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msgexymunson · 3 months

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Highest Bidder

Description: When you get Eddie to agree to be on auction for the Valentine’s Ball, you don't count on jealousy affecting you this much. To be fair, you didn’t think Chrissy Cunningham would be there. But maybe, just maybe, he likes you just as much as you like him?

Warnings: Angst, fluff and smut, my favourite horsemen. NSFW, Minors DNI or I'll shoot you with arrows and not the cupid kind. Slight older, 25 ish Eddie Munson x 23 ish fem reader, confessions, BFFs to lovers, oral fem receiving, p in v unprotected sex (dress before you impress irl)

A/N: So this was meant for Valentines but I decided to catch Covid instead. Inspired by the auction scene in Groundhog Day. I loved writing this, hopefully you get the desperate pining feeling that I was trying to give off. I love all of you, not only on Valentines but every day.

Comments and reblogs keep this little paper heart from bursting Into flames. Please, comment and reblog, it makes me so happy you don't even know.

7k words

Masterlist

“So sweetheart,” Eddie begins, a sly smile creeping over his face as he steeples his hands in front of him, elbows on his knees, “are you gonna tell me why you did it?” He's sitting across from you in his armchair, like this is some sort of bizarre job interview.

The surroundings are familiar. Eddie's second hand couch, the worn fabric soft under your thighs. The coffee table you helped drag up four flights of stairs, adorned with a coaster placed entirely for your benefit, of course. It's not like Eddie cares about water rings. The comforting smell of the fabric softener Eddie uses intermingled with cigarettes, and incense to cover the smoky aroma. That, and Eddie's aftershave; faint after a night in proximity of it, but there all the same.

The situation is not familiar. The wayward glances, the lingering touches, the tension filling the air so thick it's like trying to move through cake batter. Wading through some dense, sweet, all consuming feeling that sticks to your ribs and pulls you into its gravity.

Torn between looking at him and shyly stirring your drink with its straw, you think about it. Why did you? The answer wasn't simple. It never was, with Eddie.

It all started with the Valentines Charity Ball your mom roped you into helping to organise. She was a force to be reckoned with, your mom. The human equivalent of a wrecking ball. When she got involved with any good cause, no one and nothing could stop her. Including you.

So, when she ran to you in desperation last night, you didn't hesitate. One of the guys for the date auction had taken ill and she was stuck for a fourth. So, the first name you could think of spilled out of your mouth. It took some convincing. No, he's not just some freak. Yes, he's doing well for himself. Yes, he's got a steady job, an apartment. No, he doesn't deal anymore. Yes, he's good looking, obviously. No, we aren't a thing, we were never a thing.

You were never a thing. It was much more complex than that. Affairs of the heart always were. When you'd met Eddie at school you were quiet. A loser, living on the fringes of obscurity; not popular, but not strange enough to be bullied. Eddie was safe. A shield. You'd entered Hellfire without a second thought. And sure, he was handsome, ridiculously so. But at the time, he was seeing some twig called Stacey or Samantha or something, and you bit down on your attraction. Hid it deep within the tissue of your heart. Swallowed it whole. Then, you'd dated Thomas, and after that, he had seen Wendy, and then it was circumstantial. At no point had the pair of you been single together until recently, so it clearly wasn't meant to be. Whatever attraction you'd been harbouring was mellowed, dissolved and disintegrated in yourself. After that, he was just Eddie.

Convincing Eddie to do the auction had been an entirely different story. It wasn't nerves. He had stood on tables in the cafeteria to speak his mind, after all. He had conveyed his innermost thoughts to almost any who would listen, like some wayward preacher at a bizarre sermon. It could never be nerves, not with him. It was always the fear of not being enough. The fear of himself. After many words of encouragement, he'd agreed. If only to shut you up, but it worked.

What you hadn't accounted for was the sight of Eddie climbing out of his beat up van in a goddamn button up shirt and fucking dress shoes. In jeans that weren't ripped, with wild hair scooped back into a low bun. You hadn't counted on the easy smile you'd seen a thousand times now winding into your stomach and sending raven wing beats into your heart. In the soft wink that loosed a thousand moths within your core. Moths, they say, live at most, a day, but these seem ancient compared. Alive in an enclosure you had created years ago, set loose suddenly and all at once, their once fixated caretaker ignoring his responsibilities.

“Hey sweetheart, am I late?”

When had his voice gained that huskiness, that depth? When had looking into his chocolate brown eyes melted your insides? A twinge in your back brought on by the stress of the night took you back to the here and now. Gazing back at him whilst you attempted to rub it away, you replied.

“N-no, not at all. You, you look really good, Eddie.”

He scoffed aloud, shaking his head in disbelief, a cascade of loose curls flowing around his face.

“That's a load of crap. You, hey, you look amazing. Seriously, smoking hot.”

Your head span with the compliment, as you looked down at your own outfit. It was a ball after all, and for once your mom had insisted on a dress. It was a deep red, cheap satin, low cut, a tasteful hem at the knee, with a slit up the side providing at least a little mobility, and kitten heels. Currently, you felt like an outsider looking into a different world through plexiglass, but the way Eddie looked at you made you feel like you belonged.

‘It's nothing, just a dress.”

“Hey,” he replied, crowding your space with the confidence he embodies, “you look incredible. Trust me.”

His knuckles dragged across your flushed cheek, and for a moment all sense of who you were and why this was happening was lost to the feel of his skin on yours. But only for a moment. Dipping your eyes down, you took a tiny step back.

“We should head inside Eddie. You ready?”

After a couple of hours of cheesy music and weak as fuck punch, you tapped your fingers on your plastic cup and turned down the latest pensioner who thought you were here for his amusement. Until finally, the host tapped the microphone and asked everyone to gather at the front for the main event. You made your way to the side of the stage in case you were needed, and waited for the bidding to start.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have the highlight of the night. For one night only, Hawkins’s most eligible bachelors will be yours, to an extent. Be prepared to be wined, dined, and entertained, by our finest gentlemen, all in the name of charity, of course. And first up, is our very own George Heights! Give it up for George everyone!”

The crowd clapped as George walked onto the stage, an early balding man with just the hint of a pot belly poking through his chequered blue shirt.

“George is an artist, and an aspiring architect, with a penchant for poetry and an insatiable appetite. Give it up for George, everybody!”

After a lukewarm auction, which ended with George being bought for 65 bucks, the next one was sold. And the next one. Pretty soon, it was Eddie's turn. He stepped forward, and whispers began to float around you. You expected that, to some extent, but there were woops, and even a wolf whistle too. Ever the showman, he bent into a low bow, straightened back up, and winked at the audience.

“And last, but not least, we have a handsome young man up for your bidding pleasure. Put your hands together for Eddie!”

As he did a turn on the spot, hands outstretched, the rouse of applause went on for longer than you thought it would. Enthusiastic hands clapped for your man.

No. Your friend. Just a friend.

“That's it, that's what we're looking for! Eddie is a mechanic, and a talented guitarist, who is looking for your company tonight! So, starting bid, can I hear twenty dollars?”

“Here! Twenty dollars!” An old lady waved her programme enthusiastically in the air. Eddie's eyes rolled and caught yours momentarily, and you flashed a smile at him.

“There we go, twenty! Can we go to twenty five?”

“Thirty!” an equally old lady shouted, earning you yet another look from him that made you laugh.

“Fifty dollars!”

The crowd went silent as a man in the back shot his hand in the air.

“Woah, a high bidder! Anyone want to beat fifty?”

Before the crowd had a chance to recuperate a young and extremely pretty woman's hand shot upward.

“One hundred dollars!”

Everyone fell silent. The only thing not getting the message was your heartbeat. The beautifully manicured and delicate hand belonged to none other than Chrissy fucking Cunningham.

She looked more beautiful than ever. Hawkins’s sweetheart, all grown up. The popular girl, the pretty girl. Prettier than you, at least to your mind. Prom queen, beauty pageant winner, and the icing on the cake? Actually a nice person. No one could hate her, it would be like kicking a kitten.

But as your heart dropped like a lead weight into your chest, you thought you wouldn't mind seeing a bit of fur flying across the room, guided by your heels.

You saw it, you couldn't fail to. The sudden way Eddie stood a little straighter, chest puffed up a little more, as a slow smirk crawled over his face.

“One hundred? Wowee! Thank you young lady! Anyone for one twenty?”

The man at the back called out, “right here!”

Chrissy giggled, small hand held up covering the cute noise, and made another bid.

“One thirty!”

It seemed like the entirety of your body's blood had rushed to your head. You felt dizzy and sick, watching this happen, like some slow motion car crash. Again, your damned back hurt. you rubbed it in vain, and gazed back at the ruin in front of you.

“One fifty!” The man at the back bellowed. Eddie's eyes widened, and he put his hands together, as if in prayer. His gaze was begging, pleading, and directed at Chrissy.

The frozen spell you seemed to have been under lifted suddenly. This was not going to happen, you wouldn't let it. Chrissy had everything she could possibly need, she didn't need more. She couldn't have him.

He's yours.

Through watery eyes, you fiercely trawled through your purse, and came across the little envelope you tucked in there earlier. The money you had scraped together to go towards buying a car. You'd almost forgotten it, intending to drop it home before you came here.

It looked like you'd have to be a pedestrian for a while longer.

At the same time Chrissy placed delicate fingers in the air, your whole arm shot up, purse clutched in hand.

“Two hundred and fifty two dollars and thirty nine cents!”

Gasps and grunts from the crowd echoed throughout the hall as everyone turned to face you. Even Eddie's jaw hit the floor. It took a moment for it to register, but when it did people were cheering.

“Well, I think that wraps it up folks! The highest bid of the night, sold to the very eager young lady in red right over here! What a great donation!”

He continued talking, wrapping up the show, and signalled for the music to start once again. Blood was hammering in your ears, making you almost oblivious to everyone around you. All you could focus on in your tunnel vision was Eddie as he walked to the edge of the stage, climbed off in a smooth hop, and started sauntering toward you.

“You know, if you wanted me that badly you could have just asked, sweetheart.” He said, as he flashed you a smug grin.

“Hey, I was just saving you from that guy over there, pretty sure he wanted more than a date.” Your words came out calmer than you thought you were capable of as you clenched a fist at your side to hide your shakes.

“Oh, really?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest, “That's what you were saving me from, huh?”

He knew it was a lie. You knew it was a lie. You're pretty sure the entire hall knew it was a lie.

“Of course, don't want some old geezer putting his hands all over you. Not a fun Valentines. Plus, I own you now. You've gotta do what I say.”

Your hands dropped to your hips, holding them as you smiled at him.

“Kinky,” he replied, stepping closer, making you falter in your confident stance as you’re forced to look up at him, “so, what are your orders, princess?”

“Can you, get me a drink. A proper drink, from the bar? Please?”

Taking your hand in both of his, he brought it up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to it that turned your insides upside down.

“Easy. Your wish is my command. Jack and Coke, right?”

Gormlessly nodding, all you managed to say was a stunted “uh huh.”

He flashed that grin again, and bounced off with more of a spring in his step than usual.

You turned on your heel, begging yourself to get your head together, and busied yourself with gathering the donations for the auction, including your hefty one, and passed the cash to your mom to be locked away. When you approached, she opened her mouth but you wildly waved a finger at her.

“I know, I don't want to hear it. Not right now.”

She smiled, and just said, “pretty sure you could have got that date for free.”

Rolling your eyes and simultaneously rubbing your back, you passed over the cash and turned quickly, nearly slamming into someone.

“Easy princess, I know you bought me but I won't stand for full on tackling.”

He was holding your drink high, arms up to protect it.

“Sorry Eds, just escaping from-”

You looked over your shoulder, but your mom had disappeared.

“-nevermind. Thank you.”

As you grabbed your drink you took a generous gulp in a vain attempt to steady your nerves.

“So, now you have me, what are you gonna do to me?”

As he guided a wolfish grin to you, you simply rolled your eyes, trying to hide the fact that several unsavoury thoughts were swimming through your mind.

“What if I told you to hop on one leg and bark like a dog, huh?” You replied, sending a grin right back.

“Oh you don't think I would? Don't test me princess.”

You simply folded your arms and cocked your head, daring him with a look. Eddie nodded, and started fucking bouncing on one leg.

“Woof! Woo-”

“OK OK stop you weirdo!” Gasping a laugh, you grabbed him by the crook of his elbow and dragged him away from the curious stares of those around you.

As the song changed to a slow ballad, Eddie whipped the drink from your hand despite your protests and placed it on a nearby table.

“What are you doing?”

Grasping your hand he escorted you to the middle of the dance floor and suddenly pulled you so close that the air expelled from your lungs. There was no air, just music, and feeling, and Eddie.

“I'm dancing with you. Isn't this what you do on dates?”

As he held your hips, thumbs rubbing into your sides, your mind cleared. Like a bubble of smoke had popped. This felt good. This felt right. You circled his neck within your arms and relaxed for the first time that evening.

“This isn't a date, Eds.”

Your words held some spite, but it was belied by the smirk tugging at your cheeks.

“You are right. This isn't a date. If it was, well, we wouldn't be surrounded by geriatrics.” he nodded at the crowd around you, eliciting a high pitched giggle from your chest.

As you swayed in step with him, gazing into his chocolate eyes, the smirk only grew, fuelled by the mischief in his eyes.

“So, if this was a date, what would we be doing instead?”

A part of you wants to feel bashful and turn away, but the spell his eyes have you under is in control. No force on earth could tear your gaze asunder. The couples around you could burst into flames and be chalked up to little more than background noise.

“Well, first, I would have picked you up at your house, bought you some flowers too,” he said as he brought his hand to yours, holding it and pushing you into his frame even more, so you strained your neck up to him. His breath fanned delicately against your ear as he continued his explanation.

“Probably took you to a fancy restaurant, with fabric napkins,” he said, making you giggle at his understanding of ‘fancy’, “would have paid too. Maybe had some wine. Shared a dessert.”

“Yeah?” You nearly whisper it, words falling into the exposed skin of his neck.

“Yeah. Then, I would have taken you back to my place, offered you a cup of coffee,” suddenly he spun you, pressing his lithe front to your waiting back, his fingers scooping the hair from your neck sending comet trails of sensation down your spine. He continued, words making your head dizzy, “Then, I would kiss you, properly. Like you deserve to be kissed.”

As he spun you back to face him, you held his gaze for a moment, seeing every ounce of honesty etched into those big brown eyes.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Let's get out of here.”

You shake your head, bringing yourself back to the here and now. Here you sit, opposite Eddie, invaded by his scent, debating whether or not to just tell the truth and hang the consequences.

Taking a gulp of your drink, you set it back down and look Eddie in the eye.

“Listen, I'm gonna be honest. I saw the way you looked at Chrissy and I… I was jealous. I didn't think, I just kinda acted. I'm sorry if it was weird.”

Bravery fleeing your bones leaving behind an airy wobble, you look at your own lap, fingers twisting over and over. You're only slightly aware of the shuffle and rustle of Eddie rising to his feet, of footsteps, of the dip in the couch next to you. Then, Eddie's large hand comes to rest over both of yours.

“Do you know why, sweetheart? Why were you jealous?”

His hand is steady, fingers stilling your movements confidently, but there's a quaver to his voice that seems entirely unlike him. Grasping his fingers, you absentmindedly play with his heavy rings.

“I feel stupid. I've had… kind of a crush on you, since high school.”

Of all the reactions, you hadn't expected a deep laugh to reverberate from his chest. Recoiling in horror, you shift your hands away from his and move to stand, your only thought to run, flee.

“No no no, please, sit,” he asks, hands grasping at your waist to keep you there, as you rub at the twinge in your back again.

“Turn around,” he says, and you don't find it in you to disobey. Firm hands stroke softly down your back, “you've been rubbing your back all night. Right here?”

Fingertips circle the spot that's been aching and you nod, confused.

“Eddie, if this is a rejection, it's a really odd one- oh fuck, right there.”

He chuckles lowly, knuckles working at the knot near your spine.

“It's not, it's really not. You're in pain, and I know you'd never ask. Plus, I, ha, don't have the balls to say this to your face.”

You don't say anything in response, you can't. Of course he's noticed you're in pain, he always notices stuff like that. The fact that this isn't a rejection though? It has your head reeling with so many thoughts that you can't express the words. Eddie clears his throat, hands rubbing into your skin through your dress, easing some of the building anxiety.

“I've got a secret. I've- had a crush, on you, since middle school.”

“Shut up!” You gasp, mouth hanging open at his confession.

“Absolutely not.”

“You didn't even know me in middle school Eds.”

“Yeah I did. Well, sorta. You remember that day I ran into the library? I asked for help?”

You pick at the scab of a memory, itching it to the forefront of your brain.

“Oh yeah, you were running from that idiot... Johnny?”

“Jimmy Salinsky. He was gonna beat on me. You, you didn't hesitate. You didn't even know me, but you told me to hide under your chair, you even threw your coat over your lap to hide me.”

“What else would I do?”

He snorted derisively, continuing his impromptu massage, “ignore me, tell me to fuck off, just like anybody else. But you, no, you didn't. Jimmy ran in looking for me and you didn't even lie! He asked if a freak had run in and you-”

“-I said ‘the only freak in here is you’, I remember.”

“That's right!” He laughs, squeezing your hips appreciatively, “Then he asked if you'd seen the poor kid, Eddie. You said, ‘I've never even met an Eddie’, which was true too. Not like I introduced myself before I dived under your chair. I remember crouching there, trying not to laugh, watching your little legs swinging. You had odd socks on, and you smelled really good. Anyway, I crushed on you hard.”

Head buzzing over his words, you try to organise your thoughts.

“Did the guys- did Hellfire know?”

“Sweetheart, I'm surprised you didn't know, it was common knowledge. I just thought you never liked me like that.”

Turning to face him again, you stroke hesitant fingers over his knee.

“Didn't say anything, you were seeing Stacey.” Eddie's face screws in confusion until clarity rings like a bell in his mind.

“Her? I wasn’t- that wasn't a relationship. I would have stopped in a fucking heartbeat if I'd known.”

“Oh. I dated Tom to get over you.”

“I dated Wendy to get over you!”

Sharing a laugh, you both hold eye contact, giggles dying at the realisation of what this means.

“So, Eddie, about that kiss…” you inch forward, ever so slightly nearer to him. A pink tongue darts out of his mouth, wetting his bottom lip.

“Yeah, that. That was me, running my mouth,” he says, anxiety wracking his voice as he strokes his neck compulsively, “Not that I don't want to kiss you, I do, just, erm, don't expect fireworks?”

It's almost like he's back at middle school, the nerves radiating off of him. Smiling sweetly, you take his hand and place it on your jaw, leaning into its touch. The breath he exudes is shaky as he moves closer, eyes darting to your lips as yours flutter shut.

It's tentative; a brush of his mouth as if he's scared of you running, of some practical joke. When you make no move to pull away his thumb strokes your cheek, lips now moving more confidently against yours. Your heartbeat is echoing inside your head as your hand slips to slither down his chest and around him, circling his side.

Only then does his tongue slowly snake out to wet your bottom lip; a silent plea which you happily grant. Still, it's delicate, tongues moving leisurely against one another as if you have all the time in the world. It's by no means dispassionate; far from it, it may be the most emotionally charged kiss of your life, but it feels like he's holding back.

So, you pull him closer by the front of his shirt, flicking your leg over his knee as your fingers tug hard. It's then that his tongue licks into you in earnest, thick and smooth, filling your insides with need. Just when you feel utterly consumed, whining inside his mouth, he breaks away. After a few pecks to your lips, he presses his forehead to yours, breath uneven, cooling your swollen lips.

“I'm in love with you.”

It comes out of his mouth in a rush. All you can do is stare gormlessly.

“Huh?”

“I love you. I just needed you to know that. This isn't just a- a thing. I'm in love with you, I have been since forever. I know it's a lot to take in, and I don't expect you to say it back I just need you to-”

You shut him up, pressing a hard kiss to his parted lips.

“Eddie, you lied.”

“What? I'm telling the truth I-”

“You said don't expect fireworks. You were wrong.”

Wasting no more time, you force your body onto him, tongue clashing against his teeth as the force of your kiss presses him backwards. His head makes contact with the arm of the couch, hands hot and heavy on your hips, pushing you into his bulge.

The fabric of your dress is constricting your movements, making you huff into his mouth.

“Eddie,” you manage in between spit slicked kisses, “unzip me.”

There's a cross between a grunt and a moan that vibrates from him into you as his hand wanders across your back, groping its way to the zipper. In a few short bursts he manages to unzip it, not once breaking the kiss.

Cool air hits your skin and you stand up, shimmying the dress to the floor and you straddle him moving in for-

“Woah, slow down a second, just, just wait.”

You try to kiss him again but he pushes you back, your ass flush against his crotch as you sit up. His gaze is scrutinising, examining every inch of your form, making you feel more exposed than you've ever felt in your life.

The desperate urge to shy away works into your arms as you cross them over your chest, but Eddie's having none of it. He tugs at them gently, pulling them to your sides as his thumbs rub encouragement into your skin.

“Sweetheart, there's a thirteen year old boy doing backflips in my head. Let him have a moment.”

A little laugh you let out comes out as a snort whilst he gazes up at you in wonder. So, you give him a show, flicking your bra undone in one practised movement and sliding the straps down your arms, eventually letting it fall to the floor.

“Jesus H Christ and all the angels.” He breathes, grip tightening on your forearms.

A quivering hand reaches up, and to your surprise, cups your face.

“You are so beautiful.”

Eyes suddenly watering, you blink twice to will the onslaught of emotion away.

“Not like Chrissy though,” you shrug, eyes downturned.

“No, you're not like her. You're beautiful, like you.”

Tugging you forward, he pulls you in for a breathtaking kiss, the full force of his feelings overflowing and filling your heart with heat. With a nibble to your bottom lip, he lets up for a second.

“Can we go to my bedroom?”

Nodding, you clamber off him and stand up. Eddie just makes a noise like you knocked the wind out of him, holding his hand to his heart.

“What?” You ask, hands on your hips, like it was normal to be standing in front of him in just a pair of panties.

“Don't look all stern like that, or I'm gonna bust in my pants,” he jokes, standing and crowding your back.

The journey to the bedroom takes a while. Mostly because you can't keep your hands off of each other. He's grinning, giddy as a school boy, firm hands pressing into your sides, hips, ass. You respond in kind, nearly ripping his shirt in your efforts to remove it, only managing to unbutton the offensive material to expose his lean tattooed torso.

Eventually, your spine hits Eddie's mattress, the soft furnishing welcoming you, begging you to sink in further. His touches are soft too, almost reverent in their delivery. He stands to remove his shirt and jeans, bulge prominent in his black trunks with little patterns on them. As he coaxes you further up the bed you squint and realise what they are.

“Eds… are you wearing Star Wars underwear?”

He chuckles, following your eyeline. “They are Darth Vader pants, to be specific, very manly.”

The smile you flash him almost hurts your cheeks, the situation feeling so close to normal. Normal adjacent at least.

“Yeah, very manly. Almost caveman like.”

“Look, I didn't think I'd have a hot girl watching me undress tonight, let alone the woman of my dreams. Just forget the nerd pants.”

You're laughing now, even when he's grabbing a pillow and getting you to lay on top of it, positioning you just where he wants you. Your giggles stop however, when he asks a question that steals your breath away.

“Do I need to put a towel down?”

“That's very presumptuous of you.” You smile, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Look, I'm just asking. I don't mind sleeping in a wet patch I just want you to be comfortable.”

He hovers over you, lips pressed into a line of concern. pressing your mouth to his to will the tightness away, you whisper into his face.

“You want me to stay?”

“Sweetheart, I'd ask you to move in tomorrow.”

The next kiss is a searing heat, all heaving tongue and grinding hips. His hand winds into your hair, tilting your head to get you just where he wants you. No longer the blushing boy, he's the confident man, taking just what he needs and giving you what you crave. It's fire, it's want, it's everything.

“Eds?” You murmur into his mouth as your hips chase his form.

“Hmm?”

“Get the towel.”

Hopping off of you, he practically skips out of the room, leaving you to debate whether or not to take your panties off. As you finally decide to strip them, fingers wedged into the fabric, he returns.

“Nope, just wait, please?” He asks, propping you up with ease to lay the towel down under you. So, you let go, allowing your arms to fall to your sides.

“Lemme look after you,” he says, climbing on top of you to plant open mouthed kisses to your neck. You nod, gasping when his teeth graze a sensitive spot on your neck. Short nails dig into his back as you whimper at the contact.

“Right there princess, hmm?” He chuckles, mouthing at your neck.

“Uh huh- oh fuck,” as he bites softly, tongue flicking out to lather at the spot.

Moving down, his lips press to your collarbone, then down your chest, until he places a peck to your nipple.

“I've been dreaming about these tits, but nothing can compare to the real thing,” his tongue darts out, swirling around the pebbled nub, sending goosebumps over your skin, “fuckin’ flawless sweetheart.”

You want to say a smart remark, shaking your head, but all thoughts fly out the window when he sucks, rough fingers reaching out to rub the other. Back arching, your legs clamp on his little waist, saying their own prayer to keep him there.

As he releases his mouth with a wet noise, the thoughts flood back, all barriers forgotten.

“I've been thinking about you too, what you'd do, what it looks like,” you admit, truths flying free in the heat of the moment.

“Yeah?” He smiles up at you, “been thinking about my dick?”

“Yeah, how'd it feel in my mouth, how'd it feel inside me,” you breathe out as he continues his worship of you, tonguing and kissing at your tummy.

“Fuck,” he says, hot air fanning over his wet string of loving kisses, “you're gonna kill me, saying shit like that.”

“Don't die, I'll never find out,” you joke, breathing unsteady as he falls between your thighs, playfully nipping at the sensitive flesh.

“Oh we wouldn't want that. How else could you know what this feels like?”

Lifting your head, he locks eyes with you as he licks thickly over your clothed clit, pressing hard.

“Oh Eddie, yes,” you wail, wriggling under his touch.

He merely smiles in response, hooking rough fingertips into the waistband of your panties and pulling them down almost torturously slowly. They stick between your legs so much that your cheeks flush. Eddie doesn't seem to mind in the slightest, working them off your feet and tossing them on his bedside table. You briefly wonder if you're going to get them back, but then his lips are sucking at the soft skin on your ankle and you stop caring.

Up, up, up he moves, showing each patch of skin just the same amount of love, until he reaches the crease where your thigh meets, tongue rippling over it. You huff in frustration, hips wiggling.

“I'm getting to it sweetheart,” he says, pressing a kiss to your mound, “I wanna savour this.”

Words of protest dissipate when he laps at you, rooting out your clit without a moment's hesitation. Any clandestine thoughts you had about this very moment are nothing compared to this. To the feel of Eddie sucking at your clit, his pillowy lips wrapped around it. To the sudden roughness of his fingers as they graze your entrance. To the breach of one, slipping deep inside of you, immediately seeking out your sweet spot.

“Eddie, ri-right there, oh God!”

He moans into you, vibrations tickling you in the most delicious way. It's an amazing feeling, but you can't help but think about the noises you're making. Maybe they're pathetic, and not what he's used to? You bet he's heard some beautiful moans in his time. Some pretty blonde things with long legs and big tits. Girls who know what they're doing. Oh God, what if you start feeling him up and he laughs at you? What if-

“Hey, sweetheart, you here?”

He gazes up at you between your legs, eyes boring into you with the question.

“Sorry, so sorry, I'm here I-”

“Hey. Don't apologise. You in your head?” He asks, head resting on your thigh, “you know we don't have to do this right now.”

“No, no I want to, honest, it's just- I dunno, second guessing myself? I'm just thinking about-”

“See? That's the problem. Stop thinking. Lie back and enjoy it. Just, get out of your head. No place I'd rather be.”

His brown eyes are wide, wet with honesty. He was never able to hide his real emotions, at least not with you.

“OK, I'm so- I'll enjoy it.”

“That's it. Close your eyes princess, and just feel.”

Eyes fluttering shut, you concentrate on the feel. Of his lips, suckling softly at your clit, tongue running around the hood. Then, fingers slipping inside once again, curling within you. Moans slither out of your hoarse throat as your hips roll up to meet his lips.

“That's it, so good for me,” he mumbles into you, “doing such a good job. You sound so sweet.”

Sweet. You sound sweet.

In that instant, all your hang ups begin to melt away. The pleasure he's giving you is hitting just right, making you forget all your worries. Pressure builds in your tummy; a whirling, winding force hitting you from the inside out. You're squirming, but it's as if someone outside of you is letting you know. It must be Eddie's firm palm, the one that presses into your abdomen, keeping you steady. Keeping you here, in this moment.

There's no rush. Time loses all meaning. He could be between your thighs for minutes, hours, days. All you know is the ball of desire tightening within you is fit to burst, bubbling over in a melting pot of raw emotion.

“Eddie, I'm so close, s-so close!”

He doesn't falter, doesn't deviate in his ministrations. He continues, tongue circling, fingers curling so deep inside you think you can see God. A swirling, cloying heat encapsulates you, winding around that feeling you buried in your heartstrings and tugging it loose. That deep emotion you pushed aside years ago, a healed splinter, set free by the love and care he's pouring out of his flowing tongue.

It reaches its crescendo, vision darkening as every nerve is coddled with an inner fire. You're not even sure what you feel; release, blinding pleasure, pure love? It could be all three as you cry out, fingers tugging at Eddie's hair.

