#you are doing it bad. the worst anyone’s ever done it.
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Hot To Go
Summary: During Nesta's bachelor party, everyone agrees to pick out an embarrassing shirt for someone else. Emerie is game to play along until she realizes her long-standing crush Morrigan will be at the same bar.
Good thing Mor has a sense of humor.
For @ablogofsapphicpanic | Read on AO3
Thank you @octobers-veryown for the last minute moodboard
Fic based on this tiktok
“Nesta, please,” Emerie complained, holding the tissue papered bag sitting in her lap. “We don’t have—”
“Open it,” Nesta interrupted, crowned queen of the weekend by a plastic silver tiara. A white sash crossed her body with the words BRIDE-TO-BE stamped across it in purple lettering. Nesta wanted a different kind of bachelorette party—one where they spent the majority of their long weekend indoors watching movies and reading books. There was a pool out back they’d spent the morning lounging beside but tonight Emerie Archeron had convinced her older sister that they should go to the bar just once.
And then meddlesome, annoying, stupid Elain had made the worst suggestion Emerie had ever heard. What if we picked out bad shirts for each other? What if Emerie slapped her across the face, what then? Nesta would be pissed and Elain would cry, that's what would happen. Emerie didn’t want to go to the bar where she’d be surrounded by men in too tight t-shirts and hair gelled to the heavens. And she certainly didn’t want to spend the night pulling those same drunk losers off her friends only to get called a whole host of slurs she didn’t care to repeat.
Their husbands and boyfriends will kill you for fun, I’m doing you a favor.
If only you could casually mention that to strangers. As if those pathetic dudes would listen. Emerie would have to call up Azriel again, and Azriel’s general demeanor would destroy the vibe she had spent so much time cultivating. Even when he was incandescently happy he was brooding. Gwyn would spend all her time sitting in his lap while Nesta, Emerie, and Elain all blushed furiously every time he spoke, as if there was anything terribly special about him. Objectively, she supposed he was handsome but so what? A lot of men were.
Emerie was the last person at the table. With reluctance, she pulled out the glittery pink paper that had clearly been put together by Elain. It was simply too pretty to have been done by anyone else.
Unfolding the black material, Emerie groaned when she saw the image printed on the fabric. A brown meatball wearing leather bondage gear stared back at her. Even if she hadn’t understood the pun, the shirt ensure everyone would get the joke thanks to the white lettering that read: Meatball Sub.
Elain clapped her hands together, eyes bright with delight. “I thought that was so funny.”
Don’t ruin this, Emerie thought to herself. Meeting the brown eyes of Nesta’s younger sister from across the table, she forced an easy smile on her face.
“It is funny,” she lied. It was stupid. But this was for Nesta, and Emerie loved Nesta more than she hated the shirt. She’d bought so many nice outfits for this trip—tight slacks and even tighter tanktops, bodycon dresses that weren’t her favorite but looked good, paired with tall heels that made her tower over her friends, and even cute little shorts and t-shirts that showed off her body should some hot girl in a bikini be wandering by.
“Lets change and then head out,” Nesta said, cheeks flushed with excitement. Emerie shot a look at Gwyn, who merely shrugged delicate shoulders in response. They were sharing a room in the cabin Emerie’s husband had graciously given up for the next four days—if cabin was even what it could be called. More like massive-beach-house-worth-millions, but Emerie wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was interesting to her the way rich people described their things. This was hardly a cabin and yet to Rhysand, maybe it was. Maybe he considered this slumming it, somehow.
“It’s just a couple hours,” Gwyn reminded Emerie once the door to their shared room was firmly shut.
“I hate these bars,” Emerie complained, flopping onto the twin bed closest to the window. “It’s spring break—they’re crawling with frat douche losers that have never been told no in their lives.”
“You know why she really wants to go, right?” Gwyn asked, pulling her shirt off to put the offensive one overtop.
“If you say Cassian—”
“He’s somewhere around here, and I think she just wants to see him,” Gwyn said with a relish. “He was giving her all that shit about staying in when she should be going wild. Now Nesta can show him she’s having fun his way, too.”
“And what happens when Az catches some loser putting his hands on you?” Emerie asked, rising up on her elbows to look at Gwyn.
“He’ll have to deal with it in an emotionally intelligent way.”
“Is that what he’s calling his fists these days?”
Gwyn grinned. “Just let her have this. One night of embarrassment for a weekend of quiet.”
“Fine.”
Emerie got ready like she would for any other club-like event, putting a full face of make up on and carefully curling her hair to make it look as though she’d come straight from the beach once she finger combed out the waves into messy waves. All that was left was the stupid shirt and a pair of skin tight leggings beneath.
There were never any interesting women at these places. It almost didn’t matter what she looked like, except Emerie took a small amount of satisfaction knowing that when a man inevitably called her an ugly bitch they’d be lying through their teeth.
Gwyn had done even less, slicking on some mascara and tinted chapstick before calling it a day. Of the three of them, these types of places made her the most uncomfortable. She’d go only for Nesta, and was likely only smiling because she believed Azriel was going to be there. Still, Gwyn never tried to accentuate how beautiful she was, nervous of the unwanted attention—as if what had happened to her was her fault.
“Want to stick together?” Emerie asked, noting the way Gwyn’s teal eyes filled with relief.
“Yes,” she breathed, rising to her feet. Emerie tugged at the too-big shirt that fell just beneath the curve of her ass, wishing she was wearing anything else.
“If it starts getting rowdy, we can go somewhere else,” Emerie promised, looping her arm through Gwyn’s.
“I was googling lesbian bars,” Gwyn said with a grin. “There’s one a couple blocks away if you want to…you know…”
“Shut up,” Emerie said, elbowing her friend gently in the ribs.
“It’s been a while,” Gwyn pressed on, undaunted by Emerie’s obvious embarrassment. “And I didn’t like the last girl, whatever her name was. Too…”
Emerie sighed. “Unfaithful?”
“That too,” Gwyn said with a scowl.
“I don’t think you meet marriageable women at bars,” Emerie reminded Gwyn, annoyed that Cassian had met Nesta in a college bar and was now marrying her. It had started off a chain reaction in their tiny friend group—Azriel was so obviously just biding his time, waiting for Cassian to get married so he could propose.
And then Emerie would be the only single person among married women. Would they even want to hang out with her anymore? Would they stay friends? It kept her up at night. Emerie knew if she gave voice to these insecurities, her friends would rush to reassure her it wasn’t true and she’d feel no better. She just wasn’t having the same luck in the romance department.
Squeezing into one car, Emerie managed to snag the passenger seat from Elain, who pouted in the back but otherwise said nothing. If nothing else, Emerie considered that a victory even if she was out voted and Taylor Swift blared the entire way to the bar.
“It’s busy,” Nesta said, eyes scanning the line of people waiting to get in.
“Send Elain up,” Emerie suggested, glancing at her older sister.
“In this?” Elain demanded as she held out her comically oversized shirt. “Don’t make me.”
It didn’t matter, ultimately. The bouncer caught sight of Nesta strolling by in heels and waved her in while eyeing her up and down. Nesta pretended she didn’t notice but both Emerie and Emerie did, glaring daggers from just behind her before handing over their ID.
And then they were inside. The music was so loud Emerie could barely hear herself think, teeth rattling in time with the beat. It was her job to elbow through the crowd hanging around the bar and scream everyone's order over the music before doling out drinks while watching the man who made them. Just in case. She didn’t like the way he was open mouthed staring at Elain, who seemed to have the effect on everyone who saw her.
While the rest of the group made their way to the dance floor, Gwyn and Emerie secured the last high top in a pretty secluded corner where the music didn’t seem to be quite so loud and they could talk.
“I’m gonna sit closer,” Gwyn told Emerie, putting her hand over top of Emerie’s as a man began walking toward them. He turned abruptly, realizing he’d have no luck over here which had been Gwyn’s obvious goal if her triumphant smile was anything to go by.
“Oh, look!” she said, pointing across the room. It was, just as Gwyn had predicted, Cassian and Azriel towering over the crowd, unaware that Nesta was a few feet away dancing in a god-awful shirt. As Emerie watched, she found Rhysand holding several drinks in one hand and cutting a path through a crowd that parted like the red sea. She’d have looked away, annoyed by the converging parties had she not noticed who was walking just behind Rhys.
There, in a red dress so tight it might have been painted against tanned skin, stood Morrigan. Emerie was embarrassed by how hot she thought Rhys’s cousin was, and yet… Christ. Her blonde hair cascaded like sunlight down her back and her brown eyes were crowned with gold just around the iris, visible even in the dim lighting of the club. Emerie had never been able to get words out in front of Morrigan, so she just avoided her, embarrassed to be a cliche. The lesbian with a crush on a straight girl—it was a constant theme in her life, especially when she was younger.
She’d asked Nesta about Morrigan once, who’d gone on a rant about Mor sleeping with Lucien’s dad, and Emerie had dropped the subject. There was no love lost between them—apparently Cassian and Mor had a thing a million years ago, too.
Still. She was the most beautiful woman Emerie had ever seen, and it was a shame that beauty would be wasted on some loser that would never really appreciate her.
“Oh, here they come,” Gwyn said, sitting up a little straighter in her chair. Cassian had caught sight of her and Gwyn, waving across the crowd as Rhys set drinks down in the booth she bet he’d paid actual money for. He beckoned for the two of them to join.
“Gwyn—”
“Rhys will pay our tab if we go,” she said, silencing any protests Emerie might offer. Rhys did always pay when they were all together and unlike Rhys, Emerie had to work for a living. If he was willing to foot the tab for overpriced drinks filled with more water than cheap vodka, who was she to say no?
They sauntered over, Emerie’s heart racing as Mor’s eyes fell on her. She whispered something to her cousin, who stood and traded places so when she and Gwyn arrived, Mor said, “Em! Sit by me.”
Gwyn was already—and predictably—in Azriel’s lap, whispering something in his ear that made his cheeks darken noticeably. So it was like that then, was it? Emerie plopped down while Rhys shoved at Az so he could edge out space on the end of the booth.
“What are you wearing?” Mor asked, her laugh more like a herald of bells. Emerie was flustered, breathing the same air and unable to take her eyes off Mor’s red painted mouth.
“Oh. Uh…”
“It was Elain’s idea!” Gwyn called from across the table, shooting Emerie a wink they all noticed.
Cassian rolled his eyes when he heard. “No offense, but…Meatball Sub?”
“It’s a pun,” Emerie explained in a deadpan, forgetting about Mor for just a second. Just until Mor scooted, her knee accidentally brushing Emeries. Had she meant to do that? “You know, like a meatball sub sandwich? But it’s wearing a gag, like a—”
“I get the joke!” Cassian snapped, eyes narrowed. Mor tipped her head back and laughed, unaware of how hard Emerie’s heart was beating at the sight.
“Are you sure, Cass?” Mor asked, leaning back against the padded booth so her palm was flat against the seat. Her pinky touched Emerie’s, causing Emerie to jerk her hand back as if she’d been burned. Was that an accident, too? She was terrified to look over and realize she’d read it wrong, and more scared to look over and even more scared to look and find Mor had meant to touch her.
Mor was just friendly, she reminded herself. She was always draped all over Emerie when they were out together. It was nothing—a mere accident.
Cassian scooted his way out to find Nesta, still scowling over at Mor and Emerie.
“So,” Mor said, turning entirely to face Emerie. She pulled her hand from the seat to rest her head against her fist. Eyes wholly focused on Emerie, she continued, “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
“Oh…you know,” Emerie replied, suddenly embarrassed by the attention. “Nothing interesting.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. C’mon,” she cajoled, her free hand squeezing Emerie’s knee. “I want to hear about it anyway. I feel like we never get to talk and you’re so interesting!”
Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god—
“You first,” Emerie said, unsure where that came from. Mor grinned as she leaned closer, unaware of how the movement pushed her breasts up toward her neck. Emerie could see from the corner of her eye, though she was trying hard not to actually look.
“Oh, you know. I got dragged along to Cass’s bachelor party,” Mor began, looking around the bar. “This place sucks but if I smile at the bouncer, they let us all in for free.”
“Nesta did the same thing,” Emerie told Mor. “Where are you guys staying?”
She nodded with her head in the direction of the DJ. “ Rhys gave up the cabin so we’re at the resort. It’s pretty nice—I was at the pool all morning before Cass dragged us out here.”
“Same,” Emerie replied with a sigh as she leaned back in the booth. “Now I’m out…in this.”
“Stop,” Mor said as she toyed with Emerie’s sleeve. “I think it’s cute.”
“It’s not,” Emerie grumbled, heart racing all over again. Mor was so close and she smelled so good, it was making it hard to think.
“Is…is that something you’re interested in?” Mor asked casually, eyes drifting back to the shirt.
“No!” Emerie hastened to say, embarrassed all over again. “No, nothing like that.”
“So you don’t like being tied up?” Mor pressed, eyes practically burning a hole in Emerie’s skull.
“I…I’m not against it, I guess?” she managed, reaching for her glass to give her mouth something to do.
Mor began twirling a lock of golden hair around a perfectly manicured finger. “What room are you staying in?”
“The upstairs one with the twin beds,” she said quickly. Mor laid her land back against the table and this time Emerie noticed that while the ring and pinkie finger were long and sharp, the middle and pointer were shorter. Blunter.
Emerie looked up at Mor, who was watching her with cat-like intensity. Was she doing this on purpose?
“I have my own room,” she said casually, a sly smile spreading over a truly beautiful face. “That’s the benefit of being the only girl on a guy's trip.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It’s quiet,” Mor continued, dragging her finger over the condensation that had dripped to the table. “Overlooks the beach.”
Emerie offered a weak smile. “I’m jealous.”
“Want to see it?” Mor asked bluntly, sighing ever so slightly. “I’m bored of this place. Too many drunk guys that think every ass needs to be touched.”
“What about Cass—”
“He won’t care if I’m missing. I was invited out of pity, anyway. I’m sure you know Nesta isn’t my biggest fan.”
Mor was scooting closer, indicating Emerie should get out of the booth. Fishing her phone from her clutch, Emerie sent a quick text to Nesta and Gwyn.
Heading out with Mor for a bit—gonna get some air and talk a bit. Meet you back at the house.
Mor slunk off to tell Rhys, who glanced over at Emerie before saying something that earned a vicious punch to the shoulder. Rhys only grinned, gripping his arm, as Mor made her way back to Emerie.
“All good?”
“All good,” Emerie agreed, still impossibly nervous. They said nothing as they made their way out, fingers brushing each time the crowd surged around them, forcing them closer before they could spring apart again. Mor seemed comfortable with the whole thing and Emerie was jealous. She wanted Mor’s easy confidence.
“I heard you slept with Lucien’s dad,” Emerie blurted out the moment they were out beneath the starry summer sky.
Mor grinned. “Yeah? I did,” she said without embarrassment. “I didn’t know he was Lucien’s dad, in my defense. He was just…some hot guy I thought was interesting.”
“Is that your type, then?”
Mor’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Do you not know?”
Emerie shook her head no, throat coated with sand.
“I just figured…” Mor shook her head, her smile undimmed. “My type is tall, dark, and gorgeous. Lucien’s dad almost fits the bill…but I prefer women.”
“Oh,” Emerie said, unable to think of anything more clever to say. “I just figured…”
“I’m not opposed to men for a night, but I’d never date one. God, can you imagine?” she said with a laugh.
“No,” Emerie admitted with relief. “I saw Cassian and Azriel’s shared bathroom, I think I’ll pass.”
“I know, right? God, I used to clean it for them when they all shared a dorm room.”
“You’re better than me,” Emerie replied with a shudder. The thought of cleaning their shared bathroom made her want to vomit. She could only imagine how gross it must have looked.
“Cassian got it together when he met Nesta. He knew she wasn’t going to tolerate pee all over the toilet.”
“He’s right,” Emerie agreed with a laugh. “Nesta is immaculate.”
“And you?”
Emerie’s stomach flipped over as Mor’s shoulder brushed hers. “I uh…probably not as much. I keep a lot of plants at my place so it’s…you know…crowded.”
“Plants? Anything else?” Mor asked, eyes burning like the stars overhead.
“I have a cat,” Emerie told her, thinking of her little apartment back in Velaris. “Her name is Mist.”
“Like one of the thirteen,” Mor said knowingly, unaware of how Emerie’s knees shook.
“You like mythology?”
“Not really,” she admitted as they crossed the street toward the large resort just across the way. Palm trees swayed in the wind, breaking up the traffic nicely. “But Cass said you did, so…”
“Why would Cassian tell you that?” Emerie demanded without thinking. “That’s kind of weird.”
Mor’s cheeks flushed orange beneath the artificial lights overhead.
“I asked him what you liked,” she admitted.
“Why?” Emerie, at least, could guess why. She wasn’t that obtuse, after all. Still, she wanted to hear the words leave Mor’s pretty lips, if only to put her mind at ease.
“You’re beautiful,” Mor admitted as Emerie rushed ahead to open the door for her. Mor thought she was beautiful? A breeze could have carried her away. “I just figured Cass blabbed.”
“Nope. He kept it a total secret,” she said, unable to help her grin.
“Oh. Well…that…I just figured you knew and—”
“I have such a crush on you,” Emerie blurted out while Mor pressed the button for the elevator. “When I saw you tonight, and I realized I was wearing this shirt, I just…”
“Stop, I love it,” Mor lied, fingers skimmed the back of Emerie’s elbow. “You look so cute. Besides, I got to ask if you liked being tied up which made it totally worth it.”
“Is that why I’m here? To be your meatball sub?” Emerie joked, heart racing all the same.
“Hardly,” Mor replied with a laugh. “We can do whatever you want.”
“And if I wanted to kiss you?”
Mor sucked in a soft breath. “That would be nice.”
They were in an elevator—this wasn’t how Emerie imagined it. And right then, drinking in the sight of Mor who was nearly as tall as she was even in heels, Emerie thought he might die of want if she didn’t kiss Mor. Stepping closer, all Emerie could think about was how nice Mor smelled. Emerie just needed to know if Mor tasted half as good.
Sliding her fingers into Mor’s unbound hair, Emerie pressed her lips to Mor’s as Mor stepped back, hitting the mirrored wall with a soft, sweet sigh. Hell, she tasted sweeter than Emerie had imagined even as her lipstick smeared across Emerie’s mouth. She wanted to see it stained over her skin, too, proof that they’d been together.
One chaste kiss became two, became a third, until Emerie was practically flush against Mor. She’d forgotten where they were until the doors dinged open and the sound of voices pulled apart. The pair looked behind them to find a couple staring right back, eyes wide.
Emerie wasn’t going to apologize and was grateful when Mor didn’t either. She merely burst into giggles before slipping her hand in Emerie’s and tugging her out.
“Whoops,” Mor whispered, fishing her keycard out of her clutch. “Lost track of things in there.”
“Same,” Emerie agreed, heart thudding. “I uh…look. I really like you. And maybe I should go and just…call you? In the morning?”
“Or,” Mor suggested as she swung the door open wide, “you could stay with me tonight and let me buy you brunch in the morning? You can borrow one of my suits if you want and we could hang out by the pool?”
“I want to take you on a date,” Emerie said firmly, desperate to go inside.
“Okay,” Mor said, still standing in front of the open door. “So do I. Will you come inside, now?”
Emerie nodded, grateful to have gotten that out of the way. She’d sworn she wasn’t doing any more one night stands that ended in hurt feelings. That was especially important for her and Mor given they were going to be seeing so much of each other long after this ended.
Mor’s room was a suite, complete with a living room and a kitchen. The balcony doors were thrown open, allowing salty summer air to flood through the room. Taking her hand, Mor led Emerie down a short hallway to the room she’d obviously been sleeping in—the bed was still unmade. A little succulent sat on a nightstand and the room itself smelled like the candy sweet of Mor’s perfume. Emerie wanted to bury her face in the pillow and inhale deeply.
“You ruined my grand gesture,” Mor told her, closing the door quietly behind them. “Will you be my date to Cass’s wedding?”
The grin that spread across Emerie’s face threatened to split her in half. “Yeah. Of course I will.”
Mor exhaled. “Good. I’ll have the hottest date there.”
Emerie rolled her eyes, cheeks burning all the same. It would be her with the hottest date, but who needed to quibble, truly? Not when Mor was standing right in front of her, chin inclined with so much expectations. There was a bed right behind and if Emerie played her cards right, she’d know exactly how Mor tasted by the end of the night.
Indecision gripped her. Did she just kiss her? Touch her? Push her to the bed and strip her naked before committing Mor’s naked form to memory?
“Get out of your own head,” Mor whispered, sliding her hand around Emerie’s neck. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to?”
“Maybe,” Emerie admitted, the thought filling her with heat.
This time, Mor took the lead. Slipping out of her heels, Mor had to lift up on her tiptoes in order to meet Emerie’s mouth and Emerie liked the sight of it. Or, maybe she merely liked the sight of Mor’s unabashed desire, a mirror for her own. It felt good to be wanted, especially by a woman Emerie had a crush on.
She could admire her good fortune later. Right then, Mor was tugging her back, falling to the unmade bed behind them with a soft, dreamy sigh. She was so soft and smelled like almonds and cherry, her lips stick from the gloss over her lipstick. Emerie was drunk on the taste of her tongue in her mouth, obsessed with Mor’s soft skin beneath her fingertips. Blonde curls swirled around her head like an angel and when Mor opened her eyes to look, Emerie found her eyes so dark they looked as though they were all iris. Were it not for that familiar ring of gold, she might have been lost.
Mor reached up and brushed a lock of Emerie’s hair behind her ear. “You’re so pretty,” Mor sighed sweetly.
“No, you,” Emerie replied like a petulant school child. Mor laughed and Emerie kissed her again, teeth clashing as they giggled. It took a moment for the silliness to fade back into undiluted desire. Emerie slid to the side of Mor’s body, one leg draped over her hip as she tried to decide what she ought to do.
Mor seemed to notice her indecision or perhaps knew that she was impossibly nervous. “Lay back,” she whispered with sultry eyes. Emerie did as she was told, fingers bunching the white sheets with more nerves. Mor straddled her waist before running a finger over Emerie’s exposed collarbone.
