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vingtetunmars · 2 months ago

Text

Teenage Dirtbags

Pairing: Eddie Munson X F!Reader

Summary: Childhood friends turned rebellious teens, you and Eddie Munson have always been thick as thieves — sneaking out, breaking into abandoned diners, and laughing at the world that doesn’t get them. Her parents disapprove, the school calls him a freak, but none of it matters when they’re together.

Tags: NSFW, smut (18+), fluff, friends to lovers, childhood friends, coming of age, mutual pining, rebellious teenagers, "us against the world", parents disapproval, impulsive getaways, eddie munson is a sweetheart, p-in-v, confessionnal sex. No descriptions of reader. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: Save to say most of my fic inspiration for Eddie are from songs. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 9.4k (oh wow)

masterlist

1979

You were going to snap.

The plastic spork bounced off your tray and skidded across the table. You didn’t even need to look to know who threw it—same kid who’d been messing with you all week. Earlier, it was a balled-up napkin. Yesterday, it was a grape. Today, it was everything short of a full-on food fight.

You kept your head down, picking at the sad excuse for macaroni on your tray, hoping he’d get bored. He didn’t.

“Hey,” the boy behind you whispered, yanking a lock of your hair just hard enough to make your eyes sting. “You put glue in it or something? Why’s it so crunchy?”

Your jaw clenched. You bit your cheek to keep from turning around and launching your milk carton at his face. The din of the lunchroom made it easy for teachers to ignore—unless someone got loud.

Which someone did.

“Cease your torment, cretin! Or I shall summon the Lord of the Underworld himself!”

Your head whipped up. The boy behind you froze.

Standing at the end of your lunch table was a skinny kid with a buzz cut, a tattered Black Sabbath patch safety-pinned to his denim vest, and a tray of untouched lunch balanced on one hand like a waiter. His other hand pointed accusingly, finger straight and eyes wide like a televangelist on TV.

“What the hell, Munson?” the boy behind you asked.

The new kid didn’t answer. Instead, he dropped to one knee in the middle of the cafeteria floor and raised both hands to the ceiling.

“Dominos. Ravioli. Infernum-malarkey!” he bellowed, deepening his voice into a theatrical growl. “Oh great horned one, curse this mortal with itchy skin and uncontrollable gas!”

Laughter burst out from nearby tables.

You blinked.

Then—you laughed too.

It started as a confused giggle and turned into a real, actual laugh. Loud enough to startle the kid behind you into silence. He slunk away without a word, disappearing into the crowd.

When you turned back around, the buzz cut boy had taken a dramatic bow.

“Eddie Munson,” he announced. “At your service.”

You stared at him for a beat, then smiled, “You’re weird.”

He beamed like you’d just handed him a trophy.

“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”

And just like that, the empty seat across from you wasn’t empty anymore.

1984

The hallway erupted like someone had hit “play” on a fast-forward button—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, voices rising as students flooded toward freedom. But right in the middle of the chaos, you took your time.

Your locker was stuck again. You wiggled the handle with practiced irritation, muttering a quiet curse under your breath.

And then—

Slam!

A hand hit the locker next to yours with dramatic flair.

“Need a spell, m’lady?”

You didn’t even have to look. The smug tone, the scent of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke—it was unmistakable.

“You’re gonna bruise the metal if you keep doing that,” you said, lips tugging into a smile despite yourself.

Eddie Munson leaned against the lockers like he owned the hallway, grinning at you through his mess of curls. His denim vest was half-unbuttoned over his Hellfire Club tee, and he had a binder stuffed with loose papers under one arm. Somehow, he made chaos look cool.

“Maybe it’ll bruise back,” he quipped, giving your locker a gentle kick. It creaked open instantly. “See? You just have to speak its language.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping back so you could grab your books, “you keep me around. Which says so much more about you than it does about me.”

You bumped his shoulder as you closed your locker, and he didn’t move an inch.

“Plans tonight?” he asked, falling into step beside you like he always did.

“Not unless you’re planning something.”

He grinned wider. “I may or may not have found a way into the old diner by the train tracks.”

You arched a brow. “Eddie.”

“It’s abandoned! Kinda. Mostly. Anyway, I hear the power still works.”

You stopped walking and turned to him, arms crossed. “If we get caught again—”

“We won’t.” He leaned in with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “We’re ghosts, remember? Shadows. Teenage legends.”

You stared at him for a beat, then let out a quiet laugh. “You’re full of shit.”

“And yet,” he echoed with a smirk, “you keep me around.”

You rolled your eyes again, but there was no hiding the fondness in it. You always rolled your eyes around Eddie. And he always stayed close anyway.

Like he had since the cafeteria, five years ago.

Later that night, the lock was rusted, the side door warped just enough to slip a crowbar through. Eddie grunted as he wedged it in, muscles tense, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. With one good shove and a metallic clank, the door creaked open.

“After you, partner in crime,” he whispered, bowing with a flourish.

You stepped inside, the soles of your sneakers crunching on old tile dust. The air smelled like mildew and grease that had long since congealed into memory.