He rides it out with you, fingers coaxing your orgasm to the very brink and beyond until you flop back into the bed.

The first clue you have that something different just happened is the wet feeling underneath your ass. It feels damp, and cold? Opening your eyes, you haul yourself onto your elbows to look down.

“Now are you glad I said about the towel?”

Never have you seen so much of your own release coated on a man. It's covering his mouth, chin, cheeks, hand. You briefly wonder at how it could have happened, how that much could have come out of you.

Eddie wipes his mouth and hand on the towel underneath and makes his way to hover over your heaving form, eyes practically shooting hearts at you from deep within.

“You alright princess? We can stop right now if it's too much.”

Blindly you reach out, clumsy fingers rubbing at the hard swelling of his member inside his underwear.

“Don't you want me to return the favour?” You ask, confused.

“Sweetheart, one kiss of those pretty lips on my dick and I'll be done for.”

“Then- I'm on birth control. Fuck me, please.”

The groan that he lets out is deep and guttural, moving his limbs for him. He gets up to whip his pants down and you see it for the first time. You see him.

It's big. Fuck, its the biggest you’ve seen; not just long but thick, even thicker than your fumblings thought. A glint of silver throws you for a loop, almost making you think you imagine it, but there it is again.

“Holy shit, Eddie- are you, pierced??”

“Oh yeah,” he chuckles, glancing down to follow your eye line, “you didn't know about that huh.”

He climbs on top of you, kissing as he goes, plush lips on your skin. Soft, delicate, and warm. Guiding his hardness to your opening, you can't help but rub your thumb over the tip, pre cum slipping on the balls of the piercing. Eddie's breath stutters, nearly panting in your mouth as you smirk.

“Now that's not fair sweetheart.”

You continue to smile, gathering your slick to slide him in, but it quickly turns into a wince.

“Fuck, Eddie, you're too big,” you whimper out as your eyes screw shut.

“You're fuckin’ flattering me princess.”

“I'm not, seriously, you're- oh goddamn-”

He's pushing into you, slowly, but it still burns, the sheer stretch at his girth almost too much. Gnawing at your lips, tears well in your eyes.

Eddie looks shocked, taken aback by your reaction.

“Really? Fuck, OK sweetheart, you're OK. Look at me, you can take it, yeah?”

Trust Eddie to say the hottest thing by accident. He's just trying to check in, but by God it sets your insides on fire.

“I-I'll try.”

“That's it, atta girl, little more.”

Reaching down to where you're joined, you wrap your hand loosely around the base, realising he's only halfway in.

“Eddie, jeez you could- oooh- you could have f-fucking warned me, ah!”

“Just relax, I've got you princess, you're taking it so well, you can take the rest- oh Jesus H Christ you're tight.”

A long drawn out cry echoes out of you as he bottoms out, tears loose and running down your temples. He's leaning on his elbows, fingers stroking at your hair, leaving snowflake kisses on your cheeks.

“Uh- mmmph- Eddie, you've got a pornstar dick.”

Gritting his teeth, he looks at you almost sternly.

“You can't say that or I'll cum right now, please.”

Eyes softening, you kiss his lips instead. He envelops you, tongue dancing in your mouth making you forget the dull ache. Nothing can make you forget how full you feel however, your pussy quivering uncontrollably around him even though he's not moving.

“This is so nice,” he says, entwining his fingers with yours over your head.

“Eddie, you're literally balls deep in me and it's ‘nice’?”

Laughing so hard you feel it in your chest, he kisses you again.

“Sorry, I mean, just being this close with you. It's everything I've ever wanted.”

Lips quivering, you stare at him, eyes wide and wet.

“Eddie, I lo-”

“No, don't. Not like this. Just- can I move?”

You nod, biting back the words, and he slowly rolls his hips. Eyes nearly hitting the back of your skull, you moan, meeting his movements. He's so deep, it's like he's everywhere. Every pore, every capillary, pulsing with him.

“Oh my God, baby, oh God!”

You're rambling words but it doesn't seem to matter, mind filled with fog, with feeling. With him. He links one arm under the fat of your thigh, coaxing you to curl it around him, and everything seems to fall into place all at once. Each rolling movement is pressing into that sweet spot inside of you, that spot he seems to find so easily like a gravitational pull. He smiles, panting in tandem.

“Right there princess?”

Nodding like a puppet on a string, he lets out a long groan.

“Good, I-I’m not gonna last, you feel too fuckin’ good.”

Pleased at his reaction, you link one arm around him, stroking at the taut skin of his back as he drives into you harder. Grunting with each thrust, he's tensing, holding back.

“You can come, Eddie,” you say shakily.

“Not before you sweetheart,” he replies, doubling down on his efforts.

It all feels so intense, each whirl of feeling sinking deep into your bones and fanning the flames of your heart and desire.

“Eddie, s-so close, come with me, please.”

Almost as soon as you say the words your climax springs out, overflowing with every emotion he won't let you say. It fizzes through your nerves, throbbing with each beat of your pulse.

Eddie groans, releasing at the same time, two bodies with one heart. As you both relax, melding together, you giggle at the same time. A laugh of relief, of pure happiness.

“Sorry, thought I'd last a little longer.”

He seems embarrassed, lifting his head enough to look you in the eye.

“Eddie, that was perfect.”

He snuggles his head deep in your neck, inhaling your scent as if it were the last time.

“I'm gonna get you cleaned up, hang on.”

Lifting his head once more, he kisses, and kisses, lips moving against you with pure feeling.

“OK, now I'm really gonna go.”

You giggle as he just keeps kissing you, staring up at him with each unspoken word swimming in your mind.

“Right, now, just hang on.”

With a final peck, he slips out of you, returning with a warm cloth. Not used to this affection you merely lay there, allowing him, and wriggle out of the way when he takes away the towel. When you move, you see there's still a wet patch, but it's been mitigated at least somewhat.

“I can change the sheets if you want-”

“Eddie, I don't care, just hold me.”

Grinning like a boy he climbs back into bed, pulling blankets over the both of you. Fitting together like you were always supposed to, you sigh with relief.

“Eddie? Can I say it now?”

You whisper it into his chest as he holds you close, almost afraid of breaking the spell of the evening.

“That depends sweetheart,” he says, fingers tracing unknown patterns on the skin of your arm, “you have to mean it. I couldn't take it if you didn't mean it.”

“I mean it. I love you Eddie, I think I always have.”

The smile in his voice makes you smile too.

“I love you too. Happy Valentine's Day."

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes

#ms gexy writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you #eddie x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #stranger things fan fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff

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boyfriendstevie · 6 months

Text

sturdy

steve wants to test out the desk he just built for you | everyone say thank you @superblysubpar for encouraging me to write this hehe | 2.7k, f!reader, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv. don't do it kids. 18+ as always!! mdni!!

“Babe! C’mere!” Steve calls from the spare bedroom, echoing down the hall of your new apartment.

You’re in the kitchen, starting to unpack a few boxes there, while Steve had been working on putting together your new desk. Obviously, you’re more than capable of putting your own desk together, but Steve had offered, and, well, sometimes you have to make the patriarchy work for you. Placing the half-unpacked box of silverware onto the counter, you shout back a reply and head through the maze of boxes to the bedroom, “I’m comin’! Give me a sec!”

When you reach the bedroom, Steve’s standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips as he looks at his handiwork. His back is to you, so he doesn’t notice when you come in, and you take a second to admire him. He’s quite the sight; wearing an old pair of gym shorts that are a bit too small for him, a well-worn shirt that might be yours — you’re not sure from this angle — and a baseball cap on backwards to keep his hair out of his face. He looks so good, and it hits you then, just how lucky you are. How lucky you are to be living with your ridiculously handsome boyfriend who offers to build things for you out of the kindness of his heart and looks ridiculously good while doing so.

“Hon—“ the word dies on his lips as he turns around to find you standing in the doorway. A grin stretches across his face at the sight of you, making your heart flutter in your chest. “You starin’ at me, stalker?”

“So what if I was?” you ask, crossing the room so you can throw your arms over his shoulders, “I can’t admire my hot boyfriend?”

A strong arm wraps around your waist to pull you close. He hums in thought before shrugging, “I’ll allow it, I guess. If you give me a kiss.”

“Deal,” you murmur as you lean up on your toes to press your lips to his in a soft kiss. It’s short and sweet, but you don’t mind. “Thanks for building the desk, baby.”

“Anything for you, honey,” he hums quietly in reply, dipping down one more time for a quick peck on the lips. His hand rubs over the curve of your hip gently as he adds, “Hopefully it’s sturdy enough…”

“Steve, I’m sure it’s fine, as long as you followed the directions—“

“Maybe we could test it out?” he asks, giving you a cheeky grin, eyebrows raised in question.

You snort a laugh, eyebrows furrowing together. You’re pretty sure you know what he’s getting at, but you ask anyway, “And how would we do that?”

His smile grows, looking a bit more mischievous as he turns you around and slowly begins walking you back towards the desk. You let him lead you, giggling with your hands on his shoulders, until you bump into the desk. He leans down to kiss you again, and just before your lips touch, he squeezes your hips and mutters, “Up, honey.”

It’s a messy kiss, your lips nearly missing Steve’s in the effort to get up onto the desk, even with him helping you up. You briefly wonder if this is safe — you have no doubt that Steve built the desk well, but you highly doubt that it’s made to support a whole human’s weight — but the thought quickly passes by when Steve takes your thighs into his hands and pulls you towards the edge of the desk for a proper kiss.

Steve’s nose nudges into yours, poking at your cheek as he kisses you, lips slotting against yours. He kisses you as if he hasn’t kissed you in days, groaning into your mouth as you rock your hips forward, searching for his touch. You let out a whine when his teeth nip at your bottom lip, tongue quickly following suit to soothe the bite.

“You know, I was— I was mostly kidding,” Steve pants when he pulls back between kisses, lips pink and wet as his tongue darts out.

“I know,” you reply with a huff of a laugh, twisting your fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, “But you look so fucking hot, and you just built me a whole ass desk, and we fucking live together now, and— please just fuck me on the desk, baby.”

“Shit. Yeah, okay, I can do that,” he quickly agrees, not quiet believing his stupid line actually worked, and that you’re spurring him on as you wiggle your leggings down your hips and legs. The fabric gets stuck at your knees, and Steve springs into action, murmuring something about how it’s his job to undress you as he pulls at the fabric until he can drop it to the floor.

His hands land on your thighs again, thumbs pressing to the soft flesh at the inside of your thighs as they push up towards your core, spreading your legs apart as he goes. There’s no mistaking the small damp spot in the center of your panties as you squirm under Steve’s gaze. Pressing the pads of his thumbs to the crease at the apex of your thighs, he finally looks back up to you and asks, “Can I taste you first?”

Your answer is a quiet, choked moan and a frantic nod, “Please.”

Steve doesn’t have to be told twice, sinking to his knees in front of the desk as he pulls you closer. It’s the perfect height for this; your burning core only inches from Steve’s hot mouth. He wastes no time in leaning forward, pressing the softest of kisses to the growing wetness there, nose nudging against your clit through your underwear. A low groan comes from deep in his chest, “Can I take these off?”

Before Steve can even finish his sentence you’re nodding again, lifting your hips off of the desk as best you can so he can pull the fabric from your body. As soon as your underwear is on the floor, he’s back on you, licking a broad stripe up your cunt that has you gasping in surprise at his eagerness, “Steve—“

“Mmm,” he hums as his tongue finds your clit, sending vibrations up your spine as he sucks softly and rolls the sensitive nub between his lips.

It makes you keen, a high-pitched whine that might be embarrassing if you weren’t so blissed out. Your legs tremble as he kisses back down towards your dripping entrance, and your fingers twitch with the need to hold onto something. How Steve always makes you feel untethered so quickly, you’ll never know, but you remedy the problem easily, pushing his hat off of his head. It’s perfect timing on your part; your fingers rake through his soft hair just as his tongue dips inside of you, lapping at your slick.

You pull at the strands a bit harder than you mean to and Steve moans against you. The sound isn’t quite loud enough for you to hear, but you can feel it. The sensation makes your legs close around Steve’s head, but an arm curls around one thigh before it can press against him. It doesn’t take much for Steve to push your leg back down and hold you open for him, despite how much you’re squirming.

Steve pulls back after another sloppy kiss to your clit, lips shining with your slick and his own spit. He’s grinning, borderline smug as he nuzzles into the crease of your thigh again, nipping the delicate skin there, “Y’always taste so sweet, baby. Only fitting that my pretty girl has the prettiest pussy, huh?”

You squirm again, this time in embarrassment, and huff a pathetic whine, “Steve, stop—“

“Well I can’t lie,” he all but giggles, pressing a kiss to your hipbone as his gaze drags up your body to meet your eyes, “Want me to keep going? Or d’ya want my cock?”

Both sound like great options, but you can see the outline of his hard cock in his slightly-too-small shorts, and you want him. Reaching down to brush some hair out of Steve’s face, you murmur, “You. Want you.”

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he smiles, sweeter this time, giving your thigh another kiss before he pulls himself up to stand.

Your chest heaves as you reach for him, taking the fabric of his shirt into your grasp and yanking him closer for a kiss. You can taste yourself on his mouth, but you don’t really mind, especially as his hands roam up your sides, inching underneath your shirt to cup your breasts. He’s teasing again, thumbs barely brushing over your nipples. But two can play at that game, even while he’s kissing you so hard you can barely breathe, and you slip a hand between you, palming his hard cock over his shorts.

“Okay, okay,” he pants after a moment of shaky breaths and wandering hands, “Can you— will you bend over for me? ‘S that alright?”

Instead of answering, you slide off of the desk and cup Steve’s face in your hands to give him a firm kiss. You make a show of turning around, leaning over your brand new desk until your forearms press to the wood grain. You hear a small groan from behind you as you push your hips backwards, ass pressing to Steve’s bulge, “Christ, sweetheart. How’d I get so goddamn lucky? Fuckin’ gorgeous, and all f’me.”

Warm hands spread wide over your hips, the pad of Steve’s thumb rubbing a short line over one of the dimples in the small of your back. He gives your flesh an appreciative squeeze before his touch is gone. You huff a whine at the loss of warmth and you hear a quiet chuckle from behind you, “Relax, baby. Gimme a second.”

There’s a quiet rustle of clothing, and then Steve’s hands are back on you, pulling you back towards him. You’re about to complain, to ask him to do something, anything, when you finally feel the tip of his cock nudge against your entrance. Your breath catches as he pushes his hips forward, finally sinking into you slowly. He takes it easy, knowing that you’re plenty wet, but maybe not quite warmed up enough from just his mouth.

He stops when the front of his thighs press against the backs of yours, fingertips dimpling your hips with how firmly he’s holding onto you. Like he’s worried you might slip away. You moan softly at the aching stretch of your cunt, dizzy with how full you feel of Steve, Steve, Steve. He’s all you want — all you can think about, “Oh f-fuuck… Stevie…”

You swear you can feel his thighs quivering against yours as he stills inside of you. You can hear the grit in his voice, picture the way his jaw is clenched, as he murmurs, “Okay?”

A shaky breath escapes your lips, and you nod emphatically, maybe a bit too quickly, voice a higher pitch than normal, “So good, baby. Move, please move, need y-yo—“

The words die on your lips as Steve draws his hips back slowly and then presses back in. Your head falls forward, mouth dropping open in pleasure with a whine. You feel hot everywhere; a warmth that starts in tummy and spreads slowly, creeping up your torso and chest, into your limbs, until it feels like your body is on fire in the best way.

His hips roll in and out of your tight heat. It feels so good, and somehow, you still need more. Your forearms press further into the desk as you shift, pushing up on your toes to tilt your hips. You know that if you’re in just the right position, Steve will find the spot that makes you see stars. Desperate for the feeling, you shift again and hear a huff from behind you at the movement.

Steve knows what you want, and pushes his arm underneath you, between your body and the desk. His hands press to the softness of your tummy and to the curve of your hips as he pulls you into a better position, angling your hips so he can reach even deeper. The new angle has you gasping with each thrust, a punched-out sound that you can’t help between whimpers of Steve’s name and expletives. Steve’s not fairing much better, and you can hear the low grunt he lets out every time his skin meets yours, “You’re so wet— fuck, sweetheart — y’hear that? Hear how wet you are f’me? Feel so good ‘round me, baby. So good for me.”

“Y-yes, yeah — ah, Steve! — all yours,” you babble in an attempt to answer him, though you’re too fucked out to be all that coherent.

Seconds later, you get exactly what you’d been wanting when you’d shifted your hips; the head of Steve’s cock pressing to the spot inside of you that turns you to putty. The moment he finds it, your legs go weak, and Steve’s grasping onto you even tighter in an attempt to keep you somewhat upright. His arm curls across your midsection, and you feel his warmth against your back as he presses his chest to you. You can feel his breath, hot against the nape of your neck as he murmurs, “Right there, baby? That’s what you wanted, huh?”

You clench around him, making the drag of his cock that much sweeter. The feeling pulls a deep moan out of Steve, sending shivers down your spine as he twitches inside of you. One of the hands on your waist pushes up under your shirt until he can press against your sternum, and then he’s pulling you almost upright. Your eyes meet his in the vanity mirror attached to the desk, and you moan at the sight; you look just as fucked out as you feel, and so does Steve.

Lips on your neck, Steve hums, pleased, “There’s my girl. Look at yourself, honey, so so pretty on my cock, yeah?”

“Stevie,” you whine his name, and he’s sure it’s the best sound he’s ever heard, “‘m close, ‘m so close.“

“Y’gonna cum on my cock for me, sweetheart? C’mon, honey, know ya can,” he says, his free hand snaking down your torso and your hips to find your clit. He circles it quickly, over and over, just how you like, and with his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, it doesn’t take long until you fall apart with a cry of his name.

He’s not far behind you, hips never slowing their pace, even as he bends you back over the desk. Every wave of pleasure has your cunt clenching around him, and it pushes Steve over the edge, too, with whiny groans against your skin where his face is pressed. You can feel him spill deep inside of you and you shudder, eyes squeezing shut as your head falls forward, hitting the desk with a small thunk.

Steve’s teeth sink into the smooth skin of your shoulder, quick and gentle, more of a nip, as he presses his chest to your back. Soft kisses soothe over the small bites, and then Steve’s pressing his nose into the crook of your neck, breath hot and heavy as he nuzzles there. You pant into your arms folded on the desk and melt into Steve’s touch as his hand rubs lovingly across your hip bones.

“Y’alright, baby?” he asks, out of breath.

“Mhm,” you murmur, post-orgasm haze still clouding your thoughts.

“Good,” you can feel the curve of his lips against your spine, followed by a few soft kisses that trail down your back. He stops halfway down, hands settling onto your hips as he stands back up and slowly pulls out.

You wince, still so sensitive, but let Steve pull you up and off of the desk, turning you around so your lips can meet his. He kisses you on the mouth, once, twice, and trails a kiss over to your cheek. Your fingers tangle into his hair and you let out a breathless laugh, “I think it’s sturdy enough.”

Steve huffs in amusement, “Thank god. Imagine if it broke while we were on it. And, good news, we just checked the office off of the ‘places we still need to fuck in the new apartment’ list.”

“If you bring me to the bathroom right now, we can check off another one.”

Eyes going wide, Steve grins, literally whisking you off of your feet as he says, “Deal.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x afab!reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington blurb #stevie #steve thots #kit writes

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breadbrobin · 5 months

Text

“doc”

luke castellan x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

[child of apollo reader, should be gender neutral]

i tried to write a summary but it sucked so: reader is a child of apollo and luke is always hanging around the infirmary with a new injury. you hate it (do you really?)

(this got so out of hand but im so obsessed with luke castellan rn it’s not even funny. like. help.)

warning: like one or two swear words, mentions of injuries and illness, fluff i think

word count: 1.2k

____________________

you’d never been a fan of luke castellan. you knew it, he knew it—hell, everyone at camp knew it.

but a little unfriendliness never stopped him.

children of apollo were meant to be warm and kind all the time, but you’d rather die before being happy-go-lucky all the time like your siblings. you’d rather do your job: healing the campers who injured themselves throughout the days at camp. you’d also rather those campers not include luke castellan for once, but not all wishes can come true.

scarcely a day could pass by without luke coming into the infirmary, or coming up to you elsewhere in camp if you weren’t there, with a minor injury that he insisted needed healing immediately.

“i just don’t think i can continue kayaking with a sprained ankle, y/n.”

“what if it was your knees you skinned? wouldn’t you want to get them healed so you could get back to arts and crafts?”

“if my cut finger isn’t healed as soon as possible i’ll have to sit capture the flag out tomorrow! yes, i know it’s a paper cut. that’s not the point!”

he really was ridiculous.

either way, you had to heal him, technically. at your heart, you were a good person. on the surface, you wanted to punch him. give him something to really cry about.

“y/n, your boyfriend’s here again.” one of your sisters, cassidy, called out to you as you checked the stock of bandaids.

you rolled your eyes, not even bothering to correct her. “what this time?”

“i just have the worst headache, doc. it’s killing me.” luke said dramatically, holding his forehead. the small grin on his face didn’t support his statement at all.

you turned around, eyes wide and face serious, but trying not to smirk. “oh no, you might have meningitis! if it’s the worst headache of your life, we should get to you a hospital so they can do a spinal tap and run some tests.”

the grin on his face faltered as you pulled him to a seat. “uh—“

“lie down. don’t move. i’m going to get chiron.”

he gripped your arm. “no, wait, i think—“

“you’ll be fine?” you turned around with raised brows. “yeah, thought so. drink some water, castellan.”

“but—“

“what? you won’t be able to do sword fighting practise with a headache? big deal.”

“y/n—“

“you need to stop coming in here every time you get bored. we’re not an entertainment space.”

“but, i really do have a headache. like. a migraine.”

you stopped and turned back around, dropping the bandages you had been organising. “oh. shit, i’m sorry. hold on.”

cursing yourself internally, you rushed off to get nectar to hopefully help, along with some painkillers and a bottle of chilled water. when you came back, luke was lying on the bed, eyes closed.

“you okay, soldier?” you patted his shoulder gently.

he cracked one eye open and nodded. “kind of.”

you gently pulled him to sit up. “come on. gotta get some meds in you. eat any food today? drink enough water?”

he shook his head as he sipped the nectar, his eyes squinted. “got busy.”

you shot him a disapproving look and he smiled guiltily. “you need to eat or you’ll die. do you want to die?”

he looked up at you with furrowed brows. “you don’t have a very good bedside manner, you know?”

“then why do you keep coming back here?” you went back to organising bandages, busying your hands.

“i like my doctors prettier than they are kind, honestly.”

you froze your movements and looked over at him. luke was smiling slightly. your cheeks weren’t turning red, you told yourself. they weren’t allowed to. “whatever,” you finally said. “take your meds, drink all of that water—sip it, don’t chug—then get some sleep, alright?”

he nodded, taking a sip of the water. “yes, doc. got it.”

you nodded at him firmly and walked off once he’d taken the painkillers, hoping he couldn’t see right through you.

luke hadn’t been to the infirmary in a week, and you were genuinely starting to get concerned.

every free moment you got, you were staring at the door, or out the window, waiting for him to come in with some stupid injury and even more stupid excuse. but he didn’t.

after watching you pace for the seventh time in one morning, cassidy groaned. “just go find him.”

“i’m sure he’s fine.” you said, wringing your hands. “i mean, he’s probably just busy.”

“just go. you’re stressing me out. i can’t get anything done with you filling the room with your nervous energy. go find your boyfriend.”

“luke’s not my boyfriend.”

“i never said who it was.”

“well, it was pretty obvious—“

“just go!” she threw a bandage at your head, effectively forcing you out the door.

you didn’t even know where he was.

camp was huge, so it took you around twenty minutes to find him, he sun glaring into your eyes and likely burning your cheeks. regardless, you were on a mission. finally, you spotted him in the arena. of course.

you watched for a while until he noticed you, standing in the shade with your eyes squinted in the sun and your arms crossed over your chest. he grinned and jogged over.

“hey, doc. what brings you here?” he asked, sheathing his sword.

your eyes followed the precise movement. “why haven’t you been to the infirmary?”

he shrugged. “i haven’t been injured.”

“didn’t stop you before.”

there was a silence.

then he smiled again. “did you miss me?”

your cheeks burned. “no!” you cleared your through awkwardly. “i just… i get… bored. and you… keep the monotony away.”

“you missed me.”

“i did not miss you.”

he leaned closer, rocking back and forth on his feet. “you missed me.”

you glared up at him, but couldn’t fight the tiny smile that forced itself on your lips. you shook your head, pressing your lips together tightly. “nope. didn’t miss you.”

“well,” he shrugged. “guess i don’t need to tell you that i did actually just hurt my hand while training, huh?”

you frowned. “are you aware that consuming as much nectar and ambrosia as you seem to want to will cause you to burn to a crisp?”

“i don’t need godly food if i have you as my doctor.” he smiled cheekily, clenching his fist then wincing. “seriously, though. it hurts.”

“aw, poor baby.” you pouted, leaning forward and placing your hand on his and trying to feel if there was any injury present.

before you could do anything, his fingers had interlocked with yours and he was stepping closer to you.

you looked up at him, heart pounding and cheeks burning. “what are you—“

“i don’t know what we can do for a date around here, but i’d love to take you on one, doc.” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

you froze, heart fluttering. butterflies danced in your stomach. you found yourself nodding before you could stop yourself, smiling. “okay. yeah. take me on a date, soldier.”

“yeah?” he smiled, squeezing your hand. “great! i’ve been trying to work up the guts to ask you for weeks now. also, can i kiss you?”

“i’ve been trying to pretend i didn’t want you to ask me for weeks.” you said, stepping slightly closer to him. “also… yes.”

his free hand cupped your cheek and his lips pressed to yours, soft and sweet.

you wondered why you ever said you didn’t like him.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #charlie bushnell #pjo #pjo x reader #luke castellan x you

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dirtyvulture · 21 days

Text

Envy and Venom - Part 2

Heiress!Natasha Romanoff x CEO!Beefy!Fem!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You are the notorious playboy who just inherited one of the biggest tech companies in the world. Your first move? Sleeping with the heiress of your rival company.

Word count: 4911

AN: Didn't think I'd write this, but the opportunity was too good to let pass. :)

Click here for Part 1!

DAY 2

“I can’t believe you,” Tony says, watching as you anxiously like a caged animal. “I mean, I can, because Romanoff is smoking hot, but really? On your first day?”

“I didn’t know who she was!” you snap, your stomach churning in knots. You hadn’t been able to eat breakfast, even ignoring the hot black coffee your secretary Wanda had waiting for you like usual when you arrived to the office.

“Literally the daughter of the guy of our biggest rival,” Tony says, clearly only trying to make you feel worse than you already feel.

“I know who he is!” you bark, well familiar with Alexei Shostakov, the enormous, bearded and beer-bellied Russian who had once been on the board of directors at Envy Industries. Alexei was long gone from your dad’s company by the time you entered the scene, and at that point had formed Black Widow Corporation into a juggernaut. Word on the street was that Alexei used “unconventional methods” to stay ahead of competitors and now you wondered if you had fallen right into one of those traps.

“Why was Romanoff even at the party in the first place?” you ask.

“Why do you think?” Tony scoffs. “Daddy probably sent her to mess with you and no offense…but it worked.”

“We don’t know that,” you defend, although your gut is telling you that Tony is right.

“So, what did you tell her?” Tony asks, kicking his chair back to wobble on its hind legs.

“Nothing!” You sigh, your brain scrambling to remember your interaction with Natasha before you took her up to your suite. “Uh, I mean…I mentioned the contract we have with Tesla. But a bunch of other people probably overhead too, and that’s not exactly a secret anymore.”

“Mhmm, sure. Anything else?” Tony prompts.

“No. No, nothing else,” you say with an edge of uncertainty. “There wasn’t really much time for talking, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know you, you horndog.” He waves at you.

For once, you feel immensely guilty about not being able to control your behavior. This wouldn’t be the first time you had to face the consequences of the people you chose to take to bed with you, but none had been this jarring or dangerous. You feel used, even though you truly hadn’t revealed any company secrets to Natasha. Just the thought that she knew who you were, and wasn’t honest with you about herself, made your whole interaction with her feel slimy and fake. While you also knew it was ridiculous to think that you were in love with someone you just met, even you won’t deny there had been some kind of spark between you two, but perhaps it had all been manufactured.

You genuinely want to see Natasha again, hopefully in more honest circumstances, and not just purely for the physical pleasure of it. You knew she was one of the few women on Earth who truly understood your line of work. She didn’t need to pretend (or even study ahead) like some of the partners you had in the past. She was beautiful and smart and managed to turn you into a stuttering, whipped mess in less than ten minutes. No one else had ever been able to do that, and as humbling as it was, it was also hot as hell.

“What am I supposed to do now?” you ask, pulling at the suffocating collar of your shirt.

“First of all, don’t see her ever again,” Tony responds, and it sounds like he’s telling you you’re not allowed to breathe anymore.

“Fuck,” you grumble, because you know he’s right, but it won’t be that easy to just forget about Natasha.

“Seriously, Y/N,” Tony goes on. “You have a whole company to run now. Let the media say what they want, but promise me that you won’t be caught with that woman ever again.”

