenly squirming in your seat.
“im gonna get up and leave.” you threaten, but it's an empty threat and rafe knows it.
“im sorry, baby.” rafe says. “ill stop teasing you. besides, can't have your pretty cunt leaking all over toppers couch.”
--
“is that a new bikini?” rafe asks as you step onto his yacht.
“no, i just haven't worn it in a while.” you shrug. you were feeling the purple vibes lately, so decided to go with a lilac swimsuit for your day on the water with rafe.
“you look so sexy, darling.” rafe says, cupping your breast. you gasp, eyes darting around to the other ships in the marina.
“no one is looking.” rafe says before dropping his head to your neck, pressing kisses onto your skin as he continues to toy with your chest. you tilt your head back in a moan, arching your back slightly.
“can’t wait until i can get my mouth on your cute nipples.” rafe says, giving your nipple a pinch over the fabric of your bikini, making you cry out.
“now, rafey, please.” you beg, trying to move his head towards your chest, but he’s too strong and easily evades you.
“nope.” he saunters away, leaving you standing on the deck of the yacht as he heads to navigate you out of the marina, imagining him taking you right there.
--
“dance with me?” rafe asks, and you quickly nod, getting bored of just sitting around. it was fun at first watching rafe and topper interact, which was mostly rafe making fun of topper, but then topper got pulled away by kelce.
you accept rafes hand up, leading you towards the makeshift dance floor, a congregation of people that easily move away to give rafe space. he is far too intimidating to crowd around.
you move to the beat, slowly building up your dancing as rafe places his hands on your hips. you giggle at his attention being solely on looking down your dress, at the cleavage spilling out the top.
“like what you see?” you ask.
“you know it, baby. gonna fuck your tits one day, cum all over them.”
you let out a groan, partly from being turned on by his words and partly from knowing he isn’t going to do anything yet. you turn in his hold, pressing your back against rafes chest as a new song comes on, and you don’t hold back, not caring who sees as you grind your bum back against his crotch.
“you trying to make me hard, y/n?” rafe questions, speaking directly into your ear so you can hear as the music gets turned up.
you don’t need to question that it’s working, you can feel him hardening against your ass, but instead of taking you upstairs like you hope, when the song ends, rafe kisses your cheek and tells you he’s going to the bar to get you more drinks.
--
“i’m gonna go take a shower, baby.” you tell rafe, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as you move through the living room.
rafe is quick to get off the couch and follow you up the stairs, “i’ll join you.”
you stop dead in the tracks, halfway across the landing. “really?”
“yeah.” rafe nods. “as long as you control yourself.”
“you don’t want me to suck you off again?” you ask, batting your eyes as you begin moving again, now wanting to get into the shower as quickly as possible.
“maybe i’ll let you stroke me.” rafe shrugs as you head into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind the two of you.
your hands begin to move to undress, but rafe stops you with a hand around your wrist. “let me do it for you.”
you nod, but wish you would have pushed back more when you realize how slow rafe is moving, toying with the hem of your dress before pulling it up inch by inch, slowly revealing more skin. your panties are the first thing on display, and then the smooth expanse of your stomach, and then finally you raise your arms so rafe can expose your bra and pull the dress over your head.
rafes hands work skillfully behind your back at taking off your bra, letting it fall to the floor as his hands move to cup your tits like he did before on the boat, this time with nothing in the way. you let out a moan as his thumbs swipe over your nipples until they are hard peaks.
rafe smirks, satisfied, and then glides his hands down your sides until he lands on your hips. his slides a finger underneath the band of your underwear, pulling it back and then letting it go, making you wince when it snaps back against your skin.
“hey!” you complain, but rafe ignores you, pulling your underwear down your legs and letting them drop to the floor. his eyes make contact with your core for a second before he looks back up to your eyes.
“go turn the shower on.” he says, pulling his shirt off. “let the water warm up.”
“mkay.” you say, moving to turn the water on. you turn once it’s done, watching rafe as he undresses until you’re both standing there naked.
“you’re so gorgeous.” rafe moves closer, placing his hand on your waist, his cock already half hard. he bends down and gives you a kiss. you press yourself closer, deepening the kiss as your hands come to rafes neck.
“please, rafey, i want you.” you whimper.
“get in the shower.” rafe backs you up until you step into the shower, underneath the water. you shiver despite the water being warm.
rafe begins his normal shower routine, squirting some shampoo onto his hand before rubbing it into his head. you frown and begin to clean yourself as well, when rafe stops you, massaging the shampoo into your scalp for you.
“that feels so good.” you hum, loving when rafes plays with your hair.
rafe smiles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before continuing. after you both rinse your heads, he applies your conditioner for you, working it through your curls with his fingers.
“here you go baby.” rafe hands you a soaped up loofah, and you realize that now he’s giving you permission to clean him. you turn and lather his arms before moving over his chest and abs.
when you get lower, you drop the loofah onto the shower floor and take his cock in your hand, already fully hard just from being around you naked. “now this part of you is very dirty.” you purr, stroking your hand over his length.
“fuck.” rafe curses, pushing his hips forward into your hand. “you little minx.”
“maybe i wouldn’t be so desperate if you just finally fucked me.” you pout, moving your hand faster.
“rinse your fucking hair then.” rafe says, making you pause and look away from his cock to his face.
“what?”
“rinse the conditioner out of your hair so i can fuck you on the bed. i’m not taking your virginity in the shower.”
“you’re actually going to?” you ask, a smile coming to your face, excited for the months of teasing to come to an end.
“yes if you stop stroking me before i bust.” rafe groans, causing you to giggle and let go of his cock, not even realizing that you were still stroking it.
you quickly move back under the spray of the shower, rinsing your hair clean. rafe rinses himself quickly too, his cock red and pulsing with need as you hop out of the shower, quickly towling yourself dry.
rafe scoops you up in his arms, not even caring about dripping water all over the floor as he heads into the bedroom, practically throwing you down onto the bed before crawling on top of you.
“remember what i told you that first night?” rafe whispers in your ear. “i am going to destroy your pussy.”
#rafe fic#rafe fanfic#rafe fanfiction#rafe x reader#rafe x you#rafe x y/n#rafe imagine#rafe one shot#rafe smut#rafe cameron smut#obx smut#outer banks smut#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron one shot
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SWEET TOOTH
pairing: mike schmidt x female reader
rating: explicit
word count: 1.1k
summary: mike has a sweet tooth. when he sees you come home from the grocery store with an extra bag you’re trying to hide, your efforts to keep your candy away from him turn dirty.
author’s note: i have no explanation. just a sprinkle of josh hutcherson brain rot that turned into this.
warnings/tag: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), established relationship, dry humping, desperate mike, sub mike vibes, pet names (including good boy), teasing, play fighting, kissing, mike cumming in his pants, begging.
Mike stumbles out of the bedroom when he hears the door open, the rustle of plastic grocery bags followed by the gentle opening and closing of the kitchen cabinets letting him know you’re back from dropping Abby off at school and running to the store. He didn’t sleep much but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s been missing you for the last couple of nights.
“Hey,” he says, entering the kitchen and sliding his arms around your waist. “What did you get?”
“Just the usual. Some frozen pizzas. Rice. Those burritos you like were on sale, so I got a bunch of those,” you reply. There’s a bag on the counter that’s still full and when he tries to reach for it to help you out, you snatch it away. He raises his eyebrows.
“What’s in the bag?” He asks.
“Nothing.” You step away from him, hiding the bag behind your back. “It’s just…feminine things.”
He doesn’t buy it.
“You mean the same feminine things that are fully stocked in the bathroom right now?”
You shrug. “They were on sale.”
“I don’t think you’re telling the truth,” he teases, taking another step toward you. You back up, but he moves forward. You shift to the side and he follows suit. “Is it candy?”
You stomp your foot petulantly. “Michael Schmidt, you are not stealing my candy this time. You and Abby ate all of my M&Ms last weekend!”
“Sharing is caring!” He tries to reach for you but you duck around him, running for the living room with your bag in hand.
Mike chases after you, following the sound of your laughter and watching as you round the back of the couch, using the piece of furniture to defend yourself. Every time he moves, you shift in the other direction, bag still held behind your back. He moves forward and your eyes narrow.
“Don’t you dare,” you hiss. Like a disobedient cat, he places one foot on the couch cushions, raising his eyebrows at you in defiance. “Michael Schmidt!”
He rushes over the furniture toward you, a shriek that turns into a giggle filling the room as closes in on you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest.
“Gotcha,” he teases. He reaches around to grapple for the bag, struggling grab it as you move it out of his reach. Your ass is snug against his hips and his cock takes notice of the contact, twitching in his sweatpants.
“You got a little problem there, Mike?” You ask, voice teasing. You grind against him and he hisses, eyes fluttering closed. His hands still, settling on your hips.
“F-fuck,” he stutters. You take advantage of his moment of weakness, breaking free from his grasp and rushing across the room. “Hey!”
He charges after you again, grabbing you around the waist again and throwing both of your bodies over the back of the couch, the two of you landing in a heap of limbs on the cushions. You hold the bag of candy up over your head and he reaches over you, success so close he can taste it.
Your hips twitch against the knee he’s got planted on the cushions between your legs and he pauses, glancing down in interest. In his distraction, you shift your weight enough to send him toppling to the ground, landing with a thump and a groan on his back.
He looks up at you, sees the little smirk on your lips, the mischievous glint in your eye, and he knows he’s in trouble. You grind yourself against him and his eyes roll back at the sensation, the friction of your body against his familiar and consuming in the best way.
“What’s the matter, Mike?” You ask, voice teasing. “Thought you wanted my candy?”
“Mm, candy can wait,” he manages to murmur, lifting his hands to slide his palms along your thighs. “I could use some sugar, though.”
You laugh, head thrown back and shoulders shaking. “That was so bad!”
“Made you laugh, though,” he counters. You smile at him, planting your hands on his chest to steady yourself as you lean close, lips ghosting over his.
He kisses you, slow at first, lips moving in a familiar dance. He swipes his tongue against yours, relishing in the heat and taste of you. You wriggle in his lap like you can’t help yourself, can’t sit still, little sighs escaping you as he kisses you senseless. You feel so good on top of him, surrounding him, grounding him to a present where he doesn’t have to worry about work and bills and money and whether he’s doing well enough for Abby.
You break away from him with a slick pop, lips glistening with spit. You move over him again, this time with intent. You drag your clothed pussy over his hard cock, slow and steady, back and forth.
“Mmm, w-why don’t we take this to the — fuck — bedroom?” Mike asks, trying to hold you still. His fingers dig into your hips but that only seems to spur you on. “Come on, lemme make you feel good.”
“Feel plenty good just like this,” you murmur. Mike bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut, thinks about anything but the friction of your pussy against his cock but all his mind goes to is images of you splayed out in bed, leaking cum and glistening with sweat. He whines, hips bucking up against you.
“Please, f-fuck,” he bites out. “If you d-don’t stop I’m gonna—“
“Gonna what, Mike? Cum in your pants for me?”
Mike groans, long and loud, that knot in his stomach going taut. He can feel himself leaking in his boxers, an embarrassingly sticky mess that you’ve made of him without even touching him.
“Come on,” you encourage, sliding a hand from his chest up to the base of his throat. “Good boys cum when they’re told, baby.”
The slight pressure on his neck, the rocking of your hips, the dark look in your eyes, it’s all too much, too soon, too good. Mike’s hips stutter, warmth flooding him as he cums and cums and cums, cock twitching against you as you slow your movements.
You stop, sitting still on top of him. He’s panting, aching fingers flexing on your thighs as you run a hand through his hair before kissing him, soft pecks of your lips over his face that have him smiling like a dope.
“If this is what I get if I eat your candy then I hope you know it’ll never be safe,” he teases. You smack his chest, standing and grabbing the discarded bag from the floor.
“If you touch my gummy bears, you better get real acquainted with your hand,” you reply.
“Might be worth it for gummy bears.”
A handful of the gummy bears pelt his face and you laugh as he pops one in his mouth. You finish off the bag together before Mike returns the favor.
Over and over and over.
All masterlists
#mike schmidt smut#mike schmidt#mike schmidt x reader#mike schmidt x you#mike schmidt x fem!reader smut#mike schmidt x female reader#mike schmidt fic#mike schmidt fanfic#mike schmidt fnaf#josh hutcherson character
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Work for it
Javier Peña x f!reader
summary: Javier wants you. Plain and simple. You don’t fall for his charm so easily
warnings: as always SMUT (m!masturbation, semi-public handjob, vaginal fingering, oral - f!receiving, protected p in v, biting, spitting, hair pulling, praise kink), cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of food, fluff and soft!Javi - because I can’t help myself
word count: 17k (holy moly guacamole - I am so fucking sorry)
A/N: This took me literally five days to finish (longer than I anticipated). Writing and then editing, re-reading it over and over again. But I had so much fun writing these two together. I love them.
You will never forget the day you met the infamous Javier Peña.
It was the first day at your new job - a new beginning for you, let’s say. Moving to a new country whose language you hardly spoke, having to accommodate to the new pace of things. That didn’t mean it was a bad thing though - you needed the change. After living in a small town for nearly all of your life where everyone knew everything about you, you were pretty glad when they accepted you as a secretary for DEA office in Colombia. It was…different. The people, the lifestyle they led. Nonetheless, change was good for you - you needed it.
What you didn’t need - or at least you thought so at the beginning - was having a smooth talker, devilish charmer and so-called "ladies' man" ogle you right as you entered the DEA building. His eyes watched every measured step you took as you held your head high when passing by him - not giving him the time of a day. You could see from the corner of your eye that he licked his lips and smoothed his thumb along the bottom one, his eyes trailing your figure.
He watched your smooth legs move effortlessly - light as if you were a butterfly slowly floating in the air, even in your heels. He could definitely make your legs wobble if you would let him, he thought as he licked his lips. Your green work skirt fitted you like a damn glove, your white blouse flowy - made to look professional yet efficient for you to not cook alive in that god-forsaken Colombian heat - highlighting your sun-kissed skin. He felt like a dog that was shown a proper peace of meat after days of starving. Oh, and starved he was.
He almost broke his neck when you disappeared around the corner and Steve threw him an unimpressed look from behind the folder he was going through before he heard Javier roughly exhale. The blond-haired agent tossed the thick folder filled with documents on the desk and leaned back on the uncomfortable office chair as he watched his partner seemingly lost in thought - he could guess what thoughts were occupying his mind right then. He scoffed and that seemed to pull Javier out of his trance, his dark eyes narrowed as he looked at his partner.
“What?” he grumbled. Javier’s eyes were challenging as he bored them into Steve’s baby blues as if saying “just say what you want to say.”
One thing Javier hated about Steve - and there were a lot of things that he didn’t like about him but if he was to pinpoint one it would have to be this - was how he unseemingly loved to call out Javier on his so-called “bullshit”. Even though often it was his private life - which frankly was none of his business. He loved to criticize and not be criticized in return - that he and Peña had in common even if he neither one of them would ever admit that.
“Don’t even think about it, Peña.” Steve muttered as he held eye contact with Javier - neither of them ready to back down.
Seconds passed. Maybe a minute even.
Javier was the first one to break it off as he glanced behind his shoulder, a sly grin spreading across his lips. He liked to play dirty - and pissing off his partner seemed plenty dirty play enough for him. And if you’d give in - as he was sure you would - and Steve would hear the pretty little cries of Javier’s name falling out of your lips? That seemed like a sweet victory to the dark-haired agent.
One thing about Javier was that when someone tells him can’t or shoudln’t do something - you know he will do exactly that. He turned to Steve once more.
“I don’t know what are you talking about.” Steve squinted his eyes and sighed - knowing damn well Javier was already planning on how to charm you in his mind.
“You know what I am talking about, Javier.”
His grin spread wider - his fingers quickly drumming on the wooden desk he was leaning his hands against. It was an old thing - folders that Javier should get through by tonight sitting on top of it. He had better things to do now. Paperwork could wait. Your perfume lingered in the office when you passed by, calling him to you like a damn siren song.
“Just trying to be friendly here, Murphy. Not that you know anything about it.”
“We both know that your definition of ‘friendly’ when it comes to women means ‘I want to spread-“
Before he could finish his sentence Javier was already one long leg out of the office making his way toward where you were seated at your desk. You were concentrated - your brows furrowed and the rim of your reading glasses falling from the bridge of your nose. You were not from here - Javier could tell. He noticed the mug filled with coffee on your desk that had “best sister ever” written on it in a thick cursive, the letters red and next to it a big heart.
The temperature in the office was hot - too hot even for Javi that was used to the Texan heat back from Laredo. His blue shirt damp from the sweat that dribbled down his back, his torso, his neck. The material of the shirt stuck to him. That wouldn’t be the last thing that would stick to him today. He was sure of that.
It seemed you came prepared though - the small fan on your desk felt like heaven on earth against your sweaty skin. He watched one droplet roll down from the side of your temple, slowly down to your jaw, your neck, falling into the juncture of it and rolling down between the valley of your breasts. He would gladly lick it from your skin if you’d let him. He would do much more than that to you if you’d let him.
“Can I help you with something?” His eyes teared away from your cleavage and met your gaze - your eyes narrowed in annoyance as you put your reading glasses down, the papers you were reading before he came laid now on your desk. He quickly scanned your features and yeah, you were definitely someone who’d he like to spend his night with. Or lunch break, or-
He ignored your question as he looked at your nails - one of his hands coming to inspect it closer but before he could you pulled your hands away - folding them across your chest. “I like the color. Brings out the color of your eyes.”
You quirked an eyebrow at that - leaning against the leather chair you looked him up and down quickly before leaning back towards him. Your elbows were prepped on the wooden desk and he leaned closer as well -his eyes quickly dipping to your cleavage once again.
“Listen here-“ A pause followed.
“Javi.” He offered.
“Javi.” You repeated. His name falling out of your mouth - the accent not quite right but he did not mind one bit. He found it endearing in a way. “Listen here, Javi. I don’t know what you think is going to happen but whatever it is just forget about it. Your southern charm won’t work on me. Been there, done that.”
He pulled away - taken back by your quick rejection, his eyebrows furrowing just a little. The crease on his brows showing and he took a quick breath to retort something, his tongue slipping out to lick his lower lip.
“And what did you think I thought was going to happen, mariposa?” The old leather chair creaked beneath your weight as you moved back in it slightly. An amused smirk pulled at your lips as you ignored the nickname he gave you - which in all honesty you didn’t know what it meant. You’d ask him another time. It seemed that you would be seeing this “Javi” a whole lot more than you thought.
You leaned closer to him and he did the same - as if the two of you were pulled by some magnetic force toward one another. It got hotter once his nose almost touched yours, his fingers with neatly trimmed nails gripping the edge of your desk. You slowly raised from your seat. You ignored it all - the way his eyes bored into yours, how you felt as if molten lava was in the pit of your stomach, how your hands clenched at your sides.
He smelled like cigarettes and coffee, and some kind of expensive cologne. The smell of him made your nose and insides burn - something about his presence made you feel like every cell in your body was on fire. That’s how the DEA agent made women feel most of the time - you didn’t know that back then.
Your voice dropped an octave lower as you whispered. “I don’t think it would be appropriate to say what I think you thought in a public setting. Especially in a working place.” An amused chuckle fell out of his lips as you seated yourself. Mirth danced in his eyes as he replied:
“Good thing I am inappropriate most of the time, mariposa.” Javier Peña was a bold man. He knew that and most of the people that were acquainted with him knew that. But you didn’t know who he was and he expected that you would scoff - tell him to fuck off. But you didn’t.
You couldn’t help the smirk that made its way onto your lips as you pretended to read the documents on your desk - your conversation ending with that.
He watched you for a few seconds, expecting that maybe you would say something smart back in return because you know - it seemed you had a smart mouth. He turned on his heels as he left you to do what you actually came here to do - work - and he should do the same.
Oh, and you were going to be fun, he thought. When he came back and sat behind his desk, he had this stupid boyish smirk planted on his face. Steve looked at him and then back at where you were supposed to be working - even though he couldn’t see you. And the blonde-haired agent thought that this meant no good.
Three years passed since your first encounter with Javier.
Three torturous years filled with you two dancing around each other - like two ships passing one another in the stillness of a night. You two became somewhat friends. Three years filled with flirting and bickering, stolen glances and going out on drinks.
Sometimes Steve joined the two of you - most of the time not. At first, he seemed to be glued to Javier’s hip - afraid that his partner would try another one of his many tricks on you. Oh, and he did.
His flirtatious nature came out on the surface anytime you were near him - though you did not crumble under his advances as Javier wished you would. Your knees didn’t buckle, your cheeks didn’t turn a darker shade of red, your eyes didn’t flutter when he was closer to you than it seemed proper. But after a while, both agents found out you weren’t even near to falling for the smooth talker that Javier was. The only thing you offered him was friendship - your presence and your laugh, your silly jokes and weird habits.
And he took it all - his flirtatious nature and comments remained but it seemed more friendly than not. And you did the same in return - your smart-ass comments about how his ass looked “good enough to bite in those tight jeans" kept him on his toes, his cheeks hurt with all of the genuine laughter you pulled out of somewhere deep in his chest.
So Steve started joining your outings outside of work less and less - you were an intelligent woman and he liked you. You wouldn’t do something stupid like sleep with Javier.
The thing was - you wanted to. After the stressful day at work, you wished you could have Javier here - in your crappy apartment that was assigned to you by the U.S. embassy. You knew his reputation, you knew that his needs were simply carnal - a basic transaction of pleasure and bodily fluids. He never wanted his lady friends to stay over - never wanted them to have any expectations of having something more with him.
You can still remember the vivid shock you felt when you banged on the door of your next-door neighbor who appeared to only come alive at night.
The walls were thin and you could hear every moan, groan, slap of skin against skin, every bang that the bedframe made when hitting the wall. At first, you tried to ignore it - you bought earplugs. Multiple pairs. None of them seemed to work and one night you had had enough when you were right there on the edge of sleep after a particularly rough day and then - a long drawn-out moan made you squeeze your eyes before you shot out of the bed. The robe you wrapped around yourself to look at least half decent flew dramatically behind you.
You didn’t knock at the door - you banged - irritated and tired but still, you chewed at your lip as you thought of how the fuck will you say in spanish that they should finally “shut the fuck up and let you sleep”. You could hear a loud bang and then curses thrown into the air before the door swung open and Javier was standing in them - Javier from the office, Javier that undressed you with his eyes every time you entered the same room as him - his eyes wild and angry before they landed on you. All of the fire in his eyes disappeared and a toothy grin replaced his scowl. He leaned one arm on the doorframe - his bicep flexing with the movement.
His hair was disheveled and he didn’t have any of his significant half-unbuttoned shirts on. His chest was broad, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his golden skin glowed in the low dim light in the hallway. The tight jeans he wore stuck to him like a second skin - he didn’t zip them in the hurry to get to the door. You could see the sparse hair leading from his belly button growing thicker the lower and lower you went - you must have gaped at him like a fish before you gulped.
He wasn’t any better though - his eyes dragged over the naked expanse of your skin and as his eyes trailed higher. He was sure you weren’t wearing anything underneath that flimsy robe. A peak of the soft flesh of your breast caught his attention as he absent-mindedly licked his lips, catching his tongue between his teeth - only a sliver of the pink flesh poking out of his mouth.
“Came to take me up on my offer, mariposa?” You wanted to wipe the self-assured cocky smile off his face.
He never really said the “offer” out loud but you knew what he had in mind. Now even more so. After a few weeks at the embassy, you heard rumors about Peña, about his reputation, about who he was. You tried to pay them no mind.
“No, Javier.” The way his name sounded falling out of your mouth was his absolute favorite thing. “Just keep it down, would you?”
You didn’t wait for his answer - turning on your heel and he watched your ass sway before you closed the door of your apartment.
He fucked the girl that was in his place harder than he ever fucked anyone in his life that night.
So that you knew what you were missing.
The way you glared at him the next day was definitely worth it.
But you also knew Javier - how he cared for those who were close to him, how the only thing he “ate” all day was coffee and so you had to almost shove any form of food into him - not that he minded - how his eyes crinkled when you cracked one of your stupid jokes that weren’t even that funny - he seemed to think otherwise.
So you were somewhat friends. You went out to drink away your thoughts, sorrows and feelings together. An unhealthy coping mechanism that you seemed to learn from Javi after the first year and a half you spent in Colombia.
You always went into that one filthy bar - quiet but with a sticky floor with not a lot of people around - somehow, Javier always found a girl that he would take home that night in it still. He was tall, broad, charming, he knew the way around with ladies - compliments forming and falling easily off his silver tongue. They seemed to be pulled towards him by his sheer presence in the room. He didn’t even have to try.
You hated the way your heart tightened in your chest whenever a pretty woman caught his attention - he always quickly stubbed his cigarette down with a quick apology that he’d be right back. His walk was confident and self-assured, his body language lose when he talked to them.
To make things worst he always had this soft look in his eyes when he asked if you were okay with him leaving. Oh, his brown eyes that always looked at you with such curiosity and interest. Those eyes made you feel like you were in another world. Looking into them - looking into those prettiest brown eyes, the eyes that you loved the most - made you feel like dying and feeling alive at once.
Even when some of them almost pulled his arm off as they tried to get him out and to wherever they would get more acquainted with one another, he still waited for your answer. Every time, you offered him the same tight-lipped smile and quick nod as you shooed him off. The imprint of his smile he always offered you in gratitude felt like a punch to the gut - as if he broke all of your ribs to get to your heart and squeezed until no blood remained in it after it stopped functioning completely.
But even if you wanted to give in - learn and feel his touch, find out if the girls were faking all of the moans and gasps or if he was really so skilled - you never dared to. Refusing to become another woman who would have to leave eventually and never look back. You wanted more than that. Because you knew Javier.
And you wanted all of him, not just a piece that he would offer and then rip it from you.
So you never acted upon the feelings you developed over the years - staying somewhat friends with the Texas man would have to be enough. Had to be.
Things changed after almost two and a half years. After he came late at night knocking on your apartment door and you sleepily opened it - the tiredness leaving your body as your eyes widened at his state. He was drunk - that was clear. He hiccuped and stumbled into your place when you opened your door wider.
There was no exchanging of words that night. He planted face-first onto your couch and fell asleep almost immediately - his soft snores filling the silent room. You draped your favorite light blanket around him that night - the one your sister gave you as a Christmas present. Javier always made fun of it. It was an ugly thing really - she said that it was compensation for an ugly sweater as she couldn’t find any. And yes, it was hideous - it looked like it just came from some dumpster - but you loved it nonetheless.
Something changed between the two of you the next morning. When you came into the living room he was still lounging on your small couch - his long legs dangling from the edge of it. You laughed as he groaned, his eyes tightly shut, one of his arms draped over his forehead. When he slowly sat up his head spun and he mumbled something about “never drinking again” - you laughed some more at that.
