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sunrizef1 · 17 days

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Girl back home

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x wife!reader

Warnings: cursing (I think)

Authors note: this took forever, but now I can actually work on whiv now that I’ve finished this

Summary: Everyone keeps trying to set Logan up, but no one bothers to ask if he's already got a girl (surprise! he does!)

Word Count: 4.2k (jesus)

“What about her? she’s pretty,” Alex asks as he points at the five hundredth model to walk past the Williams garage that day.

If it hadn’t been his home race, Logan might have walked away an hour ago when Alex’s pointing started but instead, he stayed, choosing to endure Alex’s unrelenting matchmaking.

“No, Alex. I’ve already said no to about 50 other girls you’ve pointed out, what makes you think she’d be different,” Logan groans, his head leaning back to rest against the wall behind them.

Alex purses his lips, a frown on his face, “Why won’t you let me get you a girlfriend?”

Logan pauses to stare at the ceiling of the garage for a second before he turns his head to face the man next to him, “I don’t need a girlfriend.”

“Yeah sure man, I’ve seen you stare quietly at a wall by yourself more times than you’d probably admit. If that doesn’t scream “I need a girlfriend” then I don’t know what does,” Alex shrugs before turning back to face away from his friend, his hand coming back up to point at a pretty-faced blonde girl making her way past the garage, even smiling when she locks eyes with Logan, “Ooh what about her? She seems to like you!”

Logan just hums in response, his eyes closing as he leaves Alex to talk to himself.

In reality, Logan truly didn’t need a girlfriend. He had something even better, a wife. Who also happened to be you. You had met when you were kids and had been in love ever since. You liked to joke that it was love at first sight but every time you said it, Logan would wonder how much of a joke it really was.

You had been there for every step in his career, through the wins and the losses, through karting to Formula racing. So when he proposed after the end of the f3 season in 2020, no one close to you was really surprised.

You got married shortly after, neither one of you wanting a big, flashy wedding. Instead, the wedding was small but still nice, just some close friends and family in attendance. Even Oscar had been there and he made sure to reference the event to everyone who wouldn’t understand when around Logan. He loved to talk about the “party” Logan had in 2020 to the other drivers who, frankly, had no idea what he meant.

When he got his move to Formula One, you were over the moon for him. You didn’t worry about long-distance. You had made it work in the past and you both had total confidence in each other to make it work. You continued your degree in engineering and he continued his career in racing. You tried to make it to races when school would let you, which wasn’t often, and he was more than happy to fly you out when he could.

Logan genuinely loved you more than anything. With that being said, this meant that he did not have the time of day for anyone trying to set him up with the Instagram model of the week who had decided to visit a garage.

But at the same time, he also didn’t feel the pressure to share your marriage with anyone. He didn’t really know any of the other drivers very well and if they wanted to know more about him, they could ask. It’s just that no one ever did.

Except, it seems, when they wanted to set him up.

“Hey, Logan!” A British voice calls out to the American, whose head shoots up at the uncommon voice.

“What’s up, mate?” The blonde asks Lando, pocketing the phone where he had just been texting you to ask about your engineering final.

Lando grins and places a hand on the American's shoulder, raising his voice to be heard above the sounds of the paddock, “I was talking to Oscar and he mentioned something about your love life and something about you being lonely, I don’t really remember what he said but anyway, I’m talking to this girl and she has this friend who I think would be perfect for you.”

Logan’s face drops at the brunette's words, a frown replacing his smile, “I’m cool Lando, thanks though.”

Lando furrows his eyebrows, disbelief written on his features, “You sure, mate? She’s sooooo fine.”

Logan just nods his head in response, backing away from the McLaren driver slowly, “Yeah I’m sure Lando, you have fun thinking about your girlfriend’s friend though.”

Lando doesn’t seem to catch the diss as he just glances up and down at Logan before shaking his head and turning on his heel to head back to his garage. Logan sighs before taking his phone back out of his pocket to see another text from you. A grin breaks out on his face as he sees your name.

Logan hadn’t talked to very many of the drivers on the grid, often feeling on the outs of a lot of conversations. So he’s even more surprised to see Charles Leclerc making his way toward him at a club. A club he had only agreed to come to so he coule be Oscar's designated driver, by the way.

“Eyyy, it’s the American!” Charles says, the alcohol clearly present in his voice. The lights are too dimmed but if they were brighter, Logan would be able to see the lipstick smudges around his white collar.

“Hey, Charles,” Logan replies, scepticism laced in his voice. The Monegasque leans closer to him, the drink in his hand sloshing around in the cup.

“I have something to tell you,” Charles slurs a bit, leaning dangerously before a pretty brunette comes up and grabs him, based on her lipstick shade compared to Charles’ shirt, she had already been more than acquaintances with him before this conversation.

Logan glances at the pair before responding dryly, “Oh no.”

Charles grins before pointing back to where he had come from, a dark-haired girl sitting at the table, “That’s Natalie.”

“Navaeh,” the brunette pipes up to correct Charles as he nods in response.

“Yeah, Nivia. Anyway, she’s a friend of mine and she’s been eyeing you all night, thought you’d want her number.”

Logan rolls his eyes at the very clearly drunk couple in front of him, increasing his headache from the pounding EDM, “What an assumption there Charles. I’m actually good though.”

“What?” Charles asks, squinting to see the blonde under the club lights.

“No thanks,” Logan smiles tightly before moving to step around the couple and probably tell Oscar that either they were both leaving or Oscar was getting an Uber, “You guys have a good night though.”

The couple is already too busy sucking face to realize he’s left.

“I just don’t understand why they keep trying to set me up, I’m perfectly happy with you,” Logan complains to you over the phone a few nights later.

You were sat in your dorm, engineering work strewn across your desk and your roommate at a party somewhere. You were trying to get as much work done as possible before Logan came to Austin for the GP so you could spend the weekend with him.

“I mean, have you told them you’re married?” You ask, trying to stifle a yawn as your hand moves to write down the equation for the problem in front of you.

Logan shakes his head, the movement almost imperceptible through the small phone screen, “Nah, but it’s just that no one’s asked you know? I’m just waiting for someone to say “Hey Logan, you got a girl back home?” Before they try and set me up with some Instagram model they know.”

You smile softly as he talks, his hands moving to mess with his blond hair periodically. He eventually looks back to the screen once he’s done ranting and is met with your smiling face filling his phone screen, “What?”

“I love you,” you say warmly, your grin practically splitting your face.

Logan blushes before laughing and shaking his head to hide the redness on his face, “I love you too. I’ll see you next week yeah?”

You look down at the now-completed homework in front of you. Homework that could’ve taken about 2 fewer hours if you weren’t on call.

“Yeah I’m done with this. I’ll turn it into my professor tomorrow and after that I am free. When do you get in?” You ask, shuffling the papers together and sliding them into your bag before moving out of your chair and flopping onto your bunk, sleep clouding your eyes.

“Uhh,” Logan pauses, glancing at his suitcase. In reality, he was supposed to get in twenty two hours and six minutes from when he hung up the call, his flight leaving in three hours and arriving in Austin after a 16 hour flight and a 2 hour layover in DFW followed by an hour long flight to Austin. He would effectively be arriving about a week before any of the other drivers. Besides maybe Daniel. But he couldn’t say any of that. He wanted to surprise you, especially now that you had no work to do. So instead he just hums, “Next week I think.”

“That’s great, babe,” you yawn, a small smile on your lips at the idea of him being back with you again, “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Yeah?” Logan grins.

You hum, your eyes drifting closed slightly, “Yeah.”

Logan notices your less-than-awake state and finally decides to end the call, “Goodnight, I love you.”

You yawn again, your eyes fluttering shut, “Good morning Logan, I love you too.”

The call ends quickly after and Logan glances at the time, grinning when he sees the 8:24 am displayed on his phone screen. You’d both had to deal with the difference in time zones for so long, you probably had all the time zones memorized. Or at least you remembered enough to call out good morning instead of goodnight while he was in Qatar.

His flight touches down twenty-two hours later and the first thing he does is call you.

“Hey what's up?” It's about 10:30 in Austin and the only thing you were doing was picking up barbeque from this place on the edge of campus that your roommate had been raving about.

“Not much, just bored,” Logan replies, his eyes scanning the background of the face time call for where you could possibly be this late.

You glance down at your phone for a second to do the same, eyebrows furrowing, “Where are you? It looks dark.”

Logan glances around slightly before replying, “In a car,” he wasn't lying, he really was in a car. Just one that was ubering to your campus instead of one with his team in Qatar, “Where are you? It's like 10 pm over there.”

“Just picking up some food,” you reply, eyes looking over the moonlit sidewalk that threads through the well-kept grass that surrounds you.

“This late?”

You laugh, “I slept through dinner.”

Logan smiles before sliding forward slightly when the car stops, “Are you just going back to your dorm?”

You look around quickly, “Yeah it's like a quarter mile back though.” You tighten your grip on the bag in your hand, the plastic having started to slip. Maybe your Ugg slides hadn't been the best choice for this walk but you'd manage.

“Oh yeah I know where you are, I remember eating at that place last time I was there,” Logan pulls his suitcase out of the trunk and tips the driver, checking periodically to make sure you hadn't clocked him.

“Yeah yeah, really good stuff and the owner remembered me today, guess I've been there enough times,” You laugh, starting to move back in the direction of your dorm once again.

By the time you had stopped to readjust the bag of food and your shoes, Logan had already started to speedwalk in the direction of your dorm. As he walks he passes enough drunk college kids to fill the football stadium they had all visited so many times.

You're walking pretty slowly, enjoying the moonlight shining brightly on the campus. Your shoes definitely weren't making you any faster to be fair.

“You turn your assignment in?” Logan asks, hoping you don't notice his eyes darting around the campus in search of you.

You nod, reaching a hand up to rub at your sleepy eyes, “Yeah, he even gave me extra credit for turning it in so early.”

Logan nods absentmindedly and you raise an eyebrow as you watch him do it before his eyes lock on something and he abruptly ends the call, “I've got to go, love you!”

You stand staring at your phone with a confused look on your face for a moment, words dying on the tip of your tongue. Weird.

You shake your head before moving to walk again, Logan's weird actions at the forefront of your mind.

Before you can even take a step, someone calls out your name and you turn quickly to see Logan standing there with the biggest grin on his face.

You gasp and wrap him in a bone-crushing hug warmth spreading through you from his arms. You move to spread kisses all across his face and for a few minutes, you both just stand there, not having seen each other in a few months and taking the time to readjust.

“I missed you,” you mumble into his shoulder, unexpected tears starting to spring from your eyes.

He just sets you down before wrapping a hand around the side of your face, “I missed you too.”

You bring a sweater-clad hand up to wipe away a tear before grabbing the food in one hand and grabbing his hand in the other, starting to lead him back to your dorm.

He grabs his suitcase as you start moving, “Is your roommate here?”

“No, you know how she is. She'll be with her new boyfriend for a few weeks so we're fine,” you wave away his question as you walk toward the building a few hundred feet away.

He smiles in response, “Hope you got enough food for two.”

You just laugh joyously.

A week and a half later, you’re stood in the hotel room Logan’s team had provided him, the room much nicer than your cramped dorm room. You had spent the last 12 days exploring Austin with your husband, making up for the time spent away from each other.

You had accidentally slept through Logan’s departure for the morning, waking up to a text explaining that, with your busy class schedule, he wanted you to get as many days of sleeping in as possible but he had gotten you breakfast and it was currently sitting in the kitchen.

You smiled at the text, appreciating Logan’s thoughtfulness. In the kitchen was a coffee from your favourite coffee shop as well as a McGriddle from McDonalds, which, no doubt, hurt Logan to order considering he wasn’t allowed to eat them.

You quickly ate the food, texting Logan to thank him. He texts back surprisingly quickly, considering he was supposed to be in a meeting.

He filled you in on how his morning had gone before asking when you’d get to the paddock for the race. You replied that you’d be there soon, quickly sliding on a light jacket over your tank top and jean shorts, preparing for the Austin heat.

Considering you had never been in the COTA paddock before, you would rather be in any situation other than your current one. There were about three hours until the race and you had no idea where the Williams garage was. You had gotten in just fine but, for some reason, you couldn’t find the blue of the Williams employees anywhere.

Logan wasn’t answering his phone, which you expected considering he had already been reprimanded for being on his phone during a meeting once this morning. Now you were left by yourself, trying to navigate the busy paddock.

You were somehow in a sea of orange, eyebrows furrowed. You turn in a quick circle, eyes setting on a curly-haired man in an orange polo who you take a few quick steps towards, hoping he can help you with directions.

“Excuse me,” you call out to the man who turns around swiftly, eyes pulling across your figure before landing on your face.

“How can I help you, love?” The man replies, a British accent laced through his voice and a sharp grin on his rosy lips.

You glance around slightly, leaning away from the man’s hungry gaze, “Do you know where the Williams garage is?”

He nods his head but keeps his eyes locked on your face, his smirk unfaltering, “Yeah, yeah, it’s just down that way.”

He points to nowhere in particular, moving to lean against the wall you’re standing near, “What’s your name, darling?”

You have to hide the smirk that tries to escape you at the fact that this man clearly has no idea you were married and also clearly thought you’d be an easy girl to flirt with considering his unwavering confidence.

You tell him your name and a grin breaks out on his face, “Pretty name, I’m Lando.”

Ah, so this was Lando. You had only ever seen him with his helmet on and from what you heard from Logan, his current behaviour made perfect sense. Logan hadn’t talked a lot about the Brit but he had mentioned him a few times considering he was Oscars teammate.

You hum, glancing around amusedly around the garage. You and Lando talk for a few more moments before a shorter figure clasps a hand on his shoulder. You lock eyes with the newcomer, grinning when you see a familiar boy standing behind Lando.

"Hey Osc," You smile at the Aussie. Oscar glances sideways at Lando, eyes shifting across his face before they turn to you. You just smile sweetly at the man who reciprocates the grin back at you.

"Hey," Lando glances confusedly between the two of you at Oscar's response. When Lando's confusion goes on a bit too long, Oscar turns and swings an arm around your shoulder, effectively moving the both of you away from the still-confused McLaren driver.

"I assume you're looking for Williams, then?" Oscar asks, running his free hand through his hair which had already begun to stick to his forehead from the Austin heat.

You hum in affirmation, sliding your sunglasses down your nose as the two of you step into the sun to make your way to your husband's garage.

Oscar makes conversation as he pulls you along, talking to you about how his season had gone and also asking a lot of questions about your engineering classes.

“I’d do a video for you, shock all your classmates,” Oscar says when you tell him you had to do a presentation explaining the engineering behind a piece of machinery and you had chosen a Formula 1 car.

You laugh, shaking your head as you do, “Yeah? I'd take you up on that, but I have a driver who'd be much easier to get a video from.”

Oscar snorts, smiling as you reach the Williams garage, “Lando?”

You roll your eyes as the name leaves his lips, hitting the back of his head with the small bag in your hands, “Don't get me started on Lando. You know he tried to set Logan up with one of his friends?”

Oscar furrows his eyebrows, “What?”

“Yeah, Lando said you told him Logan’s love life was lonely or something like that,” You reply, glancing around passively in search of your husband.

Oscar somehow manages to furrow his eyebrows even deeper, mouth opening and closing in disbelief, “That’s not what I said at all.”

“Tell him that.”

You both walk into the garage after that, you move to make conversation with Benny who’s sat to the side, surprise crossing his face as he sees you.

Oscar, though, spots Logan and makes his way to him quickly. He clasps a hand on the blonde's back who turns to face him with a grin, “What’s up Osc?”

“Lando was flirting with your wife,” Oscar states flatly, trying to push down the grin on his face.

Logan blinks a few times in an attempt to understand what the Aussie just said, “What- why?”

“Don’t think he knew she was your wife, mate.”

Logan rolls his eyes before turning around slightly to resume his conversation with his engineer. He stops mid-turn and swings back around to Oscar quickly, eyes wide, “My wife’s here?”

Oscar laughs at the American's face, stepping out of his line of sight so he can see you conversing with Benny.

Logan grins, sliding past the other boy to step toward you as quick as he can, wrapping his arms around you from behind. Oscar can’t hear what you two say to each other but he can see the love painting your faces as Logan plants a kiss on the top of your head. Benny smiles at the two of you, walking away to let you two talk.

As Oscar leaves the Williams garage, he briefly debates telling Lando you were married, especially to Logan, but he eventually decides not to. He’d figure it out eventually. Also might help to have him learn the hard way.

You sat in the garage for the entire race. But when Logan ends the race in eight, you’re jumping up happily to follow the Williams employee guiding you to where he’ll be.

The moment he’s done being weighed, he runs over to you, pulling his helmet off and unzipping his suit to his hips.

He grasps the side of your face, pulling you to him as he kisses you softly. He pulls away slightly and rests his forehead against yours, lifting a hand to grab the one you have against the side of his face, fingers brushing over your wedding ring.

“Thank you for being here. I love you.”

You can’t help the lovely laugh that escapes you, throwing your head back a bit to escape the heat rising on your cheeks, “I love you too, dork. I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles before leaning to catch you in another kiss.

Lando had finished the race in 4th. Not bad considering who had finished in front of him. He’d already talked to his team so he was now just roaming around, looking for someone to talk to.

He locks eyes on you and takes a few steps toward you before someone comes running past him. He looks over to see Logan grasping your face in his hands before pulling you down into a kiss.

He can’t help but stand in shock for a few moments although he can sense a couple people walking up next to him. He glances beside him to see Charles and Alex, both also staring at Logan in disbelief.

“What the hell?” Lando asks, to no one in particular. Luckily, or unfortunately, for him, someone has an answer.

“Are you lot staring at Logan and his wife?” Lando doesn’t look over to catch the amused look on Oscar’s face as he asks the question. But Alex does, and he furrows his eyebrows at the younger man.

“Sorry?” Alex asks the Aussie who just smiles and turns back to the couple, still smiling in each other's embrace.

Charles is the first one to notice anything and he smacks the other two on the head when he does, “They’re both wearing wedding rings.”

Alex blinks for a second, caught in the strange reality that he hadn’t noticed his teammate wearing a wedding ring the whole season. He pulls out his phone to go through old photos and low-and-behold, Logan’s wearing a ring in every single one.

“Jesus Christ,” Lando mumbles, running a hand through his damp curls, “I flirted with her.”

“Yeah,” Oscar nods, hands on his hips, “I probably wouldn’t talk to Logan for a while if I were you. Unless you want to find out how they do it in Florida.”

Lando gulps at the boy's words, of course, having no idea how they “do it” in Florida but only assuming he’d end up with a black eye. Oscar has to stifle a laugh, knowing Logan would most likely just laugh it off if Lando genuinely apologized. Not that Lando would.

Oscar's eyes drift across the trio of confused drivers, most likely all going through their memories of the times they had tried to set Logan up.

“You told me he was lonely,” Lando finally whines out, turning back to Oscar who shakes his head.

“I told you he was lonely because his girlfriend couldn’t make it to any of the races. If you would listen, you would’ve heard that part.”

Lando has no defence to that and turns his head back again to watch as Logan laughs at something you said, fingers intertwined together.

When the news spread across the paddock the next day, Logan received a lot of incredulous texts from drivers and employees alike, all shocked that he was in a relationship, let alone married.

Logan didn’t read any of them, he was too busy hanging out with you.

Except, of course, the message from Oscar that included three specific drivers all with their eyes wide as they stared at him and you.

——————————————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

#scheduled #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 smau #logan sargeant x fem!reader #logan sargeant x you #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant x reader

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yandere-daydreams · 5 months

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tw - modern!au, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, nonconsensual touching, and stalking. written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

“I’ve been thinking about us, again.”

He was barely trying to whisper, his voice loud enough to earn several pointed looks from the people around you. You’d tried to put yourself at a distance from the rest of the class, to sit in a deserted corner of the near-empty lecture hall, but he wouldn’t have cared if you were in the first row. That was something you’d had to learn quickly about him – Kunikuzushi was shameless at the best of times, actively vitriolic at the worst. Your public humiliation wasn’t just a pleasant side-effect of his company, but an active goal he was striving towards during every minute you spent together.

“You don’t have to look so worried – if I was going to break up with you, you’d know.” You kept your eyes trained on the lecturer, your expression schooled to practiced disinterest, but his voice lulled like you’d broken into tears. You felt him shift that much closer to you – his thigh pressing into yours. “I just don’t think we spend enough time together. I know, I know, we’re both busy, but still. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

You were. Just last week, you’d spent two hours locked in your bedroom closet – lights off and knees pulled into your chest – because Kuni had somehow gotten your address and decided it would be a good use of his time to loiter on your doorstep and refuse to leave until you came out. You planned your day-to-day schedule meticulously to make sure it would never bleed into his, went out of your way not to have to go where you knew he would be, but there was only so much you could do to get away from someone willing to blow off his classes and skip work just to spend the better part of a day sending you candid pictures from one of his countless burner phones. You could only be thankful he was too caught up in his own delusions to ever let his obsession turn violent. Lashing out at you for never acknowledging whatever relationship he thought you were in would be akin to admitting you didn’t have a relationship at all, he would never do that.

He took up your hand, his fingers soon intertwined with yours. You tried, weakly, to pull away from him, but he only let out a breathy chuckle, his head soon resting on your shoulder. Compared to how he’d acted when you first met – standoffish, bristly, constantly on the verge of losing his temper – he was practically a touch-starved puppy, happy so long as he could sit in your lap and bask in your attention, positive or negative.

If only you’d ever wanted a pet.

“I don’t know why I can’t just come out and say it.” Another laugh, a playful squeeze to your hand. “I think we should move in together.”

You snapped in his direction, your knees jolting against the bottom of your desk and earning a few pointed glares. After mouthing a sheepish apology, you dug your nails into the back of his hand, keeping your voice as low as possible. “Kuni, I— I don’t think that’s—”

“Don’t think it’s practical?” Predictably, he cut you off. “I knew you’d say that. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be able to find the nerve to leave your apartment.” You felt his smile against the dip of your shoulder, then the crook of your neck as he nuzzled against you. “I’ve already handled it. By the time that moron—“ He rolled his eyes towards your professor. “—shuts up, everything should be taken care of.”

You felt something heavy and sharp drop into the pit of your stomach. “But, you don’t have a key—”

“I made myself a key a couple weeks ago – got tired of waiting for you to offer. I love you, babe, but you’re too timid for your own good.” His grin, pressed the curve of your throat. “You can thank me later on, after I’ve shown you our new place.”