“Caught, you say?” you tease, knowing that he would always offer you a way out.

“I know you,” he repeats. “Besides, I heard she has a sister.”

You laugh, the tense mood lightening considerably. “Yeah, sure, I’ll put in a good word for you when I see her again.”

“You’re the best.” Tony stands up to give you a high-five.

***********************************************************************

Natasha hums to herself as she opens her laptop. She plugs in her headphones and boots up the application that is connected to the microphone she slipped into your jacket pocket. Over 12 hours of audio have already been recorded. Just out of curiosity, she scrolls to the first hour.

“Look how wet you are. You’ve been waiting for this all night, sweetheart?”

“Shut up and let me fuck you.”

Natasha feels her core light up with desire as she remembers the previous night with you. It had been a long time since she had been fucked so well and you certainly lived up to the hype. When she closes her eyes, she can still remember how your body had felt against hers, the way your muscles flexed in warning when you were about to finish but were waiting for her permission, the intoxicating taste that coated her tongue and had her (quite literally) demanding more and more from you.

“Hey, sestra.” Yelena walks in without knocking, and Natasha’s eyes snap open, tearing off her headphones and closing the audio application.

“What?” she growls, annoyed by the interruption.

Yelena smirks at her. “How was the party last night?”

“Good.”

Yelena doesn’t look convinced. “Did you see that TMZ article?”

“Anyone who relies on that hack as a legitimate source of information is just setting themselves up for disappointment.”

“A picture is worth a thousand words,” Yelena states, walking up to Natasha and showing her her phone.

New CEO of Envy Industries Y/N spotted getting cozy with Black Widow Corp. heiress Natasha Romanoff

Below the headline is a grainy photo of her almost sitting on your lap, both of your heads leaned close together.

“What’s your point?” Natasha asks, pushing Yelena’s phone away from her face.

“Did Dad approve of this?”

“What does his approval have to do with anything?” Natasha snaps. “I’m a grown woman, I can do whatever I want with whoever I want–”

“We’re not stupid, Natasha,” Yelena frowns. “And you aren’t either. You aren’t getting mixed up with just anyone, this is the CEO of Envy Industries–”

Natasha waves her hand. “Just stop, Yelena. I know what I’m doing, okay? And I’m the one who’s going to take over the company when Dad steps down, so I need to make sure that we are on top and stay that way.”

Yelena’s expression softens. “Just be careful, sestra. You don’t know what some of these people are capable of.”

“Like Y/N?” Natasha laughs. “She’s just a big rich idiot. I could steal her entire company right from under her nose and she’d just go fill her bed with Victoria’s Secret models and forget it by the next morning.”

“Please be careful, Nat,” Yelena begs. “Do not forget what happened last time–”

“That was in the past. I know better now,” Natasha dismisses, although the hair on the back of her neck rises at the memory. She had been too cocky, too arrogant, and nearly lost her life as a result. But she was certain that wouldn’t happen with you. She had you eating out of the palm of her hand even before the mind-blowing sex. You’d happily hand her the keys to Envy Industries if she promised you five minutes in bed.

“Don’t worry about me,” Natasha gruffs, turning back to her computer. “Close the door on your way out.”

Yelena doesn’t respond and backtracks. Natasha waits until she hears the click of her door to open the files on her flash drive that contains the data stolen from your systems. None of your files are even password-protected. Maybe your company was even more of a joke than she thought.

***********************************************************************

DAY 14

Tesla backs out of contract with Envy Industries, reportedly in talks with Black Widow Corporation for GPUs

DAY 15

Envy Industries (ENVY) stock drops 15%

Black Widow Corporation (BWC) stock up 10%

DAY 18

Tesla hires Black Widow Corporation to produce hardware for upcoming Model 2

DAY 24

Black Widow Corporation announces AI supercomputer project

DAY 30

Black Widow Corporation (BWC) joins the Magnificent Seven stocks, knocking Envy Industries (ENVY) out

“You need to fix this. Now.”

“I’m trying!” you practically sob, staring at the same headline on your computer that your father is looking at.

Your first 30 days as CEO had been an absolute whirlwind–of defeats. First, an intern at Tesla had called you to tell you the deal was off. And then to hear that they were taking up business with Black Widow Corporation was like a sucker punch to the gut. No one at your company could understand how Black Widow suddenly had the technology you’d been working on for months, but a nagging feeling in the back of your head told you that you were the only person who knew the answer.

But you couldn’t be one-hundred-percent sure. After all, you had spent one night with Natasha Romanoff, most of it in bed with her getting your brains fucked out. But she had left even before you woke up, and there was no way to confirm if she had managed to get her hands on the confidential information that your company was built upon.

Whatever had happened, Envy Industries was on a steady decline ever since you had taken over and it was not a good feeling. The stock prices were tanking and now you had lost your spot amongst the prized “Magnificent Seven”–also known as the seven highest-valued companies in the United States. It was embarrassing, shameful, and upsetting. The board of directors were having daily meetings about your leadership qualities and you were worried they would boot you from the position any day now. Your father still had some influence, despite stepping down, but with the way he was speaking to you now, you weren’t sure he was going to defend you anymore.

“I don’t care how Black Widow Corp got the intel. They have it now and we can’t get it back. You need to raise security protocols and if anyone is caught leaking information, they will be publicly humiliated and sued to kingdom come,” your dad rages through the phone.

“Yes, yes, I agree,” you say.

“You need to focus on recovering from this. What’s done is done. But if you let it get worse, there will be severe consequences. For the company, for its future, and for you.”

“Yes. Yes, Dad,” you gulp.

“Stop fucking around and get your shit together,” he says. “You have a reputation that precedes you and thousands of people are depending on you to see them through this. Envy will come back. Promise me.”

“I promise,” you repeat hollowly, not even convinced of your own words.

“Good girl. We’ll talk later.”

“Okay. Bye, Dad.” You hang up and put your phone face-down on your desk, staring once more at the headline. For the first time, you don’t feel sad, you feel angry. You want to lash out at something–someone. Preferably the person or persons who put you in this predicament. You didn’t deserve this. You hadn’t done anything wrong. But one thing was for certain: you weren’t going to mope around and let them continue to take advantage of you.

There’s a heavy knock on your door.

“Hey, Y/N. Ready for lunch?” It’s Tony.

“Sure. Give me a minute.” You whip your burgundy blazer off the back of your chair with more force than necessary; it gets twisted upside-down and something falls out of the pocket. You squat to pick it up. It’s a black, small, flat circular device that blinks red and there’s tiny little ridges in the center to indicate some kind of microphone.

What the hell is this? you think. You look back at your burgundy jacket. It’s the same one you were wearing the day you were made CEO, the night you met Natasha Romanoff. It wasn’t your most worn jacket, making the occasional appearance if you felt it complimented the rest of your outfit, but spending most of its time hanging in the front of your closet.

A disturbing thought enters your head. This little device couldn’t be what you thought it was, right? But you knew tech better than most people. And you knew that Black Widow Corporation had somehow gotten ahold of confidential information that was causing catastrophic damage to your company.

It takes all of five seconds to formulate a plan.

You slip the audio recorder back into your pocket and put your jacket on.

Two could play at this game.

“Hey, Tony. Where are we going for lunch?” you call out, trying to keep your voice flat and clear.

“The steakhouse!” But his voice is muffled through the door.

“The steakhouse? The one on 6th Avenue, right?” you ask.

“Unless you suddenly have a new favorite that’s not on 6th,” he grumbles.

“Nope, that’s fine. Let me go check on something in the lab and I’ll be ready.”

***********************************************************************

“What’s wrong with you? Did they get your order wrong?” Tony asks as you poke at the slab of beef on your plate.

“I’m just not really hungry,” you say. “You know, since our whole company is falling apart and everything.”

“Well, it’s still standing the last time I checked.” You appreciate how straightforward Tony is. Granted, he isn’t under the same kind of pressure as you, but you need someone who can be this cool under pressure in your life. “And I know you can’t be productive on an empty stomach. Should we order those crab legs you like?”

“No more food please,” you mumble, pushing your plate away from you. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Hurry back. Or I’ll order the whole appetizer menu!”

“Okay, whatever.” But you smile as you walk away from the table to the back. You look at your reflection in the gold gilded mirror, noticing the clear stress lines in your forehead, the darkness under your eyes, the way your cheeks are more hollowed in because you aren’t eating your usual 4,000 calories a day.

You rinse your hands in the sink and pat water on your face. You hear the door open behind you and your heart starts pounding faster. Had your plan worked?

“What’s wrong, honey?” Her voice snaps you to attention, velvety and seductive just like how you remember hearing it the first time. You turn to see Natasha Romanoff leaned against the wall, wearing a white blouse ready to burst at its buttons along with black slacks and towering heels. Her hair loosely bounces on her shoulders and her exposed wrists and neck are adorned with more jewelry than you can count.

“You,” you growl, striding over to her in three big steps and glaring down at her. “Are we adding stalker charges to your growing list of crimes now?”

“What are you talking about?” Natasha tilts her head to the side dumbly. “I’m here for lunch, just like you. A coincidence isn’t a crime–”

You pull the little audio device out of your pocket. Natasha’s eyes widen for a second before she quickly turns her expression into one of defiance, but she’s already given away her familiarity. “So this is how you’ve been stealing all of our ideas, huh?” you ask.

“You have no proof that came from me,” she objects.

“I guess not.” You toss the device to the floor and stomp on it so hard with your Gucci loafers that it crumbles with an audible crunch. “And now we’ll never know. But now you’ll have to leave alone for a little bit, right? You have to give us some time to come up with more ideas for you to steal–”

“It’s nothing personal,” Natasha insists. “Business is business, isn’t it?”

“Well, once you put my reputation at risk–” You move one step closer until your chests almost bump. “–My future at risk–” You lower your head until you’re practically breathing on her face. Natasha doesn’t shy away. In fact, you think you see a glint of triumph in her green eyes. “–It becomes very, very personal.”

The tension between you is so thick it’s suffocating. You refuse to break eye contact with Natasha, but you’re not even sure what your next move should be. You know that you should hate this woman, should be calling for her head and outing her to the media for the literal crimes she’s committed, but you also want her. She hadn’t left your mind since the day you met her and knowing that she had been spying on you this whole time was both infuriating and a little arousing.

Natasha suddenly grabs onto the front of your shirt, yanking you closer to her until your lips crash together. You hate that the contact makes you feel relief, and you wonder if part of your recent frustration can be attributed to the fact that all this time you were secretly yearning for the same woman who was responsible for ruining your life.

“Things between us are very, very personal,” Natasha whispers, her hands slipping under your shirt to scratch across your abdomen. The coldness of her skin makes you want to cringe away, but her fingers hook onto your belt to keep you from going too far.

“Did you get jealous listening to all the girls I was fucking?” you ask.

“No,” Natasha says, but her cheeks redden and you know she’s lying. “But none of them could make you moan the way I do.”

“I wished they were you,” you admit, panting against her forehead as she undoes your belt. “Which is a fucked up thing to say given what you’ve been doing to my company.”

“I’m very good at what I do, baby,” Natasha says, pressing another hot kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll make your life hell if you don’t stop fucking with my company,” you growl, but your threat is significantly undermined by the whimper you let out when her fingers trace down the V-line of your hips to your center.

“Would you rather I fuck you over your company?” she asks.

“Shit,” you gasp, unable to focus on her question when two fingers slip into you. You’re embarrassingly soaked for her, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t had wet dreams of letting Natasha Romanoff fuck you ever since your first encounter. You fall back against the wall, panting as she pistons her fingers in and out of you. “Someone might walk in,” you warn, suddenly reminded about the forbiddenness of this relationship.

“I locked the door,” Natasha says, using her free hand to tug down the collar of your shirt so she can lick and kiss the skin of your neck. You bite on your lip to muffle your moan, your hands going to hold her hips roughly, pulling her closer to you. Her fingers curl and her thumb presses hard into your clit. You feel yourself clench tightly around her and your knees are ready to buckle. “For the record, I did miss you too.”

“What took you so long?” You have no idea how you’re able to hold a conversation with Natasha Romanoff while she fucks you, but here you are. Your hands wander towards her ass, cupping her solidly and almost lifting her off the floor.

“I had to wait,” she answers simply, her thumb flicking against your clit and your stomach burns with the stimulation. The slick noises of her fingers sliding into you is downright filthy and you rock your hips forward to urge her to move faster.

“What did you…have to wait…for?” you pant. “Your stocks to…overtake…mine?”

“Sure, baby,” Natasha says, nibbling at your collarbone and marking you with a dark hickey. You still have enough consciousness to notice the way she dodges your question. “You want to cum for me?” she asks, pistoning her hand faster.

“Yes, yes, please,” you beg, already on the verge of finishing. You adjust the angle of your hips so she can reach deeper, her fingers brushing past the sensitive ridges that make you see stars with every touch.

“Wait until I say,” she demands and you whine at her dominance. But you’re in no position to negotiate, so you keep your back pressed against the wall, desperately fighting the tidal wave of arousal threatening to crash down.

“Nat,” you say, your fingers digging hard into her ass, “Please let me–”

“Wait,” she repeats, sounding both annoyed and aroused. She pumps into you harder and faster, until you’re quivering and don’t think you can physically hold back anymore–

“Babe–”

“Cum for me.”

You feel like your body is tearing apart as you explode over her hand, arching your back off the wall, pressing your heaving chest into Natasha’s, heart pounding like you’ve just sprinted through a marathon. Natasha’s thrusts slow as you ride out your orgasm, and as you slump against the wall, she pulls her fingers out and, sticking them into her mouth to suck off your juices. You watch her hungrily, still dizzy from the rush of endorphins.

“My turn,” you say, hooking your arms under her thighs and her arms loop around your neck. You pick her up effortlessly and shuffle with her into the handicapped stall. This time, Natasha’s back is pinned to the wall as you crash your lips into hers, reigniting the heat between your legs. But you’ve already got your release and you are more than eager to return the favor.

You pull down her pants and panties, mouth watering at the sight of her glistening center. You crouch down to pick her up again, this time letting her thighs rest on your shoulders so when you stand up, her pussy is perfectly in line with your mouth. Natasha’s hands tangle tightly in your hair as she draws your head towards her center, her calves locking across the back of your neck.

Without needing any more prompting, you pull forward to taste her. Her moans are music to your ears as you lap at her dripping heat, your tongue pressing deeper in search of more. All you can smell is her, all you can taste is her, and all you can think about is her. Natasha is sinful heaven to you and for a few seconds, you let yourself completely forget about how she’s ruining your life.

Suddenly, you hear a knock on the door.

“Hello? Why is this locked?” someone’s voice on the other side says.

You reach up with your right hand and cover Natasha’s mouth. She bites into the side of your hand and you hiss at the pain.

“Go get one of the staff.”

“You better finish soon,” you hum, nipping at the insides of her thighs while she squirms on your shoulders. “Or the whole world is going to hear me eating you out in here.”

“They should,” Natasha pants, gripping almost painfully at the back of your head, trying to force you back between her legs. “They need to know that you’re all mine, baby.”

You want to tell her that you don’t belong to anyone, and certainly not her of all people, but the protests die in your throat as she squeezes her thighs around your head. You truly are some kind of servant to Natasha Romanoff. Your tongue runs up and down her slit, poking at her throbbing clit as she bucks forward against your face.

“Fuck, take me already,” she whines.

“So impatient,” you tease.

“Less talking, more fucking,” she demands.

“Same to you.” You shove your fingers into her mouth to quiet her, and she sucks on them in a way that you try to mirror against her pussy. Wrapping your lips around her clit and thrusting your tongue into her until she’s a puddle in your arms.

“...I don’t know why the door is locked. Let me speak to the manager to get the key.”

Natasha’s whimpers are muted so you have to gauge her reaction by the rest of her body. The way she grips onto your hair like it’s some kind of lifeline. Her walls milk your tongue desperately, slick spilling onto your chin. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to get enough of this woman.

The door clicks open just as Natasha finally comes undone. Your fingers muffle her moans as you quickly lick her clean, wishing you had time to bring her to a second orgasm, but the heels on the floor indicate the two of you are no longer alone. You slowly lower Natasha to the floor, suddenly feeling the burn in your shoulders as you finally relieve yourself of her weight.

“Call me next time you want to fuck someone,” Natasha pulls you in for one final kiss and slips something into your pocket. It’s her business card.

“We’ll see,” you say, still not exactly sure of this arrangement, but not having the time to hang around and discuss. You leave the stall first, washing off at the sink and slinking out.

***********************************************************************

Natasha waits until you’ve left the bathroom to adjust herself in the mirror. She reapplies another layer of lipstick, smoothing down her blouse and tucking it back into her pants. She struts out of the restaurant, her body tingling in the aftermath of her sexcapade in the bathroom with you.

She steps into the alley adjacent to the restaurant and stands by the overflowing dumpster. She takes your wallet out of her pocket, unfolding it and laughing at the photo on your driver’s license. It was almost disappointing how easy you were. You weren’t cut out to lead a powerful company like Envy Industries. While you might have had the intellect, you clearly could not handle confrontation and even the idea of failure.

Natasha almost feels bad for you, but not bad enough to stop.

She empties the cash from your wallet, the several crisp hundred dollar bills fluttering to the ground. Maybe they’ll make some lucky homeless person’s day. Natasha pockets your heavy metal credit cards, despite having no intention but to use them as paperweights for her office. Then she finds what she’s really after: the solid black card that’s your apartment key.

Natasha discards your wallet into the dumpster and walks out to the street to be picked up by her driver.

***********************************************************************

You return to the table, smoothing back your hair and pulling at the newly-formed wrinkles in your shirt. You barely remember to button your shirt back up to your throat to hide the collar of hickeys Natasha left to remember her by.

“You were in there a while,” Tony comments. “You need some Pepto?”

“No, I’m fine.” You sit down, staring at your cold steak while you think. “Can we go now? I have some stuff I need to do.”

“Sure, sure.” Tony calls for the waitress and the check. You slip your phone out to view the location of the tracking device you (literally) implanted into Natasha.

It was a tiny, tiny device, probably about the size of a grain of rice. You could barely feel its weight when you have it balanced on the tip of your finger.

“This GPS will provide an accurate location down to a meter,” Dr. Pym explains. “Designed and manufactured right here at Envy Industries, so you can rest assured this is the highest quality product you’ll find on the market.”

“Don’t mention this to my dad, will you?” you request, placing the little tracker back in its foam-padded case.

“Of course,” Dr. Pym says. “I answer to you and only you now.”

“Good.”

You weren’t a hundred-percent sure how successful you’d be, but you had tried your best to hold the GPS on your fingertip before sticking your fingers in Natasha’s mouth. Her natural reaction would be to suck and swallow, and you were hoping that the rice-sized GPS would easily find its way down her esophagus into her.

There was no way she would know about it (or even be able to taste it) in the heat of the moment, and after a few days, it would pass through and the evidence wouldn’t be in her system anymore. You didn’t need more than a few days to track her location and habits.

With a sigh of relief, you see the red dot on the map indicating that she’s still waiting by the street side of the restaurant, probably for her driver. You can’t help but chuckle to yourself, wondering what Natasha would say when she realizes you’re willing to play just as dirty as her.

The waitress boxes up your steak and hands it to you in a paper bag. You and Tony leave through the back entrance to the cramped parking lot and you wait until you’ve climbed into his Aston Martin to say, “Are you still in touch with that…uh…Buck guy?”

Tony is quiet for a moment. “Oh, you mean Bucky? Yeah, I see him from time to time. Why?”

You’ve never made a request like this before in your life, and you know the moment you do, it’s going to change everything. You take a deep breath, fighting the anxiety in your chest.

“I need him to get me a gun.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: It's getting very hot in here. :) To be continued? 👀

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader

506 notes · View notes

royalarchivist · 4 days

Text

Foolish: Somehow it does always end up with you. And I'm sick of it.

Bad: I know, what's up with that?

Foolish: Yeah, maybe... Hopefully in the next universe it's not that way.

Bad: That's what I'm hoping. Whoever's organizing these universes needs to be more careful.

Foolish: They need to stop because I'm getting sick of this BS.

Bad: Yeah, this is ridiculous. I mean, literally my first house is right over there. What's up with that?

Foolish: Yeah I don't know, I'm hoping– I'm hoping like, third time's the charm, or something.

Bad: Third time?

Foolish: I dunno. Whatever time charm it is, I lost track.

Bad: And Land duo, what kind of name is that?

Foolish: Just a garbage ass name, I don't understand.

Bad: Might as well be dirt duo, like, come on!

[ Transcript continued ↓ ]

—

Foolish: Dirt duo... No, I don't– there's just so many other duos.

Bad: How do you say... dirt.

Foolish: Maybe it could have been like, haloish, and fool–

Bad: Haloish?

Foolish: BFool- Foolish–

Bad: Falo?

Foolish: Falo? I dunno.

Bad: [Less emphasis on the 'a'] Falo?

Foolish: I dunno– maybe it's just one of those just- just "Foolish and Bad." Or maybe like–

Bad: Why can't it be "Bad and Foolish"?

Foolish: Well, I don't know, I just feel like the movie name will be a lot cooler if it's like, Foolish and Bad.

Bad: I feel like we should go in alphabetical order, though.

Foolish: Uhh, no, I don't think so.

Bad: So it'd be Bad and Foolish.

Foolish: No no, Bad and Foolish doesn't really sound very good.

Bad: Bad Fool Halo kind of works.

Foolish: Mmmm... I guess we could be like, Badish? But...

Bad: Badish?

Foolish: Badish.

Bad: Sounds like a Pokemon.

Foolish: "Badish," oh it does kinda sound like a Badish, doesn't it Let's see... Is there anything left that I really wanna...

Bad: Well, we could always be "Dragon duo" since we each own half of the Dragon.

Foolish: No. No we don't. We don't.

Bad: Well– I dunno. It's up for debate.

#Foolish #Foolish Gamers #Badboyhalo #QSMP #Foolhalo #May 18 2024 #lmao and this time I will tag it with #Landduo #land duo #I don't even know which one it is #Bad #BBH

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celenawrites · 10 months

Text

pretty when you cry

pairing - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

word count - 2.4k

warnings - Ghost is a bit of a dick but he gets better, Reader is a bit of a crybaby here but it's just cuz she's very in tune with her emotions, Simon is emotionally constipated and cannot handle feelings, some fluff, heavy-ish (?) angst, open ending, etc.

Note - Kinda got tired of writing fluffy stuff all the time and my mental health is fraying atm, so I decided to (hopefully) hurt some folks with this little piece. Enjoy!

AO3 Version

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

You cry easy.

That's what Ghost thought of you when you first joined Task Force-141.

While he has always been skeptical of any new additions (often temporary) to the team he has come to love and trust after going through hell and back, Price was convinced that your impeccable record on stealth ops, your physical agility, and your skills as a sniper were much needed.

Reluctantly, Ghost silently accepts his Captain’s decision.

However, time and time again, your sensitive nature had him worried that you might prove to be a heavy liability to the team.

When you stub your toe against the leg of the table, you let out a few tears of frustration and pain, cursing everyone and their mothers while you hold your injured foot in the air as you comically jump around the kitchen, even though your lack of spatial awareness was to be blamed here. It is almost always a comical sight, Gaz rubbing your back in comfort while you curse and cry, failing to hide his amusement. Soap is not afraid to laugh at your face for it, while Price has this twinkle in his eye as he asks you to sit and eat something for breakfast.

Simon ignores the flutter in his stomach when you take a seat next to him on the table, your wet hair letting out wafts of jasmine - all for him to smell and keep to himself.

You cry when you accidentally let the door close on your pinky, dramatic hiccups leaving you as Soap ties up your little finger with white bandages, stroking your hair as he consoles you, "That's a brave lassie, yeah? You got this". (Soap has always been good with people, Simon notes.) Sometimes, Soap will be ‘kind enough’ to offer you to kiss your injuries better and you’d shove him, your face giving away the embarrassment and the humorous jest you feel around the demolition expert.

You weep uncontrollably when you watch Marley and Me with Gaz in the rec room. Price and Ghost had been passing by, discussing the aftermath of a mission they had just returned from when they heard loud sobs coming from the usually empty room. They peer in to find both of you huddled close in soft blankets, a bowl of popcorn propped up in your lap and a box of tissues in Gaz’s lap, as you munch on the buttery snack and cry over the adorable dog finally being put to rest. You lean into Gaz for comfort and Ghost wonders if you still smell of mud and caked blood like you did on the field.

Price decides to break up the party as he enters the room, clearing up his throat to grab the attention of his Sergeants. Your lip wobbles as he lightly scolds you, his brow laden with concern as he looks at you and tells you both to go get some much-needed rest. You pass him by as you leave the room, your hand being a feather’s touch away from his and he almost holds onto you. (He still has no idea why he almost reacted like that to you)

One time, Price had been sent to help Laswell out on a crucial mission and all you had accomplished during those three and a half weeks was mope around and wish your Captain were here. You’d be lying on the sofa in the common room and you’d whine to your companions. “I’m so bored. I miss Captain. I wish he was here”, you’d pout and Soap and Gaz would gang up on you, teasing you as they asked you whether you had some unresolved feelings for dear Price. (The idea of you coveting Price like a lover seemed ridiculous to him, really. You and the Captain? Not a chance)

And then there was that one time when you had to go on a solo mission (the first of you being on your own since you joined the task force, really) and when you had come back to him them, battered and bloodied and disheveled but still safe and sound and Price lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as if all the weight of the world has disappeared now that you’re back home, back to your team (where you now rightfully belong). You rush to them, running as if you cannot close the distance between them fast enough, and Price hugs you with steady arms as he lets you cry into his shoulder, wetting his uniform as you all but sob in relief, leaning on your Captain for support as your legs turn like jelly, unable to support the weight of your weary body.

It must’ve been terrifying - being out there on the field, hostility and death surrounding you in all directions and the only person you could possibly rely on is yourself. Keeping yourself safe and sane as you navigate unknown terrain and fight off the monsters who wear the skins of humans and pollute the very Earth they have been raised on. Blood and gore and gunpowder clinging to you like a second skin as you pray to survive another night and make it back home safely. Back to your team.

Back to your kind captain, and sergeants you have befriended and a cold Lieutenant who sometimes fails to hide the care he carries for you in his brown eyes.

Price has a look of sympathy and understanding on his face as he drags you to the infirmary, even holding your trembling hand in his warm palm as you flinch at the sight of the large syringe needle and hiss in pain whenever the alcohol-soaked cotton is applied to your cuts. He soothes you with a gentle pat on your back, mindful of your treated injuries as he softly tells you to clean up and maybe get some much needed sleep, asking Gaz to supply you with something to eat before you doze off due to fatigue and the morphine still floating in your system.

Ghost found it annoying for the most part - sometimes snapping at you to "Shut up and focus" on bad days and while he’s still irked at the sentimentality you possess, something that he and his comrades have willingly allowed to wither and die in their souls, a small part of him - a part of him that still resembles who Simon was, a mimicry of the humanness he hasn’t felt in his dead soul for years, worried about you. Worried sick about you and your emotions and the lack of lid you have on it. Worried if he had been too harsh on you because he doesn’t do emotions, and clearly he is out of his depth when it comes to dealing with people, but especially when it comes to dealing with you.

He realizes he doesn’t mind you crying all that much.

You go out for drinks to celebrate your successful solo mission and you spend the time you had lost on the field with your teammates - you play billiards with Gaz against Soap and Ghost and lose sorely, and then you try out a peg of whiskey the Captain has ordered and Price laughs heartily as you sputter and whine as the drink burns your esophagus. You somehow convince Ghost to teach you how to throw darts and he tries to not lean into your warmth as he stands behind you, his gloved hand holding your wrist as he positions you and teaches you how to throw the wooden dart you hold between your smooth fingers, and tells you all he knows about making sure that the little thing hits the dartboard without fail.

Simon can smell your jasmine shampoo and your citrus perfume on you as he uses his hands to correct your posture. He can feel how soft and pliant you are under him, eager to obey and please him, and all he can think about is what it’d be like - being your confidante, being the voice of reason for you when you’re drowning in emotions, being a sturdy shoulder for you to cry on.

And he knows for a fact that you’d be all that and more in a heartbeat if he allowed you to.

You lean onto Simon for support, your head lolling onto his shoulder as he quietly guides you to your bedroom. You hum quietly as he carefully makes you lie down on your bed, removing your shoes for you and when you beg him to help you remove the little makeup you had applied for the night (Price blatantly ignoring the use of contraband because it’s you), he surprisingly complies. Years of applying camo paint on his face give him the needed experience around using micellar water and makeup wipes as he helps you prepare yourself for a night of mindless sleeping, which will be followed by a hangover in the morning plaguing almost all of them. (He swears he’ll force you to drink the ginger tea he’ll make, no matter how much you’d whine about it tasting ‘yucky’. He’d rather not have you hurling over everything like a cat with a persistent hairball stuck in its throat).

“I’m so happy”, you hum to yourself as Simon tilts your head up.

“Close your eyes, Sergeant”, he orders and you comply, feeling the soaked cotton pad rub against your eyelids as your Lieutenant removes your pink eye shadow. It’s a pretty color on you, Simon thinks but he never says it out loud.

You stay silent as he finishes up with your work, his calloused fingertips tilting and moving your head to look at any missed spots he might’ve overlooked in the dim bedroom light.