You didn’t ask why he drank so much - you knew it was because of something more serious than just simply wanting to get shit-faced. If he wanted to, he’d tell you. Eventually.
You passed him some painkillers for which he offered you a grateful smile - throwing his head back as he swallowed them. The only thing that could be heard in the room was the coffee machine as you stared at each other. He looked different in the morning - peaceful, soft. Things he didn’t want anyone to see.
You cleared your throat, saying that you will quickly hop in the shower while he can choose what are you two going to have for breakfast - the book you’ve written your favorite recipes in kept on the lowest shelf in the kitchen cabinet right above the stove. You were stocked with all sorts of ingredients as you like to cook a lot. He nodded as he watched you softly shut the door behind you.
The recipe book was old and rusty - the pages of it covered in smudges, the corners of them sometimes torn off. He wasn’t sure if it was yellow because it came in that color or if the was white before and it just yellowed over time. He flipped the pages quickly - honestly, he’d eat anything you’d cook as he often said you should have opened your own restaurant and not waste your time behind the desk. You always brushed these comments off with a small smile. A dried-up rose layed between the pages. He softly grabbed it and inspected it - his heart lurching into his throat when realization dawned on him. He gave you the rose. A long time ago.
Steve always bought Connie a bouquet of flowers every Friday -a habit he kept even after all the years spent with her. It was sweet, really. Romantic. You eyed the different flowers - a small flicker of yearning danced in your eyes. Javier noticed. Of course, he did. One day he came over to your desk, one of his hands behind his back and you threw him a curious look before he brought the single white-petalled rose in front of your face. The big grin you gave him and the quiet “thank you, Javi. I love it” made his entire week.
So he didnn’t know how long he had been standing there - the tip of his fingers delicately brushing over the dried-up white petals until you called his name, coming over to him.
“You kept it.” You threw him a confused look, your eyes widened when he backed you up against the kitchen counter - the small of your back hitting the edge of it. He caged you in, his hand coming to lay on the counter next to your side, the other one showing you the rose and you gulped.
“Yeah, I kept it.” You whisper and something in his chest shifted back then, his eyes softening. You held your breath when his chest brushed up against yours, his nose almost bumping with yours. You could see every freckle on his skin, his long eyelashes, the curve of his nose. Your lips nearly touching.
And then the phone rang and he closed his eyes in irritation, taking a deep steadying breath. He moved away from you and you slipped away from him quickly- your heart almost jumping out of your chest. You picked it up with shaking hands, looking over at Javier who put the rose back into its place.
“Hey, Steve. Yeah-yeah, I’ll be there in ten. Yeah, I will go over to Javi’s to kick him out of bed. See you.”
His jaw ticked when you hung up. He was going to kill Murphy.
He stopped seeing every and each of his lady friends after that day. If he wanted any information he’d meet them on neutral ground - sometimes offering to buy them a drink or two. But nothing more. He stopped picking up random girls at the bar too.
And somehow, he felt happy. Mind shockingly happy - like a kid that wished really hard for a present under the Christmas tree and got it. He cared for you - the realization hitting him in the back of the head like a fucking bullet. And you cared for him - took care of him, fed him and made him feel fucking alive and happy and thriving. You were the one that got drunk with him and never asked questions, and listened. You had to feel something if you kept the stupid rose after the years. Right?
But Javier overthinks things easily and just as easy as it was to imagine somehow a happy and safe future with you, it was just as easy to imagine scenarios - where in every one of them - he was the jackass who’d hurt you. And he couldn’t have that. No, no, no.
So he keeps his distance - still talks to you and keeps being friendly, but neither of you talks about the morning when you almost kissed. You were confused and hurt. He played with you but you couldn’t be angry at him. He never tried anything again after that on you. Even though this thing you two had between you kept simmering under the surface and he tried to ignore it. As have you.
But Javier is just a man - impulsive and quick to jump to conclusions. When he sees red? He acts. And right now he sees red as you talk to one of the other agents - he can hear your soft laugh and can see the way you grip the man’s arm as you laugh some more. What is even so funny? The muscle in his jaw ticks as he grips the edge of his desk tighter in his hold and Steve wants to laugh at his partner.
He takes pity on him and when he stands up he places one of his big hands on Javier’s shoulder which he wants to shrug away -his gaze lingering on you.
“You should ask her out, Peña.”
Javier almost breaks his neck with the speed he looks at Steve. Did he hit his head? Since when is he telling him what to do with women? Javier scoffs - an ugly twisted snarl adorns his lips. Like a wolf barring his teeth to its prey.
“Since when do you tell me what and what to not do when it comes to our lady co-workers?” Steve sighs and squeezes Javier’s shoulder tighter making his dark-haired partner look at him.
“We both know she isn’t just a co-worker to you, Peña.” He hisses at him, the grip on his shoulder loosening. “Now go ask her out before someone else will.”
And maybe it’s the first time in his life that Steve is actually right. He was fucking exhausted of playing this game of cat and mouse with you.
Javier’s legs act quick and his mind can’t seem to catch up with his actions before he is standing at your desk. When he arrives the other man bids you a quick goodbye before he scatters away under Javier’s intense gaze.
“Do you need something from me, Javi?” You offer him a small smile - so different from the first time you two met and he thinks: “yeah, you”.
His tongue sits heavy in his mouth and just now he finds out he actually doesn’t know how to do this. This dating thing. For fuck’s sake he hasn’t been on a date since Lorraine and he is getting old. Should he bring you flowers first? Should he ask you out with a note like in high school? Should he-
“Javi, you okay?”
Man up, Peña.
He scratches the back of his head before he blurts out:
“Go out with me.”
He says it so quickly that you are sure you heard him wrong but the tip of his ears are a darker shade of red and he stares at you expectantly. You gape at him like a fish - your mouth closing and opening but no sound comes out of it. He sighs and this time he says it slower, his dark eyes boring into yours as he reaches to grab your small hands in his.
“Mariposa, I’d like nothing more than if you’d go out with me. Like…on a date.” His palms are sweaty and he gulps seemingly nothing. He is nervous. It’s cute. That this big bad agent that chases narcos left and right is nervous about asking you out. You grin as you squeeze his fingers in yours.
“I don’t know, Javi. This seems so sudden and I am not sure if that’s the best idea. With us being colleagues and all.” You try to hide your grin as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.
“Mariposa, I swear I will make it worth your while. Just give me a chance. Please? I will-“ You break when you see his pleading eyes.
“Javi, I was just kidding. I’d like to go out with you. You are a scaredy cat when it comes to these things, aren’t you?”
He offers you a sheepish smile, his eyes glowing.
“Kind of. So please, try to be patient with me, yeah?”
“Of course.” You throw him a reassuring smile. Yeah, he could do this. With you.
He looks around before he brings your hands towards his lips - kissing them and he grins against them when he sees how you blush.
“Tonight at eight sounds good?” He offers as he pulls away from you.
“Sound perfect, Texas.” His grin spreads wider, his cheeks hurt and his heart hammers in his chest.
He owes Steve.
For someone who dreamt about being asked out by Javier you are unprepared. You never expected that he would ever actually make a move on you - not counting the sexual ones. You can’t wipe the smile off your face for the rest of your shift. You beam at Javier when passing by him to get home and he throws you a sultry wink - his knuckles resting on his desk as he looks through the documents. Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t quip anything as Javier watches you leave.
He had a date tonight. With you. Stating that he was nervous and giddy at the same time was an understatement. He felt a like a teenager expecting his first kiss. It felt strange and absolutely addicting at once.
When you arrive home you take a quick shower - Javier always said that you smelled like coconuts and one time you saw him secretly glancing into your bathroom to see what kind of shampoo were you using.
The water is scorching hot and it soothes your muscles and nerves. You scrub all the stress from your body and scurry into the bedroom when you are done - the droplets of water falling onto the floor as you don’t even bother to dry yourself off.
Your bedroom is a big space - the same as Javier’s and Steve’s and anyone who lives in the same apartment building as you, really. You open your closet which was built by Javi and Steve - both of them complaining “why the fuck would you need such a big closet if you live alone” and as you replied “because I like them big” Javier choked on seemingly nothing sending you a quick glare, his Adam’s apple bobbed and it seemed he started sweating even more after that.
You and Connie watched as they argued because, of course, neither of them needed the instructions. Glass of wine in your hands.
It was a pretty closet - cheap as someone bought it and it was too big to fit into their living space and they wanted to get rid of it. Made from mahogany wood, the doors of it had two birds on each side carved in it. Vintage and fitting into your bedroom - you even got a carpet with it for free, the one you were currently standing on.
As you pondered on what to wear you suddenly realized you didn’t know where was Javier taking you. Dancing? On a dinner? To a bar just for drinks? After a while of just checking through your wardrobe you decided to wear a sundress - it was too hot, even at night, to wear anything else, to be honest. It was a light green color - patterned with white flowers and the seam of it reached just below your knees. Backless with long sleeves. Cheeky but modest. Your mouth quirked upwards as you looked at yourself in the mirror.
A knock echoes through the apartment and you look at the watch in the kitchen when coming to answer the door -precisely seven. When you open the door your breath hitches.
Javier stands there with a bouquet of white roses - his face hidden behind them. He has his leather jacket on, his signature tight jeans on but you’ve never seen the pink shirt on him before. It suits him. He peaks at you through the flowers and his jaw sets - his eyes raking up and down your form, multiple times before he passes the roses to you.
“Thank you, they are beautiful, Javi.” You get an instant response, his hands now in his pockets.
“You are beautiful, mariposa.” His baritone raspy. He was used to you were pencil skirts, blouses, jeans and shirts when you went out. Never has he seen a dress on you even after three years. He prayed to all saints out there that you would wear only dresses from now on.
You flash him a grin before you quickly disappear inside to throw them into a vase. He has to clear his throat when he realizes that he can see the whole expanse of your back - the swell of your ass disappearing under the fabric but if the cut would be a little deeper he could definitely see that as well.
“Wear some comfortable shoes. I am gonna show you the beauty of Bogotá tonight.”
You link your arm with his as you softly shut the door.
You talk and laugh and jab at one another. The cool night air makes you shiver - you thought it would be a lot warmer than this. Javier drapes his jacket over you even as you fuss that he doesn’t have to.
You walk - it could be miles - but you don’t really pay it no mind as times fly by. You pass the few spots Javier wanted to show you - a pretty lake that reflected the moon shone under its light, looking like a silver liquid- a few daisies growing near it and you picked them, and after a while Javier even allowed you to put one behind his ear after you pleaded him. The spot where they served the best arepas in the city - Javier said so - and you had to agree as both of you munched on them, comfortable silence falling over the two of you.
It wasn’t awkward as you thought it might have been - you know a lot about each other but somehow you still find new things to talk about. You learned that he liked to paint when he was younger and enjoyed horseback riding with his pops. That he was mama’s boy - his tone softening as he talked about her. You squeezed his hand, telling him it was okay if he didn’t want to talk about it. But he did. Somehow, he wanted you to know everything about him. You took everything he gave and never wanted more and he felt at peace when with you. You found out that he grew up on a ranch and that he was a dog lover - he had a border collie that followed him everywhere when he did his morning chores - feeding the chickens and such.
The final spot of the day’s date was a pretty place with a view from which you could see the whole Bogotá, surrounded by trees and his truck parked there
Both of you lean against the hood - you pull his jacket around you tighter. It smells like him and you realize that after the years you don’t mind the smell of cigarettes. It’s soft and warm and it feels entirely like him.
“So, will you ever tell me about your little Texas boyfriend?” He cuts off the silence with his question and you cock your head to the side.
“Since when do you know I had Texas boyfriend?” He shrugs his shoulders as he brings the cigarette to his lips - blowing the smoke away from you.
“You told me the first time we’ve seen each other. You said that you will not fall for my Texas charm - “been there done that”. He quotes and you laugh breathily. He stubs the cigarette under his foot. The gravel under him crunches.
“You remember that?”
“I remember every little thing you say to me, mariposa.”
The air thickens with his confession as you look into his eyes. He is gorgeous under the dim moonlight. His hair blows in the soft wind. You reach to take the daisy from behind his ear and twist it between your fingers. The contact your skin makes with his when you reach behind his ear results in goosebumps erupting all over his body.
“I think a talk about ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends is more suited for a second date. Don’t you think?” He quirks an eyebrow at you.
“You want to go on a second date with me?” It surprises him - really. He expected…he actually doesn’t know what he expected but second date wasn’t it. He ignores the way his heart skips a beat.
“Yeah, don’t you?” Your eyes are hopeful and he doesn’t understand how you could think he wouldn’t want to go on another date with you.
He was smitten with you from the first time he laid his eyes on you. With your sharp tongue and wicked sense of humor, and how you love to call him out on his bullshit, how your nose wrinkles when you laugh and you throw your whole body forward - always needing to bang your hand against something, whether it was your thigh, table, his shoulder.
“I’d love to.” You grin and he mirrors it before you lean away from the hood as does he. It’s late and you are tired - even though you do not want this night to end. You yawn and Javier claps his hands together as he opens the door of the car you.
The car ride passes in comfortable silence as you keep sneaking glances when you think he isn’t looking.
You look at his sharp jawline and aquiline nose, his hand that grips the steering wheel - watching how he drums his long thick fingers against it and you lick your lips as you trail your eyes over the veins on the back of his hand. You take a sharp intake of breath as he places the other hand on your thigh after a while. You look at him but he doesn’t even glance at you, you can see how he becomes tense and when you don’t push his hand away he relaxes again, his thumb stroking idle circles on top of your covered flesh.
It passes quickly and before you know it you are outside the door of your apartment and he is pulling you closer by the small of your back. You put a finger on his lips when it looks like he is ready to kiss you senseless and you giggle, grabbing him by the chin and you turn his head to the side.
“I don’t kiss and tell on the first date, Peña. You will have to work for it.” You whisper against the skin of his cheek and his grip on you loosens as he feels the ghost of your lips against his flesh before you kiss him under the hinge of his jaw. The kiss imprints into the core of his bones.
Before he can say or act you are already closing the door of your apartment - he can hear the giggles that leave your mouth behind them. The muscle in his jaw ticks, his hands ball into fists as he stares at your door.
Seconds pass. Minutes. Maybe hours. He isn’t sure as he seems to be glued to the spot outside of your door.
When he finally moves he closes the door behind him forcefully. He feels so fucking worked up. And you didn’t even touch him. What were you doing to him? For fuck’s sake.
He stumbles into his place as he tries to tear his jeans from him. He fumbles with the zipper and button of his jeans and falls onto the couch as he quickly tries to undress. The jeans are thrown somewhere behind him and he tugs at his cock a few times, hissing as he swipes his thumb across the sensitive head - a spurt of precum falling out of it. He tries to imagine your small hand around his cock. Your slender fingers gripping him and pumping him from all he has. He groans when he squeezes the base of him and he thinks of how you looked tonight.
All pretty and soft when he held your hand in his. His brows furrow when he thinks of how your skin heated up under his touch when he placed his hand on the small of your back. How your dress showed all of your curves and how you laughed - your nose wrinkling. His movements speed up, he concentrates on how you smelled and moved. He thinks how you wouldn’t be able to grip all of him in your small hand - would you try to put all of him in your mouth or would you just suck and lick the tip of him while you would pump the rest of him? The roughness of his own hand isn’t ideal and it is hard to imagine your softer one - his eyebrows furrowing even more so as he concentrates, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth.
And fuck, you care for him. You truly care for him. You listen - really listen- and let him talk your ear off. You never judge him. And that’s why he is so fucking attracted to you. Because Javier just wants someone who will care for him and provide him with not only physical but also psychical comfort. And you are that someone.
He groans, his head thrown back as the pleasure builds in the pit of his stomach - twirling up the column of his spine. He is not quiet and his eyes roll into the back of his head when he hears the squelching sound of his hand stroking his cock - pretending that it was your pussy making the noise while riding him. He smears the precum around his cock - the glide over the hard hot flesh easier. He thinks about how would you sound screaming his name and a needs curls in his belly - primal and hungry. He finds a steadier and firmer pace and the muscle on his forearm and bicep flex with each stroke.
He is covered in a thin sheen of sweat and he feels he is so fucking close - so close - his eyes tightly shut. The pleasure builds and builds - liquid warm and full of aching desire for you growing with each slick movement of his wrist. Long smooth strokes are deliberately made, his thumb running over the head, his grasp tightening on the base of his aching cock. His muscular thighs lift off the sofa, the muscles underneath his softer belly pull tighter with each second as he fucks up into his fist. His feet are firmly planted on the couch and he pretends you are there with him - on top of him, riding him as he pinches and explores, gropes and holds every inch of your body.
His balls pull tight and his cock twitches in his hand a few times before he is cumming with a string of spanish curses and your name falling out of his mouth. He keeps up the pace until he is too sensitive and he lets go of his slowly softening cock - his hand sticky with his own release as is his shirt. The back of his head collides with the soft cushions and he opens his eyes to look at the ceiling. Bringing his hand in front of his face, he watches how his spend dribbles down his wrist and his forearm - if you were here he’d tell you to lick him clean. He waits before his breathing calms down and then he slowly sits up.
And fuck, he was in big trouble. What were you doing to him?
The second date comes around not even a week later - flirtatious looks and fleeting touches scattered throughout the week when you pass each other at work. Steve rolls his eyes at the two of you but he is honestly happy for you and for Javier too. You are his friend and after your first date Steve cornered his partner, jabbing his finger into Javier’s chest as he told him to “not fuck this up”.
This caused Javier to become defensive, saying he would never dare to even try - but under no prying eyes he was so fucking afraid. Because he was him - he left his bride at the altar for fuck’s sake and the worst thing was he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to meet you.
And he never ever felt this way with Lorraine - how his heart seemed to start beating faster anytime you touched him or how it skipped a beat when he heard your laugh. How his skin felt like it was on fire under your touch, how all of his blood traveled down to his cock each night he thought of you. He felt fucking dirty and wrong for that - but alas he didn’t fuck anyone for over half a year and he was touch-deprived, your soft touch lingering in the back of his mind as he stroked himself.
He was terrified he would fuck something up sooner or later. And you noticed it - how he seemed lost in his thoughts anytime he spend time with you, your touch on his hand pulling him back into reality. You caressed his knuckles and he smiled - a real genuine smile on his lips.
“What’s bothering you? You know you can tell me, Javi. That’s if you want to, of course.” The way you offered him a soft smile made him want to kiss you right there and then.
Because yeah, he knew he could tell you anything. You wouldn’t look at him weirdly, you wouldn’t judge him. You would sit and listen and after he’d be done talking, you would tell him your honest opinion. He rubbed your fingers that were on the back of his palm with his other hand.
“I-I am afraid, mariposa. I am afraid I will fuck this up and you will never want to talk to me again. And that would break me.” He whispered, the words meant to be heard for your ears only and your heart jumped when you saw the concern in his eyes before he looked anywhere but into your eyes. Because in reality Javier Peña was a big softie deep in his core and it was sweet how he tiptoed around this thing you had between the two of you - afraid that he would break it. Break you.
“Javi.” You said in a serious tone and he met your gaze, his breath hitching when he saw how serious you looked at him, your eyes filled with adoration. For him. “We are both adults. And it is most likely one of us will fuck something up down the road. But we will try to repair whatever damage will be made. That’s how relationships work.” You shrugged your shoulders, pulling your hands away from his as one of your colleagues passed by.
He grinned. You called it a relationship. He thought it would make him scared - putting labels on whatever was going on between you. That maybe he would run for the hills because he never wanted anything serious after Lorraine. Afraid of commitment. Afraid of his own feelings. But he didn’t. He felt fucking happy. You two were at the beginning of your relationship.
“You are right, mariposa.” He laughed as you quipped “as I always am.” “I will pick you up tonight. At eight?”
“Sound like a date, Peña. Where are you taking me this time?” He grinned, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards and he wiggled his eyebrows at you.
“Wouldn’t you like to know? Wear another dress tonight. You looked beautiful the last time.”
“You like me in a dress, Javi?” You fluttered your eyelashes innocently at him and he felt a growl building in the back of his throat as he leaned closer to you.
“You have no idea how much. Makes me hard as a fucking rock.” He left with that and as he turned around he had to hide the teasing smile on his lips as he saw your shocked expression.
Oh, but you had an idea how much. After all the walls of your apartment were thin.
You decide to wear one of your more revealing dresses - the one in a dark shade of red, tight around your body with thin straps that held it in place, the seam of it just reaching just above your knees. It makes your breasts look absolutely wonderful. A touch of red lipstick completes the look.
A knock echoes through your place and again - he is right on time. When you open the door a single rose in his hands greets you but you don’t care about that right now as you admire his look. He swapped the tight jeans - which you loved - for looser black dress pants which highlighted his narrow waist. He has a nice pair of black shiny dress boots on, his black shirt more loose than the ones he wore for work - of course, a few of the top buttons of it unbuttoned. He looked good enough to eat and you have the urge to lick the few salty droplets of sweat rolling down his torso.
He eyes your figure shamelessly and almost chokes when he sees the dress you are wearing. It hugs you in all the right places and his fingers itch to touch you, your fingers brushing against his as you take the rose from him making a surge of electricity pass through his nerves. The red lipstick you are wearing just compliments your look. You look like sin itself. And he makes it his mission that tonight the red lipstick will be smeared all over him. He clears his throat as he offers you a quiet “You look absolutely gorgeous, mariposa” and you thank him, his hand on the small of your back - as his urge to touch you wins over him. He leads you towards his car, his eyes trailing to your ass.
“So, where are we going tonight?” You ask when you are sitting in the passenger seat and he grins, his hand automatically falling on your thigh, the tip of his fingers dancing across your sensitive skin.
“You like dancing?” Your eyebrows shoot up.
“Depends. When I have a good dance partner then yes.” You challenge and his head falls back as he laughs bitterly - as if offended. The grip on your thigh tightens.
“Don’t worry. I know how to move my hips, mariposa.” He winks as he starts the engine.
The drive is spent in you two talking about your past relationships as you promised him on your last date. You tell him about your Texas boyfriend - your college sweetheart. He was a sweet boy, a little shy and he didn’t like to engage much in social events. You were the one who approached him first when you saw him looking at you at all times during one of the classes you had together. He stammered and blushed when you asked him out but agreed and he loosened up after a few months of you two dating - his Texan charm slipping on the surface. You tell him about how he smooth talked you into visiting his uncle who had a ranch. He took you horseback riding. You do leave out all of the spicy details though. Javier’s brows furrow in confusion - it seemed like you were totally in love with each other from your talking, so he didn’t understand why you broke up. A quick “ah” follows when you explain that he fell out of love with you. You stayed friends but eventually, both of you parted going your separate ways. Back then you were still bitter about your break up even if it wasn’t his fault. Things like those happens. But you know, love blinded you and the rage you felt sat heavy in your heart for a long time.
And in return, Javier tells you about his girlfriends and to your surprise there weren’t many. A few flings here and there - kissing behind back of his house, exploring but neber doing anything more - before he met Lorraine during high school. His high school sweetheart. They both were the talk of the town when they announced they were getting married. The sweet, handsome and hard-working Peña boy and the perfect Lorraine who seemed to be adored by everyone. She was the one who taught him a lot of tricks when it came to sex. You listen as he tells you about how he left her at the altar - it didn’t feel right and Colombia felt like a place where he could make some kind of change. Not that he made any after the years spent here. You scold him with a quick “hey”, your hand shooting to grab his hand that rests on your thigh.
“Don’t bring yourself down, Javi. You are a great agent and an even greater man. Even if you don’t believe so.” He throws you a crooked smile, his pulse going from zero to a hundred because of the way you look at him. As if he was worth looking at. He brings his lips to kiss the back of your hand.
“So, tell me; why did you give me the nickname ´mariposa’?” you ask and the mood car shifts to playful and loose again.
He can vividly remember how you were so bothered that you didn’t know what it meant and asked him about it constantly. He teased you and each time you asked - because you could tell he wasn’t telling the truth - he told you something different. It drove you mad, you wanted to ask Steve but didn’t engage with him back then as much and you felt awkward asking some random person working in DEA. He lived for the way you squinted your eyes at him and jabbed into his chest with your nimble index finger as he didn’t even budge. Eventually, he gave in and told you the true meaning of it - and as of right now, you asked him why. He never answered you.
“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” He asks cheekily and you huff, your hand coming to draw circles on the back of his hand.
“It doesn’t bother me per se. I just want to know why do you call me “butterfly”? His fingers drum against the steering wheel as he parks outside of a club. It was a big building and the outside of it seemed new - a big neon sign shone in the dead of the night to grab the attention of passersbys. The outside of it was made out of black bricks, and the door was made out of glass.
He turns his torso towards you - his knee bumping with the driving console while doing so. And he really does look incredible tonight - the dress pants fit as if they were made just for him and you can see the visible bulge between his legs. You look away quickly to look into his eyes but you are pretty sure he caught you staring as he shifts in his seat again.
“You remember the first time we met?” He asks and you nod - it’s hard to forget.
“Yeah, I wanted to slap you across your stupidly handsome face for how you looked at me. As if I was a piece of meat.” He laughs, his tongue poking out to lick the seam of his lips.
“Well, you looked like a butterfly - moving past me as if I didn’t even exist, your movements so effortless in those god-forsaken high heels you wear to work. By the way, I still can’t grasp how you can walk in those. Anyways. You had this green pencil skirt on and it just seemed suitable, even more so after I found out you really do wear crazy and bright colored combinations of clothing.”
They made fun of you for that - all in a good and light-hearted manner though. Not really wanting to upset you. You still remember how Javier smacked Steve behind the head when you wore a bright pink blouse with the said green pencil skirt and the blonde asked you if you were going to masquerade. When Javier saw how your jaw set and your eyebrows pulled together in silent rage he almost beat up Steve. He came to your desk later that day and told you to ignore Steve, his words of “don’t mind Murphy, he’s an idiot. You look nice, mariposa” ringing in your ears for the rest of the day.
You nod and have to agree that indeed - the nickname does suit you. He grins at that and takes you by the hand when you both get out of the car, dragging you towards the entrance of the club.
The first thing you notice is that it’s super noisy in there - people cheering, music blasting. The dance floor is a big space and even with all the people on it there are still spots where you could squeeze in with Javier if you wanted to dance. The bar is opposite the dance floor - long and more than one barman is working there, the bottles of liquor shine under the lighting that is reflected from the disco ball that lies above the dance floor. The floor isn’t sticky from all of the sweet alcohol as is the bar you frequently visit with Javier. The booths are small but cozy - a maximum of four people could squeeze in there and Javier drags you towards the empty one that is further in the back with not a lot of people there. When you sit he whispers if you’d like something to drink and you shake your head before you leave your coat on the leather seat. This time you are dragging him on the dance floor.