Mor pulled her leggings off, pausing at the shirt for a moment before sliding her fingers beneath the fabric to drag her knuckles over Emerie’s bare skin as she lifted it over her head. Emerie shivered, goosebumps trailing behind Mor’s touch, her desperation to touch and taste every inch of Mor reaching a fever pitch. She did feel a moment of embarrassment when Mor looked down her body, hidden only by an unremarkable bra and a pair of nude panties. If she’d known…
Mor sighed, leaning to kiss Emerie again with more passion before. Emerie felt clumsy and almost embarrassed as she, too, unhooked Mor’s zipper and slid it down, but fair was fair, right? And she wanted to feel Mor’s breasts pressed against her chest, wanted to see if all of her was as smooth as she seemed.
Mor was in a matching lace set and somehow Emerie imagined that was just how she always was. Every bra came with a matching pair of panties, every day was carefully planned. Mor was immaculate in a way Emerie could never hope to emulate, which only made her like Mor more.
“What do you like?” Mor whispered, breath warm against Emerie’s face. “Do you like…?”
“Everything,” Emerie breathed. “All of it.”
“Everything?” Mor asked, amusement sparkling. With a touch, she had Emerie’s bra unhooked and when had she even gotten her hand back there? Mor cocked her head, golden hair spilling over her naked shoulder as she looked at Emerie. “Giving? Receiving?”
“Yeah,” Emerie began, rising up earnestly. “Let me—”
Mor pushed her gently to the bed, shaking her head back and forth. “Me first.”
“What do you like?”
“You,” Mor replied with a grin, unhooking her own bra casually before dropping it off the side of the bed. Emerie felt her brain short circuit, hands moving on their own accord to touch rosy nipples and soft skin. How was Mor real? Surely she was hallucinating and would wake up any moment in some dirty bar bathroom, still dressed in that terrible shirt while Mor continued to ignore her existence.
Emerie got what she wanted, dream or not. Mor leaned down, pressing her breasts against Mor to kiss her again, and again, her tongue stroking Emerie’s with a feverish hunger that left her breathless and desperate. She could have died happy just kissing Mor. They were silk on silk, kissing like they had all the time in the world. Emerie wanted to savor it, to drag the moment out for an eternity.
Mor’s fingers slid down Emerie’s stomach, skimming over hip bones as she asked, “Can I?” “Yes,” Emerie panted, arching her hips just enough to offer full, unbridled permission. Mor removed her plain panties, leaving Emerie laid bare before Mor’s hungry brown eyes. Mor didn’t linger, dragging her lips over Emerie’s bare skin as she settled between Emerie’s parted thighs. Oh, god.
Emerie gasped, tangling her fingers back in Mor’s hair, passion and need rising in her throat. Every little brush of Mors body against her own was a wildfire. Emerie couldn’t stop touching—Mor’s silky hair, her smooth back, the slope of her neck. She needed to map out Mor’s body with her fingertips first, though she wanted to trace each soft curve with her tongue next.
Emerie gathered up Mor’s thick, blonde curls as Mor settled herself against the sheets, peering up for just a moment. Just to confirm, Emerie realized, that she still wanted this. Emerie exhaled a breath and tugged, silent permission to the unasked question.
I’ll die if you don’t, she wanted to say.
“Tell me to stop,” Mor breathed, pushing Emerie’s legs further apart, “if I do something you don’t like.”
Emerie’s brain had stopped entirely. All she knew was Mor between her thighs, her finger slowly exploring the wet expanse of Emerie’s aching, tender flesh. Emerie had expected her to lower her mouth—or maybe she’d hoped, at any rate—but Mor was content merely to watch and touch, drawing forth Emerie’s undeniable arousal. Mor kissed the insides of Emerie’s legs, moving slowly upwards towards the thatch of trimmed curls just above her pussy.
“You’re so pretty,” Mor whispered into the hair, kissing there, too. “I like this.”
Emerie sighed again, relaxing against the pillow. Excitement bloomed hot in her stomach, traveling past her navel like little frissons of electricity. Mor, too, took a steadying breath and Emerie wondered if it was possible the unshakable Mor was nervous, too.
Emerie almost asked, but then Mor’s face was against Emerie, tongue licking and Emerie moaned, the only form of language left to her. Mor exhaled again, her warm breath fanning against Emerie’s overheated pussy. Emerie felt overstimulated already, keyed up and excited. Every fantasy she’d ever had of this exact scenario paled in comparison to the real thing. Every touch was soft and precise, the touch of someone who knew what she was doing and liked doing it. Mor moaned, fingers gripping Emerie’s thighs to push her even wider, until Emerie merely draped them over Mor’s shoulders.
The sight was so erotic that Emerie could have come from that alone. Digging her heels against Mor’s shoulder blades, Emerie whispered soft encouragement.
“That’s perfect,” she hissed as Mor’s tongue lapped at her aching, needy clit. Emerie couldn’t stop staring, wished she had a camera so she could see everything Mor was doing with her mouth, too. Mor, too, seemed transfixed, eyes bouncing between Emerie’s face and what was happening between her legs.
Mor’s eyes occasionally fluttered shut, the sight punctuated by the softest, appreciative moan. It looked as if Mor wanted to savor the taste of Emerie, wanted to drag things out as long as possible. Emerie wanted that, too, desperately counting in her head to stave off the building arousal pooling low against her spine.
Mor’s finger rimmed around her opening, offering the lightest pressure without penetrating. Her tongue stayed firmly on her clit, slowly increasing the speed until Emerie was panting and tugging at Mor’s hair, needy and desperate. She was so close, was practically flying off that edge into nothing.
“Oh God, Mor—” Emerie choked out her release, arching so hard her toes curled and white hot spots bloomed in her vision. Every muscle in her body was taut and she felt nothing, was nothing but the pleasure rolling through her.
Emerie sat up the very first moment she was able, reaching for Mor to put her in her lap, their legs tangled, bodies rocking together and Emerie kissed Mor hungrily. She could taste her own arousal on Mor’s mouth, her tongue chasing after it greedily.
Emerie slid her hand between their bodies, delighted to feel Mor was practically dripping wet.
“You don’t have–”
“Please?” Was all Emerie could think to say. She wanted to reciprocate like she’d never wanted in her life. Mor kissed her again and again, each kiss sliding one to the other until Emerie was dizzy and needy again. Emerie forced herself to focus, repositioning them so it was Mor back against the pillows and Emerie straddling her body.
Emerie could still feel the remnants of that orgasm throbbing through her, prompting her to rub against Mor even as she mimicked everything Mor had done. Feyer was clumsier, too needy to be half as sensual as Mor had been. Still, Mor whined when Emerie reached for a nipple, rolling it between her fingers until it was stiff and rosy red. The same color as Mor’s lipstick stained mouth.
Emerie experimented, grazing her teeth just a little. Mor moaned, eyes rolling upwards in her skull as her body undulated against Emerie’s. It was enough to keep Emerie going, to suck and nip and lick until Mor was practically panting, her tanned skin flushed the prettiest shade of pink.
Every inch of Mor was a dream—smooth, lush curves were soft beneath Emerie’s wandering hands. She marveled as she slid lower and lower, suddenly eye level with Mor’s glistening, pink pussy.
Fuck she was beautiful.
Emerie stared a beat too long before she couldn’t stop herself from spreading Mor open wider, parting to truly look.
“Is this what you want?” Emerie whispered.
“Please,” came Mor’s trembling reply. That was the confidence Emerie needed to lower her mouth and take that first taste.
It was nothing like she’d imagined and better than she’d ever expected. Her whole body lit up at the musky sweetness of Mor’s body and the way Mor’s thighs trembled around Emerie’s head. Emerie enthusiastically swiped again, licking only for herself in that first moment. Just to know, to become accustomed to the wet, slick, soft feel of Mor’s pussy and how it made her own body feel.
Her arousal sharpened when Mor dragged her long nails over Emerie’s scalp, holding her hair while watching with intensely dark eyes. Emerie focused, thinking of what Mor had done for her. She swirled her tongue over the trembling nub of flesh and was rewarded with a breathy, “Oh God, don’t stop.”
As if Emerie could. She replicated what Mor had done with her finger, pushing just against the opening of her pussy and circling, her tongue steady and hot. Mor writhed against her face, coating her in the slick release building in her body. And when Mor came with a breathy cry, Emerie felt it reverberate in her chest.
It was Mor who reached for her this time, dragging her up to lay on her side so they could press their bodies against the other and kiss. Emerie tangled her arms around Mors neck while Mor caressed her face, their combined release erotic in Emerie’s mouth. Nothing had ever tasted better and she found herself wanting Mor again just as soon as she caught her breath.
Mor leaned her arm over the edge of the bed, picking up Emerie’s ugly shirt. “Can I have this?” she asked, mascara smeared just beneath her eyes.
“Why?”
“It smells like you,” Mor said, pressing the fabric against her nose. “And I think it's funny.”
Propping her head up on her fist, Emerie smiled. “Is that all it takes? One bad shirt?”
“What can I say,” Mor replied, pressing a kiss to Emerie’s cheek. “I’m easy.”
Emerie only smiled.
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can I hit someone with hammers for 15-20 mins
#WORK.#yay. yay. yay.#US health system cease existing right now#you are doing it bad. the worst anyone’s ever done it.#tomorrow I have to attempt to call some random lab across the country because they didn’t specify who is being charged for this#idk maybe we shouldn’t be charging people to get a second opinion on possible skin cancer diagnosis#why are we charging people for this#I hate this job bro#trying to contact out of state labs is fucking impossible#they never want to send any information
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Thinking about the time i commissioned an artist i rly liked for something and the result was kind of really catastrophic just from the preview image in the email so i just. never opened the actual image
#i dont even know where it is#honestly ive had such bad luck commissioning art of adri that ive completely given up its like an anomaly#thunderclap#fan art my lovely followers and friends have done for me for free: literally the most swagful things ive ever seen#actual for real honest to god art i have paid real money for: worlds most inconceivably off model take#the only exception to this is when ive commissioned my friends themselves#i know this is a mean spirited post usually i dont mind like creative liberty I usually say yeah feel free to interpret my characters freel#but like. sometimes its not remotely the same character#thinking still about the uh. the art i got from [popupar twitter artist] in exchange for one of my adopts instead of them paying money#and they like. did it so off model they just made a whole new guy. the art? yeah it slaps obviously. but thats not my oc 😭#congratulations thats the worst anyones ever done it!!#this is something i personally try not to do when i do commissions too unless very explicitely stated. 'do your own take'#and also i make sure that the sketch is on-model and the client is happy etc etc#i dont know what it is about some artists where they just go ouuhhh what if i . redesigned ur oc for u. HUH#anyway thats all i gottta say this is a weird post but i think about it a lot#before you ask no im not gonna name names. this is my own personal beef
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I’m ace. I’m very kinky. I’m a man. But I get uncomfy (I think because I’m ace) with physical affection in general. I’m not a great hugger. And even like… a peck on the cheek makes me feel anxious and viscerally uncomfortable. Because I have no desire to kiss or anything it always feels super insincere and makes me uncomfortable.
My partner is the most wonder girl alive. Truly. She’s perfect, no exceptions. She’s not ace and is extremely physically affectionate. And I’ve voiced my discomfort and so she’s stopped imitating the things I’ve said make me uncomfortable. But I can tell she wants it. She wants a boyfriend who kisses her wants to have sex and is attracted to her. And she says she’s fine, but I want her to be happy.
I don’t know how to compromise my needs and hers in a way where I’m not anxious all the time and she’s not disappointed.
To be clear this is mostly about the kissing. She is totally fine with a sexless relationship. And she’s also kinky so we’re both fulfilled in those ways. But small acts of affection… she loves giving and receiving them. And it sucks for both of us a bit.
Any thoughts/suggestions? From one ace to another? (I’m 22 and she’s 21)
oh my god dude this is like one of the hardest things about being ace like. i literally feel your stress over this like ive dealt with this. its painful. its so frustrating.
i think obviously its important to communicate everything youre feeling to her and let her know that you feel this way. tell her the thoughts you have. just be open with it, and that will (hopefully) encourage her to be open and honest with you too
also. i know exactly what you mean when you say that you can tell she wants certain things from you that you can't give her - however, i think its important for you and your relationship that you believe her when she says she's okay without those things. you gotta just try your best not to doubt her. because all that doubt spirals into insecurity and insecurity is not good for you, or her, or your relationship! if she says that its okay, then you gotta try to believe her and talk about it if you feel like you need to
open up, be honest. let her be honest too. trust her when she says she's okay, and offer understanding when she says she isn't okay. let yourself trust her.
you can offer her affection in a million other ways besides kissing or hugging her. and test your own waters; instead of a kiss on the cheek, is one on the hand more comfortable? if she asked if she could kiss you beforehand, would that help alleviate some of your anxiety? can you two just invent your own ways to show affection? can a hand shake count as pda? (yes.)
feeling this way is hard. it sucks. but i bet theres probably a ton of things you do for her, things you might not even notice, that she loves and treasures just as much as something physical. and maybe you putting more effort into those things will help you feel better on the doubting front. think of all the little things she does that you love and realize that she has the same thoughts about you, too
and youre good enough for her. youre a good boyfriend. dont get too lost in the sauce alright i'm rooting for you you got this
#its hard out here for us ace folk.#us ace folk gotta stick together#i literally hate every feeling u described btw like oh my god its so stressful lmao#just dont force yourself to do anything u dont want to. thats the worst#theres no reason to do that#be comfortable first and foremost#im sorry that my advice boiled down to Communicate More#but like thats not bad advice to be fair#communication is the key to the door of love. right#i just made that up idk#just do what allosexual people THINK ace people do and create a schedule where you give your partner ONE kiss every...2 months#babe its 2 pm on a monday come get your singular kiss! dont be late or else youll have to wait til next week!#i wonder if anyone has ever done that. and if it worked.
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i had op blocked so ray’s rebloggathon was tragically Absent from my dash but now that i caught up, *hyeju voice* el oh el
#and OF COURSE it's this user lmao#and OF COURSE they have a piss poor grasp on jgy as a character#'jgy setting up a 10+ year scheme that would allow him to reach the highest possible power in the cultivation world' lichrally did not#happen. like of course you think wwx is Morally Better than 90% of the characters if you see them as those villainous caricatures#(also the idea that wwx is the protagonist because he's morally Good and we're supposed to root for him is amazing#because idk op's country nor its curriculum but we read crime and punishment in high school. books where the protagonist has Something#Wrong With Them are not some kinda advanced shit you have to go through an initiation and a blood pact to see. its high school#'well Y is bad because everything they've ever done is bad and evil. meanwhile X is good because everything they've done was either#good or fully justified or forced onto him by the circumstances' is op aware how silly this sounds#jesus the more i scroll down the more bullshit i see. jgy antis are notorious for pulling shit out of their ass and trusting our number one#source of information sect leader yao but this is just. very funny. jgy's decade+ plan of killing people to achieve the highest position in#the jianghu. the way they believe 100% that jgy has killed jrs. the way they clearly got the sect he exterminated for jrs's murder mixed up#with the he sect that was murdered for xy yes but UNDER JGS'S RULE. it's all there!#'i really don’t think i’m reading the same book as some of these people' are you reading the book though#shrimp thoughts#ok i'm gonna go to sleep but gosh#the funniest thing is that people aren't even fully condemning wwx for doing the fucked up shit he did. i've never seen anyone insist that#wwx is actually the villain or that you're supposed to hate him. just that he had his moments of unnecessary cruelty#WHICH IS UNDERSTANDABLE wc and wlj killed everyone in the lotus pier i understand fully why he'd go there. but the same understanding#is not being extended to jgy and his cruelty is being used as a gotcha re: why he's actually the worst evilvillain who doesn't deserve#sympathy. and like bro no they are BOTH exhibiting unnecessary cruelty because they're driven by fury and hatred for people who ruined thei#lives. they're sitting at the same fucking table! but noooooo wwx is an angel. come the fuck on
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Which ones of these arbitrary trauma-induced rules do you follow?
No spending money, ever. what if you need it later and your life depends on it.
Assume that all strangers are 3 seconds close to becoming hostile. fawn to keep them friendly.
No delegating tasks. no telling other people to do things you could potentially do yourself. what if they mess up.
Assume that everyone will consider you a burden if you do 1 single mistake that inconveniences them. do all that is possible to not make that mistake.
Do not admit when things are going wrong. wait until theres no other option but to ask for help, and even then consider not doing that.
Always act like you're okay. not doing so might make you seem 'not normal' and 'accused of being crazy and unstable'.
Do anything for friends, even if it sounds weird, dodgy, illegal. you want to prove that you're fun and easy going and helpful and useful and extremely cool with anything.
Never let it show if you're suspicious of someone. never say out loud that you think their intentions are bad. that might set them off.
If hurt, hide and isolate. Do not let anyone see you hurt.
Do not ask help for problems you feel are your own responsibility to solve. Even if you don't see yourself solving them successfully. If you can't do it, assume nobody can help you.
Help others to try and build positive relationships. Don't accept help so you don't end up relying on them for anything.
Do not start things that involve help or participation from other people. People are not reliable.
Assume that institutions, government, police, social services, and any kind of groups of people are all considering you a nuisance, and would attack you on sight, in every single situation. Never rely on them or assume they would do anything else.
No arguing, confronting, or standing up for yourself unless the situation is absolutely unsurvivable otherwise. Lay low until doing otherwise is seriously damaging your mental health and ability to live.
Give up on hopeful social encounters before they disappoint you. If you have to interact with people, assume the worst is about to happen.
No allowing yourself to idealize, or dream of positive future with people. It's a trap and your expectations need to be either extremely realistic or low.
Assume that fancy and expensive things don't exist for you. Despise them and get away from them.
No comparing yourself and your life to how other people live. It causes depression and despair. Other people's lives and standards of living are none of your business.
Do not showcase any skill or brag about any achievement. Jealous people can destroy you for satisfaction.
Assume people think the worst of you and don't consider changing their mind. Just try to keep out of their way.
Do not display anger. You don't want to be called insane or get arrested. You don't know what people could potentially blame you for if you're openly angry. But other angry people are dangerous and you need to get away from them.
If you follow more than half of these, you have a trauma-induced problem. These are not normal or healthy. These are not developed in a healthy environment. These are extremely self-protective, isolating, ruled by terror of the world and the people living in it. If you follow these, something bad has been done to you.
#trauma rules#living in trauma#consequences of trauma#social anxiety#aftermath of abuse#aftermath of trauma#trauma induced rules#long term abuse#consequences of abuse#extreme self-reliance
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Movie Night
Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18, Minors DNI!
Summary: You've been crushing on Eddie Munson for ages. When you finally ask him over to a watch a movie, you learn that your feelings are definitely requited.
Warnings: General mention of Eddie's reputation/being mistreated for said reputation, protected PinV, oral (m receiving).
Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader
Word Count: 7.8k (it got away from me, my bad)
“I think I’m going to ask him out.”
Steve, who had been sorting through tapes on autopilot - huffing at each return that needed to be rewound, muttering under his breath each time your perch on the counter jeopardized his precarious pile of returns - lifted his head at the sound of your voice.
A quick glance around the store reminded him that it was empty, save for the two of you, Dustin Henderson, and Eddie Munson. It was obvious that you weren’t talking about Dustin and he knew you weren’t talking about him - been there, done that; be kind, don’t rewind.
The only logical conclusion was Eddie and that pulled a grimace from Steve as he spared your one-time classmate a weary glance.
Across the store, Eddie watched as Dustin - with flailing limbs and grinning lips - sorted through tapes in search of a film neither you nor Steve had ever heard of. He looked amused, eyes wide and bright as he listened to Dustin, and it brought a soft smile to your lips that Steve quickly erased.
“You’re going to ask out Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson?” Steve shuddered, as if he couldn’t bear to think about it - only a little exaggerated, a little dramatic in a way he often teased Dustin for - and shook his head as he transferred his pile to the cart. “Why would you do something like that?”
Though Steve had made great strides in shedding the high school persona he’d spent so long clinging to - he was no longer the Grade-A douchebag he once was - there were still moments of reflexive snobbery that made you roll your eyes. It didn’t help that there was an undercurrent of jealousy, spurred by Dustin’s newfound Eddie worship, but he seemed to realize his mistake as he held up a hand in apology.
“He’s cute.” There was a defensive bite to your tone, sharp and pointed - a derisive huff that made Steve raise a brow - as you spared the pair a glance.
Though most wouldn’t believe it, you’d always found Eddie cute. When he returned to school your junior year (his first senior year) with longer hair, wearing a leather jacket, you’d been drawn to him immediately. There was something about him that enchanted you - his hair, his smile, his big brown eyes, his theatrics, his give-no-fucks attitude - and saddled you with one of the biggest crushes you’d ever had.
Despite the years of pining, you never acted on it. Eddie never gave you much reason to believe your feelings might be requited, other than the time you caught him checking out your ass beneath your cheer skirt senior year, but things were different now. High school insecurity was gone and you no longer cared what anyone thought about your personal life.
And if Eddie truly had no interest in you, you wouldn’t be stuck in a building with him five days a week.
Steve’s face remained sour, uncertain - despite his knowledge that Eddie was almost perfectly your type - so you rolled your eyes and jostled the desk, just to make him jump. When he glared at you, you grinned.
“I mean, what’s the harm? Eddie’s always been nice to me. At worst, I pull a Henderson and replace you with Eddie.”
“Please. My life would drastically improve if you left me alone.” At your mock outrage, Steve sneered - though you could see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes, one that confirmed he was joking, though he would likely apologize for being bitchy later, anyway.
Steve shook his head as he shoved a tape, ready to be marked as a return, into your hands. “Of course Munson has always been nice to you. You’re hot.” It was said easily, as if it was the most logical explanation, a point blank huff that had him shrugging when you teasingly wagged your brows. “You know I think you’re hot. Shut up. And Munson’s weird, but he’s still a guy.”
The sharp nudge of your foot to Steve’s side drew another annoyed huff, this one accompanied by a swift swat to your foot - one that made you laugh and Steve roll his eyes.