His hand fell to your thigh, just a touch too high not to trigger some buried, primal instinct inside of you. You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate – bolting upward and tearing yourself away from him. Your chair scaped against the tile floor, your palms slamming against the desk, and in an instant, every pair of eyes in the lecture hall were on you. The professor scowled in your direction, his ire tangible. “Do you have something to say, (L/n)?”

You opened your mouth, but your mouth was dry, your throat suddenly swollen shut. Your gaze fell back to Kuni – his smile still wide and his eyes still so, so dark.

Wordlessly, you shook your head and collapsed back into your seat. As the lecture picked back up and all concentration was returned to the front of the rom, Kuni latched onto you once again, his hold twice as strong and twice as suffocating as it had been.

It was almost a comfort to know that, this time, there wasn’t anything you could do to get away from him.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #yandere wanderer #wanderer x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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kaiijo · 5 months

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FRIENDS TO LOVERS — [KNB]

characters: aomine daiki, midorima shintarou, hanamiya makoto content: gn! reader, reader has implied tieable hair in midorima’s, toxicity (it’s hanamiya, no one is surprised) notes: scenarios inspired by prompt list here

aomine daiki ✶

aomine yawns again as he reclines against your pillows, sitting up only to peer at you. you’re working on homework that’s due in a couple of days, headphones covering your ears. you promised that you’ll order in food and play super smash bros with him when you finished, but it’s nearing eight and you’re still hunched over a problem set.

aomine groans loudly, “are you even close to being done?”

you move one headphone cup off. “i would be closer if you didn’t interrupt me every ten minutes.”

“i didn’t ask to hang out just to sit around.”

you roll your eyes. “you can go if you want, daiki.”

he sits up fully now, moving to the edge of your bed. “why’re you even doing this? s’not due ‘til friday.”

“some of us want to be good students.” you slide your headphones back on and turn back to scribbling out complicated equations on paper.

a couple of minutes pass again and instead of asking you anything, aomine stands up and shuffles behind you, reaching around and snatching the paper from underneath you. “hey!” you protest, shooting up from your seat and tearing off your headphones. “give it back, daiki.”

“no, you said you’d be done, like, two hours ago.”

“i swear i’m almost done!” you make a lunge for it and aomine just holds it above his head, his long arm adding to his already-massive height.

“no.” he smirks at the way your eyes furrow and your cheeks puff out. your head tilts to the left, and he knows that you’re thinking. he’s sure you’re going to try and jump of it again, so as a show, he stretches up further, the hem of his shirt lifting slightly. he swears he catches your eyes flickering down and something in his body sings a song of triumph and satisfaction at the motion. he can’t say why.

what you do next though is nothing that he expects. you stand on your toes, rest your hands delicately on his shoulders, and gaze up at him through your lashes. he startles; there’s something so… heated about your expression, about those half-lidded eyes.

“daiki,” you say softly. it’s almost hypnotic, the way you say his name, and he’s watching you with one raised eyebrow. the tips of his ears feel like they’re on fire.

he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing as his arm lowers, heading for the dip of your waist. he only snaps out of it at your victorious cry. “ha!” you take advantage of his still half-dazed state and push him firmly out of your bedroom door, closing it. the lock clicks into place and he hears you call on the other side, “one more problem, daiki, i promise. be a dear and set up smash in the living room?”

he walks down your hall automatically, the fire-like feeling spreading to his neck.

midorima shintarou ✶

takao holds up a porcelain statue of a cat. “what about this?’

“takao, what about that screams ‘midorima shintarou?’”

takao shrugs. “i don’t know, maybe it’ll be december 25th’s lucky item. does oha asa put out horoscopes ahead of time?”

“no, that’s why he listens every morning when it airs,” you reply, setting down a teapot from a bigger set. you thank the tired-looking cashier, who just waves drowsily as you two exit the shop.

the two of you have been shopping all day for midorima’s christmas present, wandering all over japan and into various tchotchke stores to look. he’s a notoriously hard person to please, especially with gifts, and neither of you want a repeat of the ‘grey’s anatomy incident’ where four people got midorima the same book last holiday season when he announced his intention to go to medical school. nor do any of you want to get that look from him that struggles to look somewhat grateful while being very, very obviously displeased.

“we’ve been walking all day!” takao whines, clutching his stomach as it lets out an ungodly rumble. you check your watch; you two have been out for at least four hours. you point at a small diner boasting american food. “would you be okay with that?”

“i’d eat you right now if you’d let me.”

you snort, “hard pass. come on.”

the hostess sits you two at a booth and you shrug off your heavy winter coats. you pick up a menu and glance over it, but when you go to ask takao what he’ll be getting and if he wants to split a large order of assorted fries with you, you see he’s not looking at the menu.

you definitely do not like the way takao is eying you right now. “what?” you ask defensively, hands flying to the top of your head to try and pet down at hair you presume has been ruined by your excursion. “do i look bad or something?”

“is that shin-chan’s sweater?”

fuck. you had forgotten about pulling on one of the sweaters midorima left at your house the last time you studied together. it’s insanely soft — a mix of gray wool and cashmere — not to mention extremely cozy and warm. you tried to return it to midorima before but he just pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and huffed, “wear it until you get proper sweaters. no, sweatshirts don’t count.”

you internally groan. you don’t need takao on your ass again about whether or not you’re sure you and midorima aren’t dating or if you like him like that. honestly, the only reason you haven’t given him a certain yes or no is because… you don’t really know yourself.

you don’t have proper time to answer before the bell to the restaurant chimes and you see very recognizable green hair. of all the time and places he has to show up. (well, he did text you this morning that your zodiac sign was the least lucky and to wear a blue watch in order to improve your fortune; you should’ve found the watch.)

“oh! shin-chan!” takao waves him over, giving you a sly look. “we were just talking about—” takao’s stupid hawk-eyes zero in on midorima’s wrist as he tugs off his gloves. he looks way too please with himself as he asks, “shin-chan, is that they’re hair tie?”

hanamiya makoto ✶

hanamiya steps out of the locker room shower, cracking his knuckles as he makes his way to his locker to dry off and change. he rolls his shoulders, toweling off his hair as he changes back into his school uniform. yamazaki and hara a prattling away, snickering under their breaths about the injuries they inflicted: sprained ankle, a hairline fracture, a minor concussion.

hanamiya doesn’t even turn around as he growls, “can you two shut up?”

to just bug him more, hara pops his gum. loudly. “who pissed in your cereal, captain?”

furihara drones, “you were sloppier today. almost got fouled by the ref.”

hanamiya doesn’t reply, yanking the knot of his tie down furiously. “fuck off.”

hara lets out a low whistle and seto asks, “does this have to do with your little friend? they got a boyfriend, right?”

hanamiya lets out a long breath through his nose and he spins around to face his teammate. “for now,” he says, slamming his locker shut.

“you got a plan, captain?” asks yamazaki as he digs through his duffel bag.

“when do i not?”

———

you greet hanamiya’s mother with a thin smile when she opens the door. her face lights up when she sees you and she pulls you into a warm hug, telling you that hanamiya’s in his bedroom and that you could go right up.

you wonder if she can see the glossy film to your eyes or if she was polite enough not to comment on it.

hanamiya’s sitting at his desk, head propped up on his knuckle. he languidly flips through pages but you know he’s not really reading the material. he’ll get away with it too and get an a anyways, the bastard. he glances at you. “you look like shit.”

usually, you could banter with him. it’s why your friendship works; you have a thicker skin than most and you give just as good as you take, especially when it comes to hanamiya’s sneering, half-joking insults. normally, you would have replied with something like “still better than you,” but instead, your frayed nerves snap and you feels the hot tears start rolling down your cheeks.

hanamiya’s simpering expression sobers up and he sighs heavily, ushering you to sit on the bed. “why’re you crying?”

you sniffle and tell him that the guy you’ve been seeing from your literature class broke up with you. just out of the blue told you that you two wanted different things and you were going to colleges in different areas and that wouldn’t work and he was sorry and… that’s all you gleaned because his words were so rushed as he scurried off as fast as he could.

hanamiya’s brow furrows sympathetically and he draws you into a hug, saying, “i told you i didn’t like that guy. fuck him.”

you sink into his arms. “yeah,” you mutter, “fuck him.”

as you relax against him, hanamiya can’t help but smirk to himself in satisfaction. someone who runs off after a little confrontation doesn’t deserve anything from you.

#knb x reader #kuroko no basuke x reader #kuroko's basketball x reader #aomine daiki x reader #aomine x reader #midorima shintarou x reader #midorima x reader #hanamiya makoto x reader #hanamiya x reader #knb scenarios #knb imagines #knb #kuroko no basket #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ kaiijo writes

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 9 months

Note

for a conrad x reader request- could you do one where conrad is just really overwhelmed and stressed out and just needs comfort and physical touch?

When I saw this hug in the trailer, my heart could not handle it. He looks so soft and sad and- It's probably one of my favorite moments

warnings: mention of cancer, sad!conrad

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You knew something was off with Conrad when you received five calls in the past three days.

This was a stark contrast to his usual pattern of calling you every night since he started college. Despite telling him it wasn’t necessary to call every night and prioritize his studies, Conrad was insistent that it wouldn't affect his grades.

During your calls, you noticed a change in his demeanor. He seemed distant and unengaged, merely listening to you without his usual laughter at your humor, which raised further suspicions that something was off. You suspected it was related to Susannah. She started this new treatment a few weeks ago and Conrad didn’t like being away from her. It worried him to be so far away from her.

You wanted to surprise him. Sparks some happiness into his sad eyes and bottles up hardships.

You stood on the other side of his dorm door, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. You wanted everything to go perfectly, knowing that the impact of your surprise could mean so much to Conrad in his current state.

What if his roommate doesn’t want you there and gets into an argument with Conrad? What if Conrad doesn’t want you there?

Your stomach twisted into a knot.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you took a deep breath and gently knocked on the door, your heart pounding with anticipation as you waited. Moments later, the door opened, revealing Conrad's tired but surprised expression.

‘’What are you doing here? I was just about to call.’’

You gave him a soft smile. ‘’This is much better than a phone call, isn’t it?’’

He nodded, the corner of his mouth curling slightly despite his overall tired appearance. The dark circles under his eyes could be from school alone, but this wasn’t just from getting less hours of sleep. His gaze was distracted, absent, by times.

Like now.

‘’Are you gonna invite me in or do I have to camp outside your dorm?’’ you asked, snapping Conrad out of his thoughts.

‘’Oh, eh…yeah, sorry.’’ He stepped aside, inviting you in. ‘’I had a class at 8am, my brain is a bit tired.’’

It was a lie. But you didn’t say anything.

‘’My roommate is at some frat party,’’ Conrad explained, closing the door and locking it. ‘’Shouldn’t be here until late. Very late. Unless he crashes at Deborah’s dorm.’’

You nodded, setting your bag on the floor on Conrad’s side of the room. It was small for two people, but what were you expecting? It’s a college dorm.

A frown formed when you saw how untidy Conrad’s space was. There was a mess of papers and textbooks scattered around on his desk, indicating the stress he was under with his studies, and the dirty laundry basket was full and spilled onto the floor a little. This was so unlike him.

On his nightstand, you noticed a piece of photobooth strip and smiled. You took these at the mall last spring, right before Conrad overheard his parents and learned about Susannah’s cancer. It was the last time you saw him truly happy. The last time his mother’s health wasn’t constantly in the back of his mind.

‘’You keep a picture of us by your bed,’’ you pointed out, picking up the photobooth strip.

Conrad turned his head toward you. ‘’Yeah,’’ he admitted, rubbing his palms over his blue jeans.

You set the photobooth strip back to its place and slowly stepped toward Conrad. Through the phone, he could hide behind his many walls, but in person, it was easy for you to see that he wasn't okay. You could see right through him.

‘’Connie? You know you can talk to me about anything, right?’’

Conrad nodded as he lowered his head.

He tried to put on a brave front, but deep down, he wanted nothing more than to fall apart in your arms and stay there forever. Life had become such a heavy weight lately, he wasn't sure he could deal with it.

‘’Come here.’’ You drew him close and, like pieces falling into places, his arms wrapped around you and he rested his head on your shoulder with a vulnerability only you was allowed to see him in. You raised a hand to his shoulder, soothingly rubbing his back. ‘’Nothing is alright,’’ he admitted, his arms tightening around you, seeking comfort and reassurance.

—

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1 @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup

TSITP taglist: @msmarvelknight @maritaleane @dingus0401 @idontknowwhatimdoing777 @nomorespahgetti @lomlolivia @5sosbands @bloodyhw @depthsofdespairr @a-band-aid-for-your-heart @gilbertscurls @brandirouse86 @leilani-nichole @Veescorneroftheworld @papayaboyluvr @bchindureyes @bellysbeach @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher fanfic #the summer i turned pretty imagine #the summer i turned pretty

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hellfirenacht · 7 days

Text

This Machine...

Summary: Your birthday is coming up, and Eddie makes you a present.

Tags: sfw, friends to lovers, slightly possessive Eddie and Reader if you squint, Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k words

Master List

There were certain perks to being the school’s resident dealer. For one, Eddie had made very good friends with the old janitor that kept to himself, flying under everyone’s radar, including Higgins’. The nice perk that came with being friends with ol’ Mr. Greg was the fact that he had the keys to every single room in the school, which meant that Eddie’s lock-picking days were lowered considerably.

These were good perks to have, especially since your birthday was coming up. Eddie had convinced the art teached at the beginning of every year to allow himself and his club to use the art room to make their Hellfire shirts. The art department had managed to get funding four years ago for a screen printing kit, convincing the board that having the ability to make shirts would create unity within the school.

Frankly, Eddie thought that was a load of bullshit. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to use it to his advantage when he could. So every September, Eddie would gather his little sheepies for an afternoon of arts and crafts, creating the shirts and ruining the ones they were wearing in the mess. Eddie would always try and make a few extra, just in case there were stragglers that needed saving from the conformity of Hawkins High school. Not once did he consider the irony of having his sheep in uniform.

In most cases, the art teacher was willing to work with him and let him in without much fuss. Of course, that was when Eddie was still a student. He had now been a proud high school graduate for seven months and the shock of not being in school had him spiraling for the first month before he found himself working at the Hideout again. Work, rehearsal, work, rehearsal, a thirty minute set at the Hideout if he was lucky, work, rehearsal.

God, he missed Hellfire. That was the only part of school that he missed; a consistent Dungeons and Dragons schedule.

Still, it wasn’t all bad and monotonous. Turns out that if you aren’t stuck at school 8 hours a day, 5 days a week you can go other places when children are at school. And when you go to places where kids aren’t, you tend to meet adults.

Enter you.

You had been working at the record store on morning shift, and had been for a few months now. Although you had more often than not worked weekends, somehow you and Eddie had eluded each other in the two years of you sorting through the various artists and ringing up customers.

It had been a Thursday when Eddie met you, a fact he only remembered because the previous night had been the day that Bev allowed him to go on two nights in a row at the Hideout, which had been unheard of for Corroded Coffin.

“Ain’t no one barely here anyways, Eddie.” she’d said, having long since stopped calling him Junior.

He had been flying high, and an old drunk had even left him a tip on the bar, enough to drop by the record store and pick up an album he’d been eyeing for a while. You had been standing at the boxes, resetting them and reorganizing them for the hundredth time that week. It had been so slow that day that it was all you could do to keep yourself busy.

W.A.S.P had been playing at a near whisper quiet volume, and when Eddie asked you about it you had just smiled, shrugged, and said that the owner only allowed you to play them on Thursdays when it was dead, or Sunday morning when anyone who’d get offended by the lyrics would be at church.

The two of you had been friends ever since.

A half hour of idle chat about music had turned into five months of late night talks on the phone, hanging out in Eddie’s van, swapping music back and forth, visiting each other during your shifts, and a tentative bi-monthly D&D session with you, and Corroded Coffin.

Eddie would never know how badly he messed up your sleep schedule, going on late at night with Corroded Coffin when you had a morning shift, but it was always worth it to give him a sober audience member.

The best nights though, were the times where you’d come over and just... hang out with him. You’d come over to Wayne’s trailer after your shift, or he’d pick you up from your place, and the two of you would just sit and talk.

You never bat an eye at how messy his room was, and he made sure there was no food left out and would at least make an effort to clean out all of the beer cans in his room. Mostly you’d just sit on his bed and watch him play guitar, or spend hours talking about everything and nothing.

As much as you enjoyed hearing him practice the same riff on his electric guitar over and over again, you had admitted to him that you always had a soft spot for the acoustic guitar that collected a little more dust in the corner that he’d pull out on rare occasions.

THIS MACHINE SLAYS DRAGONS

You’d voiced your fondness for the instrument several times, enjoying the combination of Woody Gunthrie’s iconic guitar adjusted for your friends’ eccentric taste.

Five months of friendship. Five months of hanging out with no pressure, no needing to look after each other, five months of feeling like a fucking human in this damn town.

And one month of having the most embarrassing and awkward crush on you.

Eddie had dated before, and he’d been interested in girls and some girls had even shown some interest in him until they realized that Eddie wasn’t someone to be fixed or saved. Eddie had even had sex before, but not to the extreme lengths that he’d found had been circulating in high school.

Seriously, who had the time to come up with half the shit that this town thought he’d allegedly done?

You found great joy in hearing about his spin in the rumor mill. Whenever one of you heard a rumor about the Freak, you’d compare notes and laugh about how stupid it was. Of course, Eddie put little effort into actually stopping the rumors, and now that he was no longer in high school it didn’t seem to matter as much anymore. He’d still get dirty looks from people in town but he found that more often than not people would just leave him alone now. Jocks, nerds, freaks, cheerleaders; outside the halls of Hawkins High those words didn’t hold half the weight they used to.

“So they’re saying that now you spiked the punch at homecoming?” you asked, laughing. “I must have missed that dance.”

“Yeah, so did I. I only went to homecoming once in school and that was Sophomore year.” Eddie replied, his fingers tabbing out a melody that he had been working on for a new song. “And there was no way I was able to get my hands on any alcohol that night.”

“Why would you waste perfectly good alcohol on a high school dance, anyway?” you laughed.

Eddie could listen to you laugh for hours.

And it was because of this, that Eddie was now back at Hawkins High, while Ol’ Greg unlocked the art room on this fine weekend. It didn’t take much convincing, Ol’ Greg didn’t give a shit about Eddie’s reputation and never had, and for that Eddie had slipped the janitor an extra joint for his trouble as payment for letting him in.

The room looked about the same as it had the last few weeks of school, aside from some new art projects. Other than that, everything was in about the same place. Eddie wasted a little time wandering around the room, looking at the different projects and taking in the scent of old clay and dried paint. Aside from the old drama room, the art room was the only other place in the school where he felt okay in this hellhole.

It didn’t take much to get your shirt size. You always had a bad habit of leaving your sweaters in his van, so going to grab a blank hoodie in your size was the easy part. The design he was using was easy as well, and after so many years of making Hellfire Club shirts he could probably make this in his sleep.

But he wouldn’t, because he wanted this to be perfect. So for the next few hours he carefully pulled out the equipment, found the right shade of red he wanted to use and painstakingly created the stencil, adding his own personal flair to it. The finished product was probably nicer than any Hellfire Club shirt he’d ever made.

By the end of it, your new hoodie was done and he was sure that you’d love it so much that you’d never forget it in his van.

With the finished product in hand he was able to lock up, thank Ol’ Greg, and make his way home.

Now all Eddie had to do was give it to you for your birthday. The two of you had made plans to hang out that morning together at Benny’s for some birthday waffles or pancakes or french toast or whatever you wanted. He’d treat you, he’d been saving for this.

Then he’d give you the gift, and you’d love it and then he’d suck it up and ask you out. He could do this. Jeff swore to Eddie up and down that you clearly had feelings for him. Eddie wasn’t stupid, he’d noticed your flirting and had flirted back so many times. This dance between the two of you had been going on for weeks now, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying. With any luck, the note he had tucked into the pocket would also help him out.

You were already at your usual booth when he arrived that Sunday morning. It was supposed to be a very quiet morning, Benny’s was never busy first thing on Sunday. So when Eddie walked into the diner to meet you, his stomach dropped as he saw the rest of his band already sitting with you.

A chorus of his friends called him over, and Eddie, dejected, slid in the booth on the opposite side of you. You were on the end of one booth, seated next to Jeff and Zack, while Eddie took the spot next to Gareth.

Eddie wanted to be pissed at the guys for ruining his plan, but then he saw the look on your face. You were thrilled to be around everyone and were excitedly talking to Jeff about the new song that he was learning. It was your birthday, your day, and if you were having fun, that was the important part. He did make sure to put your food on his tab though, he wasn’t going to let anyone else have that satisfaction.

As the morning went on, Eddie had completely forgotten about the hoodie currently sitting in the small bag by his leg. He was only reminded of it when Gareth got up to go pee and Eddie was forced out of the booth, as his foot kicked the bag and you noticed it.

Your eyes immediately lit up when you noticed the red gift bag and your smile widened.

“Eddie, is that for me?” you asked, batting your eyelashes. “Did you get me a present?”

He didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone, that hadn’t been part of the plan. But he sucked it up and pulled the hoodie out and tossed it to you. Eddie could worry about asking you out later when the rest of his friends weren’t around. He’d never want to put that pressure on you anyway.

“Yessss!” you grabbed it eagerly in your hands and unfolded the hoodie, noticing the design.

This Machine Slays Dragons was splashed across the front, and on the front pocket was a small colony of bats, just like the ones on Eddie’s arm. He watched as your eyes widened, in surprise and delight, and felt a wave of relief wash over him as you eagerly put it on.

“Holy shit, Eddie, I love it!” you said, and got out of the booth to throw your arms around him. Your lips pressed against his cheek, and for a moment Eddie felt like he was on cloud nine as he hugged you back, giving you a slight squeeze before you pulled away.

“You always said you liked my guitar.” He said, shooting a look to his bandmates who were making kissy faces behind your back. The glare only egged them on.

“It’s got your bats on it.” you said, looking down at the design, smoothing it out. “This is so fuckin’ cool!”

As you ran your hands down the design, you heard a faint crinkle in the pocket. When you reached inside, alarm bells went off in Eddie’s head and he quickly muttered something about needing a cigarette before turning on his heel and walking straight outside to his van.