His hands find your hips almost immediately as the music speeds up - flowing through your veins, your ears ringing as you concentrate on the way his hips drag against yours as you grind against him.
Javier’s brain stops working - he pulls you closer to him, his hands drag across your exposed thighs higher and higher, his hands stopping just under your breasts and his touch tickles as his fingertips hover above your ribcage. He is close -you can feel his breath on the back of your neck and his mustache scrape you there, his hands gliding and groping. His hips move alongside yours and yes - he didn’t lie when he said he knew how to move his hips.
You feel him everywhere but nowhere at once - you want more and you moan when he tests the waters and one of his hands brushes against your collarbone, slowly moving the hair away from the slope when your shoulder and neck meet and he places a tentative kiss there. The ghost of his lips is so feather-light you almost don’t feel it and his other hand squeezes your hip tighter when you brush against his clothed cock that strains behind the fabric. You can feel the scrape of his mustache on your skin and feel the tip of his tongue slowly slip out from his mouth - tasting the salty taste of your skin, his blunt nails digging into your waist when you lean against him, his hand snaking to hold you in place.
You are drunk but not from alcohol - neither of you drank anything tonight. But from the sheer presence of him as you don’t even seem to dance but only explore each other. Your hands tangle in his hair and he hums in pleasure when you tug on one particular suck he gives to your skin. It will leave a nasty purple bruise tomorrow but he doesn’t care - his eyes darkening when he sees the imprint of him on your skin. You move and sway, and grind and Javier follows your lead, never once taking more than you give him. His touch makes your skin burn with primal desire for him as they skate under the seam of your dress but as quick as they go there, that quick they leave too. He is teasing you and he grins when he feels the vibration of your whine against his mouth.
He inhales your scent and his head spins - you smell like coconut and somehow…him. Sweet and tempting and he has the urge to drag you towards to small bathroom in the corner of the room. Show you how good with his hand and other parts of his body he can be, show you what you were missing all these years. And see what he was missing for all these years.
You stay on the dance floor for a while longer before you lean your head against his shoulder, your lips brushing the underside of his jaw as you whisper in his ear that you want something to drink and he nods absent-mindedly, leading you back to your booth. His hands now dip lower, smoothing his big palm over your ass lightly - the way you almost draped yourself all over him on the dance floor making him bolder. You throw him a sultry smile when he says he will be right back and he does - not even five minutes pass before he is back with two glasses of alcohol and you quirk an eyebrow at him as you see the long line near the bar.
“Hope you like gin and tonic. Whiskey on ice is getting old. Wanted us to try something new.” You thank him as he passes you your drink, your lips catching the straw and you move closer to him - his hands resting on the back of the booth around your shoulders. He splays his legs wider and you sneak quick glance at him and see the small grin - he is doing this on purpose.
Game on, Peña.
You move even closer to him, your torso twisting as your tits brush up against his chest and his breath hitches when he feels your hand land on the inside of his thigh - too close where he was getting hard. It seemed that was too easy when it comes to you. He eyes your cleavage, his eyes turning darker, his pupils blown wide as you take the drink from his hand and place it on the table, placing butterfly kisses on his neck. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands - one of them digging into the leather seat, the other stroking the base of your spine. You inch your hand higher and he should really pull it away but he doesn’t have the strength in him to do that - his throat closing on its own accord.
Your fingers quickly scatter to work on his zipper and his hand that was gripping the leather seat closes around your wrist - his lust-filled eyes looking into yours frantically. You smile at him, and he isn’t holding your wrist tight, so you slowly move his hand away, his breath speeding up when you unzip his pants and your fingers brush along his course hair that grows down his belly button. You bunch the material of his shirt and move it over his belly, he slides lower into the seat as you kiss him near the lobe of his ear.
“Want to take care of you. You okay with that, baby?” He almost whimpers at the new nickname for him that falls out of your lips. You grin against his skin, your tongue licking the hinge of his jaw and he closes his eyes when your hand snakes painfully slow towards his weeping cock - the tip of him an ugly red color, precum leaking out of it and he throbs in your hand when you take him out of his pants. He hisses, his eyes shoot open when he feels a dribble of slick rolls down the underside of him - you spat on him. And fuck, if that doesn’t make him even harder.
He is hot and hard and fucking big in your hands. You cannot see much of him in the dim light but you can feel it. He sits heavy in your palm. His hot breath fans over the front of your neck, his nose trailing over your collar bones.
“I heard you jerking off to imagines of me. The walls are thin. Did you forget, Javi? Hm?” His eyes wildly look around to see if anybody is looking your way but people are minding their own business. You heard him. You heard him every time and it makes a desire shoot down his spine knowing you listened to him.
The first swipe of your soft hand against him knocks the breath out of his lungs and you squeeze him tighter around the base when he doesn’t answer you.
“Fuck, mariposa. I couldn’t help but to jerk at the thought of you.” You smile - seemingly pleased with his answer and your thumb swipes along his tip, his hips jerking forward at the contact and you tut at him - your other hand pressures his hips to move down again. He whines, sweat rolls down the side of his temple and you lick it - his eyes roll into the back of his head, your hand moving with slow firm strokes. Just as he likes it. If he wasn’t so touch-deprived and seemingly in heaven he would have at least so much decency to touch you too. But he is lost in the feel of your hand against his, the coil in his belly tightening with each glide of your hand down his cock.
The music is loud - too loud - but the only thing he can hear is the squelch of his cock in your hand. It rings in his ears and you keep up your pace - your lips never faltering as you keep assaulting his neck and the thought of you leaving hickeys on him, marking him as yours brings him closer to his release. You mouth at the vein on his neck, feelings his pulse underneath your lips and you softly bite him there - the hand that was stroking your spine digs into the space between your shoulder blades.
The muscles in his thighs flex as he chases the touch of your hand - slowly fucking up into your hand and he feels the liquid warm need to just let go seeping into his whole being, his brows furrowing. You thumb at his head and squeeze him tighter at the base, your other hand moving to play with his balls and he chokes when he feels the feather-light touch. He opens his eyes which are hooded and he wants to look at you when you make him cum - the material of his pants is soft when your hand moves up and down. It only takes a few strokes before he warns you that he is going to cum and his fists fly to bang against the table - the alcohol on it spilling as you take him in your mouth. The wet warm feel of your mouth mixed with your tongue circling the tip of his cock has him cumming in seconds and he paints the inside of your throat with his spend. He violently twitches in you - the salty taste of him hitting your taste buds. You pull off him after he softens in your mouth and you tug him back into his pants.
“We don’t want you to make a mess. Do we now?” He doesn’t answer you, his eyes wild as he looks at you before he is bringing you towards his lips by the back of your neck - his fingers tangling into your hair.
He never imagined you would kiss under these circumstances - and he imagined kissing you a lot. It never was after you’d practically sucked his soul out. He isn’t complaining though. He can taste his release on your tongue and he deepens the kiss, wanting to swallow you whole. His other hand keeps your mouth open as it rests on the hinge of your jaw - his thumb slowly stroking your skin there. He feels desperate. Desperate to feel you. To have you. To be with you. And he tries to pour everything he feels into the kiss.
He hopes you understand.
When you part away you throw him the cutest smile -as if you just didn’t jerk him off under the table of a packed club - and he laughs, his eyes crinkling. He feels happy - that is how he always feels with you. And he wants to feel like that all damn time. When he is with you he doesn’t think about narcos or Pablo fucking Escobar and his inner demons don’t crawl on the surface of his fucked up mind.
He kisses you again. This time the kiss is softer, and not as desperate. Languid pass of tongue against tongue. As if the two of you had all the time in the world.
He doesn’t drink any more alcohol that night. Afraid that the taste of you would wash out from his tongue.
He watches you all the damn time the next day at work. The images of you last night flash through his mind. How your lips felt against his, the pass of your tongue against his cock, the soft touch of yours. He craves more, wants more, needs more.
He was shook when you finally arrived at your apartment complex and he kissed you breathless - his thigh coming between your legs as you slowly grinded on him, your fingers brushing against the smooth material of his shirt before you pulled away and bid him good night. Once again, he stood outside your door like an idiot.
He wants to return the favor. So he waits and waits on the right moment so he can pull you aside - show you that you were not the only one who could bring toe-curling pleasure to someone. He grins when he sees you enter the file room and he looks around - Steve seemingly busy with reading reports as he scoffs angrily - before he slides away. Closing the door behind him swiftly but softly.
You first hear the soft click of the door and then you feel big hands splaying over the expanse of your hips, mustache scraping over the skin on the side of your neck as he looks at what are you holding in your hands. The file is pink and thick and he takes it from you and places it in its rightful place - or at least where he thinks it was before - and you close your eyes, your muscles relaxing under his touch. You’ve seen how he looked at you today and for once, you were the one who gave him a show yesterday - being as loud as possible so he could hear. He almost lost his mind, almost knocked at your door.
He will show you that his fingers are better than any of your toys.
“What do you think you are doing?” There’s no seriousness behind your voice - he can pick up on the small smile behind it and he grins against your neck, softly pecking you there before his hands move lower, bunching the material of your skirt higher. He can hear the way your breath hitches and he grins - his tongue lapping at your pulse point, his finger inching closer and closer to your core before he turns you around. He slowly sinks down on his knees and oh my fucking god, Javier Peña is on his fucking knees for you. Looking up at you as if you were some kind of goddess and he was just a mere mortal ready to serve all of your needs. And he was ready to serve all of your needs. Your back collides with the bunch of files-filled shelves and the wood of it digs into you uncomfortably but you can’t seem to give a shit right now.
“I think you know what I am doing, mariposa. Did you think of me yesterday, hm? Did you think about how dirty of a girl you were? Jerking me under that table where anyone could see?” You moan when his blunt nails dig into the roundness of your ass as he tries to find the zipper of your skirt in the back. His gaze comes to watch your reactions as he slowly pulls the piece of clothing down your hips and bare legs as it catches on your heels and he helps you out of it. You squeal when he puts both of your thighs on the broadness of his shoulders and his head moves forward as he smells your arousal through the skimpy fabric of your panties.
It takes you a while to answer, your head spinning with the image you now have in front of you - Javier’s head between your thighs which rest on his shoulders, his wild hair in which you placed your hands in; tangling your fingers in it, how his long lashes flutter against the apple of his cheeks, his fingers digging into the soft flesh on your thighs - trying to imprint himself there. You can see the expanse of his neck and the hickeys you left the previous night - all purple and nasty looking but he doesn’t try to hide them, wearing them proudly.
“Yes, I thought about your big fat cock in my hand and how you seemed to enjoy yourself.” You tease and a sound between growl and a snarl forms in the back of his throat. What a samrt mouth you have - not for long though. One of his hands moves closer to your core and he kisses the inside of your left thigh first - his hand patting and mapping the trail of saliva he leaves with his tongue. Paying the same amount of attention to the other one as well. He worships you and takes his time - if he could stay like this forever, he would. His knees hurt under the weight of you as he kneels on the hard tiled floor but he ignores it.
You feel like you are in another world. Your breath ragged, your chest constricting as he looks at you through his eyelashes, his mustache burning your flesh in the most delicious way. You thought that maybe - just maybe - all the girls with Javier were just faking it. That his reputation was built on a bunch of fake moans and well-learned constricting of their inner muscles. But oh, how wrong you were. If he was at least half as attentive with them as he was with you right now, you had no doubt they were definitely not faking it.
“Wanna know a secret, mariposa?” You want him to just shut up and make you cum - to stop teasing you but you nod nonetheless, pathetically quickly.
“You remember when I came to you drunk? When I found the rose in your cookbook the next morning?” He murmurs as he draws patterns with his tongue against your thigh and again, you nod. How could you forget? You were so sure he was going to kiss you back then. Your lips almost touching but then Steve had to call. “I was so fucking drunk because I fucked a girl that night. She looked a lot like you and I pretended, just for a moment, that she was you. And then I went to see you and tell you that I wanted you. But this right here?” He nips at your thigh - his teeth leaving their mark behind. “Your pretty little sounds and pleas, and this pussy that is so wet for me?” He growls the last words. “This is better than any imagination I ever had. Fuck, you are so fucking perfect, mariposa.”
And his confession shouldn’t make your gut twist and fill with butterflies. It shouldn’t even surpsirise you. Not really. Because he tried his moves on you throughout the years. Multiple times. But hearing it from his mouth? That he wanted you so much that he pretended someone else was you? It makes a surge of possessiveness wash over you. He was yours all those years ago. As is he yours now, his head between your legs.
One of his hands snakes under your bum, the other trailing towards your mouth as he softly orders you to “open up” and you do - you would do anything he’d tell you right now. Two of his thick fingers work their way inside your mouth and you suck them in - moaning as he softly wiggles them before he pulls them out and in. And again, again, and again. Until you are gagging with how deep he seems to rach with them in your throat - your teeth grazing along his knuckles and he smiles; a twisted smile as if he was in pain, his nostrils flare before he removes them from your slicked mouth and shows you what a mess you made of them. Your eyes shine with lust and want and need as he drags them to your bottom lip. And then he removes them - pushes you even more towards the shelves so you won’t fall and his hand that was holding your ass moves to pull your panties to the side.
He moans at the sight of your slicked folds. His nose bumps with your clit before he inhales you all in. If he could, he’d touch himself. The image in front of him makes his cock jump in his tight jeans but this is about you. He wants to make you feel good and ruin you for any other man that would even dare to try and touch you. Because you were his - he knew it even if you never said so. As he is yours. You own him. Body, mind and soul and the thought of it hits him hard somewhere deep in his chest. He wants this. He wants people to hear and know that he is the one making you feel good - pissing off Steve would be just a cherry on top.
You plead his name - a string of “Javi please” falling out of your lips. He smiles - posessive and dark because he hasn’t even touched you yet and here you are; begging for him. All pliant and soft, and ready to take whatever he gives.
The first drag of his fingers inside of you makes you throw your head back and it collides with the wooden shelf - but you don’t feel the pain. You only feel the thickness and roughness of his fingers inside of you. His mustache burns your skin as he nuzzles your inner thigh as he watches you - his eyes dark and pupils blown back wide. He is enjoying this as much as you - you realize ,when a particular harsh thrust of his fingers makes you squeeze him hard and he moans even louder than you. It seems like he is doing it on purpose and it sends a thrill down your spine - if someone caught you here. He didn’t even lock the door.
His fingers work their way inside you - deeper and deeper, working up, up until he finds the spongy inside you. You squelch around his fingers and you beg for more. You are close, you can feel the pleasure build inside your body and when you are right on edge he stops. A whine escapes your lips as you open your eyes at him and growl in frustration. He grins and while he holds your gaze his mouth inches closer to your gaping cunt. He spits on your clit then and your eyes widen before a drawn-out moan falls out of your lips. He watches as his saliva drips down and he catches it - coating his fingers in it before he brings them into your mouth again.
You bite his fingers, the imprint of your teeth leaving its mark behind and tug at his hair when you feel the first slide of his tongue against your pussy. He moans under your harsh touch - his fingers pulling themselves deeper into your mouth and you feel the first set of tears make their way out of your eyes. It feels too good as Javier laps at you as a man starved - the vibrations of his moans making your thighs twitch.
He eats you out as if your pussy was his favorite meal - and it definitely is. The tangy taste of you hits his taste buds and he works the pink muscle into your gaping cunt - licking and exploring your walls. Javier never really was a fan of going down on someone. But with you? With the way, your breath hitches and you moan his name, how your fingers tangle in his hair and your Adam’s apple bobs with each pass of his tongue? He would keep doing this forever. And ever. He learns quickly what you like and what you don’t as he tests the waters. He is a quick learner and to your surprise - definitely a giver when it comes to sex.
He laps st you as if his life depended on it - his fingers moving with each flick of his tongue and you cry out when he puts his plump lips onto your clit and languidly sucks at it. His tongue flicking against it.
“Yeah, such a good girl. Come on, cum for me, mariposa.” He urges and one look at his state - his slack opened jaw, his ruffled hair, his hooded eyes that watch you with such an intensity you feel it in the pit of your very own being and you are a goner.
The euphoric feeling of it finally snaps, making you trash and spasm and writhe under his touch. Your toes curl and he keeps working you through your orgasm - lapping at what you give him before you push his head away forcefully as he tries to protest and give your sensitive clit a few more soft licks.
When you stand up on shaky legs he is still on his knees - his hand snaking behind the back of your thighs to hold your ass. He looks breathtaking like this - his mustache and chin covered in your release, his eyes hooded and he seems sedated, proud of himself.
You bring him to you by the collar of his shirt and he moans into the kiss you give him - all teeth and tongue, quick and he tries to deepen the kiss before you are pulling away. The taste of your own release sitting on top of your tongue and he grins when you start searching for your skirt - his eyes watching your ass as you bend down to put it back on you. The image of you in your high heels and panties will be kept hidden somewhere in the back of his mind from this time on.
When he passes by you to get out of the room first, he kisses you softly on the back of your neck before he whispers:
“Thank you for the breakfast, mariposa. It was delicious.” He skirts past you with a wink. Leaving a mess of piles on the ground behind him.
And you with a stupidly satisfied smile on your face and a hazy mind.
The third official date comes around three weeks later.
Work keeps you both busy but Javier always finds time for you. He comes to yours at night or sometimes well past midnight. Plopping next to you in bed, his hands snaking around your middle as he pulls you closer to him. And he swore he never slept better than when he slept by your side. So it becomes a habit.
It’s not a surprise to you that he seeks your touch at all times. One of Javier’s love languages is physical touch. Whether it’s just holding hands, smoothing his fingers down your spine or drawing circles on your knee under the table when you eat. Sometimes he comes sooner and you watch TV on the couch and read - to your surprise, Javier is a big fan of fantasy novels but he never actually has the time to read any so you read them to him when you two are already comfortably set in bed or lounge on the said couch- or play board games - and he has to cheat because there is no way he is so good at all of them.
Your nights spent together usually end up with you two making out - teeth clashing, lips latching onto each other, you grinding on his impressive clothed length. Sometimes it’s just a slow languid press of tongue against tongue in the early morning light when he is warm, putty and soft under your hands - the hardness of his walls that he builds up against him not yet coming on the surface. And Javier is insatiable but not only in the sense of sex. He craves the intimacy that you provide - your soft touch and sweet words as your fingers trace each and every scar, the press of your lips against them.
It’s dizzying the way you disarms him in every way. Making him feel so secure and whole as he opens up to you in ways he thought he never would have.
He feels desired as much as he desires you.
He drives you crazy - the close proximity of him makes you want to jump his bones on each and every surface in your place.
“Na-ah. I want to be a proper gentleman. So sex should come at least after the third date.” He said with a teasing smirk as he kissed your pouting lips and then ate you out on the kitchen counter.
It didn’t matter that you jerked him off on your second date. It didn’t matter that he ate you out the next day at work and returned the favor by giving you a mind-blowing orgasm. It didn’t matter that he fingered you from behind on your couch or that he fucked your throat while you laid on your bed, back splayed on the soft sheets. It didn’t matter that he had to eat you out at least once a day and it certainly didn’t matter if it was on the floor, kitchen counter, table, couch, your bed or a chair.
So it's an understatement that you cannot wait for your third date to finally happen. You are supposed to go to a nice restaurant - you’ve been there once or twice with other men that asked you on a date. But as Javi said, “I will make it a mind-blowing experience for you”. And you didn’t doubt it.
So you wait and wait, your eyes keep fleeting at the clock on your wall. An hour passes. Then two. He is never late. You are pacing around your kitchen - you tried to call Steve and called Javier multiple times. You knew they had a smaller op today, “don’t worry,” he said, “this should be an easy job,” he said. Easy job my ass. You were getting worried, your foot tapping against the tiles in your kitchen.
What if something happened to him? What if he was injured? What if he was bleeding out somewhere right now? What if he was-
A soft knock stops the train of your thoughts. Three knocks, the last one lighter than the other. Only one person knocks like that and you almost trip on your own feet as you hurry to open up the door. And he is standing there. Alive.
But he doesn’t look like your usual Javier. His clothes are drenched - the rain pouring outside heavy. It sticks to him - his clothes. His hair sticks to his forehead a few strands of it fall in front of his eyes. You see the difference in his posture, the haunted look in his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, what to do with himself. He doesn’t even know why he came to you in this fucked up state. And he wants to leave - he doesn’t want you to see him like this. But before he can get a sound out of his mouth, the hushed and broken “sorry” stuck in his throat, before he can move his heavy limbs, you are pulling him in, softly dragging him on the couch. And as before - you don’t ask. You just wait. Wait if he says something, wait if he needs something, wait if he wants you with him right now.
The realization of it makes him want to rip open his chest and give you his scarred and broken heart. Because you own it. It’s yours, if you will have it.
His body acts quicker then his mind can catch up and he is pulling you in - his strong arms winding to hold you close to him. And you don’t protest, you just hug him back, your fingers dancing across the broad expanse of his back. He breathes you in - coconut, vanilla, mango. It grounds him. Knowing that you are here. With him. Next to him. For him.
“They-they killed them. I fucked up. Fuck-“ He hiccups. “I fucked up, mariposa.” His hold on you tightens as you shush. The slow beat of your heart drums against his ear.
You rock him back and forth and he feels like a little kid again. As if he was five again and his mother kissed the bruise on his knee from when he fell off his bike. He feels wanted. Safe. Home. Neither of you know how much time has passed as he slowly pulls away from you. His nose brushes against yours, his eyes bore into yours and the mellow look you have in them makes him want to melt into you.
“I need you.” He whispers against your lips and his fingers tighten when he feels you pulling away, your hands bunching the wet material of his soaked-up shirt. You want to push him away. It’s not right. You shouldn’t. Not right now.
“Javi-“ You protest weakly.
“Please.” And that’s all it takes before you tentatively seal your lips with his. He doesn’t push, he doesn’t take more than what you are ready to give - enjoying the slow and languid pass of your tongue as you hum in his mouth. You cup his cheeks - your thumbs smoothing slowly down his jaw and his hands rest on your shoulder blades. It’s slow and sensual and neither of you is in any kind of rush. His body buzzes all over, his lungs clench - the oxygen seemingly leaving his lungs and the only thing that can make him breathe again is you. He feels warmth in his chest spreading and spreading some more when you peck his lips and you are careful with him - as if he was fragile peace of art. And to you, he is.
He doesn’t know how he got into the bedroom before you are slowly pushing him down onto the mattress and his back collides with the silken sheets. He watches your form in the dim light as you leisurely undress in front of him. His chest heaves, his breath picks up, his pupils extend. He leans back on his elbows as he watches you - how your hand reaches behind to pull down the zipper of your sundress and as it pools on the floor beneath you. Another time he would have jumped at you and pull you towards him. Another time he would pin you against the floor and fuck you silly that you would forget your own name. Another time he would make you scream his name before you would even have the chance to undress. But tonight you both take it slow - enjoying the show you are putting on for him. Tonight he wants to be the one taken care of. And you know it.
You are a goddess sent from above as you stand a few feet away from him only in your underwear. He wants to worship you as his eyes rake over your body, taking note of every dip, every mole every “imperfection”. And you are simply perfect. He holds his breath when even the last pieces of clothing fall from your form and leave you in all of your naked glory. And he seems to be glued in place before you are coming his way. It feels like a dream when your nimble fingers hook under his belt and he hears the metal on the belt buckle fall onto the ground with a clink. He reaches for you as he slowly sits up - his rough hands coming to brush and caress your pebbled nipples. He feels the weight of your breasts in his palms and it is so strange how his simple touch makes your insides burn. All of it is strangely intimate. Neither of you talks, only the ragged breaths and quiet moans that fall out of your mouth can be heard in the stillness of the room.
You push at his chest and he falls backward again with a quiet thump. You rid him of his jeans - the damp material of it sticking to him and you both laugh when you almost push him on the edge of the bed with them. It’s sweet and it doesn’t feel forced or rushed. Just two people enjoying the presence of each other, the feel of their skin, the sentiment behind each touch going straight into their hearts.
His cock is hard, the tip of him resting on his belly and he scoots backward on the bed, you following the suit. The last piece of clothing - his shirt- is gone before he knows it as you throw it somewhere behind you and it lands on the floor with a wet plop. Your thighs swing on either side of his narrow hips and your wet core makes contact with the hardness of him as you smear your juices over his length. You roam and caress his shoulders, his biceps, his chest, his neck. Stroking and teasing, and rubbing. And he does the same to you, his hands squeezing your ass before they move higher up your hips, his thick fingers ghosting over them and you squirm and giggle, your forehead bumping with his the movement tickles you. He wants to roll you over, to hover above you, to fill you up but your hands move to his shoulders, holding him tight as you look into his eyes. Your noses brush against each other and he sighs - as if all the weight from his chest had been lifted - when you whisper “I want to take care of you, Javi”.
Because yes, that’s what Javier wants. Someone to take care of him, to share his passion and hobbies and life with. He wants someone to take for a ride while they will wear his yellow aviators. He wants to take someone back to Laredo, to eventually settle down. He doesn’t want to take Escobar down and put end to all of this - retire after. And he wants to do all these things with you.
The tension leaves his body as he yields under your touch, undressing his wounds as he knows you will caress each one of his scars and kiss each bruise that is scattered not only on his body but his soul and heart too.
Bodies naked and souls bared to one another you reach blindly into the nightstand as you rip the condom and slowly roll it down his cock. Javier is big - his cock is thick and you could feel it the first time you felt him in your hands under the table in the club. When you first saw him - really saw him- your eyes almost bugged out from your head. Because you had no idea how you would fit him inside you. But you do not worry right now as you slowly sink down on him, the pinch almost too much to bare.
He waits for you to move as he kisses your neck, your shoulders, the underside of your chin. You feel like heaven around him - your walls squeezing him tight as you try to accommodate to his size. He slips his tongue into your mouth when you lift off him and then slowly -oh, so painfully slowly - sink back down the whole length of him. He kisses you more hungry this time, the kiss heated and fiery. One of his hands cups your ass while the other holds the back of your head - pulling you closer as the kiss grows more urgent, messy and sloppy as do your movements.
You feel like he is somewhere deep in your stomach, the weight of him in you makes your toes curl and the coarse hair on the base of him scratches your small bundle of nerves just right with each slide of his cock. You feel every ridge and grin of him, the tip of him hitting something deep inside you. The muscles on his thigh flex when he starts meeting your thrusts and he growls against the soft skin of your neck when your blunt nails scratch his back, your breasts bouncing with each thrust upwards. It’s glorious - this feeling you both feel. It’s not about the physical proximity right now. But It’s about everything that led you to this moment. All those years of bickering and flirting, of fighting and spending your time together led to exactly to this moment. And the awareness of it all hits you like a truck because somehow, deep inside, you knew that this would happen one day. And you think he knows it too.