“He’s not weird,” you defended, eyes narrowed as you scratched at the Family Video sticker covering the spine of a tape. “Just because you’re not into the same stuff doesn’t mean he’s, like, a freak or something. He’s just a guy. A cute guy, but just a guy.”
Finally, as if he’d come to terms with the fact that no work would be done until you’d decided to make your move or backed down, deflated and intending to leave well enough alone, Steve turned to lean against the counter. He folded his arms over his chest and allowed his gaze to flicker between you and Eddie.
“You’re really into him?”
Steve knew that you were. Just as you’d given him dating advice, he’d given you the same in return and knew that you had a thing for metalheads in theory - guys with leather jackets and music collections that made his head hurt - but the last person you actually pursued was more like him. It was always the safe choice and he wanted to be certain that you knew what you were getting yourself into.
“You’re totally forgetting that I thought Billy Hargrove was gorgeous until he opened his mouth and proved himself to be a Grade-A dickhead. At least Eddie’s really a nice guy.” With a sigh, you slid from the counter - careful not to destroy Steve’s pile - and frowned as you spared Eddie another sideways glance.
A dejected sigh escaped, fell from your mouth in a puff of hot air, as you emulated Steve’s stance and folded your arms over your chest. You understood where Steve was coming from - his question was fair, one that made perfect sense - but it made your chest ache as you searched for the words to adequately describe what you’d been thinking.
“I just… I’m tired of going for the safe choice, you know? I’m tired of looking for people that won’t disappoint my parents or make judge-y assholes look twice, even if they make me miserable.” With a forced laugh, a sound that rang hollow in your own ears, you turned your full attention back to Steve. “I think you’re the only person I ever even attempted to date that I halfway liked and we both know how that ended up.” Steve made a face, one that clearly displayed his understanding, as he tilted his head to study Eddie, trying to see what you saw. “Eddie’s cute and sweet and I’m not just into him because I feel like I’m supposed to be.”
Steve understood, if only vaguely - he’d chased after people just because he felt he was supposed to, spent his entire high school career being a guy he didn’t really like because that was who he felt he was supposed to be - so he nodded. With a wave of his hand, he gestured to Eddie. “I say, if you want to ask him out, just do it. There’s no chance he’ll turn you down. He’s weird, not an idiot.”
With Steve’s encouragement, if only barely, you turned to face Eddie. There was a fire burning in the pit of your stomach, flames lapping at your already warm skin, as you considered exactly how to approach him. There was no sense in trying to beat around the bush - he was sweet, flirty and kind, but would need to be asked directly, just to avoid any misunderstanding - and you knew that you couldn’t have a conversation with him with Dustin Henderson stuck to his side.
“Steve.”
An exasperated sigh escaped Steve, who had only just turned back to his work, as he held his hands up in defeat. “What?” Warm brown eyes narrowed, focused on you in an exasperated frustration that made you laugh. “What do you want me to do? I’m not asking him out for you.”
Laughter bubbled in your throat, escaped a little louder than you intended and drew Eddie and Dustin’s attention as you imagined Steve playing the middleman for you and Eddie. With a dismissive wave of your hand, you turned your head and pouted at Steve. “Take responsibility for your child and distract Henderson. I can’t ask Eddie out with him right there.”
Steve fixed you with a wholly unimpressed stare, not at all surprised by the turn your day had taken. “Fine,” he sighed, turning his attention back to the screen in front of him. “Get him over here and I’ll distract him. But you owe me. Cover my shift on Saturday? I’ve got a date with Lisa.”
“I thought you were going out with Anna?” Steve grimaced in a way that told you there would be a deeper conversation later, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to be distracted. Instead, you waved a hand. “Whatever. Henderson is literally only here because of you. I don’t owe you shit.” You rounded the counter, brows raised as Steve pulled a face, and laughed when he rolled his eyes. “I will swap you, though. I’ll take your Saturday night if you take my Friday night.”
“Yeah, alright. Just go before I change my mind. The kid can be a total cockblock when he wants to be and I’m thinking about letting him.”
With a middle finger tossed behind you, angled in Steve’s direction - met with his laughter and, no doubt, a middle finger of his own - you started off across the store. Dustin and Eddie had dropped their conversation to furious whispers, an exchange that you couldn’t make out from your distance, but fell silent the moment your steps sounded a touch too close.
“Henderson.” At your greeting, Dustin’s attention snapped to you, eyes wide and lips parted with a sentence you’d broken. Eddie shot him a sideways look and you raised an eyebrow at the silent conversation that passed between the pair. “Steve wanted to talk to you.”
Dustin frowned, eyes darting between you and Steve - whose back remained to your group. “About what?”
Eddie stifled a laugh, wide eyes amused as he watched you huff, and you rolled your eyes as Dustin waited expectantly. “I’m not a mindreader, Henderson. Ask him yourself."
Without so much as another glance in your direction, Dustin turned his attention back to the shelf he and Eddie had spent twenty minutes dissecting. “I’m busy,” he declared, fingers reaching for another tape that he had no intention of renting.
“Un-busy yourself. Now, preferably,” you snapped, eyes narrowing as Dustin turned to look at you. Before he could respond - mutter something smart, a quip that would leave you more annoyed - Eddie laughed and nudged his shoulder.
Eddie’s eyes, wide and pretty - a glassy brown that you could lose yourself in, given the chance - met yours. There was a knowing glimmer, the understanding that you wanted him alone, though you could see a hint of confusion as he tried to imagine just what you could want. “I think you’ve got about five seconds to leave before she snaps, Henderson. Might want to make yourself scarce.”
With Eddie’s encouragement, Dustin shot you an unimpressed glower before he stomped across the floor, muttering all the while. Beneath his breath, he mumbled something about not understanding girls, a huff that Suzie was the least difficult girl in his life, and had the nerves not been threatening to choke you, you would’ve laughed.
“I love those kids,” you began, eyes following Dustin’s retreating form as he approached the counter with an exaggerated huff, “but, man.”
A soft huff of laughter, accompanied by the crinkle of leather as Eddie stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, met your eyes. That knowing smile grew a touch brighter, something more understanding, as he nodded. “It’s his tone,” he declared, grin conspiratorial. “A little humility would go far there.”
“Thank you! That’s what I’ve been saying!”
Eddie laughed and shook his head as you tossed your arms, exasperated, before glancing at you from beneath his lashes. Despite the clear amusement still settled across his features, it was obvious that he was studying you. It made you eager to shrink beneath his gaze, unused to being the center of his attention for longer than a few moments, but you willed yourself to keep your head held high as he raised a brow.
“So, Henderson’s gone,” he pointed out, dragging each syllable out just a moment longer than necessary. “What’s up? If you’re lookin’ to buy, I don’t have anything with me. We could meet later, though, if you want.”
“No, no. That’s not -“ You cut yourself off with a shake of your head, incredulous laughter threatening to escape as you did. “I don’t want to buy. I was thinking, maybe we could watch a movie or something? I want to watch The Return of the Living Dead but my friends are all chickens. I know you like horror so, I just thought, maybe we could watch it together.”
Eddie blinked, clearly caught off guard, and stilled for what felt like an eternity. In reality, only a moment passed before his lips began to curve into a slow smile. There was mischief glittering in his eyes, a warmth you hadn’t seen from him before, and you knew in that moment that Steve was right. “Are you asking me on a date, princess?”
“I am.” Despite his best attempt at nonchalance, Eddie’s brows winged up at your blunt acknowledgement. “Are you going to say yes?”
“Fuck yeah,” he agreed, easy and quick as he laughed. “If I ever say no to a date with you, assume I’ve finally lost it. But, uh, you sure about this?”
Eddie glanced across the store - met another pair of warm brown eyes before Steve and Dustin both hurriedly busied themselves with pretending they weren’t attempting to eavesdrop - and you rolled your eyes. He was far from the first person to assume there was more going on between you and Steve than friendship, but you were quick to dispel that line of thinking.
“Completely.” You debated for a moment, curious as to whether you should dig yourself deeper, but the bright glint in Eddie’s eyes - hopeful and delighted - spurred you on. “I’ve kinda had a thing for you for a while,” you admitted, attempting to feign nonchalance as you swiped at a wayward piece of dust on a shelf. His surprise was evident, brows lifting beneath the curl of his hair, but before he could comment, you barreled on. “My parents are out of town. I have to finish my shift,” you began, glancing at the clock above the desk, “but you can come over at, like, seven?”
“Seven, yeah.” Eddie’s agreement was quick, voice a little dreamy - as if he still couldn’t quite believe you’d asked him out, that you were seriously inviting him over or that you’d admitted to having a thing for him. “That sounds good. I, uh, I’ll see you then.”
“Cool, awesome.” You nodded, grinning at him - unable to even feign nonchalance as his smile mirrored your own - before you turned back to the desk. “I’ll see you at seven, then.”
Neither Eddie nor Dustin lingered long after your conversation - the latter, no doubt, leaving with the knowledge of where Eddie would be spending his evening, thanks to his gossiping with Steve. Eddie left with a smile in your direction and you saw his flailing celebration the second he stepped out of the store, even if you dutifully pretended not to noice.
Steve, however, made it a point to keep the joyous gesture at the forefront of your mind.
For the remaining three hours of your shift, you endured Steve’s teasing. He poked fun at your upcoming date, wondering idly if Eddie would be waiting for you when you arrived home - too excited too wait until seven - or if he’d wear something other than his leather jacket or black t-shirt. But, no matter what he said, you simply rolled your eyes and kept checking the clock every ten minutes.
The time seemed to crawl, passing so slowly that you were half-sure Dustin changed the clocks just to mess with you, but when the hour struck six, you were out the door with a parting wave and a bright ‘thanks’ to Steve for taking on closing duties alone.
There was little time for anything more than a change of clothes and a quick tidying of your home before seven rolled around, but you knew that Eddie wouldn’t really mind. Though there was something about him that made you nervous - excited, giddy, some kind of schoolgirl crush - if you really thought about it, you figured there was little you could do that would truly bother him.
And, thankfully, before you could think too much about it and send yourself spiraling, a knock sounded at the door.
At seven on the dot, you found Eddie standing at your front door. He’d changed - his leather jacket remained, but it covered a nicer shirt instead of the worn Metallica shirt he’d donned earlier in the afternoon - and you could smell the green apple of his shampoo as he grinned at you.
“Hey.” Though he attempted nonchalance with an easy smile, you could see the nervous tension in his shoulders.
Eddie had been burned - you knew that - and he was likely waiting for the catch. There was none, just a desire to get to know him better, and you wanted desperately for him to know that. So you mustered up your widest grin and held the door open for him.
“Hi. Come in.” As he stepped inside, closer than necessary - shoulder brushing yours, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body - you hoped he don’t notice the breath you took to steady yourself. “So, I got Return of the Living Dead and Sleepaway Camp. Not sure if you’ve seen either, but Return is supposed to be amazing and Sleepaway Camp is one of my favorites.”
“I haven’t seen Return yet,” he admitted as you closed the front door, “but I’ve heard good things. Sleepaway Camp, though? This whole time, I thought you were cool.” The jab was teasing, meant entirely in jest and accompanied by a grin, and earned a roll of your eyes as you gestured for him to follow you deeper into the living room.
“I don’t know where you got that idea, but I’m happy to prove you wrong.” Eddie followed, close enough that. He could reach out and touch you, and the idea made your thoughts a little fuzzy as you approached the couch. “I won’t be taking any Sleepaway Camp slander, though. It’s killer.”
Eddie paused, tilted his head and regarded you with furrowed brows and a badly concealed smile as he watched you reach for the tapes. “…was that a really bad pun?”
“I keep getting cooler, I’m aware.” Eddie laughed, unable to conceal his smile any longer, as he took a seat at one end of the couch. “I was going to say we could start with Return since neither of us have seen it but now, you’re going to suffer through Sleepaway Camp first.”
As you placed the tape into the VCR and pressed play, you could hear the shuffling of Eddie tossing his leather jacket onto the chair beside the couch. “Fine by me,” he hummed, a sly grin on his lips as you glanced at him over your shoulder. “Maybe the company will make it better.” When you fixed him with your best unimpressed look - a feat, considering the heat traveling to your cheeks - his grin grew a touch wider. “I keep getting more charming, I’m aware.”
“Wow.” The nervous energy began to dissipate with every teasing jab. You were reminded of how easily you’d always gotten along with Eddie - how easily you’d always been able to converse with him, despite the crush that made you conscious of your every move - as you approached the couch yourself. “You know, now that you mention it, I never realized…” Warm brown eyes tracked your every move, anticipating - hoping for - a compliment as you took a seat at the opposite end. “… just how big your head was.”
The opening scene began to play, sounds of a B-horror film filling the small space, as he reached for the lamp on the side table. “Big head, big… well, you know how the saying goes,” he teased as he settled deeper into the cushions and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I do but I’m pretty sure that is totally not how it starts.”
Eddie shrugged, grin never faltering as he watched you reach for the lamp at your end of the couch. “Same thing. Creative license and all that.”
“Right. All the songwriting and campaign planning, makes sense you get a little creative.” When he tipped his head, seemingly surprised that you knew about both his songwriting and campaign planning, you rolled your eyes. “I’ve had a crush on you for, like, three years. I know things about you, Eddie. And, I mean, I spend time around Dustin Henderson, begrudgingly most of the time, but he talks about you all the time. So, I’ve picked up some things.”
There was a look of something akin to awe on his face as you shifted closer. “You’re pretty, you like horror and metal, and you like me. Why?”
It broke your heart to hear the doubt in his voice - to see the hesitance in his eyes, the residual concern that he was being left out of the joke - and you couldn’t help but sigh as you continued shifting closer to him. “Because you like horror and metal and you’re kinda cool. And, I mean, it doesn’t hurt that you’re kinda hot, too.”
“You know,” he spared the television a glance, “if you didn’t have sort of questionable taste, I’d think this was all too good to be true. But, I’m not gonna question it too much ‘cause you’re kinda cool, too. And definitely hot.”
“Glad to know we’re on the same page, then. Now, are we going to just talk or are you going to allow me to educate you in good horror?”
Eddie’s laughter drowned out a brief moment of dialogue - a line you could easily recite - as he tossed an arm over the back of the couch and shook his head. “‘M sorry. Educate away, princess.”
For a few brief moments, the pair of you settled. Eddie kept his attention on the television - and even cracked a smile or two at some of your favorite moments - while you kept your attention on him. His side profile was captivating, so distracting that you didn’t notice the minutes ticking away as you studied him, and he was kind enough to refrain from pointing out your obvious staring as the film played on.
Though you could feel the rapid beat of your heart, a warmth prickling at your skin as you remained conscious of the fact that you’d finally taken the leap and had a chance to make your move, Eddie seemed unfazed by the proximity as he laughed at a particularly cheesy scene. However, when you shifted closer - body now practically touching his - you caught his sharp inhale.
It brought you a sort of comfort to realize that he was not as unaffected as he seemed, nowhere near as nonchalant about the entire encounter as he wanted you to believe, and you couldn’t help but smile as you tipped your head to look at him.
“Do I make you nervous?”
The question was teasing, a light jab, but he didn’t miss a beat. “Of course you do,” he confirmed with a nod and a laugh as he glanced at you. “You’re smart and cool and hot. You fucking terrify me.”
“Me?” You scoffed, despite yourself, and shook your head. “As if. I’m totally not scary.”
“‘M serious.” Eddie relaxed, if only slightly, and shifted his body to face you fully as his arm fell around your shoulders. “No one had their shit together in high school, but you did. You knew what you wanted and it was kind of intimidating.”
“I definitely did not have my shit together,” you confessed, laughing as you leaned into his embrace. “But I’m glad it looked like I did. Maybe I’m just a good actress.”
“If that’s acting, you should be up for an Oscar, princess.”
As Eddie laughed, a quiet sound that washed over you and filled your chest with a sticky warmth, you shook your head. “You’re the only one who gets to call me that, you know?”
Eddie hummed, a flash of confusion washing over his face, before he asked, “What, princess?”
“Mm. I think if it was anyone else, it would sound condescending. Like they’re trying to be a prick, you know. But I don’t mind it from you,” you confessed. “It’s kinda nice.”
That grin you were beginning to love - genuine, warm, happy - lifted his lips as he shifted once more and knocked your knee with his own. “I’m not a big fan of nicknames, for obvious reasons,” he confided, “but I like it when you call me Eds. It’s kinda cute.”
“God, we’re kinda gross.”
“Totally. But I’m not complaining.” Eddie removed his arm from around your shoulders and brought his hand to cup your cheek. He paused for a moment, studying your face, before he asked, “Does it make me a total loser if I’ve thought about kissing you for, like, ever?”
For a split second, you wondered if he could hear the beat of your heart over the screaming emanating from the television - and if you’d heard him properly over the noise. But when you met his expectant gaze, wide brown eyes waiting for you response, you realized you didn’t really care.
“Only if you keep thinking about it instead of actually doing it.”
With your permission, Eddie leaned in and tentatively pressed his mouth to yours. The kiss was careful, hesitant, but you could feel the underlying excitement as the warmth of his palm bled into your skin. Without thinking, you breathed a contented sigh as you lifted your hands to his hair and tugged him impossibly closer.
The noise of the film continued in the background, unnoticed by either of you as Eddie took the initiative to deepen the kiss. He swiped his tongue along the seam of your lips, urging you to open up for him, and you gave in without a moment of hesitation.
As many times as you’d thought about this moment - as many times as you’d pictured yourself in this situation, at the center of Eddie’s attention, with his hands and mouth on you - the reality was infinitely better than any dream. Eddie’s hands were calloused, rough from years of guitar and, now, his work at Thatcher’s, but his touch was featherlight as his hands began to wander.
Gentle fingers brushed along your jaw, dragged down the side of your neck and shoulders, inching lower until they found your waist. Your fingers tangled in his curls, indulging in your long hidden desire to play with his hair, as Eddie pulled away to allow you both a moment to breathe.
“We’re missing the totally not awful movie,” he pointed out, breath fanning over your neck as he dipped his head to nose at your jaw.
“We can rewind it later.”
Eddie laughed, his smirk evident as he nipped at the hinge of your jaw before lapping at the skin to soothe the brief sting. “Thought you wanted to educate me, princess,” he teased.
Warm hands began to wander, fingers dipping beneath the hem of your t-shirt to brush the heated skin of your waist, as he pressed soft kisses to your neck. Your own hands began to wander as well, dipping to his chest as he latched onto a patch of skin just beneath your ear.
“Want to kiss you more.”
He hummed, pleased with your answer, as he tipped his head to meet your gaze. Soft brown eyes were blown black and there was a hunger in them that you’d never been privileged enough to see. Now, the sheer weight of his desire hit you all at once as he grinned. “Glad to know we’re on the same page, then.”
Before you could huff, playfully pout at his taunting callback, Eddie reclaimed your lips. This kiss was more heated than the first, hesitance now gone as you realized you both wanted the same thing, and it completely obliterated any remaining thoughts other than how good it felt to have him pressed so close.
Though his hands began to wander, touch fleeting as it dragged across your hips and thighs, over your middle and back to your arms, he remained respectful. As eager as you both were, his hands only fell to your chest when you lifted them there yourself.
Eddie groaned into the kiss the moment you placed his hands, fingers experimentally flexing as you shifted impossibly closer.
“You can touch me however you want,” you allowed, word exhaled against his mouth as you separated just an inch to breathe. “I’ll tell you to stop if I don’t want something.”
“Fuck.” His forehead fell to yours, curls beginning to stick to his forehead with the lightly beading sweat, as he laughed. “Ditto. I’m all yours, princess. Take whatever you want.”
“That’s a dangerous offer.” The hand you’d left on his bicep, fingers tracing the stark black ink of his tattoo, began to wander then. Slowly, you raked the tips of your fingers down his chest - not bothering to hide your grin as he inhaled sharply at the sensation of your fingers raking over his lower stomach - and stopped at the buckle of his belt. “What if I want everything?”
“It’s yours. Been yours,” he admitted, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his gaze met yours once more. “Fuck, you’re all I want, princess. ‘ve been crazy about you for a while.”
“Keep talking like that and you might make me fall in love, Eds.” It was too late - you were already halfway there - and you both knew it. Still, Eddie laughed dutifully as his gaze fell to watch your hands tug at his belt buckle.
“Give me a few hours. I’ve been there, time for you to join me.”
The admission was half-teasing, accompanied by a breathless laugh as you worried with the warm metal beneath your fingers, but it still filled your stomach with a storm of butterflies. The time you’d spent pining over Eddie could’ve been spent lying beneath him, going on dates with him, enjoying time with him, and you were determined to make up for lost time as you tipped your head and pressed your lips to his once more.
“I’m closer than you think.”
Before he could consider your admission too closely, you pulled away and slipped off the couch to kneel between his spread thighs. Those brown eyes went wide, big and disbelieving, as you unbuckled his belt.
“Whoa. Fuck, wait.” Eddie swallowed harshly as he swept his hair from his eyes and glanced down at you. A gentle hand fell to your cheek, urging you to meet his eyes as he blinked away the lust-fueled stupor. “You don’t have to… I mean, I don’t expect you to -“
“Eddie.” He paused, tongue darting out to wet his lips once more, as you cut him off mid-sentence. “You can say no. But I want to. Is that okay?”
Eddie was far from a blushing virgin. You’d heard the rumors, tales of just how talented he was - had even heard the stories of a few trysts from the man himself - but his hesitation gave you pause. However, before you could pull away, he assured you.
“Yeah! Yeah, that’d be - yeah. I’ve had sex. I’ve just… No one has ever… It’s usually a quick fuck and then back to whoever they’re supposed to be dating,” he confessed, pink tinging his cheeks as he hurried to explain himself. “Blowjobs aren’t usually the priority.”
Though you knew Eddie fairly well, enough to have been half-in love with him for a while, you knew his reputation. But to know that others had taken advantage of his desire to love and be loved in return, it made your chest ache. Despite his reputation for being a freak - for being scary, intimidating - you knew that he was a sweetheart who deserved more than he’d been given. And you wanted to show him that you were apply to make him a priority.