He’d completely forgotten the note that he had slipped into the pocket. You absolutely were not supposed to open that in front of everyone. Eddie leaned against the back of his van, lightly smacking his head against the door, the barely touched cigarette in his hand.

“Eddie...?” Your voice made him go stiff, his head still against the fan. He took one long drag of the cigarette and exhaled the smoke before standing up straight to look at you. You were holding the note in your hand with a sheepish grin on your face.

“Hey.” He said, not sure how to proceed. He couldn’t read your smile. Was it a sad smile? Were you going to awkwardly tell him that you didn’t feel the same but you could be friends? He could live with that, but it would really sting.

“So....” you looked at the note and read the two words printed there in his handwriting. “‘Date me’, huh? I’ve heard you come up with the wildest descriptions for things when we play D&D, but the most you could jot down was... ‘Date me’?”

It was. Eddie had racked his brain for hours on what to say to you, but he couldn’t find the words he wanted to. Everything felt either too cheesy, or too stiff, or not him, or too casual. He was really banking on the hoodie to be more of a selling point than the note.

“I thought it’d be cuter if it had just been the two of us this morning.” Eddie admitted. “Look, I get it if you’re here to respectfully decline. We can just be friends, I swear I won’t make it weird-”

“I’ll date you.” The words were firm and steadfast. There wasn’t a single waiver in your voice as you said those three words. You took a step closer to him and shoved the note back in the hoodie pocket. “Eddie I... I want to date you. I’ve wanted to date you for about 10 minutes after we met.”

Eddie’s head lowered slightly and his eyes widened as he stared at you. “Are you serious?”

“Well, yeah.” you said. “A cute guy walks into a record store, knows about good music, invites me to play D&D and then becomes one of my best friends? Yes, Eddie, I want to date you.”

Eddie snuffed out the barely touched cigarette and leaned in towards you. God, he was fucking clueless sometimes.

“You know... that hoodie looks good on you.” He said, trying to sound smooth. “It’ll look better in the back of my van.”

You stared blankly at him for a second and then burst out laughing, your head thrown back. “No, no, nevermind.” you cackled. “I changed my mind. I’m done. We’re done.”

Had Eddie not known you as well as he did, he might have taken that as a real rejection. But he knew that laugh, he’d heard it a hundred times over the past few months.

He reached out and grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to him, you were still smiling wide when you looked up at him. “Seriously, Eddie? I agree to date you and you pull out that line?”

“Don’t get mad at me, Sweetheart.” He said. “You’re the one constantly leaving your clothes in my van. I don’t know why you’re laughing at my perfectly innocent statement.”

“Oh fuck off, Eddie.” You laughed. “You know exactly what you said and how you meant it. And maybe I wouldn’t have had to leave my clothes in your van all the time if you had asked me out earlier.”

“And would you care to share that logic with me?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. Had you really been leaving things in his van on purpose?

“I had to mark my territory.” you said with a smile. “Can’t let anyone in your van think that you’re seeing someone else.”

It was Eddie’s turn to laugh and you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Ah yes, the most popular freak in all of Hawkins definitely has a line out the door of people wanting to date him.” he said, his hands finding your hips.

“You’re laughing. I’ve seen you flirting with Ms. Robin’s at The Hideout and you're laughing at me?” you tried to pout, but you were holding back your own giggles.

“Ms. Robins is a 75 year old woman who can drink everyone under the table.” Eddie pointed out.

“See? How am I supposed to compete with that! I had to sacrifice my jackets to make sure no one would be asking you out.” you protested. “What else could I-”

Eddie had originally planned on asking if it was okay for him to kiss you first, but he knew that if he didn’t do something now you’d keep cracking jokes and this conversation wouldn’t go anywhere. You tasted faintly like your birthday breakfast, but Eddie quickly decided that it wasn’t a bad thing. He felt the faint push of your lips back against his, and he mentally kicked himself for not doing this the first time you two hung out.

“Happy birthday.” Eddie said, as he finally pulled back.

“Guess I got my wish, and I didn’t even have to blow out any candles.” you replied, just a little bashful at the admission.

“You aren’t allowed to leave this hoodie in my van.” Eddie said. “You can leave any other jacket or sweater in there but not this one.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” you said, “But why this one specifically?”

Eddie touched the pocket that had the bats that matched his tattoo. “Because how else will other people know that you’re seeing someone?”

“Oh, you little shit!” you laughed. “Really? You think I’m weird for what I did when you basically put your logo on a hoodie that you know I’m going to wear every day?”

“Guess that makes us both freaks now.” He replied, with a satisfied grin.

“There are worse things to be in a small town.” you decided, taking his hand. “So I guess this means you’re my boyfriend now. No take backs.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sweetheart.” Eddie crossed his heart.

You leaned in and gave him another quick kiss. “Come on. The sooner we go back in there, the sooner you all can sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me, and the sooner that’s done, then the sooner we can leave. And if you play your cards right, Eddie, you might get lucky and see this hoodie on the floor of your van anyway.”

“So, the line worked?” He smirked.

“Come on, Zack is hiding a box of cupcakes.” you laced your fingers with his. “Dessert first and then second dessert.”

“And then elevensies dessert?” Eddie teased.

“It’s my birthday and I will change my mind, I swear.” you cackled, walking back into the diner with him.

And because he knew your laugh so well, he had a very good feeling about how he’d help celebrate your birthday when the two of you would finally be alone.

Thank you @hellfiredarling for the hoodie! They made it for me for my birthday last year 💜

Divider by @strangergraphics

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #I'm on a roll with posting be proud of me

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formulaforza · 10 months

Text

—strawberry wine

and all the times we used to have. (nothing defines a man like love that makes him soft). pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader warnings: language, angst babyyy love, mackie... 5k ish. this is. definitely something. perhaps it should have stayed in the drafts but dani selected it from a group of it's peers yesterday evening.

It’s been years since you last spent enough time at the vineyard to be considered even a part-time employee. It’s hard to be there, now, in a way it didn’t used to be. Watching it fade away into obscurity and beg someone–anyone–to buy the property to land so your family can get out without generational debt. The fields just hold so many memories, an ancestral kind of history; your first job, the place you had your first drink, where you fell both in, and out of love for the first time. Being there now, watching it die a malignant death is just… sad. There isn’t anything poetic about it.

You long for the days of the peak, of never ending days spent behind the counter in the barn selling wealthy people on the aesthetics of a small, family-run vineyard. Of your father hosting tours and your mother tastings, of you, pink nose and shoulders kissed by the sun, picking grapes by hand. Of the days where help still had to be hired.

For a while there, it seemed like there was a never ending rotation of teenagers and twenty-somethings willing to do manual labor for minimum wage–thirteen an hour–from sunup to sundown. They’d even host the occasional tour on busy Saturday evenings, would be compensated in under the table bottles of wine and cash tips. None of them ever stuck around longer than a couple months, found better jobs indoors, closer to school, better pay. Well, nobody except Daniel.

Daniel worked at the vineyard for… four-ish years, with varying availability depending on seasons and school and racing.

Sometimes, when you lose yourself to sentiments and fantasy, you imagine a world where the Vineyard never faced any competition, where it is still thriving and you take over your mother’s job when she retires. Daniel still works there, maybe in the fields where he was always supposed to be, or maybe front of house guiding tours and helping you with tastings. Life is simple and plain and at the end of every night you lock the barn doors and go home together and eat dinner and grocery shop and do your taxes. Daniel strums the guitar on the porch when it rains. Life is easy and fun and you laugh more than you don’t.

It’s silly, really. But first loves are always silly.

He is one of the many memories that haunt the property, walking the lines of grapevines feeling more like a walk through a fogged out graveyard than anything.

Even now, all these years later, you can still see him sat in the swivel chair in the office doorway, throwing grapes at you while you attempt to run the dusty cash register. It’s a cool July afternoon and he’s got a stupid grin on his face and can’t look anywhere but you.

Daniel is kind of like those people you know you’re given young so that for the rest of your life you know what real feels like. They’re more a lesson than a lover, unfortunately.

—

You move through the place like you own it, which, you suppose technically you do, in some will locked away in an accountant’s filing cabinet, this all belongs to you. Right now, though, you’re seventeen and just returning from school, already setting up your homework on the end of the counter, a spattering of greetings from the local customers and the local hands, the people who know that this is more of a natural habitat than anywhere else on the planet will ever be.

Danny also moves around the place like he owns it, which, if it was up to him he probably would. He hums your name as he moves past, taps the opposite shoulder to the one he leans over, reading your textbook over your shoulder. “It’s seventeen,” he quips.

“It’s a history textbook,” you reply, eyes unmoving from the page.

“Seventeen-seventy, cunt.” There’s a half-empty bowl of fruit sitting on the counter. He leans over you to grab an orange. “Captain Hook and such,” he adds, hosting himself up onto the counter with a thud. You’re sure one day the old wood is going to give out on him and he’ll fall straight onto his ass. Part of you hopes you’re around to see it, the other knows that he’ll find a way to not only make it your fault, but also tease you about it for a minimum of six months.

“Fuck off, Danny,” you punctuate, just loud enough for him to hear.

“It’s Daniel, now.”

You snort. Finally, you give him your attention. “Danny is too unprofessional for a hot-shot Red Bull junior driver like you?”

“See,” he pops his thumb harshly through the peel of the orange, the citrus scent wafting out into the humid air. “You get it.”

You pout. “I’m still going to call you Danny.”

“No you won’t,” he laughs. God, the smell of orange is overwhelming, the kind that lingers long after the fruit is gone. When Danny goes back to work in a few minutes, tosses the peel and into the trash by the office door, he’ll still linger in the room with the smell of citrus.

“I will.”

“You know what,” he hums, biting into a slice. “Let me make you a deal.”

You smile, shake your head. “Shouldn’t I be the one making you a deal?”

He groans against the fruit, “Can you just?”

When you look up again, lean back in your chair and cross your arms, he has orange juice running down the side of his hand, all sweet and sticky and summery. “Fine.”

He smiles goofily, all fucking proud of himself just because you agreed to shut up for thirty seconds. “You can keep calling me Danny, but only if you let me take you out this weekend.”

“Danny,” you protest. This is far from the first time he’s tried to plant the seed of a date with him. It’s had to’ve been a year, by now. You know he’d drop it if you would just give him an answer, but a year later you still haven’t been able to deliver anything definitive.

He shrugs. “‘Dem’s the rules, honey.”

Maybe what you say next is your greatest mistake, or maybe it was what you were always going to say. Maybe you feel like you can say it because he leaves again soon, for longer than ever. You won’t have to live with the consequences of your actions, of your words. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s simply that you think Daniel is far too proper a name for the sticky-handed vineyard tour guide you’ve grown particularly fond of. Danny is much more fitting for him, which is most certainly why you say, okay. When are you picking me up?

—

You drive out from your parents house with your dad in his old Ford Bronco. It’s half rusted out and half chipped blue paint, with worn leather seats and a steering wheel somehow more worn than the rest of it. Seven black tree air fresheners hand from the rearview mirror, new car smell. This relic is well past that–he’s been driving it out to the property literally forever, and this trip won’t be any exception.

You hardly recognize the place, you think as you slam the squeaky door shut with enough force to make sure it really latches.

The fields are overgrown with tall grass and shrubs and mustard flowers. The trunks of the grapevines act as headstones for the sprawling field of dry, sunburnt plants. You don’t think anyone has been out there with a plow in months, if not years.

The barn, the one you grew up in, has been lost with the rest of the place to time. Red paint chips off the wood in massive flakes. The branding that had once run in big wooden letters along the top of the door have all since fallen, leaving a sad outline of your family name in its weathered wake. Two padlocks, one rusted shut, sit on the lock. Every step you take kicks up more dust.

You’re removed from your thoughts, from the hauntings and the sentiment and the memories, by the creaking of the tailgate on your father’s truck. Stuffed in the back of the Bronco are your afternoon tasks; a pair of bulk cutters for the padlocks, a new, state of the art keypad lock given to your Dad by a realtor, a post hole digger, and five for-sale signs haphazardly packed any way they would fit.

You spend most of the next couple hours digging holes along the road, filling them with the wooden posts of the for-sale signs, looking disapprovingly at the thirty-something in a suit that has been tasked with selling the unsellable property.

This is, what… the fifth person you’d hired to sell this fucking place. Soon enough, you’re going to be sticking up For Sale by Owner signs with a hand-written phone number in black sharpie along the fences that were supposed to keep animals out. Realtors were never in the budget to begin with.

—

You’re waiting on the old front porch when he pulls up in his beat-up truck, John Denver playing through the open windows, his hand moving in the wind up the entire dusty driveway. You don’t know what he can see, that your Mom is watching out the kitchen window with a friendly smile.

You’ve got your best sundress on, one that you’d debated wearing for almost thirty-six hours. The first week Danny worked in front of house with you, he spent the entire shift flirting with one of your Dad’s friend’s daughters. He said that sundresses are a crime committed against teenage boys and that when he meets God he’s going to have words with him over pretty girls and their affinity for said sundresses.

You’d laughed then, because you thought it was silly. You remembered it because you thought the new kid was kind of cute, in a you work for my parents and I could never think you’re cute way.

“Fuck,” is the first word out of his mouth, before the car door is even closed behind him, followed quickly by a check of his watch and “am I late?”

“No, no,” you smile, tucking a wind-blown strand of hair behind your ear, standing to your feet on the wooden stairs. “You’re early, actually. I think,” you chuckle. “I’m just,” you can feel your cheeks flushing. “I’m just excited.”

“Yeah,” he moves to you quickly, nervously. In the way only teenage boys on a first date do. “I’m excited too.”

“You look nice,” you say, stepping down the final couple of steps and meeting his waiting hand. “Your hair. I feel like I only ever see you in a hat.”

“Thanks, yeah,” he laughs. You’ve always loved his laugh, even when he’s annoying you and annoying customers and annoying himself. His laugh has always been good. “You look beautiful. I’ve never seen you, I mean. Not that you don’t always look–”

“Danny,” you interject as he opens the passenger side door.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he offers a smile and closes the door. Just before it latches shut, though, you hear him finish his sentence. “Thank you.”

He takes you to King’s Park, to the botanical garden after a stop for ice cream. He tells you that he’s had a crush on you this entire time and you ask him to tell you something you don’t already know. It’s then, in the botanical garden next to the water garden, that he tells you about his quote-en-quote ‘silly, kind of, like, backup dream, I guess’ where he has his own vineyard, brews his own wine and spends every day half drunk and wholly happy.

He stumbles through the entire telling of it, which is how you know he’s not fucking with you. He never gets nervous when it comes to fucking with you.

Perhaps that is where your silly, kind of like, backup dream started. The one where you and Daniel are working at the vineyard together and life is all death and taxes and grocery bills but somehow, in the midst of all the dull normalcy, you’re both happy as happy can be.

—

“Someone is out there looking at the place today,” your father tells you over the phone. You try to talk every day, a habit you’ve both picked up in the past couple years, in the time and space since you’ve turned thirty.

“You’re kidding,” you say. You’re sitting at the kitchen table, shoveling spoonfuls of some health-conscious cereal into your mouth (another post-thirtieth habit). “Who?”

“I don’t know, kid,” you swear you can hear the frown on his face, the deep smile lines and the frustrated forehead wrinkles from months in the direct southern sun. “Probably some fucking developer.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he sighs. “If I’m right, I’d bet they break ground on a neighborhood within the year.”

Your sigh matches his. You can’t even imagine it, front yards and vinyl flooring and white walls built on a foundation of your childhood memories. It’s like going back home, to your childhood home that you sold so many years ago, and discovering it’s been bulldozed, wiped clean from the face of the Earth. “That’s so sad.”

“I know, but, well. You know, honey. It’s not like we have much choice.”

You nod. You do understand. You understand more than you wish you did. “I know. I know. Still pretty fuckin’ sad, though.”

There’s a long silence. The kind of silence that can only be shared by a father and a daughter; a silence that speaks more words than the dictionary can hold. “She’d understand it,” he finally speaks. “She wouldn’t fucking like it, but she would understand it.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know she would.”

—

“Are you going to kill me?” You giggled, stumbling over your feet. Danny is leading you on the property, one hand over your eyes, the other on your waist, guiding you poorly.

“And be the first fucking suspect?” He laughs. “I think not.”

“Okay, then where are you taking me?” You beg. It's been going on like this for some half hour, before he even covered your eyes.

He laughs. You laugh. All the two of you do is laugh. “Can’t you lighten up?”

“Not when I’m being led to my death. No, I can’t!”

He stops, turns you around a hundred and eighty degrees and takes his hand off your eyes, fingers digging into either of your shoulders. “Babe," he says, and you'd think he was about to tell you he killed someone.

You mimic his seriousness, find humor in it. “Babe.”

“You trust me.”

“Do I?” You smile. He cocks his head to one side and rolls his big brown eyes. You would commit crimes for his eyes. “I do.”

“Okay, so then fucking trust me.”

“Okay,” you nod, closing your eyes.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay," you reach blindly for his hand, bring it to your eyes to block the light from them once more. "I trust you. Let’s go.”

After a short, terribly blind walk, Danny finally stops. You’ve been able to hear the river that flows out the back of the property for twenty minutes, but it’s close enough now that you can smell it; the sticks and the rocks and the mud and the water. You can practically feel the splashing of the water bouncing off the boulders.

“Okay. Open,” he instructs, removing his hand from your eye, moving his arms to hug you from behind, arms wrapped over the front of your chest.

You open your eyes to find a picnic, carefully set up with a spread of dinner and drinks and dessert, complete with a plaid flannel blanket and candles that smell like citronella masked with lavender and a bouquet of white roses already in a water filled vase. “Danny,” you hum, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

He kisses your temple, whispers against your hair, “Happy Anniversary.”

“Danny,” you drag out the letters of his name, of the nickname he only lets the people he loves call him by. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy and special.

“Honey,” he mocks you, sways behind you.

“This is too much,” You crane your neck to look at him, and then turn your whole body so you’re flush against his chest, close in a way only you get to be. “You’re so sweet.”

He laughs and it vibrates in both of your chests. A feeling you’ll never tire of. “I mean, this is not too much. Arguably, this is too little.”

“No,” you back away, out of his grip and take small steps backwards, towards the picnic and the waiting meal, pulling him along with you by interlocked pinkies. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Well,” his grin grows. “I can’t argue with that.”

“I love you so much,” you tell him, because you do, because you’re eighteen and everything in this life is so simple and black and white.

“I love you, too, and–”

“Oh my gosh,” you cut him off, wide-eyed and giddy. “Wine with strawberries?”

He nods. “Strawberry wine, if you will. For the winery with no strawberry fields.”

“This is better,” you state, with the utmost confidence, without even a sip or a sniff or any idea of what white wine he’d used as a base for his little cocktail.

“Definitely not, but sure.”

“It is, because you made it for me. That makes it perfect.”

—

You’re completely removed from the actual buying and selling of the property. It isn’t up to you to decline or accept or field offers, that’s all your dad. The place is still his, at least for a couple more weeks while all the paperwork processes.

It was an anonymous buyer, according to your Dad. Cash offer, over asking price. He’s not sure how the real estate agent managed it, and honestly? Neither are you. Objectively, that land isn’t worth the cost of cleaning it up. Everyone in their right mind knows it. You just come from a particular bloodline where the mind never was quite right when it came to the vineyard.

What shocks you most, though, is that the anonymous buyer–supposedly–is interested in restoring the place rather than bulldozing it.

“They asked me about the dirt,” your dad tells you on one of your daily phone calls. “Wanted to know about berries.”

“Berries?”

“Yeah, strawberries or raspberries or something like that.”

You scoff. What kind of fucking idiot is buying this land? It might just be a herd of manufactured houses after all. “Well, it’s too hot here for raspberries. Everyone knows that.”

“I know, that’s what I told them. They could probably grow strawberries in July or August.”

“Are they trying to make strawberry wine or something?” And, as if this is some fucked up kind of movie, and not real life, it all comes back to you. Every memory, every moment, all at the thought of fucking strawberries in wine.

“Good fucking luck to them, if they are.” Your grandparents entertained the idea of it once, all the fruit wines. It’s a fucking shit-show, according to legend. Hell to try and make, Heaven to taste. It just wasn’t worth it for them. But apparently now it’s worth it to someone.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, bite and bite until you’re worried you’ll draw blood, that you’re a single tooth away from popping a hole clear through the skin. There’s no way, there’s genuinely no way, right? “Dad?”

“Shoot.”

“It’s not.” You almost stop yourself, you almost have some common fucking sense and realize just how vast the world is and how completely unlikely it is that– almost. You almost stop yourself. “The anonymous buyer, it isn’t Daniel, is it?”

“Daniel?” He scoffs on the other end. “Better not be that fucking cunt.”

You smile, the kind of smile that you know you should feel guilty for having. “He’s not a cunt, Dad.”

“I never fucking liked that kid.”

You’re right–you think. You’re right, Dad. You didn’t like him. “You loved him.”

“No, I lost all my respect for him when he left you like he did,” his voice is laced with a calm seriousness. He’s always been your blind defender.

“Yeah, Dad,” you pause. Now’s as good a time as any, you suppose. “I’ve been… that’s not exactly how it went down.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Daniel didn’t leave me, and even if he did, Dad, he wouldn’t have done it then.”

—

“What the fuck are you talking about, you’re breaking up with me?” His voice cuts through continents. He’s somewhere in the UK, or maybe Italy, or maybe Asia. You honestly can’t keep track anymore, can barely keep track of the days of the week that you’re living much less the ones he’s in.

“It’s exactly what I said, Daniel,” you say, try to keep your voice as level headed as possible, to juxtapose the way your mind races, the way your heart rate spikes and your palms sweat and everything in you hurts. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“No, no. I’m making this fucking hard,” he’s riled up enough for the both of you. “You don’t just. This isn’t how this works, babe. You can’t just break up with me.” He’s raising his voice with you. You can count on one hand and have fingers left over the amount of times Danny has yelled at you, and this is the first time it’s not scary.

“I can, and I am,” your voice comes from your throat, choked out over the lull of your entire body begging you to please, please don’t do this. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry!” He yells, the last letter sound cracking with the realization of his actions. “You’re not sorry. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Okay, sure. Whatever.” He doesn’t make this easy, not that you’d expected it to be easy. You’d hoped for something cleaner, though. Less mess. “I’m having a great time breaking your heart.”