The droplet of sweat that rolls down the valley of your breasts makes him lap at you there and you moan, your nails digging harder into the muscles of his back when he catches one of your nipples into his mouth, one of his hands roaming to find your clit before his skilled fingers start to draw circles on it. The roughness of his fingertips and the feel of his tongue swirling on your nipple makes seizes before your inner muscles pull him deeper, the squelch ringing in your ears before you are clamping around him - falling into an abyss. You moan his name, your orgasm washing over you before you tug at his still-damp roots and he hisses - at the way you squeeze around him, at the way you hold him.
You kiss him frantically, your tongue exploring his mouth when you feel him sob into your mouth. He pulls away and your legs lock tighter around his middle, you can feel the softness of his stomach and a sound between a growl and a moan bubbles in the back of your throat. You can feel he is close when his thrusts become more hectic as he loses rhythm, his arms somehow trying to pull you closer, his pace increasing as he chases his own high.
It only takes a few more passes of his cock through the inside of your slicked pussy and your encouring words "Come on, I want you to cum, Javi" before he is cumming. He cums with a loud moan, thrashing and jerking under you. Pumping his seed into the condom and he holds you closer, his forehead resting on your clavicle, his hands tracing over your back as a shudder runs through you when you feel him twitch inside of you.
You stay like that before he moves you off him, disposing the condom into the bin and he is surprised he can even feel his own legs. His body completely relaxes when he falls into the bed with you and pulls you almost on top of him - your legs tangle together, your chin rests on his chest as you trace his eyebrows with your fingers and he smiles at you. Because he is so fucking happy in that moment he could burst with joy.
You talk a long time after as you tell him about your sister - how she squealed into your ear when you told her over the phone you were going on a date with Javier - and he grins because if you talked about your sister with him that means that he is worth talking about. He cherishes this information and hides it into the back of his mind.
You fall asleep not long after, moving away from him a little and he watches you - you are so pretty when you sleep. You are always pretty. And his. He knows you are because he is yours.
His lips plant soft kisses where your heart is before he murmurs into your skin where it rests “I love you”. So only your heart can hear it. He is not ready to tell you. Yet. But he is completely fine with knowing your heart heard the hushed words under the ray of moonlight stream coming from your window.
TAGS: @harriedandharassed
#javier pena#javier pena narcos#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal characters#javier pena reader#javier pena x reader#javier pena x f!reader#javier pena x female reader#javier pena x you#javier pena smut#soft javi#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal ff#narcos smut#javier pena one shot
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watch you watch me — lando norris
lando norris x fem!reader [2k]
summary: getting caught is the last thing on his mind as he walks you back into the bathroom of his jet.
warnings: 18+ explicit smut & language, semi-public sex, slight choking, mile high club
a/n: fic two of smutober and the kink i decided to focus on is mirror sex. i literally couldn't not do it after the chaos when the jpg pics got posted. i hope you enjoy it!! love u all 🤍
Three hours. That’s how long Lando could keep himself entertained on a long haul flight before he grew bored out of his mind. He almost regretted turning down the offer to share a jet with Alex and George, but then he’d glance at you curled up in your seat across from him and Lando would immediately change his mind. You had your own life to live and Lando had his highly demanding job so it left you little time to spend together. It didn’t mean that you didn’t try, because you absolutely did; Grabbing every chance and spare day to see each other, only if for a few hours.
Sometimes, when your time zones were wildly different and Lando was suffering from major jetlag, he’d lie awake on facetime; Blinking tiredly at the bright screen while you went on with your day, chattering about the most mundane things. He liked it, loved it even. It made him feel like he was right there with you and not in an empty hotel room by himself.
So a fourteen hour flight together was really a blessing in disguise. But Lando had an overactive mind and he really couldn’t sit still for more than two hours before he felt the urge to climb the walls. And you knew it as well, having come prepared with cards and boardgames. But Lando was a sore loser and you were over-competitive so that only lasted for an hour before you both were on the verge of insulting each other and decided to call it quits.
He glanced up when you suddenly unfurled your legs from where you’d folded them against you, stretching your legs and wiggling your toes cutely before standing up. His eyes drifted to your midriff when you stretched your arms up above you, the hem of your shirt riding up in the process and suddenly Lando felt like fucking Einstein when an idea slithered into his mind.
Lando fisted his hands to keep from reaching for your hips, feeling an anticipatory stir in his groin when your bellybutton was on display like that because fuck, it was his favourite place to kiss.
You glanced down at him, clearly mistaking his hungry staring for confusion because you yawned through a smile, looking as beautiful and innocent as ever.
“Bathroom break.” You explained but he wasn’t really listening.
You might as well have been speaking an entirely different language but he nodded like he’d heard you, watching you turn and head for the bathroom on unsteady legs. His eyes glanced up and down the short aisle but there was no one in sight, and he took that as a chance to scramble out of his seat and follow you, reaching for his camera in the process as another idea sparked in his mind.
The squeak coming out of your mouth when he crowded up against your back would’ve normally made him laugh, but he was too busy with walking the both of you into the bathroom to pay it any close attention. A scandalised gasp escaped your mouth when you realised what he was doing, watching him turn and lock the door like he’d done it a million times.
“Lando, what the —“ The words died on your tongue when he turned around and revealed his face to you, staring at you so hungrily that it almost punched the air out of your lungs.
He took one step and caught your mouth in a kiss, groaning low in his throat when you opened up beautifully under him. Lando loved the way you became so pliant, melting into his touch when he backed you into the sink and reached one hand to loosely circle your throat.
“Baby.” There was a slight whine in your voice that made his nerves sing, pressing his lips against yours more insistently; Mimicking the movement of his hips against yours. The hardness you feel makes your mouth open in a gasp and he takes that moment to drop to his knees in a crouch, hands scrambling to roll your shirt up enough to reveal your belly.
You keen a little at that and he knows that you do it out of insecurity so he hurriedly places kisses to the flesh there, biting your hip for good measure and he only stops once you’ve relaxed fully; Gripping the edge of the sink with both your hands too keep from folding in on yourself.
Lando glances up and you look down at him, shooting him a shaky smile.
“You look so pretty.” He says and you shake your head with a breathless laugh.
“We’re gonna get caught.” Your lower lip gets sucked between your teeth and Lando wishes it was his tongue in its place.
He shrugs, shooting you a smile that spells trouble and something fire hot shoots down your spine when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your joggers and pulls. He doesn’t waste any time to get his face between your legs, opening his mouth against the material of your panties that you’d managed to soak in the span of five minutes. The faint taste of you on his tongue makes him moan, sucking until you’re whimpering his name and the material turns sodden with his spit.
He gets a finger under the cotton, pulling the crotch aside and burying his face against your hot flesh, mouth opening wide enough to slot over where you’re aching for him. The feel of his wet and warm mouth against you makes your knees buckle, gripping the sink even tighter when he starts sucking and licking on your clit.
You try to keep your noises intact but you’re too loud to be doing this in such a public space and Lando seems to realise it at the same time you do, reaching an arm up until he’s got two of his fingers shoved into your mouth. It makes him ache when you gratefully suck them, wetting them with your saliva as you hum and moan.
It doesn’t really take long for him to pull an orgasm out of you, your knees shaking and your hand tightly gripping his unruly hair as you cry out; The sound muffled by his fingers. He laves his tongue against you until your shaking subsides, slowly getting up from his crouched position when you start whining in overstimulation.
You’re a sight for sore eyes, pupils blown out and drool dripping down his hand and Lando can’t help but push his fingers deeper into your mouth, listening to you gag as your eyes flutter shut.
“God,” He whispers, hooking his fingers into the side of your mouth to pull it slightly. His eyes are trained on you, dark and wanting. “So fucking beautiful, aren’t you? I’m so lucky.”
You moan, the sound a little too loud in the small space but Lando can’t bring himself to care much as he leans forward to kiss you. It’s messy and you don’t really kiss him back with the way he’s got his digits in your mouth but the movement of your pliant tongue is enough to push him one step closer to the edge.
He pulls away with a breathless groan when you palm him through his pants, hurrying to turn you around and bend you over the sink and it makes him physically ache at how docile you are. You let him position you, both of your palms flat against the counter without preamble and Lando bends to press a kiss against the back of your neck as a silent thank you.
The stretch of his cock takes you by surprise and you hang your head low as you go up on your tippy toes the further he pushes himself inside of you. It doesn’t burn like it usually does, Lando having prepped you enough to take him without any problems but it still makes you ache when he finally bottoms out with a drawn out groan.
Lando swears, the words filthy on his tongue as he gives you a moment to get used to him before he sets up a rhythm. It shakes you to the core, gripping the sink tightly enough that it hurts your fingers but the pain balances out the sheer pleasure you’re feeling as he fucks into you.
You shudder when he gets a hand between your legs, touching your sensitive clit and you keen harshly at the added sensations; bringing your head up to stare at him.
What you see takes you by surprise. You expect to see his face, but the camera aimed right at you jars you; making you clench when you realise what he’s doing.
He’s taking pictures. And you fucking love it.
“Oh, look at you.” He grins, cheeks flushed pink as he pushes himself forward; burying himself inside and watching you squirm. “Beautiful girl. The camera loves you, baby.”
You let out a hum, trying not to shy away from the camera as it clicks. He’s having too much fun with it, thrusting particularly hard to get a reaction out of you before hurryingly taking a picture of your face. If you’d been of sound mind, you would’ve thought of how you probably looked but you couldn’t bring yourself to worry too much when Lando stared; open mouthed and in awe, like he was too afraid to blink in fear of missing out on every microscopic expression on your face.
He grabbed the pudge of your hip with his other hand, working his hips into you and you moaned quietly as your stomach started clenching. A telltale sign that you were close. And judging by the look on your boyfriend’s face, he wasn’t too far behind either.
“Yeah? Gonna come for me?” His words were whispered, harsh and you nodded. He watched you get a better grip of the counter, fucking yourself back on his cock with every thrust forward. “I can tell, you’re clenching up so tightly around me, love. Get a hand in there, touch yourself.”
“Lando.” The whispered moan nearly did his head in, focusing on the way your hand shakily let go of the sink to touch between your legs, shaking with the intensity of it. “Oh, fuck.”
He couldn’t help but bring the camera up to get a full shot of you, mouth open and eyes fluttered closed, circling your finger over your clit and back arching the closer you got to your orgasm.
Lando let go of his camera, absentmindedly placing it to the side before he got both of his hands around your throat; feeling your vocal chords vibrate with the moan you let out as he yanked you upwards. You went easily, your free hand grabbing his but you weren’t trying to pry his fingers away from your throat. You were pushing into it, like you were silently begging him to put pressure and Lando was all too happy to comply.
The sudden tightness around him was like a punch to the stomach, your pussy rippling around his cock as you came with a choked off cry. His hips pushed against your ass, losing all sense as he came inside of you with a groan; listening to the sounds you made as you fell over the edge of oblivion.
Lando wasn’t too proud of the way he stumbled into you, letting you hold both your weights up as you came down from your orgasms but you didn’t say a word, only giggling between gasps of breath.
He unwound his fingers from your throat, sliding them around your torso with a content smile that he hid in the back of your neck.
“Those pictures are going on my jpg Instagram.” He said, voice slow and sleepy and you made a sound in your throat that sounded a lot like a protest.
“The hell they bloody are.” You turned your head over your shoulder, trying to glare at him but it was impossible to do so when he nuzzled your cheek. “Maybe one.”
“Two.” He said, like it was a negotiation.
“One.” You said, laughter in your voice as he squeezed you tighter to him. “But maybe you can change my mind.”
#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x female reader#lando norris smut#lando norris fic#f1#f1 fic#f1 smut#f1 fluff#f1 lando norris smut#f1 x reader
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Keeping up
Pairing: No outbreak!Joel Miller x reader
Summary: You convince Joel to go on a hike with you, but being that he's 56 years of age, he gets home barely in one piece, which means he needs a massage, which may lead to something more...
Warnings: age gap (reader's 25 and Joel's 56), a lot of sexually allusive jokes and stuff, and very soft and fluffy smut (unprotected p in v sex)
"Keep up, Grandpa!" you called, turning around and catching him taking yet another break.
He had his knee popped to the side and his hands on his waist as he pretended to take in the view while really just trying to calm his heavy breathing
He had fallen behind a while ago, but kept insisting you continued at your pace.
It took a lot of convincing to persuade him to go hiking with you, some unconventional, but definitely effective methods of persuasion were used, and finally, this morning, you had managed to make him cave in.
It was only a two-hour hike, but he was acting like he'd been walking for ten days and nights with no food and water.
"I'm coming!" his voice sounded through the woods.
"You sure?" You couldn't help but grin, watching his chest rising and falling way too quickly
"I just need a moment"
Letting out a breathy smile, you retraced your steps on the makeshift track to reach his side.
"Tired?" you asked, already knowing the real answer, and the one he was gonna give you.
"Nope" he lied, making you chuckle.
He was so predictable
"Ah" you hummed, mocking him "so you're choosing to walk ten steps behind me"
He turned to look at you, his hazel eyes sparking with mischief
"Well, I don't mind the view these leggings of yours are giving me..." he arched a brow as his hands reached for your ass through the fabric.
"perv" you smirked
"Yup, that's me" he nodded, bringing you in for a kiss.
He could never get enough of you.
He had no idea how he had managed to make you fall in love with him, and so he acted accordingly, kissing and touching you every chance he got in case one day he was gonna wake up and this turned out to be just a dream.
"at least you admit it" you joked, biting his bottom lip playfully.
Oh how he fucking loved you
"C'mon now, we're almost there" You smiled that stunning smile of yours that made him almost forget how tired he was.
"You said that an hour ago too, angel" he reminded you
"I did, didn't I?" you smirked, starting up the hill again, and leaving him behind to wonder how the hell he had ended up there.
But then of course he knew... his ability to say no to you seemed to disappear every time his cock was in your mouth.
__ __ __
"goddamnit sweetheart" he groaned, laying on the bed face down.
He didn't bother to change into his clothes simply because he couldn't, the towel around his waist was gonna have to do.
By the look of it, your advice of "A hot shower will help you out" hadn't really worked.
"Poor baby" you cooed, setting your book down on the nightstand to pay attention to him.
"I'm never hiking with you again" he sighed "I'm hurting everywhere"
"I'm sorry" You stifled a smile at his pained expression "Here," you said, getting an idea "How 'bout a massage?"
"Mh that does sound good" he considered
"Yeah?" you asked, getting on your knees beside him
"Yeah darlin'"
You smiled, as you gingerly straddled his hips, not wanting to hurt him.
You rubbed your hands together to make them hot and then gently pressed them against the very top of his broad back, slowly starting to make your way to his shoulders to rub his pain away.
He groaned in pleasure beneath you
"fuck that feels good" he breathed once you applied more pressure.
You chuckled "I've heard that one before"
"Mh, I'm sure you have, angel" he grinned, closing his eyes as you took such good care of him.
You smiled as you started massaging his lower back too, drawing circles with your thumbs and relaxing his muscles one at a time.
"You're really good at this sugar," he spoke, as his hand found your right leg and started caressing it slowly to try and pay you back a little bit.
"Why thank you" Your lips pulled into a smile "I'm a woman of many talents you know?" you murmured sultrily, bending down to gently press a kiss to his neck.
"I know that very well, darlin'"
"Good" you nodded, finishing up his back "Now turn around"
"Yes ma'am" he obeyed immidately once you got off of him, just to climb back immediately once his back was on the mattress.
His heart couldn't help but skip a beat at the sight above him.
You looked so fucking sexy drowning in that shirt of his, and the fact that he was pretty sure you only had a pair of panties underneath it, only made it worst for him.
You didn't seem to notice the way he was practically eating you up with his eyes as you started massaging his chest.
God those hands of yours deserved their special place in heaven
He watched you biting your lips to concentrate as your fingers made all his pain disappear for just a moment.
Suddenly, he noticed a smirk splitting your face as you looked up at him.
"I see somebody isn't as tired as you" You raised an eyebrow before gently rubbing your core against his growing bulge.
"oh fuck" Joel breathed heavily
"Sweetheart..." he murmured pleadingly as you did it again
"What?" you teased
"Trust me I'd love to fuck you right now, but I'm afraid that if I move one single muscle I'll have to go to the emergency room"
The chuckle that left your throat sounded more like angels singing to Joel.
"Who says you have to move a muscle?" you asked mischievously, as your hand slowly reached for the towel around his waist, undoing it in one swift move.
"Oh darlin'" he grinned lazily, "I'll never know what I did to deserve you"
You laughed softly at how happy he looked, before getting rid of his towel and taking his cock in your hand.
He was throbbing already
You stroked him a few times before you let your fingers find your panties and quickly pulled them to the side.
You wasted no time sinking down onto his length.
Giving him this massage had worked you up just as much as him.
his groans merged with your moans at the motion
"f-fuck" you muttered
No matter how many times you had sex with him, your pussy never really got used to the stretch.
"goddamnit darlin', you feel so good" he breathed
You smiled down at him before deciding to take off your shirt.
You didn't want it to get all sweaty...
He groaned even louder at the sight.
Your perfect tits bare before him, your perfect cunt hugging his cock so well, your perfect mouth parted as you sucked in ragged breaths, and then finally your perfect blown-out pupils staring down at him like he was the most handsome man on earth.
You were a fucking vision.
"fucking christ angel-" he growled as you started moving up and down his shaft "Look at you" he whispered, not able to stop his hands once they reached for your waist "How are you this fucking perfect?"
You just let out a breathy chuckle, continuing to bounce on his cock.
God, it felt good.
He always managed to hit that spot inside of you that made you feel better than anything else.
Your nails clawed at his chest, no doubt leaving some scratches, not that he minded... he loved when you marked him up.
Suddenly, you sped up your movements, making him tighten his hold on you
"Jesus Christ sugar" he groaned "How do you still have any energy left?"
I mean every muscle of his had given up even trying, while you... well while you still had the energy to ride him like a damn pornstar.
And he would have liked to say this was the first time something like this had happened, but the truth was that the difference of age between him and you had made itself heard more times than he liked to admit.
He wasn't a teenager anymore, his back wasn't the same, his stamina wasn't the same, and you... Well, you were the exact opposite.
You were unstoppable, and fuck but you were insatiable
Before you, Joel got laid maybe once every six months, and now he found himself having sex at least twice a day.
Not that he was complaining obviously, it's just that he sometimes still wondered how the fuck you managed to pull it off.
"That's what being 25 will do to ya" You smiled, leaning closer to him to kiss his neck
"Mhh" he hummed, as one of his hands reached upwards to grab your tits "You're saying I'm old?"
The soft sound of your laugh tickled his ear
"I'm saying I'm young" you answered, rubbing your nose against his beard until his mouth was right in front of yours and all you needed to do was kiss him.
One of your hands had to grab at his shoulders as you felt your orgasm approach.
"oh fuck baby" you breathed, ghosting his mouth
"you coming?" he asked, watching as you shut your eyes, lost in pleasure.
"mh-mh" you managed to nod, before you hid your face in the crook of his neck and bit down onto whatever piece of skin you could reach.
"That's a good girl" he praised as his left hand found your butt and gave it a good squeeze "Give it to me angel" he urged
And without another word, you did, squeezing him and making him come just as you were coming down your own climax.
If he had to be honest he had been close since you had taken off your shirt.
"mhhh" you hummed satisfied, as you leaned away a little to look at him.
His lips looked way too delicious, so for good measure, you met them with yours for a brief moment.
"goddamnit sweetheart, you're gonna kill me one of these days" he smiled, gently stroking your sides
"Yeah..." a mischievous smirk erupted from your lips "and that day might be today"
"What are you talking about?"
You grinned
"Ready for round two cowboy?"
#joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fluff#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x you#smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#fluff#joel miller imagine#joel miller blurb#joel miller angst#fanfiction#the last of us#tlou#the last of us hbo#tlou hbo
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She’s electric| Spencer Reid
A/N: I may have gotten carried away with this one, I’m sorry :)
Summary: After trying to make Spencer jealous, he decides to teach you a lesson.
Content: Smut/18+/MDNI. Fem!reader. Sub!reader. Dom!spencer. Rough sex. Choking. Orgasm control/denial. Spanking. Mean Spencer. Use of pet names. Possessiveness. Creampie/PinV. Handjob(F!recieving)
Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation
It wasn’t really a secret that Spencer Reid liked to be dominant, and that he liked to be rough. However, you had truly underestimated him, and because of this, you were about to learn a valuable lesson.
*
“Spencer, baby, are you okay?” you asked with a faux innocence, you knew he wasn’t okay, he hated seeing other people flirt with you and he hated that you gave them the time of day. Spencer though, he didn’t speak a word and just firmly grabbed your thigh, which is his way of asking you to shut up.
“Spencer, please? What’s wrong?” Spencer's gaze was intense as he pinned you with a steely look, his grip on your thigh tightening almost warningly.
“Okay, if you’re not going to speak, I’ll just explain myself.” You paused for a brief second, giving the chance to speak up, “you’re extremely hot when you are jealous, like extremely.”
Spencer's expression shifted from one of intense focus to a hint of amusement, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”
You couldn't help but laugh, because sure Spencer was rough, but rough enough to ruin you was laughable.
*
Once both you and Spencer had gone back to his apartment, and you had shrugged off what he had previously said and settled onto his couch, flipping through the TV channels as if nothing had happened. Spencer, however, had other plans in mind. Without a word, he approached you and swiftly pulled you up from your seat, his grip strong but gentle.
“Do you know what happens when you misbehave?” Spencer whispered, his voice low and dangerous.
Before you could even form a coherent response, Spencer's lips crashed down on yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless. His hands roamed your body with purpose.
The intensity of the kiss left you dazed, as Spencer's dominant nature took control. His hands firmly gripped your waist, pulling you closer to his body.
Breaking the kiss, Spencer's eyes were filled with an unyielding determination that you had never seen before. "You crossed a line, and I'm going to make sure you never forget it."
With a smirk, Spencer reached behind you, grabbed the remote off the coffee table, and hit the power button on the TV. The screen went dark, and the room was plunged into silence, save for the sound of your quickening breath.
Spencer led you to the bedroom, his steps firm and purposeful. He pushed you onto the bed, and your eyes widened in surprise as you realized that he was going to make good on his promise.
Without a word, he began to undress you, his fingers deft and skilled. You tried to protest, but his silence was deafening, and you knew better than to fight him.
Once you were naked, he stepped back, taking in the sight of you lying on the bed, vulnerable and exposed. “Now be a good girl and spread your legs.”
Your stomach fluttered with a mix of fear and excitement as you hesitantly complied with his command, spreading your legs wider. Spencer's gaze was intense as he studied you, and you could almost feel the heat of his desire emanating from him.
Spencer stalked back towards the bed, his eyes dark with lust and dominance. You could see the cords in his neck stand out as he clenched his jaw, and you knew that he was trying to control himself.
“Touch yourself for me.” His voice was low and gravelly.
You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, but then you felt his hand on your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "Do it," he commanded, his voice low and hoarse.
Reluctantly, you reached down and touched yourself, feeling the wetness between your legs. Spencer watched you closely, his breath coming in short gasps.
"That's it," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "You're so wet for me."
You continued to touch yourself, your fingers exploring your own body as his eyes never left you.
"Fuck, that's hot," Spencer groaned, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Spencer, please, please touch me.” You gasped.
You felt his fingers trace the line of your jaw, his touch firm but gentle. He dragged his thumb across your lower lip.
“You want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.
“Yes, please,” you whispered, your voice barely a whisper.
“Well, if I was to give into your commands, this wouldn’t be much of a punishment, would it?” his voice was somehow thick “and plus, I’m enjoying the show.”
You felt a twinge of frustration mixed with anticipation, you knew that Spencer wanted to push you to your limits, but you also knew that he couldn't resist you when you needed him the most.
"Spencer, please, I need you to touch me," you pleaded, your voice growing more insistent.
Spencer smirked, his eyes never leaving your face. “If you insist, but this isn’t going to turn out how you want.”
He leaned down and brushed his lips against yours, a fleeting taste of what was to come. His fingers trailed down your side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He stopped at your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze, his eyes never leaving yours.
You looked up at him, your breathing shallow, your heart pounding. "I need you, Spencer."
He chuckled darkly. "You'll get more than you bargained for, darling."
His fingers moved lower, dipping into the wetness between your legs. You gasped involuntarily, your eyes wide with shock and desire. He stroked you gently, moving in slow circles, building the tension between you.
“I love the way you look with my fingers inside of you.” Spencer's fingers delved deeper, hitting a spot inside you that sent shivers throughout your body. You moaned softly, your body arching slightly against his touch.
"You're so tight, so wet, so perfect," he murmured, his voice low and husky.
You let out a quiet moan, your body trembling with desire. "Spencer, please, don't tease me."
He smirked, his eyes never leaving your face. "I'm not teasing you; I'm making sure you remember why you shouldn't push me."
Without warning, he thrust two fingers deep inside you, his fingers curling to hit that spot that made you see stars. You cried out, your body trembling uncontrollably.
You moaned loudly, the sensations overwhelming you. He increased his pace, fucking you with his fingers, his thumb still rubbing your clit in circles.
"Spencer, I'm going to cum" you panted, your body on the edge.
“Have I given you permission to cum?” Spencer demanded, his voice low and authoritative.
You gasped, your body shaking with desire. "No, sir."
"You're close, aren't you?" he asked, his fingers never slowing down.
You nodded, your breathing quickening. "Yes, Spencer, I need. . . I need to cum!"
His hand flew to your throat, his grip firm but gentle. "You're not allowed to cum until I say so."
Your eyes widened, but you nodded obediently. "Yes, sir."
With that, he slowed his pace, his fingers moving in and out of you in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You moaned softly, your body still trembling with desire.
“I’m going to make you beg for it, to cum, he whispered, his voice filled with promise and threat. “But remember, you’re not allowed until I give you, my permission.”
You whimpered, your body begging for release, but you knew better than to disobey him. Your mind raced with the mix of fear and desire, fuelling the intensity of your arousal.
Spencer continued to tease you, his fingers moving in and out of you in a slow, torturous rhythm. Your breath hitched, your body straining against his touch. You felt like you were on the edge of a precipice, and any moment you might fall over.
"Please, Spencer," you begged, your voice hoarse with desire. "Let me cum."
His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the desire burning in his gaze. "Not yet," he said, his voice firm.
“Please, Spencer, I need it so badly,” you pleaded, your voice shaking with need.
His eyes met yours, and he smirked, his eyes filled with lust. “You know the rules, darling. You can’t cum unless I say so.”