“I’d love to be the first, if you’ll let me.”
“Fuck.” Eddie shuddered, his chest heaved with a sharp breath, as he raked a hand through his hair and nodded. “Yeah,” he allowed, “yeah, please.”
Eddie leaned back into the cushions then, allowing himself to relax into the plush of the couch as you popped the button on his jeans. It was obvious just how much he was enjoying the attention - plain to see from the bulge in his jeans and the pink staining his cheeks and neck - and you couldn’t help but smile as you took in the sight of him.
“You’re so pretty, Eddie.” It was reverent, a breathless observation as you tugged at the denim and studied the slope of his nose - the curve of his jaw, the wild tangle of his hair - and you meant it wholeheartedly.
“Flattery will get you absolutely everywhere, princess.” He lifted his hips, allowing you to tug at the denim just enough to expose his boxers - cheeks flushing darker when you bit back a smile at the sight of the blue and white checkerboard pattern.
“Not flattery, just honesty. You’re distracting,” you admitted, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes as you began to palm at the bulge in his boxers. “But I wanna see how much prettier you are when you’re falling apart.”
“You’re killing me. Fuck.”
Deciding that he’d had enough teasing, you gave in to the desire and tugged at the final layer of material separating you. The moment you exposed him to the air, you both gasped - him at the sensation of cool air hitting blistering warm skin, you at the sight of him.
Without thought, you spit into your palm before allowing yourself to reach out and experimentally stroke his cock. Eddie groaned at the feeling, his head tipping back and his eyes fluttering shut, and you felt a surge of warmth wash over you. Each noise he made ran straight to your core, fanned the flames of the fire already beginning to burn out of control, and you shifted to allow yourself some relief before leaning in to lap at the bead of precum already beginning to form.
Another noise, this one louder, met your ears as a warm hand fell to your head. He was careful not to push, careful not to attempt to take control, as he sought to anchor himself to the moment but you wouldn’t have minded either way. And as you traced the vein running along the underside of his cock before taking the head between your lips, you could hear him swear beneath his breath.
Though you were tempted to prolong the pleasure, witness him falling apart piece by piece as you slowly worked him up, you were too worked up yourself to do more than take as much of him a you could into your mouth. You knew there would be time to experiment later - time to push yourself to take him all - so you focused on giving him the best experience you could in that moment.
It only took a few moments for his thighs to begin to flex beneath your touch, for his chest to heave and his noises of pleasure to grow louder. And though you could see the hint of embarrassment tinging his cheeks at beginning to fall apart so soon, you felt a surge of pride at your ability to rile him up so completely.
But before you could lift your head and urge him to come, assure him that it was alright, he spoke. “Fuck, princess. I don’t wanna come in your mouth.” Eddie urged you up, then, away from his cock as he attempted to catch his breath and pull himself back from the brink. “Wanna come with you. Can I fuck you?”
The blunt question warmed you from within, stole your breath and had you keening as you nodded eagerly. “Please.” A moan escaped your lips as he reached out to cup your cheek and pull you into a messy kiss that was an eager clash of tongue and teeth.
For a moment, you both lost yourselves in the kiss. Eddie groaned as your hand remained on his cock, fingers stroking slowly as you waited for him to gather himself, only for him to swear as he broke the kiss. “Shit. Fuck, I don’t have a condom,” he lamented, eyes falling shut. “Sorry. Wan’t exactly expecting,” he waved a hand, gesturing to your hand, “this.”
Luckily for the both of you, you still had a stash of condoms - given to you by Steve as a joke the last time you considered asking Eddie out - in your nightstand. “I do,” you revealed, giggling as his shoulders relaxed. “C’mon, pretty boy.”
As you stood, offering Eddie your hand, he groaned once more. “Is it your goal to kill me, princess? Because I think you might actually kill me.”
“What a way to go, though, hm?”
Eddie stood, quickly tugged his jeans up but left them unbuttoned, and followed close behind as you led him up the stairs, his hand warm in yours. You could feel his body heat radiating, could hear his shallow breathing as he attempted to even it out, and you were secretly satisfied to know that you had such an impact on him.
Even more, however, you were thrilled to know that you were only moments away from getting what you wanted.
With quick steps, you tugged him down the hall and into your bedroom, pulling the door shut behind you as you entered. Once inside, Eddie paused for a moment to take in the sight.
“You know, I was expecting a Tom Cruise poster,” he teased, laughing only slightly when instead he saw Nikki Sixx.
“What can I say? I’ve got a thing for pretty, dark-haired metalheads.”
A smirk quirked his mouth as he tugged you close, hands falling to your waist as he dipped his head to capture your lips. The kiss was eager, uncoordinated and messy but breathtaking as his hands began to wander. Deft fingers flitted to the button of your jeans, and after a moment of hesitation, popped them open.
“If you want to stop, we can,” he reminded you, fingers ghosting along the sliver of skin just above your jeans. “We totally don’t have to do this.”
“You’re incredibly sweet, Eds.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, hands drifting to his hair to tug at the curls as you met his gaze. “But if you don’t fuck me, I might cry and I don’t feel like crying tonight.”
Eddie grinned, glad you were as eager as he was, and hummed as his fingers began to drift lower. “Can’t have you crying on my watch, princess. ‘Less they’re good, ‘I totally fucked you stupid’ tears.”
“I mean, if you’re up to the challenge, then by all means.”
Though it might’ve been the wrong thing to say, a taunt you would later regret, he took the challenge for what it was worth. There was a determined glint in his eyes, a burning desire that tied your stomach in knots, and it was burned into your field of view as he pressed his mouth to yours once more.
For a moment, you weren’t certain which sensation to focus on as Eddie’s tongue licked at the seam of your lips and his fingers ghosted over the cotton of your panties. However, he drew your full, undivided attention as he nudged the fabric aside and swiped his fingers through your slick folds.
A hum of encouragement met your ears as Eddie coated his fingers in your slick, teasing for just a moment before he found the sensitive bundle of nerves. With his lips a fraction of an inch from yours, he asked, “This all from blowing me?”
It was incredulous, almost as if he couldn’t believe it, but you hummed. “Thought about it for ages. Reality was better.”
“Don’t think I’ll last long enough to return the favor right now,” he confessed, breath fanning across your lips as he rubbed lazy circles over the bundle of nerves, “but I’ve gotta taste you before tonight’s over. Got myself off so many times thinking about it, ‘bout you.”
Eddie grinned at the moan you released, at the way you sagged against him - unable to hold yourself entirely upright with the promise of him between your thighs, the thought of him touching himself to that image. “You sure you’re not trying to kill me?”
“What a way to go.” He lingered, just for a second, before Eddie pulled away and shushed your whine with a press of his mouth to yours. “I’m gonna come in my jeans if I don’t get inside you soon, princess. Promise to take my time with you later. Gonna give you everything you deserve, treat you right.”
“Ditto.” He laughed, amused and flattered in equal measure, as he began to tug at his clothes. Encouraged, you followed suit and, soon enough, a pile of garments littered your bedroom floor.
However, neither of you dwelled on the sight for long as you headed for the bed, stopping only to retrieve a foil packet from the bedside drawer.
Every dream encounter you shared with Eddie varied - sometimes he was soft, other times he manhandled you exactly the way you wanted; sometimes he was quick, others he teased for hours - but nothing lived up to the reality of having him climb into your bed after you.
This encounter would be quick and dirty, a desperate search for relief, but you knew that it was only the first of many. And, encouraged by the future that now seemed so clear, you reached out and tugged him into you.
Lithe arms braced themselves at either side of your head, tattoos stark against his pale skin, and you hummed as you decided you would someday spend as much time as he’d allow you committing them to memory. But that could wait. For now, you simply savored the weight of him above you and tangled your fingers in his hair as he positioned himself at your entrance.
“Haven’t even gotten inside and I already can’t wait to do this again,” he confessed, dipping his head to nip at the hinge of your jaw. “And again. And again. I’m already ruined for you, princess.”
Before you could confess the same sentiment, admit your utter ruin at his hands, he pressed his hips forward and began to sink into you. The stretch was bearable, a tinge of discomfort completely overshadowed by the warmth of his skin against yours - the weight of his body pressed to yours, the nip of his teeth at your jaw - and you inhaled sharply at the feeling.
Eddie stilled for a few long moments, hands stroking at whatever skin he could reach - your hips, your thighs, your stomach - as he breathed reverent nonsense. The words blurred, compliments and awed whispers of how good you felt, but it paled in comparison to the moan he released when you yanked at his curls and begged for him to finally move.
The pace he set was blistering, deep and quick and perfect, and you marveled at how right his touch felt. Every snap of his hips, every brush of his mouth against your skin, every whispered word of praise; it felt as if each was a puzzle piece, suddenly falling into place.
Though he took great care to ensure your pleasure, he made no attempt to treat you like a doll, like something that might shatter beneath his touch, and you were grateful for the heavy press of his hands to your skin as he pawed at your thighs. Almost immediately, you understood one another - both quickly fell into step beside one another - and you felt the flames he’d been fanning begin to grow out of control.
Heat engulfed you, body burning with every swipe of his fingers and snap of his hips, and it grew harder to draw your breath as his fingers found your clit. Eddie nipped at your jaw, breath fanning over your skin and sending goosebumps erupting, as he encouraged, “Come for me, princess. Wanna feel you.”
With anyone else, you might’ve been embarrassed at how quickly you barreled toward your release - at how eager you were to give in and come just because he asked - but this was Eddie. Anything he wanted, you would at least consider, and your body knew it well. So with a few swipes of his fingers and another snap of his hips, you barreled over the edge with a cry of his name.
Almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting for you, he followed suit. One, two, three snaps of his hips before he buried his face in the crook of your neck and came with a moan that you knew would play on a loop in your happiest of dreams.
For a few moments after, you both lay still - Eddie with his head buried in the crook of your neck, hands still stroking your heated skin; you, with your eyes shut and lips parted as you caught your breath, fingers raking through his curls. It was blissful, a moment you’d dreamt about, but the dream was interrupted by reality as discomfort began to set in.
When you began to squirm, Eddie quickly pulled away - pulled out and cooed when you whimpered at the loss - and tossed the used condom into the bin beside your bed before returning to lay beside you. He pulled you close, wrapped his arms around you and tugged you into his chest, and you both lay in silence for a long moment before he spoke.
“So, you wanna actually watch those movies now?”
With a laugh, you tipped your head and buried your face in the crook of his neck. “Mm. Give me a minute. Gotta return to the land of the living first.”
“Take your time, princess. When you do, though, maybe you can return as my girlfriend.”
Eddie could almost certainly feel your smile, grin bright and happy as you hummed against his skin. “Yeah,” you agreed easily, not bothering to hide the giddiness you felt, “I think that can be arranged.”
Though it wasn’t how you pictured your evening, you knew it was better than anything you could’ve imagined. And, while Steve would be annoying, you couldn’t wait to venture back into the world with your boyfriend by your side.
__________________________________________________
Author's Note: Take this away from me. I've been working on this forever but got stuck on the smut.
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#stranger things x reader#stranger things smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson imagine#stranger things imagine#stranger things fic#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fic#eddie munson filth#v's fics
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“You’re such a perv!”
Aka DC Superheroes as pervs; Dick, Jason, Tim, Roy, Wally
Please don't put a community label on this (it will only shadow ban it)
Surely your friend and confidant is not some peeping tom right?!
Warnings/tags; SMUT, female reader, vigilante!reader, Perv shenanigans, panty stealing, masturbation, dirty thoughts, corruption kink, invasion of privacy
Dick Grayson has always been your closest friend; he's the leader, the guy that everyone either wants to be like or wants him for themselves. But the boy wonder had his eyes on you, his oblivious friend. He has always been there, aiding you in missions; always saving the day, or praising you for a job well done. So how could you ever possibly know of his intense desire just for you. Dick knows his actions are downright disgusting, that small voice inside his head filling him with guilt, but his desire is just stronger.
Missions with you are the worst. Watching you be so confident and just kick ass has him feeling all sorts of ways. Trying to turn away from your line of sight so you won't see his hard-on, his cock rubbing uncomfortably against his suit. Dick will use any excuse to get away, jerking off on the side of a rooftop, a hand against a wall and another stroking his cock, while he imagines it was your hand instead, and that alone pushes him over the edge.
He'll find a way to make you want him too, Dick knows you're not immune to his charms. Will it be too obvious that when he goes for a hug, it's a little too tight. Is it when he places a hand on your waist pretending to keep you in place, daring his fingers to go further down. Will you push away the hands that place themselves on your thighs to pretend he's comforting you. You won't. Just as you refuse to shove away the fingers that inch closer and closer between your legs. Is it really so bad if you want him too.
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Jason Todd knows he's a sick fuck. What kind of friend is he to even think of such things. But they are just thoughts, right? As long as he doesn't do anything creepy that is. Surely anyone dreams of fucking their best friend-that is, imagining your lips wrapped around his dick while he fists your hair, forcing you to take all of him. The guilt returns when your voice reaches him, asking him if he heard you, interrupting his brief moment of fantasy. He's relieved that the mask doesn't allow you to see how intensely he's staring at you.
It becomes a line he knows he crossed. When Jason found himself staring at your apartment window - he didn't intend to, he was just patrolling and happened to come across your apartment. Knowing you were safe and well should have been his reason to leave, until you started undressing. Seeing your tits exposed made the blood rush to his cock and when you bent slightly to remove your panties, Jason was sure he could have come right on the spot.
You went to take a shower as Jason entered your apartment. Surely you must know to keep your window locked. Finding himself creeping toward the bathroom as if you were beckoning him in, instead, he stopped and stood over the disregarded clothes; reaching for the panties. Jason would have beaten anyone to a bloody pulp if they had done that, but it was his own reflection staring at him. He is a sick fuck, he thinks as his finger brushes over the damp spot and how he shoves it into his pockets. He's not sure if he should return your panties later, given that he eagerly rubbed his cock with it, leaving it cum stained.
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Tim Drake is a wolf in sheep's clothing; he is the one person you never suspect of thinking such perverted thoughts. Tim is aware he can never justify the things he's doing. He just tells himself that he merely lacks the courage to approach you, not that it's a good reason, but it's enough for him to maintain that tiny sliver of morality. There are moments when he wishes he could just concentrate on his patrolling to keep you off his mind, but you are always there, at the back of his mind.
Tim realizes he just can't get off without thinking about you. Tim tries watching some porn, but he keeps imagining your face instead of the actress, and he hates how it helped him reach his orgasm. Or in the mornings, when his boner is becoming too much of an issue and he's in the shower trying to rid of it. His thoughts wander to picturing you in front of him, bare and wet, with your back against the glass walls and you moaning his name.
If there was ever a time that Tim was made known that he was really sick was that day. Him laying in bed stroking his cock and seeing the phone ringing in the corner. It's you. He ought to have just let it ring or decline, but Tim didn't know what possessed him to answer the call. Your voice is heard as he bites his lip to not let his whimpers be heard, tasting copper on his tongue. Tim moves the phone further away when he reaches his high, cum covering his hands and stomach as he continues the conversation, hoping you don't hear his ragged breath.
-----------
Roy Harper was the one person you could always confide in. He had a way of cheering you up, your tears dried as your laugh echoed throughout the room. How you consider him to be your closest friend and best partner in crime as you speak to him, while Roy thinks of how the low cut of your shirt gives him a good view of your tits from an angle. When you call his name to get his attention, Roy gives you that smile of his as he uses an excuse to use the restroom.
Roy loves taking pictures of you. You knew Roy had them, just never imagined he would have them in his sights while he jerked off. Pictures of you with a skirt had Roy fantasize about wearing em while he's railing you from behind. Your face pressed against the pillow while you bubble nonsense, too drunk on his cock. Pictures of you looking up, had him fantasizing of you staring at him with those eyes of yours as you use your mouth, bobbing up and down on his dick.
Unaware too Roy had 'private' photos, all thanks to a few hacking tricks. Roy was occasionally tempted to send you a nude photo of himself, see how you react, and cover it up by saying it was a 'mistake'. Would you perhaps return one or get jealous wondering who it was intended for. Roy gets up, cleaning himself as he’s planning to you meet you later that day. He eyes the slightly crooked tile above his ceiling, storing all the belongings he's taken from his visits to your place. Roy thinks when the two of you are official, he should hide it in a better place.
—-----------
Wally West had plenty of opportunities to hint at his feelings toward you. He liked making flirtatious comments, complaining when he wasn't paired with you during missions, and placing an arm over your shoulders. But you just assume it's Wally's typical self, not noticing his hurt look when you claimed to be "just friends". Then again you never noticed his hurried departure and quick return, where he avoided making eye contact at all costs.
Wally feels the guilt the most. He could have just confessed to you like a normal person. Guilt consumes him when he sees your gullible smile, unaware of the horrible things he did behind your back. It's not his fault really; he was invited to your place and was simply looking around until he found a certain drawer. Wally reassures himself it's not that bad if he only takes one. But it gets to a point where you're complaining to Wally about how your clothes disappear (not telling him which kind).
A point comes where Wally reaches his breaking point. The sneaky pictures, lying on your bed when you weren't around, face in the pillows to inhale your scent could do so little. As he stares at you speaking, Wally makes a move expecting to be rejected, but you kiss him back. He was in heaven, the dreams he had in every waking point coming true. He was where he wanted you to be, on top with you full of his cock, your eyes nearly blacked out as he slams his hips repeatedly into yours. Can you blame him for moving too fast when he has been holding back for so long.
#dick grayson x reader#jason todd x reader#tim drake x reader#wally west x reader#roy harper x reader#dc comics x reader#yandere dc comics#yandere dc#dc x reader#dc smut#dc comics smut#smut#yandere smut#yandere x reader
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𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓
Part 2 of `` 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 ``
· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑ ` ` when you know, you know. ` ` ⊹ ‧₊˚
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ୨୧ Being in love with your friend is the best! Until your wort dream comes true. However, there might be hope after all.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ୨୧ lando norris x friend!reader (one-sided love), carlos sainz x fem!reader
𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌 ୨୧ none!
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ୨୧ angstish…? (fluff for reader now!), sex jokes (i’m sorry I couldn’t help myself), GOOGLE TRANSLATED SPANISH!!
𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ୨୧ Margaret - Lana Del Rey
𝐀/𝐍 ୨୧ Pt 2 is done! i love carlos and i stand by the fact he types emojis and uses them like a mom. also, oml, the amount of photos here is actually insane 😭😭
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Are you sure you want to block both Lando Norris and Bsf/N?
>No >Yes
Lando Norris and Bsf/N have been blocked.
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y/n.jpeg fictional men >>> real men
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username1 get lando OUT of the likes 💀
username2 men have the absolute audacity
username3 imagine losing your friendship and treating a sweetest girl like shit. isn’t me but it is lando and Ex-Bsf/N 🤷♀️
lailahasanovic ✔︎ the hottest 😮💨
→ y/n.jpeg LOOK IN THE MIRROR 💕
lilymunihe ✔︎ she’s my gf guys!!
→ alex_albon ✔︎ uhm… i’m right here
→ lilymunihe ✔︎ and?
→ alex_albon ✔︎ wow.
→ georgerussell ✔︎ imagine your gf getting stolen by her own friend 😂
→ y/n.jpeg carmen is next georgie boy.
→ carmenmundt ✔︎ 😳
(ex)ybsf_username wifey 🤍 🤍
→ y/n.jpeg ex-wife actually.
→ username4 TELL HER Y/N!!
→ username5 Y/N saying it how it is.
→ username6 ex-Bsf/N literally cannot read the room.
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y/n.jpeg girls night ❤️
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charles_leclerc ✔︎ still waiting for that pasta recipe 😓
→ alexandrasaintmleux char, i think there's a reason y/n isn’t giving it to you…
→ charles_leclerc ✔︎ what does that mean?!
→ alexandrasaintmleux i can’t say it i feel too bad 😞
→ maxverstappen1 ✔︎ @ charles_leclerc you’re a shit cook.
→ charles_leclerc ✔︎ wow. thank you max. 😐
→ alexandrasaintmleux still love you! 🩷
→ charles_leclerc ✔︎ …je t'aime aussi 🫶
username7 anyone know the resturant??
y/n.jpeg it’s Truffle Bistrot in Monaco!
username8 has anyone else noticed how carlos has been constantly liking her photos? like as soon as Y/N posts??
→ usernme9 I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE
→ username10 carlos will treat her right 100%
→ username11 better than lando ever would 😬
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📍 Barcalona, Spain
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y/n.jpeg ¡Hola Espana!
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carlossainz55 ✔︎ beautiful! 🤩
→ charles_leclerc ✔︎ 🤨 🤨
carlossainz55 ✔︎ although, madrid is a much better place in spain, I can give you a tour next time! 😊
→ username12 ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE???
→ username13 carlos making the moves???
→ username14 HELP HE’S SUCH A MILLENNIAL
→ y/n.jpeg you say that as if you haven’t toured me around madrid when you were still at McLaren after the Spanish GP 🤔
→ carlossainz55 yes but, it wasn’t just you and me 😉
→ username15 AYO???
→ username16 okay mr. sainz we see you
→ username17 he’s making the moves now that y/n isn’t crushing on lando 💀
→ maxverstappen1 ✔︎ this was the worst flirting i’ve seen since charles and alexandra.
→ charles_leclerc ✔︎ enough of this 😞
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y/n.jpeg posted a story 1 minute ago!
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📍Madrid, Spain
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y/n.jpeg first date kinda nervous 😵💫
…. comments
username18 HELLO???
username18 this was not on my 2024 calendar.💀
username19 bro lando is gonna be LIVID.
username20 girl said “you date my bsf, i date yours” 😭
username21 SHE’S NOT EVEN HIDING IT
carlossainz55 ✔︎ hermosa ❤️
→ y/n.jpeg says the one with the best hair ever 🥴🥴
→ carlossainz55 you flatter me too much 🙃
username22 kinda living for them together.
username23 better than Lando 🤷♀️
username24 hopped from one driver to another… not a good look 😬
→ username25 and lando hopped from one bsf to another??? not a good look for him 😬 😬
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y/n.jpeg 🎙️ switching sides 🗣️
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carlossainz55 ✔︎ you look better in red ❤️
y/n.jpeg oh hush you’re making me blush 😣
oscarpiastri ✔︎ kind of offended at the moment…
→ y/n.jpeg whoopsies… sorry osc!! you are still my favorite driver that mclaren 🫶
→ oscarpiastri ✔︎ favorite? I’m honored.