“Just. Why? Why are you doing this? What happened? What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything, D,” you sigh. You didn’t know that your heart could physically hurt. You thought that was some crap that they made up for movies and songs and poems, some grand metaphor for how sad you get. “I can’t be a girlfriend right now. To anyone.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

You can feel yourself shutting down, closing every part of yourself off, running on pure survival instincts. “I know. I’m a cunt.”

“You aren’t… fuck me. I mean, fuck, dude.” He laughs. There’s not a thing about it that sounds happy. “I know you don’t want this, I know it. Talk to me, please. Tell me what’s going on and I can help you and everything is going to be fine, baby. Just. Please.”

“Daniel.”

“Why are you calling me that?!”

“It’s what you like to be called!” You yell back, feel the burn in your nose and your cheeks and the sting in your chest.

There’s silence for so long you wonder if he’s hung up, if you’re supposed to. It’s minutes before he speaks again. “Not by you, it’s not.”

—

It’s been just past a year since the place got sold, and nobody from your family–nobody–has been there since. You moved out of town years before the sale, and your Dad has joined you, wants to be near you in his ever increasing age and always deepening wrinkles. When the arthritis sets in, someone needs to forge my signature for me, he tells you.

It’s not until her birthday that you’re back in Perth, that you’re struck with the sudden spark, with the idea to drive past the vineyard, to see what idiot is trying to plant raspberries in the Australian heat, to see who's living in your shoes and wearing your clothes and sleeping under your bed like a monster.

“I don’t know that we should do that,” your Dad says. “It’s going to make you sad.”

You shrug in the passenger seat of the old Bronco. “We’re in the parking lot of a cemetery, so,” you offer a near silent chuckle. “I think we’re a bit past sad.”

“Okay,” he nods. “There’s something you should know, then.”

“Don’t tell me it’s a neighborhood.”

“No, no. It’s a vineyard. Strawberries and grapes in the fields.”

“Well, good then,” you nod, glide your hands through the air outside the open window. “What’s wrong with it?”

He shrugs, drums his fingers on the beat up steering wheel. “You remember when you asked me last year if it was Daniel?”

“Dad. Don’t.”

“Well, I didn’t know it then, but–”

“I’m serious. Don’t tell me this, please,” you’re a second away from sticking your fingers in your ears and humming a nursery rhyme to keep the unsaid unspoken.

“Daniel bought the place, hon.”

“My Daniel?” You squeak. You haven’t felt this young in a while. Or this small.

He laughs, turns to face you with a look that begs you not to be so damn daft. “The only Daniel that means anything to anyone in this family.”

“When did you find out?”

“As soon as they put the sign up. I was still living out here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You have so many questions. You don’t think there’s any you actually want answers to.

“What good was it going to do? I never thought you’d be back here.”

“Well. I’m back.”

He nods. “You’re back.”

You’re back. You never really left, you don’t think. It’s not something you can do around here. Perth is in your blood the same way wine is, some grand, immovable part of your soul. You suppose Daniel is there too, taking up a plot of land in your soul that can never be sold. He lives in you like summertime and sadness and strawberries. Strawberries. Him and his fucking strawberry white wines.

“He’s got strawberries?” You croak. Tears pull on your voice but you won’t give them the satisfaction. You’re grown now, it’s time to fucking act like it.

“Strawberry wine. First batches just came out last month. I heard it’s pretty good.”

“I bet.”

“You still wanna go?”

You nod, cold and stunted. “Yeah.”

You see the cars before you see the barn, they’re overflowing out of the parking lot and stopped on the side of the dirt road that leads to the drive. You’ve never seen it so busy. It looks like the pictures your parents used to show you, the ones where the place was fresh and new and shiny. The barn has a fresh coat of red paint, the parking lot is repaved and half full of ATVs with a logo for DR3 Wines printed on either side.

Above the door, a matching phrase, in simple white wooden letters–like what once was–hangs, announces the place to passers by.

Inside, it smells like wood, like lavender and citronella and alcohol. There are pictures on every wall, carefully framed photos of everyone in the world besides him. The counter is that same old slab of wood, the one that you always hoped he would fall through. On the wall behind is are more 4x6 photos than you can count, all unframed, all messily taken. He’s in some of those, holding a camera or posing with friends or hugging a grapevine. There’s one with you, right in the middle. You and he and your Mom on the back field picking grapes. It’s taken by your dad, you still remember that morning clear as day.

There’s another of you; a selfie taken on a point-and-shoot, the two of you with glasses of white wine and strawberries. Next to it is a picture of Kristen Bell and Dax Shephard leaning against the counter, half-drunk glasses in each of their hands.

Framed, on the edge of the counter, right beside the register, is a photo of the place when he first started working there, of your Mom and your Dad standing proudly in front of it. You took it. You left it in the office when your Dad decided to lock the doors for good. Our Story, the plaque below it reads, with a QR code to scan.

It leads to a linktree, to social media links and tasting menus and a merchandise shop. The last link, though, is stomach curling. It’s her name, your Mom’s. Fighting for her, it reads. When you click it, you’re taken to a website that encourages donations, that spreads awareness and promotes research, that thanks Daniel by name twice in two paragraphs for his consistent and generous donations and support.

Before you can make a bee-line for the exit, to tell your Dad that he was right and this was a mistake, you’re met with a red-faced teenage girl asking you if there’s anything she can help you with. “No, uh,” you swallow hard. “My parents were the previous owners, we just stopped in to see the place.”

“Oh my gosh, would you like a tour?”

“Um…” you pause, because you don’t know if you can handle being here. Seeing the place like this again. “Danny’s not… Daniel isn’t here, is he?” She shakes her head. You nod. “Then yeah, I guess. Let me just grab my dad?”

—

You get an invite to a VIP tasting at his vineyard two weeks after your visit. It’s scheduled during the F1 summer break, so you have no doubt he’ll be there, and if that wasn’t clue enough, his handwriting glaring back at you on the invite is about as obvious as obvious can be.

I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your Dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine–the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.

read part two, everywhere, everything, here!

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cherryredstars · 5 days

Note

OH MY GOD REQUESTS ARE OPEN💃🏾💃🏾

gosh cherry i love you and your blog sm it makes my day😭

could i please have a college or highschool au where reader studies subjects like social science and business and literature and he does stem subjects and he at first has like a superiority complex, he doesn’t intend to, but he can’t help it, until he sees the reader like talk about social issues or how she can remember 17 step procedures and shit and he’s like…wow. maybe they can be together and he sees her pretend to teach people to learn and he’s learning stuff from her and it’s wholesome asf

god i don’t know i’m sorry im rambling😭😭 you don’t have to ofc but thank you anyway

and again, love you!!

Thank you, love!!!

He's the smartest person he knows.

It's not narcissistic if it's a fact. He's the top of his major program, already has offers for Ph.D programs nationwide mailed to his door. He's sure to get into any genetics department he wants for grad school. He's the star of the industry-path students. He's just that good, and what's the harm in taking pride in your accomplishments?

But he's never met someone like you before.

Usually he wouldn't care for people like you, with their abstract liberal art degrees in nonsense majors that'll just collect dust in a box in an attic somewhere. But there is something so enduring about you, about everything you do. The way you just know what people are thinking based on the twitch of their fingers and why they think it. The way you're so open to everything in a way that would make his lab buddies laugh with their one-way minds. It amazes him, the way your view is so wide in a way that something like genetics or STEM can't comprehend. In a way they don't allow. There is something so breath-taking about the way your mind has this endless freedom that he can't even grasp. Like a kaleidoscope of colors that are simultaneously beautiful and overwhelming to the senses. Something his factual mind craves.

The first time he had seen you, he was in the library. It isn't a place he would usually go to, but he had to collect some textbooks for his professor in the storage closet. He had gotten in a bit of trouble that day for taking so long, but how could he resist when he had heard the sweet cadence of your voice through the open door of a mini-lecture room. Very few students were in the room, it looked like a side presentation; one of those assignments that forced students to present their ideas on a topic to a group of people to try to captivate them into agreeing with your findings. There was a sort of fiery passion in the way you spoke, a hardened steel in your eyes that showed your resistance to back down. It was... enchanting, siren-like. So much so that he had been forced to sit in one of the empty seats in the back of the room, eyes stuck on you as you paced the front of class and rebutted comments from your peers.

He had no idea what you were talking about, but it still had that overwhelming effect on him. One that had him pressing the surface of his stomach against the hard edge of the lecture tables, his senses honing in to hear every last syllable that departed from your lips. There was this dream-like quality to you, something that consumed the mind and made them listen. A sort of intelligence that he would never know or understand. One that he would spend hours trying to learn if you were the one explaining it. He can't remember how long it took for him to start breathing again when your eyes scanned the room and locked onto him, clear confusion on your face at the random presence of college's most-awarded student. He could feel his heart bursting against his ribs, mouth parting slightly from the honor to be the center of your attention for even a few seconds before you looked away and carried on.

Suddenly, he didn't feel like the smartest person in the world. Not when you left him absolutely stupefied.

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tvseries-writings · 8 months

Text

Heat Kills

Plot: Reader has an heatstroke caused by an intensive workout.

Maya Bishop x Carina DeLuca x reader

You can't stand the heat; you’ve hated it since you were little, always. When summer came, you were happy just because school was over but, at the same time, you hated the forty degrees you had to endure every single day.

Then you became a professional soccer player and, having always played on teams up north, you never felt as hot as you did this season with the OL Reign. Although the Seattle Women's soccer Team has been a great benefit in your career, this scorching heat is truly terrible, especially since you are not used to it.

A small sigh leaves your lips as you grab your water bottle and tuck it into your backpack, ready to face a scorching workout in the ten o'clock morning sun.

"Good morning Bella, where are you going?" Carina hugs you from behind, her breasts pressing against your back as she fondles your butt with an amused smirk on her face.

"Car I'm on my way to practice and I'm already late ... as much as I would like to slam you against this table, unfortunately I can't."

You turn around, staying in her arms and kissing the tip of her nose with a smile.

Carina pouts, and after a few seconds, just long enough for her brain to work and understand what you've just told her, her gaze changes to a frown of confusion and concern at the same time.

"The weather alert has been issued, didn't you see it Bambina? You can't train in this heat, it's going to be 104° F out there..."

You sigh and shake your head slightly. You knew this conversation would happen, and you also know how it will end. Probably with a gorgeous, sexy Italian doctor very pissed off at you.

"Car, I can't miss another workout. Less than two weeks ago I was sick and couldn't train for almost a whole week, I can't miss any more days. I have to earn my place on the team, you know it's important to me…like this"

Carina shakes her head several times, hard. She tortures her lower lip, clenching it between her teeth, and although you find it very sexy, the particularly pissed off look on the Italian's face gives you pause to comment on how hot she is when she does this.

"You'll get sick if you run in this heat. They can't make you train with a weather alert, è sconsiderato e stupido. Cazzo."

Your lovely girl rants in her native language, and you foolishly fail to control yourself and let your eyes wander to the clock hanging on the wall behind the angry doctor.

You had never done that before.

"Are you really thinking you're going to be late? No way, you can't really think about going y/n. Ugh, who am I kidding? Of course you want to go, sometimes I think you're worse than Maya...you know what, fai come ti pare."

"Carina, wait-"

Before you can even try to stop her and reason with her, the brunette locks herself in your bedroom slamming the door and making the whole apartment shake.

You know her, you know that she just has to let the pissing go now. So, despite the knot in your stomach from the fight and with the excuse of giving her the space she needs, you bend down to pick up your duffel bag and then leave the apartment, stuffing your car keys into the left pocket of your shorts, ready to head to the soccer field.

.........................................................................................

After only an hour and a half of practice, you realize you've screwed up big time when you start to lose all feeling in your body and feel like you're floating on air. Your teammates are no better off than you are.

You cast a glance at Coach Harvey, praying that she will notice the terrible condition you are in but you doubt it. After all, she is sitting in the shade and with all this heat you doubt she is really watching you. At least, not today.

The ball is put back in the middle, after Clarke has scored one of her famous goals, and the coach blows her whistle. You run nonstop to get to Clarke's side; you cross the half-court line and are careful not to be offside as you pass the ball between you over and over again.

You don't know how but suddenly you are no longer in control of your body and your right foot ends up over the ball instead of to the side. In less than a second, you find yourself on the ground groaning in pain as soon as you hit the ground.

"Fuck."

You snort, wrinkling your nose and taking the hand offered to you without even understanding who is offering it to you. Octavia gives you a smile, although she can't really hide the worry on her face.

She helps you to your feet and puts a hand on your shoulder.

"You don't look so good, are you okay?"

Meanwhile, the other girls have taken the opportunity there to take a break and drink some water, and you don't blame them, especially considering that you still have another hour of training ahead of you.

Octavia Blake is many things but she is definitely not a quitter. Never.

"You're really hot y/n, are you sure you feel good?"

You don't answer her, you don't feel good at all, and you can't even understand her.

"I don't think Carina and Maya would agree, you know? I'll take you to them."

You don't really understand what she is saying, not at all. The heat clouds your mind; you run a hand over your forehead, you have the impression that you are dripping with sweat but actually you are not, your hand is completely dry when you pull it back.

Not good, not good at all. A cold shiver runs down your spine as you lean against Octavia making her support you even more and she is the one who supports you even more.

From that moment until she takes you to Station 19, you don't notice anything, just her shaking you from time to time as you go, calling your name several times as you continue to lose consciousness. The only time you realize you are at the station is when Andy and Vic help Octavia get you out of the car.

They’re probably calling your name but you can't answer; honestly, you don't even know how you are there, really.

You don't know how much time has passed, but you only begin to understand what is going on around you because of your Italian girlfriend's warm hands caressing your face.

"Bambina, bambina look at me. Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

Carina swipes a strand of wet hair from your forehead, bringing it behind your ear. The doctor pulls a small flashlight out of her gown, turns it on and holds it in front of your eyes while she holds your head still.

"Y/n, follow the light, honey. Follow the light, okay?"

You wrinkle your nose, and the nausea you have been feeling up to this point only increases as you are blinded by the flashlight.

You scan Carina with one arm, turn onto your side and vomit all the contents of your stomach onto the floor.

Carina strokes your back, trying to give you as much comfort as she can, while Andy shoves an IV of cold fluids into you.

"Andy, call Maya. I think the heat stroke is a lo worse than I thought. She's not even sweating..."

As soon as Carina sees Andy running down the hall to find your firegirl, she immediately turns to you and takes the thermometer out of Vic's hands. She sticks it in your mouth, even though you are not very cooperative, and waits for you to make the sound to check your temperature: 104° F.

Carina gasps and her heart stops for a few seconds; she is more than aware that such a temperature is very dangerous and could even make you convulse.

You start sobbing and try to reach Carina with clumsy and uncoordinated movements, seeking the comfort of a hug. You feel so bad that you do not realize what you are doing; it is as if you have no control over your body. Your confused state only makes the doctor more concerned.

"Bella we can't, your temperature is too high."

Carina bites her lip, trying not to cry. She wants to hold you in her arms but she can’t.

"Car..."

Carina feels her heart stop when suddenly your eyes roll back and your body is suddenly shaken by convulsions.

"Damn it, no no no. Come back to me, Bella.”

Carina turns you on your side, pulling up the arms of the cot and takes care of your head.

"Vic, give her a 12-mg Diazepam drip!"

Vic goes to the station's medical supplies in a flash and rummages around until she finds what Carina asked for. She prepares the solution and inserts the IV into your left arm, which Carina says is your best arm for targeting veins.

In less than three minutes your body has stopped moving. Carina pulls your hair back from in front of your face and leaves a kiss on your forehead before unwinding the IV bag a bit to check the speed at which the drug is being administered.

"Carina!"

Maya Bishop, Captain of Station 19 as well as your girlfriend, comes running up to you. Concern fills her blue eyes that you love so much.

"What happened? Andy told me you were with her but she didn't tell me what it was about..."

Maya takes your hand between her own wincing in shock when she feels how much heat your skin is giving off.

"Shit, she's burning up. We have to get her to Grey's Sloan."

Carina and Maya exchange a glances. Carina twists her lower lip between her teeth and runs a hand through her hair. Both you and the blonde know that this gesture indicates that the brunette is very worried about something.

"No, you know how much she hates Bella hospitals. We can't, we can't do that to her. Let's take her to your office and use your shower to cool her down."

Maya leans over to take you in her arms but Carina stops her, shaking her head firmly.

"You have to be very careful Maya, we shouldn't even be moving her but we need to get her temperature down quickly. She had a seizure and I'm afraid she may still have another one.”

Carina whispers, her voice breaking as she thinks back to the feeling of a few moments ago. Maya takes a deep breath; she doesn't think she has ever been so scared in her entire life. She barely nods, taking you in her arms with such gentleness that she is surprised herself. Maya walks down the corridor to the door of her own office; Carina opens the door for you, and as soon as you cross the threshold, she closes it again.

The blonde firefighter lays you down on her bed, paying special attention to your head as Carina kneels beside you. She puts two fingers on your right wrist to check your pulse while looking at the clock on the wall.

"Pulse is dropping, we need to cool her down now, Maya-“

"Shit, she's seizing. Maya, help me!"

Carina turns you onto your side, removing the pillow from under your head and being very careful about the arm in which the IV needle is still stuck .

"Maya, Maya I need you to focus amore mio. She needs you; Maya look at me" Carina groans in frustration and concern for the blonde, watching her stand absolutely still in front of this horrible sight, "Maya!"

The firefighter blinks a few times before recovering from her shocked state and jumping into action. She lifts everything around that could hurt you and helps Carina hold you on your side so you don't choke on your own tongue.

It takes a good three interminable minutes before the seizure is over and Maya and Carina's arms ache from the force they had to use to hold you down.

"We're running out of time," Carina says, starting to remove off every layer of clothing but your underwear before taking you into her arms. Maya looks like a machine, she does everything Carina tells her to do - like turn on the shower, for example - but her eyes are blank, the Italian knows very well that the blonde is not in a good headspace right now but now the priority, as much as it hurts her to have to necessarily choose between the two of you, is you.

Maya turns on the tub's faucet and waits for it to fill. Carina steps in and slowly and gently losers you into the tub. You gasp, your eyes jerking open as your body feels the excessive change in temperature. A whimper escapes your lips as you try to pull away from the icy grip but firm hands hold you down, whispering excuses you don't want to hear right now.

"N-no, f-cold. I-I don't want to."

Chills run down your spine, making you whimper softly as you try to pulls your girls closer to you.

"I know Amore, I know... Shh, it's okay. You'll get better, you'll get better."

Carina rubs your back, somehow trying to comfort you without giving you too much heat.

The Italian puts her hand on your forehead, feeling that your temperature has dropped a bit.

"Maya I'm cold, I'm cold, I don't want to do this anymore. Please, I don't want to do this anymore."

The fever makes you start cry and your body is shaken by sobs that only make you feel worse.

Her name spoken by you make out of the near catatonic state she has been in.

“Baby, you need to calm down, this is not good for you okay? I promise it will be over soon but this way you are putting to much strain on your heart love. Please calm down."

Maya takes your hand and brings it to her own chest for you to follow her breathing and you do, unconsciously and maybe out of habit, but you do.

Carina keeps an eye on your heartbeat the whole time; her fingers never leaving your pulse for a moment, and her heart only seems to start beating again only when your pulse slows down and becomes stable again, at least for your current condition.

More than twenty minutes pass in the freezing water before you are finally covered with at least a T-shirt and then placed on the bed in Maya's office. Under cooling blankets, contrary to what you would have liked. Your mind is clearer and Carina and Maya are very relieved about that.

"What happened?"

Your voice is barely more than a whisper. You are struggling to find the words and your mouth feels as if it is stuck. It is also exhausting to talk right now, you can barely move your head towards them to look into their eyes as you speak.

"Heat stroke, Octavia brought you here Bella. You've had two convulsive episodes from a high fever. It's down now, but you're not out of the woods yet, so you need to rest."

Carina strokes your face as she points to the IV in your arm. As soon as you see it, you panic. You sit up and scratch your arm to pull the IV out. Under normal circumstances, you would think before you act but now, the delirium of heatstroke is just flying the last neurons you had.

"No no no, the press will go crazy with this news. I can't stay in the hospital, I have to get out of here; an OL soccer player in the hospital for heat stroke, n-"

Maya grabs your face and, to your and Carina's surprise, slaps you. Not so hard that it really hurts, but hard enough to bring you back to reality.

Although shock, fever, and heat stroke cloud your mind, you recognize where you are in a few moments.

"Oh...we're in your office."

You place the hand you were about to use to remove your IV at your side and give them a small apologetic smile.

"It's okay Bella, now get some rest. I'd like to keep you here a little longer for observation. We’ll take you home tonight, if all goes as it should."

Carina leans over you and plants a kiss on your lips, followed soon after by Maya.

"Now Maya and I will talk, you rest. Oh, and don't even think you've escaped the lecture. It’s waiting for you as soon as you feel better.”

Carina smiles at you with a wink and then leaves the office followed by Maya. Not before the latter mimics you an "I love you" with her lips and mentally asks you to pray for her. Surely, Carina won't let her get over the slap she gave you a few minutes ago.

Hey, thanks for reading. I know it's not much and it’s not that good but it's better than nothing, right? Write a comment and tell me what you think. Have a nice day!

p.s: I wrote this because it's like thirty-five degrees in Italy and I'm dying :)

Buy me a coffee ☕️

Taglist: @mmmmokdok @chaekhan @blackhill2245 @melatonindaydreamz @foggytidalwavefun @sevnheaven @budoxinha @gayshyandreadytocry @lighthousekiller @m456300 @blitzar-3 @in-love-with-heda @idontknownemore @lesbianbabe @speedup500 @differentranchempathfestival @mebeingthatbitch @jemilyswife @yuleni18 @whyamihere2673 @reggierizzoli

#wlw #maya bishop x reader #maya x carina x reader #carina deluca #maya bishop #carina deluca x reader #octavia blake #clarke griffin #station 19 #soccer

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luvu2themoonand2saturn · 1 year

Note

can u write a fic for joe where they are long distance b/c the reader lives in Seattle and she surprises him by showing up to a game.

surprise

joe burrow x reader

warnings: pure fluff!! mentions of reader previously being with shitty guys

word count: 1.6k

note: didn’t specifically place the reader in seattle, but it is implied the reader is living in pst, joe in est

thank you so much for this request!! loved writing it and i hope you enjoy <3

Dating Joe Burrow was the best thing that had ever happened to you. Living on the opposite side of the country from him was not.