You moaned, your body trembling with need. “Please, Spencer, please, just let me cum.”
He slid his fingers out of you, leaving you shivering. “I’m not done with you yet.”
He laid you down on the bed, your legs still spread wide, your body still wet and aching. Your heart raced with anticipation, your breaths shallow as he stood above you, his eyes burning with desire.
“Do you think you’ve learnt your lesson?” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.
"Yes, please, just fuck me already," you whimpered, your body begging for relief.
Spencer chuckled darkly, his eyes never leaving yours. He grabs you by the throat, his fingers tightening around your neck, and you gasp for air, your heart pounding in your chest.
"Don't ever disobey me again," he growls, his eyes fierce.
You nod obediently, your eyes wide with fear and desire.
"You're mine, and I'll punish you any way I see fit," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I'm gonna make you remember this, darling," he growled, his eyes never leaving yours. "You crossed the line, and now you'll pay the price.
You whimpered, your body trembling with fear and arousal. "I'm sorry, Spencer," you breathed, promising never to disobey him again.
He released your throat, his fingers stroking your cheek gently, his eyes filled with desire and a hint of tenderness. "Good girl," he said, his voice still rough with emotion.
Without warning, he plunged inside of you, his cock hitting that spot that made you see stars. Your body arched beneath him, your moans mingling with his as he drove into you relentlessly. Your breaths came in short gasps, your heart pounding against your ribcage.
"Is this what you wanted?" he growled; his voice thick with lust. "To be punished by me?"
"Yes, Spencer, please don't stop," you moaned, your body shaking with need.
He slammed into you harder, his hips swinging rhythmically. "You're mine," he growled, his voice low and dark. "And you're going to take every Last. Inch. Of. My. Dick."
You moaned loudly, your body trembling uncontrollably. He continued his relentless assault, each thrust hitting your G-spot with perfect precision, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You felt like you were going to explode, so you pleaded with him again.
"Please, Spencer, let me cum," you begged, your voice quivering with desperation.
He chuckled darkly, his eyes never leaving yours, "You're going to learn not to push me, darling. And when you're ready, you'll ask me for permission."
You nodded, your body aching for release, but you knew better than to disobey him. Your mind raced with the mix of fear and desire, fuelling the intensity of your arousal.
"But I want to cum, Spencer," you whispered, your voice shaking with need.
He pulled out of you abruptly, leaving you gasping for breath and shivering with need, leaving a void that only he could fill. Your eyes burned with desire, watching as he stood before you.
"Then you'll have to learn to be patient," he said, his voice low and seductive. "I'll teach you how to be a good girl, and only then will I allow you to cum."
You moaned softly, your body aching for his touch. "Please, Spencer, I need you."
He smirked, his eyes never leaving yours. "You need to learn your place, and right now, you're not there yet."
He reached down, grabbing your throat, his fingers tightening around your neck. You gasped for air, your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes wide with fear and desire.
"Do you understand?" he growled; his eyes fierce.
You nodded obediently, your eyes pleading with him to release your neck and continue.
"Good," he muttered, releasing your throat and stroking your cheek gently. "Now, let's see if you can be a good girl."
He moved his fingers to your clit, circling it slowly, teasing it with each touch. Your breath hitched, your body arching beneath his touch. You moaned softly, your arousal growing with each passing second, your body trembling uncontrollably.
"Please, Spencer, please, touch me," you begged, your voice shaking with need.
"Soon, darling," he whispered, his voice filled with promise.
He continued teasing you, his fingers moving in and out of you in a slow, torturous rhythm, his fingers gently stroking your clit, causing waves of pleasure to course through your body.
You cried out, your body straining against his touch. You felt like you were going to explode, so you pleaded with him again.
"Please, Spencer, let me cum," you begged, your voice shaking with need.
“Go ahead princess, cum.” His voice was like a switch in your mind, a sudden surge of power that made every muscle in your body clench. Your eyes widened as you felt your orgasm building, a fierce heat spreading through your body, making your skin tingle and your breath catch in your throat.
"Yes, cum for me," he growled, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine.
You let out a loud moan as your body convulsed, your muscles clenching around his fingers, your heart pounding in your chest as waves of pleasure washed over you.
Your body shook uncontrollably as the intense pleasure washed over you, your breaths shallow and ragged. You kept your eyes locked onto his, your heart pounding against your chest, your body still trembling with need.
"Good girl," he whispered, his voice filled with satisfaction. "You're learning your place."
“Now, do you think you can get on all fours for me?” Spencer whispered; his eyes filled with lust.
You nod quickly, your body still shaking with pleasure, eager to continue. He guides you onto all fours, your cheeks flushed and your heart racing with anticipation. Your breaths are shallow, your skin tingling with desire.
"Look at you," he growls, stroking your back gently. "You're so wet and ready for me."
He spanks your ass hard, making you yelp and jump. "Remember, you're mine," he says, his voice low and possessive.
He thrusts into you from behind, your moans mingling with his as he drives into you relentlessly. Your breaths come in short gasps, your heart pounding against your ribcage.
You groan in pleasure as he continues to pound into you from behind, your body responding to his every move. Your breasts bounce with each thrust, your nipples hard and sensitive to the slightest touch.
"That's it, baby," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "Take it all, take my cock."
His fingers dig into your hips, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more intense. You can feel his teeth sink into your shoulder, leaving a mark that will last for days.
"You're mine," he growls again, his voice hoarse with desire. "And I'm gonna make you remember that every time I fuck you."
You can't help but moan in agreement, your body arching back against him, eager to take everything he has to give. His thrusts become faster and harder, his breath hot against your ear.
"Please, Spencer," you whimper, your body aching for release. "I need you to cum inside me."
He chuckles darkly, his breath hot against your skin. "You're a quick learner, aren't you, darling?"
"Please," you beg, your body trembling with desire. "Fill me up, make me yours."
With one final thrust, he thrusts deep inside of you, filling you completely. You feel him twitching inside of you, his release mingling with yours. Your body trembles uncontrollably, your breaths ragged and shallow.
"There you go, baby," he growls, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're mine, now and forever."
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Prefects Bathroom
Draco Malfoy x Reader
Summary : You couldn't help but want a bath in the prefects tub.. What happens when your rival finds you?
A/N : DAY ONE OF KINKTOBER !! I hope you enjoy :^)
CW : SMUT, 18+, Mean!Draco, Fem!Reader, dubcon, choking, degrading, orgasm denial
masterlist
You don’t know where the urge to bathe in the prefects tub came from but it was one you could not shake off. Day after day passed that you would think about it and finally the time came. You had enough of the thought bothering you.
Your legs moved quickly as you avoided the prefects and made your way towards the bathroom. You had a few close run-ins but successfully made it. The room was exactly how you had imagined, and the water was already looking enticing. You turned on the soaps and began to strip, desperate to finally get respite. The bath was as good as your mind had convinced itself it would be. The water washed away at the aches and tensions in your muscles, your head leaning against the wall in bliss.
It wasn’t seconds later that the door opened and your heart stopped. You had forgotten to close the door.
You had forgotten to close the door?!
You pulled bubbles around you and tried to cover yourself as you met eyes with your intruder. Your heart stopped and no warmth within the bath could fill the cold void that hit you.
“What do we have here? Y/N out of bed and breaking the rules?” Malfoy sneered as he locked the door and moved just a bit closer. You could feel your blood boil and knew either way you were fucked. You had hated him since first year, finding his ego and arrogance to be over the top and disrespectful.
“Malfoy, do you have any manners? I’m nude. Give me some decency to at least get dressed please.” You growled out as his footsteps stopped and he smirked.
“Oh but dear, why should I do that? It’s not like you’re a human anyways. Little bug is begging for decency. Ha!” His eyes glared into yours awaiting what nasty retort you could make.
You were left in quite the conundrum. Your clothes were more than a few steps away and the bubbles weren’t going to last forever. On top of that, Malfoy was no gentleman and would definitely get a kick out of seeing you like this. So there was only one option left - get up and turn it on him.
You took a deep breath and slowly swam to the stairs, stepping out of the tub. You stared at Malfoy as his eyes widened and he took in your form. You came closer to him, your hand reaching out to barely brush his.
“Enjoying the show Malfoy? I’m sure you’ve never seen a woman before anyways.” You whispered and a groan left his lips. You laughed at his pathetic display and turned around to go grab your clothes. It was obvious that you had won the little battle, even if it was at the loss of your dignity.
At least you thought, until you felt his grip on your wrists and he turned you around.
“Of course I’ve seen women before. I’ve added up quite the list. I will enjoy adding your name to it.” Draco yanked you towards him and your eyes widened. Was he being serious? He seriously thinks you would let him have you?
“That’s priceless Malfoy. I would rather die than sleep with the likes of you.”
“Then you can die taking my cock.” Draco’s hand wandered up to your throat and tightened, his face dangerously close to yours. You felt dirty at the fact that you convulsed around nothing, his words lighting a flame throughout your body,
“This isn’t right.” You smacked at his chest and his grin only grew.
“Tell me to stop if you don’t fucking want it then.” Draco’s voice still held malice but it seemed more towards himself. You couldn’t help but stay silent as his hands continued down your chest. His finger danced around your nipple, his cold eyes watching exactly what made you writhe. He leaned in, breath mingling across your ear.
“I’m going to ruin you.”
It was as if something erupted in the both of you. Draco’s mouth was on yours in seconds, his hands roaming across your nude form. Your lips shaped into his as your hands threw his cloak on the ground, desperate to have him.
“Ah, now pretty girl wants me? Talked a big talk beforehand.” Draco cackled and you grimaced. He really knew how to push your buttons. Lucky for you, two could play at that game.
“You think I’m pretty?”
The silence was deafening as Draco rolled his eyes and leaned away to lick a stripe down your neck.
“I’ll fuck the attitude right out of you.”
“Any day now then.” You tapped at his neck, granting you a harsh tug at your hair.
“Fucking brat.”
His fingers crawled down, resting right above where you needed him most. You knew better than to expect kindness from the man. You pulled at his hand and placed it on your cunt, much to his surprise.
“Naughty little slag.” Draco digit moved through your folds, taking its sweet time to gather your slick. You squirmed in pleasure, waiting as he teased your hole.
“You want me to finger fuck you darling?” Draco cooed against your ear and you nodded quickly. You were much too desperate to play this little game anymore, your body taking control of your mind.
“Hmm.. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous. Only for a little though.” Draco pushed his fingers into you, stretching you out. You gripped at his shoulders, small moans leaving your mouth as he began to pump in and out.
“D-Draco..” You whispered and he raised an eyebrow in mock confusion.
“Is something wrong dear?” His tone matched his force, the next pump deeper than the last. You couldn’t help but gasp and feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.
“Aw, are you about to cum?” Draco’s thumb moved down to your nub, stroking it with fervor. Your arms tightened around him as you drew up and then all at once it was gone.
You would kill him.
“What the fuck Malfoy?!” You screeched and his wicked laughs filled the room.
“You didn’t think I’d let you cum on my fingers? You’re not that special darling. You can take my cock like the whore you are and that’s it.” Draco grabbed at your waist and didn’t wait to line himself up.
“You fucker-”
“Oh yes, I am going to fuck you.” Draco retorted, shoveling his cock into your sopping hole. All you could do was grasp at the wall as he pushed you against it, basically smothering you into the stone.
His hand gripped at your throat as the other dug into your fleshy hip. It was sure to leave bruises tomorrow but you couldn’t be bothered to care. Not when his cock pummeled in and out of you at such a pace that it left you breathless.
“I-I fucking hate you. Walking around with this pretty ass and your attitude. Fucking finally get to teach you a lesson.” Draco’s grunts filled the room as his cock slammed further than you thought imaginable. You could only moan in response, your head feeling a bit dizzy from the lack of oxygen and pleasure.
“Fuck. Take it. Your pretty pussy was meant for me to ruin it. You hear me?” Draco continued to mumble nonsense as you clenched around him, rapidly approaching your orgasm.
“Dra-co..”
“I know darling. I can feel you clenching me.. Fucking cum and make a mess like the slut you are.”
His lewd words broke the gates, sending you to your much awaited orgasm. Your eyes rolled back into your head as you felt him spill all over your ass.
Your breaths were the only thing filling the empty bathroom for the next few minutes until Draco adjusted himself and picked up his cloak.
“Don’t think I like you now because of this. Once a cocksleeve, always a cocksleeve.” He sneered as he handed you your clothes, slowly strutting out of the room. His words may have been cruel but you would celebrate one victory - at least he didn't turn you in.
#draco malfoy x reader smut#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy imagines#draco malfoy smut#harry potter#harry potter imagines#draco malfoy x you smut#draco malfoy x you#draco malfoy x y/n#draco malfoy
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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬
(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)
previous — next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)
Summary: You learn the identity of your new undead friend, get a mini ‘makeover’, catch your crush’s attention and bury a body while Eddie learns throwing up on the girl he’s interested in probably doesn’t display his potential as a boyfriend, but his protective nature might.
Chapter Warnings: a stinky boy, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing (on eddie’s behalf). oh yeah, and murder.
a/n: so i lied, this is actually longer than the first chapter and i accepted my fate. we’re getting to the fun stuff, though. next up: more vigilante justice, eddie lore and emerging feelings for a certain dead man walking. hope you like it!
light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡
“C’mon, over here.” You gestured to your open doorway, watching your new zombie pal hobble up the final step and round the staircase. His movements were harsh, stiff as hell and made your bones hurt to watch for whatever reason. Every over limp was accompanied by an inhuman grunt, and you wondered if moving his limbs might actually be painful for him.
You were never particularly skilled in the art of masking your emotions, so your eyebrows were furrowed, mouth parted and upper lip tucked up to clearly display your phantom discomfort.
Once he was close enough, you crossed over the threshold, standing a little in front of your bed as he wandered in, large eyes immediately raking over everything on your walls. After beckoning him further in, you moved around the filthy corpse standing in your room to close the door.
“Despite your deadly good looks, we can’t risk anyone seeing you. No one else can know you’re here.” You informed him, trying to stress the seriousness of the situation without seeming too controlling. While you had waited for The Zombie to struggle up the stairs, you’d determined there were three possible ways this town would react to discovering a member of the dead had risen—that only seemed to be socially acceptable and celebrated in the form of Jesus Christ:
1.) Pitchforks and Torches.
2.) News, Military, and Government attention, which would no doubt mean you’d have to break him out of some lab.
3.) Pitchforks and Torches, News, Military, and Government attention, which would mean you’d have to save him from an angry mob before inevitably losing him once News stations picked the story up, causing subsequent Military and Government interference and the scientific study of your undead friend in some high tech/high defense lab, leaving you to figure out how to break into and get him out of it.
Or, he could just not leave your bedroom. A beautiful alternative.
The Zombie didn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling forward—and banging his foot against the leg of your bed frame—to take a better look at your things. He was grunting and groaning, though this time it seemed to be a little different. It almost sounded like he was talking to himself. Or maybe to you.
Zombies in film seemed to be able to voice their demands for brains. Could he? Did he have the same urge or need to eat brains? How would you even feed a zombie?
“Can you talk?” You asked, leaning back against the door, eyes on him as he had to hop in place in order to turn his body to face you, “Like, speak? With words?”
He seemed to consider your question for a moment, eyes darting to the side.
“Uuuuuuunnnggghhh.”
“So, that’s a no. Do you…do you need brains? Because I’m not sure I can get you any of those—and if you think for one second that you’re gonna eat mine, you should know I fall under fight when it comes to fight or flight responses. I’m like an alley cat, I’ll fuck you up.”
The Zombie stumbled back, rocking from side to side. It took you a moment to realize he was trying to shake his head, no.
Interesting.
“No brains?”
Again, he rocked from side to side, “Uunggh-uunghh.”
“Oh. Okay.” Your defenses dropped immediately as you played with your hair, pulling gently at a section of it, “Well, what do you eat?”
He did the choppy shoulder raise he’d done in the livingroom earlier, “Unnhh unnhh.”
Your lips curled into a small, fascinated smile. Okay, you knew he had been once alive, once a human being existing on this earth with blood pulsing through his veins—and now he was dead.
Yet, he wasn’t dead. He was dead but standing in your bedroom, amongst your girly things and not so girly things, staring at you in his grotesque form, and shrugging I dunno, like some alive person. A full blown, supernatural one-time (to your knowledge) occurrence only depicted in Sci-fi films and horrors.
Why you? What did he want with you?
You hadn’t realized you’d voiced the question until he hobbled back around to your bedroom wall, raising his left hand, and the only one he seemed to have, up to one of the tombstone etchings. His fingers were all sorts of fucked up, frozen in the most uncomfortable looking positions as a result of rigor mortis in whatever position he’d died.
“What? That? It’s just an etching I made of a tombstone.”
He craned his head around, and you tried not to be freaked out with the way his neck hadn’t turned enough with it, tapping his crooked pinky finger against the craft paper and then moved it to his chest.
Your eyes zeroed in on the etching, trying to understand what he was attempting to tell you.
It was MUN’s tombstone—no, Eddie Munson’s tombstone.
Your jaw dropped. Had to be somewhere around your feet, on the floor. Holy. Shit.
“That’s you? You’re Eddie Munson?” It was rude, but you openly pointed at him.
He didn’t grunt in response this time, rather, he began to cough and gag as he jerked his body around to get his hand in his dirty jeans.
While he did whatever it was, you took the time to take him in even further. He wore black jeans, but under his leather jacket he seemed to be wearing a discolored dress shirt that had once probably been white. You had a feeling the sneakers on his feet, while horrendously dirty, weren’t all that worn out. Dress pants were pricey, you knew that much after buying some for your father when your mother would take you to outlets and malls with her. Dress shirts were a little cheaper and new shoes were seen as a staple in big events for peoples’ lives, such as graduations, birthdays, dances, weddings and funerals.
You had a sneaking suspicion this lively carcass hadn’t been from this part of town when he was alive.
“UUUUUUNNNNGGGHHHH!” The Zombie moaned out, almost victoriously as his stiff arm stuck straight up in the air. Dangling from his curled fingers, was your mother’s pearl necklace. You’d seen it last when you’d entrusted MUN with it yesterday.
You gasped, reaching out as he lowered it into your furled palm.
With the proof in your hand and his corpse before you, you knew you were speaking to Eddie Munson. He was, without a doubt, the grave you’d been running to.
“Holy crap, you are Eddie Munson!” You gripped the pearls in your fist, eyes wide and blinking rapidly to try to make sense of it all, “You were murdered and now you’re not—I mean, you were, but you’re back from the dead, standing in my—ooh, standing pretty close actually.”
You tried not to flinch as you became aware of just how close he’d stumbled over to you. Definitely within arms-length. He didn’t exactly stink, his flesh looked much too leathery to actually smell (you weren’t about to lean in and sniff to test the theory), but the scent of wet dirt was strong and the smell of whatever he’d spat on you earlier seemed to be lingering.
Zombie Eddie was in desperate need of a shower.
“So, this is all pretty cool and bizarre—I’m a fan of both—but uhm, why are you here…? Like, in my house.”
He slouched even further into your space, this time you did flinch a little as the most muffled whimper sounded from him. Reminded you of the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz when he couldn’t speak properly because he was all rusted up.
Eddie held eye contact as he struggled to grab hold of your hand and the minute he did, dirt from his skin pressing into yours, you knew what was coming.
Because of course it would. This is something that would only happen to you.
Shakily, Eddie tried lifting your hand and your mouth puckered, brows furrowing before you sucked your lips into your mouth as you watched him prepare to kiss your hand with his filthy, dead, dried out lips that still had bits of that green goop he’d spat up around it.
You were a nice person—a relatively decent human being, but you weren’t that nice and you didn’t wanna have to go to the hospital on the off chance that you caught something from a corpse. Explaining that one would send you straight to the psych ward and probably end in some sort of abuse of a corpse charge, so you quickly pulled your hand out of his grasp, rubbing your fingers together to roll some of the dirt off of them.
“Okay, okay, I see, mhm—alright. You’re here because—when I said I wished I was with you, I didn’t mean like, I wanted to have your dead body…y’know, pressed up against mine. I meant like…in the grave. Next to you. Like buried there because I’d be dead. It was a moment of intense angst—I’m nineteen and my life is in the fucking gutter. I’m surrounded by terrible people in this town and I have the rest of my life to live out this way.
“I didn’t mean to lead you on or something, and I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to do literally anything with a corpse, other than bury it.”
The two of you stood there, just staring at each other. He still hadn’t moved out of your space and you were still kind of leaning back, away from him, so you added, “So. Just a little recap, I wanted to be dead. Did not mean I wanted to be with you. Romantically. Together. Like a couple.”
And then you felt a little guilty because that wasn’t entirely true.
“Well, not with you as a cadaver.” Because you had fantasized about the person in the grave being a source of comfort to you, “Or—or, you in general. ‘Cause…’cause I didn’t know it was you given how fucked up your shit was, and I didn’t know you when you were alive.”
God, you were messing this up. Rather than continuing your ongoing word vomit, you flashed him a tight smile.
Finally, you got a reaction out of him. He creaked back, those little whimpering sounds coming from his lips before that same nasty ass green shit from before started leaking out from behind his eyeballs.
You’d made him cry.
“Oh, no. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—I just moved here a couple of months ago and you were already dead by then! I’m sure you were a lovely person and I would have liked y—y—yo—ECH!”
You gagged, hand flying up to cover your mouth and nose as you felt the contents of your stomach start to make its way back up. While your hand was in that position, it squeezed the tip of your nose, cutting of the assault currently taking place against it.
Whatever it was Zombie Eddie was secreting instead of his tears, stunk. It was the most putrid scent you’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. Nothing could compare to it, not literal shit, not vomit, not pasta that had been left out to cook in the sun for several weeks, nothing.
You were sure one more sniff of it, and your nostril hairs would either shrink and curl up, or disintegrate.
“MOTHER OF GOD—your tears smell horrendous—I’m gonna throw u—ECH!”
You gagged again, tears flooding your sight and you hurried over to the bathroom, gesturing for him to follow behind you.
Chrissy had left her door to the bathroom open, so you skidded across the tile to shove it closed, desperate to make sure the scent didn’t reach the room and wouldn’t linger in there.
She’d drive you straight to the ER to get checked out, because nothing you could possibly shit out should ever and would ever smell that bad.
You yanked the shower curtain back from the tub, setting Chrissy’s products to the side and out of the way, “You need to bathe like two years ago, my dead guy.”
You stepped to the side, pointing into the tub with a finger as your other hand rested on your hip like you were ordering a misbehaving child in.
Eddie groaned, and you got the feeling that he was unimpressed with your theatrics. Unfortunately for the both of you, you hadn’t been dramatic about it. His stank tears had to be an actual biohazard and you didn’t want to think about the fact that very same biohazard had been projectile vomited onto your face a couple of minutes ago. You were so gonna scrub it raw.
Begrudgingly, he hobbled over to your tub and struggled over the edge until he was in—his upper half slamming into the tile wall.
You didn’t say anything about him being fully clothed, shoes and all, because everything he wore needed a good rinse off. If not, you’d have to hose his clothes down in the yard before subjecting the dryer and washer to them.
“There’s my soap.” You pointed out the pink bottle of pomegranate and berry scented shower gel, “And my shampoo and conditioner—those two are very expensive and a little goes a long way, so don’t waste any.”
You eyed him for a moment, mouth twisting in consideration, “Nevermind, it’ll take half the bottles to get your hair clean, I’ll just have to replace them a little earlier than my budget expected.”
This time, Eddie’s mouth parted rather wide as he moaned out, “UHNNNGGHH.”
He was probably telling you to fuck off already, but you were distracted by whatever insect was currently in his mouth, on his tongue.
“SPIT IT OUT!” You shrieked, and he aimed his head down, the large thing with too many legs falling right out to crawl around on your bathroom floor.
You screamed as you began to stomp around, trying to crush it beneath your remaining slipper but it kept evading it! Finally, your foot flattened it with a satisfying crunch.
The evil had been defeated. You were nearly panting, shoulders rising and falling as you calmed your breathing and another sound registered.
Eddie was croaking now, it sounded almost like the most painful gasps someone would let out on their deathbed. You stared, puzzled for a moment before it dawned on you.
“Are you laughing at me?”
He did it again, stiff body leaning completely back on the shower tiles now.
“Oh my god, you are! YOU DICK!” You slapped the side of his arm and then quickly yanked it back, frowning at the mud now caked to the back of your fingers.
“Ugh,” you tried to shake some of it off over the tub, your head shaking as well—and despite the predicament, you found the corners of your lips twitching but you refused to smile. Wouldn’t let him get that over you, “You’re gross. That better be the last living creature to come out of you, you Zombie Headbanger, take a shower.”
You didn’t give him a chance to moan, groan or croak at you again, yanking the curtains back to shield the tub and it’s undead occupant.
You rolled your eyes, almost fondly, and gathered too much toilet paper to wipe up the remnants of the bug and toss it in the trash. Should’ve been in a different corpse’s mouth if it wanted to live.
“You know how to work a shower, don’t you?” You asked aloud as you approached your bathroom counter, taking notice of the bathroom mirror as you uncapped a room spray and gave your bathroom a good burst of it. The mirror had already been replaced, looked like Laura couldn’t stand to know there was something imperfect in the house—aside from you.
You heard the tub start to run before the shower stream took over. At least he still remembered that much.
“You wanna listen to some music?” You asked over the loud stream of the shower.
“Uunngh.”
You took that as a yes and leaned over the counter to tweak the knob of the radio you and Chrissy always left on it. Immediately, a country station started playing and you quickly switched the station.
“That’s not one of mine! Chrissy listens to Country whenever she misses her ex-boyfriend, I don’t know why.”
You kept twisting the dial through various stations. When you hit a station midway through Disposable Heroes, you turned the knob again only for your companion to voice his outrage.
“UUUUUUNNNGGHHHH!!!”
“What?” You switched the station back, “You like Metallica?”
He grunted from behind the shower curtain, and the scent of your body wash began to fill the bathroom, much to your relief. You could hear him banging around in there, probably not the easiest to wash up with a bad case of rigor mortis.
“They’re alright, I liked Ride the Lightning, but Master of Puppets is good, too. Their last album was good, too, but it felt kind of different. Not the same without Burton.”
Eddie made a sound of confusion, hand with the fucked up fingers reaching out to push the curtain back so he could poke his head out.
You met his gaze through the mirror, “You don’t know?”
He just blinked, almost owlishly.
Shit. He must have died before the fall of ‘86. You’d have to ask Chrissy when exactly Eddie had died.
“The bass player, Cliff Burton? He died in ‘86. Bus accident.”
You watched as Eddie’s gaze dropped, and the groan he let out sounded remarkably sad as he ducked back behind the curtain.