→ username26 probably her favorite for a reason 💀
username27 they weren’t lying when they said “everyone is a ferrari fan”
username28 that carlos photo is literally a jumpscare 😞😞
→ y/n.jpeg he might be a jumpscare but he’s my jumpscare 🫶
charles_leclerc ✔︎ please stop flirting in the garage I don’t need to see this.
→ y/n.jpeg quiet. last time i checked my bf didn’t post a tik tok with THAT audio.
→ alexandrasaintmleux okay! that’s enough information!
y/n.jpeg
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y/n.jpeg when he can cook >>>
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charles_leclerc ✔︎ this feels very targeted 😓😓
→ y/n.jpeg maybe it is
→ charles_leclerc ✔︎ is my cooking that bad 🙁
→ alexandrasaintmleux well… you definitely improved! :)
→ username29 HELPPP ALEX 😭😭
→ charles_leclerc ✔︎ @ alexandrasaintmleux who are you and what did you do to my alex.
username30 1/2 ferrari drivers being able to cook is a world record
→ y/n.jpeg thank god i have the one that can!!
→ alexandrasaintmleux 😅
4 months later…
f1
liked by carlossainz55, yn.jpeg, ferrari and others
f1 Carlos Sainz wins in Singapore! His first Smoooooth Operation in Ferrari! 🌶️ 🏁
6,354 comments
username31 smooooooooooth operatorrrrr
username32 AS HE SHOULD ‼️
username33 ferrari's only hope this season 😭🙏
username34 someone besides Red Bull winning??
y/n.jpeg my boy ❤️
→ carlossainz55 mi amor 🫶
→ username35 stop it they are so cute
→ username36 "my boy" 🥲
→ username37 I still remember when lando was "her boy" 😕
→ username38 lando is the past. Carlos is Y/N's present and future. leave Lando back.
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landonorris when i win podium >>>
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username39 ew a ex-Bsf/N sighting
username40 this did NOT eat
username41 i don’t want to see ex-Bsf/N bazongas 🙁
→ username42 BAZONGAS 💀💀
username43 i love the fact no one on the grid or the wags BESIDES ex-Bsf/N liked this post 😭
username44 as they should tbh 🙏🙏
username45 HE-HE-HELL NAH 🗣️ 🔥🚨 🔥🚨 🔥🚨🗣️‼️
mclaren ✔︎ 😬
→ username46 EVEN MCLAREN DISAPPROVES
(ex)ybsf_username my boy ❤️
→ username47 I KNOW SHE DID NOT JUST SAY THAT.
→ username48 NO WAY SHE TOOK Y/N NICKNAME FOR LANDO NOW TOO…
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y/n.jpeg when MY BOY finishes 1st on and off the track 🤭 >>>
tagged ; carlossainz55
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username49 MISS GIRL.
username50 WE DID NOT NEED TO SEE THIS
username51 THE CARLOS CRUMBS
username52 CARLOS CRUMBS??? THE Y/N CRUMBS ARE INSANE
username53 THIS IS DEFINITELY A CLAP BACK AT THE LANDO POST 😭
charles_leclerc ✔︎ ENOUGH OF THIS.
→ carlossainz55 is it wrong to show a certain someone what he’s missing? 😅
→ charles_leclerc ✔︎ NOT AT ALL BUT NOT LIKE THIS
lilymunihe there are kids here 😕
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📍 Japan
landonorris podiummmm babbbbyyyyy 🏆
6,435 comments
username54 no ex-Bsf/N?
username55 after the fight i’m not surprised about a no ex-Bsf/N post 😬
username56 FIGHT???
→ username57 you didn’t hear? apparently, lando never liked ex-Bsf/N and they started fighting about Y/N and what happened to her… it’s definitely a “holy shit” moment …
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y/n.jpeg karma is the guy on the screen coming straight home to me!
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carlossainz55 ✔︎ mi querida ❤️ Siempre agradecida de que un evento tan malo nos haya reunido hasta donde estamos hoy. Wouldn't change it for the world!
ENG: (My dear ❤️ Always grateful that such a bad event has brought us together as far as we are today. Wouldn't change it for the world!)
𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀 ;
message failed to send!
𝐀/𝐍 2 ୨୧ Soooo… about that ending… 😍 Thank you to the Anon that came up with this idea! I decided to incorporate it into the story someway since i loved the thought sm! Everyone say “thank you Anon!!”
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ; @mangotaitai , @folklorsweet , @callsignwidow , @mia-rrrs , @clown-fc , @stvrdustalexx , @dessxoxsworld , @minkyungseokie , @dr4g0ngirl , @imsiriuslyreal , @oscarwildingsworld , @poseidonssoen31, @eringaitskill , @allywthsr , @khaylin27 , @itsjustkhaos , @aundercover , @moonyseyelash , @runs-with-sciss0rs , @ironmaiden1313 , @malynn , @littlehoneyfreak , @azxulaa , @ijustgomessitupx , @sp1rl , @oliveswiftly , @fragilemuses , @ivegotparticulartaste , @karinasbae , @elijahslover ,
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#f1 x reader#☆ﾟ user ↳ theyluvkarolina ◝#☆ﾟ smau ↳ theyluvkarolina ◝#formula one x reader#formula one x you#f1 smau#f1 social media au#f1 fanfic#carlos sainz#carlos sainz x reader#lando norris x reader#f1 fic#f1 imagine#formula 1#charles leclerc#alexandra saint mleux#kika gomes#lily muni he#alex albon#formula one x y/n#f1 angst#f1 x female reader
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I Hate You
Bucky Barnes x Female Reader One-Shot: SMUT
Request by @kateversca1011: "y/n has these weird mind powers where she can feel others feelings or make others feel hers...she accidentally during a very heated fun time projects everything she is feeling to Bucky, basically doubling his pleasure"
Summary: After ending up on SHIELD's radar, you're moved into the tower against your will. Of course, you can't stand the one man that you have the most in common with.
Warnings: profanity, teasing, one bed trope, unprotected sex, hate sex, dirty talking, praise, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!
Word Count: 9.3k
A/N: I fucking LOVED this prompt yet I feel like my (4th) attempt at it is as horseshit as the other attempts. This may get another attempt one day. Thank you @kateversca1011 for the wonderful prompt inspo, I hope this entertains you at least a little bit.
You have the worst luck in the world. In fact, your luck is so bad that you might even be able to call it a curse. It was one of those unfortunate things that started early in your life and has carried on throughout the years, affecting seemingly everything that you do. You thought it came to a head when your hometown was obliterated twelve years ago, when your parents were killed as they lay asleep in their bed across the house that you grew up in. You thought that was the pinnacle of your misfortune. Then, you thought that maybe it was two days after that, when you were sure you were being rescued from the rubble you laid under, only to be taken away by soldiers with unmatchable strength and brutality and stripped of not only your rights, but your dignity. You were held captive for so long that you stopped attributing your dark times to bad luck and started to think this was how life was supposed to be. By the time they started experimenting on you, you didn’t even feel bad for yourself anymore. You simply accepted it as the next era of your life that you had no control over.
“Okay, we’re all done.” Shuri’s voice rings out through the speaker in the MRI machine. The flat surface that you’ve been lying on for the past forty-five minutes begins to slide out of the narrow tube it held you in, slowly exposing the rest of the room to your view. You take a deep breath in, stretching your arms out in front of you and wiggling your legs a little. Your lower half always falls asleep when you have these scans done.
Shuri watches you intently through the glass of the MRI observation window. She watches as the nurse helps you sit up and swing your legs over the side of the tabletop. She watches as you run a hand through your hair and offer the nurse a kind smile before moving to stand on the floor. She watches as your eyes narrow in the slightest and a look of surprise crosses your face. She knows what you just did. She knows that the moment the nurse was in your personal space, you had no control over the unusual chemistry of your brain. You invaded the nurse’s mind and picked up on the fact that she’s afraid of you.
“She’s not ready to go free yet, is she?” Fury asks tersely. He entered the observation room so silently that Shuri didn’t even notice him until he spoke. As the nurse leads you out of the MRI room and begins taking you back to the main area of the medical bay, Shuri turns in her chair to face Fury.
“She doesn’t have enough control over her abilities yet. I think she’s still psychologically stable, the program you put her through did its job, but there’s no guarantee that she’ll simply go out into the world and behave.” Shuri chooses her words carefully. She doesn’t think that you’re a threat in your current state, but should you ever desire to be, you could easily become one. Your powers rival those of Wanda Maximoff’s, except even less is known about the extent of yours thus far. You’re the equivalent of the Winter Soldier without anyone having used his activation words yet, a ticking time bomb.
That’s what leads to Shuri and Fury both addressing you in the medical bay moments later. You sit on an exam table picking at a loose thread in your frayed jeans as they approach you, trying your hardest not to read into their thoughts, their feelings. You’d like to experience what it’s like to be surprised by what comes out of someone’s mouth for once.
“That was your last fMRI for a while.” Shuri says happily, her smile looking truly genuine. You smile back, but continue picking at the thread, not wanting to make any prolonged eye contact. Eye contact always seems to make it easier to read people, and easier for your own thoughts and emotions to spill over into their consciousness if you’re not careful.
“I’m guessing there isn’t all good news though, right? Since you’re both here this time.” You ask knowingly, your gaze darting between the two who stand before you. Shuri gives Fury a sideways glance, as if she’s waiting for him to take the lead. His eye narrows at you, his forehead scrunching up above his eyepatch as he studies you.
“We can’t let you go out and live your life just yet. There are too many unknowns right now. I’m going to be putting you up in the Avengers tower.”
“But—” Fury holds up his hand to silence you, as if you’re a backtalking teenager.
“It’s not permanent. This is just until we can help you gain more control over your abilities. We can reassess after. When you’re finished here, I’ll have someone waiting outside to take you over to the other side of the compound and show you around.” Fury’s gone before his words have even fully sunk in.
“He’s a straight-to-the-point kind of guy, isn’t he? No bullshit with him.” You say quietly, shaking your head as you come to terms with everything he’s just said. You’ve been staying in what you can only call a high-end holding cell at the nearby SHIELD base since the day you appeared on their radar and they brought you in, very much against your will. Another bout of bad luck, you’d told yourself, as you were restrained with some sort of technologically advanced handcuffs and later forcibly put through multiple rigorous evaluations. After the evaluations came the decompression and psychological rehabilitation that they had originally designed to be used for victims of capture and torture, agents who were in too deep and didn’t have backup when the worst happened. After that, you started undergoing medical testing, constant scans and blood draws, on a weekly basis. Shuri was brought in because no one else could figure you out.
“It’s the eye patch, he has to be short and gruff with people to fit the look.” Shuri jokes. She stands closer to you than most people would, within arms’ reach. You offer a light laugh and she considers it a small victory. “I think you’ll find that living in the tower, around other people with unique abilities, might actually help you. You’ll get a really nice room too, probably nicer than just about anywhere else you’d find in the city.”
“A nice room that I never get to leave.” You point out. Shuri’s gaze softens and she looks you over. Most people wouldn’t look at you and see a bomb that hasn’t yet been detonated. Hell, you could probably weaponize that fact if you wanted to, the fact that you look normal, innocent even.
“You can leave your room, but I think it’s best if you don’t get too close with anyone, physically or emotionally. Give yourself some time to learn boundaries when it comes to your abilities first.” Shuri advises. She notices the way you take in her entire appearance as she speaks, but you avoid looking into her eyes. You’re trying to give her mind the privacy it deserves. You’re making an effort to stay out of her thoughts, and to keep from projecting your own onto her. She thinks that you’ll get the hang of the control thing soon enough, and Fury will either free you to go about your new life or he’ll make an attempt to recruit you as an asset. Only time will tell which direction you’ll go, but she finds herself hoping that this won’t be the last she sees of you.
---
Bucky’s heard about the girl who reads minds, the girl who can make others feel her pain, the girl who could take away someone’s mental anguish with just one shared look. He’s heard enough about that girl that he formed his own mental image of her. He pictures her as an evil cartoon witch, with long, dark fingernails that curl up at the ends and a characteristic black and purple outfit, maybe even flying around on a broom. When he heard that this cartoon witch would be moving into the empty room across the hall from his, he imagined cardboard boxes filled with crystal balls, spiders, and cobwebs being dropped off before the girl’s arrival.
Bucky didn’t think for a second that you’d show up so quietly and uneventfully, trying to draw as little attention to yourself as possible. He didn’t think you’d show up with nothing more than a small, government-issued duffel bag and a profound avoidance of eye contact. And he sure as hell didn’t think that you’d end up being so goddamn pretty. As you stood in the lobby of the tower with Maria Hill and two other SHIELD agents, Bucky was just getting back from a therapy session with Dr. Raynor. He saw you as you stood there with your duffel bag and blank stare aimed at a wall. He saw you as you made sure to board the elevator last, letting everyone else enter before you and then staying a few steps behind on your way in. You saw him as the doors began to slide shut. You caught one little glimpse of the man, dressed in dark jeans and a dark Henley tee. Unreasonably attractive. That was your first impression of him, as the doors closed and he disappeared from your sight.
An hour later, you’re sitting alone in your new room, carefully folding and putting away the few pieces of clothing you brought with you. Your wardrobe consists of a couple of pairs of jeans, a sweatshirt or two, and the same pair of sneakers you always wear. Or at least that’s what it consisted of until today. When you arrived to the room and finally had the chance to shut Maria and the other agents out and settle yourself in, you quickly realized that Tony Stark, or more his wife Pepper, had taken it upon their shoulders to have your closet filled with a wide range of pants, shorts, dresses, workout attire, and far too many shoes for someone with only two feet. You thought it was a mistake at first, that maybe you’d been given the wrong key to the wrong room. Until you saw a white envelope sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. It contained the only note you’d ever received from anyone, detailing how all of the items in the closet now belong to you, and were picked out by Pepper upon Tony’s request. As you stand in the closet now, running your fingers along the various fabrics and colors hanging in front of you, it feels as though every birthday that you missed out on celebrating after your parents’ deaths and your own capture are being celebrated in this moment.
---
Bucky sits in one of the briefing rooms with Sam and Torres, only half-listening to whatever they’re droning on about as he traces the golden crevices of his vibranium arm with his flesh index finger. He doesn’t chime in at all as the topic shifts from one of last week’s missions, to a piece of intel Torres intercepted yesterday, to the mission that could potentially be coming up at the end of this week. It isn’t until Torres brings up the girl that just moved in upstairs that Bucky’s flesh hand falters and his eyes flit up to take in the image that’s holographically displayed over the table in the center of the room.
“I gathered as much information on her as I could.” Torres says, as he begins flipping through a few different files on the display. He stops on one titled First Event. When he opens the electronic file, Bucky’s heart drops instantly at the words his brain sorts through and picks out. Terrorist attack. Intentional target. Orphaned. HYDRA. He swallows hard when the picture of your childhood home, completely reduced to smoking ash and rubble, appears before him. Another picture shows a small girl, seemingly around age eleven or twelve, covered in soot and dirt, with her hands bound in front of her as she’s being lifted and placed in the back of a truck. “She was taken by HYDRA operatives when she was 12. It was an operation with the sole aim of taking twenty children, disguising the entire thing as a brutal terrorist attack. The missing children were all presumed dead in the attacks, which was what HYDRA wanted. There was never an investigation for any of them.” A few pictures show a grimy prison-like holding cell, an operating room with different pieces of technology and equipment that definitely aren’t standard in normal medical facilities, and a few brain scans. “All of the twenty children underwent testing and experimentation. Some died within a couple of weeks, some within a couple of months. She was the only one to survive to be rescued. She lived in this underground HYDRA facility for at least ten years that we know of.”
“Ten years?” Sam asks incredulously, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “How did she end up on SHIELD’s radar?” Torres pauses his biography of the worst years of your life and opens up a different file on the display, one titled Second Event.
“Skipping the details of how she was rescued in the first place, she doesn’t have much control over her abilities. She tried to lay low, that much was obvious, but SHIELD has a program to seek people like her out, to keep an eye on them.” Torres explains. Bucky’s eyes are glued to an image of the girl he saw in the elevator only an hour ago. You’re at an outdoor farmer’s market, with a ballcap pulled low over your forehead and your gaze cast downward as you browse a fruit stand. The image is eerily similar to a moment of his own life that he remembers, buying plums at a Romanian market when he was trying to go unnoticed and live a quiet life on his own.
“So, she made a misstep somewhere along the way, becomes property of SHIELD, and then Fury sends her here.” Sam recaps, looking to Torres to make sure he’s got it all right.
“Pretty much, yeah. He doesn’t think it’s safe to let her be out in the real world on her own yet.”
“Not safe for her? Or not safe for everyone else?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow. Bucky turns his attention to Torres this time as well, curious about the answer.
“Both.”
A few more details are shared around the table as Torres flips back and forth between all of the available information that he has on you. Bucky, however, is deep in thought. He watches as new and old images flit back and forth on the screen, his mind digesting everything and piecing you together. You’re pretty, that’s for damn certain. You’re pretty and he can tell from your past, from your known abilities, that you’re likely good as hell at manipulating people. He imagines with your looks alone that you could get just about anyone to do just about anything for you. With your looks and your abilities? You could do more damage than most. You’re dangerous. Dangerous and unpredictable. And now you live across the hall from him.
Those two words repeat in Bucky’s head as he takes the stairs up to the main living floor later that same day. Dangerous and unpredictable. There are a few more words floating around in his head but he’s actively ignoring those. So goddamn pretty.
You really are pretty. You wouldn’t necessarily think so yourself, as you stand in front of the full-length mirror in your room, crossing your arms over your chest. FRIDAY’s voice rang out through a speaker somewhere in your room just a few minutes earlier, letting you know that dinner would be at six. Of course, FRIDAY didn’t offer you a dress code or even a very solid answer when you asked her what one should wear to such a dinner. The last time you had dinner with anyone, you were twelve and you were wearing a sparkly pink Barbie shirt. Though you could double check your closet for a shirt like that now, you have a feeling you won’t find one in your size. So, you remain in your distressed jeans and oversized gray SHIELD sweatshirt.
“Do you think she’ll show up?” Torres asks, mainly directing his question to Sam more than anyone else. Sam shrugs as he continues stirring the spaghetti sauce he’s been cooking on the stovetop.
“If she’s hungry she will.” He responds. Truthfully, he has no idea if you’ll come out of your room or not. If you don’t, he’ll take a bowl of food to your room at the very least, but he’d prefer it if you came out and interacted with everyone so he could at least get a feel for you. It was obvious by the way Bucky sat so narrow-eyed and steely in the briefing room earlier that he doesn’t like you, that he doesn’t trust you being in the tower. Sam hasn’t yet jumped to such a conclusion.
“What do we do if she does? If she shows up?” Torres almost sounds nervous. Sam chuckles before propping his wooden spoon on the edge of the saucepan and moving to wash his hands in the kitchen sink.
“We eat dinner.”
---
You don’t look like a scared, vulnerable twelve-year-old girl, and you most definitely don’t look like someone who has the power to manipulate thoughts or feelings. As you sit at the table, twirling spaghetti noodles around your fork, you’re trying your best to ignore the eyes on you. You feel a bit relieved that it’s not the entire group staring, no, it’s just that one unreasonably attractive man with the black and gold prosthetic arm. He stares. He stares as if it’s the only thing he knows how to do. Honestly, maybe it really is the only thing he knows how to do, because he sure as hell hasn’t participated in any of the table small talk this evening.
“So, you were just laying low before SHIELD found you?” Torres asks kindly, tearing apart a piece of garlic bread with his hands as he peers over at you. He’s seated immediately to your right and has been the most inquisitive thus far.
“Yeah, clearly I wasn’t very good at that though.” You respond lightheartedly, earning you a few small laughs around the table. You lift your fork to your mouth and take a small bite of pasta. It’s heavenly honestly. It’s so much better than the measly three meals that you’ve taught yourself how to cook.
“How do you feel about ending up here?” Torres is a curious one, you’re quickly learning.
“I’m not over the moon about it but the food is better than what I was cooking for myself so, it’s not all bad.”
As you answer questions and do your best to avoid making too much eye contact with anyone, to avoid reading into anyone’s thoughts or dropping your own thoughts into anyone else’s mind, Bucky stares. He watches you intently. You’re effortlessly charming, answering everyone’s questions with a shy smile and kind voice. He’s sure it’s a façade.
Bucky’s cold stare and the fact that you happily pretend like you don’t feel his gaze on you is the reason why Sam, at the end of dinner, stands up and assigns the two of you to clean-up duty. If Bucky’s gone ahead and jumped to a conclusion about you based on a few flimsy pieces of intel and some grainy pictures, then Sam will give him the opportunity to confirm his suspicions with half an hour of alone time with you. Either he’ll come out of clean-up duty realizing he was wrong about you or he’ll come out of it with an earful for Sam.
Fifteen minutes after everyone’s finished eating and gone their separate ways for the evening, you find yourself wiping down the dinner table with a wet cloth. Bucky is watching you from the open concept kitchen, where he stands in dim lighting, scrubbing dishes at the sink.
“I can feel you staring.” You say evenly. Though your back is to him, you know his eyes are following your every move. He sets a soapy bowl down in the empty side of the sink and gets to work on another, still watching as you lean over the table and scrub over the wooden surface. He says nothing. Daring a glance over your shoulder at him, you catch sight of his blue eyes, cold and calculating as they stare right back at you. That’s the moment you feel it, a wall around him, around his mind. As you look into his eyes, you can’t get even the slightest reading on his feelings, on his thoughts. His mind is impenetrable.