You had never thought you were the type of person who could feel truly secure in a long-distance relationship, never having known you could trust someone so fully. It turned out the issue wasn’t entirely your difficulties with trusting; it had also been the fact you were with people not deserving of such trust. The boys you had known before Joe had used any amount of physical distance to excuse their emotional distance.

Now, you awoke to a good morning voice memo from Joe every single day, reminding you of how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, how much he wished he was waking up with you beside him. He would spend hours on FaceTime with you at night, even when it meant staying up until the wee hours to make up for the time difference, despite having an early practice the following morning. He had shown you that no distance could get in the way of genuine love. Joe had changed your perspective entirely, loving you so honestly and openly you couldn’t help but feel safe placing all of your faith in him.

You never had cause to doubt his loyalty, and even when your unfounded fears about him straying threatened to take over your mind, he helped guide you back to reality. In reality, the love you shared ran deep and true. He couldn’t imagine finding someone half as beautiful, as kind, as caring as you. Neither could you imagine a more perfect man existed for you. You two were simply made for each other, two souls always destined to find a home in each other’s hearts.

He made time to fly out and visit you whenever he could, even if it was only for a weekend, knowing your school schedule made it more challenging for you to come and see him. You didn’t know how you could ever be quite as good to him as he was to you, but God, you tried. That was why you were surprising him at a home game on a random Thursday.

To Joe’s best knowledge, you were busy with finals this whole week. Little did he know, you only had exams scheduled Monday through Wednesday. You had flown into Cincinnati that morning. It had been a little hard to give Joe a convincing reason for the fact that you couldn’t FaceTime or call for six hours straight, since he knew no exam took that long, but you thought in the end he had bought your story that you had two back to back and needed to use all the time in between them for last minute review.

Now, though, you found yourself in a taxi headed to the stadium. You had gone from the airport to Joe’s place, dropping off your luggage. Even though you lived so far away, he had given you a key, more of a symbolic gesture than a practical one. Nevertheless, it was coming in handy.

The security at the stadium had been alerted of your presence, thanks to your contact with Joe’s coach, and you were led by a guard through several locked doors before emerging into the hallway that connected to the field. The security guard accompanying you let you speed walk ahead, unable to prolong being reunited with Joe for a second longer than necessary.

You emerged into the gray light of the day, the strength of the sun softened by a layer of clouds. You spotted Joe’s number nine jersey right away - it matched the one you were wearing. His back was to you as he tossed a football back and forth with Ja’Marr.

He was out of earshot, but Tee wasn’t, so you called out to him from the sidelines, where you stood behind the retractable barrier. Despite the fact that you lived so far away, you knew all of Joe’s teammates well. You had celebrated wins with them in person when you could and shared dinner with those who Joe was closest with. Whenever Joe FaceTimed you from the locker room before a game, he would hold his phone up so the rest of the guys could wave at your image on the screen while you wished them good luck. They all adored you, especially seeing how happy you made their quarterback.

However, that didn’t stop them from making cheeky comments about how whipped he was for you whenever they overheard your locker room conversations or caught him smiling at his phone. He couldn’t care less; he knew it was all in good fun, and he would never be ashamed of how happy his girl made him.

“Tee!” you called out, waving down the wide receiver.

“Hey!” he said automatically, before he realized who he was talking to. “What are you doing here? Joe didn’t say you were in town!” as he walked over, smiling broadly, clearly happy to see you.

“He doesn’t know,” you quickly explained. “Could you get him over here?”

“Aw, you’ve gotta do it yourself, come in, they won’t care.” Tee pulled up a section of the barrier, allowing you to duck beneath it.

“If I get hit in the head by a football, I’m blaming you!” you joked, before giving Tee a quick thanks and setting off across the field with the longest strides you could manage.

Once in earshot, you started calling out, “Joe! Joe!”

He immediately whipped his head around, recognizing your familiar voice but not comprehending why he was hearing it so clearly, momentarily questioning his sanity until his eyes fell on your familiar face, your radiant smile directed right at him. Your grin, already impossibly wide, somehow grew when you caught the first glimpse of his beautiful face in person.

“Baby,” he said, evidently shocked. He dropped the football from his hands, eyes wide, and quickly closed the distance between you with long strides. You threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms snugly around his neck as he lifted your feet off the ground, his arms secure around your waist. He pressed his face into your neck, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo. It was always these intimate little details he missed the most.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in disbelief, voice muffled as he spoke against your neck, unwilling to untangle himself from you just yet.

“I missed you, and I thought it would be fun to surprise you.” Your voice threatened to break under the force of emotion rising in your chest. “God, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby, so much,” he murmured, his voice husky.

On the drive to the stadium, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t cry when you saw him again, but how could you stop your eyes from watering and eventually overflowing with the sheer and overwhelming joy of being back in your boy’s arms? You sniffled, and Joe pulled back just enough to see your face.

“Oh, sweet girl, don’t cry. Y’know I’ll start if you do,” he murmured, his large, warm hands coming to hold your face as he smiled softly at you. “You’re here now, I’m here, it’s all okay.”

You smiled, the crinkling at the corners of your eyes causing another tear to slide down your cheek. Before it could go far, Joe’s thumb gently swiped it away. He leaned down to press a kiss to the path the tear had just traced down your cheek, another to your forehead, the tip of your nose, before finally meeting your lips with his. His kiss was pure sweetness, tender and gentle and loving.

Your hands came to hold his face, one finger tracing down his jaw as you rested your foreheads together, going cross-eyed as you gazed at each other.

“Missed your beautiful face so much, baby. Swear you get prettier every time I see you.” Y

You smiled. “Could say the same for you, pretty boy.”

He flushed slightly. “Can’t believe you’re actually here,” he sighed, almost in relief, as if your presence lifted a weight from his shoulders - the weight of your absence. Right after, a quizzical look appeared on his brow. “What about your exams, though?”

“I lied when I said I had one every day - don’t have any today or tomorrow.”

“I should’ve known something was up when I couldn’t get in touch with you for so long today,” he chuckled.

Standing on tiptoe, you gave his lips another peck. “Guess you’ll just have to admit I outsmarted you, Burrow.”

“Just this once, sweetheart.”

Although you could’ve stood in the middle of that football field for another hour just holding him, absorbing the fact of his very existence, he had a game to prepare for. “I shouldn’t keep you too long, Joe-“

“Yes you should. You should always keep me,” he interjected.

“You know what I mean,” you laughed. “You’ve got a game to win.”

“Can’t lose when I know my girl’s watching! Think I need one more kiss for good luck.” You happily indulged his wishes.

“I’ll be waiting for you after the game, my love.”

“Can’t wait,” he replied, before his coach hollered, “Wrap it up, lover boy!”

“Two seconds!” he yelled back, pulling you back into his chest for one more moment before saying goodbye.

It was the easiest goodbye you’d exchanged in months, not shared through a screen or punctuated only by air kisses and waves. This goodbye wasn’t marred by the knowledge of the distance between you and the cold beds you were each sleeping in, alone. In hours, you would be reunited. You would be in the same building, asleep in the same bed, warming each other. And you would get to kiss his perfect face, not just in your dreams.

Whether this game was a win or a loss, you both knew tonight would be one of the happiest in a while.

could write a pt 2 to this if anyone was interested. let me know if that’s something you’d like and whether you’d like it to go in a fluffier or spicier direction … thanks for reading! <3

#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x fem!reader

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allfearstofallto · 1 month

Text

Initiate

Male (Pure) Sydney x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

TW: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, exhibitionism, chastity cage, oral (f. receiving)

An initiate who hasn't been seen in the temple in weeks, Sydney wonders what happened to you. Your visits to the church lessened and lessened, until one day you just stopped showing up. Your presence wasn't forgotten quickly, not just by him, but by all other members of the church. Whispers would flow through the walls, whispers of impurity, of falling into lust.

At school you were the pinnacle of kindness and popularity. Loved by all, and sweet even to those who aren't to you. He finds it hard to believe what the other initiates say. Yet you still never visited the temple.

Sydney knows it's wrong to follow you, he asked the goddess for forgiveness, but curiosity gets the better of him. What would keep someone formally so committed to the church away from it? And what it was, was a strange building. Only a few streets away from the shop his father had purchased, he watched you enter that unmarked place, the filthy metal grey door closing behind you. It was in an awful part of town, and sketchy as well. After hours went by, his worry for you grew.

Grasping at his cross, Sydney followed you inside. He was met with an awful scent, similar to the communion wine, but stronger, loud pounding music, and worst of all, a plethora of people, none of them looking as if they had good intentions. In the middle of the room was a stage, and on the stage was you. In a state of undress, you were only covering your modesty with a pair of underwear. So thin it could barely be called fabric, more like strings on your groin, not leaving much to the imagination.

He flushed beneath his thick glasses, wanting to say something, but also finding himself entranced with the crowd of people. Your dancing was mesmerizing, your body…Sydney gulped and gripped his holy pendant tighter. Your body was heavenly, even as sweat soaked between every crevice of it. Your plush thighs gripping the polr in front of you, your heel clad feet making you twirl, showing off all your assets.

The voice in his head that's telling him to leave is drowned out by the feeling in his shorts. For the first time in his life, his chastity cage holding his cock is uncomfortable, it's too tight, it's painful as his hardening length presses against the confines. He tries to leave, but he can't. Not when you're on the floor of the stage dancing, money cushioning the hard wood as more wads of cash are thrown at you.

The people around the stage are like ravenous animals, hands clawing for just a touch of your skin. Their lips spew such venomous words of what they want to do to you, objectifying your body in ways he's never heard before. Some are even…fondling themselves. It's a sight that makes him gasp in shock, turning his head away before forcing himself to look back. Sure enough it's true, as you dance lewdly across the floor, they're touching themselves. It's disgusting. But he doesn't feel himself growing softer in his pants.

You sit with your legs open, already towards the crowd with a mischievous smile. Your finger dips inside your thong, hooking around the fabric. Slowly, tantalizing, you pull it down your body, down your thighs, down your shins, and last your heels. You hold the thong up with your legs still spread, your pussy dripping as you toss it out into the crowd, where they practically tackle each other to take it.

Up on that stage where you sit naked, body bare for everyone to see, money being tossed at you left and right, you finally lock eyes with him. It's be hard not to notice him, clearly out of place in a grimy area such as this, and still wearing his neat school uniform. A look of shock forms on your face when you see him there, shock and shame, but it's gone before any of your patrons can notice. You're back to being a temptress, an erotic dancer of the night, you curl your finger at him, beckoning him closer. Like his body has no mind of his own, he steps to you.

You ease yourself closer to the edge of the stage, the height of it meaning he's face to face with your dripping core between your legs. He's never been so close to something like this before, not outside the church. It's glistening beneath the flashing lights and only getting wetter as his hazel eyes look upon it. The smell is intoxicating, sweet like honey, he wonders if your nectar tastes the same.

“C’mon, lick it,” your voice so sultry it's like a song, you gesture for him to come even closer, until he can feel the what of your cunt against his face, “Give them a show.”

He looks around at the room of peopy, all eyes on him. They're hungry. They're ravenous. They're waiting patiently. With shaking hands he reaches up to spread your folds, begging the goddess for forgiveness once again. His hesitant tongue slithers from his mouth and he traces a reluctant lick all the way from your hole to your slit. The taste is…delectable.

Sydney pulls away from a second, thinking about what he'd just done, but when he looks up and meets your eyes, your cheeks flushed as you pant, he can't find it in himself to care. He dives back into your cunt, lapping away at your folds messily. His tongue finds it's way inside you, his hand reaching up to rub at your clit. If you're putting on a performance, it's a good one, moaning and squirming against his ministrations.

He can hear the way the crowd cheers, hear their filthy words and disgusting comments. He can hear it all, but if sounds like nothing to him. Nothing matters to him. Not when you're tangling your fingers in his hair and dripping down his chin, coating his face in that delectable, honeyed wetness. His glasses grow foggy, but it doesn't matter. His fingers dig into your thighs as he sucks at your clit, making your hips buck off of the stage.

“Ahh…yes…yes Sydney, just like that,” you moan for him, body trembling beneath his touch.

You cum for him beautifully, a sense of pride filling him as you yank your body away from his touch to spasm on the stage. Your twitching cunt dripping down on all the bills below you. The crowds burst into cheers as Sydney’s mind looses it's cloudiness, as realization hits him. You pick up your clothes to leave the stage, but he's already rushing out the door before you can even dress. Our the door and down the street, he pants while wiping his mouth, trying to collect himself and think of what he did.

He'll have to stay on his knees for hours to pray for salvation and hope for forgiveness, it's only fair that he does. His chest heaving he looks down at his shorts, they're damp to the touch. He steps in an alleyway to the side to check on himself, opening his pants he sees his caged cock, covered and smeared in a white fluid.

#degrees of lewdity #dol #dol sydney #degrees of lewdity sydney #sydney the faithful #sydney the fallen #dol x reader #sydney x reader #smut #mdni

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bluewxrld07 · 3 months

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It’s Always Been You (Ethan Edwards)

In honor of gaining 100 of you guys on my page, here it is!! The much needed part 2 to Hurt My Feelings you’ve all been waiting for. I’ve been taking the time to perfect it, but beware this one’s a long one. Thank you all for 100 followers!!!! I appreciate every single one of you, I cannot wait to share more. Enjoy :)

Ethan Edward’s X female!reader

Warning(s): mutual pining, angst, fluff, hints to smut

If there was one thing y/n was good at, it would be known as her future career and major in school. She was in the progress of becoming a sports social media manager, always locking some of the best shots and behind the scenes when necessary.

She was the one the Michigan athletic department could count on. They had put with the Football team during the fall, and Basketball during the winter. She would sometimes end up subbing in for other sports managers when they had other opportunities in place, or just plain out couldn't do the job at hand. She was the one to call.

If there was one thing she absolutely terrible at, it would be avoiding people.

Especially certain people.

The UMich Basketball team didn't go too far into the season which led to y/n's schedule being more open to doing whatever. Which led to her slowly becoming more involved with their University's Hockey team.

When she was asked to help out with the guys more, she was a bit hesitant. Yes she loved them all and adored getting to be behind the scenes. Especially when it came down to her being there instead of one of the other interns down the road. What wasn't great to deal with, was having to see Ethan more often than she was planning on.

Many of the boys on the team know about her current situation of avoiding Ethan. This was due to the word getting around about her and him's night on New Year's, thanks to Luca spilling the beans when Ethan told him.

The boys all knew to keep their mouths shut about it, due to Ethan still being with his girlfriend, as well as y/n already stressing out about having to work alongside Ethan the rest of the season.

For now, it would be put to the side strictly on the business part of things. Yet it was hard to just act like there wasn't a giant elephant in the room when the pair were in a room together. She did her best keeping it strictly professional and positive when he was around. It seemed to slowly get easier as time went on.

That was until the intern quit, opening the spot fully to y/n to take, which she could never say no to. It was opening an opportunity for her to work in the side of the sports media field she has been waiting for, for much too long.

Especially with the boys making it to the Frozen Four.

This 'avoiding Ethan' chapter really was not going to happen for her the way she wanted anymore. Which concluded of her just never seeing him and talking to him again after he left her there that night.

She could never fathom how hurt it made her. Sitting there for hours on end waiting for his door to finally open its him behind it.

She knew deep down that it wouldn't have happened so easily like that, but part of her couldn't help but hope it would turn out for the best for her.

Y/n tried avoiding Ethan as much as she could after that. It was hard to most days, as the pair had a few classes together, and hung out in the same friend group. The guys could never have stopped hanging out with her, it just wasn't right in their book. Ethan even agreed that it wasn't right.

Of course the two were hurting, they had been inseparable for years on end. It hurt more when y/n would be at games watching from afar, or when his mom would shoot her a text or call asking where she was.

That was until she finally caved and told her everything. She couldn't hold it in from the one other woman in her life that treated her like she was her own child. Y/n told her that even though they were going through, well, whatever this was, that Ethan shouldn't be frowned upon for it.

His mom had agreed with her statement, understanding that the pair of complicated best friends had to figure some things out. They both would find their way back to each some day, is similar to something his mom had told her.

So now here she was, coming off the bus in Florida with the boys for the Frozen Four. Her hair was a mess, the outfit being oversized sweatpants, that she was pretty sure were a certain guy's old pair of pants, and an oversized UMich hockey sweatshirt.

The group gathering around the coaches to hear the spiel, y/n walking into the hotel while having a conversation with Rutger. The group all tired and about ready to take the night to relax before more early mornings continue.

Once they were all given their room keys, they all scurried to their floors and rooms, y/n happy to be getting her own room to sprawl out and do what she wanted. Due to this mainly being because she was the only female besides the adult media manager on the trip.

As soon as her door shut she slumped back against the door, leaning her head against it. Being up at two in the morning for the flight was not ideal in her mind, but she knew that this opportunity would be worth the exhaustion she was feeling.

Y/n tossed her stuff on one of the open beds, stretching out her limbs before plopping herself back on the other free bed in the room.

As soon as her body landed on the comfy mattress, a knock was heard at her door. The girl instantly groaned, turning over to the opposite side to face away from the door.

"Y/n I know you're not sleeping yet open the door," Luca laughed on the other side.

"I'm dead." she groans back to him, her eyes closed while she soaked in the cozy covers.

Luca knocked again. "Y/n/n if you don't open this door I will go tell the front desk I lost my room key for this room," he trails off, her eyes opening with an eye roll.

As much as she would like to still have ignored him and say no, she knew he would absolutely go down to the front desk.

She lets out a puff of air before pulling herself off the bed and towards the door. When she swings it open, she makes sure to give him the harshest scowl she can muster.

"What could possibly be more important than sleep?" she asks, eyeing him as he walks into her room and shuts the door.

He launches himself on the bed she was just laying on making himself comfortable, y/n going to crawl in next to him with the scowl still on her face.

He was laying on his back with his arms crossed behind his head, her laying on her side with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"The guys and I are all going to sneak into one of the clubs tonight if you want to join," he sits up with a finger pointing up. "Correction. You are joining us in going to the club tonight."

Y/n groans instantly, pulling a pillow to her face. "Luca no I want to sleep before the day we have tomorrow." she groans out with a long whine. Luca rolls his eyes at her playfully.

"Oh come on it would be so fun. Besides, this is basically the time we all are going to get to experience this together." He explains, trailing off in a tone to convince her. She shook her head behind the pillow while humming a 'no'.

"Y/n come on please?" he asks nicely, slowly pulling the pillow down from her face. "It's just there inner circle going tonight if that convinces you."

Y/n stays silent for a moment, letting it sit in her brain for the time being.

"If it's not me dragging you out, I'm making Ethan do it."

"You didn't even give me a chance to think Luca!"

"Well I know that face. It was your 'leaning towards a no' face." he says to her, a pillow being thrown at his face a second later.

"So is that a yes?" he asks, y/n getting off the bed with her hands on her hips. She looks back at him with a look. "I don't really have a choice do I," she retorts.

"Nope!" Luca laughs, clapping his hands together before getting off her bed and heading to the door.

"I'll come get you at nine, sunshine." he sings out while opening her door.

"I'm taking a nap before that then!"

. . . . . . . . . . .

Y/n was finishing up her makeup when she heard the soft knock on her door.

She shook her head at herself while she looked in the mirror. She loved the outfit she chose, going with her hair slicked back in a bun. She was awake, but was also still so exhausted from the morning. The nap not doing much to her energy tank.

She opened the door up to see not Luca, but Rutger standing there on his phone. When he looked up he smiled warmly at her, fanning her off and hyping her up for the night ahead. She blew him a playful kiss before the pair walked downstairs to join the rest of the group, her insides freezing at the sight of Ethan once again.

Sure she should be used to seeing him nowadays, but it was never something she could just get used to. He's been the one giving her butterflies since before she could remember, and the one who makes her heart stutter whenever they're in a room together.

From what she noticed, it was the inner circle as Luca promised.

He was currently smiling and talking with Mark when she walked up to the group, his eyes leaving Mark's as soon as Rutger announced their presence.

Ethan's smile immediately dropped, his mouth staying slightly ajar as his eyes took in her figure. She kept her eyes on his own while she watched him fully take her in, the boy's cheeks turning red when he catches her eyes.

He gives her a small smile, y/n instantly looking away from him and taking a deep breath as she followed the group out to the uber ordered by Luca.

The group all began to pile in, but slowly coming to a halt when it started to become full. "Luca you dumbass how're we all gonna fit into this one uber?" Luke asks as he tries to squeeze into the back.

"Couple of you will sit on the floor, and a couple in the trunk. Not that bad of an idea." Luca snorts, taking his seat in the front passenger side.

"Okay at least give y/n the front seat so she doesn't have to squeeze back here or sit on the floor." Rutger says, motioning to where Luca is sitting.

"Yeah, my dude you gotta be a gentlemen and give her the front seat. No wonder you're single." Mark retorts, earning a smack to the thigh from Luca. Y/n rolls her eyes, an amused look on her face as she hops into the small packed van.

"It's fine, I can sit on the floor. Luca's never changed his ways. Who says he will now?" she jokes, earning a whine from Luca and laughs from the guys.

"Watch it young lady, or I'm gonna kick you out." Luca says, making her eyes light up as he eyes her.

"That's all it takes for me to go back up to my warm and cozy bed? Say less," she says, Luca rolling his eyes with a sarcastic smile thrown her way.

"You wish it were that easy." he says before facing back to the front.

Y/n lets out a huff getting ready to sit on the ground behind Luca's seat, only to have arms slither around her waist and be pulled into a lap.

She lets out a shocked squeak and places her hands on the armrest to steady herself as the car takes off, feeling the hands place themselves on her hips with a squeeze. The hands were an oddly familiar pair she had grown to know all too well.

Y/n slowly turned her head and looked down, only to see the familiar head of brown hair she had been avoiding. He wasn't making eye contact with her, instead was looking over and talking to Mark next to him.

The girl kept her hands on her thighs, squeezing them tightly to keep herself together as she sat on Ethan's lap. His hands stayed on her hips, squeezing every so often which made her freeze and her insides warm each time he did so. It had been so long since she was this close to him at all. Her body didn't know how to react, her mind screaming alarms to her in the process of it.

What about his girlfriend?

Couldn't he just let her sit on the floor?

What would his girlfriend say right now?

Once they arrived to the destination, she had never been more relieved to open the door more than she was in that very moment. She hopped off of his lap as if it didn't happen, waiting for the rest of the boys to pop out one by one.