“All done”, he scruffs, getting up on his feet and he hears you call out to him as he leaves the room.

“What is it?” he asks, wishing to be in his warm bed on this cold night.

“Thank you, sir”, you say earnestly with your eyes shining with sincerity and an unrecognizable emotion.

Simon observes you - you lying on your bed in the clothes you wore to the bar, with most of your makeup removed and your eyes struggling to stay open as intoxication and tiredness tempt you to forget the world and sleep.

A moment too late, he asks you, “What are you thanking me for, rookie?”

Only to find you out cold.

He sighs, draping the thin blanket over your shivering body and leaving you alone in your room.

When you wake up the next day with a hangover headache, your makeup removed and your blanket draped over you tenderly, you make your way to the common kitchen and you ask your moody superior if he remembers anything from the night before - your hazy memory failing to cover the gaps in your memory.

He gruffly says out, “No” and then hands you a cup of ginger tea, looking at you intensely as he waits for you to whine about the bitter taste of the tea he’s made for you. Knowing it’s a lost fight, you let out an exasperated sigh and thank your Lieutenant for the hangover cure. He looks at you a beat too long before leaving you to your own devices, exiting the room, and going God knows where.

It takes him time, with all that he is and all that he has been through, to come to a new conclusion for his first impression of you. Steadily with time, Simon realizes that the reason you cry so easily is not because you're weak.

It’s because you’re brave.

Brave enough to express yourself and not fear rejection from others. Brave enough to show that you care, to show that you love life and people and everything life has to offer. Brave and kind and valiant in everything you do, Simon is almost jealous of your ability to be so open and free. He wonders what it would be like to let go and just allow himself to feel.

It’d probably drown him alive.

It might set him free.

He’d never get the chance to know though.

Now again, you sob as you put pressure on his abdomen wound as you talk to him with a wet, unstable voice, “Stay awake for me, Lt. We will all make it”. You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. (You need that reassurance more than him anyway).

He’s sluggish, the blood loss and pain makes it hard for him to focus on your blurry face and the skull mask on his face doesn’t help him either. He’s immobile, despite trying his level best to raise his hand up so that he can wipe away the stray tears on your cheeks. He parts his lips to tell you to please stop crying, to tell you how he’s not worth the worry, he’s not worthy of your tears - not when he has vehemently admonished you for them all this time.

But all he can do is let out a low moan of pain, his eyes rolling back in his head. He can hear your voice, can hear the worry and fear and panic as you call out to him, but everything is hard and he can hear you but comprehending your words is near impossible with the ringing in his ears and the whirring of the helicopter that came in to rescue him and his team. He’s aware of his teammates sitting beside him - he can imagine their solemn faces as they cope with the possibility of him succumbing to his wounds before they make it back to safety. But he focuses on you instead - sweet, radiant you who worries about everyone and everything; who wears her heart on her sleeve and still holds onto the hope that he will make it out of this ordeal alive, even though he can feel his life slipping away from him like the sands of time.

Each breath of his is labored, and Simon wishes for nothing more than to wipe away your tears or to maybe hold your soft self against his injured body, cradling you close to his heart as he vows to survive this for you. Only for you.

Through black spots and dryness, he blinks up to look at you and he has this realization, a moment of pure ‘Eureka!’ as he observes your worsened state of being.

You have never been prettier than this instant, crying over him and praying to any kind of deity who’d grant him the boon of life.

Satisfied with his discovery and suddenly extremely tired, he allows himself to close his eyes, letting the fatigue win and the last thing he sees is you crying for him to stay alive and fight.

The last thing he hears is your sobs as you beg someone, anyone to save your Lieutenant.

Note -

Title is thanks to the song 'Pretty When You Cry' by Lana Del Rey, although I wasn't actually listening to the song while writing this.

#call of duty #cod #cod:mw2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty fluff #call of duty angst #simon ghost riley angst #simon ghost riley fluff #call of duty headcanons #char.simon ghost riley

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jq37 · 28 days

Text

Your sister who you love so much (even though you’ve never shown it) asks you to be her sister again, her true sister, in deed not just in name. And yes, of course that’s what you want. That’s what you’ve always wanted and now that she’s shattered your defenses and destroyed the ones who would pit you against each other and died right before your eyes, how could you refuse? How could your answer be anything but yes?

So you go home with her, not the ruins of your perfectly posh prison, but a new home which provides love and care and bunk beds and it’s so so nice. Ridiculously nice. Sickeningly nice. And a small, sick part of you almost misses your old home (if you can even call it a home) because yes, it was cruel and awful and you hated every second of it but you knew where you fit. You knew what your role was. You don’t fit in here. Everyone accepts you because they’re all so nice, but they don’t know how to volley back your sharp words or find a hidden, “I love you” within an offhanded insult.

And then your sister leaves to save the world again because that’s who she is. She’s the kind of person who goes out to save the world with her friends when she’s needed and you’re not. You’re not, not, not. Not on any count. You don’t save things, you destroy them. And friends? You have to allow yourself to be vulnerable for friends so of course that’s out. Your sister is 16 and she’s out saving the world for the third time and you, fully grown at 18, are a wanted criminal who hasn’t even properly graduated from high school. You can’t stop thinking about it and, without your sister and her friends occupying the house as a buffer, the ones who are left try to get you to talk about it so you make a rash decision, as you are wont to do. You leave, like a thief in the night. You can make your own way. You can. You’ll prove it.

You find a shitty apartment and pay for it with the ill-gotten spoils from one of your many exploits. You could probably pawn some treasure for more luxurious accommodations–there is that chest of rubies just lying around–but you don’t. That’s not what you deserve. And what if your sister needs help later? You don’t have access to your parental funds anymore which means she doesn’t either. You know she won’t ask anyone for help–you wouldn’t. But someone has to look after her. You’re an abjuration wizard. You protect people. You protect her. No, that’s a lie. But you want to make it not a lie. You want to start now.

If you’re saving the rubies then you need a source of income. You narrow down your least villainous talents to try and find a suitable job and hit on teacher. You’re good at magic, right? So how hard can teaching it be? Hopefully not as hard as securing the job, which proves trickier than expected because, oh right, you’re a wanted criminal who hasn’t graduated high school. But you dip into your villainous talents once more and tell yourself it’s for a good cause. You secure the job. You’re doing it. You’re making your own way.

You want to text your sister to see if she’s doing alright but you don’t want to intrude and you don’t want to answer any questions about what you’ve been doing because then either you’ll have to lie or explain that you’ve left again, right after you promised you’d be there. Both options make your heart ache, especially since it’s her birthday. So you wait until the house is empty (mostly empty–you’re never really alone in a haunted house) and enter the room you and your sister shared for too brief a time. You paint her walls with carefully rendered runes, filled with all your abjuration magic and stamped with your arcane mark. It’s a possessive bit of spellcraft. A selfish claiming of a climactic kill. You mean to make a different kind of claim. You are claiming your sister, as she asked you to months ago. You are telling the world that she will not be fucked with while you live. Your rooms were so close before. You could hear her. You knew every night she went to bed in the grips of a panic attack with no one to console her. She won’t have to feel unsafe in her own room again. You can make sure of that at least.

The sun rises one morning and you know that means your sister is alive and well and coming home. You teleport to Falinel to make sure she returns to her favorite dessert. It’s worth the spell slot and the chance of being recognized. The tower where they kept you is long destroyed and you know that this time, if you were ever captured or even killed, rescue wouldn’t be measured in a matter of months. It would be days. Hours even if your clever sister and her powerful divination magic put things together faster. The thought fills you with more emotion than you know what to do with. You leave a note. “I love you,” you think. “Enjoy the nemesis ward,” you write.

Practicing magic, as it turns out, is a very different skill than teaching magic. The children are loud and obnoxious and you don’t quite realize that maybe your expectations are too high between the hothouse you grew up in and your sister being the world’s greatest diviner, fullstop. You know you can always go back to the manor, but that somehow makes it easier to stick it out. You’ve always been taught that pressure provides the best results but there’s something about the security of a safety net that makes everything a bit more bearable. And so what if you have to take a second job involving a light criminal element. You’re only smuggling–that’s barely even a real crime.

Your sister who has saved the world thrice now, texts you and she wants help. She is looking to you for help. And you do your best to oblige. You offer your knowledge, you offer your rubies, you invite her over again and again. She sends you a text and deletes it. You’re not the diviner in the family but you drain your spell slots scrying for information you already know. Information that you'll hear from her own lips in just a few hours. “I love you.”

She finally visits and you’re not unaware of the state of your apartment. You know you’ve been too exhausted for an Unseen Servant or even a round of Prestidigitations but you know that your sister has seen your mind and there’s nothing messier about you than that. She teases you and you tease her back. She’s the only one who understands how to deliver a complement with a backhand so you can receive it without your skin crawling. The only one who knows how much tartness you need with your sweetness.

Later, she visits again. She sits in your filthy apartment and you watch trash TV and it’s the highlight of your week. Your month even. That should feel pathetic but, somehow it doesn’t. You want to tell her. She deserves to hear it from time to time without having to filter out the layers of prickliness that you add as second nature, a layer of armor as ever present as your abjurer’s ward. You may not be able to handle naked sentiment but she can. You’ve seen her with her friends. How affectionate they are. You’ve always been taught that loose lips sink ships but you have experience with ship sinking and this prospect fills you with much less dread. You tell her and it’s awkward and fumbling but you manage. Maybe loving people isn’t so different from loving cats.

You have a new job which is perfect because the school year is almost over and, blackmail or no, you aren’t sure how many times you’ll be able to get away with casting Sleep on your class to give yourself a break. Honestly, you should have applied for jobs in Leviathan from the start. Why would pirates care about your sketchy history and lack of credentials? You could teleport yourself to Leviathan every day but that would be a waste of a spell slot when the door to the Compass Points is right there in the manor (and if your sister happens to be there too then hey, happy coincidence). While you’re there, you might as well do your laundry. And stay for dinner from time to time. And spend time with your sister in your her room where your runes stand sentinel and your old bunk lays untouched. You don’t think you’re staring but later, as you go to grab a snack from the kitchen your sister throws you a casual, over the shoulder glance.

“You can just move back in, if you want.”

And would it really be that easy? Just like that? After a year of trying to make a point or a plan or a better version of yourself or whatever? Just like that?

You remember a year ago. You and your sister and words that will be burned into your mind forever.

“Despite the fact that you have not earned it, I do love you.”

Just like that.

You say yes. You stay.

#fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #dimension 20 #d20 #spoilers #aelwyn abernant #you wanna hear something funny?#this was supposed to be a 3 paragraph post tops #I am boo boo the fool #adaine abernant #abernant sisters #i am back on my bullshit

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lilac-5ky · 7 months

Text

i wanna tie the knot (Satoru xFem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Forget me not

Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

Plot: Your boyfriend takes you on a romantic getaway that will potentially change the rest of your lives.

Themes: MDNI, Established Relationship, Vacation, Teasing, Bickering, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Comedy, Onsen Smut, Sensory Deprivation (bondage and blindfolds), Breeding Kink, Oral (f. receiving), Multiple Orgasms, Yukatas, Snarky!Fem!Reader who is done with Gojo's Shenanigans but loves him regardless, Soft!Dom Gojo, Unsolicited Digimon References, and Bucketloads of Pet Names (baby, princess, bunny, honeypie, sugarplum, and every other food nickname you can think of)

Word Count: 13.3k (i was inspired, sue me. rest of it will be smaller. i think.)

check a/n at the bottom

“Last one up the hill is a loser!” Those were the parting words you left your boyfriend with before you shot in the direction of the fields, wind in your hair and pollen in the air, Satoru’s voice barely audible over the light chuckle you shed behind.

You sprint across a sea of flowers in every shape, hue, and kind—from exuberant red poppies to bashful pink asters—spanning as far as the eye can see. You want nothing more than to spare a moment and halt; breathe into the combined aroma of the autumn blossoms before winter hushes them for good, but you can’t. The faster you run, the smaller his head becomes, until it’s a mere blotch of white on the faraway horizon.

You rest assured in your victory, a breathless smile forming on your lips as you reach the top. You glance over your shoulder, confident that the man who minutes ago (literally) flew you to Ikoma on another of his spontaneous 2-day trips is still there, lamenting ever giving you a headstart. However, no matter how hard you squint, you cannot seem to find him.

“What are we looking at?” A low-pitched voice scares the wits out of you, hummed near the shell of your ear in a way that’s exclusive to the cheeky tone it carries.

“S-Satoru!” You yelp, almost throwing yourself down the stiff slope.

“Satoru?” The man in question repeats his own name, cocking his head to the side with genuine curiosity. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“What are you—”

“I only know of a winner,” he points at his chest, successfully diverting your attention from the hand that rises to flick your forehead with such force that you stagger backward.

Both your fall and his punchline are postponed, one awaiting the other while you’re left floating mid-air, the infinity between your head and his boot serving as a safety net.

“And a loser.” Satoru concludes, his grin as bright as day, when he retracts his foot and lets you plummet into the fluffy flowerbed.

In the time it takes for you to blow a tuft of hair from your eyes and prop yourself onto your elbows, Satoru’s already taken his phone out and snapped as many pictures as humanely possible. You aren’t fazed. You’re used to his constant leg-pulling, as well as his 8895-picture collection of funny faces you’ve made over the course of your 7-year relationship.

Definitely in the 9000s now.

“Most guys would help their girlfriend up instead of calling her a loser.” You frown.

“Most guys wouldn’t date a slowpoke.” He gleefully chimes, zooming in on your face. “Come on. Smiiile.”

You poke your tongue out, and he snaps what is hopefully the last embarrassing frame of the day. Your frown resumes, downturned mouth and eyes narrowed at the wonderful azure sky.

“Good enough. Here, here.” He offers you his hand. “Don’t go crying on me.”

You accept only to give him a taste of his own medicine as you lock fingers and drag him down. He shouldn’t fall, but he does so anyway, collapsing beside you in a bundle of ridiculously long limbs he either sorts behind his head or splays on the grass surrounding him.

“Can’t believe you actually got me.” Satoru says in a pouty voice that goes against the complacent smile sitting on his lips. Idiot. “Woah, the view is much prettier from down here!” He marvels at the drifting clouds, pointing at one that resembles a duck. “Is this what it feels like to be you?”

You could do without his unnecessary comments spoiling the mood, but you’re willing to overlook them for the sake of your trip. With how hectic these past three weeks were—orchestrated curse attacks ping-ponging both him and his students across Tokyo—you doubted you’d have a moment to yourselves for the remainder of the year.

But keeping him on his toes is too much fun to pass up.

“You’d be more likeable if you weren’t such a showoff, Satoru.” You scoff, no malice whatsoever.

“Oh, really? ‘Cause I thought you liked me sooo much when you were going all oh, Satoru! Love it so much, Satoru! You’re the best, Satoru! Deeper, Satoru! Y-yes, just like that, ‘Toru last night.”

“Shut up!”

You plug his mouth with both hands, though that doesn’t discourage him from blabbing his version of last night’s events, perfectly replicating the breathy tone of your voice and the soft little moans you let out in between his frantic thrusts.

Your palms relocate to cover your ears, the bright color of your cheeks soon becoming a focal point for his mockery. Satoru plucks a crimson cosmos flower and holds it to your face, twirling it around until you rip it from his grasp. Regret washes over you as soon as you unfold your fingers and see the now-crumpled petals, a little piece of the universe laying lifeless in your palm.

“I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing.” You point at the dark fabric that conceals his eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?” You wave your hand in his face, constantly alternating between the number of fingers you flex.

Satoru catches your wrist and decisively intertwines your fingers. “I see enough to know you look the cutest when you’re annoyed.”

“I’m not annoyed.” You declare.

“Are you sure?” His voice is deliberately sultry as he inches closer.

Flakes of color adorn his icy strands like confetti, a stark contrast to the murky blue of his two-piece uniform. You can feel his eyes—those lovely crystal orbs of his—burning holes through the blindfold to meet yours, and in this instant, when his minty breath ghosts over your lips and promises a kiss, you’re absolutely enamored by him.

That is, until he begins poking into your cheeks like a woodpecker, and your desire to strangle the life out of him overtakes the urge to give in.

“Okay! You did it! I’m—”

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips crash into yours, a stolen peck that lasts no longer than the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, a soft fumble that leaves you craving for more. “Definitely annoyed.” Satoru flashes a boyish smile as he ruffles your hair and pulls you to your feet with him, his hand carrying you through a path of marigolds.

“Can you… just… slow… down?” You pant out, struggling to follow after his long strides.

But he doesn’t falter.

“Better get moving before you evolve into a Slowbro.” He sing-songs.

“Knock it off! I’m at least Jigglypuff tier.”

“Hmm,” he considers out loud. “I wouldn’t go as far as to call you useless, but—”

“Satoru!” You protest. “And I thought you liked Digimon.”

“Doesn’t hurt to know about the cheaper rip-off.”

“Pretty sure that’d be Digimon.”

“And I’m pretty sure even a regular Greymon beats your mascot into a pulp.” He beams.

Sigh.

You roll your eyes, letting him argue with himself about Digimon’s supremacy, until you reach a pool of flowers—myriad befallen fragments of the sky reflecting the vibrant blue of his eyes. You break free from his grasp and kneel among the blossoms, your fingertips skimming across the pointed petals with great care.

“Oh my God, Satoru! You know what this is?”

“Flowers…?” He changes his answer to pretty flowers upon your glaring.

“It’s forget-me-nots!”

The name doesn’t seem to ring a bell. He looks at you with the stupefied expression of a cattle who only knows how to moo and eat grass, invisible question marks spawning around his head.

“Their blooming period ends in May,” you explain. “Can’t believe we’d find some in October, and these—” You chop one of the stems and extend it to him. “These are so beautiful.”

Satoru glances between the flowers and your impressionable eyes, in which tiny stars seem to twinkle, his tone serious as he points out, “You must really love me.”

Your mouth hangs while you mull over your own words. Nope. Nothing you said remotely hints at the conclusion he alone reached.

“About time you showed me some respect.” Satoru huffs. “Don’t know about the royalty part, but—ah, it really can’t be helped. I’ll accept them if you insist.”

“Hold on a second.” His fingers close around a fistful of nothing as you retract your hand. “What respect, what royalty are you talking about?”

“Hm? You really don’t know?” You shake your head, and he brings out his phone, trading it for the flowers. “Says it all riiiight here.” He taps at the wall of text that lights up his screen.

Forget-me-not, also known as Myosotis flower, represents true love and respect and is an indisputable symbol of royalty. To King Henry IV—

“Tsk, these don’t even smell.” Satoru exclaims once he presses them to his nose.

“Not all flowers smell.” You turn off the screen and hand his phone back to him. “Your ability to google stuff and sell it as common trivia never ceases to amaze me.”

He lowers the stem to his lap and looks at you. Or so you think. You really can’t tell when he’s wearing that thing. “And? What do you make of it?”

“You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?” Your hands slide across his shoulders, fingers knitting behind his neck. “I love you, you silly, goofy, pervert specimen of a man.” You smile softly. “And I do respect you—sometimes—but best case scenario, you become prime minister. Better get that royalty idea out of your brain.”

“Not even if a mysterious big-scale accident takes all royalty on this planet out?” Satoru quips.

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me already.”

The sharp edges of his grin dissolve as he tilts his head enough for your lips to meet, tentative flicks of his tongue granting him access to your mouth. You feel the hard press of his chest once his arm wraps around your waist, nullifying the barriers that stand between you and the resounding beating of his heart.

There’s no innate technique in the way he touches; no immense amount of cursed energy in the way he kisses. None of the things that make him Gojo Satoru, the sorcerer who is hailed by all—and even himself—as the strongest are there. Only the raw vulnerability of a boy who’s used to carrying the order of the world on his shoulders and on a whim lets it crush him, because when he holds you, none of it seems to matter; because when he’s with you, he’s free to be Gojo Satoru and no more than that.

You watch through heavy eyelashes as he breaks a small stalk and brings it to your hair, securely tucking the flowers behind your ear. Warmth spreads from his slender fingers to your already feverish complexion. His palm cups your cheek, thumb swiping along your jawline with a soft expression perched on his lips, and you find yourself falling in love with him all over again.

“You deserve some love too, my…” Satoru ponders for a second, eventually snapping his fingers, “little MegaDarknessBagramon.”

A chuckle gets caught in your nostrils. “Your what now?”

“MegaDarknessBagramon.” He repeats without stuttering. “Way better than your fairy balloon cat.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling you made this one up?”

“Did not! MegaDarknessBagramon is—hmph.”

You cut him off with a fond kiss on his agape lips. That’s the only way to truly shut him up. At least in public.

“We should get going. I wanna go sightseeing before nightfall.”

You wander through the city for hours upon hours, losing yourselves among the countless maple-strewn paths and quaint religious sites of the countryside. Ikoma is a quiet place. No matter how many pebbles you lift or castle ruins you peek under, you won’t find a speck of evil lurking beneath. It’s as if the land is at peace with itself, and the people who tend to it do so without any curse tainting their souls. For once, Satoru’s presence feels redundant.

His hand stays on you the entire time you stroll through the temples and marketplaces, be it as fingers that childishly swing your palm up and down—left and right—or as an arm draped over both your shoulders, stirring you in a different direction whenever his phone rings. And it does ring. A lot. So much that you actively consider flinging it at the bottom of the Sunoura River.

The conversations are rather one-sided. Satoru mhms and uh-uhs his way out of everything the voices on the other line suggest, his expression contorting all the while he mocks Nanami’s grave tone, Yaga’s dismay, and Ijichi’s apprehension. He tries his best to keep you involved—putting Megumi on speaker while the boy informs him of how Nobara gave Yuji a concussion when she mistook him for a pickpocket—and presses playful kisses on your cheek when you unwittingly pout at his neglect.

This is the one drawback of dating such a sought-after man. You have to share him with the rest of the world, and even though you know exactly how many livelihoods depend on him, you selfishly want your boyfriend to yourself.

After his sixth answered call, something inside you snaps. You shake his hand off—he barely pays mind—and fish your phone out of your jacket, dialing the first number in your contact list. My Noodle Man. With a heart emoticon, he, himself, input. Still better than the long array of toothachingly sweet nicknames he’s come up with for you over the years.

Drawing the device away from his ear, Satoru glances at the incoming caller ID and shoots you what ought to be a perplexed look.

“Pick it up!” You mouth the words without voicing them.

The world comes to a standstill while you (presumably) stare into each other’s eyes. Star-shaped leaves rain down from the trees, a minor contribution to the red and gold garb that dresses the once pebbled pathway. It’s all too scenic—if one ignores the busy tone from his phone’s speaker, which echoes wide across the hollow forest, gracelessly interrupting Utahime’s incoherent squeaks.

Are you even listening? Gojo?

“Mhm!” He breaks into an awkward chuckle. “Sounds good to me.”

What? What are you on about, you white-haired swine?

“Hey, how ‘bout you hold onto that, and we talk about it when I return?”

You seriously doubt he knows what that and it are.

Satoru doesn’t leave Utahime the chance to reply, rushing through his words at the speed of light. “Okay, great! Gotta go now. Laterrr, bye, ciao, adieu!”

Don’t you dare hang—

“Too late for that.” He comments, an afterthought that doesn’t reach its target audience before fading into his next received call.

“Baby! How are you?” The grin on his lips is so blinding, you swear it accompanies a halo.

You draw a deep breath, fingernails digging sharply at the tender flesh on the inside of your palm. “Satoru.”

“What is it, baby?” He dares ask as if you haven’t been shooting daggers at him the entire time, arms folded over your chest and eyebrow trembling above your narrowed eye.

“Satoru, the fact that I can only speak to you through the phone is insane!” Your voice climbs up a whole octave over the final word, annoyance interlaced within your tone.

“Huh?” He smiles sheepishly, head drooping to his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, I’m standing right in front of you, begging you for an ounce of attention, and you haven’t put the phone down for ten goddamn seconds since we left the shrine, which, by the way, happened two hours ago!”

His smile dwindles, and you worry you might’ve been too harsh. It’s not like he has a choice. Regular people get to dictate their own fate, filling up their plates with however many or few obligations and freedoms they can stomach. Not Satoru. His share of responsibility was assigned to him at birth, and as aloof as he can be, he’s not the type to let all hell break loose just yet.

“Hey, um—look. If you were busy, we could’ve just taken a rain check and stayed in town. You know I wouldn’t mind holing up at my place, ordering some Chinese, and frying our retinas with another movie marathon. No need to string each other along for—what are you doing?”

Without evidence of anyone or anything approaching, Satoru twists his neck in every direction possible, searching far and wide among the tree foliage and the water streaming on the sides of the walkway, going as far as to check the gap between his own legs. Instinctively, you repeat his routine, glancing over your shoulder when you realize he’s got his eyes on you—not on you, but through you.

“Are you sure you are here? Can’t see you.” Satoru brings the phone to his lips, executing an amateur’s set of jumping jacks while waving his hands around and shouting your name at the top of his lungs, doing his absolute best to appear clueless when he passes you by and uses your head like an armrest. “Don’t tell me you got out-heighted by the trees.”

Are you sure you want to permanently delete the contact My Noodle Man <;3?

Cancel

“I’m leaving.”

You manage exactly two steps before you are halted by two arms whose length smothers you—a proper vice that closes around your shoulders and immobilizes you against what feels like a colossal tree trunk but is your (occasionally) loving boyfriend’s chest.

“Let go, Satoru!” You try to shake him off, but your conviction is about as strong as the frail set of bones he aspires to crush.

“C’mon, you just got here!” Satoru begs, his mouth so close to your ear that you feel his voice shooting straight into your heart, goosebumps erupting down your spine. “Don’t leave, mm? Mm? Pleaaase?”

You groan, dragging your feet forward, but it’s impossible to progress when a well-over-six-foot boulder weighs you down. He’s viciously clinging onto you, nuzzling to your cheeks one at a time, and humming at every kiss he prints on your grimace. His frosty spikes tickle, softer than silk and fluffier than the clouds above.

Couldn’t he have been like this five minutes ago?

“Doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.” Bitterness pools in your mouth from where your teeth bite into your gums. Your voice faint. “You’ll be on your stupid phone, anyway.”

“Is that why you’re acting all upset? You want my attention?” The lack of answer prompts him to continue, a low chuckle setting the mood for what comes next.

“If you want my attention, then… all you have to do is ask for it.”

It’s at this point that you realize more than your upper bodies are touching, his knees slightly bent for his hips to press against your ass—and with them, you feel something else pressing too. Something that oughtn’t be there when all you’ve been doing is bickering and fooling around with each other.

You gulp hard, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. His head rests fully upon the elbow on your shoulder, covered eyes definitely taking in the blush that’s become somewhat of a second nature since you got together. He’s effortlessly seductive, and you’re thankful for both his typically childish demeanor and the blindfold around his forehead, or else you’d be in big trouble denying him.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe what?” Satoru coos in a condescending tone.

You try to look away, but he won’t let you, jaw tilting atop his other arm. There’s no hiding from him, and the stupidly smug smile that begs you to erase it.

“…yes.”

“Yes what? Cheating won’t do. You need to say it.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who won by teleporting to the finish line,” you mumble.

He doesn’t yield, and you know you’re going to be stuck there for a long time unless you stroke his ego. “Fine. Please gimme your undivided attention, oh grand sorcerer, Gojo Satoru.”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He croons contentedly. “Now, how much do you want it?”

“I changed my mind. I want a divorce.”

“We need to first be married in order to divorce.” He points out, rubbing salt in your wound like your next reply won’t be “You’re the one who refuses to settle down,” but it’s not. Just this once, you bite back your tongue.

Your restraints loosen as Satoru shakes his phone into your face, demonstrating how the device turns off with a click of his thumb. An airy laughter rings in your ears, and just like that, he reverts to the kind of man who giggles at knock-knock jokes and thinks it’s peak comedy when he mixes gummy worms in your cereal.

“No more calls!” He declares. “For a limited time only, strongest sorcerer Gojo Satoru is at your service.”

You snort, fighting back a smile that ends up crinkling around your eyes. “You make it sound like you’re a genie.”

“Hmm, you could always try rubbing me and see what happens. Might grant you a wish or two.”

You laugh at his attempt to flirt, trying and mostly failing to distract yourself from what was previously pushing against your body. It should embarrass you that two of your two wishes are sexual in nature, but that’s entirely on him, his innuendos, and the raw lust you’ve missed seeing transform his eyes from the sparkling color of the sea to one found a thousand meters under the surface.

Maybe three.

“Where’s the catch?”

“What catch?” He chirps.

“I know you, ‘Toru. With you, there’s always a catch.”

One moment you feel his breath on your skin, and the other you see him standing before you, his arms flexing behind his torso while he tips forward—a toothy grin stretching on his lips.

“Well, a fee is always due where there are services involved.” He takes a page from Mei’s book.

“The Gojo family vault running out of cash, so you lookin’ to extort your girlfriend?” You quip. “Go on. Name your price.”

“Oh, y’know.” His shoe traces a circle on the ground. “Just you saying what an amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome boyfriend you have for the world to hear.”

You browse the acres of trees surrounding you; there is not a soul to be seen or heard within a close radius. What world?

“You said handsome twice.”

“Intentionally.” He deadpans.