A few rays of moonlight filtered through cracked windows, casting long, silvery shadows across the booths and checkered floor. The whole place looked like someone had locked up in ’64 and never came back. A half-burned “Daily Special” board still hung above the counter. A stack of chipped coffee cups waited behind the bar like someone might show up to pour a round.

“Holy shit,” you breathed. “This is so cool.”

“Told you.” Eddie’s voice was soft, reverent even. “Place is like a time capsule. All it needs is a jukebox and someone to roll by on skates.”

You wandered past the booths, running your fingers over the cracked vinyl cushions. The red had faded to dull maroon. He followed a few steps behind, glancing around with wide eyes like a kid in a haunted house—excited, cautious, thrilled.

“Bet there’s still silverware somewhere,” he said, hopping over the counter with a thud. He pulled open a drawer, rattling around. “Bingo.”

He held up a rusted spoon like it was buried treasure.

You chuckled, ducking behind the counter with him. “I’m stealing a salt shaker. This is too good not to commemorate.”

“Here,” he said, digging deeper into the drawer. “Comet-brand bottle opener. Still shiny.”

You pocketed it with a grin. “We should open a museum.”

Eddie stood up on the counter, arms spread wide. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Hall of Bad Decisions. Featuring cigarette burns, petty theft, and a distinct lack of adult supervision.”

You laughed louder this time, the sound echoing off the walls.

The truth was, no matter how dusty or broken the place, it always felt electric with Eddie around. Every forgotten building was a playground. Every half-dumb idea felt like genius. With him, even rusted cutlery felt like gold.

You leaned against the counter, smiling up at him.

“This place is gonna be ours for a while, huh?”

He looked down at you and nodded, his grin softening.

“Yeah,” he said. “Until the next one.”

Eddie’s van purred softly in the driveway, headlights off. The glow from the porch light was enough to see the curve of his grin as he leaned across the driver’s seat to look at you.

“You sure you don’t want me to summon Satan again?” he teased, voice low. “Might scare your mom into going easy on you.”

You laughed quietly, hand already on the door handle. “Pretty sure she’s more terrifying than Satan.”

He tilted his head, mock serious. “Valid.”

A beat of silence passed. You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said. “That diner was… weirdly magical.”

He smirked. ��Like I said—teenage legends.”

You leaned over and bumped his shoulder gently. “Call me when you get home.”

Eddie saluted you, then added, “I’ll keep an eye out for demon cops. You never know.”

You rolled your eyes, but it made you smile as you slipped out of the van and jogged up the front steps. You gave him one last wave before unlocking the door and slipping inside.

The smile dropped as soon as the door clicked shut.

The hallway was dim, the only light coming from the kitchen. Your mom was sitting at the table, elbows resting on a half-folded newspaper, her fingers pressed against her temple. She didn’t even look up when she spoke.

“You know what time it is?”

Her voice wasn’t angry—just tired. Drained in that way that made your chest twist a little.

“Yeah,” you said softly, stepping out of your shoes. “I lost track.”

Your mom finally looked up. Her eyes flicked to your jacket, your tangled hair, the faint whiff of dust and old grease you carried back from the diner.

“You were with him again.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

She sighed and sat back in her chair, eyes heavy. “You can’t keep doing this, sweetheart.”

You stayed by the doorway, hands in your pockets, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” you mumbled.

“Not yet,” she said. “But trouble follows that boy like a shadow.”

You didn’t say it aloud, but you thought it anyway.

Good. So do I.

Without another word, you walked down the hall and shut your bedroom door behind you.

The only light in your room came from the moon outside your window. You crossed the floor, dropped your jacket on the bed, and fished into your pocket.

The bottle opener from the diner caught the moonlight just right as you turned it over in your hand.

You smiled again—just a little this time.

The smell of questionable pizza and overcooked green beans lingered thick in the air, but it didn’t matter. You were already weaving through the tables with your tray in hand, heading toward your table—the one where noise, weirdness, and near-constant laughter were part of the deal.

“Okay, but we cannot open with ‘War Pigs’ again,” Gareth was saying, waving half a sandwich like it was a conductor’s baton. “We’re becoming predictable.”

Jeff leaned across the table, chewing thoughtfully. “People like predictable. It’s crowd control.”

Doug piped up with a mouthful of tater tots. “Predictable gets you heckled.”

“And heckled means notoriety,” Eddie added from the center of the chaos, his boots kicked up on an empty chair, half a Twinkie in hand. “Notoriety builds legacy.”

You dropped your tray across from him and plopped into your seat, arching an eyebrow. “You guys planning a set list or starting a revolution?”

Eddie pointed the Twinkie at you like a preacher. “Both, sweetheart. Both.”

“You’re late,” Doug said, nudging his tray your way. “We almost gave your seat to a freshman.”

“You touch my seat, I take your soul,” you deadpanned, snatching a tater tot off his tray.

He shrugged. “Fair.”

“Anyway,” Eddie said, pulling a notebook from beneath his jacket like it was classified intel, “we’re down to two opening tracks—‘The Trooper’ or ‘Symptom of the Universe.’”

You bit into your apple. “You’re seriously debating this like it’s the damn Super Bowl.”