The group made their way up to the entrance, Luca doing some talking to the bouncer while they all talked amongst themselves for the time being.

A few seconds later Luca looked back to the group with a shit-eating grin, the bouncer opening the door to let them all in. Y/n looked up at the bouncer with a soft smile, thanking them for holding the door open as she walked inside.

As soon as she stepped in, the vibe was completely different. Strobe lights being seen from the hallway they walked through, The Weeknd playing in the background and the smell of marijuana wafting through her nose. Y/n kept herself close to the boys as she looked around the venue and overlooking the balcony they were now on, seeing the pile of bodies below on the dance floor.

All the guys immediately making their way down the stairs, hyped up and talking about what their plans were for the night.

Y/n was still super tired from the flight and already thinking about how early she had to be the following morning. More like counting down the hours till her alarm went off. Which wasn't many.

Luca found a couple of sofas for them to all chill on, announcing the first round of drinks were on him. Each guy listing their drink for him, Luca finally finding Y/n's gaze. She shook her head. "Not tonight. Busy day for me tomorrow." She declines, Luca pouting at her.

"ThO come on, have a few drinks and let loose before chaos begins! Technically I win the busy day argument. I play tomorrow, so it's automatic win for me. What're you having y/n/n? Besides I'm buying pretty girl," he asks, watching her roll her eyes and shrugs her shoulders.

"Tequila and sprite." she caves, waving him away as he pumps his fist in the air at her answer.

"He's ridiculous." she laughs at Mark, the boy nodding his head with a chuckle. "Trust me I know. Try being his roommate."

"I basically was for a year, remember?"

Mark rubs his hand over his face and nods. "How could I forget the year in sophomore house?" he trails off, making her shake her head with a sour face.

"Too much went down." Y/n grimaces, Mark bursting out a laugh at her reaction.

Mark's laughs quiet down a few seconds later, him finally turning his body to face her with a more serious look on his face. "So what's the word between you and Eddy now?" he says, her stomach tightening.

"Meaning what?" she asks, looking away from Mark. He snaps his fingers back at her to make her eyes look back into his own.

"Real shit," he says. "What's going on now? You two still not talking?"

Y/n shook her head, her fingers picking at her pants. "I can't Mark. Not after New Years." she admits.

"You mean when you two finally got into it?" he asks, her nodding with an eye roll.

"We shouldn't have done that Mark. He cheated on her with me. You know how I feel about that type of stuff." she admits, watching him purse his lips.

"Sorry sweetheart but one, you kissed him from my understanding. Two, so what? She's a puck bunny anyways, y/n. She wants nothing more than the attention that comes with dating Eddy," Mark admits, and Y/n puts her face in her hands. "Well I should say came with dating Eddy. Past tense." Mark slips out, y/n's hands leaving her face to look at him with a frown.

"What do you mean past tense?" she asks. Mark looks around them to see all the other guys in their own conversations. Then turns his attention back to her.

"The only other people that know is everyone in this club in our group. So don't say anything till he's ready to tell you," Mark starts, her face contorting to more confusion as he goes.

"She broke up with him the day you two saw each other at the library. The day you were leaving with Rut's girl." he explains, watching the girl's face turn from a frown to complete shock in a matter of milliseconds.

"Wait what? There's no way, they were kissing and being all lovey-"

"It was after you left she decided to do it. She saw how he looked at you when you were leaving, and knew right then and there she had no part of him to herself anymore. So she dumped him right then and there." he finishes, watching y/n's face fall as she facepalms.

"Mark that was weeks ago! I'm now just finding this out? Why now?" she stutters out, Mark putting his hands on her arms. He makes her look up at him.

"Because he said you deserved your space, especially after he left you there in his room that night. He said that wasn't something he should just drop on you when you were feeling so many different things."

"Goddammit Ethan." she mumbles out, her eyes looking over the boy her heart wanted so much, watching him laugh with Rutger and Luke.

"You can't tell him I said anything-"

"And I'm back with drinks! Let's get this shit going!" Luca announces out, walking back with two drinks in his own hands, a server next to him with a tray of their drinks to set down.

Luca picks up Y/n's drink, bowing towards her with a smirk. "You're drink m'lady." he says with a fake accent, making her smile at him.

"Why thank you kind sir." she chuckles, taking a sip.

"Alright, now that drinks are ll sorted out, let's go dance dudes! Plenty single ladies, and plenty of dance floor!" Luca hoots, fist-bumping his way into the crowds with the some of the other guys.

She gives Mark a knowing look, indicating she understood what he was going to finishing saying. He reached down and squeezed her hand before disappearing into the crowd.

Y/n was too tired to want to join, not wanting to be there in the first place. She sipped on her drink slowly, her eyes people watching as she sat there, music bumping loudly.

She would much rather be sleeping in her bed. She'd rather be decompressing and charging up for the busy days ahead she knew were going to be horrific.

Y/n let out a huff as she looked into the dancing crowd, seeing and spotting each boy doing their own thing.

Her eyes stopped when they found Ethan's. His eyes were already on her own. Their eyes like magnets to one another. It always felt like things were going so much slower when they locked eyes. Like it was just them in the room.

Y/n bit her lip, shaking her head slightly to herself and finally broke their staring contest. She looked down to her drink, gulping down what she could to help herself feel a bit more loose than she planned.

At this point in the night, she was avoiding his eyes, knowing they were constantly being put on her. She could sense it. Sense him. It was like a sixth sense almost.

During a certain point in the night, y/n made her way over to the bar to get herself another drink.

If she was going to be stuck here, thanks to Luca, she might as well not be sober and enjoy her time while it lasted. A hangover wouldn't be the worst thing for her after the last few weeks she's been dealing with.

She gives the bartender a warm smile, yelling out a 'thank you' over the loud music and turned away from the bar to lean back against it. She took a sip of her third glass of the evening, already feeling the oh so familiar buzz coming on. She let it take over her nervous system, closing her eyes and her head tilting back while blowing out some air.

House of Balloons played out, making y/n smile to herself as she began to sway to the music.

The girl began to sing out the lyrics, knowing the song all too well as it made her feel some type of way every time she heard it. It brought out something in her each time any music like this played, her actions becoming harder to control especially when intoxicated.

Which was where she was at right now.

When she opened her eyes to look at the crowd, biting her lip as she watched many people paired together dancing the night away, grinding bodies are the only thing to be seen on the dance floor.

The lights were dark, flashes of different shades of reds straying out every so often, those flashes being the only lights in the entire place.

As if she could feel it once more, she finally found the familiar eyes that had been finding her figure all night. This time it was making her heart race.

He slowly starts to make his way to her, y/n's heart rate picking up as he got closer.

Before she knew it, he was in front of her standing over her figure.

He reached his hands out to her as if asking her to join him, the girl's eye not leaving his own.

So instead of walking away like she wanted to, after all this time she spent avoiding him.

She gave in.

Y/n sat up straight, her empty glass long forgotten now on the table behind her. She had to still look up at him due to their height difference, but nonetheless had let her hands slide into his own.

He slowly backed his way into the crowd of dancing people, the music setting the vibe and pace for the pair on the floor.

They found a spot away from the other boys, secluded in the crowd surrounded but hundreds of strangers but only entranced in one another. Their eyes never left one another, no matter if they tripped of bumped into other people.

His forehead found her own, his hands still entwined with her own to show he wouldn't push unless she gave him the green light. He wanted to show her he would move at her own pace.

To Y/n, for the first time in weeks, wasn't scared of what would happen or what wouldn't happen. Ethan was taking the lead to show her he was still in it, but at the same time was taking it slow to not push her further.

He closed his eyes as the song played in the background, his mouth starting to sing along to the words.

Face it, you want it, you crave it

Believe when I say that you'll know once you taste it

Y/n watched his lips move, her heart pounding out of her chest as they had their moment. Like they were the only two existing in that room.

She was letting the alcohol take over her nerves, letting it do what she knew she wouldn't be able to do completely sober.

Y/n slipped her hands from Ethan's only to place them over the top of his hands to lead them onto her waist, hers going to slowly slither around his neck.

Ethan opened his eyes to look down into hers, his hands sliding down from her waist, wrapping low around her hips just above where her lower back met her backside.

Y/n took the opportunity to let her hands cup both sides of his jawline, looking up into his eyes then down to his mouth as she sang along to the song this time.

What the hell were we? Tell me we weren't just friends

This doesn't make much sense, but I'm not hurt I'm tense

Cause I'll be fine without you babe

Her eyes found his again, the two wrapped up in one another's company, tension building more by the minute. Y/n bit her bottom lip once again, trying to stop her thoughts from getting bigger and bigger as they sway with one another.

She snapped out of her daze when she felt his thumb slowly pulling her bottom lip free from her teeth, rubbing it slowly after. His eyes went down to her lips as he leaned in, but stopping just millimeters away to let their lips brush ever so slightly.

"Please," he says, his voice weak. Just wanting to finally have her to himself. "It's always been you, y/n. Always."

He put both of his hands on the crook of her neck where it met her jawline, her hands wrapping softly around his wrists. He could see her having an argument with herself, the boy saying her name to catch her attention. "I know I've been a fucking idiot and an asshole to you. You don't deserve any of it. Slap me, punch me, kick me in the nuts I don't care what. Just please don't push me away anymore." Her eyes lock with his once again.

"I won't hurt you," he assures her, shaking his head. "Not again. Not ever. Just please. Let me prove to you. Let me prove it's always been you." he begs her.

Y/n stills for a moment, knowing that she wants this just as bad as he does. Probably even more than he ever would.

"Eddy,"

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me. Please kiss me."

Ethan didn't even let her finish her sentence, immediately placing his lips over hers in a bruising kiss. Tongues and teeth clashing when they connected, immediately y/n sighs into his mouth. Her body calming instantly at the feelings of his lips on her once again after far too long.

It didn't take long for his hands to leave the sides of her face, wrap around her waist and pull her impossibly closer to his own body. Her hands finding the back of his neck, letting her elbows rest on his shoulders while her hands pulled at his hair.

Their lips moving in sync, things becoming more heated the more they kissed.

His lips finally broke from hers only to kiss down her jaw to her neck and collarbone, y/n moving her head to the side for him to gain more access as her hands pushed his head further into her. She was becoming more and more enticed by the feelings of his lips and touch on her, it was like a drug she couldn't escape.

When his lips latched on the all too familiar sweet spot she let out a breathless moan, feeling him chuckle in her neck. He broke his kisses for a second, only to bring his lips to her ear to whisper something.

"Only I will get to ever make you make those sounds. Not Luke, not anybody," he pants into her ear before leaving a soft kiss on it, going back to attacking her soft spot as she bit her lip to hide a smile.

"Still on that whole ordeal are you?" she chuckles but it's turned into another moan when his teeth bite on her neck, his hands moving down to her ass and squeezing at the same time.

"Don't get yourself into more trouble, brat." he tells her, his tone darker than usual. She just nods, taking his head away from her neck to bring his lips back to her own. "As long as you promise to never hurt me again, I think I can manage."

He smiles against her lips, placing a hand on her neck. "I've got lots of making up to do, don't you think pretty?" he mumbles in between kisses, hearing her hum with a nod.

"Let's get out of here shall we?" he says, placing one more kiss to her lips before looking down at her. Ethan had to bite his lip from going back in, seeing the marks littered on her neck and her swollen lips making his pants tighter.

He just about loses it right there when she bites her lip and pulls him closer by his waistband.

"Lead the way, baby."

#hockey boys #angst #y/n #ethan edwards x reader #umich hockey #fluff #Ethan Edwards fluff #Ethan Edwards imagine #Ethan Edwards #Luca fantilli #Luke hughes #mark estapa #umich blurbs #umich imagine

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wolfjackle-creates · 3 months

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Answer My Call Chapter 2 Part 1

What's this? Two posts for WIP Wednesday??? I said I was gonna spoil you guys. Now, I originally planned to do Carry Your Heart. Figured the top and bottom choices from the WIP Wednesday poll would be fun. But both stories are at a point where Danny is taking Jason to Frostbite and I just didn't feel like writing the same scenario twice, even if the details and POV are totally different.

So I went to the third place option.

If you want a say in what I work on this week, check out the poll!

Story Summary: Jazz, Sam, and Tucker manage to help Danny escape the GIW, but they can't follow him and are under too much surveillance to communicate with each other. Sam snuck Danny a phone as he ran and Jazz sends him a text every day, hoping to hear he is all right. But he's not the one getting the texts.

Jason was away for several months on a mission with the Outlaws. When he finally returns home, he is surprised to find dozens of messages from an unknown number begging a Danny to tell her he's okay. Looks like there's not going to be a break between missions this time around.

Chapter 1: AO3 (user locked), Tumblr

Word Count: 1.5k

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Jazz tapped her finger on her phone as she waited for the Dunkin employee to call out her order. Red Hood was supposed to arrive any minute. She’d left her dorm a full two hours ago and led Agents K and O on a merry chase through Boston before finally losing them at Quincy Market. Then she’d doubled back and was now near Northeastern. She had no reason to be here, so hopefully it’d take a little longer to track her down.

And that’s when she felt it—a ghost or liminal was nearby.

Pushing his way in the building was a tall man with a red beanie covering dark hair. He had on an unbuttoned flannel jacket over a Dumpty Humpty T-shirt and jeans with a backpack slung over one shoulder. He glanced around before his eyes settled on her and he grinned.

“Hey, Jazz, right?” He held out his hand. “I’m Todd.”

Jazz couldn’t say anything and just stared in horror. Red Hood couldn’t be liminal. Had she just led another liminal to the guys in white? Did he even realize he was considered an ecto-entity under the anti-ecto acts she’d introduced him and Red Robin to?

“Jazz? Are you okay?” he asked, dropping his hand.

“Order for Jazz!” called out the barista.

Jazz shook herself and grabbed her drink with a smile for the employee. Then she grabbed Todd’s elbow and dragged him over to the tables.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting—” she cut herself off. She had no idea what he knew and what he didn’t. And the agents could come get them at any moment. Instead she pulled out her phone started turning off every security setting. “Never mind. Do you want anything?” she asked with a gesture at her own drink.

“I’m all right. But, are you? What happened?”

Jazz let out a laugh; if the way Todd’s eyes widened was any indication, it was a tad more hysterical that she would’ve liked. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened.” She looked down at his shirt. “My brother loves Dumpty Humpty, you a music fan?”

He seemed nonplussed at the topic change but shrugged. “Sure. Music is good, but I stole this shirt from one of my brothers. I don’t know if I could name a single song by them. How about you?”

Jazz grinned and forced herself to relax as she logged out of her school email on her phone. “I’m a huge fan of any sort of self-expression, including music. Actually, my plans for tonight involve music, so I hope you like the indie scene. Might be a bit intense for a first date, but I’ve always figured, why not jump right in? Show ‘em the crazy from the start and see if they can keep up.” She leaned forward over the table and winked at him. “Think you’ll be able to keep up?”

Todd played the game perfectly and looked her up and down like they really were about to start a first date. “With you, sweetheart, I’ll follow anywhere you lead.”

Jazz laughed and stood. “Come on, then. We’re going on an adventure.”

Todd grinned and joined her. “Lead the way.”

Once out of the building, Jazz led them away from the university. This being Boston, it wasn’t long before they came across a homeless man begging on the side of the street.

Wincing internally, she gripped Todd’s arm and said loudly, “Honestly, I don’t know why the cops don’t do a better job of keeping away the beggars.”

Todd looked at her in surprise. “What are you talking about? They have a right to exist and we should help them.”

“They’re probably fine. Everyone knows they only use the money they’re given on drugs and alcohol.” She pretended to glance at her phone before reaching back to shove it in her back pocket. Only to miss so it fell to the ground. “Ew, he’s looking at us. Come on, let’s cross the street.”

She could feel the way Todd tensed at her words, but he let himself be led across the street.

As soon as they were out of hearing shot, he turned to her and hissed, “What the hell was that?”

Jazz glanced back and saw the man picking up her phone. She looked away before he could catch her looking. “Come on, I’ll explain.” She grabbed Todd’s hand and led him down an alley to a much busier street. “I had to ditch my phone. I logged out of everything and left it unlocked so he can use it or resell it. I needed to make sure he wouldn’t try to return it to me and, well, what better way than being the worst person you can imagine?”

And now he was staring, open mouthed.

“They’ve had remote access to my phone for months and I couldn’t let them track us!” she insisted. Habit had her looking around for any sign of a white suit.

“Who can’t find us?”

Jazz shook her head. “The guys in white. Look, this is too public. I can’t say much else here. But meeting you, everything had to change. You’re in danger just by being near me and I refuse to be the reason you get hurt.”

“Why am I in danger?”

“Later!” Jazz hissed before wincing and looking around. She forced a smile back on her face and asked, in as normal a tone as she could manage, “What time is it? Do you know?”

He looked down at his phone. “Uh, looks like it’s almost five.”

“Oh great! Plenty of time for us to get something to eat before I bring you to our surprise destination.”

And from there, Jazz led Todd on a convoluted tour of Boston. They grabbed food at the Pru, then she took him to the green line. Where they traveled four stops before she jumped up in feigned surprise that they were on the wrong branch. So then they got off and hopped on the train going in the opposite direction.

Which was where she wanted to be going all along.

For once, she was happy the orange line was still under construction, because the shuffle of passengers from trains to buses and back just made their journey that much more complicated and harder to follow.

By the time they finally got to their stop, the sun had mostly set. The station was mostly empty and Jazz looked around for any sign of white suits or vans, but even when she didn't see any, she couldn't relax.

“Where are we going?” Todd asked for probably the dozenth time.

Jazz rolled her eyes. “We’ll be there in five minutes and then you’ll find out.”

She led him to the street, the crosswalk had lights over it, but the rest of the road was shrouded in darkness. They ran across without waiting for the walk symbol.

Once they crossed what was basically a divided highway, Jazz led them along the poorly lit and cracked sidewalk. Ahead of them they were approaching a river.

“It’s before the river,” muttered Jazz to herself. “Is this it?” She hesitated at the top of a sloping, unpaved drive that led to an industrial building that sat on the waterfront. “I think so. Apparently this building used to be a coffin factory. Cool, huh?”

“I don’t care for coffins,” was Todd’s terse reply.

Jazz flinched slightly. She knew he was death-adjacent. Should’ve known better than to mention coffins. “Right, sorry. Well, they aren’t made here anymore.” She made her way down the steep drive, Todd a step behind her.

“What is it now?”

“Apartments, I believe.”

Once at the bottom, she looked around and saw the old loading dock. Entering, she looked for the door on the left.

Only to hesitate once more. Two doors were on the left. She hadn’t heard anything about there being two doors. Taking a chance, she opened the first one.

Inside was a table where two women sat in front of a metal box. On the wall were a set of pegs already mostly filled with coats. And inside milled probably thirty or forty people.

The women smiled at Jazz. “Hi, have you two been here before?”

Jazz shook her head and pulled two twenties out of her wallet. “No. But I had a classmate come here and tell me about it. When I realized you had something going on tonight when I had a date? Figured it was a great place to come with my partner!”

She laughed. “We’re definitely unique here at the Night Cap.” She stamped their hands. “Show starts in half an hour, but feel free to mingle until then. Bathroom’s through the kitchen.”

“Thanks! We’re looking forward to tonight.”

Todd nodded his own thanks and followed Jazz into the room.

“What are we doing here?” he whispered in her ear.

“Hiding,” she whispered back. “I’ve never been here before. Never even taken this stop on the T before. When we leave here, we’ll get a motel room or something and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Is this necessary?”

“Without a doubt.”

Jazz could tell Todd didn’t fully believe her, but he dropped it. Jazz found a few people who were discussing that evening’s performers and the two of them joined the conversation.

-----

Part 2

I no longer do tag lists, but please check out the Subscription Post if you want notifications when I update.

So, I had a lot of fun with this section. The place Jazz takes Jason to? Real place. Though Night Cap isn't what the residents call it. Honestly, the real name is also impossible to google. If you don't know it exists, you would never find it (why Jazz runs from the GIW there). Out of respect for the residents of the apartment, though, I changed the name. I went to a show there and it was super weird trying to find it. Like, the directions in my email seriously said "enter the loading dock of the former coffin factory, find the door on the left, and slip the person standing there $10-20 cash. Don't touch anyone's personal belongings, please."

As we waited for the bathroom during set break, two of the residents were cooking dinner at the stove and we were chatting about how Regan was the worst.

10/10 would go again.

Anyone who has spent any time in Boston knows what I mean about the T being under construction. Annoying as hell, but it worked out for Jazz this time.

(The T is the name of the Boston train/subway system.)

The Pru refers to the Prudential building. The bottom level(s) are full of restaurants and shops (basically a high end shopping mall) and upper levels are offices. The top level is an observation deck that's open to the public, though I've never been.

#dpxdc #jaosn todd #jazz fenton #eventual anger management ship #i may have flexed my boston knowledge #this chapter is totally self indulgent #but the plot is about to ramp up #just need to get jazz confident they'll have privacy #and she has good reason to be paranoid #jason is just along for the ride

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dreamingofbucky · 11 months

Text

Inescapable

chapter one

summary: moving to a new neighborhood in Nueva York meant new places to see and new people to meet. Miguel O'Hara is an enigma. and after having a failed date attempt with him, you find out he's your coworker. but he's not the same man you've been pining over the last few weeks. He's much more cruel and something's not right.

warnings: uhhh dick!miguel? lol red flags but reader's blind and just thinks of him between her thighs despite his cocky attitude ayoo.

wordcount: 2.3k

author's note: mainly intro to series sorry if it's boring 😭 i can't wait to amp up the tension in the next chapter!

tag list: @yehet-moi-ohorat @127aliciia

series masterlist

It all happened so abruptly.

Moving to a new part of Nueva York wasn’t something you expected. Getting a new job meant a higher salary, which meant you could afford a little better than most with what you’ve been able to save up and then what you’d be earning. But even ‘better’ wasn’t great.

You unpacked your bags into your one bedroom apartment that seemed bigger and better maintained on the photos online. It didn’t pass you by the way the door in the bathroom jiggles a little out of the door hinges as if one more slam will make the whole damn thing fall down.

And you didn’t have the energy to deal with the damn outlet in the kitchen that would reset any device connected to it every two hours. You definitely weren’t going to put your coffee pot there. You liked to wake up to a freshly brewed pot with an automatic timer.