You return his playfulness by saying he forgot to add infuriating to the list, even though you’ve already decided to humor him. Cute is more like it.

“My boyfriend is the most—”

“Does your boyfriend have no name? Take it from the top.”

You sigh, “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, wonderful—”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Satoru intervenes, raising his forefinger in objection. “Forgot charming!”

Your teeth clatter, gritting a growl.

“Only one life left. Better get it right this time or,” he draws an imaginary line across his neck, faking a choking sound as he’s supposedly decapitated.

With both hands around your mouth, you shape a cone and shout so loudly that countless birds betray their hiding spots between the tree branches as they pour out into the sky. “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome again, boyfriend in existence who totally didn’t put me up to this!” In a quiet voice, “Happy now?”

“Full marks!” He gleefully shoves a thumbs up in your face. “Now I’m all yours and will be for the rest of the night. Feel free to make the best of me while you can.”

“Then, can I get my first wish granted now, Mr. Genie?”

“What is it?”

He stands still as you bring your hands to his face and cup his cheeks, fingers teasing the seams of his blindfold. “Lemme see your eyes.”

“Hmm? You wanna see them? Why—you missed them?”

A nod. “Don’t put me through that same speech again. They are pretty, and yes, I miss them. We haven’t been seeing each other as often, so. C’mon. Lemme see them.”

You try to lower the fabric, but the harder you pull, the more it seems to resist. “Satoru…?”

“Mm?” He licks his lips. “What is it, sugarplum?”

Your eyes roll so far back into your skull that you’re afraid they’ll slip down your esophagus. “I said, I wanna see your eyes. May I?”

He cocks his head in consideration, entertaining an affectionate smile before he denies you with a cheeky little nope!

“Why not?”

This is the first time he denies you.

“For a multitude of reasons.” He states wryly. Uncharacteristically for him.

You wait for an explanation—a slight opening between his lips. His tongue lays flat against his teeth, darting upward as if he’ll finally say something, but he doesn’t. This happens about four times before he sternly announces, “The sun.”

“The sun…?” You glance at the sky, a veil of darkness slowly descending upon the peachy gradients of the melting clouds. “You mean the one that just set?”

“I wasn’t done talking. My other reason is…” He motions for you to get closer. You lean in as instructed, patiently hanging on his lips as if he is about to open the envelope and reveal the name of a talent show winner, yet his answer isn’t any more satisfying than the previous one is. “The people.”

“Satoru, we haven’t seen a live human in over an hour. What are you talking about? And since when were others an issue?”

“You don’t know what it feels like to be me!” Satoru exclaims in an exaggerated tone as he shakes your hands off and turns in the opposite direction. “Having everyone stare at you wherever you go, people asking, Sensei, please! We need to see your wonderful eyes! and getting called Six Eyes like you’re a piece of meat. Should’ve known you wouldn’t be any better than them, Y/N.”

You blink a number of times, “stunned” being too little of a word to describe your surprise at his sudden burst. He always had a knack for the dramatic, but with the way the back of his palm is pressed against his forehead, he’s closer to an Academy Award than ever.

“Satoru.” Your hand moves to his shoulder without ever closing the distance. Damn infinity. “What is up with you today?” You ask half-jokingly, half-concerned. “Acting insecure; you are the one who doesn’t miss the chance to show your eyes off to everyone, and when I ask you to show them, you pull this—why?”

“It’s because I only have eyes for you.” He smirks full of confidence, roughing up your hair and then bringing his thumb below your chin, holding it up for a kiss. You don’t even stop him. Hell, you don’t even close your eyes. You are too baffled to.

You regain agency over your words only after he starts parading away from you, his feet spending more time in the air than they do on land. “Hey, wait! What was that? What does you having eyes only for me have to do with anything?”

His chuckle precedes his answer. “You’ll see when we reach the inn. Last down the foothills is a double loser!”

“Ahhh, that was soooo good! I feel—ugh, reborn!”

Satoru’s joints click as he stretches both arms behind his back and over his head, the striped sleeves of his gray-colored yukata rolling down his elbows. He doesn’t mind that he’s blocking the doorway or that the long face you’ve been sporting since you parted at the lobby threatens to hit the floor at his theatrics.

Your onsen experiences differed by miles. While he was off soaking and splashing by himself at the vacant men’s baths, you were forced to endure 45 excruciating minutes in the company of a group of bachelorettes who wouldn’t shut up about the “dreamy masked man” who booked the single most expensive suite in the compound, rewriting his life story with lewd fantasies that—for as long as you could help it—would remain as such. Unrealized.

“The temperature was just perfect, the right amount of hot without scorching, and the minerals already circulate through my bloodstr—ouch!”

You shove past him and his impromptu review of the hot springs, temporarily giving up on the blockbuster that your mind crafts—Blood Bath: Revenge of the Hot Spring Killer 2—in favor of a spot where you can drop off your toiletries.

The room, or rather, the rooms, are vast in space and rich in furnishing. Opaque sliding doors separate the main area from the wardrobe and the bathroom, drawn to provide a direct view of the ryokan’s rock garden. Tatami mat flooring is indiscriminately strewn, replaced by granite tiles around the indoor hot tub. Raised alcoves host colorful ikebana vases; a couple of ukiyo-e scrolls depicting Mount Yoshino hang from opposing sides on the walls. Lastly, futons are neatly spread in the far back, with a short-legged table spanning at the center of the sitting space.

Bingo.

You settle beside it, laying your belongings on the floor while scrutinizing the couple’s gift box on top, regional specialties packed beside a ceremonial tea set that bears the inn’s logo. You flip the box on its back and attempt to decipher the cursive letters just as Satoru steals it from your hands, wasting no time ripping through the luxurious wrapping paper and tossing a block of brown-colored kuzumochi in his mouth.

“Gotta mmph hring Hahami ‘n’ Meghumi ‘ere.” He refuses to keep his remarks (or food) in his mouth, flour dusting the corners of his lips. “That oughta brighten ‘em up.” He says once he swallows, bringing his cup of welcoming tea to his teeth and cringing away at the sheer bitterness of the matcha. “Bleugh, this tastes like poison!”

You break into a quiet chuckle as you scrub his chin, sleeve curled over your fist, and thumb running stray along his frown. Cute. No, beyond cute. Adorable.

“Don’t blame the tea when your blood type is caster sugar, Satoru.”

“But that’s the secret to my sweetness.” He quips, returning to his previous floured-lip state as he flings a second kuzumochi into his mouth, supposedly to wash the bitterness away. “Think they sell more of these in the gift shop?”

You roll your eyes, humoring him with a teasing sure.

Making it back to your spot, you down your share of matcha in one go, savoring the delightful tartness the beverage leaves on your tongue. “‘Tis not even that bad.” You comment, pouring yourself a refill.

A certain form of silence prevails over the space, during which words aren’t spoken but expressed through various hums of content, with Satoru loudly nibbling on his loot and you quietly sipping on your tea. Moonlight filters the atmosphere through the semi-transparent shoji doors, casting playful shadows that dance along the subtle movements of his fingers.

He’s the puppeteer, and you his devoted audience, easily convinced that there’s genuine mastery in the way he handles his instruments and earnestly keen on trying them out before their numbers are further decimated. A pinch is at the ready, your thumb and forefinger making strategic advances towards the box of delicacies when a counter-offering presents itself to your lips.

“Say ahhhh!” Satoru waves the kuzumochi in your face, your teeth losing to the speed of his fingers as he retracts his hand at the last minute. “C’mon, c’mon!” He giggles, again dangling the bait. “Open wider. Ahhh! Ahhh!”

Your nose scrunches up. You don’t trust his intentions, and you have every right not to, considering he makes you chase after the confectionery with an open mouth, utilizing his infinity to keep you at bay whenever you get remotely close to succeeding.

“Satoru!” You yelp unamused.

“Sorry, sorry!” His apology sounds the opposite of truthful. “Promise, that was the last time. One big ahhh f’me! Ahhh—c’mon, it’s really good! You won’t regret it.”

And it’s no surprise you come to immediately regret it, your tongue hanging loose from your mouth, barely connecting with the dessert before your aghast eyes witness it being devoured by him, so quickly that you lose the opportunity to protest.

There’s no one to blame but yourself, though that doesn’t stop you from pouncing and tackling him to the floor. Two fists grab at the lapels of his yukata, fingers curling around the fabric, while you violently shake him like an unresponsive vending machine, urging him to spit out your eaten cash.

Satoru snorts, and he chuckles, and he laughs, a boisterous symphony of sounds pitted against one another as he, himself, refuses to fight back, merely showcasing the empty contents of his mouth and baring his teeth into a haughty grin that agitates you even more.

“You need to step up your game, munchkin. Or else you’ll never get your prize.”

“And you need to stop tricking me every chance you get!” You hiss, a sigh casting your head backward as you swipe the hair from your forehead. “If you played a fair game, then maybe—just maybe—I would actually win!”

“Aww, baby.” A lofty purr makes you awfully aware of the fact that you’re still straddling him, knees planted on both sides of his hips and thighs squeezing tightly around his crotch. “That’s so cute! Thinking you could ever stand a chance against me.”

“I could!”

“Mm, I don’t think so.” Satoru’s palms glide along your curves, taking full advantage of the position to rub circles that spread over your ass and close around your thighs; slender fingers tantalizing as they ghost over your exposed skin. “I’m quite strong, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He makes you a living example of his words, giddily watching your self-control crumble when he forces you down against his body. A complacent smirk rises on his lips, countering the soft gasp that evades yours.

“See?” He chuckles. “Unmatched.”

“You’re quite annoying too.” You huff, biting your lips into a straight line while you deviate from staring at his face—a grave mistake.

All the wrestling has caused the lapels of his yukata to recede, the fabric so loose it barely counts as hiding a thing. Delicate collarbones pave the path toward his toned chest, rosy claw marks littering his creamy complexion (and it swells you with pride to know you’re the only one to have ever blemished his spotless body) down to the few unruly frosty hairs that span over his sculpted abdomen, and lead lower—much lower than your eyes can currently follow.

Goddamn it, Satoru.

“Is that why you’re grinding against me? Because I’m annoying you?”

His accusation makes your heart sink inside your chest as you are found guilty of a crime you unwittingly committed. Your hips were swaying back and forth against his hardened cock, guided by a firm grasp that failed to emulate the typically lazy manner with which he’d keep you anchored whenever you rode him.

(Aww, bunny. Keep bouncing like that, and you’ll hit your head. Me? Help? Don’t be silly. How you gonna grow stronger if I put in all the work, mm? Better be satisfied with what you have throbbing in ya already. Now, where were we? Right—Ijichi and his…)

Except you were in the middle of a fight, and you’re supposed to be holding a grudge that seems to matter less by the minute.

“Hey, baby?” His thumb harbors softness when he cups your cheek, candied voice flowing from pretty, pink lips that glisten under the pale moonlight. “Think you can be annoyed with your clothes off?”

You almost succumb to his will, the lines between vexation and lust becoming increasingly blurred as you try to get your point across a final time.

“Y’know, I too like sweets!” Your declaration practically melts into his touch. “Just because I let you do the honors doesn’t mean I don’t want to try some. It means I’m a better girlfriend than you.”

“No arguing here.” Satoru beams. “Don’t think I could be a better girlfriend if I tried.”

“Satoru!” You exclaim for the millionth time that day.

“Too early to be screaming my name.”

“I’m serious!”

“And I’m not?” He gasps, hand moving to his chest as if your words actually damaged his impenetrable ego. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. My girlie is such a meanie.”

Your eyes perform a semi-circle, knowing better than to venture beyond his neck. His face is cute, in that boyish way everyone swoons over, but his body is another story. The kind you read with the blinds lowered and the lights dim, colored cheeks, and giddy chuckles muffled by your bedding.

Sigh.

“How can I take you seriously when you say such things?”

“Never said you have to do it seriously. Just takin’ me is good enough.”

“Stop that!”

Swatting his hand from your face, you feel it join its twin behind your ass. You don’t want him to catch on to how affected you are simply by mounting him, but as your hips are forcibly rocked into his crotch, the wet patch your slick paints on his yukata reveals all that your tongue struggled to keep hidden.

“Jerk!”

Satoru grins, holding you tight against his lap as he sits the both of you up. Your noses are suddenly found brushing, and his lips expel a heavy breath your lips eagerly inhale, the proximity dizzying. “Maybe if I gave my girl some sugar, she’d turn sweeter.”

“Ugh, this is exactly what I meant!” You growl in frustration. “Satoru, I swear, if you use one more lame line on me, I’ll—”

Whatever was supposed to come next is drowned out by his tongue as it presses against your mouth, enticing your lips into an all-consuming kiss that threatens to eat you alive. Warm palms hook below your legs, turning scorching as they roll your yukata above your thighs and help secure your knees around his torso, caressing every inch of supple flesh they unveil.

You’re overcome by need in an instant, and judging from how ardently your boyfriend’s cupping your cheeks, as if he’s either trying to breathe life into you or suck it out of your lungs, it’s safe to say it goes both ways.

His cock rubs against your clit through his clothes. He’s so hard, and you are so wet that one thrust would be enough to sheathe him fully into your cunt and meld you into one. But that won’t do. If there’s one thing Satoru doesn’t rush, that’s the way he fucks. He wants to savor everything—every kiss, every touch, every whimper, every moan, every last drop of your essence that dribbles onto his fingers and drenches his tongue like the finest, most delectable nectar meant solely for him—before indulging the twitching sensation in his balls.

There’s no reason for today to be any different.

A string of saliva is cut in the middle as Satoru pulls away, your half drooling down your jaw and his collected by his tongue.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, baby! You were saying?” He coos in an awfully smug tone that barely registers over your incessant panting.

“Hm? Nothing? Thought so.” He deduces after turning his ear to your mouth, and for a second, you’re tempted to bite his earlobe right off.

But somehow you don’t, and in his book, that counts as obedience, which in turn qualifies for a reward.

He plants a kiss on your nose, tender enough to distract you from the no-good smirk plastered on his lips. “How about I do that other thing you asked for?”

Your mind traverses a foggy terrain. You’ve asked him for a lot of things in the recent past. Not overloading Aiko’s bowl with cat food the minute he sees it empty. Not surprise-hugging you when you’re walking alone at night and are unaware of his presence. Not rapping your morning routine to the tune of the hemorrhoid cream commercial. Not calling you munchkin or dwarf when it’s him who’s the long-lost descendant of the legendary tree people.

The list goes on and on with plenty of whimsical examples, and you realize, there are more things you’ve explicitly asked him not to do than do, with your one recurrent request being that he get you a ring made from neither fried dough nor grass blades.

“Close your eyes.” You do as you’re told, thinking you’re oh-so-clever when you try to peer at him through downcast eyelashes, only to be shot down by his technique. “Uh-uh! No peeking!” The last thing your eyes see before they’re covered by his left palm are two fingers that hook under his blindfold and tug it upward.

“Why the secrecy?” You ask impatiently. “Afraid I’ll be blinded by your beauty? Must I remind you I’ve seen you sleeping with your mouth open? The magic is gone.”

“Is it?” His chuckle louder than the elusive sound of his blindfold coming undone. “And here my eyes were thinking you’ve turned even more beautiful than the last time they saw you. How unfortunate.”

There’s a certain humility that comes with someone as ethereal as Gojo Satoru calling you beautiful to your face, but right now, your mind remains fixated on one word and one word only. Eyes. My eyes. His eyes.

“You took it off?” Excitement colors your tone. “Lemme see!”

“Baby, baby, baby.” Satoru playfully chides. “When will you learn to be patient, mm? Don’t you know that good things come to those who wait?”

Seven years is an awful long time to be waiting around.

Eventually, you feel his hand be drawn away, but before light can enter your eyelids, darkness engulfs them again. Cold satin now covers your brow, the kind of silky material you’ve previously only been able to experience via your fingertips as they yanked and hurled it across your bedroom walls.

“Tada!” The unmistakable sound of palms clasping. “You can open them now.”

“Satoru, what—what is this?” You mutter, tight-lipped, as if your ability to speak was also impaired. “I asked to see your eyes, not play suikawari.”

“Aw, shoot. Should I go ask for a watermelon?”

You sigh, fingers withdrawing into fists atop your thighs. You wonder how many years of jail time killing your boyfriend warrants, but then again, you doubt you’d possibly achieve what countless others have failed at.

“You wanted a rematch, didn’t you?” His hands move against your own, soft thumbs rolling reassuring circles around your wrists. He brings them to his lips, printing a kiss on each knuckle set. “Better strike while the iron’s hot. Besides, this game’s so easy, even you got a chance at winning,” he scoffs a laugh at how quick you’re to escape, pulling your hands back as if you were struck by an electric current. “All you hafta do is sit back and answer a few questions. Pretty easy, right?”

His voice rings close to your ear. You realize he’s in fact closer when he takes his affections to your cheeks, shamelessly bribing you with the sweetest kisses he can muster.

It’s working.

“I didn’t agree to this.” You state as his jaw perches on your shoulder, strong biceps caging your body while he reaches around your waist to undo the bow of your yukata.

“Really?” His breath travels south, hot steam depriving you of the opportunity to feel any real cold as you’re slowly stripped of your garments—and yet you still shudder when his lips close below your throat and suck onto your sweet spot. “‘Cause you seemed pretty agreeable when you were all ready to jump my bones a minute ago.”

“Th-that’s because—”

The fabric slides down your shoulders like butter, melting into the soft curves and pebbled peaks of your tits before it pools around your hips. His thighs tense up, blood rushing straight to his swollen cock head while he cradles you, eating you up with the eyes you so fondly reminisce.

“Aw, pumpkin! Won’t you look at that!” Your cheek is captured between his fingers, lightly pinched. “You’re blushing through the blindfold.”

You feel so vulnerable, and you aren’t sure whether that’s because you’re straddling your fully clothed boyfriend while being fully naked yourself or because everything around you is amplified, from the way his finger pads dance around your nipples, to the fruity shampoo remnants lingering in his tousled hair.

“‘Toru, I—”

You cut yourself off. You don’t want to be the kind of woman who has to beg her own boyfriend for dick.

“Will you still be blushing as I fuck your cute face?”

But you’re about to be.

“Hey, I was just joking!” Your hands are seized without accomplishing their goal of removing the blindfold. “Don’t want you losing before the game begins, do we?”

“‘Toru, just—I don’t care about any stupid games, okay?” You whine, voice purposely pathetic in case he feels generous enough to cave in. “I just want you. I need you. Please?”

“And you will have me, baby.” Satoru soothes, shifting both your hands to a single grip while he digs into the pile of clothes at your side. “A promise is a promise. I’ll pamper my precious girl to her heart’s content if that’s what she wants.” A string too thin to be a rope wraps around your wrists, piecing them together. “Love her all night long; teach her all the things she misses when her eyes are wide open. My sweet honeypie, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d also like it if you quit it with all those corny nicknames.” You answer, having absolutely no idea as to how the floor is replaced with the futon when you haven’t budged an inch. At least you think you haven’t.

“You love them.” The grin strong in his voice as he lays you down and climbs on top of you, pinning your bound wrists above your head. “Like you love me, my little sugarboo.”

“I’m rolling my eyes.”

“Wow, this early? Have barely touched you.”

“I’m rolling my eyes again!” You repeat at a higher volume.

“Of course you are. This isn’t too tight, is it?” A finger curls between your binds. You shake your head, and he pecks it, gently caressing your hair while situating his knee between your thighs, bouncing it against your pussy. “You’ll see, you’re gonna love every minute of this,” Satoru continues, his hand playful as his fingers toy with yours.

You have little to no agency over your body when Satoru lifts your leg and folds it onto your stomach, his lips held against yours and his tongue slotted in between. He kisses you slowly, like he has all the time to unravel you, and in a way, he does. He could stretch this moment to infinity, savoring your lips until they’re all swollen and coated with spit, his name replacing every word in your vocabulary while he wanders lower, dragging his warm mouth against your skin and smearing wet kisses down your tits.

“The mochi weren’t half as sweet as you,” he murmurs, soft lips clamping over your nipple, the suspicion of sharp teeth grazing the sensitive bud. “I’ll buy you some in the morning.”

“Y-you don’t need to,” you huff, your chest heaving with one heavy breath after another as he takes hold of your other nipple, alternating between pinching and rolling it around with his thumb, repeating the same ritual of licking and sucking as the nipple in his mouth changes.

“Mm, but I want to.” He insists. “I want to spoil my baby and give her everything she wants. I’d give her the world if I could.”

And yet, you won’t marry her.

His smile ghosts over your flesh, gradually fading as he approaches your navel. “But first, I need to fuck her pretty pussy, mm? That’s what my princess wants, doesn’t she?”

Reluctantly, you nod, a lump forming in your throat when his fingers find purchase beneath your thighs and spread them apart. His biceps curl around your calves as he mounts your knees on his shoulders, peppering your inner thighs with more featherlight kisses that continuously inch closer to your entrance.

He is so attentive when he wants to be, but in his core, Satoru is a selfish lover. He gives, and he gives, and he gives more than you can take, his satisfaction lying in your cute little moans and the tiny arch of your back whenever he pushes you to your limits.

“Thank you for the food!” He croons, and you swear to hate yourself for almost chuckling at his distasteful joke.

He was always like that, to the point where suggesting he bewitched you into falling for him isn’t an exaggeration so much as an undeniable reality. Him, who with his cheeky smiles, exaggerated gestures, and mirthful snickering, conquered your thoughts and claimed the mushy land of your brain as if it were the moon. Him, whose dimples crease around his lips every time you kiss and whose bright blue irises bloom behind your shut eyelids. Him, who’d remain the most extraordinarily beautiful person, even if your eyes never opened again.

Him, whose plump lips round around your clit as he finally takes it in his mouth, suckling on the small bundle of nerves as if he expects it to dissolve into liquid sugar.

“F-fuck!”

Your hips buck into his face, lifting from the covers while your hands maintain their position. If it weren’t for his stupid infinity, you’d be threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him as far into you as humanely possible, but for now, you can only chant his name, feeling his shoulders tense up while his hungry tongue runs laps between your slick folds.

“I’m so lucky you aren’t bound to a region. I’d have to stockpile on you every single day.” Satoru hums against your clit, the vibrations from his mellifluous tone translating into pleasurable tingles up your spine. “My favorite specialty,” he chuckles, sounding so lovable that you can’t hold it against him.

He doesn’t kid about you being like a dessert to him, his tongue greedily soaking up all the juices that gush from your hole right down his chin. He moans in pure delight, perhaps more than you do, the uninterrupted flow of compliments making you feel at least worthy of a Michelin star. So pretty. So sweet. So perfect. The same combination of words he’s been repeating since you first got together, as if his fascination never truly ran out.

The sounds get more salacious while he fucks his tongue into your entrance, and you throw your head back, feeling so unbelievably light that if it weren’t for his hold on your thighs, you would be floating straight to the ceiling. His thumbs stretch out your lips for him to reach deeper, pointy nose rubbing deliciously against your swollen clit while he persistently works your body to its high, making out with your nether lips like he’s kissing your actual mouth.

“Feels s-so good, ‘Toru,” you whimper, struggling to keep your legs from closing around his head.

“Yeah? Like that?” Satoru chuckles, and it would’ve pushed you over the edge if his tempo wasn’t disrupted. “I like it too. Love eating your little pussy. I can tell she loves me too, doesn’t she?”

You can’t believe that the man who’s making all the stars of the night sky appear in the confinement of your tied eyes is the very same man who’s addressing your pussy as a she.

“Hm? You’re hurting my feelings here.” He sounds pouty, though you can picture the sadistic glint in his eyes as his teeth sink into your clit, softly enough to not induce any pain, but hard enough to bring your hips to a stutter.

“Y-yes, she does—fuck, my pussy loves you, S-satoru!” You cry out.

“Hah, that’s more like it.”

Your voice shatters into a million broken sobs which only motivate Satoru to keep going. He nibbles on the sensitive nub, darted tongue inflicting short and rapid flicks that cut right through the coiling tension in your guts with precision that’s exclusive to him and the countless times he’s had you fall apart with his mouth alone.

Your fingers clench while your toes curl, thighs trembling as succulent juices spurt all over him, and, God—how you wish you could see his pretty face ruined like that.

“Mm, baby, you always cum so much for me.”

Without letting a drop go to waste, Satoru licks a luscious stripe between your slit, rolling your essence in his mouth to relish the taste.

“Y’know, I could just make time freeze and eat you out for hours. Days,” he lays a kiss on top of your mound. “Weeks,” one for every thigh. “Months,” his lips on your clit making you wince from pleasure. “Years.” He snickers, marveling at how easily you respond to his touch. “You’d want that, sweets? All that pleasure, just for you. Think you could take it?”

Not knowing better, you nod, and he laughs. You aren’t familiar enough with Jujutsu to be horrified by the prospect of reliving the same moment over and over again, literally getting fucked dumb in a way his technique has never achieved on another.

“Alright, time to turn off the cheats.” He announces after you manage to regain your breath, and it isn’t until his question that you’re reminded of the whole “game” ordeal.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“What?” Your voice scratches its way out of your throat, coarse and laden with desire.

“You asked me the same question earlier, remember?” His fingertips tickle as they drum against your stomach. “At the plateau?”

I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing. How many fingers am I holding up?

“The one you didn’t answer?”

“Four, five, two, four, one.” The number of fingers he presses on your skin changes depending on the number he calls. You’d be impressed if you’d actually kept track of the digits you’d shown him, and they weren’t picked at random.

“So, how many?”

You try to pull yourself together, calmly considering your options. He wouldn’t start with five or four. The first three numbers are more likely, and taking a leap of faith—

“One.” You lock in your answer, with an excitable cheer following suit.

“Wow, my girl is so smart!” Satoru praises. “Got it on her first try!”

“Quit treating me like I’m one of your students.”

“Oh, trust me.” He runs his middle finger down your abdomen, emphasizing his point with a tap on your clit. “I’d never treat any of my students the way I treat you. Or anyone else for that matter,” he trails off, gathering some of the slick that’s trickled out of your slit, and brings it into his mouth, finger coated with spit the next time he touches you.

“All of my special treatment is reserved for my special girl.”

His finger prods lazily into your cunt, thick enough for every ridge to be lusciously dragged against your velvety walls, and long enough to delve straight into your pulsing core.

To his disappointment, there isn’t much of a reaction—save for the occasional hitched breath. You can take it. For seven years now, you’ve been trained on his deft fingers and the many tricks they play, but when his thumb begins circling your clit in tandem with his thrusts, your facade cracks.

“Aw, you didn’t think it’d be this easy, did you, bunny?” Satoru coos in fake sympathy, as his thumb zigzags feverishly about your clit, the finger in your cunt curving in a repetitive come-hither motion.

“‘T-toru, please—ngh!” You whine, your lower half squirming on its own accord. “You said you’d let me win!”

“Let you?” A complacent smile takes shape on his face, and although you cannot see it, you can hear it chiming in his tone. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Y-you evil man!”

He giggles at your supposed insult, one moment asking if that’s the best you can do, and the next cheering you on by saying he’s rooting for you.

Asshole.

Heat runs rampant between the lowest pit in your stomach and the apex of your flushed cheeks, the blindfold soaking sweat off your forehead like a headband. You are close; pressure steadily building only to wither away once Satoru retracts his hand.

Asshole!

“Sorry, pretty. Got a little carried away, but no hard feelings, hm?” Your tormentor asks, rubbing your clit at a pace far too slow to be soothing. “Now, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“T-two.” You answer, your sanity chipping the longer your hole remains puckering around nothing.

“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!”

You kiss your teeth as Satoru angles his wrist with your pussy and shoves two of his fingers in, curling them against the spongy spot that swells with each pump, and when that isn’t enough to muffle your cries, you bite down onto your lip, choking on every sob you’ve been withholding. Last thing you want is to give your next-room neighbors another reason to fantasize about your boyfriend.

“It’s fine. You can let it all out.” Satoru reads your mind. “Room’s soundproof, though there isn’t much you can say, right?”

Your walls flutter around his fingers in utter bliss. You hate (love) how his words get to your body before your brain can process them; every remark you’d typically deflect, seeping under your skin and igniting as fire in your loins.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, maintaining a steady rhythm even with his thumb swiping at your clit. “I’ll be the one doing all the talking from now on.”

“Sh-shut up!” You manage to say before returning to your three-word prayer of little oh-my-god’s and ah-ah-ah’s.

“But you love my mouth.” Satoru argues back. “And now you love my fingers. How long they feel stretching you out, how deep they can go.”

He’s buried to his knuckles, slowing down for the sake of plunging his digits further into your wet cunt, the lewd squelching bouncing across the walls along with the obscene sounds you let out.

“You’re practically fucking yourself on them.”

Your boyfriend’s words cloud your brain, your body acting purely on instinct as you begin to hump his hand. Satoru doesn’t stand in the way; rather, he assists with a sturdy hold that has your hips slamming against his fingers, repeating the motion until your creamy essence comes pouring down warmly over his palm.

You aren’t sure whether the white speckles in your vision stem from the gates of heaven welcoming you to the other side or the light fixtures on the ceiling, becoming certain only after the outline of a halo brushes against your forehead. It’s hard to call the man slumped above you an angel when his one hand is cupping your cunt, the fingers of the other tasked with undoing the knot around your wrists.