You quickly look away and continue wiping down the surface of the table. What the hell was that? You’ve never been around anyone you couldn’t read before. Bucky sets another soapy dish into the right side of the sink and lets his gaze fall away from you for a moment. Did you look into his thoughts? Did you see what most people see when they look at him? A monster, an uncontrollable killer? He’s patiently waiting for you to flee, to run and lock yourself in your room after analyzing whatever you just saw in his mind. However, different thought is crossing your mind. You want to try again, to get closer to him and get a better sense of the wall you felt around him. You push a couple of chairs into their rightful places beneath the table and then look over at Bucky again as he works on the dishes. His blue eyes meet yours once more and there it is again, that wall. Before you lose your boldness, you begin walking toward the kitchen, your feet carrying you closer and closer until you’re only a foot away from Bucky’s right side. He acts uninterested and his focus remains on a dirty dish and a sponge in his hands. Your eyes dart down to the sink and you notice the clean, soapy dishes in the side closest to you. Before you realize what you’re doing, your left arm is brushing against his right arm as you start rinsing the dishes beneath a steady stream of hot water. Bucky tenses next to you the moment the sleeve of your sweatshirt brushes over the skin of his bicep.
“Are you scared of me?” You ask softly, keeping your eyes down on the suds that are running off of the bowl in your hand. You watch as they swirl around in the bottom of the sink before disappearing down the drain. Bucky scoffs and a low chuckle slips past his lips.
“Scared isn’t the word I’d use.” He says coldly, passing you another dish to rinse.
“Then why do you stare at me like that?” You question, matching his cold tone.
“Like what?”
“Like you think I’m going to try to get in your head.”
“Haven’t you done that already?” Another dish is passed over to you. The hot water is turning your hands pink, and the frustrating interaction with such an unreasonably attractive ass is turning your cheeks the same color.
“If I had, you would’ve known.” You point out, turning your head to look up at the side of his face. He doesn’t turn to meet your gaze at first, so you study his features. There’s a light stubble peppered along his lower face, over his jawline and chin. He looks young but something about him gives off more of an old soul vibe.
“You don’t have enough control over your abilities to be able to read someone without them knowing?” His tone has shifted from a cold one to a condescending one.
“I do, but I don’t care to put in any effort to hide it when I’m reading someone who already knows I can do it. I wouldn’t put in that kind of effort for you.” You retort. You’re unsure where exactly the animosity came from, but you feel it. It’s palpable in the air, the way the two of you already dislike each other. Bucky’s glad you’re returning the sentiment honestly. It’ll make it so much easier to ignore the fact that you’re fucking gorgeous. Gorgeous and pure poison.
---
The update Fury left his house at four in the morning for wasn’t at all the update he was expecting. When his assistant called and told him that there was a new development with the girl he put up in the tower, the girl that HYDRA had experimented on and practically raised with the goal of having her become weapon of mass psychological destruction, he expected to hear that you’d done something apprehensible. Maybe you’d turned the other occupants of the tower against each other and caused a modern-day civil war, maybe you’d figured out a way to level the tower entirely, he had no idea. It wasn’t until five minutes ago when he finally slid into his office chair and viewed the new intel that he felt a bit of relief, and yet a new kind of stress. HYDRA wants you back.
---
No one stays in the tower on the weekends. Sam heads off to see family, Wanda and Vision jet away for weekend stays seemingly anywhere but here, and even Torres has plans. You assume Bucky is gone too, considering you haven’t heard anyone else around since you last saw Sam leaving at sunset.
As you sit comfortably on the couch in the living area, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy socks, you feel almost at home for once. You’re flipping through the various movie options on Netflix when you hear the elevator ding and the doors begin sliding open. You freeze with your thumb hovering over the remote in your hand as your eyes slowly drift to the left. Bucky Barnes. Of course he doesn’t have any weekend plans. Why would he? The man is practically insufferable anytime he opens his mouth. He shoots you an uninterested look as he steps into the living area and starts pulling his leather jacket off.
Fuck. He’s the one freezing in place when his gaze floats down to your lap and he notices the skin of your thighs. He tosses his leather jacket onto the opposite side of the couch and narrows his eyes at you before moving toward the kitchen for a bottle of water.
“You don’t have pants?” He asks, his disdain for you evident in his tone.
“I was held in captivity for over a decade, what are pants?” He hates when you’re sarcastic.
“Fine, no pants. But you have a TV in your room, don’t you?” He wants you locked away in there where he won’t even have the chance to let his eyes betray the rest of him.
“Are you going to be here all weekend?” You turn your body so you can see him over the back of the couch. You lock eyes with him as he takes a gulp from his water bottle. He notices the way your gaze drifts downward, focusing on his lips for a brief moment before trailing even further down to the tight shirt he’s wearing.
“Yep.” He puts emphasis on the ‘p’ at the end of the small, simple word.
“Do you like movies?” An olive branch, you’re extending an olive branch. If you’re stuck with him as your only company for the next 48 hours, you sure as hell aren’t going to make it easy for him to hate you. Why make yourself any more miserable? In the event that it does that opposite and makes him hate you even more, you’ll still feel like you won.
Your question caught Bucky off guard. You turn to face the TV once again and he watches as you use the remote to rifle through a category titled Action Movies.
“I prefer books.” He says flatly.
“If you can get over yourself for two hours, you could watch something with me. It’s up to you.”
You didn’t expect him to go for it, in fact, you don’t even know if you actually wanted him to. At first, you thought he rejected the offer. He scooped his leather jacket up off of the couch, shot you an unreadable sideways glance, and disappeared into his room, locking the door behind him. You’ve just decided on a movie when Bucky reappears, wearing black sweats and stupidly, only his dog tags adorning his chest. When he comes into view, your eyes immediately wander, taking in the entirety of his build. Fuck. How does someone who acts like such an ass end up looking like such a god? Bucky notices the way your gaze settles just above his waistband and he can’t stop the smirk that takes over his features.
“You don’t have a shirt?” You ask, mimicking his tone from earlier.
“I was held in captivity for decades, what is a shirt?” He didn’t quite mean to let you in on his past, but there it is. You sit before him stunned, your widened eyes dropping down to look over his vibranium arm with a new understanding. “You really haven’t been in my mind, have you?” You shake your head, still unsure of what to say to him. Bucky solves the issue at hand by taking a few more steps forward and sinking into the couch one cushion away from you. “What are we watching?”
---
Shit goes sideways really fast in your life. You were only half an hour into the movie when the power suddenly went out and the dim emergency lights in the hallway kicked on. You and Bucky froze and looked at each other with a mix of confusion and anticipation, both of you feeling that something was off. It was less than a second later when Bucky heard the commotion in the elevator shaft and he knew exactly what was coming. He was on top of you in an instant, forcing your back down on the couch before rolling the both of you off and onto the floor. He managed a second roll once you landed on top of him on the hardwood, making sure that when the movement stopped, you were securely underneath him and his body was shielding yours. You watched his face as he seemed to move on autopilot, reaching up to the coffee table and breaking a glass vase with one hand before using the shards of glass to deter the two men rappelling in through the now blown-in elevator doors. It all happened so fast, seeming to begin and end in all under 10 seconds, before Bucky was shoving you down the hallway toward the emergency stairwell.
He led you down four flights before pulling you through another metal door, into yet another dimly lit hallway. When you were both safely tucked away in a briefing room, he pulled his phone out of the pocket of his sweats and called Sam, setting it on speaker and placing the device on the table in the center of the room. Now you stand still, frozen, unsure of why you feel almost nothing. No fear, no concern, nothing. You simply feel like you have no control over anything and there’s nothing you can do to help or hurt the current situation. When Bucky grabs your wrist and pulls you toward the table, lifting you by your hips to sit you on top of it, you don’t resist.
“Are you okay?” He asks hurriedly, scanning your entire body with his eyes as his hands cup your cheeks and tilt your head from side to side. He’s looking for any sign of injury, but there’s nothing. “Say something.”
“Bucky? What’s going on?” Sam’s voice rings out from the phone on the table, snapping you out of whatever silent haze you were in.
“The tower’s been breached, we need to get out of here, now.” Bucky responds tersely. He still holds your face in his hands. You blink a few times, coming back to your senses, before looking up into his eyes. Relief. You see relief soaking into his features as he realizes you’re fine. “You’re okay?” He needs to hear you say it. You nod slowly, his palms brushing over your cheeks as you do.
“I’m good, I’m okay.” You whisper.
“Can you get down to the garage?” Sam questions. You can hear the sounds of him typing through the phone, probably sending out an alert to everyone he can.
“We’ll figure out a way to.” Bucky assures him.
“I’ll send you an address for a safehouse, you take her there and you stay put. Let me know when you get into a car. Fury says a strike team is already on the way.”
So much for living in the tower being the way to keep you safe.
---
You wouldn’t have expected such a broad, muscular guy to be so stealthy. Bucky got the two of you down to the garage and into a car in what you imagine was record-breaking time. It truly would’ve been a feat if he’d managed to get back upstairs and grab you some pants or himself a shirt as well, but you can see how that wasn’t really an option.
You sit in the passenger seat now, using his phone to text Sam and let him know that you made it out safe and are on the way to the address he sent. It’s quiet in the car for a couple of minutes, the only sounds being the tires against the road and a light rain coming down on the windshield as Bucky speeds down a dark highway. You set his phone in a cupholder by the gearshift before placing your hands on your still bare thighs. In this moment, you wish you could read into Bucky’s thoughts. What’s going on in his head? Does he have any idea who those men might’ve been? What they might’ve been there for? You don’t want to come across as conceited or self-centered but you’re pretty damn sure they were there for you, most likely on behalf of HYDRA. Maybe if you could read into his thoughts, he’d have a different suspicion and it would ease your growing anxiety.
“Is that the first time the tower’s ever been breached?” Your voice comes out too soft, too meek for your own liking. Bucky lets out a deep breath before relaxing in the driver’s seat. He wanted to hear your voice more than he realized.
“As far as I know, yeah.” He says with a nod, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. That isn’t quite what you wanted to hear. Maybe something along the lines of oh no, it happened a hundred times before you moved in would’ve made you feel better. Bucky doesn’t like the quiet that takes over the car after he gives you his answer. It feels tense, and not your typical can’t-stand-each-other kind of tense. “There are a million different reasons they could’ve been there.” He knows what you’re thinking, that they were more than likely there for you.
“You don’t have to try and make me feel better.” Your voice isn’t so soft anymore.
“You think they were there for you.”
“It makes the most sense, HYDRA has never really been known to let shit go.”
“I know.” He says it so emotionlessly but the way the realization settles on your shoulders is anything but. You feel what can only be described as a fist wrapping around your heart and squeezing it. He knows. He knows about HYDRA, he knows how they operate. He knows because he’s been through their shit, probably even more intensely than you.
“I don’t have any pants.” You mumble, pushing away the heavy topic of the most heinous organization that you know to exist. Bucky chuckles under his breath as he steers the car around a curve. He finds you annoyingly likable for someone he’s intent on hating.
When you pull up to the safehouse forty-five minutes later, you’re more than relieved to see that though it’s a very small cabin on the outskirts of a national park, there are two bedrooms. After checking in with Sam on the phone, you leave Bucky in the living room while you wander down the short hallway, trying to decide which bedroom you’ll be calling your own tonight.
“Did you take me off of speaker?” Sam asks Bucky in a hushed tone, praying you’re out of earshot. Bucky sinks into the couch and pinches the bridge of his nose with the index finger and thumb of his vibranium hand.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“She was the target tonight. HYDRA wants her back. They don’t want her dead, they want her back.”
“And you didn’t want to say this to her?” Bucky asks in a whisper.
“She probably has PTSD from what they did to her all of those years, there’s no sense in upsetting her if we don’t have to yet. For now, as long as she’s safe with you, we don’t have to tell her.” Sam explains quickly. Bucky can hear the din of an airport coming through the phone speaker. Sam’s trying his best to get back to New York on short notice, which tells Bucky it’s definitely serious.
“She already has her suspicions.” Bucky points out. He glances over his shoulder and down the hall, just as you’re stepping out of one bedroom and into the next.
“Just…don’t let her out of your sight. At all.”
Bucky stays seated on the couch for a few seconds after hanging up the call with Sam. His mind is speed running through the various outcomes of this whole situation. There’s a chance HYDRA already knows about the safehouse and they’re planning to hit it sometime tonight. There’s a chance HYDRA doesn’t know shit about where the two of you are right now and you’re safe at least while you’re here. There’s a chance you get pissed at Bucky and climb out a window in the middle of the night. Fuck. How did he end up being the one here with you?
You’re rummaging through a dresser in the largest bedroom at the back of the cabin when Bucky taps his knuckles on the already open door and steps in. You’re on your knees, digging through the bottom drawer, with your hair falling forward and obscuring your face from him. His eyes follow every move you make as you tuck the hair behind your ear and glance over at him.
“Is this where you’re sleeping?” He asks, tilting his head in the direction of the queen-sized bed. You follow his gaze, taking in the thin blue quilt and sad, flat looking pillows. You nod slowly.
“Yeah.” You respond, pushing the drawer shut and rising to your feet. You were looking for an extra pair of pants but the dresser only seemed to hold various extra blankets, sheets, and towels. Bucky nods, his eyes drifting back to the bed as if he’s deep in thought. When he tosses his phone onto the bed, you narrow your eyes at him. “I said I’m taking this one.”
“We both are.” He says defiantly, taking a step further into the room before closing the bedroom door behind him. He fishes the car keys out of his pocket and drops them on top of the dresser before heading for the bed.
“What the hell does that mean? There are two rooms, two beds. There isn’t a chance in hell we’re sleeping together.” You cross your arms over your chest, shaking your head aggressively. You watch him as he starts pulling the covers back on the far side of the bed.
“You just told me that you think those men were there for you. If you’re right, those guys were able to breach the equivalent of a maximum-security prison on steroids. And you want to sleep alone? In a room with a window?” He questions you as if he doesn’t already know that those men were most definitely there for you. He sees hesitation in your eyes, and he knows he’s got you there. You crave safety, security. You won’t fight him very hard on this and he knows it.
“I’m not wearing any pants.” As soon as the sentence leaves your mouth, you’re aware that you sound like a damn kid. A whiny kid.
“I’ll give you my pants if you shut up about it already.” Bucky promises. He stands next to the bed, with his hands firmly on his hips, waiting to see what your next move will be.
“Fine, give me your pants and I’ll suffer through the night.”
“In this bed?” He gestures toward it with his vibranium hand. You nod. “Say it.”
“In this bed.” You agree, with every bit of a bad attitude brimming your tone.
It’s not long after that that you find yourself wearing another man’s baggy sweats as you lay mere inches away from him. He’s close enough that you can feel his body heat warming the space beneath the covers, but not so close that there’s a threat of bodily contact.
Bucky’s wide awake beside you. He’s watching in the darkness as the quilt over your side rises up and then drops down again with every inhale and exhale. He usually has trouble sleeping, but knowing exactly who’s after you and what they’re capable of is giving him even more trouble.
“Are you still awake?” You whisper almost inaudibly. You’re facing away from Bucky so you didn’t notice the way he’s been staring at your back, watching you breathe.
“Yeah.” You’re silent for quite a few seconds after his response, but he knows your mind is working overtime. “What?”
“Nothing, I was just wondering.” Another minute of silence goes by before you roll onto your back and heave a deep sigh. Bucky waits patiently. He counts the seconds as they go by. One. Two. Three. Four. F— “If you weren’t there tonight—”
“Don’t think about that.” He warns. His eyes coast over the side of your face. He can see the worry, the stress playing on your features.
“But if you weren’t, I would’ve ended right back where I was.” You voice trembles in the slightest, and you hope he doesn’t notice it. He notices. Bucky’s fists clench beneath the bedsheets.
“You don’t even know if it was them, or if they were after you.” You roll over to face him now and he can see the tears gathering in your eyes, glinting in the moonlight from the window.
“I know.” You say assuredly, without a trace of doubt behind your words. Bucky knows he can’t lie to you, he can’t convince you that you didn’t nearly end up back in HYDRA’s clutches tonight. He can’t lie to you, and he won’t.
“Do you feel safe right now? Here?” He asks, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard it before. You search his face before answering with a small nod. “Focus on that. Don’t work yourself up over what could’ve happened. Just rest tonight and we’ll figure it out in the morning.”
“I’m already worked up, I can’t sleep.”
“I gave you my pants for you to lie here all night and not sleep?” He asks jokingly. You move your leg under the covers and kick his shin lightly. When you start to pull your leg back to your side of the bed, something stops you.
“Do you want them back?” You offer. Bucky raises an eyebrow at you, unsure of where you’re going with this. It’s as if the playfulness of the moment is erasing the fear and stress in your mind, so you go with it. “I’ll give them back.”
“So, all of that complaining about not having pants was what? An attempt to get me out of mine?” Bucky teases. He props his head up on one hand over his pillow, a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips.
“You gave in pretty easily, didn’t you? I think you wanted to take them off.” You retort, nudging his leg with yours again. Bucky licks his bottom lip as he gauges the tension growing between the two of you. Is this what you do to help you fall asleep? To test the waters, he places a hand right above the knee of the leg you keep nudging him with. It’s as if his touch sets off an electric spark, you feel it dancing from your knee all the way up to your chest and then right back down. The feeling settles between your legs.
“I was doing you a favor.” He rasps, rubbing light circles on your leg with his thumb. “And I was trying to shut you up.” Silence is becoming familiar between the two of you. You look at him for a long moment, mesmerized by the way his thumb is circling against the fabric of the sweats that he gave you. You find yourself staring first into his eyes, and then at his lips. You’d ask yourself what the hell you’re thinking but, let’s be honest: you’re not thinking.
“Would you do me one more favor?”
“What’s that?” Bucky asks as his hand inches a bit further up your thigh.
“Shut me up.”
---
There are a thousand reasons Bucky can think of to not be doing exactly what he’s doing right now. A thousand reasons to not be sucking on your bottom lip and grinding his erection against your clothed cunt. Maybe even a thousand and one reasons not to be absolutely fucking loving every second of it. But every filthy little moan and whimper that graces his ears only spurs him on. He’s doing you a favor, right?
“This isn’t really shutting you up.” You can feel his smirk against the skin of your neck as he slows the movement of his hips and begins grinding against you at a tortuously useless pace. “Maybe we should try it with the sweats out of the way, see if that shuts you up.”
“Yeah, that’s an idea.” The words come out breathlessly. You place your hands against Bucky’s shoulders and push him off of you. He returns to his side of the bed, trying to calm himself down as you lay beside him and shimmy out of his sweats. As far as he knows, that’s all you’re taking off. But in a moment of boldness, you decided to speed things up a bit and take your panties off with them. When you glance over and see him lying on his back, with the moonlight highlighting the sweat that glistens over the ridges of his abs, all you can think about is him. Being on him, being under him, you need him. He looks back at you with a daring look and you’re sold, you’re straddling his hips, hovering right over his boxers in an instant.
Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat when his flesh palm lands against your hip, just beneath the fabric of your t-shirt, and he only feels skin. Where’s the waistband of your panties? You see the surprise on his face as he grips your hips tighter, keeping you from sitting down and fulling straddling him.
“I thought I said try it with the sweats out of the way.” He tsks playfully. You have no idea how badly he wants to rip his boxers off and plunge his cock so deep inside you that you scream.
“Oops, I must’ve misheard you.” Your mischievous smile makes his cock harden that last little bit, and he can feel the way his balls begin aching to be emptied. He fucking hates you for making him feel this way.
“I should’ve known that being a good girl and listening wasn’t going to be your thing.” He says with a shake of his head. You’re about to say something else teasing and sarcastic when Bucky’s fingers dig into your hips sharply, surely leaving bruises, and he forces you to sit down across the hard shaft of his cock. Your wet cunt instantly soaks the fabric of his boxers and within two seconds, he can feel how wet you really are for him. For him. He hates you. He hates you. He hates you. He has to remind himself repeatedly as you begin circling your hips, because he fears he’s quickly forgetting that fact. You grind down with a little more pressure and he can feel a bead of precum slipping down the head of his cock. A soft groan slips out of him and he starts pushing your t-shirt up higher and higher until he’s pulling it over your head. The pale moonlight is just enough to let him see your bare chest and again, he’s chanting in his head. He hates you. He’s just doing this to make you feel better, to get your mind off of the HYDRA shit so you can sleep tonight. That’s all it is, right? A favor. As you lean down and start kissing and sucking on the skin of his neck, he feels your fingertips slowly dragging his boxers down by the waistband. He hates you.
At some point, Bucky helped you get his boxers all the way down his legs and he kicked them off and away until they were lost beneath the mess of sheets and blankets atop the bed. When your hand fisted around his cock the first time, he rutted into your hand without meaning to. It was like instinct. You wrapped your fist around him a little tighter and pressed your lips against his in a desperate kiss as he thrusted into your hand a second time, letting his precum wet your palm and then using it as lube. You would’ve been satisfied letting him fuck your hand, honestly. You probably could’ve orgasmed just from that experience alone, but you didn’t need him knowing you were that easy for him. That’s what got you to where you are now,
“I hate you.” You lie straight through your teeth as you drag your cunt back and forth along the length of his cock. Every time the head of it rubs against your clit, Bucky can feel your thighs tremble on either side of him and he’s fighting the urge to bend you over the bed and ruin you.
“I hate you too.” He lies right back. When you look into each other’s eyes, you both know there isn’t much truth coming from either of your mouths. “Sit on my cock.”
Never have you ever been one to listen when a man tells you what to do, until this moment, with Bucky Barnes. He watches as you position the head of his cock just right at your entrance. You’d think a man would want to watch as his entire length disappears inside of you, but no. Bucky looks up at your face as soon as the tip notches inside you. He watches with heavy breaths and groans falling from his lips as your mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ shape and your eyes scrunch closed at the way your walls stretch to fit him in.
“That’s it, don’t stop until you take it all.” Filthy. He’s fucking filthy. And you listen to every word he says, sinking down until you feel his balls pressing firmly against your ass. “Shit.” When he finally tears his eyes away from your face and gets a look at where you’re so deeply connected, he can’t fucking stand it. It’s too much and not enough all at the same time. “You have to move.” He groans, slipping his flesh hand further back from your hip to grab your ass.