The apartment next door sat vacant since you moved in. You enjoyed it quite a bit, remembering how your last set of neighbors were up all hours of the night either blasting music, fucking, or arguing. You enjoyed the peace and quiet a little too much.

Quite frankly, you’ve become comfortable with the silence pertaining to Unit 209.

Despite that, things have been moving along swiftly and pleasantly in your life. You even bumped into someone three weeks ago walking down the street and it wasn’t just someone. He was sweet and kind, laughing at the mistake of you switching phones by accident after the collision. Thinking his phone was yours until you realized your phone didn’t have the cutest princess as the one on the lock screen. He fumbled for a little, with his stance and his words, as you both switched phones to the appropriate owners. He said it was his daughter on the screen.

His name was Miguel O’Hara, he’d said. You told him yours and his eyes lit up like he’s never heard a name quite like yours before. And it sounded like rich honey coming off his lips when he repeated it. This just made your cheeks burn and flutters swarm all over your body.

Next thing you knew, you bumped into him in all parts of your new town. The grocery store, the park where you like to run, and even the flower shop. He swore he knew nothing about flowers and was just trying to get some for his daughter for some school project. You’d laughed and helped him pick out the best kinds.

All of these chance encounters that really led to nothing were starting to bug you until that one day he finally asked for your number. It took him a while to finally do so, but you were thankful that the universe somehow made it its mission to collide your pathways to constantly see him.

You texted here and there, not much different to your dismay from the collisions in town that made you think he wanted more. You didn’t even know much else about the man besides he had a daughter and he liked that steakhouse a few blocks from your place.

You hoped to change that soon, and that’s when it seemed like the universe was on your side.

He asked you out for dinner at that steakhouse.

And then stood you up.

***

You wanted to believe that there was good in people. Even the most honest ones. But there seemed to always be an anomaly that infected everyone.

You had your flaws and your omissions. You had your quirks that only you’d ever witness within the walls of your apartment. And you had your utter disappointment in people that lied and dragged you along. Like him.

Miguel O’Hara.

You waited for one hour in that damn steakhouse before you gave up, asked for a check and then went home. You thought he’d at least pick you up from your place, finally get to see your new place. Funny now, he’s the least of who you’d like entering it.

That humiliating night only fed your anger more until it was time to start your new job. You took the following weekend to relax, take a bath in that glorious tub that might have some scratches and chipping, but it was divine. You didn’t have a tub in your old place.

Monday morning came abruptly and you were excited for new things. New job, new you as you liked to joke.

Slipping on your favorite flower dress and golden necklace for good luck and you were out of the door, heading to the campus that would hold your new job title. Alchemax was bigger than you remembered from your interview and tour and your division was in the skyscraper on a tippy top floor. There seemed to be endless halls to lose yourself in. Even your department was large. To the point where if there was a project that needed to be completed, they had to break you guys off into groups to get multiple done at once.

But you liked your job. You liked being able to focus on what you studied your ass off for years at school. It wasn’t everyday that people in your city could say the same. With the effects of the Rapture that took over the city ages ago, crime and violence had only heightened. You leaned heavily on those action packed superhero films sometimes wondering if Nueva York would ever get better.

You knew superheroes weren’t real. They didn’t exist. But you still hoped that there was something better coming for your city. You loved it, really. But you also hated it.

***

“Here’s your project packet with your team members listed,” a loud voice boomed behind you. It was your supervisor and he looked annoyed.

It was your fourth day, so you slapped on a smile and nodded, grabbing the packet. You’d only met the few coworkers that milled about your office space, but there was a whole floor to get to know. You buried yourself in your work, with it just being your first week, so you didn’t really socialize even when it came to lunchtime. You liked to take your lunch outside anyway to watch the birds in the sky or dream about a life where there wasn’t always crime afoot.

You sighed and plopped the packet on your desk and flipped to the first page where your team member’s names would be listed. Your eyes scanned the first line and your eyes bugged out.

Miguel O’Hara.

This must be some cruel joke, right?

You haven’t heard from this man in a week and here he is. In plain black letters on your desk. You didn’t miss the way your heart skipped a beat and your cheeks burned.

His was the only name next to yours. It’d just be you two. You took a deep breath and mentally prepared yourself. The packet thankfully showed which office area he works under, so you stood up and made your way to it. The packet was clutched tightly between your arms and hugged your chest. Your purple dress today flowed a little around your thighs. You liked wearing dresses to work, despite some of the looks you’d get.

You even heard one coworker joke that this wasn’t some kind of Victoria’s Secret runway which just didn’t make sense. Every outfit you chose fit the guidelines that were given to you upon your first day. You didn’t like the way slacks molded to your body. You felt much more comfortable with a flowy dress and heels.

Your steps echoed down the hall until you took a right and were met with a few other workers muttering at their screen, their phones, or each other. You scanned the faces until you saw the one you needed all the way in the back. He was staring at his screen, hunched over with his wide shoulders. You couldn’t see his face just yet, but you already knew how he looked.

Handsome as ever. You’d never forget a face like that. It only bummed you out more that things didn’t progress and the date ultimately ended with you cursing him forever. You had a twinge of guilt that maybe something happened with his daughter that made him not show. But he would’ve texted or called, right?

You shook your head, not wanting to think about the failed attempt to get to know the man and marched your way over to his area. He doesn’t turn around or look up when you make your final step. Your hip is aligned with his shoulder and you clear your throat.

He finally turns to look, not amused in the slightest. Not even an indication that he recognized you or blew you off. Two can play at that game.

What was once an idea to play off the horrible date and start off fresh by introducing yourself and striking conversation and even making a joke that you didn’t realize he worked at Alchemax, you bit your tongue.

His eyes glance a little at your dress and your waist, but then flickers back to your face.

Your breath hitches in the slightest at his remarkable beauty. Fuck, you forgot how good he looked up close. His brown eyes narrowed a bit, watching you silently. You swallowed, but it seemed like there was cotton stuck in your mouth.

“We’ve got that project to work on,” you finally mutter, tapping your heeled toe on the ground.

“What project?” He replied with a bitter tone. He turns back to look at his computer and your impatience flares.

“The one that we were assigned to,” you huff. To prove a point, you slam the packet down on his table and he pushes his chair back. You hold your breath as you watch his features change. From confused to annoyed, to outright cold.

You want to say something, anything. Even possibly bring up the fact that he still hasn’t apologized or made up an excuse for the missed date. And that he’s acting like a complete ass right now, not even acknowledging you!

Your anxious habits come back to life as your toe continues to tap. A scowl forms on his face. He runs thick fingers through his wavy brown hair. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t imagine your own hands running through those strands. Either when you kissed him or you had him in between your thighs. But those were just dreams that never came to fruition because of this asshole.

You bet his hair was soft too.

You shake your head, attempting to pull yourself out of your own misery.

“I was transferred to this department last minute,” he finally says. “Not supposed to be in any of these ‘group projects’. I’ve got other things to do. Not being tied to anyone.”

And with that, he lifts his hand and waves you off. That fucker waves you off. Like you’re his butler or something waiting for his command to go.

It takes everything in you to not slap that smug look off his face. To not make a scene. But it’s your first week and you’re already finding coziness in your new apartment you wouldn’t be able to afford without this job. That was something you couldn’t give up. Also not the best choice to drain almost all your savings on that damn security deposit and rent payment.

This prick was not going to ruin that for you.

“I’ll do the work then, and you can do whatever the hell it is that you do.”

His head snaps to look at you and his lips twitch. Without warning, he rises. And that’s when you forget how tall the man is. But it seems like he’d gotten taller since the last time you saw him in person. You think it was the flower shop or the park when you’d last seen Miguel O’Hara. He also looked more muscular. Arms protruding a little more in his button down and his shoulders seemed to have little more meat to them. He’s even got some faint scars on his neck.

Did you ever notice those before?

You were definitely losing it.

He peers down at you like you’re some child being lectured for stealing candy out of the cupboard. His hands go to his waist and he leans, hovering over you. It feels almost predatory like. You swallow again.

“You do that,” he finally says.

That’s it. That’s all he says.

“I can’t believe you,” the words tumble out of your mouth without warning. You bite your lip, hoping no one else heard that. You don’t want to have to start rivalries with coworkers during your first week. But this man enrages you.

“Believe it,” he spits before taking a side step. You watch as he shakes his head and walks out of the office area. You don’t know where the hell he’s going.

You glance over at his desk and see that he’s got some things set up around the space. A card with a watercolor rose petal over it. Possibly something his daughter got for him for his birthday or something. A picture of his daughter sits by the computer monitor and made your heart lurch in your chest.

And then something else that caught your eye. You look around the area to only see busy workers paying you no mind before you extend your hand and pull it out from under a manual guide.

It’s a tiny piece of paper, in the same shape as a business card. There was some chicken scratch on it, but when you peer closer to read you gasp.

Dinner at 7 at the Steakhouse. Don’t forget flowers for her. Wear your best suit. It matches her eyes.

It was all there. The date you were supposed to have with Miguel.

Why did he still have the reminder card on his desk if he completely forgot about it?

And why did he act like he didn’t know you at all?

#miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara atsv #dreamingofbuckyfics

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jeonjklibs · 6 months

Text

BROTHERS BESTFRIEND || JJK

PAIRING - Gojo x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS - Your older brother Geto invites his friends over for the weekend. The plan was spending your weekend studying, but is soon interrupted by a deceitful and very much inappropriate desire; your brother’s hot friend.

WORD COUNT - 1.6k

CONTENTS - implied age gap + heavy contents of smut (minors DNI !!!)

A/N - this was written by my friend and the idea was based off of a dream I had last night LMAO. This is one of the first stories she's ever written. We made this within a day so sorry if it isn't the greatest, but nonetheless we hope you enjoy reading!

I just got back home from school, and even though I’m home the lingering feeling of stress due to exams being soon is still very present.

I decided to take some time before indulging into countless hours of studying. The thought of it is so dreadful you’d rather listen to your best friend talk about her meaningless hookups with random men than do anything related to school.

It’s almost 4:30pm, and it’s been an hour since I got home, usually my brother would be back by now. You start to wonder where he could be but you remember you need to focus on studying. You grab your textbooks and notes from your bag and as you're about to start reviewing you hear the front door slam open, followed by a loud noise.

Irritated, you mindlessly leave your room and start expressing your annoyance at Geto.

“Geto, your being too loud, I am trying to study, and I—-,” you cut yourself off as you realize that not only is your brother now home, he brought two of his friends with him.

Annoyed, you ask “why are all your friends here, usually you go to their place,”

“Since mom and dad are away, I thought it would be okay if my friends stayed over for the weekend.” He replies displeased.

Standing there annoyed, you couldn’t help but notice that one of his friend’s has been staring at you intently. Confused, you look over and make direct eye contact, noticing it was Satoru Gojo. Yet slightly annoyed by the interference, you break eye contact, turn around and march back to your room. As you are walking down the hall you still can’t shake the feeling that he is still staring at you.

As you sit down at your desk, you find yourself in disbelief that your brother of all people could be friends with the most known fuckboys at your school. Especially Gojo, the amount of girls he goes through is demented. I couldn’t understand why he was staring at me the way he was. Slightly irritated, but aware there’s nothing you can do, you get back to studying and try to forget about everything.

An hour or so of studying passes, you hear a knock at your door, and say “come in,” thinking it was Geto, to your disapproval Gojo walks in. “Where's Geto?” you ask him with a confused look on your face.

“They went to the store, I decided to stay back,” he replies, slightly leaning his back onto the door frame. Staring at him bewildered, you ask “and… you’re here why?...” The room was deafening. The awkward silence in the room was dreadful, and to make matters worse he was just staring at you. It’s like he was analyzing every detail of my face.

“I don’t really know, I just decided to stay back” he says unbothered, his eyes still staring. Glancing at him staring, his bright blue eyes are piercing into your soul, you can’t help but feel uncomfortable, but a slight coyness builds inside of you.

“What do you want, Gojo?” you question sternly.

He pauses and says, “I just felt like you could use some company, and I’m one of your brother’s friends, so you should call me by my first name, it’s Satoru, if you were unaware.” He says with a sly smirk. Your face begins to flush as you realize Satoru Gojo is flirting with you.

Although repulsed, you are bored out of your mind from studying, so you decide to play along, just this once. “Okay Satoru, what do you want to do then?” As those words leave your mouth, you lock eyes with Gojo. He leans off the door frame and begins to approach you slowly.

As he inches closer to you, your heart begins to race. He stops in front of you leaving a small gap separating the both of you. You are shamefully turned on by this man standing in front of you, but are also disgusted by these feelings. You begin to break eye contact and turn your head away from him out of guilt, but before you can manage to he grabs ur face forcing you to look into his eyes yet again.

“You’re the prettiest little thing, let me keep looking at you,” He says in a soft tone. You are surprised that he can speak so softly, that he doesn’t always sound like some cocky bigshot. You look at him in awe, your face flushed, you're speechless.

In a sudden movement, Satoru closes the gap in between you and presses his soft lips against yours. He pulls back ever so slightly, looking into your eyes lustfully.

“Your lips taste so sweet,” he says, licking his lips, a slight smirk creeping on his face.

A warmth arises in your stomach. Looking up into his luminous blue eyes. You're confused, baffled even at the events that have just occurred. Your feelings are conflicted, but you found pleasure in the kiss and wouldn’t mind if more were to happen.

As you yearn for more, you close the gap yet again and your lips touch his, the kiss is so soft and slow, soon Satoru’s tongue desperately finds a way into your mouth, and your bodies are so close, you feel yourself craving more of him, more of Satoru.

His hands begin traveling from your neck to your breast, your body aching for him. You start leaving soft kisses around his neck, and start teasing his waistband with your thumb. He pulls away and takes off his shirt, you notice that he is much more muscular than you anticipated, turning you on even more. You gradually place kisses on his chest down to his v-line, you feel his bulge in his pants and you know that he yearns for you too.

You lower yourself perfectly and begin to unzip his pants, as Satoru is playing with your hair, you pull his underwear down and reveal his dick, it’s veiny and his length is somehow bigger than his ego.

Starting by teasing the tip and licking up the front of his shaft, you take all of his length in your mouth and down into your throat. Satoru begins to roughly shove his dick in and out of your mouth, causing you to moan. Grunting and praising you, Satoru pulls your hair tightly, and breathes heavily. Eventually, Gojo slows down and you can feel his dick pulsating, you begin to bob your head, allowing him to finish in the back of your throat.

Gojo, panting, smirks and says “You were so good to me, now let me do the same to you.” He lifts you up and sits you on your bed. He starts kissing your body and teasing you, lightly brushing his fingers between your legs, he begins taking off your shirt unveiling your breast. He looks at your body and tells you “you’re perfect,” he grabs your wrists and pushes you down onto the bed. Gojo leans over you, never lifting his gaze off of you.

He kisses you softly and slides his fingers into your panties, starting to rub your clit. He takes off your underwear, and slides his fingers into you, you let out a soft moan. His fingers are so long, they’re more than enough to satisfy you.

You start to grind on his fingers, and Satoru starts to suck on your nipples, sending more and more pleasure into your core. Unable to contain yourself, you moan, “Satoru please.” This makes Satoru go crazy, he pulls his fingers out and grips his dick. He starts to rub your clit with his pink tip. This, the teasing, the anticipation is killing you, you look into his eyes practically begging him for it.

He slides his dick inside of you, he starts slow in order to give you time to adjust to his size. He grunts as he pumps in and out, both of you feeling the pleasure from each other's bodies. You grab on to his veiny, muscular arms as you can’t control yourself anymore, the knot in your stomach begins to undo. Satoru continues to stimulate you past your limit. You’ve came and now the overstimulation sends you into oblivion. Gojo’s grunts are getting louder and louder, you know he’s close.

You look up to him in desperation as your body is electrified with pleasure, and you manage to let out a “please,” gripping onto his arms and digging your nails into his skin, you feel him slow down as you can feel him fill you up with his warmth.

After he pulls out, you can still feel the pulsating between your legs, He lays on top of you panting and your body is trembling from the pleasure he inflicted onto you. You both lay there in awe catching your breaths. You are badly ashamed of what you had just done, you couldn’t believe what you just did with Satoru.

After laying there for a few minutes…

Gojo admits to you, “you know I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”

Confused, you ask, “What do you mean by that?”

“I've seen you around campus for quite awhile now, it’s a surprise you were Suguru’s sister, you’re polar opposites.”

Starting to feel angry you ask, “so was this just one of your MANY conquests?”

…

“Satoru, are you going to answer me?

Suddenly you hear the front door open, and Geto yells out Satoru’s name, “Satoru, we’re back.”

Gojo gets up and scrambles to get dressed, his shirt half on as he’s scurrying to the door. Before he leaves he looks back at you, a small smirk plastered across his face.

“See you tomorrow, y/n.”

#jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #gojo smut #jjk smut #jujustu kaisen smut #gojo x yn #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #smut #jjk thirsts #jujutsu gojo #jujustu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader

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two-red-lungs · 1 year

Text

I Can’t Hardly Stand It

BFF!Eddie/Fem!Reader NSFW

Summary: College guys, despite your best attempts, have been leaving you high and dry and desperate in the bedroom. Now, with you back in Hawkins for winter break? Let’s just say your six-foot-something best friend is looking like a real good way to relieve some of that long-standing sexual tension.

That is, if you don’t ruin your friendship in the process.

Word Count: 5.5k

How do you ask a friend to be more than a friend? To lift a foot and place it, however tentative and skittish over the well-established boundary? To enter into a realm of unknown, unfamiliar feelings that, in all likelihood, could destroy that friendship? Crumble it to dust? How the hell does one do that, exactly?

It was a question you had been turning over and over in your head for days, hoping that contemplating it enough would bring you a sudden enlightened answer. But nope. It was still the same agonizing question. You thought it, and in your mind you saw Eddie’s eyes. Big, brown, wet and wide.

How do you ask your friend to fuck you?

When the idea first came to mind you discarded it like a deer stumbling away from a car on a highway. The thought was obscene. Way outta line. You and Eds… you went back years. Maybe a decade at this point. You and him in fifth grade, goofin’ it up out on the playground in the Indiana winter cold, play-fighting with sticks as swords. And now, him calling you once or twice a month: the connection long and expensive and only affordable if all you said was hi, how are you, that’s great, talk to you later. But NYU was your dream school. He knew that. He’d encouraged you to take the scholarship, to get the fuck out of the sleepy town that too often trapped people in little lives that went nowhere.

And you did. You did it. Packed your shit and left, moved into a freshman dorm buzzing with excitement and academia and dirty laundry. It was fun. New York was big and loud and alive and full of cute boys to meet. Oh, meet them you did. Date after date, smiling faces, clumsy, heated kisses.

That’s where the problem really was, see.

You wanted it. The big sin. La petite mort. And without fucking fail, every single skinny-legged eighteen-nineteen-twenty year old you collapsed into bed with was baaaaad. Like, painfully, stupidly, unbelievably bad. Their breath stank or they sweat too much or they popped off like bottle rockets against your bare thigh after just a minute or two of naked squirming and sloppy makeouts. And that left you alone, buzzing with a deep, red hunger. Unfulfilled, day after day. Month after month. It made you realize you needed something more. Someone you could talk to, tell what to do, share information and words with without it feeling awkward or dictatorial or rude. Someone who wasn’t, by and large, a stranger.

Your mind went to one person and now you just couldn’t fucking shake the idea. Kept seeing it in your head. Kept thinking what if.

The plane from JFK landed back in Indianapolis for winter break. Snow was high outside, brilliant diamond-white against cerulean sky, icicles trimming the roof over the pick-up zone in great crystal stalactites. Your breath was fog in the air. And, right on time, god bless him, the familiar brown-and-tan Chevy Nomad van came rolling up with tire chains that growled against the heavy ice.

Your heart jumped directly from your chest into your mouth. Eddie rolled down the passenger window.

“Lookin’ to hitchhike, hot stuff?” He was grinning ear-to-ear, brown eyes crinkling. Ever the comedian. When you muddled through the dirty snow and tugged on the locked handle a few times, that grin got bigger. “Gas, grass, or ass. Can’t let you ride for free.”

“You let me outta the cold right now, Munson, or I’ll have to resort to violence.”

“Oooh, scary. Fine. Get in here.”

He’d driven three hours out to get you, through a small snowstorm and over miles of ice, and three hours back. Not a single complaint. Not a peep. No, instead, Eddie was all sunshine smiles and wicked, warm cackles, asking about your adventures in the city and pulling animated reactions. His rings winked in the cold winter light slanting through the van’s dirty windshield, and his hair was just slightly longer (and drier) than when you’d left four months ago. But he was the same old Eddie, really. Taller than you by a million miles. Soft, broad lips with a sprinkle of new-growing mustache. Bitten fingernails, long eyelashes. A voice like tire rubber and tobacco smoke, which he reeked of.

Funny. It was easy to downplay how much you missed him when you were sequestered in the warrenous dorms at NYU. Now, with him a foot away, watching his veiny hands tap tap tap on the wheel to the rhythm of ‘Rattlehead’? There was heat in your bones. Lapping across your skin, over your cheeks when you glanced down at his narrow thighs, the way they flexed when he accelerated. You hadn’t considered the what if throughout the years of being friends with him. Now it wouldn’t leave your brain. Now that what if brought new thoughts. New need-soaked mental imagery.

Christ, you were hopeless. A single thought about Eddie’s legs flitted through your mind and it brought that roaring wall of unfulfilled heat back with a vengeance. You needed a drink, or several. Or maybe a mallet to the head.

When the Hawkins town sign blew past on the frosted asphalt road to town and Eddie offered you a beer, you leapt at the chance. Especially when he’d enthused about his uncle already booking it to his shift at the plant by now. It wasn’t until you were stomping snow off your boots on his stoop in the late afternoon sun, walking into his shared trailer and getting hit by that unequivocally Eddie smell that you realized the error of your ways. Maybe, just maybe, hanging out alone with the guy you’d been sexually fixating on for weeks in the place you imagined him in the most at night, a hand between your thighs in the dark, wasn’t a good idea.

Eddie popped the top off a heineken in the narrow kitchen and handed it to you. His fingers were icy from the winter chill, smooth against yours. You hid the way your hand jerked a bit by bringing the drink up to your mouth, not even bothering to set down your carry-on before taking a hefty pull.