Unsure of what to say to make him feel better, you let the radio play out the rest of the duration of Eddie’s shower and took diligent care in washing your face and brushing your teeth. Once he was done, smelling amazing and just like you, you’d had him shed his clothes for one of your nightgowns and dragged him back to your closet.
You knew he was quite literally stiff, but he seemed extra unenthused with his choice of ensemble, so you were going to let him choose his own.
“Alright, take your pick.” You yanked the doors of your walk-in closet (as in you could take three steps in and that's it) open and he flinched back at the amount of pink seeping out of it. When he made no move to look through his options, you selected one for him.
An even gaudier nightgown you tried to shove in his arms. And he let you, before purposely dropping it to the ground while holding eye contact.
“Well, I thought you would have looked great in it.” You mumbled as he creaked down to pick it up for you. When Eddie hobbled into the closet to hang it up, you shut the doors behind him, “Pick something else and then you can come out!”
Your closet doors didn’t lock though, so you were just banking on him assuming they did and you heard his offended zombie groaning. While you waited, listening to him no doubt bang into the walls as he struggled to dress himself, grunting and groaning, you twirled around on your desk chair.
Eventually, the closet doors parted and you gasped at the sight of him, standing there in your lavender fluffy, oversized sweater and pair of white pajama pants with hearts all over them. He couldn’t really move his face all that much, not very expressive and yet you could somehow tell he was scowling.
“You look like Grimace.” Was all you said, mind conjuring up Ronald McDonald’s purple monster friend.
The closet doors were promptly slammed shut. When he emerged once more, gone was the former ensemble. Eddie was wearing a neon green skirt, a tight off the shoulder black top, and nothing else.
You wolf whistled at his skinny, severely discolored legs.
He stuck one out, modeling it for you and you realized he was humoring you. You laughed, eyes crinkling.
“You tryna knock me dead, too?”
When he nodded, you laughed again and stood up to rummage through your dresser. You found a band tee you used as a pajama top, and some black pants that looked like they might fit him. Then you spotted a red plaid flannel you had hanging on your bedroom door, waiting to be placed in the closet.
The clothing items were shoved into his arms and you pushed him back into the closet.
When he came out (eheheheh) again, you were practically bouncing in your seat. You’d never seen Eddie alive before, had never seen him in clothes that weren’t his burial ones, and he definitely still looked as much of a Zombie as Michael Jackson had looked in the Thriller music video, but he also looked like a young adult, and very much so in his Metal element. He was stretching your baby blue socks to their limit, but they’d have to do until you could steal some from your dad. You’d scrub his shoes tomorrow, before class.
If Eddie were alive, he’d look…hot.
You smiled to yourself, still taking him in as you realized you were looking at Eddie Munson.
To show your admiration, you clapped for him, “That’ll do real well. What do you think?”
Eddie raised his forearm and you tilted your head, confused. He followed your gaze and groaned, rolling his eyes as he realized that was the arm lacking a hand. Then, he held up his other arm, painful looking thumb finger cracking and popping until he was giving you a thumbs up. You ended up tying a scarf around the wrist without a hand, just to hide the gaping wound.
With the matter of his clothing solved, you moved onto his hair, sitting on the bathroom counter while he stood in front of you as you worked on detangling with a spray bottle and a legion of hair products. It took some TLC, and ignoring the hole where his ear should’ve been, but you brought his curls back to life. You were shocked to even see he had bangs, they’d been plastered to the top of his head when he was the Swamp Thing.
They framed his eyes, looked real good on him and he seemed to enjoy the entire process, eyes slipping shut and little moans (not like that) coming from him.
“Well, I think we’ve got you back in good shape.” You put down the comb, placing your hand on his shoulders to turn him towards the mirror, “Is this Eddie Munson?”
You watched his gaze scan his reflection, before those eyes were on yours in the mirror.
“Unnnghhh.” Eddie held up his arm with the missing appendage and you nervously scratched the back of your heard.
“Well, you see, I don’t really have any extra hands on me, at the moment. Just down to these two,” You emphasized the sentence with some jazz hands to display yours, then immediately felt guilty over still having yours so you hid them behind your back.
Eddie groaned low, lifting his wrist to the side of his head, where his ear should have been and you made a displeased sound.
“Oh. Noticed that, did you?”
His eyes narrowed and even though you had no idea what Eddie had sounded like, you could still hear him in your head, Notice my fucking ear is missing? Yeah, I did.
“I don’t have any extras of those, either. If it’s a body part, I’m out of stock. But—who cares? Plenty of people live without them.”
Eddie grunted, eyes narrowing even further at you.
You winced, “Poor choice of words—the point is, no one will even notice. Because no one is going to see you.”
Eddie’s next grunt sounded disappointed and you felt even guiltier. What were you supposed to do? You’d already made him look as relatively normal as you could, there was only so many ways you could disguise a zombie who walked oddly, communicated via moan, groan and grunt, and looked like he had a medical skin condition.
You were about to try to comfort him when you heard the front door open and you gasped.
“WHAT IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN?” You heard Laura cry out, and your dad shouted your name.
“I don’t mean to sound homophobic, but back in the closet!” You shoved him out of the bathroom and in the direction of his new hiding place. He hadn’t looked very keen as you shut the closet doors on him, but he’d have to wait for now.
Your dad was probably having one hell of a heart attack, staring at the mess of the house, the broken window, fearful a similar situation as your mother’s assault had taken place with you as the victim.
“I’m alright, daddy!” You reassured as you raced down the stairs to your concerned father. He was concerned alright, but not about you.
He had Laura in one arm, who was openly distraught about the shards of her damn plates, and Chrissy, who was staring at the mess with open confusion, in the other.
“You,” Laura spat at you with venom the moment her chilling gaze locked onto your approaching figure, “What. Did. You. Do?”
Wow. You’d seen an actual Zombie—he was upstairs, in your bedroom closet—and still the most unbelievable thing to happen to you was your ‘family’’s ability to immediately blame you. You hadn’t expected Eddie’s corpse to be the first suspect in their head, still, they’d seen your house ransacked—as you tried to escape your friendly deceased headbanger—with you nowhere in sight, and hadn’t been at all concerned for your wellbeing. God, they sucked.
“Me?! I didn’t do this!”
“Then who did!?” Laura screeched back and you found yourself getting angry.
“The guy who broke in!” You shouted back and Laura immediately rolled her eyes. You could hear your dad say both of your names to calm you down, but you were growing tired of him, too. Like Eddie, he seemed to be missing parts of his body. Noticeably, his goddamn spine.
“Really? You expect us to believe that after last night? The smashing of the mirror, my precious moments figurines? Muffin, your daughter is out of control. She destroyed my house!”
“Do you ever use those creepy eyeballs stuck in your skull?” You found yourself blurting out, “Does it look like any part of my body came crashing through that window?!” You pointed aggressively in the direction of the livingroom, where glass littered the floor. It was too much for just an object to have been thrown through and your body had no cuts, nothing to show from possibly jumping through it.
“Mom, if sissy was attacked─” Chrissy tried, her her mother was having none of it.
“Attacked? Who would want to attack her? She’s invisible, taking up space!” Laura was practically hysterical as she gathered pieces of her broken dishes, “That’s why she’s acting out, can’t you see? She’s recreating the crime scene that got her so much attention and you’re all falling for it!”
The woman was crying, mascara smearing around her eyes as her angry glare was once more directed to you, and you found yourself shrinking and hurt at the accusations, “You need serious help. You’re crazy and a danger to us all!”
“I think you might be mistaking me for your psyche.” You mumbled before turning your attention to your father with pleading eyes, “Daddy, there was a home invasion! I tried to call the police, but as soon as I heard him, I ran up to hide in my room.”
“She needs help, institutional treatment.” Laura hissed into your father’s ear as as though she was the devil on his shoulder.
“Daddy…”
“Mom, sissy’s not a nut, we can’t send her to the looney bin!”
You wanted to scream. All this talk about you being insane, and there was a literal walking corpse upstairs who could disprove that. You just weren’t willing to sacrifice Eddie for yourself.
“Dad, I’m not crazy. Okay? Last night was just a mirror, and tonight someone broke in. There’s a huge difference between the two, I’m not crazy.” You tried to reason, desperate to not get shipped off to some mental ward.
Your dad appeared sympathetic, “No one is calling you crazy, sweetheart.”
”I did.” Laura guffawed at your father siding with you.
“She did, I heard her.” Chrissy confirmed, frowning at her mother.
“No, Chris. Your mother’s just upset, she’d never say something like that and mean it.” You watched with disgust as he pulled Laura into his arms. It was more than you could stomach so you stormed out of the dining room, making a retreat for your room.
You were on your own. Your father had just proved that. Laura could say anything to you, treat you like crap, starve you and he wouldn’t ever step in, just continue being his wishy washy self. If it had been him and not your mother that night, you wouldn’t be suffering like this.
You’d have a loving parent.
You quietly shut your bedroom door once you made it in, leaning your forehead against it as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Emotions were something you tried to embrace, but crying because of your family felt��wrong. Like something you shouldn’t have to do.
Wiping your face, you realized more tears would be coming. Tonight was meant for crying. So, you slipped into bed, tears leaking steadily down your temples to seep into your hair and pillows. You were so hurt and you wanted to sob, but you were conscious of the dead guy in your closet. What if he heard you?
With a stuttering breath, you peered over at the closet to see the doors barely open and Eddie peaking out at you.
You rolled onto your side, back facing him to hide your tear stained face and weakness as you thought about how loud you and Laura had been downstairs. He’d probably heard what she said about you.
It was one thing to be treated the way you were, it felt extra pathetic to have someone bear witness to it.
The closet doors closed quietly behind you and just as you did every night, you squeezed your eyes shut, willing sleep to come so you could be done with the day and move onto the next, just solemnly trying to make it through life.
Maybe you and Eddie had more in common than you originally thought. Maybe you were a zombie, too.
When your alarm blared from your nightstand, rousing you from sleep—the only peace you ever seemed to get—you stumbled out of bed almost blindly, eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion as you yanked your closet doors open.
A garment was immediately thrown over your head, covering your face and you remembered your current house guest.
With a sigh, you yanked the clothing off your head, balled it up and threw it back at Eddie, “Dude, I have to get dressed. I have class today.”
Eddie grumbled, un-balling the little black dress and holding it up for you. It was the dress Chrissy had bought on sale and then given to you when she came to the conclusion that black washed her out and she looked much better in pastels.
“I’m not wearing that, not so much my style.” You tried to push past Eddie, but he remained planted where he stood, grunting as he held the dress out to you once more.
“Do I look like Madonna to you?” You asked, pushing the dress back towards him. Eddie groaned and threw the dress at your face again, closing the closet doors while you yanked it off your head, again.
“We’re gonna have to have a conversation about your communication skills later.” You called through the door and fiddled with the dress, “Can I get a sweater or something to go along with this?”
The closet doors were quickly opened and a new article of clothing was flung over your head before they closed. You’d just pulled the sweater off of your head when the doors opened once more and a hat was tossed at you.
“Dang—anything else?”
“Uuunggh.” Eddie moaned through the door, and you tried to pull at them but he must have been holding them shut from the otherside.
Resigned to your fate, you swapped out your pajamas for the outfit Eddie had apparently selected for you. He would navigate to the black clothing. You were unsure of it until you saw yourself in the mirror. Normally, your clothes weren't all that revealing. Form fitting—maybe, but never as attention drawing as this. You just figured you weren’t the type that could pull it off.
You were wrong.
The dress hugged your figure in the most complimentary way. It was short, stopped mid-thigh, but it didn’t look awkward or make you feel like your vagina would be on display if you bent over, thanks to the lace of the bottom hem flaring out.
For once, the girl in the mirror looked stunning. And when you did your makeup, taking your time to smoke a dark blue shadow out along your lash line and eyelids, she looked drop dead gorgeous.
You’d walked onto Campus with your head high, body rocking and a new found confidence that hadn’t quite made it’s way to the surface before. The heads turning in your direction were new and you found you kind of liked it, their gazes weren’t uninterested, scowls or looks of annoyance. They were appreciative, even from the straight girls!
“Okay, am I seeing things or does your sister look drop dead gorgeous?” Tina asked, as Chrissy and her friends stood admiring you from the bench they were occupying.
“You’ve got perfect 20/20 vision. She’d be unstoppable if she kept the confidence. Could probably even win pageants. Do you think she’d join cheer?”
Eddie fiddled with one of your shoes, tugging on a shoestring in boredom. He was sat on the floor of your closet, light from your bedroom windows creeping in through the cracks of the doors.
You’d lectured him before you left for class, told him he had to stay put. Laura wouldn’t be leaving for her nurses’ conference until the afternoon, so she’d be lingering in the house and she’d have a cow if she stumbled upon him.
So you’d pointed and lectured until he was creaking and groaning his compliance.
He’d stayed in the closet while you got dressed and, after you’d made sure Chrissy had already left, watched you do your makeup in the mirror while you chatted about the classes you had to take for the day.
Eddie had listened, to the best of his ability with one ear, and stared at your reflection as the heavy sense of longing settled on his chest, crushing the heart that no longer beat but desperately wished to. For you.
Death was not like he’d ever expected. No heaven, no hell. He was just…dead. Maybe it’d been the way he died. Perhaps, the suddenness of it, his lack of peace in life while living, or the fact that he was murdered, was the reason he saw neither heaven nor hell. He’d just been in a dark place. Literally, no source of light, no out of body experience, just darkness. For a while, it was tolerable, he’d heard Wayne’s voice comforting him. Telling him how much he loved him, how much he missed him. Then, nothing.
Nothing for so long. Quiet. Silence, not at all a peaceful kind. He no longer existed in life and yet the silence was still somehow smothering.
Until one day, he wasn’t alone anymore.
You found him.
Talked to him all the time, laid with him, kept him company and said such wonderful things. Eddie had no idea how much he’d appreciate hearing about current news events as a dead guy.
And while you kept him from feeling lonely, there was always a sadness to your presence. Broke his heart when you told him out of place you felt because he just wanted to claw his way out of his grave and tell you that no, you weren’t odd, you weren’t weird, you weren’t out of place. You were unique. You were the type of person he would have admired if he had been alive, different but not desperate to fit in. Just longed to be accepted.
He understood the sentiment all too well.
Eddie understood you. And you had no idea who he was, had voiced as much to him, couldn’t come up with his identity because some fuckers had defaced his tombstone—of course they would—and yet, you knew exactly who Eddie was. Knew him to his very core.
When you visited him, Eddie felt warm. He had no idea he could even feel things, other than the constant loneliness that had plagued him after Wayne’s presence disappeared, and before you.
With you, it felt like you were right there with him, beside him. A warmth, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for some much needed comforting. How ironic that he finally found someone who could finally see him, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was dead.
And when you had come to Eddie that fateful night, the sadness he always noticed about you was heavier. A new despair attached, one that had him desperate to get to you, comfort you as you’d done for him.
I wish I was with you.
You’d said it. Had said what Eddie had wanted to hear you say for so long, even before he was dead. Before he knew you. It had always been you he was waiting for. He was beginning to understand the universe was bigger than anything he could have imagined (and yeah, maybe universal studios was the first thing that came to mind when he was alive), was positive the heartache he went through was necessary if it led him to you. Eddie could have done without the murder—there was no undoing that. Except, there kind of was. And it happened with a strike of lightning.
Unlike the many times he wanted to before, he’d actually been able to open his eyes, break out of his coffin and dig his way out of his own grave.
Eddie had had a major breakdown, freaking out at just about everything regarding returning from the dead after he’d broken through that final layer of thick terrain, minutely softened by some light rain from the storm. He had first tried to go home, only to find himself face to face with an unfamiliar mobile home set up on Wayne’s lot. A peek into the window revealed a couple.
No sign of his uncle.
It filled him with a sense of panic and he’d needed something—someone to stabilize him, keep him grounded.
Eddie was sure he was tied to you. Not only because of the unique bond you shared, he also felt a pull to you. Just some intense instinct.
He knew where to go after.
Your welcome hadn’t exactly been as warm as the grave hangouts—he didn’t blame you, his vocal chords were useless to him for the time being, meaning he couldn’t explain himself as you shrieked and flung dishes at him (and he was impressed) and fled from him. He could make sounds, so Eddie suspected he had the ability to talk, just lacked the healthy cords due to years of non-use to them, what with him being dead and all.
Eddie’s case was definitely not helped when he’d broken your fall—he was freaking the fuck out about you dangling from the roof like that—and you’d pressed on him stomache when you landed on him.
He hadn’t meant to…y’know…spit all that up on you, it just happened and he immediately wanted to die right after, just roll right back into his grave, he was so fucking embarrassed.
Projectile vomited on the girl you’re tryna romance, Munson. Nice.
Then, you hadn’t been attacking him, tugging him along to your room instead where you immediately told him you were just using dark humor to cope and didn’t actually want to be with him.
Probably something you should have clarified for him before he returned from the dead to be with you, but whatever. He wasn’t mad about it. Just a little bit heartbroken. Definitely didn’t stink up your closet with a little cry sesh while you were at college. Totally didn’t smell like Cherry Bubbles (how is that a scent?) from the bathroom spray he’d had to limp out to grab in an effort to hide the scent of his rotting body tears.
Now, he was just confused. Had no idea what the hell to do. Thinking on it, it had obviously been stupid as fuck to think you’d want him when he was literally a dead body. Couldn’t exactly stroll down the street, holding his one hand without garnering a few odd looks and arrests.
So, what could he do now? Sit in the closet and think about everything. Try to remember everything about his last moments alive—and when it had him wheezing in the closet, cowering in the dark, he’d switched to thinking about his uncle. Concerned. Wondering what had happened to him. When that subject, too, began to promise a panic attack—he switched to thinking about you, and oh how he ached in a different way. You were right there, in reach for him and yet the two of you couldn’t be.
The most frustrating part is how good the two of you could be for each other, and Eddie literally couldn’t talk you into giving it a chance, couldn’t even flirt with you.
He had some mad rizz when given the opportunity, a body that wasn’t stiff as hell and a fucking voice. Eddie knew he’d be able to get you all shy and cute, similar to how you were when you talked about what you thought he was like back at the cemetery.
FUCK. What the hell? Life wasn’t fair to him, death wasn’t fair to him, now life as some zombie wasn’t gonna be fair to him?
What kind of fucked up existance was this?!
All because of some stupid fucking lightning that—
Lightning. Eddie perked up, theories racing through him. If it had brought him back from the dead, maybe it could do more. Before he could think on it further, he heard your door open and froze.
It was too soon for you to be home. You said you’d be back in the afternoon, after Laura had left.
Eddie heard a scoff.
“How has it gotten even worse in here?” Laura mumbled to herself.
Eddie scowled, as he heard her footsteps enter your room, could hear her padding around.
The fuck was she doing in here?
It was a risk, Eddie pushed the closet door open, just enough to give him a crack to peep through.
Your stepmom was in some sort of jazzercise outfit—ugh, of course she did jazzercise. The blonde woman was currently rummaging through your drawers, looking amongst your belongings.
She was invading your privacy.
If Eddie had blood flowing through his veins, it would have been boiling.
He’d heard what she said last night, how she berated you. Accusing you of using your mother’s murder to seek attention.
And the other members of your family weren’t speaking up nearly enough to defend you. He was surprised that Chrissy—small town for Cunningham to be the Chrissy you’d been telling him about—even tried to defend you but she should have been putting her mother in her place. She hadn’t come up to check on you, either.
Eddie had a few things he wished he could say to Laura Cunningham, tell her exactly where she could shove her stupid figurines and verbal abuse.
If she was searching for something, Laura didn’t find it. She slammed one of your drawers shut, eyed your sketches pinned to your wall with disgust before speed walking out of your room. When she passed the closet, Eddie took notice of the headphones over her ears, could hear whatever she was listening to, Walkman probably set to the loudest volume.
Eddie’s mouth chipped up into a smirk that kind of hurt his face. He opened the closet door fully, stumbling out to poked his head out of your bedroom doorway just in time to see your stepmom disappear down the stairs.
Eddie followed, steps loud and uneven. Laura didn’t notice his presence, too engrossed in whatever she was listening to and occupied with her own ego. Looked to be cleaning up the place before her little trip.
Laura disappeared into the kitchen, well out of view of the living room so Eddie stumbled in, eyeing the pristine setting. The place looked impeccable, spotless, antiques everywhere that Eddie just knew the old bat was dying to have people ask about so she could name drop and be as haughty as possible.
Eddie could wreck all of this in no time, and he would if he didn’t know she’d immediately blame you for it. He still felt guilty you’d been chewed out for the mess he made.
Bitch.
Eddie heard her returning, so he hid behind the wall, waiting a few moments before he peered around it and across the foyer, into the dinning room where she was seated after having fixed herself something. Laura still had the headphones on, so Eddie took that as the all clear to continue exploring.
He spotted a family portrait hung over the fireplace, a seemingly picture perfect family was displayed. A man he assumed to be your father loomed over Laura and Chrissy, one hand on each of their shoulders. Eddie barely glanced at them before you pulled all of his attention. You were stunning, light catching the highlights of your face, lips parted just enough to encourage a pout. Your hair was wild in comparison to the other women in the portrait—Eddie loved it. You looked like you belonged on an album cover for some rock band, even with the sorrow swirling around in your eyes. Your unwavering melancholic stare pinned Eddie, and he could feel himself getting protective over you again. You must have been miserable that day.
See, if he had been around, he could have easily cheered you up. Snuck over on the day in question. Laura would have hated his fucking guts—Eddie wouldn’t have minded being the boyfriend your stepmom didn’t approve of. Horsing around behind the little photo shoot set up to get you smiling, get those pretty eyes of yours twinkling before whisking you the hell out of there once they got the money shot.
He rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he turned away from the past that never was. Couldn’t have (he’d already been dead), should have (but couldn’t) and would have. In a heartbeat.
His posture worsened under the weight of his own despair, sulking with it until he spotted an acoustic guitar, tucked in the corner and resting on a stand.
“Mm?” Eddie tilted his head in curiosity before making his way over. It was difficult to do, but he managed to settle the neck of it in the crook of the arm lacking a hand, and strummed with his stiff fingers, pleased to find that it was already tuned.
He plucked a couple more chords, stopping once to adjust a peg. Then the doorbell rang and Eddie’s eyes widened. He fumbled to place the guitar back on its stand and plaster himself against the wall as Laura got up to answer it, having apparently been able to hear it ring but not his guitar playing.
“Yes?” Laura asked as she opened the door, impatience soaking through her tone.
“Carpet cleaning.” A man’s voice stated, sounding bored beyond measure.
“Carpet Cleaning? My carpet is so clean you can lick the fibers.” God, was your stepmom ever not insufferable? The carpet cleaner salesman seemed to be thinking the same thing and Eddie figured he had to be annoyed with his work day already to say what he did next.
“I doubt the one downstairs is.” The salesman snorted and Eddie would have snickered if he could as he heard Laura let out an affronted and embarrassed gasp.
“EXCUSE ME?!”
The guy must have turned tail because Laura was stepping out after him, yelling as she closed the front door behind her.
Eddie eyed the bowl she’d been eating from, curiosity getting the better of him as he stumbled over to inspect it. Spaghetti.
He shouldn’t….But what was the point of being a dead corpse if he couldn’t use dead guy powers for good?
It only took a little effort, Eddie successfully gagged and heaved until a warm that had been lurking in his stomach came out, dropping out of his mouth to wiggle around in Laura’s lunch. Eddie watched as it disappeared between the noodles and sauce, satisfaction filling him.
Served the hag right.
With justice served, Eddie made his way back upstairs to your room. He’d just made it to your doorway when he heard Laura return. He waited a few more moments for her to sit down, settle herself, twirl some spaghetti around her fork and put it in her mouth.
Eddie was beginning to think the worm had made its way to the very bottom of the bowl when Laura let out a high pitched scream.
That one was for you.
Eddie smirked and walked back into your room, quietly closing the door behind him.
You had two classes for the day, back to back so as to not have to stay on campus longer than necessary, and both classes were pleasant. There hadn’t been any change in the materials covered or anything, eyes just kept attempting to discreetly take you in, which you caught from your peripheral vision.
While you enjoyed the new attention your attire and the way you carried yourself brought you, you quickly realized it wasn’t something you needed. What you needed was to feel good about yourself and for once in your life, you did.
You were absolutely giddy, and you felt so badass somehow, was this what Chrissy and her friends felt like all the time? Maybe putting effort into your appearance wasn’t just a load of crap dispelled onto ugly people by the conventionally attractive.
Regardless, you were strutting your way to the library, eager to turn in some books, make Steve Harrington’s jaw drop, then run back home to Eddie so you could thank him profusely for not having fugly taste.
Once you made it to the library, you noticed no one was at the front desk. Steve must have been putting some books back on their shelves.
No problem, more time to prepare yourself, maybe run through some possible conversations so you wouldn’t go stupid at the sight of his gorgeous face.
Your bag hit the ground with a thud, thanks to the weight of the hardcovers within it and you bent down at the waist to rummage through it, placing one heavy hardcover book, two heavy hardcover books, three heavy hardco—
“You got the rest of the library in there, Mary Poppins?”
You snapped back up, whipping around just in time to see Steve’s gaze rise from where your ass had been unknowingly on display, to meet your eyes, his honey brown ones swirling with warmth.
Oh, god. Just play it cool.
“Just some tampons and some chips.”
Leave. Walk out. Save face.
“No chocolate for that time of the month?” He asked, leaning up against the desk, rather than going around it to handle your returns. Steve wanted to talk to you. He’d been eyeing your ass and now he was making small talk.
You were going for it.
“Craving a different kind of sweet thing right now.” You leaned in, just as he had at the tailor’s yesterday. You were laying it on thick, sure. It worked though. Steve leaned in, too, and you clocked the tick of his eyebrow. Interest. Holy shit—things were finally looking up for you.
“I’ve got some starbursts in my car,” Chrissy chirped, materializing out of thin air to stand in front of you and Steve.
You almost knocked down the books you’d stacked on the desk, cursing under your breath. “Geez, Chrissy.”
“Hi.” She grinned at you, her darling crooked teeth gleaming before she was fixing Steve with a stern look, “Sorry, I need to talk to my sister. Preferably, alone.”
“I’m not exactly gonna run to the gossip columns about anything.” He mused, exchanging an amused look with you but you couldn’t really hear anything going on around you because Steve Harrington was flashing you smiles around Chrissy, your pretty and practically perfect step-sister, and not her. You’d entered another dimension and you did not want to leave. All you could do was smile back at him, like some infatuated idiot while your fingers reached up to pick at your lower lip.
“That may be so, but I think it’s best if she hangs around a good crowd.” Somehow, Chrissy had wedged herself between you and Steve, standing protectively in front of you with her arms crossed. She was about as intimidating as a pomeranian. Still, it was endearing to have someone act like they cared about you.