“I can’t.” You whimper, leaning forward and bracing your hands on the mattress, on either side of his head.
“Move or get off of my cock.” You’d almost be offended if you didn’t know that he’s saying that because he’s close to blowing his load in you too early. You can feel the way his balls are tightening against your ass and you know he’s desperate. So, you try. You lift yourself up one single inch, and then slide back down. Then two inches, then back down. You repeat it over and over slowly, building up a rhythm as your own pleasure begins to grow. “Fuck, maybe you’re a good listener after all.”
“Stop talking.” You moan out, picking up the pace. You’re fully fucking his cock now, your bodies making obscene sounds as skin slaps against skin repeatedly. “I hate you.”
“Yeah, hate me a little more and see what that gets you.” He taunts, squeezing your ass with both hands and using his grasp there to help guide the up and down movement of your hips. You’re close and truthfully, you don’t even want to tell him.
The trouble really starts when he moves his flesh hand to your lower stomach and presses his thumb against your clit, offering a delicious friction there as you ride his dick. The increase in pleasure makes it even harder to think straight. You’re not thinking straight in the slightest when you move your hands to his chest, not paying attention to the fact that you have one hand over his heart.
“I’m close.” You whimper, earning you another squeeze of your ass with his vibranium hand and a bit more pressure against your clit. Your eyes are shut tightly as you focus on the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls and the tip of it nearing your cervix with every snap of your hips.
When you open your eyes and look down at him, his blue eyes flit up to meet yours and that’s when you realize the mistake you’ve made. He starts rubbing circles against your clit the moment your eyes meet, sending you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes in like a tidal wave, sweeping and relentless. With your hands on Bucky’s bare chest and your eyes locked, you lose the last shred of control you have, the last morsel of control over your abilities slips from your grasp. He feels it. Bucky feels every bit of pleasure that’s coursing through your body, he feels every thought in your mind, he hears your inner voice screaming for him. In the heat of the moment, you pour every sensation that you’re feeling straight into Bucky’s nervous system.
He can’t even speak as his orgasm hits ten times harder than it ever has before. He knows it’s coming from the eye contact and your hand on his chest, he can feel the uncharacteristic coolness beneath your palm that rests over his heart. It’s why he clamps his own hand over yours on his chest and uses his vibranium arm to wrap around your back and pull you down against him. As Bucky’s cum paints your walls, filling you so full that it starts dripping down his shaft, he can’t stop thrusting up into you. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop.
“Bucky, I’m…” You suck in a deep breath as you collapse on his chest, though he keeps your hand anchored over his heart. “I’m full, I can’t…” He shushes you as he continues pushing his cock up into your pussy. He slows but doesn’t stop.
“Don’t move.” He’s begging. Though his tone doesn’t sound like it, he’s fully aware that that’s what he’s doing. You haven’t fully caught your breath yet, but a soft laugh leaves your lips.
“Move or get off of my cock.” You repeat his earlier words playfully.
“I hate you.”
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#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x you#the winter soldier#winter soldier
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Weakness- M. Sturniolo
pairing: fem!reader x FWB!Matt
classification: slight angst, smut
inspiration: submission for @annamcdonalds67 ‘s writer’s challenge, American Jesus by Nessa Barrett
warnings: 18+, MDNI, literal sex, slight cursing, no use of Y/n, mention of smoking
summary: You fight your inner desires, but ultimately let your weakness consume you.
—
You pull your skirt up quickly, jumping to get the fabric past your thighs. Matt watches from his bed, his body slumped against the headboard as he lazily pulls a cigarette to his lips. His lips form a smirk as you fumble to get yourself together, his eyes trained on the way your ass jiggles against the fabric of your pleated uniform. Even though you two clearly just finished, an erection grows in his boxers at the mere sight in front of him. His hands flick a lighter over the cigarette, inhaling once it’s lit.
Everything about what you just did —what you've been doing— with Matt is wrong. He’s your best friend's brother; the second you admitted that you had a crush on him you should’ve distanced yourself. Instead, you let yourself cross an unforgivable boundary with him time and time again.
There are so many reasons why this relationship is wrong. First, you’re the cheer captain who’s never been caught with so much as a wrinkle on your uniform. Second, you’re at the top of your class and have never brought home a grade lower than an A. Third, you’re popular and if anyone were to find you with a bad boy like Matt, even if it was just your best friend Nick, your perfect reputation would surely be tainted forever.
“See you next week, sweetheart,” he murmurs, each word being followed by a puff of smoke. He catches your attention through the mirror, throwing a playful wink your way that has you rolling your eyes.
“No, you will not see me next week. This was the last time, Matt,” you retorted, trying to sound confident, but even you struggle to believe your own words. You tug your shirt over your head, fluffing your hair over your shoulders as you examine yourself in the mirror. The school’s logo stairs back at you, reminding you of the reality of your situation, of everything that was at stake.
He’s got lips like cherry wine and cigarette smoke on his breath. He’s got pretty long brown hair, blue eyes that look like sex.
You’re a mess.
Your lipstick is painted across your cheek, your hair remains tangled no matter how many times you run your fingers through it, mascara forms dark circles under your eyes, and hickeys litter every inch of your neck.
Not that he looks any better. His lips are equally as stained as yours and his long, brown hair falls past his eyes.
“You said that last week,” he smirks, the sultry undertone in his voice causing your knees to buckle. He knows that he has you, but he wants you to pledge your allegiance to him one last time before you go.
“I mean it this time,” you say, but your voice trembles; a clear sign of your resolve breaking, and this was no time to give in. There was still time for you to walk out with even a little bit of your dignity. All you had to do was walk out, get in your car, and leave. But some things are easier said than done.
Instead, you go on a nervous ramble. “You probably don’t care, but if anyone were to find out about this– If Nick were to find out about this, I’d be the worst friend ever. And I have so many cheer scholarships lined up too, Matt. I can’t let my grades slip, if I get anything below an A they could take those away. Do you know what my parents would do to me if I lost those scholarships? What they’d do to me if it was all over a boy?” your words are coming out a mile a minute, each insecurity and doubt going in one of Matt’s ears and coming out the other.
“Do you even care?”
It’s not that he didn’t care, he just preferred it when your mouth was occupied with other things instead. Matt takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in your direction. It curls around your figure, lassoing you towards him slowly. He wasn’t good with words, so he’s glad that your body gravitates towards him like second nature.
“This is the last time….” your voice trails off as you fall into Matt’s trance.
Before you know it, you’re crawling over to him and your body has managed to fit perfectly against his. Eager hands fall onto his chest, earning a satisfied hum from him because he knows he won.
Matt takes one last drag of the cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs as he dabs the bud onto the ashtray that sits on his nightstand. His hands instinctively pull your face in by the back of your neck, latching his lips onto yours and allowing the smoke to dissolve into the kiss. You used to hate the smell of cigarettes, but now even the taste is addicting.
“If you want me to stop, just say the word,” Matt instructs, his piercing blue eyes clouded with lust as he watches you intently. Your mind is telling you to stop, to grab your things and leave before anyone can notice you, but the aching feeling that grows under your skirt keeps you planted.
“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles, watching you internally battle with yourself. The comment makes you feel weak and small, but you’re chasing a euphoric feeling that helps you see past that.
Matt’s lips trail down your jawline, finding the sensitive spots on your neck that are already lined with bruises and bite marks. He sucks on a spot that always makes you whimper, simultaneously bunching your skirt up against your waist.
He delivers a swift slap to your ass cheek, painting your skin a bright shade of red. “Matt,” your voice is strained against the kiss, but he knows exactly what you want. Your hands travel from his chest down to his boxers, teasing fingers tracing the outline of his erection. He kisses his teeth at the sensation, pulling away from your neck briefly to watch your perfectly manicured hand cup his clothed penis.
It would be easy for Matt to submit to you, but where was the fun in that?
Knees down at your altar. Please don’t fail me now.
“On your knees, Princess.”
It’s a command that you’re used to, one that you follow without complaint. You wiggle into the carpet, your knees accustomed to the rough feeling that meets them. “Beautiful,” he hums. His body towers over yours, ready to watch you worship and praise the entirety of his shaft.
You look up at him through hooded eyes, asking for permission to proceed. He grants it to you with a lick of his lips, his fingers caressing your face as you pull his boxers down.
Matt’s penis springs out of its constraints. “You know how I like it,” he comments, watching you take his shaft into your hands. You pump it slowly, taking your time with it and making sure to properly service him.
You place a neat kiss on the tip, letting your lips travel down towards the base. From there you lick a stripe back towards the top that has Matt hissing because you wrap your lips around it, almost like you were drawing an exclamation mark on it.
Your tongue swirls around the tip teasingly, lips still hugging around him. Matt’s eyes stare down at you, eager for your every move.
A careful hand pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail, pushing your head down slowly on the rest of his length. You gag when the tip hits the back of your throat, your hands moving from his member to his waist. That doesn’t stop him though, instead he bucks into you one more time just to hear you choke around his cock.
You got me red, white, and blue. Pledging my allegiance to you.
“You like that, don’t you?” His question is met with your bloodshot, tear brimmed eyes and a chin dribbling with saliva. Your blue hickeys and red eyes were about to pair perfectly with the white strings of cum he was going to paint your face with.
Ooh, seeing stars in your eyes. No, I’ve never felt so alive.
Matt’s fucking your face at a feverish pace, grunting every time your cheeks hollow around him or his dick presses against the back of your throat. He’s so unbelievably close that he has to shut his eyes because the way your saliva coats his penis and bubbles at your mouth has him seeing stars.
Momentarily, he pulls out of your mouth, giving you enough time to catch your breath before he’s tapping the tip on your lips. “Open,” he grits, shoving himself back into your dazed face. Three more pumps and the submissive sight in front of him is all it takes to push him over the edge.
Spurts of cum land on your tongue, some of it managing to hit your cheek. He collects it on the thumb that brushes your cheek, popping it in your mouth and groaning at how eagerly you lick it clean.
Won’t you take me to heaven tonight?
“Now let me make you feel good, yeah? To remind you how much you mean to me,” Matt whispers, pulling you up and guiding you to the edge of the bed. Now it’s his turn to kneel in front of you, his lips latching onto the skin of your ankles and slowly kissing their way up to your inner thighs.
He nips and sucks on your skin until he’s face to face with your crotch, your arousal evident through your soaked panties. Matt places a gentle kiss on your clothed bundle of nerves, relishing in the satisfied shudder than runs through your spine.
Strong arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed and forcing you to lay back against the mattress. “Ready?” he asks, but he knows the answer, it’s literally glistening in front of him.
“Yes, fuck yes,” you respond. Weren’t you just claiming to be done with him? And now he has you exasperated at his touch.
Matt uses his teeth to pull your panties down, letting them fall onto the floor before returning his attention to your throbbing core.
He starts off slow, licking your clit just to get a taste of you. Your squirming informs him that this isn’t enough, so he uses his fingers to part your folds. His tongue is flat against you, applying pressure where you need it most.
His right hand presses one leg against the bed while the left clasps under your knees to push your leg in the air, providing him with the perfect position to ravish you. He begins sucking on your nub, burying his face in your juices.
You know all my secrets.
Your hands find his hair, whimpering as you tug at the strands. You’re squirming under him, attempting to pull away at the overstimulation, but his grip on you is so firm that you can’t move.
His left arm slithers from under your knee to over your thigh, wrapping around you tightly enough to tug you even further past the edge of the bed. At this point, your ass is in the air as you chase his face, grinding against him for even more friction.
“Matt— fuck! I’m so close,” you exclaim, propping yourself up on one of your elbows to watch him work. His hair fell past his eyes and his arms were securely wrapped around you; he looked so beautiful.
Your pussy flutters around him, signifying your pending release. So, as to push you closer towards your climax, his right hand leaves your thigh to plunge two long fingers inside of you. The euphoric sensation causes you to throw your head back in pleasure, your elbows giving out until your entire body falls back onto the mattress.
“C’mon baby,” he murmurs, “cum for me.”
That’s all it takes for you to come undone, your body trembling as your orgasm completely washes over you. Matt watches in awe as your jaw falls slack, small moans rolling off your tongue and floating towards him like a melodic tune.
You’re still catching your breath when Matt places one last kiss on your pussy, crawling over you to capture your lips in a kiss.
“How about we make the last time count?” he taunts, dragging the tip of his cock against your still sensitive folds.
You know you’re my weakness.
You nod your head feverishly, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you. You’re desperate for his touch, your walls crashing down like an addict overcome with their weakness.
That doesn’t seem to satisfy him. “Words. I need to hear you say it,” he grunts, becoming desperate himself.
Tell me you believe in me too. I do.
“I need you, Matt. I’ll always need you,” there’s a pathetic desperation in your voice that makes his dick twitch, and it’s all he needs to hear before he’s plunging deep inside of you.
He sets a steady pace, rocking his body back and forth against yours like it’s the first and last time. His pelvis brushes against your clit with each stroke, causing your hips to lift off the mattress and meet him midway.
Matt pushes your hips back down, knowing that if you keep that up he won’t last. “Patience, baby. Patience.”
He’s got a cross around his neck.
You can’t be patient though, he’s already so deep inside of you and he still doesn’t feel close enough. Your fingers loop around the cross necklace that dangles from his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. Your lips find his in a hungry frenzy, both your mouths moulding into a needy kiss.
Moans and whimpers are exchanged, along with the breathy sound that follows when you look down to see where you two are joined. His cock is covered in your slick, your walls hugging him perfectly with each stroke.
Your hand moves from the necklace to the nape of his neck, caressing and massaging the skin there as he continues to thrust deep inside of you. His necklace sways back and forth, serving as a reminder of how sinful this is. Yet, you never want it to stop.
Matt can tell you’re becoming pensive, so he pushes your hips into the mattress, providing him with a new angle that allows his tip to kiss your cervix. “Matt!” you gasp, the new, delicious angle setting you closer towards the edge.
His animalistic grunts fill the room, he loves when you say his name. “Say it again,” he commands, pulling out of you completely only to snap his hips back in at an ungodly rate.
“Matt!” you exclaim, chanting his name like a prayer.
You’re the greatest love of my life.
“That’s it baby, let go for me,” his words help you reach your climax, your pussy fluttering around him as you come undone. He follows suit shortly after, his head falling into the space where your neck meets your shoulder.
He groans as he releases inside of you, hot breath fanning against your neck. His hips rolls lazily against you, and for a second he lets himself be taken by the immense pleasure that washes over him.
“Fuck, I love you,” he moans, placing sloppy kisses all over your body. He doesn’t realize that he said until he feels your body stiffen beneath him, and honestly he’s not sure what possessed him to admit it out loud.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he stutters, pulling out of you completely. He’s quick to find his boxers and throw them on, leaving you dazed on the bed.
“See you next week?” you ask, a hopeful tone in your voice. Quickly you find your panties on the floor and adjust your skirt. He coughs awkwardly, mostly because he doesn’t know where to go from here.
“This was the last time,” he replies, quoting your words from earlier, but there’s something almost venomous in the way he says it. The sentence breaks your heart and you’re almost tempted to get down on your knees again so he’ll take it back. But you don’t, instead you gather your things and take a fleeting look at yourself in the mirror.
“That’s what you wanted, right? Wouldn’t want your best friend to find out about us anyways.”
You nod your head slowly, a tight lipped smile forming on your face. “Right.”
You were red, white and blue and he never gave you the chance to admit that you loved him too.
—
a/n: 🇺🇸😵 so excited to read everyone’s stories for this challenge!! - L.A.M.B👼🏻💗
—
MASTERLIST
taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @raysmayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03 @k-l-a-w-s @maryx2xx @biggesthat3r @herxyzblog @getosuckers @sturnioloarchive @tillies33ssss @fratbrochrisgf @aurizp @riasturns @sturnikitty @sturnrc @sturtriple16 @sillyfreakfanparty @imwetforyourmom @mattslovelygf @stingerayyy2
note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐 if your user is striked through, I wasn’t able to tag you :(
#sturniolo triplets#matt x y/n#matthew sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo angst#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo#matthew x reader#matt x reader#matthew sturniolo oneshot#matt#matthew sturniolo angst#matthew sturniolo fanfic#matthew sturniolo imagine#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo fanfiction#matthew sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo headcannons#matthew sturniolo x y/n#sturniolo smut#the sturniolo triplets#sturniolo triplets x reader#sturniolo triplets fanfic#sturniolo triplets smut#sturniolo triplets angst#chris sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo imagine
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on aziraphale's insecurities in S2
i'm pretty sure one of the lines in the end scene where crowley shoots himself in the foot the most is "i think i understand a whole lot better than you do," and i don't even think he realizes how badly aziraphale takes it.
it's just a fact to him: he knows better than aziraphale what heaven is like. it's also a fact to the audience, who knows that the metatron is doing this for bad reasons and that aziraphale is walking into a trap. but it's not a fact to aziraphale. and that's the moment aziraphale goes from panicky and anxious to angry.
aziraphale's self-doubts and anxieties concerning his identity as an angel are shown frequently in s2. we start 2x01 with him deeply insecure in his 'retirement': crowley mentions that aziraphale frequently calls him to "tell him about something clever he did," and aziraphale confirms that he is essentially using these conversations as a stand-in for reporting to heaven. he misses being on The Good Team and doesn't know what to do with himself now that he's not.
so aziraphale doesn't know who he is if he's not an angel, but he also knows that he's a bad angel. he was frequently mocked and condescended to in heaven (by seemingly everyone, not just the archangels; even the quartermaster in s1 called him pathetic). he lied to heaven, he lied to god, he enjoys earthly pleasures, he loves works with a demon, and he doubts the Plan. he never fit in with them. lonely, remember?
and later in the season, we learn that shax, for all that she apparently is not great with sarcasm, is remarkably perceptive when picking up on insecurities. she mocks aziraphale twice, first in the car for his relationship with crowley (which, interestingly, doesn't faze him a bit--remember the eyebrow? he's not at all insecure in his knowledge that crowley loves him. crowley has always been the thing he's most sure of, even very early on--look at how much faith he has in him with job.) the second time she hits much harder: "crowley's emotional support angel," "shall we send in the sushi?" "the softest touch" etc. it hurts him, you can see it.
and there's another tiny moment in 2x05 I don't think I've ever seen anyone talk about, where crowley has just bluffed to the demon horde and is trying to get all the humans together to leave. crowley says, "I won't leave you on your own," and aziraphale says, "I know. But I have a suggestion--" and crowley brushes him off, saying "I got this." aziraphale looks very frustrated by this exchange, which--yeah! fair!
and over and over, we just--we see crowley be right. right about job and god, right about elspeth, right about the magic trick, the nazis, the arrangement, the apocalypse. "you were right, you were right, i was wrong, you were right." crowley's never done the dance before, he says. how many times has aziraphale had to?
and crowley's not just right, he's confident in it! he moves through the world and makes choices that fly in the face of everything aziraphale knows about Good and Evil, and it seems to come so easily to him. he's loud, and he's brave, and he's full of conviction, and aziraphale often feels overshadowed by that surety, because he's so often full of doubt. "you sound jealous, angel," is what crowley says at job's mansion, and i think he's more right than he knows.
all this to say: when crowley says "I think I understand a whole lot better than you do," what aziraphale hears is you idiot and how can somebody as clever as you be so stupid and I was right, I was right, you were wrong, I was right. and he's fucking sick of it.
and so he doubles down, and he gets in the stupid elevator, and he makes the worst mistake of his life, because he's sick of being treated as heaven's lackey or crowley's sidekick. the metatron knew exactly what to say to get him there, and crowley had no idea he was playing directly into it.
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FAMILY DINNER PART2
Summary: Chris joins your family for dinner for the first time and it does not go as planned
Tw: Swearing, physical altercation, mentions of blood, verbal arguing, panic attack mentions of alcohol use, mentions of ed, lmk if I missed something
______________________________
The rest of the dinner was just as awkward as you'd thought it'd be. You can't really come back from your father implying you and your boyfriend just fucked in the bathroom of your childhood home, at the first family 'reunion' in 2 years.
So there you sat, eating your food in silence, waiting -no- begging, that someone cut the tension.
And finally someone does. And as they say, careful what you wish for.
"How many plates have you had, dear?" Your mom asked, looking up from her plate. You look back at her, before glancing at your plate and back to at her again.
"This is my second." You say, mouth full of food. You were thankful that people took your mother's talking as an invitation to also continue their conversations.
"Maybe we should slow down, you know? Save room for dessert, which you clearly don't need." She smiles, as if what she said was the best piece of advice she'd ever given anyone.
Her comments always bothered you, no matter how much you were told to ignore them. But when it came to your weight, it hurt the most. The comments were the worst in high school, as you were a little heavier than the average petite high schooler. But it was never as serious as your mom made it. So when you were a sophomore in high school, you developed an eating disorder, where you couldn't eat even if you tried, where you spent hours crying in front of the mirror, wishing you were skinnier to fit your mother's impossible expectations.
You fought that battle for years, 3 years to be exact. Your mom couldn't help because she saw nothing wrong with what you were doing. She would say, 'It's worth it.' And when you're young, you tend to believe everything your parents say because they'd 'never hurt you.' So after you moved out, Chris helped you get help, and you won your long and cruel battle. Obviously, you still have your days and your moments, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it used to be. Not with your new family. People who actually cared.
"S'cuse me?" You say, your voice laced with agitation.
"Well, honey, you don't want to get fat again, do you?" She said, shoveling broccoli into her mouth.
You had stopped chewing completely, making sure you heard her correctly. You looked over at Chris, who was looking at your mom with his jaw clenched. You look back at your mom and out your hand on Chris's thigh as to tell him to relax.
You felt him put his hand over yours and squeeze, a symbol of reassurance.
You sit back in your seat, looking at your plate in defeat. Guess you were done for the night. But your dad wasn't. In fact, your dad was drunk.
"Oh, honey, leave her alone. She's not nearly as huge as she used to be." He slurred, taking another sip from his beer.
"Okay, this isn't neces-" you start, only to be cut off by your parents. Shocker.
"What do you mean? I mean, look at her, David. She's just as big as she was in high school." You mom says gesturing to you.