You are free to move—or about as free as one can be when every joint in their body begs to drag them down, your limbs strewn over the sheets like those of a tattered rag doll. The blindfold is still on, albeit slightly lowered over your nose. A little more wriggling and you can take it off, yet that too requires effort you lack.

Satoru says something that fails to register in your trance. He’s mocking you. He’s praising you. He’s mocking you while praising you, and praising you while mocking you, because those two go hand in hand in his brain—a proper carrot and stick. You think you should be thanking him or cursing him, but your words turn out a jumbled mess—nothing worth writing home about.

“Ready for the final round?” His voice finally conquers the ambient—heavy, almost as though his own ministrations have worn him out, and distorted by every prolonged inhale and sharp exhale he takes.

“Do I have a choice?” You provoke.

“Sure you do. Just—hah, not when it comes to this.”

A low fuck evades him, and you are oblivious to the way he’s been fisting his cock this entire time, smearing your slick over his length and squeezing the reddened tip in the ring shaped by his thumb and index, biting onto his tongue whenever your name comes remotely close to spilling from his lips. Only he knows the endurance he’s shown keeping himself from busting in his hand at the sight of your fucked-out form, trembling thighs calling to him in a carnal manner your lips could never muster.

You look ravishing, and ravishing you is all he aches to do.

“How many—” Satoru begins, only to be cut off with a croaked three that jumps an octave the moment his fat tip prods into your folds. “Three?” His fingers burrow into the supple flesh of your thighs as he splays your legs over his bare chest. “Could’ve sworn it was at least eight. Guess I need to make it go a bit deeper, huh?”

His lips lay soft against your ankle, trailing honeyed kisses down the expanse of skin that lose finesse once they near the crevice of your knee. An idea blinks in his brain as he grabs your thigh and presses it down against your stomach, repeating the same pattern of tenderness on the other until you are folded in half.

He stares down at you, and for a moment, that’s all he does. His eyes—the prized six eyes that are the very synonym for quintessence—well with adoration over the point where your bodies connect, the tight fit of your cunt prompting him to lose control and fuck an entire generation of sorcerers into you.

All in good time.

A quiet whisper reminds Satoru of his promise, hips drawing back before they snap right into you, the crude sound of his balls slapping against your ass reverberating across the room. You moan in unison, your fists thudding against the floor as his thrusts send you flying past the covers.

It’s too much. It’s too little. You want less. You want more. Your desires bend and twist around one another like indecisive vines, settling on a direction only after he leans forward and fixes the cushions behind your head.

“Congratulations.” The gentle action of his hand combing through your hair contradicts the cock throbbing inside your pussy. “To think my baby would make me eat my own words—well; I can get behind dating a winner. Especially when they’re as beautiful as you.”

“S-satoru!”

You look away—if resting your flushed cheek on the significantly colder pillow and fixing your gaze at whatever lies beyond the blindfold counts as looking—the sincerity in his words moving you more than it should.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you are embarrassed.” Satoru chuckles, punctuating his own question with a sensual roll of his hips that drags against your clit, coaxing the tiniest of moans to slip from your pursed lips.

“Hmm, is it because I called you beautiful?” He leans onto his elbow, relying on the weight of his chest to keep you pinned down. “Nah, can’t be it. I call you beautiful on a daily basis, don’t I? Then—hmm—is it ‘cause I’m so nice to you? Because I’m the best boyfriend you could ask for?”

“Q-quit it with all that self affirm—oh my god!”

Tears prickle your eyelash line at the familiar way his cock glides between your walls. He’s in so deep, relaxed thrusts pushing against your abdomen from the inside, with your cervix serving as the last line of defense for your merge, gallantly bearing every kiss his tip prints on your core.

“C’mooon, you gotta help me out. I’m all outta guesses here.” Satoru whines in your ear, his voice a pitch too high. “Is it because you can’t see me? Because this feels so good? Or because,” his hand sneaks between your bodies to work languid circles around your clit, “you just love me that much?”

“Aw, so that’s what it was?” He interprets the clenching of your pussy as he wills. For once he isn’t off the mark. “Okay, look at me.”

Even when you weren’t embarrassed before, you are about to be as heat pools in your stomach anew, threatening to make your score three to zero. You feel yourself turning liquid, dissolving between ripples of pleasure, drowning in you and drowning in him, and he’s both the riptide pulling you in as he’s the lifeline washing you ashore, the salty tang of the sea clinging to the fingers fumbling about your chin.

“I said, look at me.” His tone serious this time.

Every sense of yours is held captive as Satoru’s lips finally smash into yours, the taste of your essence refusing to die out no matter how many times your tongues swirl around each other. Your breathy moans are traded for his needy grunts, compiling into a broken record that plays sinfully in your ears, the whiff of sex lingering potent in the thick air between you.

He doesn’t fuck into you so much as he grinds against you, allowing you to grab at his biceps when your legs start to shake, the white clouds in your peripheral dispersing behind the sky blue of his eyes, placid orbs electrified by lust.

“Hi,” Satoru greets with an amiable smile, the blindfold dangling from around his forefinger.

“H-hi,” you return, your palms creeping up his face as if to appraise it, soft thumbs pushing the dampened strands away from his forehead, a thirst within you at last quenched.

“It’s-a me.” He says stupidly, basking in the affectionate way you cradle him.

“If you crack a Mario joke I’ll kick you in the nuts.” You warn.

“Oh no! How dare you genocide my children?” He gasps, and you can’t help but chuckle, eliciting a moan from him as your walls tighten around his cock. “M-minus one Gojo junior.”

Another laugh. Another moan. Another kiss.

“Would you put a baby into me if I didn’t?” You trace against his lips, uncertain of the answer you want to hear.

There’s no reason to be discussing having kids when you haven’t even tied the knot, let alone when more qualified candidates exist to continue his clan’s lineage. Maybe Shoko—she and Satoru have always been close, and a healing technique sounds like a valuable inheritance. Utahime—you aren’t sure what her abilities are, but they too go back. Even Mei, her family have a sizable fortune, and their genes combined would—

Mischief sparks in his eyes, tugging at the corners of his mouth and spreading to your lips as he kisses you—not his close friend, not his self-declared nemesis, and certainly not his senior. Just plain old you.

“If that’s what the future Mrs. Gojo wants, then—”

“What do you—”

Before your questions can manifest, Satoru picks up a tempo that knocks the air out of your lungs and the thoughts out of your mind. Big palms wrap your knees around his torso, sculpted pecs smothering your plushy tits while he vigorously drills his cock into your sopping cunt, having the nerve to laugh at your whimpers in between strangled noises of his own.

“You feel so good f’me, baby. S-so fucking good, aren’t you? My good—nah, my perfect girl. Our kids will be perfect too. G-gonna have lots of ‘em, mm? Gonna-fuck, gimme a whole class to teach, right?” He blabs deliriously, broad shoulders flexing as your nails rake them.

You want that. Everything he’s willing to offer, a future where his last name precedes your first, and chubby babies that bear his disposition, his ideals, and his smiles follow on your trail like little disoriented ducklings; one where he’s your husband, and you’re his wife, and you’re tied to each other for life.

Satoru’s lips drift toward your neck, biting sloppy marks that have you writhing below him. And when his cock hits that one spot inside of you, the one he’s been abusing all night long like a kid with a brand new toy on Christmas Eve, “Oh my God—G-god, p-please j-just like that, shit shit f-fuck!”

“Why bring religion into this?” He mumbles, voice inadvertently sultry and cumbered with every bit of self-restraint he showed before entering this frenzy where his climax is the only thing that matters. “Just—hah, say my name. Let the heavens know who helped you ascend them.”

The next time your eyes meet, he’s grinning, pink lips bitten cherry red, and he’s pretty; so pretty; too pretty.

“C-can’t say th-things like that!” You struggle to maintain control over your bobbing head.

“Why not? Your little heart can’t handle it?”

“Sh-shut up, dumbass!”

His eyebrows unite amid his forehead, even his frown attractive.

“That’s not my name.”

“S-stupid!” You yelp, mainly addressing the myriad stupid butterflies that chose to swarm your stupid stomach at his stupid commentary.

“Mmm, I think you’re the one getting fucked stupid here, sugarplum.”

Satoru zooms on into your lips, playfully swiping his tongue in between. You can’t cum any more; it’s physically impossible. You think. But “impossible” isn’t a word in his vocabulary; every snap of his hips causes you to ride on a rollercoaster with no end-destination, only a consistent state of newer highs.

“S-satoru.” His name rolling off your tongue works like a charm, the rhythm of his thrusts slowing down as he presses your foreheads together.

“Again?” He pleads. Quietly. A pin capable of overshadowing his tone.

“‘Toru.” Two smiles turn into one. “My ‘Toru.”

“More.”

There’s not a single gap between your bodies; every piece of him fits into every piece of you like a puzzle, but somehow he seems to get closer, squeezing into your hips a little tighter and kissing your lips a little rougher.

His heart beats wildly against his chest, red leaking onto his cheeks and blue spilling from the ocean in his eyes. He looks at you with love—so much love that it’s seared into your very being and becomes your own identity as the only woman Gojo Satoru ever truly, madly, deeply loved.

“I love you, ‘Toru.”

It’s the combination of those four little words that pushes Satoru over the edge, his hips jerking violently while his cock pumps ropes upon ropes of creamy cum inside your spent pussy, filling you up until you can’t be filled any more.

He collapses on top of you, head reduced into a fluffy snowball that takes refuge in the crook of your neck, and that’s your cue to hold him close, pampering him with all the affection you’re otherwise so frugal about. He’s touch-starved to the point of shaking in your embrace, nearly purring as your arms loop behind his back and your lips touch his shoulders, peppering incomplete kisses across his hot skin.

Your hands relocate to his cheeks as he regains enough composure to face you, an idiotically bright smile stretching from one ear to the other. He nuzzles your palms, pressing kisses at the center of each and then rubbing his nose against them like a content kitten who just received the world’s greatest belly rub.

Aiko should learn from him.

“I love you more, hunny bunny.” Satoru beams, soft rays of sunshine pouring from the cracks in his dimples. “Non-negotiable.”

You bask in the afterglow together, locking toes as if you’re trying to hold hands and making out like two teenagers in heat. Correction: two idiots in love.

Your so-called honeymoon period never ended, probably because you never ran out of things to love about each other. Right now, you’re loving how Satoru’s dick remains plugged inside your pussy despite its painful twitching, for the simple reason you asked him to stay like that a little longer.

You love how Satoru tries to keep his eyes open when you kiss just so you can appreciate them a while longer, and you love the light giggle that tickles your lips as you remind him that only sociopaths kiss with their eyes open.

You love the way Satoru buries his head between your tits and squeezes them against his cheeks, apologizing to his “girls” for not giving them the proper attention and promising expensive lingerie and whipped cream treatments when you get back to Tokyo.

You also love how when Satoru pulls out and sees the mess he made out of your hole, his seed rolling between your thighs in an endless stream, his first reaction is to grin, and his second is to teleport across the room, cleaning you up before you can realize he ever left. You love that the answer to the question “how?” is a cocky “because I’m Gojo Satoru,” which seems to be the answer to most things concerning him.

The list of things you love about your boyfriend grows exponentially after Satoru puts the two of you in bed and pulls you into his arms. You love his hugs. How you drown in them, how he engulfs you better than any dress, shirt, or skirt can. You love the comforting scent his pores exude and the temperature of his naked skin on yours.

You love the narrow hugs that date back to lazy mornings in your student one-bedroom apartment, splayed in a bed that could barely fit his enormous legs, and the wide, almost too comfortable ones you share in his king-sized bed. You love the silly, whiny tone that typically begs you to miss work and try to outlast eternity with him, now declaring it’s “sleepy time.”

You love the Satoru that chased after you until you loved him back, and the Satoru who patiently waits until your eyelids close first so you don’t go a minute without him.

“‘Toru?” You mumble into his chest, seconds before the last semblance of conscience fades away. “Did you turn it off? Your technique, I mean.”

“Did I?” Snowy lashes flutter slowly above his tired eyes. “Hmm, guess we’ll have to see in nine months.” Satoru kisses your forehead. “Goodnight, my little cuddle muffin.”

On second thought, there is one thing you hate about him.

“Goodnight, Gojo.”

“G-Gojo?! Hey, what happened to ‘Toru? Baby? I know you’re not sleeping—hey, wake up, I was just joking! Come on!”

43 Missed Calls—Principal Nanimon

You have 9 new voicemails.

Press play.

“Satoru!” The phone rattles in his grasp, nearly falling into the wooden plate splayed on his lap. “I think I told you to keep your phone on at all times! You are a sorcerer; show some responsib—”

“What is he going on about?” Satoru yawns, scratching the back of his head, and then scrolls to the next voicemail in line.

“Satoru! This is your final chance to answer before I—”

“Final my ass, there’s like—what, seven more of ‘ese?” He comments with a mouth full of fruit that the room service so kindly delivered a few minutes ago. Delicious. Another reason for him to drop a five-star review.

It’s no surprise when the third voicemail starts with the exact same enraged pronunciation of his name and continues with empty threats that want him scrubbing the entire school grounds. Yaga seems to have forgotten their teacher-student relationship ended a decade ago.

Neeeeeext.

“Satoru, I saw what Nanimon is, and I am not happy.”

“Oh? So he outgrew Windows XP?” He chuckles inaudibly.

Licking the sticky nectar off his fingers, Satoru pads toward the window, standing guard between the vicious sun rays and your sleeping form. You appear immune to Yaga’s ear-shattering voice, eyelids shut, and sheets kicked off your nude body, with your hair coiled around your head like a hornet’s nest.

Muffling the speaker with one hand, Satoru leans to untangle the hair from your open mouth. He thinks he might be partial to your charms, because even when he’s holding onto your spit-laced locks, he can only smile at how cute you are drooling in your sleep.

“Satoru? Satoru!” A voice far too guttural to be yours calls out to him, until he realizes Yaga’s voice has broken out of the voicemails.

“Principal Yaga!” Satoru greets once he puts some distance between himself and the bedding. “Good morn—”

“Satoru! What do you think you are doing not answering my calls?” The man fumes.

“Eating persimmons while watching my adorable girlfriend sleep,” he answers earnestly, switching apps and snapping a quick picture of your face. “She’s so pretty—ahhhh, I feel so lucky! Want me to show you? Do you even remember what a real woman looks like?” He taunts.

“She’s still your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” The phone changes ears. “Man, your memory is really failing you. How about I pay for you and Principal Gakuganji to go on a little vacation? I know this amazing resort for senior citizens; their cognitive enhancement therapy did wonders for my great-great-great uncle. Just say my name; they’ll treat you—”

“Satoru, this is important!” Yaga cuts him off. “You’ve been off the map an entire day,” fourteen hours, he corrects, “and haven’t popped the question? What are you waiting for?”

His gaze rakes over your exposed body, trailing the necklace of mauve lovebites around your neck. Smiling, “We’ve been busy.”

“Tell me you didn’t forget the ring.”

“Nah, it’s right here.”

Satoru reaches inside his yukata’s sleeve and examines the small jewelry box, tempted to ruin the surprise by grabbing the blue diamond ring and placing it around your finger—right here, right now. It will look so much prettier on you than it does gathering dust in its confinement.

“What about you?” He stores it away and resumes his call. “Did you do what I asked you to?”

A sigh. “It’s all ready on our side. Are you sure she’ll say yes? You sound confident, but a woman’s heart isn’t the same as jujutsu, Satoru. When it comes to love, the mouth is the source of disaster, and when it comes to you, it’s better to just give her the damn ring and say nothing.”

“And Sugiyama Kiyotaka says it’s fine as long as we understand each other. I get your point. Don’t need love advice from an old man with a doll fetish. I know what I’m doing. Besides, she’s the only one for me. She will say yes.”

A low roar reverberates from the speaker like a faulty engine that’s about to combust, and when it does combust, the entire room shakes. “Satoru! You’re gonna be a married man soon. Better shape up or—”

“Blah blah blah,” Satoru mocks. “Don’t you have anyone else to nag? I think Ijichi forgot to file that—”

“‘Toru?”

The sweet sound of your voice gives him all the reason he needs to hang up the phone after a hasty, “Don’t call me if you don’t need me, and if you do, then don’t.”

“Babyyyyyyyyyy!” He drags out the syllable as much as possible, an invisible cloud of dust appearing around his body when he falls on the empty space beside you, open arms wrapping your shoulders in an excruciatingly tight embrace. Kisses—lots of kisses slobbered all over your face while you are too drowsy to repel him.

“‘T-Toru! S-stop!” You chuckle hoarsely, reciprocating the sentiment however you can. “Who was that on the phone?”

“No one important,” Satoru grins, balancing his chin against your chest. “Ready for today? I got a very fun day planned ahead of us.”

A/N: If you made it this far, then congratulations! You finished reading my first Gojo fic (that made me fall in love with him jsjsjs)

As I mentioned above, chapter 1 is a flashforward to the main storyline that will start kicking chapter 2 onward. Expect laughable misunderstandings, questionable comedic moments, cat rescuings, college tutorings, and the angst behind Gojo's refusal to get married.

Hope you'll stick with! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments, are always appreciated 💙

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo smut #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #i wanna tie the knot #satoru <3 #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic

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ask-spiderpool · 7 days

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Hey mod, are you okay? It’s been a while since you posted (no judgement!) and I just wanted to see if something was wrong. Love you and I hope you stay strong🫶🏼

Bless you anon! I appreciate you checking in! I don't post a lot of personal updates here, but I have been going through the wringer lately... hough.

Lately I've been battling with anxiety, you know, same as everyone. It's kind of made things that I used to enjoy kind of stressful for me. Everything becomes stressful for me. Even not having things to stress about makes me stressed. I'm at my most Peter Parkeriest, in the worst sort of a way.

I thought it was a brain thing – that it was all in my head. I have a new, stressful job, and a stressful living situation, and some family issues I'm dealing with. It'll pass. So I kind of tried to power through, until my body shut down on me last year. And as it turns out, when I got checked out by the doc, it's not just a brain thing. I have a tumor (her name is Lamar, and she's benign, buuut...) she's producing 5x the normal amount of stress hormone in my body. The doctors think it's insane. I think it's hilarious. I feel like it's some kind of joke.

I've been battling this ridiculous chronic stress for years, thinking it was all in my head, but actually, biologically, I'm an overflowing reservoir of stress, and it's something that can be measured in my bloodstream. And it's been going on for years!

So, lately I've been devoting a lot of time to forcing myself to relax. Doctors orders. I can't get stressed about things. Every day I have to effectively diffuse a bomb. And the bomb is me. I'm so pumped up with involuntary stress, and I have to devote my time to keeping it at a manageable level. And so there are a lot of backflips I have to do to keep myself human right now, and not turn into a bomb.

See... posting to the blog doesn't exactly calm me down. It makes me anxious, most of the time. So I've been telling myself it's okay. Only post when you feel good. You have enough things to worry about, and the blog can't be one another thing to worry about. It can only be for fun. If it doesn't feel like fun, don't do it.

I need to do a million little calming activities to function. The blog used to calm me. But it doesn't, anymore. I still love it, and I still have so many scripts I'm excited to do, but... I just have to be patient with myself, right now. I can't bug my head over something that can wait. It can wait. Right now isn't the time. My health is the most important thing. I can't get that back, if I lose it.

Right now I'm about keeping my head above water. Keeping calm. Doing meditative things, that aren't necessarily productive... (trust me, I am SO upset about not being productive. I miss it a lot) but they force me to take it slow and force me to not worry. I'm learning the banjo (she calms me), and I spend a lot more time in nature, having staring contests with ducks and pigeons, and befriending beetles and bugs.

I'm a very positive person, and I know I'll make it through, and I love myself for all the effort I'm making to keep myself from breaking. Because I know if I didn't force myself to calm down, I could snap like an elastic band. I – I don't want to break, like I did last year. I need to be good to myself. And relaxing is an effort. It takes a lot for me. And certain calming routines work for a little while, and then stop working, and I need to make the effort all over again to find something new. It's kind of insane how much time I need to calm back down again. I remember, once upon a time, it being baseline.

Luckily there's a surgical solution, so hopefully I'll be normal again soon, and there won't be any more bees buzzing in my brain!

I hope you'll all be patient with me! And hopefully I'll make it out alive and stronger than ever, soon.

#mod speaks #a lot of the time when i write ask-spiderpool it feels prophetic somehow.#like my writing somehow knows what's up with me before my body figures it out.#i've written about peter being a timebomb about to explode because of excess hormones in his bloodstream #and now. guess who is a timebomb about to explode because of excess hormones in his bloodstream. its ya boy. me.

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absolutebl · 2 months

Text

This Week in BL - Japan is Winning on Kisses & Other Alternate Realities

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2024 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Two Worlds (Thurs IQIYI) ep 3 of 10 - It would be great if we got the alternative romance with dead Kram from Tai’s perspective (JBL style.) Still I like this show. It’s a little bit like I Feel You Linger in the Air only with a love triangle. And while I'm not a fan of triangles as a general rule, I don’t mind it here because the set up is clever. Wayu and ao are fun sides too. It sure is moving very quickly, which I like. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on. But that’s normal for me with this kind of Thai drama.

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 4 of 8 - They are extremely sappy boyfriends. I love that mom has a secret gf. Could we please have more of them? The love triangle sides are ridiculous, but I do like that it’s all out in the open. I also like they are actually addressing the complicated parental dynamics of owning a sex club. Honestly, I think Khem should have to be a host too. Learn him the right way, girl!

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 9 of 12 - It’s good, I like the fallout and them actually having to deal with crazy fans and past relationships. They’re so good at communicating it’s kind of a pleasure to watch them suffer through external pressures, because I have faith that they can make it through.

To Be Continued (Thai C3 Thailand grey) ep 6 of 8 - They are such cute puppy dads and so clearly meant to be together, the fact that they aren’t is just frustrating. The fight thing was stupid. And not a whole lot happened... plus singing. I’m getting fatigued with this one.

1000 Years Old ep 7 of 12 - Did I miss something happening, or did nothing happen?

Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) ep 2 of 6 - It’s so boring, there’s so much guitar playing, and it got weirdly voyeuristic (in a very much not sexy way). I’m totally out. DNF

Close Friend Season 3: Soju Bomb! (Weds iQIYI) ep 3 of 6 - I can’t tell if this is trying to be a BL Romancing the Stone, or a BL Hangover, or both. The problem with situational comedy is it must be both situational and comedic, not just option one. The problem with calling something BL, is that it must be BL. This show got 1 of 3 claims correct. 33% is not a passing grade. DNF

Honestly, it's the HANDS with these two. They do beautiful beautiful things with their hands. If you're one of those hands-obsessed BLabies you should be watching LIBTSTA!

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues Youku YouTube & Viki) ep 6 of 11 - So the worst finally happened. The mountain of pain has fallen down upon us. And now, hopefully in the second half things get better for our boys. But what a rough ride. Normally, this is not my style of BL, but everyone is doing such a gorgeous job with it, I can’t fault it… except that it hurts. The red thread symbolism was elegantly done. I’d like to hope we get a reunion in the next one, but knowing this style of series they’re gonna draw it out. There's gonna be a more pain first.

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 4 of 6 - Those fuck me puppy dog eyes were perfectly executed. I would not have been able to resist either. Gosh they are so damn cute. This is a great show.

Jazz for Two (Korea Gaga/grey) eps 1-2 of 8 - This comes from the Shoulder to Cry On team so I'm scared, but this one is all actors* not idols so maybe they'll be braver. Boy howdy does it have a fantastic opening sequence. Also the lead is fucking adorable. Mr Broody McBroodypants is cute too. Korea sure loves “pretty but broken.” On the JBL end of the spectrum, is everyone in love with their siblings? That’s weird. The dining room scene was painful. All in all, it's good, I'm intrigued. Let's see how you go little show.

I stand absolutely corrected the lead is a member of NEWKIDD (in my defense I'd never heard of them until Build Up last month). I did recognize him from To My Star because at the time I thought he was too pretty to be only a side character.

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) ep 10 fin - Again there was overuse of previous footage and maudlin navel-gazing grief over something we knew was going to happen. So I didn’t really feel much emotional connection to the drama. 7 year time gap.? t was a cute reunion but the moral quandary never really got resolved. I don’t know how to rate this, I’m not sure I will ever watch it again, so that is a big mark against it.

There’s nothing objectively wrong with this BL except how upsetting it is because of the foundational pygmalion story - grown man falls in love with an android who is basically both his slave and, by maturity level, a child. Yet that premise is crystal clear from the get go, so we watch it eyes open. The actors are cute, the romance sweet, the physical chemistry on point (of course, it’s Taiwan) and yet I was left ultimately unsettled by the concept, content, and plot. 7/10

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 7 of 8 - I'm so ready for this to be over, and for Gaga to have something good on. Soon please?

It's done, ready to binge, but I suck

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps

It's airing but...

Graduation Countdown (Taiwan YouTube) - It's too much to ask me to keep up with 2 minute verticals, I don't have that kind of TikTok endurance training. Waiting to binge.

A Secretly Love (Thai Sat WeTV grey) 10 eps - I watched the first ep but grey is too much work for this inferior of a show. I may pick up and binge if it gets distribution but for now, it gets a DNF from me. KimCop might have held this crap together but Kim without Cop? No thank you.

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing.

Tangential to the genre

There has been the occasional discussion on this topic here in this little corner of tumblr so I thought there might be a few intersted in this podcast: AmericanThaiGuy Ron Weaver on the Complicated Issue of Racism in Thailand (The Bangkok Podcast)

Thailand passed its Marriage Equality bill through the lower house. It's expected to pass the high house and get signed by the King, but that hasn't quite happened yet.

And MaxTul dropped a photo shoot.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Starting Soon

3/31 Only Boo! (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - New main couple for GMMTV in an idol romance about a boy who dances good and a food stand vendor. Other side of the tracks grumpy/sunshine pair who fall deeply in love but, of course, baby boy idol can't date. Boyband but from GMMTV? Control your singing and I'm game.

3/31 The Next Prince (Thai ????) 12 eps - trailer. ZeeNew in a fantasy/historical set in a palace where Zee plays a knight and Nu a prince - YES PLEASE. (Apparently this is just the pilot, not the start of the actual show, see comments.)

4/1 Love is like a Cat (Korea ????) 12 eps - This completed filming Aug 2022(!) which means there have been serious problems with post-production. This is another of Silkwood's Korean+Thai colab projects. Mew Suppasit plays a rookie film star, called the Cat Prince (for his cold arrogance) who goes up against a charismatic puppyish animal daycare director (JM of JUST B). There is a side romance (love triangle?) with a veterinarian. Geonu of JUST B is also in the cast. Dual languages.

Hum, trash-watch-a-licious?

4/3 We Are (Thai GMMTV YouTube iQIYI) 12 eps - University ensemble BL featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawinPoon - basically the good kind of messy gay friendship group (so more My Engineer and less Only Friends). Looks a bit like the Kiss series but everyone is queer. I'm IN!

4/11 Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan ????) 10 eps - Kindly Ryota goes off to uni only to find his new roommate is his childhood bestie, Kazuhito. Kazuhito doesn’t have a girlfriend and Ryota tries to help him figure out why, they fall in love along the way. Same director as Old Fashion Cupcake.

4/11 Gray Shelter AKA Gray Currents (Korea ????) 4 eps - SooHyuk is only just surviving and reunites with YoonDae, an old friend. They end up living together. One of the leads is played by Choco of Choco Milk Shake.

4/18 At 25:00, in Alaska AKA 25 Ji, Akasaka de (Japan Gaga - may not be global) 10 eps - Yuki lands his first starring role in a BL drama alongside superstar Asami (previously his senior at uni). Said superstar suggests they form a sham relationship until filming concludes. As they actually begin to fall in love, the spotlight begins to burn.

Seriously? You're killing me with these titles, boys.

4/26 My Stand-In (Thai iQIYI) 12 eps - adaptation of Chinese novel "Professional Body Double" by Shui Qiang Cheng. Stars Up (Lovely Writer) and Poom (Bake Me Please) directed by the same team as KP (not a recommendation IMHO - my biggest criticism of that show was the clashing directing styles). This one looks well complicated, lemme try: Joe is a stuntman for famous actor Tong. Joe falls in love with Ming but Ming sees Joe as nothing more than a Tong-replacement. After learning this horrible truth, Joe dies. Joe then wakes up in the body of another man also named Joe. He manages to rebuild the same life as before—with the same people eventually re-meeting Ming. Ming wants Joe back but Joe doesn't understand why. But Ming seems to know what's going on and wants to give him some kind of explanation.

I'm exhausted just trying to describe the plot.

Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous partner) and Best, news here.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

NOTE: It looks like one of my personal favorites of last year Unintentional Love Story is getting a spin off!

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Just these two, in my head, rent free. Thanks Japan!

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are too much work.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @rocketturtle4

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy. (With so many tags when does a weekly tumblr post become a newsletter? That is this week's philosophical question...)

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bigoltrashpile · 8 months

Note

Skeletons with an S/O or close friend who sleeps nude or near nude?

I just think it's funny the mental image of one of them ready to lay down with the reader for the night, and then see a shirt and pants chucked across the room and boom, ass, bare, right next to em.