“And the library is just full of Neanderthals, is that what you’re implying?” Steve leaned both elbows back on the desk, gesturing out to the few students—most meek in appearance—occupying the area.
“I was thinking more of creepy librarians, high school peakers, and former playboys.” Chrissy shot back and you nudged her, hissing out her name. The protective thing was nice, just not when she was trying to scare away the man you’d be making your boyfriend.
“Golden coming from you, of all people, your royal highness, the Queen of Hawkins High; former head cheerleader and Miss Hawkins of ‘87, but not ‘88 and I’m pretty sure Heather Holloway won again this year, so looks like we both don’t have a lot going on, do we?” Steve was smug, shooting you a wink that made your heart melt and drip down your sternum.
Steam was practically blowing out of Chrissy’s ears, “Shoo fly, don’t bother us.”
Steve rolled his eyes before they fixed on you, past Chrissy’s head, “I’ll see you later okay? Thanks for bringing your books back on time.”
You giggled, still staring at him as Chrissy began to tug you away, “Until the next time, I guess?”
Steve held your stare, smirk softening into a smile, “I’ll be waiting.”
It was easy for Chrissy to guide you out after that. You were floating. Light as a feather and high on life.
“You are the only girl I know who can survive a spiked drink and still want to have anything to do with the guy.” Chrissy sighed in exasperation as the two of you loitered by the drinking fountain, “There’s like at least four other guys here who would date you, sissy! Don’t waste your time on that one.”
Okay. Only four other guys? Ouch. “Steve didn’t spike it. Carol did.”
“And she’s always following him around like some sad little mutt. Better to just stay away.”
You scowled, mood souring. One afternoon. You couldn’t have just one afternoon where you felt good about yourself without someone bringing you down. You knew Chrissy meant well, but in that moment, she was pissing you off.
She seemed to pick up on the shift of your attitude, changing the subject, “After practice, I’m gonna go out tonight. Some of the girls want to go bowling and then have a little kick back. Cover for me?”
How very much like Chrissy to insult you in the name of protectiveness, and then ask you for a favor. She still cared more about you than your own flesh and blood, so, “I thought your mom was gonna be away for a few days in Akron.”
“She is, but daddy’s not. And he’s way too overprotective, I can’t even sneeze without him bursting into my room to ask me what’s wrong. He always wants to know where I’m going, argues with me when I try to go out late—it’s so annoying.”
All you could think about were the many times you’d said goodbye to him as you left the house at whatever hour you wanted while he mumbled a bye and read whatever magazine he was reading or watched TV.
You tried to consider it a good thing that he let you be so independent, yet something in you ached, sure he simply didn't care enough for you. Not like he did Chrissy, and he’d known you longer, all your life.
“Oh. Uhm, I think he works late today, anyway. I’ll cover if he asks, but I’m sure you’re good.”
Chrissy perked up, pulling you into a tight hug, “You are the best! I knew I was gonna love having you as a sister. I’ll see you later, okay?”
Chrissy didn’t wait for your reply, practically bouncing down the hallway and you sighed.
At least you’d have some peace and quiet, maybe you could get Eddie into better shape too, and you’d get to tell him about your day!
With your classes done, you made your way to the parking lot, where Mystery waited for you.
You slid the back door of the Volkswagen open, tossing your bag in before sliding the door shut and climbing into the driver's seat of the bus. Then you started your mantras and manifestations, gripping the key with a sweaty palm before you were sticking it into the ignition and turning it with bated breath.
She roared to life and you sagged back in your seat, bones like jelly knowing you piece of crap bus was still kicking.
It was the biggest lemon of a car you’d ever seen, carried around jugs of coolant in the back because it had to be refilled almost every time you started it.
But it was yours.
When you pulled up to the house to see Laura’s car was gone, you felt yet another weight lifted off your shoulders. You were completely free to be you. Snatching your bag from the back, you made a run for your house, quickly unlocking the door before stampeding up the stairs.
You burst into your bedroom, chest heaving to find it in normal condition and no Eddie around. Frowning, you tossed your bag on the floor, beside your bed, and made your way over to the closet, yanking the doors open.
Eddie peered up at you from his position on the floor, rocking an old feather boa of yours.
“Eddie, I told you you were free to roam once Laura left. You don’t have to stay cramped in there all day when no one is around.” You offered him a hand and helped hoist him when you took it, “You wouldn’t believe the day I had—you’ve got stellar taste, by the way.”
“Uuungh?”
You reached under your bed, snatching an old Easter basket out that you used to hide your snacks. After you settled on the bed, you patted the spot next to you, and Eddie hobbled his way over, grunting as he settled onto the cushy comforter.
“I know I was grumpy this morning. I’m sorry, you were right. The dress was a hit!” You exclaimed, ripping a bag of sour gummy worms open. The pink end was clenched between your teeth as you bit it off, bag of sweet and sour treats held out to Eddie as an offering.
Eddie reached into the bag, attempting to crook his fingers enough to hook one. You watched the leathery skin between his brows pull—if you had blinked, you would have missed it—as he struggled to free his hand from the bag, shaking it a little until you pinched the bottom firmly, allowing him to pull it out.
“Unngh.” He grunted in thanks.
As Eddie moved onto the challenge of getting the gummy worm to his mouth, you went back to telling him about your day, “I mean, god—all I did was put on a little dress and I felt kind of invincible. Not to mention Steve Harrington seemed to like it.”
Eddie froze, gummy worm hanging out of his mouth, “Mm?”
“Steve Harrington, did’ ya know him?” You asked, steamrolling right on as if you hadn’t, “Talk about winning the genetic pool—that man is so fine. We talked a little at that party I told you about, and before I did drugs, he was being so nice to me. And I didn’t look as hot as I do now, so I was hoping for a reaction out of him—BOY did I get it.”
You let out a dreamy sigh, recalling the way Steve had leaned into your straightforward flirting.
“He’s kind, funny, and sometimes he even has good book recommendations. He’s like the total package and I think he might actually like me.”
You paused your ranting to look over at Eddie. If you didn’t already know his face was stuck like that, you would have thought he was scowling.
“You got a little…” Reaching a hand up to cup his jaw, your thumb lifted the gummy worm hanging out of his mouth the rest of the way up. Eddie’s cracked lips parted, just enough for you to press the rest of it in, then he chewed slowly, face not even twitching to clue you in on his emotions.
“There.” Your hand dropped back into your lap as you perked up, “I wanna assume he’s better than the other horndogs who popped woodies just because I wore a dress and flashed some leg.”
You stuck out your leg to demonstrate, the dress slipping even further up your thigh as you held it out, smooth (mostly, she was a little prickly but no one would notice unless they were stroking it) skin on display under some fishnet stockings.
Eddie let out a pained sounding groan, which you figured meant he was agreeing with you about the rest of the male population.
“Yeah. Well, I think everything’s gonna work out perfectly. Even if Chrissy keeps butting into my love life like some fairy chastity-mother. God—I just, I’ve never been close to actually having something I wanted before, you know?”
Eddie whined from behind closed lips, holding up the wrist that lacked his hand.
“What?” You asked, glancing down at the scarf wrapped around it. Eddie reached up with his fucked up fingers to point at where his ear should have been and it clicked for you, “Eddie, I can’t pull an extra hand and ear outta my ass. I wish I could, but I don’t have spare human parts lying around like pieces of a vacuum.”
Eddie whined again and this time you could actually see his lips pulling down, frowning.
“I told you I wish I could, but I can’t! I don't know how to get people parts and I don’t exactly have the black market on speed dial. Besides—you’re fine like this, I mean what are you able to do as walking dead guy anyways?”
“MUUUUNGGGHHHH!” Eddie groaned, loud and obviously upset as he dramatically flung himself back on the bed hard enough to shake it.
“Hey!” You snapped, fearful for your bed frame, “Chill out dude—don’t act all coked out!”
He turned his head, face miserable but before you could continue your scolding, you heard your name called upstairs.
Laura.
“SHIT, hide!” Eddie stumbled up and barely even had the chance to turn around before you shoved him into your closet, shutting the doors.
You’d barely stepped away when Laura burst into your room. She was dressed in her nurse uniform, complete with the stupid hat, yet there was something off with her. Her skin had a grayish tint to it, she looked clammy, eyes and nostrils red with irritation and her mascara was running. Laura Cunningham looked just as terrible on the outside as she was inside.
And for once, she scared you.
“Laura! I thought you were headed out of town for your trip.” Laura’s stare was even colder than you’d ever seen it, unnaturally icy blue eyes both vacant and filled with a deranged sort of rage. You expected her pupils to turn into slits any second, it would be the last physical trait she’d need to resemble a demon.
Stepmother from hell, indeed.
“Mmm, I’m sure you were looking forward to that,” Her voice was soft, almost gentle and nothing about it was kind. It was as if to coax you forward to her, lull you into a sense of ease before striking. You were reminded of the anglerfish, and the glow of their fin ray. They used it to draw unsuspecting prey towards the light before they were devoured.
You took a small step back. She took one forward.
“I suppose I’ll just have to attend next year, I’ll be skipping the conference this year. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to do much learning or networking with my head plastered in a toilet bowl. I seem to have come down with something. Do you know what my symptoms are?” She asked, voice so sugary sweet and thick.
“Uhm. I-I’ve been on my period. Maybe we synced?” You hated how small your voice sounded.
Laura’s lips pressed into a thin, cruel smile, “No. I haven’t been throwing up with a cramping stomach because of my period. I’ve been vomiting non-stop because a little slut under my roof is trying to kill me. And do you know who that psychotic little tramp is?”
Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth parting in shock. Did your stepmother just call you a slut?
“ANSWER ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!” She bellowed, making you jump and gasp. You’d never heard Laura raise her voice like that, it dropped several octaves and she was staring at you with nothing but pure hatred burning in her eyes.
All you could do was shake your head. You were terrified, but you weren’t about to play her game. You were neither a slut nor a tramp and it was clear, regardless of what you’d say or do, she’d be unleashing her wrath upon you.
Laura chuckled without humor, “You really are just a stupid, insignificant bitch, aren’t you? I open up my home to you and you do nothing but cause trouble every time I so much as turn my head. I have been nothing but kind to you, even after you wrecked my home. I’ve been an angel. But putting worms in my food?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I didn’t touch your food, I just got home from classes. An—And I didn’t ask for any of this, I didn’t ask to move here.” You could see tears beginning to blur your vision, welling up and threatening to cascade over your lower lashes. They didn’t. You refused to cry in front of her. Refused to give her that satisfaction.
“Oh, please.” Laura scoffed, looking at you in bewilderment, “Did you want to stay in the house where your mother was sliced and diced? Was that a comfort for you?”
“You know that’s not what I meant, I didn't want to start my life over in some town full of ignorant people.” You gritted out, hand clenching the bag of gummy worms.
“Ignorant people, and yet—you still don’t fit it in. Telling isn’t it?”
Despite your fear, you felt your own rage starting to build within you and before you could stop yourself, you spat out “What do you care? You never wanted me here. You just wanted my dad here in your clutches and you knew that wouldn’t happen if we hadn’t moved. He would have never chosen you over my mom.”
Laura sneered, “It’s not much of a choice when she’s rotting in some coffin, six feet under, is it? I’m sure she’s relieved to be done with you and all the disgusting things you do for attention.”
“Shut up!” You demanded, seething now as the devil incarnate dared to speak about your mother in such a disrespectful manner. Laura was only able to sleep in a bed alongside your father—wear that tacky ring on her finger because your mother had tragically lost her life.
Laura wouldn’t be but a mosquito in the room if your mother were alive.
You hadn’t been expecting the strike that came next, hadn’t been prepared for Laura to pull her arm back and swing it forward, cracking your cheek so hard you almost spun. You yelped, hand reaching up to press against the skin of your cheek, feeling it throb and sting under your touch.
She fucking hit you. You gaped at her in disbelief and Laura didn’t look remotely apologetic.
“I am beyond tired of you and I am not going to wait until some maniac guts me to be rid of you. Especially when you’re already a threat to my life. No. I won’t stand for it, so I took it upon myself to begin your admittance to Hawkins National Psychiatric Center.
Your blood ran cold as images of the unsettling ‘center’ flooded your mind. You’d heard of it before, horror stories told amongst your peers. A psych ward. And Laura Cunningham was going to have you committed.
“No, please. No.” You whispered, voice laced with fear.
“It’s for the good of everyone,” Laura began, leering over you. “You don’t belong here. Your place is locked up, solitary confinement where no one will have to see you ever aga—
THUNK.
Laura let out the smallest of gasps.
You watched the unsettling blue of her eyes give away to whites and red veins as they rolled to the back of her head, her body going limp as she tipped forward and fell face first to the ground. Your mouth dropped open as you watched her collapse, gurgling and twitching on the ground for just a few seconds before she went still. Then your gaze flitted to Eddie, who stood tall with your old sewing machine clutched in his hand, a corner stained red.
Your eyes flashed back down to Laura, and they widened in size when the pink of your carpet began to turn a bright red, blood seeping out of her skull to pool around her head and soak into the floor.
Eddie made a grunt that sounded more so like a noise of satisfaction and tossed the sewing machine back into the closet.
You heard them before you saw them. Eddie had found the small pair of scissors included with your sewing machine and clipped them in the air before he bent down. You could only watch, stunned silent and with morbid curiosity as Eddie snipped your stepmother’s ear off.
“Oh, god…” You finally found your voice, eyes darting anywhere else to avoid seeing the skin severed. You breathing became labored, chest rising and falling rapidly as you staved off a panic attack while your undead friend cut the ear from Laura’s dead body.
Eddie held it up in triumph, like it was some sort of medal rather than a human ear.
“Wha─? Why─?” You couldn’t even finish a sentence and Eddie must have noticed how distraught you were. He rose from the floor, stepping over Laura’s body to pull you into his arms and despite what had just occurred, you returned the embrace; arm slipping under his to clutch at the back of his shoulder, desperate for the comfort he was offering. His hand rubbed circles over your back and you leaned your cheek against Eddie’s shoulder, stare never once leaving Laura’s body as you whimpered.
When he pulled back—just enough to be able to look at your face—he held the ear up, towards you.
You knew exactly what he was asking you to do.
”Eddie…I—I can’t. I can’t do that…We have to bury the body first.” You placed a hand on his chest, leaning into him again as you both turned your heads to stare at someone who was no longer a problem for you. For the first time, in a very long time, you felt safe.
Eddie had rescued you.
Moving the body was surprisingly easy. You’d expected Eddie’s limbs to be fragile for some reason, a foolish thought considering he’d so easily crashed through your window that first night. Eddie actually possessed a great deal of strength, easily lifting Laura’s body—wrapped in sheets—and carrying her downstairs.
Movement seemed to be getting easier for him, limbs that had been out of use for years returning to life and unstiffening just as he had. If his arms could support Laura’s body with no problem, you wondered what had happened to his missing hand in the first place.
You made sure the coast was clear before you pulled your bus up the driveway and Eddie placed the body in the back. It obviously hadn’t been strapped down, so while you drove to the cemetery, Laura’s body was rolling around, banging against the sides of the Volkswagen. Eddie just turned up the music you’d been playing.
The cemetery was vacant, thanks to the relatively early time of the day. Most people still hadn’t gotten off of work yet, which made this easy for you and Eddie. It wasn’t the most respectful thing to do—you were just out of options. A grave had already been dug out, for some poor recently deceased soul (not Laura, she could go to hell), so, the two of you had quite literally dumped Laura’s body into the empty hole and covered her with a layer of dirt so she’d go unnoticed when they’d lower the coffin, of whoever’s grave this was, into it.
After the deed was done, the two of you stood side-by-side, staring into it.
“Is death comforting?” You asked, breaking the silence. Eddie didn’t answer, didn’t even grunt, so you turned your head to the side to find him already staring at you.
He shook his head.
“Good. C’mon.” You gave the burial plot, now and forever housing Laura, an extremely and aggressively disrespectful finger, and tugged Eddie back to the bus. He went willingly after kicking some more dirt into it.
When the two of you returned home—after you briefly stopped for ice cream while Eddie waited in the bus—you’d gotten straight to work; Eddie’s head in your lap as you sewed the ear into place.
While you threaded the needle through the skin, Eddie waited patiently, thumb playing with your fishnets. Once you knotted the string and used your teeth to nip off the excess, you admired your work.
Good stitching, secure and it wouldn’t fall off. The coloring was a bit odd, skin appearing obviously more lively than Eddie’s dull gray-green tint. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“Done.” You announced, hands resting on the mattress at your sides. Slowly, Eddie rose to a sitting position, head shifting around to face you, “What’s the survey say? Ear any good? Hear anything?”
Those big, deep brown, baby cow eyes of his looked despondent as he shook his head.
“Mm-mm.”
You sighed, feeling a bit despondent yourself. He’d saved you from a life of medicated compliance and padded walls, and you couldn’t even get the human ear you’d stitched to the side of his head to work. You felt guilty knowing you couldn’t make him whole again, as he so desperately wanted to be. Couldn’t be his blue fairy.
You reached your fingers up, tips brushing alongside the soft outer edge of his ear. How funny that an appendage that had once belonged to the nastiest person you’d ever encountered, a woman who hated your very existence, was now endearing because it was a part of the guy before you. Your friend. Your protector. What had taken place that afternoon would no doubt lead to trouble, but you knew Eddie hadn’t acted out of malice.
He’d simply wanted to help you. And—okay, yes, he got an ear out of it, but it didn’t work. What mattered is that you weren’t alone anymore. You had someone that actually cared about you. Enough to kill for you, even.
It felt…like you mattered to someone.
“I’m sorry.” You mumbled in disappointment, “I really did think it was gonna work, too. Guess Laura’s still useless, even when she’s dead.”
Your hand dropped back into your lap as the two of you simultaneously heaved out sighs.
“At least you have something there, you know?” You tried to see the positive side, keep Eddie happy, “Like nipples with boob jobs. The dial doesn’t work but you can still turn the knob.”
He made a humming sound, contemplating the analogy, weighing it as his head tilted this way and that way.
“Maybe it’ll catch up with you later, like the rest of your body. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting better at moving around.” You teased, nudging your shoulder playfully against his.
Eddie stiffened and you thought you might have offended him, “I mean—I’m not paying super duper close attention or anything, I just like to watch you—It’s not like I see a living dead guy every day.”
“Unngh.” Eddie seemed to pay no attention to your word vomiting, pointing at a sharpie on your nightstand.
“What? This?” You reached over and snagged it, offering it to him. He carefully took it from your hands, his hardened fingers brushing over your soft ones, and awkwardly popped the cap off with his thumb.
Your eyebrows shot up as Eddie began doodling on the skin of your hand near your thumb and index finger.
“Why did I think you were illiterate?” You mused aloud and Eddie briefly stopped to glare at you and grunted, unamused, “You can’t blame me, you could have picked up a pen and paper this entire time, hell—I have an Etch A Sketch you could have been using instead of making me decipher your ‘uuunnngghhss’.” You did your best impression of his zombie grunting and he put the sharpie between his thighs so he could flick the cap at you.
Like an expert dodger, you lifted your hand just in time for it to bounce off your palm as you giggled and he went back to finishing up his little doodle.
A lightning bolt.
Your lips pulled into a soft smile as you admired it, something warm pooling in your belly. It was cute and there was something very attractive to you about walking around with Eddie’s little sketch on you.
An Eddie Was Here, if you will.
And then it hit you. Lightning.
“OH.”
Eddie grunted, pleased that you’d picked up on what he was trying to convey.
“But how are we gonna…” You trailed off, brows furrowing as a montage of the two of you played in your head; sticking a metal rod in the ground with Eddie holding onto it as you waited for some approaching storm to electrocute him. The only problem was the weather forecast for the week predicted nothing but sunshine and clear, starry nights. No electrocution for the week. Unless…. “Oh my god.”
You turned to Eddie, grinning almost maniacally, “I’m a genius.”
Forty minutes later, you found yourself staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror Chrissy had set up inside the tan shack. It was softly aglow with pink and warm hued fairy lights, and neon blue coming from the tanning bed. One of her beauty pageant crowns was placed on your head, and you had to admit, it did make you feel pretty. It looked good on you, too. Huh. Maybe you should have done pageants, could have won one, even.
Sparks flew from the tanning bed, some feet away, with Eddie inside of it.
It was the next best thing to actually being struck by lightning. Well, it was either the tanning bed or electrocuting him in the small pool with a plugged in radio, but you didn’t want to get wet.
You grabbed a little fairy wand, no doubt part of one of Chrissy’s pageant costumes—probably Galinda—and posed with it, pleased with your reflection. Your hair was frizzy and it somehow added to your allure.
You could rock with this confidence thing for a while if it made you not hate yourself like usual.
The tanning bed’s buzzing whirled down until it was silent, save for a few random sparks, and the bed opened up, top lifting to reveal Eddie laying in a cloud of smoke, wearing those little goggles you’d insisted on to protect those pretty eyes of his.
You got up to check on him, tapping his chest with the end of the wand, “You baked enough?”
He groaned as he sat up and dinged his head on the top of the tanning bed and you flinched, dropping the wand.
“Ooh, yeah, I’ve been there too.”
Grabbing onto his hand, you helped pull him out of the tanning bed to sit on the edge and sat beside him, pushing the goggles up his large forehead and pinning away his bangs.
Eddie didn’t say anything, just blinked sluggishly. He was baked alright, that voltage was no joke.
“Eddie,” You leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Can you hear me in there?”
No reaction.
“EDDIE MUNSON, CAN YOU HEAR ANYTHING I AM SAYING?!”
To your amazement, Eddie flinched away from your shrieking, and with his face turned to you, you noticed he looked different, skin more…skin like. Not the leather you’d noticed before. He still hadn’t answered you, so you kept going, “IS THAT A YES—YEAH?”
Eddie groaned out, face affronted as you continued to scream at him and your shrieking turned into screams of excitement. Eddie joined you in yelling (well, he tried, it was very loud groaning) when it dawned on him.
It worked. Eddie Munsons had two working ears.
“Oh my god!” You flung yourself at him and immediately jolted away when you got shocked. Eddie reached out for you, resting his hand on your shoulder, “No, it’s okay, that was on me. I got too excited, but oh my god! Eddie! It worked! We got you a working ear!”
You were beaming, felt like you’d cracked the secret of life. And it looked like Eddie was trying to smile at you, corners of his lips pulled up just a tad.
The two of you looked ridiculous, you with your frizzy hair, crown and fairy wand, and Eddie with his electrocuted hairdo, tanning goggles making his bangs look insane and a slightly discolored (actually, it was looking more like his skin tone now, bizarre) ear, with one earring and one hand.
You glanced down at your arm; specifically, at Eddie’s arm resting against it. The one that lacked a hand.
Well, you’d already started.
“I think I know someone who can give you a hand.”
#Eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#Freak like me#lisa frankenstein#lisa frankenstein inspo#Zombie!eddie munson#dead!eddie munson#undead!eddie munson#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson au#Eddie munson angst#eddie munson fanfic#Eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson#Steve harrington x reader#eddie munson x black!reader
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being in a weird situationship with farleigh... <3 inspired by the song boyfriend by ariana grande ft. social house
WARNINGS ✧ none i think? ooc farleigh maybe, situationship? my bad writing… it’s been 7 years. written on my iphone at 1am while sleep deprived </3 sorry in advance! i also suck at writing endings ◡̈
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ︶︶︶⠀⠀୨୧⠀⠀︶︶︶
‘you ain’t my boyfriend and i ain’t your girlfriend but you don’t want me to see nobody else and i don’t want you to see nobody’
you could feel him glaring at you from all the way across the room but made no move to look his way. if he could go around hooking up with random people, then you had the right to do as you please also.
wether he’d like to admit it or not, farleigh was a jealous man, especially when it came to you and there was only so much he could take before storming your way, his long legs reaching you in record time and dragging you away from the confused boy who you’d been previously talking to.
‘even though you ain’t mine, i promise the way we fight make me feel like we just in love’
“what do you think you’re doing?”
you couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped your mouth. was he being serious? the only thing holding you back from causing a scene being the people around you guys and the not so subtle eyes of his cousin and friends watching everything unfold. god.. you knew coming to this party was a bad idea. “not sure what you mean.” you shrugged.
he nodded his head in a mocking way, pursing his lips. “hm, right. so this isn’t you getting back at me for the other day, is it? because i told you-“
“getting back at you?” you cut him off shaking your head in disbelief. “get over yourself farleigh. am i not allowed to talk to other people? not everything’s about you, you know.” except this totally was about him. you almost groaned when you saw the smirk forming on his lips. that bastard. he knew, of course he did.
‘i know we be so complicated lovin you sometimes drive me crazy cause i can’t have what i want and neither can you’
you refused to meet his eyes when he called out your name, arms crossed looking at the people dancing around you. farleigh chuckled, taking a step closer. you took one back in return. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were jealous.” his tone was teasing, and you didn’t have to look at him to know he still had that infuriatingly attractive smirk on his face. i am. “of what? you’re not my boyfriend, you can do whatever you want.” you looked up at him, doing your best to appear nonchalant. farleigh laughed, throwing his head back like you had said the funniest joke he’s ever heard, which only served to agitate you more.
his eyes were practically sparkling when he looked down at you, his hands reaching to cup your face despite your failed attempts to push him away. “i didn’t fuck her. if that’s what you’re pissed about, all we did was make out...” he trailed off unsure if he should say what he was thinking. the way he was looking at you made your cheeks warm up, but you refused to speak. you wanted him to say it. you knew what he wanted to say, and as stupid as it sounded, you refused to be the first one to break. “i haven’t slept with anyone for months now actually.” his hands now resting on your hips squeezed them lightly.
farleigh admitting that shouldn’t of felt as good as it did, but it was as if you could feel a weight lifting off your shoulders. you hoped for a different kind of confession, but this was also nice to know. although you weren’t all that happy that he was still going around shoving his tongue down other peoples throats you couldn’t exactly complain either. he wasn’t your boyfriend. you had to remind yourself of that.
‘but you ain’t my boyfriend and i ain’t your girlfriend but you don’t want me to touch nobody else baby, we ain’t gotta tell nobody’
“like i said, farleigh, you’re free to do whatever you want. nothing is stopping you.” farleigh let out a mixture of what sounded like a groan and laugh, pulling you closer to him without you attempting to push him away this time around. “you” he paused to pinch your cheek softly. “are so fucking stubborn, did you know that?”
you couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped your lips as you looked up at him, finally giving in to his touch. you had only been ignoring him for a few days, but it felt like a lifetime to you and even if he wouldn’t say it, you knew he felt the same way if the way he was gripping your hips was anything to go by.