Your heart dropped, anger and embarrassment filling your veins. "What the fuck, mom?!" You cry out. "Not only is that something you shouldn't say about people, especially your fucking kid, but I'm also right in front of you. At least have some decency to shit-talk me in private." You remove your hand from your boyfriends lap.
Your mom looks at you in shock, and your dad squints at you. "Woah, woah, relax dear. It's not only your fault. You can't help it." She said, reaching for your hand.
You pull your hand away, a look of disgust covering your face. "I don't want to hear that, mom, why's my weight always been a big fucking obsession of yours?" You snap. You feel Chris's hand on your thigh, which you push off quickly. Usually, when you're angry, the last thing you wanted was to be touched.
"It's not my fault. You were huge. I was trying to help you. Nobody wants a pig as their bride, y/n." She spits. Her words feel like daggers, stabbing into your heart.
"You weren't trying to help. You were doing this for yourself. You never cared about it. You only did it because it made you look good to have skinny, petite children. I'm not you or any of them." You gesture to you siblings. The conversations had stopped by now, all of them watching as you and your parents bickered. Embarrassing. "You're a selfish bitch, who never cared about anybody else but herself a-"
"Hey! You watch how you speak to your mother!" Your dad stands up, and instinctively, so did you and your siblings. James and Peter were the first up, while Julia walked over and made sure Maya wasn't in the room.
Nick, Matt, and Chris all stood up too, but they weren't sure what to do, which you would've found funny, but considering the circumstances...
"Let's all relax, okay." Peter attempts to butt in. He's always been so soft-spoken, but if he needs to, he'll beat the shit outta someone. You knew what he was capable of. You'd seen it when your first boyfriend cheated on you.
Your dad directed his attention to Peter. "You shut the fuck up. You have no room to speak because you're a sorry excuse for a son." He drunkenly pointed at Peter.
"You're talking. You can't even see straight half the time, let alone be eligible to give advice." James, your younger brother spits.
Ah, you'd taught him well.
"You watch your mouth before I knock you the fuck out." Your dad spits, and that seems to shut James up. It breaks your heart knowing your father hadn't changed, and when you left, probably laid hands on your younger siblings. And it appears as though Peter's heart broke, too.
Peter stepped closer to your dad, with the same face of anger you'd seem many times before. "You hit them too, Dad? After what you promised!?" He said, his voice raised.
It was all too much. There are too many memories, too many flashbacks. There are too many similarities of past events.
"O-okay, Peter, relax." You attempt, knowing how fast this could escalate. You hold Chris's hand and squeeze tightly.
"Yeah, listen to the pig, Peter." Your father gritted his teeth.
"With all due respect, sir, I'm gonna need you to stop calling your daughter a pig." You hear an unexpected voice. Chris.
Your dad whips his head, staring at Chris with his eyebrows raised, unimpressed. Little did he know, Chris played hockey, and his brothers, who wouldn't hesitate to jump in, also played hockey.
"Chri-" You start.
"No, no, I'd like to hear what he has to say." Your father mocks.
"No! No, please let's just sto-" you get cut off again.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, Y/N." Your dad yells, taking very quick steps to you.
Chris stood in front of you, Peter and James behind your father.
"Move." He growled at Chris.
Chris sucked his teeth, with fake disappointment on his face. "Sorry, can't do that one, sir."
Your dad huffed, allowing Chris to smell every sip of alcohol he'd drunk. "Move." He stated again.
Chris shook his head. "That's my daughter! Get the fuck out of the way, tough guy."
Chris cocked his head. "Really, because based off what I've seen, you sure don't talk to her like it." He spoke, his voice calm, but stern.
That was it. Your dad snapped. He swung his fist, hitting Chris in the nose. "Dad! What the fuck!" You say.
You watch as Chris doubles over, holding his nose, followed by yelling from everyone in the room. You can't understand anything, but you do know that your dad's got his hands around your collar and is holding you close to his face.
You feel the tears start to fall as the scent of alcohol burns your nose. "You're a little bitch, letting this puny excuse of a man speak to me like that."
"Let her go, dad!" James screamed, followed by Peter's yelling.
You look over and make eye contact with your mom. She stood there, arms crossed, not a single expression on her face. She just let it happen.
Your dad shook you. "LOOK AT ME." He shouted in your face. You closed your eyes, as tears began to fall.
"CHRIS NO!" Nick yells. That's all you hear before you dropped. You didn't realize he was choking you until he let go. You look up and see Chris on top of your dad, landing blows like he if were in a hockey game. Your dad got a few heavy punches in, too, as you expected.
Chris had a bloody nose, a bloody lip, and crimson knuckles. Blood stained his big hands, and you couldn't tell if it was his or your father's.
Matt and Nick finally managed to push Chris out of the house, leaving you and your family. Your dad was still screaming drunk profanities, while James made sure you were okay. Peter and your mom held your dad back from chasing your boyfriend.
You had walked out of the dining room and went to sit on the stairs. Tears streamed down your face as you felt yourself slip into a familiar but unfamiliar trance. You were completely unaware of your surroundings at this point, so lost in your brain that the rest of your body was just frozen.
You don't know how long you are disassociating for, but you heard muffled shouting until you didn't. The yelling was replaced with ringing, something your brain did as a coping mechanism, mostly when you were young and hiding with your siblings in the bathroom while your dad trashed your home.
"-aby, can you take a deep breath from me?" You look up, but your vision is blurred, and you can't make out who's speaking - or anything for that matter.
You blink slowly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It usually took you a while to come back to reality during these moments.
"Can someone get her a cup of water?" You hear the voice again, and despite your yearning to speak, you can't get any words out. Your mouth opens, and you try to speak, but it comes out more of a choked whine.
"Shh, I know, sweetheart, it's okay." Chris wipes the tears coming for your cheeks. Your pupils were enlarged, and your eyes were open, but you couldn't see.
"Thank you." Chris muttered as Matt handed him a cup of ice water. "Here, baby." He put his hands in the icy water, shaking them, so his hands are damp. He took your hands, which had a death grip on your hoodie, and rubbed his cold fingers over your knuckles.
You focused on the feeling of his frigid fingers and you felt yourself coming back to reality.
You blink quickly as more tears fall. "Aw ma, don't cry, it's okay, sweetheart." Chris coos, placing his hands on your hips, rubbing his thumbs on the bone.
His attempts to ground you are successful, as your eyes finally focus on his eyes. "Hey, hey, you coming back to me, baby?" Chris asks, his voice soothingly attempting to comfort you.
You nod absent-mindedly, relief flooding your body as you come back to reality.
You take in your surroundings for the first time in what felt like forever. You're sat on the stairs, your hands shaking from the adrenaline flowing through your veins.
You finally make eye contact with Chris, his eyes full of love and worry. He's got a bruise on the side of his face, a busted lip, and blood falling from his nose, smeared on his upper lip.
"Chris..." you say, cupping his face, rubbing his cheeks down to his lip, frowning when he winced. "Baby..."
He pulls away, chuckling lightly. "It's fine, baby, I'm okay. I just wanted to make sure you were safe." He squeezed your hips in reassurance.
"I'm okay." You say. But then your mind screams at you. "Fuck, where's Maya... an-and, James. Oh, fuck, what about Julia and Pet-" your cut off by Chris's lips on yours. You sigh into the kiss, your hands trailing down his neck.
He pulls away and smiles sadly. "Thank you." You whisper, looking down. "Anytime, baby. I'm so sorry. God, I'm so fucking sorry." He said, leaning his forehead on yours.
You shake your head. "It's okay, he's a fucking asshole." Chris kisses your cheek. "Let's get outta here? I made a little bit of a mess."
You raise your eyebrows. "A little?" Chris kisses his teeth and scoffs.
You smile and kiss his cheek. "Anybody would've done it, Chris. It's okay, really." You speak softly.
Chris smiles and helps you up. "Let's go home." He leads you down the stairs and reaches for the door.
But it opens before he can open it.
"Oh my god."
______________________________
(Man, I wonder who that is)
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i kinda think im not as bad as some paranoid strangers on here seem to think
#mood#i kind of feel like.#what if i just. dont have ulterior motives#what if im just here to get high and share my thoughts and opinions that im 100% willing to change on with better info provided#kinda feel like thats the least you can ask for for ppl on here that many ppl dont even live up to#also i feel like the only reason i seem bad to some ppl is that i dont put up a front of being perfect online. and i also dont do much to#hide my past and things ive done. i think if everything anyone has ever done was put online then yall wouldnt feel as bold as you do#acting like im the worst person in the world lmao#yall are not more perfect than me in any way lmao#and if for whatever reason you've been able to for the most part be free of problematic behavior: congrats on being morally lucky.#i think perhaps you should look up the term. and also consider how it applies to being raised and how YOU mightve been raised by perfectly#perfect lil progressive parents thus making you a perfect lil flawless progressive- but plenty of us didnt have that. or didnt have as#progressive figures in our lives. so we grew up thinking things were normal that werent.#so please. have patience with me while i unlearn things ive come to know as normal that arent.#that or shove your moral purity up your ass bc idgaf about how perfect you think you are in comparison to me.#had i known better for certain things i wouldnt have done them.#i knew better not to be kinda misogynistic on here but i still was and yeah its bc of trauma but it still wasnt okay#im not going around justifying this behavior and even back then i hardly tried bc i knew it wasnt justified. i was just wanting to vent my#frustrations honestly since this is a space divorced from my real life for the most part#though i recognize its a shared space and i gotta remind myself that bc often i just use this as a place to vent#regardless. it was wrong. and no im not gonna hide this apology in my tags. ill post one eventually though i feel like i want to iron out#my thoughts about it first. but aside from this#p much everything else is stuff im unlearning. and if anyones acting like im just genetically evil and its NOT my upbringing: suck a dick#even then. the misogyny is stuff im unlearning too
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List of random dialogue prompts (pt. 2)
“If you felt want and longing the way I did — the way I still do — I promise you’d be driven fucking mad.”
“I wanted the thrill of the chase more than I wanted you.”
“You really couldn’t have been any more obvious.” “That’s because I didn’t have anything to hide. I was being obvious, because I needed you to know, without a doubt, that I love you.”
“This is literally the worst moment for me to be saying this but considering how we could die at any second, I need to get this off my chest before I become buried six feet under, without a chance to say any of this to you: I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids. I’ve loved you every second of my life; from the moment when I knew what loving someone really meant.”
“I kinda knew I lost all feelings for you when I realised I didn’t want to communicate with you about the problems that were happening between us. I became complaisant.”
“Loving you is as easy as overthinking everything.”
“It’s… easy with you. Nice. I don’t have to be someone else to impress you, because I know you love me for me.”
“There are parts of me I’d never thought I’d show to anyone else, but then… You came along, and for some reason, you made me want to be honest with you; bare my soul to you.”
“So what in the hell are we? I’m not doing this unless we’re on the same page.”
“Please don’t tell me we’re nothing to you… That I mean nothing after everything’s that happened.”
“You’re my emotional support human, and I love you so, so much.”
“If you ever need me, I’ll be right here. Just as I’ve always been.”
“I’d let you break my heart, if it means I’d get to have you for even a day.”
“You make me feel like dancing in the pouring rain wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”
“You’re astoundingly unhealthy for me, but do I care? No, because I wouldn’t have fallen if I cared, especially when I’m someone who’s usually so careful with whom I give my heart to.”
“…I didn’t drunk call you. It wasn’t a drunk call. I called you, perfectly sober.”
“You’re someone I want to tell things to.”
“What’s more important to me is that I’m your last love.”
“This… This hurts me more than it hurts you.”
“Falling in love wasn’t on the agenda.” “Do you mean falling in love with me out of all people wasn’t on the agenda?”
“I don’t know, I guess I’m kind of in love?”
“…I want all of you. On top, under, whatever — I don’t care, I just want you.”
“Maybe I can help you forget about them.”
“It’s easier to pretend I’m still in love with them, than leave them in that state.” “You know you basically lying to them about your feelings is gonna hurt them more in the long run, right?”
“Why does it have to be them? Why can’t it be me?”
“I’ll give you two seconds to take that back.”
“You gotta work for it, love.”
“We can pretend that didn’t happen.” “I’m sorry, but I’m not as good of an actor as you are.”
“I don’t know how to… I’ve never done this before.” “Then follow my lead, okay?”
“I’m someone who falls in love easily, but I’m also someone who can’t get over someone as easily.”
“I want to make this work, because I don’t— I don’t want to— I can’t lose you.”
“You make me want to be a better version of myself.”
“I don’t wanna mess this up with you.” “You won’t. I promise, you won’t, so just… Do whatever. I trust you.”
“Why are you smiling at your phone?” “…I was looking at the mail app, and uh… Received some good news?”
“Because love isn’t linear. You know that, right?”
“I’m not doing this for you — I’m doing this for myself.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be that person for you.”
“I’m here to stay. At least until you want me gone, which I hope is never.”
“Chasing you is like chasing the rainbow… It’s impossible. You’re always slipping away no matter how fast I run after you.”
“Don’t give me that it’s not you, it’s me bullcrap. It’s us both. We’re both at fault for this relationship breakdown.”
“God, I just like you so, so much.”
“I think I need to get over you for me to feel better again.”
“You and your stupid smile… Stop that.”
“I just need you in me somehow, please—”
“I really hope you realised they were flirting with you.” “…They were?”
“I’ve caught feelings for you, and I know you don’t like me back that way so I just… Wanted to tell you, before I decide to let you go.”
“I’ll be here to pick up the broken pieces if that’s what you want me to do, but I’ll leave if you’re not ready for that… For something more with me.”
“I love you, but I… I don’t think I see a future with you.”
“Give me a week. A week, and I’ll be back to normal. A week, and I’ll… I’ll be over you. Just a week and you’ll have the old me back. It’s that easy, I promise.”
“I kinda wanna give myself a concussion so I can forget about you and not think about you twenty-four-seven.”
(pt. 1) | (pt. 3)
#i wrote this in january lmfao#long post#dialogue prompts#otp prompts#fluff prompts#angst prompts#smut prompts#prompts#romantic prompts#romance prompts#suggestive prompts
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PLACEHOLDER | CSC
cw - meanie!cheol, reader can fit into seungcheol’s clothes, toxic behavior, cheating, voyeurism, squirting, oral sex (f), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare
– for my 🪼 anon.
∘₊✧─── 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 ───✧₊∘
bestie!seungcheol is the meanest guy ever. he’s brutally honest to the point of being rude, and he never cares about anyone’s feelings. he’s been this way forever to everyone and anyone — from total strangers to his actual family. the only exception to his abrasive ways is not his girlfriend, but you.
when bestie!seungcheol’s girlfriend first met you, she belatedly realized the the special treatment she got from her boyfriend wasn’t all that special. if he didn’t constantly roll his eyes when she did things that annoyed him or cut her words because he didn’t want to keep listening, that was nothing compared to how he treats you.
if you’re out together and you get cold or forget to bring a jacket, bestie!seungcheol doesn’t hesitate to give you his. she also noticed that he never lets you pay for anything, offering you an adorable gummy smile she had never seen while saying he’s got you. he also offers you a taste of any food he gets for himself, even going as far as feeding you. but maybe the most devastating blow is how he looks at you with pure, unadulterated affection.
the worst part of it is how oblivious you are to all of it. at first, she just thought you were pretending to not know, but when she talks to you about his odd behavior, you genuinely don’t know what she means.
“he’s only nice to the people he loves. i thought you of all people knew that.”
you’re not mean or harsh with the delivery of your words. in fact, you say them in a way that heavily implies that you believe bestie!seungcheol is in love with her. it doesn’t make her feel any better though. because all signs point to her boyfriend being in love with you, and she can feel herself start to spiral.
fighting with bestie!seungcheol about you is draining. mostly because there’s not an end to the arguments. it always ends with him telling her bluntly that he would cut her out of his life before even thinking of cutting you off. it hurts, really fucking bad. but she doesn’t leave. for some reason, it only makes her want to hold on to him more.
it’s useless. every time she can feel her boyfriend slipping further and further away until it seems like they’re practically nothing anymore.
but she thinks there might be hope when she gets a text from bestie!seungcheol one random night. in the message he tells her to come over so they can talk. he makes it clear that he’s busy, but she can wait in the living room until he’s done. it’s pathetic how fast she drops everything just to go over to his house.
trying to be considerate was her first mistake. she let herself inside using the spare key she begged her boyfriend to give her. the house is still, and as she slowly takes off her jacket she sees a familiar bag on one of the couches. then, she hears it. faint moans coming from upstairs. her heart plummets.
not leaving right then and there was her second mistake.
it’s like her feet move on their own as she goes upstairs to where the wanton moans are coming from. unsurprisingly, the sounds are coming from bestie!seungcheol’s room. she can tell the door is open from where she’s standing in the hall. stupidly, she still hopes it’s not what it seems.
she cautiously gets closer to look inside while still managing not be be seen. what she sees rips heart heart in two. bestie!seungcheol has you face down and ass up on the bed, completely naked. from where she’s standing, she can see the arousal covering your thighs. all she can do is watch as her boyfriend spits on your cunt and spreads it all over your quivering lips with his tongue.
bestie!seungcheol moans into your pussy as he spreads your ass to shove his face deeper into you. he kneads gently at the soft skin as he slurps up every stream of juice you release.
“you taste like absolute heaven, baby.” seungcheol groans as he slowly tugs on his aching cock. precum is leaking out in thick beads which he uses as a lubricant to fuck his hand. “just like i knew you would.”
his words are another jab to his girlfriend’s shattered heart. this only confirms what she knew to be true. as if it already wasn’t fucking obvious. in all the time they were together, he never ate her out, not once. she thought that it was just something he didn’t like, and it crushes her to see that’s clearly not the case. bestie!seungcheol is sloppy with how he eats you out. fucking obscene, actually.
his tongue fucks into you, licking every inch of your sweet cunt until he gets to your swollen nub. it’s what pushes you over the edge. you squirt all over seungcheol’s face and cover him with your orgasm. his girlfriend watches with soul-crushing disappointment as he laps it all up eagerly, moaning along with you.
“fuck! cheollie!” you cry out as you grind your cunt back on his face, riding out your high.
“god, you’re fucking hot, sweetheart.” your best friend hums against your sloppy pussy. “making a mess all over my face.”
it hurts because bestie!seungcheol doesn’t care that you squirted and called him by that stupid nickname. when she had done both (on two separate occasions), he had made his displeasure clear. this is all too much for her, but she doesn’t leave. not even as she watches your legs tremble with little aftershocks of pleasure. not even when her boyfriend friend looks back at the door and throws her a mean smirk.
staying to watch is her third mistake. her heart keeps breaking as bestie!seungcheol slowly shifts you into a different position, all while murmuring about how pretty and good for him you are. he’s pressing tender kisses to your face as he lays you on his chest, smiling at you like you’re the person he loves the most in the world.
you moan is needy when you feel bestie!seungcheol tease your entrance with his leaking tip. it all feels so good that you have to shove your face in his neck and let out a desperate please so he can finally shove it in and fuck you.
which he does. bestie!seungcheol concedes to you so easily it’s hard for his girlfriend not to feel jealous. especially as she watches him shove his big cock into your tight little cunt in one go. she can tell how tight you are because the grip is crazy and seungcheol is moaning like she believed him unable to do. he quickly starts fucking into you, splitting you open with rough thrusts.
“you’re so fucking tight, baby.” seungcheol groans, feeling your hot cunt clench around him as he spews his filth against your ear. “sweet little pussy was meant to take my cock.”
he rams his dick into you until you’re crying out his name like it’s all you can remember. you’re coating his cock with your cream, and the sight make his girlfriend sick. she can smell the heady musk of sex from where she’s standing, and the sound of lewd squelching and skin on skin seems deafening at this point. but she’s unable to look away even as you cum all over her boyfriend’s cock while crying out like a pornstar.
“fucking love your cock!” you moan, lifting your head to give bestie!seungcheol a sloppy kiss. your tongues play around together until you inevitably have to separate for air. “sh-shit, cheollie. fucking love you.”
he starts to fuck you harder when he hears those words, groaning out his own that break the remaining pieces of his girlfriend’s heart. “i love you too, sweetheart. more than anyone.”
she feels numb at this point. never mind that he never kissed her during sex or said those three words to her. seungcheol just fucking came inside you. he’s never fucked her full of cum like how he’s doing to you — filling you with the love he’ll never have for her.
bestie!seungcheol caresses your body while telling you what a good girl you are and how well you did for him. another thing his girlfriend never got. she didn’t know that he could be such a soft person during sex. the last bit of her heart is finally ripped away when he gently lays you on the bed and start to clean you up. he’s murmuring praises into your skin before helping you into his shirt. then he pulls you to his chest and gently caresses your hair as he reiterates his love for you.
your back is facing his girlfriend, and you’re too sleepy to notice anything but seungcheol’s warmth. so it’s natural that you don’t see him glare at her and nod his head in a way that says get lost. which she does because then maybe she can distract herself from the fact that he never performed any aftercare on her.
his girlfriend’s fourth mistake is going downstairs to wait for him like his text said. she waits about an hour, crying her heart out the entire time. eventually, bestie!seungcheol comes downstairs with just a pair of sweatpants on. he raises his eyebrow at her, clearly irritated. “enjoy the show?”
he’s mad, and she’s just heartbroken.
“why—?”
“we’re over.” he cuts her words, clearly sick of her and her pathetic behavior. “we had our fun, but you were just a placeholder until y/n was ready to admit her feelings for me.”
the living room is quiet until her ex sticks out his hand. she knows it’s a silent demand for the spare key that was never meant for her in the first place. like a zombie, she gives it back and watches him go back upstairs to the woman he actually loves. his cruel actions aren’t shocking because that’s how he’s always been.
now all she’s left with is a heart that’s in irreparable tatters because bestie!seungcheol will only ever love you.
#kumawaii.exe#seungcheol smut#choi seungcheol smut#svt smut#seventeen smut#seungcheol x reader#svt x reader#seungcheol fanfic#svt fanfic#seungcheol fic#svt fic#seungcheol imagine#svt imagine
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