“Two more months and I can buy these babies on my own. Twenty-one, here I come.” He boasted warmly. His mane of hair shimmied and shook as he fought with the cap on his own bottle: it popped off, plinking against the cabinet before escaping to the linoleum ground, and he scurried after it. You got a long lecherous view of his broad, lithely muscled back under his tight Megadeth shirt before he stood up again, blowing hair away from his mouth. “Won’t even need to use the shitty fake ID ol’ Ricky had made for me.”

“It is pretty crappy.” You agreed. Your mouth was dry. God, you two were so alone right now.

“Yeah. I’m, like, genuinely surprised nobody’s called me on it yet.”

“Is Charles still manning the gas station? That guy’s ancient. He probably doesn’t have the energy to call the cops on you when you’re buying a six-pack.”

Eddie snickered and fuck, it was like liquid sunlight, all soft and good. Another thing you hadn’t realized you’d missed, its effects diminished over the phone. “That’s totally it. Hadn’t even crossed my mind.” He leaned on the counter and sipped his beer, looking down at you and tilting his head to the side. His hair followed like water. “Damn. I kinda missed you, Agatha Christie.”

You swallowed, hard. It was difficult to be under his gaze, now. Knowing the fantasies you’d had. Those brown eyes dredged up every sweaty, slick-fingered moment of imagination between your sheets. “You expect me to be surprised by that?” You replied with a plastered-on smile. “The six-hour commute and free beer kind of gave it away.”

He thunked a hand against his chest. “Foiled again. You see right through me. C’mon.” His beer bottle clinked on the fridge as he passed you, swaggering to him room like he was king of the world. “I got a new strain shipment and a ‘lil freebee along with it. You’re gonna dig it, for sure.” He turned around in his bedroom doorway with dramatic fury, a hand clutching each side. “Two words: Purple haze.”

“Lead the way, king ditchweed.”

“It’s not ditchweed!”

It wasn’t ditchweed. It was, in fact, a nice, smooth smoke. That’s what you elected to focus on, passing the blunt between you and Eddie on his bed, the window cracked just enough to circulate the air but not enough to turn his cramped, messy room into a freezer.

He was leaned up against the headboard, all relaxed, that smile-crinkle under his eyes near-permanent. Eddie took the blunt from you and took a hit, exhaling through his nose: vapors curled up the sides of it and into his curtain of dark hair.

You remembered your fantasy from a week ago, about the ball of that thick nose pressed hard against your clit while his broad, flat tongue punched deep into your— you cleared your throat and shifted around, working sensation back into your buzzing cross-faded limbs.

Well, the sun's gone down, and you're uptown. And you're just out runnin' around: I can't hardly stand it, you're troublin' me! Lux Interior was whining, Elvis-esque, on the record lazily spinning on Eddie’s player. “Okay.” You conceded. “This is good.”

“The song, or the weed?” He brought up a sock-clad foot to deflect your attempt at hitting him, laughing. “What? New York mighta changed your taste in music. Mighta made you forget how good the Cramps were, and shit.”

“You know I was talking about the weed, dummy.” Soft, sentimental affection in your voice was as unmistakable as anything. You just couldn’t help it. Eddie smiled, pressing his lips together and looking away: your eyes drifted to the tendons in his long neck. Beautiful. You wondered how they’d feel under your tongue.

“So. Tell me about the city boys.” He said after a few moments of comfortable silence. When you groaned and put your face in your hands he chortled. “Seriously! Are they cool? Do they do slam poetry? I bet they’ve got you just hooked, huh. Ridin’ the subway and shit.”

“We don’t have to talk about boys, Eds. I can’t imagine that’s entertaining for you.”

The metalhead shrugged and took another drag. “Can you blame me for wanting to keep tabs on your bodice-ripping paperback escapades?” He cupped his face, mimicking a cherub. “That’s just how good of a friend I am.”

“Alright, alright! You ham.” You turned that what if over again in your mind. “It’s been. Weird. I’ve met a lot of guys, sure, but. I dunno. They’re not… great?”

“Define not-great. Do I need to kick someone’s ass?”

“How honest do you want me to be?”

“Uhh, mega-honest. Obviously.”

“Eddie, they’re shit in bed.”

Eddie exploded into a cacophony of coughs, thumping his chest and bending away from the headboard. Only when he was done, eyes watering, did he speak, giving a disbelieving shake of his head. “Wow, that was… honest.”

“Hey, you asked.” The ragged hem of your comfy travel shirt was looking really interesting right now. You chose to focus on it. “I’ve, uh. Been with a couple guys, now, and each time, they’re just…” You sucked on your teeth, trying to phrase it tactfully. “Selfish. Like I’m not even there. Like they don’t care at all about me. And I’m half the fucking equation in that— that goddamn horizontal tango, you know?”

“That sounds pretty frustrating.” Eddie, for once in his life, sounded serious. His voice was soft, like he cared.

“Trust me, it is. I thought about calling it quits a couple of times, y’know? But I’m human! I got… wants. And needs, and stuff.” The silence after your words was deafening, and the record switched softly-playing tracks. The what if came back. And fuck it, you were a little high and a little tipsy and hey, if bringing this up ruined everything, you’d be on a plane to New York in a few days anyway. “You know how you used to, like… joke? When we were high? That it was just you and me, whining about being lonely, and we should just.” You struggled. “Help each other out. Let off steam.”

Eddie stared. And stared. His eyebrows lifted. For a moment you were worried he would be frozen for eternity. “Uh. Okay. I, hah.” A laugh of disbelief jumped out. He pinched his nose and shook his head. “Okay, uh. If I’m, uhh… misinterpreting this, feel free to, like, punch me. Just… full force. You, uh…” God, how many interjections could this man use? “You wanna. Have sex with me?”

“It’s so weird, I know.” Your words were a blurting, flushed, panicked tumble. You hadn’t really registered it until he said it out loud. “It’s so totally weird, and I shouldn’t have said anything, seriously, just forget it—”

“No, no.” He wetted his lips nervously, that pink tongue darting out. Eddie’s eyes were wide. “No, uh. It’s— I get it. We all, like. Get a little backed up sometimes, right? Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“God, you did not just say backed up—”

“You know what I mean!” He ran a hand down his pink-flushed face, hunched forward and cross-legged, close enough to touch. Close enough to feel his body heat. “Jesus. Jesus shitfuck.”

“Eds, let’s just pretend I didn’t say—”

“We could. We could do it.” He interjected. That tongue between his lips again, trapped, a little slice of wet, shining pink. “Um. I, uh. If it’s something you wanted to do.”

Your stupid betrayer heart was drumming double time, making your palms clammy and face red. “You don’t have to say yes because of me.”

“Hey. You’re a chick, and I’m a dude, and that’s like, basic biology 101 so… I wanna.” His gaze, skittish, like he was a timid fawn, met yours for a second and it was like steel against flintstone. It sent a zing up your spine. “It’d just be like… helpin’ each other out, and shit, right?”

“Yeah.” God, your mouth was dry. You hadn’t felt like this, shaking like a virgin, since you were sixteen. You’d laid yourself emotionally bare in front of him. Told him you needed to be touched. Loved. And he’d said yes. “Just helping.”

A beat of silence. Then another. Then another. Eddie leaned forward and then you were kissing.

It was a wet, searing thing. Like a current of electricity was passing between you, hot and bright and so, so unlike anything you’d felt at fucking NYU. He grunted against your mouth, leaning forward into you. Then there was a hand on your knee and god, fuck, fuck your life, that wasn’t supposed to feel good. That wasn’t supposed to feel like your skin was lighting up gold under his palm, and yet here you were. Illuminated by his touch like a celibate.

“You gotta,” Eddie spoke in breaths, crowding you against the thin wall of the trailer, heat bleeding from his chest through his shirt, “tell me what you need, ‘kay? Promise?”

“More.” You replied immediately. You grabbed at him on instinct, getting a fistful of his shirt, tugging it up, up over his head: he moved with you immediately, pulling it off like it offended him, and oh. His nipples were dusky-dark pink, his pectorals small hills. The skullish demon head over his heart was staring you down.

Eddie pressed a sloppy kiss with searing lips to your upper cheek, eyes centimeters from yours. Looking at you all gentle and needy. “Can I take your shirt off? Please, I wanna—” He swallowed and his adam’s apple bobbed. “Wanna see you.”

“Yeah.” Your voice trembled like an autumn leaf. “You can see me, Eds.”

His hands were so broad and firm. They rolled your shirt up over your head: Eddie hissed through his teeth. “God, fuck. Fuck me, man. Look at you.” That dark brown gaze was locked on your tits, the way your bra cupped them together. “Those New Yorkers have no idea what they’re missing, man.”

“Eddie.” You said softly. His gaze snapped back up to you, framed by dark curls of hair. “Touch me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can, uh. I can do that.” His lips parted as he touched you, hot palms traveling up your ribs, over your shoulders. He dipped his head, planting kiss to your collarbones: it was like you’d been shot, a slow, scalding heat spreading from that point. Eddie held one of your hips and slowly, ever so slowly, eased you onto your back. You knew he could see your jackrabbit heart racing in the veins on your neck, see the way your shallow breaths were so fucking fast.

When you pawed between you two, sticking an arm against his burning-hot stomach to fumble with the fly of his jeans, he made a choked noise and grabbed your wrist. Eddie was breathing heavily against your face, holding himself over you with one arm braced by your head. “Wait, wait.” He took a deep breath. Hairs tickled your face. “Uh, just. Just wait.”

“I wanna touch to you too, Eds.”

He looked like the words falling from your lips were as good as head. “Jesus— not yet. Not— I don’t wanna end this too fast, and if you keep, haah—” another expletive when you pressed fingers blindly to his fly, down against his dick, “— doing that, that’s where we’re gonna end up.”

With a hum of frustration at being denied, you tilted your chin up in a demand for another kiss: he conceded without a fight, saliva-slick lips heady and addictive. You felt like you could kiss him forever, like this: the curtains drawn, early dusk darkening the room, his skin against yours sending frissons from your head to your toes. You pawed like an animal. Fingers clutching his back, feeling his shoulder blades move under his skin, his ribs expand and contract.

When you brought a thigh out, knee bending to hook a leg around his narrow hips, he seemed to make up his mind. “Fuck, okay.” He broke the kiss again. “D’ya think— can I take your pants off?”

“Yeah. Yeah, god, Eddie, please.”

Like it was a goddamn race Eddie had your buttons undone and you were helping him shuffle your pants down and throwing them to the floor. He made another noise in the back of his throat and rested himself at your side, up on one elbow. Eddie put a hand on your sternum and slowly, agonizingly slowly, dragged it down. His face turned up to you every once in a while: checking in. Making sure you were still here with him. His fingers caught on the hem of your underwear for a second and you sucked in a breath, but he kept going.

Feather-light pads landed on the lips of your pussy over your underwear. So light you could barely feel it. They traced up and down in slow, careful circles. Eddie looked almost hypnotized by the fact that he was even touching you: he watched his own hand like it was a magic show.

“Tease.” You huffed out, bucking up slightly against his fingers.

That crooked smile returned. “Nah.” He looked at you with affection. “Just tryin’ to make it good.” Those finger pads went up, up, up. Eddie tracked your expression, lips parting gently when your eyes bulged because oh, yep, that was your clit he’d caught for a second. He focused in on that little stiffening nub, snug under damp fabric, and the muscles in your stomach curled. “Ohhh, fuck. You like that, huh? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You barely eked it out. “Feels nice.”

“Bet nobody gave her any attention at your college, huh?” His words hit you like thunderbolts, and you swore you felt yourself clench around nothing. Eddie’s tongue was trapped between his teeth again. He thumbed your clit round and round in circles.

“Eds.” Your voice was a warning, desperate though it was. “More, c’mon.”

“Tell me what you need.” Maybe with someone else the words would have come out commanding, domineering. But Eddie was looking down at you with those big wet eyes like you’d hung the moon, like he’d do anything to please you, lips parted all rosebud-soft.

“Get inside me. Please. Just— your fingers, put them in, please.”

Still laid out long beside you, his fingers crept underneath the hem of your underwear, rasping against your trimmed bush as he slowly pulled the fabric down, down, down, till it pooled around your knees. “Fuck.” He said again, intelligently. “Fuck. Fuck. Can’t believe you’re letting me do this.” A finger ran down the parting line of your folds as he spoke and you jerked like a woman possessed. “Can’t believe you’re letting me touch you, god.”

His finger hooked at your soft, sopping, willing entrance. “Wait.” You blurted. His veiny hand froze. “Two. Two, uh, fingers, Eds.”

“Okay, yeah. Okay.” His voice shook. And then those long, calloused, beautiful fucking fingers were delving into your flesh, just thick enough for a little stretch, a little delicious addictive burn: if you weren’t so hyper turned-on by the sight you’d be embarrassed about how absolutely sopping you were.

Your walls fluttered around his fingers and he looked like he’d died and gone to heaven. “So warm.” Was all he got out unevenly. There was no warning before he was slowly and rhythmically fucking you with his fingers, the slick squelch loud as thunder. The sight of his broad hand disappearing between your gently parted thighs was... addictive. You held his forearm tight as he fingered you, your grip moving with each slow thrust.

This was fantasy. This was perfect fucking gratification. Sweating nearly-naked on his messy duvet, surrounded by his quintessential smell, Eddie inches away from you all laid out with a tent in his jeans so hard it looked like it hurt. This was just like your daydreams. Better, even.

You let your head fall to the side, where he was laid out all long next to you. It rested against his chest. You could feel the hum of his hummingbird heart behind the flesh and bone. “Eddie...” the word was a breathy sigh, but it earned him dropping his head over yours, pressing a wild, wet kiss to the crown of your head, leaving his mouth there. He groaned into your hair when you squirmed, thighs shifting, clenching around his fingers.

“Shit— sorry, hold on, thing is fuckin— killin’ me, hurts so bad.” He muttered hoarsely, pulling fingers from your heat to fumble with his fly. His digits were too slick to get a grip on the zipper and oh man if that didn’t do something for you. You reached across your stomach without a second thought and pulled it open, and hello.

Eddie was so hard it looked like it ached. The head of this fat cock peeked out from the top of his briefs, so red it was nearly purple. It was shiny, smeared with drooling precum that slicked up the turtleneck skin around it.

You thumbed the shaft over the fabric. Eddie sounded like he’d been socked in the gut. “Ohhhhkay.” He wheezed out. You crept upwards, dragging down his underwear and popping his bobbing cock out. It twitched, kissing his hair-dusted abdomen for a moment. God. You’d never wanted anything in your mouth so badly. You bet he tasted good: like salt and skin and Eddie.

The noises he made when you cupped him, running a loose grip up and down his shaft in lazy pumps, should have been illegal. They made the soft, wanton and slick heat between your legs feel like a bonfire, like an ancient calling demanding you do what humans had been doing for centuries before you.

You wanted to swallow him to the base. Wanted to stay there for eternity, feeling him throb under your fingers and feeling his fingers in you. But poor Eds was on a timer. And you wanted as much as you could get.

“Eds...” You trailed off, looking at him, how he held himself coiled-up tight while you touched his dick, like he was focusing so hard on not cumming. His wide eyes glittered in the low light. You kissed him again: quick and messy. “Can we...”

“Yeah.” His reply came out as a squeak and he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Please.”

“We need a condom.”

“Right.”

He was off the bed like a shot, shaking the mattress, flinging open bedside table drawers like a mob croney coming to collect debt money. He rifled through their contents with extreme (almost desperate) prejudice. The prize was found: a shiny gold-foil-wrapped Trojan. Seeing him stand at the foot of the bed, framed between your knees in front of you, dick twitching in the air and foil between his teeth? That was a sight that was going to be burned into your mind for the rest of your life.

Eddie tore open the condom with his teeth and spat out the corner. He fumbled to roll it on with shaking hands. “Shit.” He hissed, the condom springing off several times. It was like someone had set him to vibrate.

Your hand closed over his bigger one. Slowly, together, you got the condom on: shiny and off-white on his cock.

He was still huffing like a racehorse. You couldn’t blame him: your body was alight, all active like you’d run a marathon. You didn’t know what it was: it was never like this with other guys. Little touches didn’t set you on fire. Gentle, caring fingers didn’t make you gush.

With Eddie’s help you laid flat onto your back once more and eased your hips to the edge of the mattress. He stood between them, thighs pressed against mattress cover. His hands were warm on your thighs: kneading them, drifting up and down a few times while he looked down at you, his chest patchy with blush.

“You sure?” He asked. There was anxiety in his voice. This wasn’t just being handsy. This was all the way.

“Yeah. ‘M sure.” When he let his cock rest on your pelvis, hefty and scalding, you swallowed hard. “It’s you, Eds. I trust you.”

Eddie bit down on his lower lip, hard, and lined himself up with you. It was only when the head of his cock nudged your slick entrance and your pussy clenched rhythmically in reply, in excited hopefulness, that you realized how true that statement was.

That’s why this was taking you apart. Not because it was sex. Or good sex. Because it was Eddie.

He pushed into you slow with a hand clamped down on each thigh and it was like seeing god. The breach was fat and full, heat on heat, no resistance. You both made noises. He fit you like a goddamn glove.

Eddie swore, over and over, when he got up to the hilt. His eyes clenched shut, face screwed up, steeling himself against the overwhelming pleasure. And for you, that was agony.

“Eds, c’mon, please, please move.” You weren’t above begging.

“Fuuuuuck me, man.” He groaned out all high and breathless, and then he was clenching his teeth and snapping forward, hips bumping against you so hard it made the fucking bed sway. He fucked you like he was trying to keep you, like he was trying to make this the best you’d ever had: he even canted his hips up, hunting for that spot inside you that he’d read made girls go mad.

“So good, so wet, god, so good,” Eddie rambled like a lunatic, a drop of drool falling free from his red lips. “So fucking warm, huh, aren’t you? Yeah you are. So nice and warm, warm on my dick, fuck, love how fucking soaked you are.”

You were in heaven. No, somewhere better. Somewhere where sex wasn’t a sin and you were getting your guts rearranged by your best friend, the guy who knew you the best, who saw you, the real you. “Eddieeeee.” You almost couldn’t get it out, breath punched out of you so deliciously with each thrust. “My clit, Eds, touch it.”

He brought a hand to it instantly, fingers sliding through the wet where his cock spread you open and dragging it up in rough, wild circles around your clit. You could see all his dark-eyed focus was on you: fucking you, filling you, giving it to you exactly how you had needed it for so long. Taking care of you.

Fuck, that thought was gonna make you cum.

“More, please,” You begged, “so close, Eds, so—”

“God, fuck me man, you— you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you cum, oh my god.” Eddie spoke like he couldn’t stop himself, all disjointed and panting over the pornographic slap of his balls on your ass. “Wanted to see it for so long, please, please, lemme see it, lemme see you—”

His begging, his disclosure, his desperation— you went careening off the edge into the abyss while he rubbed frantically at your clit, and you swore your eyes rolled up into the back of your skull.

There it was. The thing you’d been craving, bone-deep, for months.

The perfect orgasm.

Drifting back to earth, you had a body made of melted butter. A body made of summer sun and amber. Pure contentment radiated through every single immaculate cell.

Eddie was still fucking you. Short, uneven thrusts, sweat beads rolling down his chest, long, wild hair sticking to his face. His brows were down in focus, lost in sensation. You lifted two shaking legs and wrapped them around his waist, locking him into your snug cunt. He looked up at you in hazy, pleasure-drunk shock, and then you squeezed down on him as hard as you could.

“Fuck!” Was all he barked out, and then he was doubling over, staggering forward against your hips, pelvis stuttering. Gripping your thighs like lifelines. He thrust once, twice, three times more, and then Eddie— your exhausted, beanstalk-tall, wild-child Eddie— collapsed on top of you, heavy as all hell. The crown of his head was right under your nose, and you could feel his ribs against yours.

He couldn’t see you right now. You let yourself smile fondly, satedly, into his hair.

Together you breathed raggedly, radiating body heat. The clock in the kitchen, past the ajar door, continued to tick. The silence was no longer charged: it was honest, relaxed. Fulfilled.

“You’re so heavy.” You said eventually.

“Thanks. I’ve been working out.” Eddie’s voice was muffled in your tits. After a time, though, he raised his head. Propped himself up a bit on his elbows over you. Spat hair out of his mouth. “So, uh.” His lips opened and closed like a fish, awkward and unsure. “Was that, um. Good for you, or...?”

“Of course it was good, Eddie. Obviously! Don’t ask stupid questions.” You replied with mock seriousness: an age-old bit you’d always done with him. A sign that hey, no camaraderie lost, right?

He played along, looking mock wounded. “Well, I didn’t want to assume. It’s not like it went on for an hour, or ended with a squirt, or—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” You laughed. He was staring at you in that fond way again. The guitar pick on his necklace tickled your clavicle. “I mean... we have the rest of the night, right?”

He looked stunned. He blinked a few times. “I mean— yeah, like, if that’s something you want to—”

“I want to.”

Another blink. The tongue made its reappearance. “Okay. We can... okay. Yeah.” The slow grin began its climb onto his broad face. “We can totally do that. All-nighter.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

The Munson landline was a little ragged, but it worked. “Yeah, mom, I can’t wait to see you too.” You said into the phone tucked between your ear and bare shoulder as you leaned against the kitchenette counter, hand in a bag of chips. You watched Eddie fight a box of waffles for their delicious cargo and pop four into the toaster. “The snow’s just real bad right now. You know how it is. I’ll get in tomorrow, I swear.”

Eddie slowly shook his head, hands on his hips, hitting the disapproving church-mom pose. He mouthed for shame and wagged a finger. You threw a chip at him. It plunked ineffectually off his bare chest.

“Love your too, mom. Yeah, I’ll sleep warmly tonight. Bye.”

“Oh, you’ll be sleepin’ warm, alright.”

“I knew you were gonna say that!”

“How could you possibly know what I was gonna say?”

The two of you returned to amicability, trading jabs and scoffs and sparkling smiles: but in your mind, somewhere in the far back, you held on to what he’d divulged in the heat and fervor of the moment. That he’d wanted to see you cum. Wanted to see it for ages.

He’d thought about you. Like you’d thought about him. You tucked that away for later. Now, though? Now you were laughing your ass off while Eddie juggled burning-hot waffles with his bare hands before dumping them onto a plate and flapping his singed palms about like a bird.

So. How do you ask your friend to fuck you? Turns out, sometimes, you just ask.

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #my writing #if this has typos. no it doesnt. its simply so so late and i am so so sleeby

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