Hehehehehehehehehe, I love this trope! >:3 Also so sorry everybody, I've been very busy (who knew being a teacher would take a lot of work lmao)

Mafiatale Sans: Sans is mostly chill about it. On the outside, at least. On the inside he's screaming. He won't be able to stop himself from sneaking a few glances at your bare skin, but he quickly forces him to look away soon after. Hopefully he'll get a bit more comfortable with you being naked, but for now he's going to be a little flustered.

Mafiatale Papyrus: Papyrus is a gentleman, he would never do something so uncouth as to get horny just because he saw his dear friend in their underwear! That's what he tells himself anyway. On the inside, though, he's totally freaking out. He's going to have to take several deep breaths and not look at you for too long. He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable!

Mafiaswap Sans (Lucky): Oh wonderful, I hope you're ready for so much more flirting than you're used to. No matter if you're dating or if you're just close pals, he's going to make sure that you know that you're incredibly attractive~ Don't be fooled though, he's doing this to hide how flustered he is. If you're too busy blushing, you won't notice his!

Mafiaswap Papyrus (Slim): Oh god oh fuck oh no oh damn. He's going to be ridiculously flustered by you. He's probably going to have to look away from you for a while, both so that you don't notice his super bright blush, and so that he doesn't get a bit too excited by you. Please at least put on pants if you don't want to kill the poor man.

Mafiafell Sans (Butch): I hope you're ready for him to get naked as well. If you're going to fluster him, he's going to fluster you back! He'll probably lay on the bed in the "draw me like one of your french girls" pose. He might even try to get frisky, if you two have that kind of relationship. Even if you don't, he's going to dial up the flirts to 11.

Mafiafell Papyrus (Noir): He's going to act cool, but stars, he has no idea what to do. Are you flirting? Are you getting comfortable? Is this a human thing?? What are these riddles??? You might have to explain that it's just how you sleep before he drives himself crazy with all these theories and questions.

Mafiaswapfell Sans (Scar): Scar isn't going to make a huge deal about it. Of course, he thinks you're ridiculously attractive, and loves the view, but he knows that this is probably how you sleep. For now, he's going to just enjoy sleeping next to you, and being able to feel how soft your skin is.

Mafiaswapfell Papyrus (Hound): Oh? Do you want to fuck? Okay, he's ready-oh, nope. You just sleep like this. He tries to hide his disappointment, but he's also just happy to cuddle! That's pretty damn good too! Maybe you'll want to go further next time!

#my garbage #writing #sans #papyrus #sans x reader #papyrus x reader #mafiatale #mafiaswap #mafiafell #mafiaswapfell #undertale imagines #suggestive

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it-was-too-cold-always · 3 months

Text

Always Read the Fine Print Chapter 12

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

Who actually reads all the terms and conditions? After mindlessly checking a box years ago, our Reader unintentionally agrees to be part of a scientific study to create super soldier babies. To make matters worse, her fellow test subject is the brooding and intimidating Bucky Barnes.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader struggles to accept this colder relationship with Bucky. Meanwhile's he's up to something...

Warnings: arranged marriage, forced proximity, lots of angst, violence, PTSD/nightmares, panic attacks, language, SMUT 18+ only, oral fem receiving, unprotected sex, size kink, let me know if I'm missing anything

a/n: Hi friends, I'm sorry it's been so long. My depression came at me like a b*tch. But I'm here now and will hopefully be posting more regularly 💕

Every night, Bucky would hand you that stupid syringe. Your heart sunk a little each time he’d knock on the door. You were hoping he was coming to spend time with you, to tell you everything was going to be okay, to hold you. But instead, he would put the syringe in your hand, kiss your forehead, and leave the room. That was it.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, he was spending all his time with Steve - almost every day. You could hear them talking downstairs. You could never actually make out what they were saying, but you could hear their serious tones murmuring through the thin walls. You considered standing at the top of the stairs so you could eavesdrop, but you knew better than to spy on two super soldiers. So instead you paced around the bedroom–the one that you were supposed to be sharing with Bucky–and waited for Steve to leave. Although no one outright said it, you got the feeling that you weren’t invited to their little chats. One time, you went downstairs with the excuse of needing a snack. They immediately shifted the topic to Steve’s recent mission. Steve, ever the gentleman, would greet you with a warm smile and invite you to sit with them. He’d ask you how you’re feeling, how your day was going, if you’ve read any good books lately. You appreciated his kindness but felt a little awkward – surely they were itching for you to leave so they could return to their conversation. Once the small talk became unbearable, you’d fake a headache and excuse yourself. You claimed you were going to go lie down, but they could hear your faint footsteps pacing on the hardwood above them.

Bucky was completely and utterly miserable. He was still fuming about the sensors they implanted in you. You were his wife, and he couldn’t protect you. It made him feel powerless. He couldn’t stop thinking about how panicked you were the last time you had sex. He could feel your anxiety. He couldn’t help but think he violated you in some way. This prevented him from giving you any affection; he was terrified of crossing a boundary with you. The forehead kisses were as far as he dared to go. Deep down, he knew he should sit down and have a conversation with you about it. But if he heard you say outright that you don’t want to be intimate with him anymore, he would be devastated.

After three weeks of doing this ridiculous syringe routine, you couldn’t take it anymore. He handed you the syringe, kissed your forehead, and turned to leave. Just like every other night. But this time, you reached out to grab his hand.

“Please don’t go,” you whispered, tears already welling up in your eyes. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so desperate for his attention.

“Oh, doll…” Bucky wasn’t sure what to say. His heart was breaking, seeing you like this.

“Please, just stay the night. We don’t even have to talk. Just spend the night with me,” you begged, tears freely falling down your cheeks. “I miss you.” Your confession was all it took for Bucky to realize what an idiot he was. He was so desperate to protect you, he didn’t even occur to him that he might be hurting you.

“Of course, sweetheart. I’m right here. I’m sorry I left you alone so much,” Bucky admitted, pulling you into a tight hug. “I was so scared I’d upset you, but I seriously screwed up.” He rubbed your back as you let all your tears fall. All those weeks of feeling so alone, but you finally had your Bucky back. You wanted to smack him and kiss him at the same time.

He helped you with the syringe, which was oddly romantic. He was very gentle. Once that was over with, he pulled you into his chest, running his hands through your hair and down your back. You let out a long sigh – you had missed this so much. You forgot how your head felt resting on his toned muscles, how warm his chest was, how safe you felt. It was like a dream. A wonderful, euphoric dream.

“Do you trust me?” Bucky asked softly. The question caught you so off guard, your finger paused before it could finish tracing the scars on his chest. Propping yourself up, you looked at him quizzically. “Of course I do. What kind of question is that?” you replied. You were trying not to be offended that he would doubt you.

“All I’ve wanted to do is protect you,” he began, sitting up to fully face you. He took your hands in his, mindlessly fidgeting with the diamond ring on your left hand. “But I’ve failed every time.”

“Bucky–“ you tried to cut him off, but he continued.

“No matter how hard I try, you end up getting hurt. I hope you can forgive me. Some days I can barely live with myself, knowing how much pain I’ve caused you.”

“Bucky, for Christ’s sake. This is NOT your fault!” you interjected, hating to see him beat himself up like this.

“Doll, please just let me explain. It’s important,” he said, giving your hands a small squeeze. You nodded slowly and stayed silent, letting him continue. The urgency in his voice was scaring you. “You deserve better than to stay here and pay for my sins. I can’t stand to watch you suffer like this. Okay? I need you to understand.” His pleading eyes looked deep into yours. The more he talked, the more fearful you became. “I’ve told you some of the atrocities I’ve committed as HYDRA’s assassin. The things I’ve done to further their agenda, to get them in power,” he sighed deeply before continuing. “With the number of times they scrambled my brain, they assumed I couldn’t remember anything. That I wouldn’t recognize faces. But I do. I remember all of them.”

Your heart was breaking for the man in front of you. All those people he killed and all the ones that made him do it. They all take up space in his mind. No wonder he never sleeps.

“The HYDRA members they arrested when I was freed…that was only a small fraction of them. HYRDRA is everywhere. If I break you out, there’s nowhere we could go that would be safe. I can’t rescue you until I dismantle HYDRA.” He paused and waited for your reaction. He wasn’t sure how you’d respond to all this.

“Wait a second…are you saying HYDRA is behind all this? I mean that would make sense, this whole reproducing super soldiers thing is messed up, and they’re not exactly known for being ethical. But HYDRA working inside SHIELD? All this time? That’s…” You wanted to say impossible, but ever since your world got turned upside down, you don’t know what to expect anymore. You’ve completely lost sense of what’s normal. “So what do we do? If it’s as big as you say, there’s no way you can take them down alone.”

Bucky let out a deep sigh, looking around the room as if the words he’s trying to find will reveal themselves in the wallpaper. His gaze meets yours, but he won’t find the answer in your eyes either. He held your hands in his and took a deep breath.

“Steve and I have a plan. But we’re gonna need your help.”

Taglist 💛

@kandis-mom @learisa @pono-pura-vida @smile1318 @stinkerbelle007 @glitterydeputyshepherdwagon @wonderland2425 @lowkeysebby @cookiie-c @mrsevans90 @touchit-pcy @vicmc624 @mrsbarnes32557038 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @wonderland2425 @tsofo26 @missing-loki @aesthetic0cherryblossom @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @ladyvenera @buggy14 @emmsybucky @crist1216 @jessicaloons @vrittivsanghavi @avenirectioner @nancymcl @kenzs-world @reguluscrystals @cjand10 @coldheartedmar @browneyedgirl22 @globetrotter28 @abbyyourlocalmilf @danadinosaur3 @raven-red10 @angrykitsune01 @thebuckybarnesvault @castlesandarrows @literaryavenger @wintrsoldrluvr @fleureeee

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #marvel

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captainfern · 1 year

Text

In Bloom

Captain John Price x gen!reader

["In Bloom" by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - you give price some attitude. he doesn’t let it slide lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 1.2k • warnings - gen!reader [‘hole’ is used, ‘love’ is used], dom!price, unprotected sex, light breeding [what a surprise 🤭], dirty talk, mean!price but not really, implied age gap, no aftercare

✿ ok so i’ve attempted a gender neutral reader so hopefully it’s okay !! genitalia is only specified as ‘hole’ lol but let me know if there’s things i should change :)

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You were a good soldier.

Most days.

“You got something to say, soldier?” Price asked, after you huffed something under your breath towards the end of the task force briefing.

“Nope.” You said, popping the p.

Price looked at you across the table, eyes narrowing slowly. He stood up straighter, adjusting his posture as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared you down.

“If you have a problem with the job I’ve assigned you, kid, then speak up.” He said.

You scoffed. “Why can’t I go with Ghost? I’ve been training—”

Price shook his head. “No, not happening. End of story.”

You seethed quietly to yourself, sinking back into the seat. The rest of the task force looked between you and Price sceptically.

“Don’t sulk.” Price uttered.

You rolled your eyes. He raised his brows, your reaction startling him slightly. You were acting ridiculous.

“Look, kid, don’t get upset.”

“I’m not a kid.” You spat.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Then stop acting like one.”

You got to your feet abruptly, legs of the chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. You ignored the looks from the rest of your comrades, attention solely on your captain at the other end of the table.

“I deserve to be treated with some respect—”

“Don’t start.” Price warned, and you gave him a challenging look.

“Or what?” You asked. “What’s my punishment going to be, huh? What is it, Price?”

•°•

“Fuck— oh my god— fuck—!” You moaned out as Price bullied his cock into you.

A few hours after the briefing, Price ordered you back into the conference room. From there, he decided to punish you… kind of.

“You wanna talk back, huh?” Price hissed, cock dragging in and out of you with frightening precision. “You wanna be fucking disobedient?”

You choked on a moan as Price fucked you, your back against the sleek wood of the conference table. Your legs were wrapped around his waist as he thrusted into you with no abandon.

He had his arms caging your head, forearms pressed to the sleek wood to keep himself aloft over you. He still had his gear on, too— the grooves in his shirt ruching the fabric of your top. He smelt of cigar smoke and pine; a fire on a winters day.

You whined as his cock continued to fuck into you. You could feel how deep he was inside, and it made you whisper his name, arching your back off the table.

Price grunted above you. “You wanted to challenge your captain, eh? You wanted my attention? Well, you fucking have it now, love.”

You desperately wrapped your arms around his shoulders, clinging onto him as he turned you inside out with the depth and strength of his thrusts. His cock slammed into that spot inside you that made your eyes roll, mouth opening and mewls drifting between your lips.

Price watched your mouth, the way you bit your bottom lip. He wanted to taste you— to gag your bratty mouth with his tongue, to kiss your lips swollen and bruised.

But this was a punishment.

You shouldn’t have challenged his initiative.

Instead, he used one of his hands that was holding him up, shifting it so he could bury his fingers in your hair. With a firm grip, he angled your head upwards, exposing the supple expanse of your throat.

“Price—!” You sobbed, his fist tight in your hair and, suddenly, his hot mouth against the curve of your throat.

He laved his tongue, nipping at the skin as he sucked a bruise to the centre of your throat. He felt you swallow, saliva building in your mouth as he fucked you into a state of stupour. He pulled back to admire the dark splotch.

You blinked up at him, trying to prevent your eyes from rolling again. You opened your mouth to speak, but your throat felt tight and no words appeared in your mind. You babbled something— you have no idea what— and Price smirked down, shushing you.

“That’s it, thaaaat’s it,” he cooed, patronising. “Don’t talk, love. Just take my cock, there you go.”

You did as you were told; closing your mouth, but not before you managed to let a whimper out. It was needy, almost pained, like a small animal. His eyes flashed, smirk growing as he continued to thrust into you.

“Not so mouthy now, eh, love? Just needed this tight hole fucked.”

You nodded deliriously, gripping the back of Price’s shirt so hard that you thought you might rip it. You could already feel your legs begin to tremble, your thoughts tightening around his waist. That familiar sensation in the depths of your stomach was brewing, a thin sheen of sweat building across the back of your neck.

“Price…” You drawled, entire body strung taut.

He didn’t say anything, merely grunting as he continued to abuse your hole, shifting his gaze from where his cock entered you, over and over, to your face, blissed out, skin shining.

“Price—!” You sobbed louder this time, angling his head in an attempt to kiss him.

He gave in as you came— smashing his mouth onto yours and consuming your moans. He was quick to shove his tongue into your mouth as you tightened around him, coming violently as your entire body spasmed.

The kiss was choking, but didn’t last. You wished it lasted longer, but Price pulled away and redoubled his efforts, cock slamming into your sensitive hole, which was pulsing around him as he fucked you into a cloud of overstimulation.

“Take it, love. Take my cock. Let this needy fucking hole take it,” Price muttered darkly while you whined at him. “Look at you… just needed a good fuck. Just needed your captain to breed this fucking hole…”

He was grunting now, puffing as his orgasm drew near. Your body was jolting against the polished surface, each of his thrusts shaking the solid table just a bit.

He didn’t tell you that he was about to cum. All he did was let out a low groan that made your stomach erupt in butterflies. Then, he pushed himself so deep inside you that you could feel him in your diaphragm, before liquid heat filled you, making you exhale a whimper.

“Fuck…” Price muttered, thrusting softly into your hole a few more times, his cum leaking out of you. “Bloody hell.”

He was quick to pull out of you, the cool air hitting you and making you squirm. He hopped off the desk, pulling his boxers and pants up and buckling his belt. You sat up slowly, grabbing your discarded underwear from one of the chairs.

“Clean yourself up. We leave in an hour,” Price said, heading for the door. With one hand on the door handle, he looked back at you. His eyes were soft, and you knew he wouldn’t usually do this. But this was your punishment, after all. “Don’t challenge me again, understood?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He huffed, then left.

You hid a smile as you got dressed. Hell, if that was your punishment, maybe you should challenge your captain more often.

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had a little delulu daydream about this so i wrote it in like an hour at 3am. sorry if there’s mistakes— i’m just a whore 🙏

#captainfern #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #captain john price #captain price #captain price smut #price x reader #captain john price x you #gender neutral reader #captain john price x reader #captain’snirvana

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godisshook · 10 months

Text

Casual

Cody is the ultimate fuckboy. He prides himself on never getting attached and only using others for sex. A path of broken people and torn relationships is left wherever he steps foot, and he just doesn't seem to care. He was a horrible boyfriend, but he was my friend regardless. In my defense, we had known each other since grade school, and I can confidently say that this is a recent development. The worst part of it all is nobody else seemed to care (aside from those he hurt of course) about his dating behavior.

I tried to be a balancing force in his life, as much as I could, hoping that I could be a good influence on him, or at least prevent him from doing as much damage as possible. I tried to steer him on the right path, using our friendship to hopefully help him understand, but all my pleas fell on deaf ears. Usually, I was the first to know if Cody had entered a new relationship, but I stopped receiving those all-too-common relationship updates from him for months. Knowing his habit of being a serial dater, it seemed far too suspicious that something hadn't happened in all of this time.

In addition to ensuring Cody doesn't implode by ruining every relationship he had, it was also my plan to make this summer the best of my life, and that meant changing everything. I have only dated one guy, and that resulted in an incredibly underwhelming breakup and an even more underwhelming friendship afterward.

Our gym days had been a sort of ritual between the two of us forever, I always did cardio, while he did weights. We used this time to catch up on each other's days and make plans, all intermixed with some exercise. As one of our many rambling conversations soon circled to the topic of relationships, I used the moment to bring up my grievance with him, in the sternest way I could. Balancing seriousness with a friendly air, I said, "It is wild how you manage to be so bad at keeping a relationship." He replied, "Remind me, you've been with how many people?" With an immediate, "Oh, one!" Keeping up with the banter, I quipped, "But, I mean, at least my one relationship still likes me after." Even as the words left my lips, I knew I had crossed an invisible line. Cody's look at me only proved my thinking, as I glanced over to a blank stare.

The moment suddenly felt intense. I thought I had hit too deep, even gone too far. I steeled myself and prepared a response, but as I did, I noticed a smile appear on his face, soon replaced by a full-faced chuckle. As the sudden shift in emotion gave me whiplash, I could only manage a light laugh, but I felt his strong hand pat my back, as he said "I mean, if they hate me so much, they should take it up with me, but they all knew what they were getting into." The seriousness of his response was dulled by his kind demeanor, but his words hit hard.

He always had that effect on people, where his words never seemed to match his face. I always thought it was a quirk of his, but at this moment, I became aware of just how effective it could be. His disarming smile made it impossible to hate him for long, and his way with words always got him out of whatever jam he found himself in. As if nothing had happened, he said, "You wanna go on the treadmill?" Whether it was a strategic olive branch, or him just genuinely not caring, I did not care to know, I grabbed my water bottle and followed behind him.

As our workout drew to a close, I sat to cool down, and scrolled through my socials as Cody still migrated around the gym. He would soon place himself right between me, and a mirror on the wall. Looking up from my seat, I said, "Why arent you sitting down?" As if he took offense to the statement, he responded, "I have to admire my hard work first." Knowing that this was the least ridiculous thing he could have said, I replied, "Y'know what, knock yourself out." Before I could even properly go back to scrolling through social media, it became obvious why he chose this position, as he lifted his shirt to admire himself in the mirror, and chose to close the distance between us.

Cody had always made it obvious he had feelings for me. But due to my general aversion to dating and knowing his dating habits, there was never a chance for anything to happen. Despite all of this, he flirted as if we had never seen each other, which always yielded interesting situations. This felt like a nice shift from things, and I soon reassured myself, thinking that maybe I did actually get through to him, and all of these months were him reflecting on things. While I most definitely was going to exaggerate my role in this process, despite the true cause, it was fun to think about.

There were many days like that afterward, with quips and banter, and our friendship remained strong. He invited me to the park, an event that seemed very date-like, but one that was incredibly pleasant nonetheless. Weeks filled with the usual late-night texts, sudden house walks, and constant snack trips, things felt so familiar, so, safe. I reveled in this moment, as with our return to college, life would get busy, and we would inevitably fall out of touch, meeting in hurried coffee rushes, or quick workout sessions.

For now, there was peace, and I appreciated it whenever I could. After lounging my day about, I received a sudden text from Cody.

"Come to the gym," He texted.

"What do you mean, it's literally closed," I responded.

There was a second of hesitation, but a speech bubble quickly followed with an,

"I know."

It was weird, but he's had stranger ideas, and so I followed along, wanting to see what situation he had conjured up today. I arrived at the gym only ten minutes later, as it was a quick walk from my place. As I approached the door, I noticed it was already ajar, and in the parking lot, a single black car was parked at the far end. "Cody," I thought to myself. I entered, and the few lights that were on illuminated a path to the far back. With a tinge of paranoia overtaking me, I looked around to see if the cameras were on, but to my surprise, they had all been blacked out. When I finally reached the back, Cody was standing there, expectantly.

In a cool tone, he said, "I've been thinking about what you said a while ago, I do need to get my act together, I wanna do better." A look of surprise came over my face as I replied, "How so, and why does it involve us being here so late?" My question was met with hesitation, a moment of silence, but even that felt like an eternity. Breaking the lull, he responded, "Let me show you." He was serious, there wasn't even a smile to join his words, he wanted me to know he meant what he said.

Things felt different this time, as Cody closed the distance between us, I felt an indescribable heat and urgency emanate from Cody, as if everything in this moment was his world, and was waiting for my word to let loose. I had been able to resist his charms for years, but this moment felt, different. It was as if everything had aligned for this to happen, but it was just right. "I know you can't stand my dating habits, but I did it all to try to replace my desire for you.

My body gave away my feelings in a way words could not, and I leaned onto Cody and laid a kiss on his cheek. I whispered, "I should've done that from the start." The kiss elevated the heat of the moment, and a sharp intensity came over Cody, desire and joy mixing, as he assessed just how he was going to have his way with me.

Suddenly, I felt my knees hit the ground as his warm hands moved expertly around my chin, bringing my gaze up straight to him. "There's a reason I haven't been seeing anyone because it's always been you." His words lit a dangerous spark, and I could not resist anymore. But just as the moment was set to hit a fever pitch, a noise outside brought us back to reality. As the sounds of footsteps drew close, we rushed out the back door, and ran to the forest behind the gym, an escape route we were used to navigating for years. It was exhilarating, it felt like, in this small rush, we were back to being kids again. As we approached the other side, we watched our breaths for a moment, and after looking around to ensure we hadn't been followed, we walked up onto the sidewalk.

The walk was calm and serene, with few words spoken, but many thoughts still communicated. I felt my cheeks redden, a blush overcoming me. Cody took notice of it, but only his eyes gave away his knowledge of things, as he continued conversating as usual. In a second, as if he finally had his chance, he asked,

"You wanna go back to my place?"

It was obvious what his offer entailed, but there was a curiosity nagging at me, and I just had to resolve it. "What are we?" I asked. It was a brave question, I could have gravely misjudged the moment and ruined the friendship right here, but I felt bold, and it was a time for big steps. The usually calm and hesitant Cody became fiery for the moment, responding, "We're whatever you want us to be." It was clear what he intended with this, but it was my turn to hesitate. With uncertainty meandering throughout me, I replied, "Let's keep things casual for now, then." "Fine by me," he shrugged.

His arms went over my shoulder, bringing me close to his chest, where I could feel the intensity of his heartbeat. The rest of the walk back was silent. Where once there was small talk and expectant words, it was now a walk of resolution, one of completion. Finally arriving at his, I splayed myself on his bed, and turned on a movie, as he went to the bathroom to take a shower and change. Even though I snuck a peek (of course) things were relatively PG, likely due to me being too exhausted to actually capitalize off of him being in the shower.

I looked around his room, a place I had been to many times, and once I had seen change countless times over the years, as new aesthetics came in, and old looks went out. It was fun to see all of this change, and made me admire just how long our friendship had lasted. Just as I thought that the situation that I now found myself in could put the whole friendship in jeopardy. I had just told him I wanted to "keep things casual." Which I immediately regretted, not knowing what response he even wanted. With my overthinking taking up every moment, I couldn't truly enjoy the fact that my hot friend wanted to date me.

Taking in how I even got to this moment, things seemed so complex. The guy who I had been lecturing for ages on how to be a better boyfriend, somehow wanted to be with me? It seemed like one of those perfect coincidences like the stars aligned in my favor just this once. I was going to take it in stride but still was mired over what he wanted out of all of this. With my thoughts all over the place, it seemed fortuitous that the person to take me out of that lull would be none other than Cody.

His return from the bathroom resulted in him only in his boxers and a sweater, his bulge already noticeable as he walked out. As he sat down, I resisted the urge to drool on the spot. He sat right next to me and started watching TV. I could not resist the urge, and immediately laid my head on his waist, feeling his bulge just inches from my head. Both of us were making moves, but in a way that allowed us deniability, it seemed that we were each taking my words to heart.

We continued watching, only getting ten more minutes before Cody decided to lift off his sweater, revealing his muscled chest. He knew exactly what he was doing at the moment, and as I had to shift my head to accommodate him taking his sweater off, I was now face to face with his toned body. I had to admit, he knew exactly what times he was hottest, and this was definitely one of them. I was mesmerized by him, and he knew he had me enamored.

I decided to still resist, wanting to beat him at his own game. I sat close to him, resting my head on his shoulders, and laid my hand on his bulge, while watching the movie innocently. It was my bravest moment, but I felt his cock pulse under my hand in response, meaning I had clearly succeeded. Cody kept his cool for now, but his face was going flush, it was clear that his body was going to betray his mind when it came to how he felt, and that was most apparent when it came to his dick.

His bulge was getting more noticeable, and it was clear that this movie was no longer the focus of the night. I looked over and met with bedroom eyes from Cody. As his bulge grew, I knew what I was being beckoned to do, but I, always the tease, wanted to extend the heat. I laid a kiss on his cheeks, "You seem so excited to watch a movie with me," I quipped. A strained look came over his face as if he was simply waiting for the go-ahead.

I only gave him kisses, but he returned them with a special intensity. Small pecks became deep kisses, and we began feeling each other up and down. The moment could have gone further, the feeling was there, and the moment had aligned. To my surprise, however, Cody would be the one to stop it in its tracks. Separating from the kiss, he said,

"Please, just stay the night."

I was awoken by the smell of eggs and bacon cooking downstairs, and my nose guided my path to Cody cooking in the kitchen. It was obvious I made the right decision in staying, as Cody was set to dote on me every second he could. Hypnotized by the delicious-smelling food, I could only sit and grab a plate, as Cody said, "Take as much as you want, I made plenty," I confessed, "You are truly my favorite person." "I know," he replied.

I lounged about, enjoying my day by doing absolutely nothing. Even on Cody's bed, I felt a comfort that I hadn't experienced in a long while. Things just felt, right. As Cody ran errands, I watched TV, changing between reality shows and trying to beat commercial breaks. He would return occasionally, and always lay a kiss on my head or, if I had gone into one of my many naps of the day, simply leave a snack for me as he left.

As the lazy day drew to a calm evening, I stood up to go home. I had walked to his with none of my things and had to steal even the clothes I was wearing from his closet. Deciding that I had to go get my things, I stepped out, leaving a note for Cody on his return. Instead of the note greeting him, it would be me, as when I opened the door, none other than Cody was standing right there, having returned. He noticed me holding my stuff and putting things together in a second. Instead of letting his feeling be known through words, he simply dropped everything, and grabbed my waist, laying a deep kiss on my lips. As he drew away from the kiss, he said, "You don't have to go."

His disarming smile once again clouded everything, as it felt as if I couldn't say no. I said, "But none of my things are here." He immediately replied, "We can get it and you can come back." As I finally put the pieces together, I understood what he was truly asking. He had long wanted us to live together, and this was the moment.

I had lived by myself for years, and there would be worse people to live with, so I finally responded, "Y'know what, I can just use your stuff." Cody broke into a full smile from this, and he closed the door behind him and began kissing me continuously. The only moments we stopped were to come up for air, as we took off each other's clothes then and there, leaving on only the more base layers. I felt his bulge press against his shorts and decided to play with him a bit.

Maintaining the kiss, I brought the distance between us closer, pressing straight into his bulge. As I did, a jolt seemed to go through Cody, as he bucked against it, temporarily breaking the kiss. Grabbing me tighter he said, "You do these crazy things, and don't expect me to respond?" Before I could respond, he had lifted me up on his shoulder and was carrying me to the room. Seeing the kitchen and hallway move around me, without my legs being able to do a thing felt, different, but sexy nonetheless.

Finally reaching our destination, he took care as he entered the doorway, and finally getting inside, rushed to throw me on the bed, to which I exclaimed "Hey!" He quickly replied, "Your whole trip here wasn't allowed to be amazing." I giggled at this, and got up on my knees, beckoning the still-standing Cody over to the bed with a finger. He walked over in a sultry manner, and as the distance between us closed once more, I felt up his body, admiring every bit of muscle as I made my way down.

I took him by the waistband, and pulled him onto the bed, resting my body right beside him, able to feel every breath hit me, as his heartbeat pounded against his chest. It was a singular second of peace, we both knew where things would go from here, but in this moment, we were just laying by each other, without a care in the world.

The feeling was nice, but I decided it was finally time to take this to the next level. I moved our bodies closer to each other, and took his face into my hands, laying a light kiss on his lips. He took this for exactly what it was and returned the favor. With that, things heated up faster and faster.