“were you really going to fuck that loser to get back at me?” farleigh suddenly asked, looking over to where the guy whose name you’d already forgotten now sat talking with a different girl, his face in that permanent scowl he seemed to have when he wasn’t around you or his friends. “i tuned him out the moment he opened his mouth to be honest.” you could feel your cheeks heating up once again as he laughed at your honesty. “yeah, i figured once you wouldn’t stop eye fucking me from across the room.”
“shut up!” you groaned, swatting his chest. “you’re the one who has a staring problem, you creep. seriously, you’re worse than that fucking ollie kid.” farleigh huffed, somewhat offended that you would compare him to oliver but said nothing else as he pulled you towards the table where felix and the rest of his posse sat, all of them immediately pretending like they hadn’t been watching when you both approached except for felix, who gave farleigh a not so subtle smirk when he pulled you to sit on his lap.
‘if you were my boyfriend and you were my girlfriend i probably wouldn’t see nobody else’
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ︶︶︶⠀⠀୨୧⠀⠀︶︶︶
i suck at endings can u tell ꃋᴖꃋ i know i said i wasn’t gonna write and i probably won’t for a while but i had to get this idea out of my head! i ♥︎ farleigh start. also sorry for any errors! i’m nervous just posting this, bye
#farleigh start x reader#farleigh x reader#farleigh x fem!reader#farleigh start x fem!reader#saltburn x reader#farleigh start#saltburn#archie madekwe
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hi there!! i was thinking of a mean!luke castellan but has a *secret* soft spot for reader and he gets really worked up while training with Clarisse so reader offers herself to him so he can get his anger out and at first he's hesitant but he finally gives in!!
also could i be anon? thank you!! also i understand that there's lots of requests and that i don't mind waiting x
this is such a good idea omgg
And yes, you can be the og anon 🫶
MDNI!
Mean!Luke Castellan who's done all of this work, became the best swordsman at camp, for what? All of those blood, sweat and tears, just to trip over his own feet. He couldn't help it, you were training nearby, he just couldn't focus. And it showed. Every time he messed up on a simple side step because he was watching your hips, or everytime Clarisse mocked him, saying he was 'head over heels' before tripping him. It infuriated him.
Mean!Luke Castellan who goes for a water break, trying to calm himself down. He was so tempted to just slice Clarisse's head off of her neck. A clean slice, just one slip of the wrist.. All of those thoughts left his mind when you sat beside him. He can't help the way his eyes soften, or the way his irritated scowl becomes a soft smile. Your presence helped a bit, but his body was still tense and his jaw was still clenched.
You noticed.
"I can help you relax, if you want.."
You said it so innocently, he didn't think anything of it. Then your hand slipped down to his leg, sliding slightly up, at an angle where the shadows of the ampitheater hid the action. Eventually he understood what you were hinting at, that soft smile becoming a smirk.
"I can't, I'm in the middle of training."
You could see right through it, those deep brown eyes told you everything. He wanted you to make a half assed excuse, to pull him away and let him relentlessly pound into you. But he would never, ever admit that. He had a reputation to uphold!
"Please..? I wanna help."
Gods, your smile.. It was so innocent. Nobody would've known you were practically begging for him to fuck you, to use you to get his anger out. And gods, it drove him mad.
Mean!Luke Castellan who grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you away. Nobody dared to question it, especially not with how Luke was gripping your wrist. Nobody even noticed the slight bulge in Luke's jeans, not even you. You were to caught up in your own excitement.
Mean!Luke Castellan who soon has you pinned inside one of the bigger bathroom stalls. Before you know it he has his tongue inside your mouth, his hands gripping your hips like you'd evaporate into thin air if he didn't do so. Soon he's bucking his hips against yours, all of his previous anger seeping out into his actions. It shows whenever he's ripping your orange shirt off, when he nearly breaks the button of your shorts, and it especially shows whenever he pushes three fingers into you without warning. He can't help but smirk at the whine that leaves your mouth, it was pitiful.
"Already whining.. thought you wanted this, baby..?"
He's fingering you quickly and roughly, but it hardly prepares you for what was to come. Soon he pulls his fingers out, undoing his belt as fast as he could. He pulls his jeans and boxers down in one swift motion, lining up with your hole just as quickly. He presses a soft, sweet kiss to your lips, almost like he was thanking you for letting him do this to you. You would've smiled if he didn't thrust into you seconds later, making your face contort into pleasure. He didn't bother telling you to be quiet, he didn't care. He was too focused on pounding into you, his hips thrusting at a speed you didn't even know was possible. You have tears streaming down your cheeks, making him smirk.
"You can take it, baby.. fuckin' take it.."
He's leaving bruises on your hips that will last for at least a week, snapping his hips. All of his anger was slowly leaving his body, being replaced with pure pleasure and need. Tears keep streaming down your face as he doesn't slow down, not even once.
Anger really does change a person.
request by: anon
#anon#luke castellan#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan imagines#luke castellan smut#luke castellan x reader#luke#200#300#400
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Beckham II: 2 That Day
Part 2 is here!!!!!
Short one for this part but I think some context is needed before I bring us back to the present day!
Hope you enjoy! Also in this the third place game doesn't exist.
(Part 1 can be found here x)
2nd July 2019, England vs USA, World Cup Semi-final
25th minute – 1 - 1
“This is a real battle out there isn’t it Sue?” Jonathon Pearce broadcasted to the UK, all eyes on the England team trying to defeat the US. Though they had gone behind very early on, an Ellen White leveller had brought them back onto even terms.
“It certainly is, you can see how much this means to all the players out there. None of this England team have ever experienced an occasion like this before but they seem to be carrying that emotion well.”
Out on the field it felt like an out of body experience. Before this the biggest game you’d played in would have to be a substitute appearance in an FA cup final, now you were starting the semi final at a World Cup. You were 19 and felt like the whole world was watching you.
At the start of the tournament you hadn’t been expecting to start but when Jill Scott picked up an injury in the round of 16 you’d stepped into the starting position next to Keira and never looked back. Receiving praise back at home for the level-headed game you played but still managed to bring out that touch of David Beckham in you.
It was a free-kick in the quarter-final that really brought you to the forefront of the nation. A slick ball which soared into the top corner of the net leaving their goalkeeper stranded and left everyone open-mouthed at home. You were never a nobody but now you were here to stay. Your Instagram following doubled and whenever you left the hotel in the past week the camera had never left you. The pressure was on.
“Fucking hell.” You swore coming up to take a corner for England nestled into the corner of the ground flooded with US fans.
“Nepotism trash!” “Daddy not here to hold your hand!” “Can’t even kick a ball!” “Weak!” “Spineless!”
The insults were flying in from every angle, everything was covered in the thirty seconds you had to wait to take the corner, of course your dad was mentioned but so was your appearance in the media. Newly turned 19 and yet it seemed like you were still the five-year-old girl who had her father carry her everywhere. Everyone just presumed you were an innocent little baby who couldn’t put in a tackle, you hated it.
But now was not the time to let that frustration out. Now was game time when nothing else mattered.
Your in-swinging corner found Millie on the edge of the 6-yard box but she couldn’t quite get the connection on it to trouble Naeher, instead giving her an easy catch but you could feel it coming.
The only problem is now there was now a break on. A quick release from the goalkeeper had set Lavelle free, Keira had stayed back but you couldn’t leave her one on one with Morgan in the centre.
You had one second to make a decision.
One second to work out how to stop her. You could try and get further back but you knew you had to stop it at source.
You were known for your pace so you had no trouble getting back to her but Lavelle was known for her trickery and skill.
In your head you made the best decision you could. You followed the rules you played football by and trusted your instinct.
That was where the world as you knew it slowly began to fade away.
“Oh that’s a nasty one from Beckham there and Lavelle seems seriously hurt.”
You thought it was clean, in fact you were sure of it. The contact with the ball was clear sending it flying out of play, you didn’t touch her other than her leg coming into yours as she came over the top of you and yet as she rolled around on the floor it was like the opposite had happened.
Suddenly you were surrounded by players in red, all screaming at you. “What the fuck did you do that for?” “Learn that one from your daddy did you?”
Millie came to stand in front of you, trying to block you from the players as Steph and Lucy surrounded the others at the referee.
“She didn’t touch her.” Millie defended you. “Tell your own player to stop cheating.”
You thought that would be the end of it. Tempers flared, emotions were high and you would get on with the match again. When the referee reached into her pocket you were convinced it was to calm everyone down, a booking usually helped to send a message out but when you saw it was red and it was flashed in your direction it was like time stopped.
“It’s a red card for Beckham, just like her father that name has once again come back to haunt England.” Jonathon commentated. “It’s a long way back for them here.”
You couldn’t believe what was happening. “Go and have a look yourself.” Millie shouted at the ref to overcome the noise in the stadium. “It was a clean tackle, she didn’t touch her.”
“The contact was enough to endanger the opponent. It’s reckless, dangerous and that it is a red card.”
“VAR has got to overturn this.” Sue Smith pointed out. “She’s nowhere near her opponent, it’s not even a yellow card.”
“When you make a challenge like that you bring about a decision from the ref.”
“But that’s what VAR is here for, to show the referee what actually happened. Beckham has arguably been one of the players of the tournament and yet she could be remembered for just this moment.”
It could have been minutes, it must only have been thirty seconds that you stood there. Waiting for some to tell you it had all been a big mistake. Apologies would come and you’d be able to restart the game.
Instead VAR confirmed the red card. You’d been sent off in the most important game you’d ever played in, maybe would ever play in.
This time though it felt like the impact hit you immediately, looking back it was probably the reason you hated showing any emotion now. Your teammates tried to comfort you as the tears started to come but the guilt was already too much, you couldn’t bare to be around anyone right now so pulling your shirt over your face you walked back inside. Every step towards that sideline felt like you were wading through quick sand, the boos from the US side ringing in your ear as you tried to head to the tunnel.
Before the match had begun your brother had FaceTime’d you, at the time you imagined looking up at them at the final whistle, perhaps celebrating with them. Now you couldn’t face looking where you knew they would be sat. The disappointment from yourself was too much to handle right now never mind disappointing your idol, your father.
You can vaguely remember Karen Carney coming out to meet you on the touchline, a kiss being pressed to your head and a little muttering of “keep it together” in your ear. Maybe it was for the best that everyone else was busy trying to reshuffle the pack a few sympathetic faces were thrown your way but you knew football didn’t have time for sentiment. Maybe it was also for the best that Phil didn’t even look your way, your favourite kitman met you to head back into the changing rooms with you but the rest didn’t even bat an eyelid at you.
It was only when you got inside, when you were all alone that the emotion fully came out.
The anger, the pure sadness, the hatred you felt towards yourself. It started that day and it felt then like you’d received a life sentence. A life sentence hating yourself.
……
“Phil, a lot happened out there today. Can you tell us your overriding emotions right now?”
“Oh I’m just proud of every dingle girl out there who competed to the very end. They gave it their all tonight and this result shouldn’t tarnish their pride in themselves or in each other. They stuck in the game when it seemed like other people threw it away.”
“We can’t shy away from Y/N Beckham, what were your thoughts?”
“As football players we know that every tackle we put in can lead to a card and she made that decision. It’s hard because I know the talent is in there but talent can’t be everything.”
“Do you think it should have been a red?”
“Like I said the referee was put in a position where she had to make the decision. We can all wish for different outcomes on the pitch but sometimes we just have to accept them.”
“How is she doing now?”
“As a team we are all very disappointed right and I think it’s the team we should be focusing on right now.”
“Fucking bullshit.” If this was your own bedroom perhaps you would have thrown the remote at the TV, instead you calmly had to just turn it off.
Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to turn on the TV when you got back to the hotel room. England had lost in the end, going 2-1 down to an Alex Morgan winner, they’d given it there everything but it just wasn’t enough.
In the two hours since the game finished you couldn’t count the number of times you’d cried. Firstly on your own, then with some of the girls, then on your own again on the bus and yet not a single word had been said. You knew you’d never be able to say sorry enough times and they knew it was no use telling you anything right now. Though you were crying it was almost as if you were blank inside, you couldn’t take in anything else right now. Your usual spot on the bus next to Keira was left vacant, instead you found a little corner and tried to kid yourself and other that you were asleep when how could you be with all the thoughts swirling in your mind.
Your phone lay switched off on the other side of the room, that interview being the first real insight you’d got into any opinions on the matter. He was right, he might not have said it outright but it was obvious he blamed you. When Phil brought you in for your first senior camp fans were concerned about favouritism but if anything it was the opposite. He had this almost saintly view of your dad and you would never be anything compared to him.
You knew he would be worried, he tried to protect you from everything growing up but now he was powerless. Yet even knowing that you couldn’t bring yourself to switch the phone on, answer any of the messages or calls you’d received before you turned it off on the couch.
It was all too much.
…..
The plan was always for you to spend the 2 weeks you had off after the weekend in the south of France, a quaint villa in the middle of nowhere which you’d had since you were a child. This place was one of the only true places you could just be yourself. You could vividly remember the holidays there once a year being the only time you felt truly free. Your father would spend every second of the day just being a father and your mother could show you her true self, the fun and carefree woman she was away from the pressures of the public eye. This was the place where yourself, Brooklyn and Romeo would spend hours on the beach with a ball and jumpers for goalposts, where you all taught Cruz to ride a bike and Harper to swim. This place meant so much to you.
It felt wrong to tarnish this place with the thoughts you had right now.
That’s why when you touched down in London the following day instead of rushing back to your apartment to pack and meet your family at the airport, you sat, staring at the clock. Time passed, they would have waited for you to arrive and slowly realised you weren’t coming. They would probably be worried and it was for that reason only that you finally turned your phone on. The messages flooded onto your lock screens, dozens of missed calls came through but you ignored them all simply sending a message to your mum claiming you were fine and didn’t want any company right now, only one of those statements being true.
Maybe you should have expected the phone call that immediately came up from your father but they also should have expected your immediate response, decline.
You always thought you were quite strong about the media. You’d grown up with famous parents, you sadly were used to comments about every aspect of yourself from your appearance to the way you spoke. In your time at Chelsea you’d had your fair share of stick from the fans about your place in football but before this you’d proved everyone wrong.
People called you dumb, you passed all your exams and were studying part time for a degree.
People commented on your appearance, your friends and family’s comments opposed that.
United fans taunted you in an FA cup match, you stuck the ball in the top corner and celebrated right in front of them.
All those times you’d known they were wrong and could do something about it. All that media training and yet in that moment you broke the number one rule and opened Twitter.
The results were more horrendous than you ever could have imagined. Not only were there comments about your performance, but they also came for your family, your friends, yourself. The death threats were constant, every other comment on an article link were suggesting this was punishable in unimaginable ways.
Instagram though more concentrated felt worse when you checked a post from your best friend outside of football, comments were left under her post for even just being associated with your name. Taunting her, taunting you and threatening the both of you. Not only had you disappointed everyone but now you were putting those you loved in danger.
Leaving Instagram, blurry eyed and shaking like a leaf, twitter was opened once again. You couldn’t stop and the more articled you read, the more the panic started to set in. People knew where you lived from media pictures, it wouldn’t be long before they came here again. You lived in a gated community but they’d find a way in. You’d never be alone.
Your throat was closing in, it was becoming harder to breath as you panicked more. The only thing you could do was phone the only person who would understand.
“Dad…. dad I need you.”
……
Everyone probably thinks they have the best family but in this moment you knew yours were the best. Thirty minutes on from that phone call you were in your old family living room, curled up in blankets next to your mum and dad, eating homemade chocolate cake and listening to your sister talk you through her week. The biggest drama in which being a girl who took the last apple juice carton and left her with orange juice, which to an eight-year-old felt like the end of the world.
You hadn’t even said another word on that phone call before your dad was ordering you to pack a bag and promised he would be with you in less than ten minutes.
“Why didn’t you go to France?” Your thoughts came out. “We were meant to go.”
“Like we were ever going to leave you here alone,” Your dad chastised you. “I know you well enough to know you might not have needed us in that moment but we were always going to be there when you did.”
“I didn’t mean to do anything, I thought I made the right decision and now people are threatening me. They’re going to find me.”
“They’re not.” Your mother immediately comforted you. “I’ve watched enough football over the years to know tackles like that are made every week and they never get punished. Football is a game, you live for it but it’s a game and people sometimes forget that. You were a big reason England even got to the semi-final and people need to remember that.”
“What did your teammates say?” Brooklyn asked from the next sofa with my other brothers.
“I haven’t spoken to them.”
“What? You flew home with them this morning.”
“I can’t look at them. They’re all sad because of me, everyone knows it, they were always on the back foot because of me and now they’re going home.”
“Millie messaged me this morning.” Brooklyn said. You were of course very close to the Chelsea girls and they’d met your family more times than you could count. You remember they exchanged numbers before you went away on a summer camp one year just in case they needed to contact your family. “She asked me to look after you, they’re not upset.”
“They’ll never admit it, at least not to my face but how can I play with them again after all this.”
“They’re your friends.” Your mum implored and she was right. You were the youngest in the world cup but yourself Leah, Keira and Georgia had formed a little England squad bond. Your sensible and often shy nature balancing out their craziness.
“They’re better off without me. I need to get out of here.”
“Out of where?”
“Out of England, I can’t stay.”
#woso imagines#woso imagine#woso#barcelona femeni#woso x reader#leah williamson#leah williamson x reader#lionesses#leah williamson imagine#beckham#lionesses x reader
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You mentioned once or twice that frat!peter isnt as affectionate when his brothers are around so I was wonder if we could get a little something something about reader just stop being affectionate towards him in general because she didn’t mind initially since some people are just like that when it comes to pda but it’s just starting to feel to make her feel like he’s just repulsed by her ☹️
i imagine this is when they first start entering the situationship era. cause i think they were hooking up for a minute and then the lines started to blur and thats when this starts happening.
so let's say,
one night you're sitting next to him on the couch and peter's got his hand rubbing from your knee to inner thigh and back down while he's talking to you.
and when two of his frat brothers come around from the back of the couch, and one chooses to sit on the arm rest, the other on the coffee table across from him. peter's hand stops and he drops it back on his own leg. so, you try to reach out your hand to hold his but he brings his up to move his hat, obviously dodging your hold, so you got up for a drink and stayed away.
----------
the next time this happens was a morning after you spent the night, the house had gone out for breakfast and peter had made you and him breakfast, which was the first time he's ever done something like that.
you're on counter and he's got his waist slotted between your thighs with his hands up his your shirt while making out. peter pulls at the back of your knees and pulls you flush to him, subtly pulling your underwear down when the front door opens and you hear loud chatter and laughs.
peter flies backwards and turns his back completely, grabbing cups from the cabinet and pulling orange and apple juice from the fridge. he nods his head in a greeting when ethan walks in, "look who stayed the night," he gave you a fist bump.
peter holds up the juices and you point for the one in his left hand, "yup, couldn't get her to leave if i tried."
that makes you feel shitty, "no, you absolutely could. you could've said 'hey, you should go,' instead of 'let me make you breakfast and fuck you on the kitchen island.'"
tarrent's next in the kitchen, "bro, your chicks got buttcheeks on the counter."
peter places a hand on your lower back, "let's stop looking at my girls ass and let her get upstairs." he holds your arm as you jump down, tugging his shirt down to cover your bottom completely.
you speed up the steps, then call out, "i like my toast dark!" before you could hit the landing you heard ethan, "you so like her."
"gross, shut up, keznek."
------------------
the final time you arrived to a party late and searched around until you found him talking in a small huddle of his friends so you walked up with a happy grin and pushed yourself up to give him a kiss on the cheek.
"hi, handsome." the most subtle shift away, "hey," you watched him look around the room, "got any friends here?" that must mean he doesn't see himself as one, how rude.
if he doesn't want you acting like you know him outside of fucking that's fine with you. but he doesn't get to act one way around you and another around his friends, it's confusing and unfair.
"you know what, peter? you suck."
you hear his friends scoff and softly 'oo' when you walk off, peter calls out behind you, "what does that mean?" you wanted to turn around and tell him off, but you think giving him a taste of his own medicine is better.
so, you go straight to the kitchen to down three shots and grab a cup of whatever so you could jumpstart the peter hate train. it took a while, but you finally made him break away from his friend group when you'd been in an unbroken conversation with a random guy for ten minutes.
"hey, where you been?" a territorial arm is thrown around your waist, you brush his hand off and step to the side. "hey, i'll catch up with you in a minute."
and that makes peter want to explode. you're blowing him off for some random guy? some guy that's mostly no threat?"
"well-"
you gesture to the side with your head, "see you later, parker." and to stab him a little harder when he turns his back you shake your head and beam a smile, "sorry, he's kinda weird. what were you saying?"
but when you don't even find him after and wonder into the kitchen he's almost seething. peter walks up behind you and tugs at your arm, "hey, what the fuck was that?"
innocently, "what are you talking about?"
"well, let's see, trouble." he starts counting with his fingers, "you threw my arm off you, you blew me off, you cut me off, um, parker? then you said i was weird and you apologized on my behalf when i all was trying to do was talk to you."
you pout sarcastically, "oh, did i? i'm sorry, i just know how you are with me hanging all over you around your friends." peter dares look confused, "what do you mean?"
"oh!" you blink fast, "you hate it! so, i refuse to do it. and going forward, we'll keep the same energy, so no more hanging around after sex."
"no, what? why do you think i hate it? i mean, where's this coming from?" is... peter panicking a little?
"peter, you pull away and act like you don't know me everytime your friends come around. you act one way when we're alone and another when someone from the house comes around, it's unfair."
"it's not personal, trouble! if they figure out how much i like you i'll never hear the end of it."
"so... you're emotionally manipulating me because you don't want to be teased?"
when you put it like that it makes him feel terrible.
"no! yes? but not purposely. and hey, from now on, no more pulling away. even if i get roasted by every one. you have my word."
"i don't believe you."
that means prove it.
peter grabs your hips and lifts you to plop you on the counter next to the sink, he moved with such accuracy you yelp and rest your hand over his. before you could say anything ethan glides into the kitchen, unfazed by the sight.
"yo, parker, will you grab... and nevermind," just to prove a point, he kissed you while his best friend was mid question and watching.
#peter parker blurb#peter parker x reader#tasm!peter x reader#tasm! peter parker x reader#peter parker angst#peter parker fluff#my writing#frat!peter
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NATTY - All I Left To Give (M)
“I can’t keep doing this Natty,” You tell her, tears welling up in his eyes. The pain inside of your heart has fallen on her deaf ears long enough. The Toxicity of her ‘love’ has become too much to bear.
“Can’t keep doing what?” She turns around, her beauty is out of this world. You almost don’t want to continue this train of thought, just drop the whole thing.
“Natty, this whole fling? IF you can even call it that. The constant being led around with love on a stick. The constant 180’s in what you feel for me. I’m tired of it.”
“It’s more than that Y/n. You know that I love you, it’s just balancing the whole idol thing and my relationship with you gets a bit hectic,” She steps towards you, your eyes trailing up her long milky white leg ending off at her short mini skirt that she loves to wear to tease you.
“Bullshit Natty, you know that Julie tells me everything. You say that you’re going to see me but you really end up in some ghetto ass bar.”
“That only happened once Y/n, and I apologized profusely for that.”
“Natty please, let’s just end it. It’s not good for me.”
“I don’t want to let you go Y/n, You’re mine.”
“But you’re not mine, I know it all too well.”
She stares at you, you can’t help but to look at her features taking them in one last time. Her eyes,nose,lips. Perfection in your eyes,and yet there’s always something behind those eyes of hers. She takes your hand, “One last time,” She pulls you closer, “For the both of us.”
You let her take you to the hotel room, the mood is tense and somber. She softly caresses your hand with her thumb. She goes to turn on the lights, but you stop her, “Don’t turn on the lights,” She looks at you using the moonlight illuminating the room.
“Why?” She asks softly, moving her hand to your cheek. The look she gives you also makes you want to see her again after time. You repeat to yourself that this is the last time.
“I’ll pretend that you’re mine,” You push her to the bed, her beauty is doubled by the moonlit room as you kiss her, devoid of the passion that was once behind it. She wraps her arms around your neck, kissing you back with the passion that you lack.
“Kiss me like you mean it Y/n,” She whispers as her eyes dart from your eyes to your lips. Kissing her again, pouring every bit of passion that you withheld from her. She moans into the kiss as your hand roams down her body undoing the buttons of her shirt. Revealing her black lace bra, you break the kiss as you pepper kisses down her neck to her collar bone. Taking in the sight below you, her porcelain skin clad in your favorite set of hers that you have seen over the years. She blushes as she watches you stare at her, “Make love to me… baby,” She only has called you that once and she said that it was an accident, your heart races as you take off the rest of her clothes along with yours. Feeling her legs wrap around you, her hands gripping onto your forearms, nails digging into your skin as you slowly give her inch by inch. She squeezes tightly around your cock as you get deeper.
“Fuck,” You mutter under your breath as you rest your forehead onto hers as the two of you stare into each other's eyes, you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t see the love behind her look at you. Her arms are holding you tightly as you get into a slow rhythm feeling every bit of her.
“You f-feel so good inside of me baby,” She moans out, making you quicken your pace slightly, “Don’t stop please I need you, I need to feel you,” Her nails dig into your back. Your hips piston into hers as you give her everything you have left to give, “Fuck yes, Just like that baby,” You leave hickeys on her neck, something she never let you do before, but you could careless now. Her arms wrap back around your neck holding you tighter than before, “I’m going to cum baby, I-” She cries out as her leg shake, yet stay locked wrapped around you. You keep going, chasing your own orgasm.
“So good Natty,” You mutter as you piston in and out, slow then fast, deep then shallow. She mews as she rides the high of your assault and recent orgasm. She grabs a handful of your hair pulling you into a heated kiss, her tongue licks your lips asking for entrance. You let her in, her tongue fights yours for dominance as you keep up your rhythm as you start throb as your orgasm sneaks up on you. You try to pull out but she locks you down.
“Cum in me babyboy, fill me up,” She tells you so you let go filling her up, she tightens up around you milking every last drop. Once the high deads down, you look into her eyes as she caresses your cheek, the love behind her eyes is irreplaceable as the both of you close your eyes, falling asleep in her arms.
You shake awake a few hours later, Natty cuddled up by your side. You replace yourself with a pillow, leaving a note on the nightstand. Quickly and quietly getting dressed, you caress her cheek softly as she snuggles into your hand. Leaving her a kiss on the cheek, you turn around and leave.
“Baby?” You hear her voice call out, stopping you in your tracks, you look back and see her staring at your back, “Stay please.”
“I can’t, I don’t have anything left to give,” You turn back around, gripping the doorknob.
“You don’t have to give me anything,” Her arms wrap around your waist, “Let me give you what I have to give.”
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