After I initiated things, Cody truly let loose, our hands taking off what little clothes remained on the other's body. His dick, as if it was waiting to be released, bounced up from his underwear, and as I noticed, I could only laugh. "You really wanted this, didn't you?" I asked. "More than you could even imagine," he responded. Instead of taking off his underwear immediately, I teased his prominent bulge, guiding my hands up and down, and was met with a deep sigh in response. Taking a hand to his chest, I moved my hands down, taking deliberate slow care to every point on his chest, to which Cody took my arm to guide me further down once more.

Now noticing the position he had me in, Cody quickly took control, shifting my body under his, and taking my wrists in his hands, a steely stare meeting my eyes. Once again, there was hesitation, as he assessed what to do. Taking advantage of this, I asked with a chuckle, "What? You didn't think you'd get this far?" Instead of a response, however, my words were met with a sudden kiss, his lips pressing into mine, hard. The intensity of the kiss sent a flash throughout me, and his bulge now pressed against my thigh, as if it was waiting for permission to be let out. As a flurry of emotion came over me, I could only muster a single response.

"I'm all yours."

He moved like a man possessed, laying hot kisses throughout my neck, and moved my thigh up, in a moment, he moved down and began eating me out. His tongue worked expertly, and I could only moan in response, pleasure surging throughout me. A fire came over his eyes, as he knew he had me exactly where he wanted me. With a flourish, he took off his underwear, and his cock was finally freed. I gawked at his size, unaware that someone's dick could be that big.

I took the initiative, taking it in my hands and jerking him off. It was now his turn to respond with a low grunt, his deep voice bucking against the pleasure he felt. Taking things into his hands once more, he grabbed the lube from his dresser, and wet his cock. As his tip entered me, I felt a wave of heat overcome me, as my body responded to him entering me.

Soon, he was fully thrusting into me, his cock filling me up entirely. Shocks of pleasure strike through me as he continued fucking me, with me only being able to make small moans, each thrust silencing me again. We fucked for what seemed like hours, trying each and every position. Each time I thought we were done, he would cum again, setting the cycle anew once more. Load after load filled me up, and soon I became numb, after being fucked to my limit. Cody, still full of energy, kept going. I found myself wanting to keep going, for him, and didn't want this moment to end.

I felt as if the world around me was blacking out, with my only focus being Cody's warm face, laying kisses all over me as he continued pounding me. In one final thrust, I was sent to true climax, and everything became hazy. Cody's voice would be the thing to break the fog. I focused on his words with his voice being a familiar sound to my ears.

"I'm addicted to you, did you know that?" He asked.

On the verge of blacking out, I replied,

"I always did."

#addicted #jock #muscle #smut #college jock #college guys #alpha men

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strangersmunsons · 6 months

Text

read 'em and weep #3

you and Eddie spend more time together. romance blossoms.

Chapter 3 Eddie x Bookworm!Reader Series Read Ch. 2 -> Here!

Contains: Eddie x Reader, fem!bookworm!reader, lowkey shy!reader, new love and giddiness all around, and a brief cameo from Steve. No mention of reader's physical appearance, no use of y/n. Warnings: mentions of food/eating. Word Count: ~5.5k this took me sooo, ridiculously long to finish. work, writer's block, etc kept getting in the way! hopefully this is okay. i've spent far too much time at this point editing & second-guessing everything, i finally just had to stop overthinking & post!

You’re lying on your bed, nearly dozing when the telephone on your nightstand starts ringing shrilly.

The shock of it startles you from your half-sleep, and you blearily push yourself upright from the prone position. One hand smashes into the pages of the magazine you’d been skimming through, which slips forward on the soft bed covers.

Too comfy to really want to move, you stretch over and clumsily pick up the phone, bringing it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Eddie,” says the voice on the other end. There’s a fuzziness around the edge of his words as they crackle through the speaker.

It’s not the first time he’s rang you at this hour, but a thrill still shoots through you at the sound of his voice. “Hi.”

Eddie has quickly become a fixture in your life over the past few weeks. Your friendship continued to blossom with each visit he paid you at the library, where he gave you live updates on his reading progress, not even bothering to wait until he was finished before sharing his opinions. He was nice, and funny, and you became increasingly fond of him.

Then one day, while he was chatting your ear off about something or other, it hit you: you think Eddie’s pretty. His face is sculpted but soft, everything just looks so soft. The rounded chin and cheeks, the bulbous tip of his nose that looks like the perfect place to plant a tiny kiss…

He had kept on talking, but you could hardly hear what he was saying. Suddenly all you could focus on was the prickly warmth creeping up the back of your neck and into your ears. It was reminiscent of a feeling you’d had once or twice before around him, but this time it came in swinging. And finally, you could see it for what it really was. Oh.

“Did I wake you up? Sorry, I know it’s kinda late.”

“No, I was still up.”

You sound a bit groggy, but if Eddie notices, he doesn’t mention it. “Okay, good. How are you?”

“I’m alright. How are you?”

“I’m alright,” he echoes back wryly. “How was your day? Did you have to work?”

“Yes, I did. It was good.” You reconsider, an uncomfortable moment spent with your boss flashing back to you, and grimace. “Mostly, anyway. How was your day?”

“Listen, don’t worry about me yet, I’m trying to ask about you. Tell me about your day, why was it only mostly good?”

Eddie seems to have a knack for that; saying things that make your heart flutter in a very nonchalant way, like it’s no big deal. You’re glad this conversation is over the phone, so he can’t see the dopey look on your face.

“Well…” You bite your lip. “It’s not a big deal, but do you know the librarian at all?”

“Marissa? Unfortunately. She’s kind of a bitch.”

“Yeah, she is. And today she overheard me telling another clerk what I have planned for Story Time this weekend, and she doesn’t like it. So she got kind of nasty with me.”

“Why? Are you reading something very inappropriate?”

“I want to read them this Dr. Seuss book, Bartholomew and the Oobleck, do you remember that one? And then for the craft period, we’ll make the oobleck. It’s really easy, just cornstarch and water. But she’s saying that I shouldn’t do it because it’s going to make too much of a mess.”

“Oobleck is supposed to be a really thick slime, right? The whole point is that it gets everywhere and they can’t get rid of it?”

“Well, yeah,” you admit. “So she might actually have a point.”

“Are you kidding?” he replies brightly. “They’ll love that shit. You should do it anyway, I think that’s a sick idea.”

“Thank you.” There’s a touch of pride in your voice. You really do try your best to come up with fun and interesting things for the kids. Encouraging them to read and sparking their creativity is all you ever hope for. “I also think it’s a great opportunity to teach them all about non-Newtonian fluids.”

Eddie barks out a laugh, and it digs sharply into your ear.

“You’re funny sometimes, you know that?”

You were being serious, but if it means you’re making Eddie laugh, then you suppose you’ll take it.

He continues without waiting for an answer. “If you need help cleaning up after, I can be around for that, since I don’t work until later.”

Immediately, your brain conjures up visions of green goo splattering everywhere, getting stuck to the low tables and entrenching itself into the carpet. You can’t bring yourself to inflict that upon him. “That’s awfully sweet of you, but you absolutely do not have to do that,” you reassure him.

“I’ll be there,” he says firmly.

“No!”

“I wanna play with the oobleck. I’ll be there.”

“Fine,” you concede with a laugh. “I won’t argue with that.” There’s a warm pause, mutual affection running through the miles of telephone wire connecting the two of you. You fiddle with a small pilled spot on the bedspread. “So how’s the latest book coming along?”

“Well,” he heaves out with a great sigh, “I finally finished Left Hand of Darkness, which was really good. I can’t say I liked it better than Earthsea, but I enjoyed it. I get why you like it so much.”

“Comes down to personal preference. I’ve never met a bigger fantasy nerd than you, so Earthsea would be tough competition.”

“For my own sake, I’m choosing to take that as a compliment. Oh, and Genly and Estraven definitely had sex when they were alone on the ice together. I don’t care if they say otherwise.”

“Oh, they totally did!” you concur with a giggle.

“They were definitely kemmering, or whatever it is you’re supposed to call it. Anyway, I’m on to Geek Love now, and frankly, I’m shocked that you recommended this to me.”

“Why? You don’t like it?” It is a little grotesque, but you thought he’d be into that.

“No, I do. But I just can’t believe that a sweet thing like you would read a book like this.”

Your cheeks flood with heat as the word bounces around your head. Sweet, sweet, sweet — he thinks I’m sweet. “I like all kinds of books,” you mumble, and mentally kick yourself for not coming up with something more flirtatious to say back. The banter came a little more easily before you realized just how much you like him.

“So I’ve gathered.”

“Just you wait. I’ll have you reading the Brontës in no time.”

He huffs in disbelief. “Right. That’s likely.” He clears his throat. “Hey, um, can I ask you something?” There’s an edge to his voice you’re not used to hearing.

“Shoot.”

“Do you wanna come and hang out at my place this weekend? We could get food and watch a movie, like Lord of the Rings or something, if you still wanted to see it. Or we can go to the video store and pick something out. You can choose.”

So far, Eddie’s only ever come to visit you at the library. The prospect of spending time with him alone — truly alone, without coworkers and patrons lurking just around the corner — makes your heart hammer dizzyingly against your ribs. You keep your answer simple. “Yes. I would like that.”

“Awesome.”

Wayne can hear one side of the discussion drifting through the trailer when he comes home, kicking his work boots off and leaving them by the door. Halfway across the living room he spies his nephew in the kitchen, and his eyebrows shoot up at the state of him.

Eddie’s leaning with his back against the wall, the phone held in place between his cheek and his shoulder. One ringed hand is twirling the phone cord around his finger as he speaks in a low voice, goofy grin plastered on his face.

They make eye contact across the trailer. Eddie immediately straightens up and tries to neutralize his expression.

Wayne snorts out a laugh.

“So, um, so anyway—“ Eddie fumbles with the phone “— does six o’clock work?” He turns to the side in a poor attempt to muffle the conversation.

Wayne steps into the kitchen and tosses his jacket and lunchbox across the table. He makes a kissy-face at Eddie.

Eddie gives him the finger.

The day Eddie is meant to see you takes forever to arrive. However, as he stares at his reflection in his dresser mirror, he starts to feel like maybe it actually came way too quickly.

He’d spent the past half-hour wildly picking through his closet, combing his hair with his fingers, trying to figure out how he should present himself as more and more clothing gets flung around the room. Eventually he gave up on his hair, and came up with an ensemble he liked, but would you like it? Would you like him?

To the untrained eye, Eddie is wearing his standard Eddie-uniform: tight black pants and a band t-shirt. On the surface, it’s a regular outfit for him. But if one is a truly acute observer, they should clearly be able to see that there are subtle variations within this basic framework he’s donning that scream “Eddie Munson is Trying to Impress a Girl!”

His ripped jeans have tears that expose swaths of skin not just on his knees, but his thighs as well (scandalous!) and he’s wearing his coolest Slayer t-shirt, the one that he ripped the sleeves off of so that his tattooed arms are on full display. And it’s just loose enough so that when he leans forward, the fabric gives way so you can catch a glimpse of his chest, with its sparse hair and winking nipple ring.

It’s all very deliberate.

But as much as Eddie doesn’t want to admit it, he’s nervous. While he becomes increasingly enamored of you, unable to keep the sly compliments and saccharine terms of endearment from slipping out, you get more shy. He still hasn’t figured out if that’s a good or bad sign.

Both of you seem to be hovering in romantic limbo, tiptoeing along the fine line between friendship and flirtation. Playful and insecure. Tender and uncertain. Was your puckish rapport a new experience, or were you like that with every person you met? Did you like it when he phoned you late at night and called you honey and sweetheart, or were you just too polite to correct him? Did you hold his name and face in your soft heart when he wasn’t right there next to you, like he did yours?

He’d chickened out at the last minute, dancing around the word ‘date.’

Eddie could be smooth on occasion, sure. But it was different when you knew you didn’t actually have a shot in hell with the person you were talking to. He didn’t have to be afraid of rejection when he already knew it was coming.

Like, he could flirt and wink at Chrissy Cunningham all he wanted and invite her to the Hideout because he knew full-well that she was never really going to show up to watch his band play — let alone dump her boyfriend to go out with him. So he could ham it up, make a fool of himself, and then shrug it all off when nothing happened.

Only a few girls had ever taken him up on his offers. And they always ended up being private affairs; nobody wanted to risk being seen out at dinner with Eddie Munson. Instead there were quick and clumsy trysts in the back of his van or in the woods behind the school, and he was reduced to a novelty notch in the bedpost, a secret for them to whisper about at slumber parties, the eponymous who of a giggly “Guess who I hooked up with!”

It took Eddie a minute to catch on. He remembers the first time, when he hooked up with a girl at a party he was dealing at during his junior year. The next school day, he tried approaching her in the hallway as she chatted with a fellow cheerleader, and she quite literally turned on her heel and ran — but not without shooting him a look of such intense disdain that it made Eddie physically flinch. Her friend snapped her locker shut, and snickered knowingly at Eddie before following suit.

He won’t lie, that one stung. He’d stood there in mild shock at being brushed off so harshly, while other students milled about, completely oblivious to his distress; someone deliberately knocked their shoulder into his as they passed by, causing the handle of his lunchbox to slip out from his sweaty fist. It fell to the floor with a loud clang that echoed about his ears.

Eddie had already had a pretty good idea of what other people thought of him, but boy, did it really sink in that day.

It set the framework for what his love life would look like for the rest of high school. Which maybe wouldn’t have been so horrible to deal with, if only he hadn’t been in high school for two years longer than he’d expected to be.

So he leaned into it. It was really the only thing he could do, and hey, at least it meant that he could get some every now and then. What did it matter if they refused to make eye contact with him the next day? He didn’t need all that relationship mess, anyway. He didn’t care.

He didn’t care, he didn’t care, he didn’t care — if he tried to tell himself that one more time he was going to explode.

In reality Eddie’s a pretty lonely guy. But since meeting you? He’s hopeful for the first time in a long time that maybe his life doesn’t have to be that way.

Eddie raps on your front door with his fist, biting the inside of his cheek. Pizza and movies. Easy breezy. There has never been a more relaxed person than you, ever, he thinks, buzzing with nervous energy.

After a moment the door swings open. “Hi,” you greet him, stepping out onto the welcome mat, tugging at the shoulder strap of your purse.

“Hey,” he responds with an easy smile on his lips, one that doesn’t betray his anxiety. He gives you an approving once-over and lets out a low whistle. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

And you really are. He’s never seen you in anything but your work clothes, so he appreciates this chance to see you in an outfit that’s true to your style.

You let out an embarrassed chuckle and wave a hand at him. “Oh, please.”

“No, I’m serious! You look very nice.”

You can hardly meet his gaze, a flustered grin forming on your own face. “Thank you. So do you.”

He shrugs modestly, but his dimples show. He gestures to where his van sits parked by the curb. “Shall we?”

The interior of the van is plush and blue and smells of tobacco and something vaguely minty. Eddie insists on running around the vehicle so he can open the passenger-side door for you, and holds out his arm for you to grasp while you climb in; an unexpected act of chivalry.

“Wow, I’m getting the full VIP treatment here, aren’t I?” you ask him jokingly as you clamber onto the seat.

“Get used to it, sweetheart. I may not look it, but I’m a gentleman of the highest caliber.”

“I’m sure you are. I’ll bet Emily Post writes to you for etiquette tips.”

Eddie turns the engine on, and music starts blaring from the speakers. He quickly turns the volume down, shooting you an apologetic look. “Sorry. I, uh, I like it loud.” He gestures to a shoebox tucked away on the floor by your feet. “There’s a bunch of other tapes in there, you can pick a different one if you like.”

You’re delighted to realize that you have an opportunity to tease him. You tilt your head up, lips pouting as though you’re deep in thought. “Okay. Let's say I pull out a different tape.”

Eddie looks at you quizzically, but plays along. “Okay. Let’s say you do.”

“Now, hypothetically, I would do this because I want to hear something different from what’s playing currently. Right?”

“Right…”

You reach into the box and pull out the first tape you make contact with, and end up with the latest W.A.S.P. album. You cock an eyebrow at him while you hold out the tape for him to see. “So riddle me this: what are the chances that this album — or any of these albums, for that matter — sound any different from what you’re playing right now?”

Eddie attempts to stifle a laugh and fails. “Hey now,” he says, trying to sound stern, “there is something incredibly special and nuanced about every single tape in that box. I would never deign to compare Ride the Lightning to The Headless Children. Completely different. Worlds apart, in fact.”

You shrug, pleased with yourself. “If you say so. You would know better than me.”

“I’m gonna teach you how to be metal,” he promises, peering over his shoulder as he backs out onto the street.

You continue rifling around in his box of tapes. “Do you really think I could be? My job is reading picture books to preschoolers.”

“Totally. There’s nothing more metal than the public library.”

The first stop you and Eddie make is at his favorite local pizza joint, where he insists on paying for dinner himself — he wouldn’t even let you throw a dollar in the tip jar. The shop is conveniently located in the same strip mall as the Family Video, so after putting your order in, the two of you cross the road to browse for a movie while you wait.

When you enter the store, you’re greeted by the little tinkling sound of bells and a bored ‘Welcome’ from the employee seated at the counter.

The cashier is cute — not as cute as Eddie, you think — and probably about the same age. When he finally looks up from the counter and sees the two of you together, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise before furrowing again as he makes eye contact with Eddie.

The two boys stare at each other in mutual distaste. He nods coolly at Eddie. “Munson.”

Eddie’s reply is flat. “Harrington.”

As you approach the counter, the employee’s name tag comes into view: Steve.

Eddie strides past him and doesn’t stop, even when Steve calls out to his retreating back —

“You still haven’t brought back Spinal Tap!”

“I know,” Eddie replies, not bothering to turn around.

You follow Eddie across the store, skimming through the colorful titles. He stops abruptly in the middle of an aisle, and you bump softly into his back.

He gives you an amused smirk from over his shoulder. “Easy there.”

“Sorry,” you reply, giving him a little smile that’s all too apologetic for his liking. He can’t resist the urge to reach out and take your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before letting go again.

You beam at him.

“So what are we feeling?” he asks, feeling needlessly scrambled at the brief but lingering affection. “Something scary? Funny?” He bats his eyelashes dramatically. “Romantic?”

Your response is automatic. “Whatever you want is fine with me.”

Eddie frowns at you. “I told you, it’s your choice. I already picked out a two-hour cartoon.”

He’s being very sweet. But you want to pick something that he’ll enjoy, too.

Acting on a little tip from your new friend Steve the Cashier, you ask Eddie —

“So you like Rob Reiner movies, huh?”

Eddie slaps The Princess Bride down on the counter in front of Steve.

“Nice vest,” he comments.

Steve shoots him a dirty look. “Your late fees are gonna pile up.”

Eddie ignores this.

Steve sighs and begins the checkout process. Eddie can’t help noticing Steve casting you sidelong glances, his eyes flitting up and down your figure appreciatively.

Eddie clears his throat pointedly.

“Here.” Steve pushes the film back over the counter.

Eddie grabs it and heads for the door without saying anything; you, confused and a little put off by the attitude, offer Steve your most polite “Thank you!” before scurrying out after him.

Eddie holds the door for you when exiting, a pleasant expression on his face that’s a stark contrast from the one he wore when talking to Steve. When you’re both back outside, you can’t help but wonder what that cashier ever did to him.

“I take it you’re not a fan of Steve from Family Video?” you press.

Eddie looks sheepish. “You caught that, huh?”

“It was kind of hard to miss.”

He hesitates. “Well, we went to school together, and he wasn’t very nice. Let’s leave it at that.”

You simply nod, understanding his reluctance to say more. Reliving your high school trauma isn’t exactly something you’re interested in right now, either.

As you and Eddie head back across the street, your swinging arms cause your hands to brush against one another. After a moment’s hesitation, he clasps your hand in his, and your fingers intertwine, like two puzzle pieces clicking into place.

Eddie starts the drive home, and he feels a wave of apprehension.

He told you he lived in Forest Hills early on, and you didn’t bat an eyelash. But with you being so new in town, he wasn’t really sure that you even knew it was a trailer park.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed, exactly, or even that he thinks you’ll really mind — nothing you’ve said to him thus far indicated that his economic status would bother you — but being called trailer trash as many times as he has…well, it’s enough to make anyone defensive.

By the time he pulls up to the Munson trailer, he still hasn’t dared to look across the cab to see your reaction. “Well, here we are!” he exclaims in a hearty voice that doesn’t match what he’s feeling inside at all.

While you fumble between unbuckling your seatbelt and balancing the pizza box on your lap, Eddie darts out of the van so he can help you climb out again. When he opens the door he’s relieved to see that you don’t seem phased by your surroundings; you flash him the same happy smile you always do, and it gives him a boost of confidence.

Hopping up the porch steps, he unlocks the rickety front door and gestures for you to enter, bowing slightly. “After you, miss.”

You curtsey back. “Thank you, sir.”

Eddie pretends that that has less of an effect on him than it actually does.

Inside, he watches you peer around the trailer in interest. He’s glad that he did a deep-clean yesterday: there’s no clothes hanging over the furniture, any garbage he could find was bagged up and taken out, and he wiped down all the flat surfaces with the lemon-y spray cleaner that lives beneath the sink. He even dumped out all the ashtrays; when Wayne saw that, he commented that he must really like this girl.

“That’s a lot of mugs,” you comment, looking admiringly at the shelves that display years of Wayne’s little hobby. “I’m impressed.”

“They’re my uncle’s,” says Eddie as he kicks off his shoes. “I keep telling him he’s got a problem.”

“No, they’re great,” you insist. “Everybody collects something. Don’t you?”

Eddie pauses, hovering by the boxy television. “I guess so. Music. D and D shit.” He sets the pizza down on the coffee table. “Here, have a seat. I’ll get us some plates.”

Eddie walks to the kitchen and starts rifling through the cabinets for some paper plates and napkins. You call out to him from your seat on the worn sofa. “Is your uncle working right now?”

“Yeah.” Eddie pads back into the living room. “He works a lot of night shifts.”

“Are all Munsons generally nocturnal?” you ask, referring to his bartending gig at The Hideout, a job that keeps him busy well into the night.

Eddie chuckles as crouches by the coffee table, pulling off two slices of greasy pizza and laying one on each plate. “I guess you could say that,” he says, handing you your share. Brown eyes find yours and he nudges your knee with his elbow playfully. “But it leaves me free to come and bother you at work during the day, doesn’t it?”

You dig the toe of your sock into the rug and look down at the food instead of him. “I wouldn’t call you a bother.”

His full lips turn up at the corners. “You wouldn’t?” He rests his hand on your leg, and his fingers swirl a gentle pattern over your skin.

You swallow. “No.” The word comes out subdued and breathy.

Eddie doesn’t move, but stays positioned by your knee, staring up at you. “Look at me again,” he says softly, leaning in a little closer.

You do as he asks and it’s almost too much. His eyes are huge and warm and they look like everything you’ve ever wanted.

A few seconds tick by, and then the phone rings and Eddie’s standing up again, whatever momentary spell the two of you were under, broken.

“Hang on,” he says, face tinged pink.

You settle back into the sofa and squirm, feeling feverish.

Eddie wrenches the phone off the hook in annoyance. “Hello?” When the person on the other line answers, he huffs and rolls his eyes, turning away so his back is towards you. Still, you catch snippets of the exchange:

“Henderson, I said tomorrow, okay?” Eddie hisses in aggravation. “No, I don’t care if you don’t wanna do it in the morning, man. I’ve gotta work tomorrow night. You guys either come early or it’s not happening.”

You watch him curiously.

“Suck it up.” Eddie pauses to listen to the person speak again, and turns and glances at you across the trailer. Then his tone becomes noticeably gentler. “Thanks, man. I’ll let you know. See ya.”

He hangs up the phone with a sigh, and his face relaxes into a smile again.

He strolls back into the living room and claps his ringed hands together. “So! Are you ready to experience a cinematic masterpiece?”

Some three hours later, you and Eddie are slumped back against the worn cushions, now one and half movies deep. Over the course of the night you’ve slowly closed the distance between your bodies, so his leg is pressed against yours. Eddie has one arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers dancing just above the skin of your collarbone. Both of you are stuffed to the gills, and more than a little sleepy. Even Eddie, who kept up a stream of commentary during Lord of the Rings, eager to discuss his favorite bits of Middle Earth lore with you, is tuckered out.

Shenanigans play out on the television screen. You let out a huge yawn.

Eddie’s arm curls around your shoulder, hand digging into the meat of your bicep, pulling you closer to him. “This okay?” he murmurs.

You nod clumsily and start fidgeting, your hands twisting in your lap.

Eddie says your name softly. You hum in acknowledgement.

“I really like you. And I think you like me.” He cocks his head to the side. “Is that right?”

Your heart throbs.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he whispers back. “Can I kiss you then, sweetheart?”

You nod; Eddie leans in slowly, then presses his lips to yours for a moment before pulling back again. It’s quick, chaste and sweet, and not nearly enough. Your hands find his face, palms landing on both his cheeks so you can bring his mouth back to yours.

He’s happy to oblige.

Eddie sighs, tongue dipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss. One hand cups the back of your head, keeping you right where he wants you. The other snakes around your thigh, and he uses the leverage to abruptly pull you up and over his lap. A small “Oh!” of surprise escapes you at the jolt, but Eddie wastes no time in securing his mouth to yours again.

His kisses are wet, heady, and grow increasingly frantic as the two of you clutch at each other. Your hands weave into his hair — a longtime fantasy of yours come true at last — and he lets out a soft moan when your fingers tug gently at the tangled tresses.

Your skin feels tingly, sensitive, alight at every little touch he gives you. Your head is full of nothing but Eddie, the way he looks and feels and smells, and the way he makes you feel, like a shaken-up pop bottle, full of pink fizz and ready to burst.

Eddie suddenly laughs against your lips, smiling into another kiss.

You pull back hastily, self-consciously. But he looks jubilant, cheeks dimpled in joy, chocolate eyes crinkled at the outer corners.

“Sorry,” he says breathlessly, “it’s just — I couldn’t tell — I wasn’t really sure where your head was at.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “You kept gettin’ quiet on me all of a sudden.”

You let your head fall forward, forehead pressing into his shoulder, and let out a tiny groan. “I know. I’m sorry, it wasn’t you.”

You lift your head back up and face him. “I’m not usually very good at this stuff,” you admit. “Connecting with people. It’s harder, when you’re introverted…and have different interests. But you were so easy to talk to when we met! And I was so excited to make a new friend, but I…,” you trail off.

“But you what?” he prompts.

“The more I looked at you the cuter I thought you were.” The words come out in a rush. “When I realized what was happening I got nervous.”

Eddie waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively. “Oh, something’s happening?”

You swat at him playfully.

“I’m kidding!” He rubs your shoulders soothingly. “But you don’t have to be nervous around me. I’m just some guy, y’know?”

“You, Eddie Munson, are certainly not just some guy.”

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart. You’re makin’ me blush.”

The movie has long since ended, and a peaceful darkness settles over the trailer. The only sound is the chirp of the summer crickets outside and quiet breathing.

Eddie’s fully sprawled out over the couch with you nestled in his arms. It took some coaxing, but eventually he convinced you to lay on top of him, your warm weight better than any blanket, the sweet fragrance of your perfume soothing his senses. Your face is half-hidden in the crook of his neck, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I have a confession to make,” he says sleepily.

“Ooh. It better be something juicy.”

“It is. Excellent gossip. You can tell all your friends, I won’t even be mad.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I scoped you out at the library,” he admits. “I came in that day specifically to talk to you. Y’know, turn on that Munson charm, and sweep you off your feet, and all that.”

“Really?” You blink, trying to jog your memory. “I don’t remember ever seeing you before that.” You think of his tousled hair and clunky jewelry. “And you’re pretty memorable.”

“Well, there’s a slight chance that I, um, ducked, and hid behind a shelf when you got close. It was the Saturday right before we met, after you did your reading.”

That recalls something for you. “Wait, wait, maybe I do remember…” It’s hazy. Pale face, brown hair? You can’t quite place this person as Eddie, but it must have been him. “I think I did see you creeping around.”

“What can I say? Your story telling enthralled me.”

It’s the truth. He’d been browsing for a Clive Barker book when he caught sight of you in the children’s area. You read We’re Going on a Bear Hunt with an enthusiasm usually reserved for trained Shakespearean actors, and it left him undeniably impressed.

You cuddle closer to him, burying your face in his chest. “I’m glad you decided to nut up and talked to me.”

He smiles against your hair. “Me too.”

Early the next morning, in the hazy gray-blue dawn, the front door opens quietly — cautiously even. Wayne’s not sure what he’ll be walking into. All he knows is that his nephew really likes this girl, and that for Eddie’s sake he hopes that his date went well. He’s not sure how much more disappointment the boy can take. He wants to see him happy.

So he’s pleasantly surprised to see you and Eddie piled up on the couch like two puppies, fast asleep and — thank Christ — fully-clothed. Eddie’s arm is slung over you protectively, his soft snores just barely audible.

Good for him.

And if they wanna sleep in the living room, that’s fine.

Wayne’s gonna take the bed.

thank you for reading!! <3 Read Ch. 4 -> Here! taglist: @eddiesgirlforever, @eds6ngel, @sheisahauntedhouse, @lokis-tardis-companion19, @teary-eyed-egg, @whenshelanded, @nanaminswhore, @witchwolflea

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