“Because it is,” Gareth said, dead serious. “Thursday night. The Hideout. Four people in the audience max. Maybe five if Jeff’s mom shows up.”

Jeff raised his soda can. “She always does.”

“I’m just saying,” you said, setting your apple down, “no one in that bar cares what song you start with. They just want something loud, something angry, and maybe to get a free beer if they flirt with the bartender.”

Eddie beamed at you. “And that’s why you’re an honorary member of this band of degenerates.”

“Honorary?” Doug asked. “She literally helped us roll for loot two weeks ago.”

“I fell asleep halfway through,” you reminded him.

“And still somehow survived the ogre ambush,” Gareth muttered.

“Yeah, ‘cause Eddie kept rerolling behind the screen.”

Eddie gasped, hand on his chest. “Are you accusing your fearless Dungeon Master of cheating?”

You grinned. “Not accusing. Just observing.”

He tossed a crust of bread at you. You ducked. The others laughed.

The table was loud, obnoxious, and borderline unbearable to anyone sitting within a ten-foot radius. But to you? It was home. You didn’t care about the campaign schedule or the band drama half as much as they did, but it didn’t matter. You were part of it anyway.

Here, no one tried to change you. Or warn you away from being yourself. Or away from Eddie.

Which, judging by the way he was still looking at you over the rim of his soda can—with that crooked smile that always spelled trouble—you’d have to deal with later.

But for now, you kicked your feet up beside his, stole another tot from Doug’s tray, and settled into the noise.

Later that day, you were walking toward Eddie’s locker, planning to meet up before heading to the parking lot. But you knew something was wrong before you even saw it.

The crowd gave it away.

A couple of underclassmen lingered nearby, whispering and pretending not to look. A few seniors passed, snickering behind their hands. That knot in your stomach twisted tighter with every step.

And then you saw it.

FREAK

Spray-painted in jagged red letters across Eddie’s locker door. The paint still dripped, fresh and bold and proud.

Eddie was already there, standing in front of it like it wasn’t even his. He had one hand in his pocket, the other gripping the strap of his bag, eyes scanning the word like it was graffiti on a bathroom wall and not a personal attack.

You approached slowly. “Jesus…”

He looked over at you, then back at the locker. “Creative, huh?”

“Are you okay?”

He snorted. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

But you didn’t buy it. Not from the way his mouth pressed into a thin line. Not from the way he wouldn’t touch the door.

“It’s bullshit,” you said, voice low, sharp. “We should tell—”

“Don’t,” he cut in gently. “It’s not worth it.”

“Eddie—”

“It’s just a word.” He finally reached forward and popped the locker open like the paint wasn’t even there. “I’ve been called worse. Hell, I am worse. Freak’s kind of a promotion.”

You stared at him. He looked tired. Not angry. Not even hurt. Just used to it—like he’d seen this coming the day he first wore a Dio shirt to school and never looked back.

He pulled out a book, slammed the locker shut, and slung his arm around your shoulder like nothing happened.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go do something illegal.”

You tried to smile. Tried to match his energy.

But you kept glancing back at that word. And the way he didn’t even flinch.

You weren’t even in a bad mood until you heard the voice.

“…yeah, I did it. Told you I would,” some guy was bragging just outside the door. “Spray-painted it right on his locker. FREAK—like billboard size.”

A snort of laughter followed. “No way.”

“Swear to God. My cousin had that red paint in his garage. Took like three seconds. Guy’s a loser anyway—no one’s gonna do shit.”

Your jaw clenched. You peeked out through the cracked door just enough to see who was talking.

Ryan Garrison.

Smug. Stupid. Already walking away with two other guys, all of them laughing like they’d just pulled off a harmless prank and not openly vandalized someone else’s property.

Your hands curled into fists inside your sleeves.

You didn’t say anything then. Not yet.

But you had a name now.

And something about the way Eddie had looked at his locker yesterday—like it was a fact of life, not something he deserved to fight back against—stuck to your ribs like ash.

This wasn’t going to slide.

Not this time.

Behind the bleachers, Eddie was sitting on the concrete, knees pulled up, lazily plucking at the strings of his guitar. The smoke from his cigarette curled lazily into the air. He didn’t look up when you approached—he never had to.

You dropped beside him, legs stretched out, pulling your sleeves over your hands.

“I know who did it.”

He paused, just long enough to let the words settle. “Did what?”

You gave him a look.

He sighed through his nose, set the guitar down gently beside him. “Doesn’t matter. I already told you—”

“It was Ryan Garrison.”

Now he looked at you.

You could see it then—how his jaw tensed for just a second. Not surprised. Just… disappointed in the predictability of it all.

“He was bragging about it in the hallway,” you went on. “Didn’t even bother to whisper. Just loud and proud with his dumbass buddies like it was a joke.”

Eddie leaned back against the wall, looking up at the sky. “God, I’d love to be that stupid. You think life’s easier when you’re that full of yourself?”

“Probably,” you muttered, then nudged his knee with yours. “But also… I have an idea.”

Eddie turned to you slowly, brow arched, curiosity piqued. “Oh no.”

You grinned. “Oh yes.”

“What level of felony are we talking here?”

“No felonies,” you said sweetly. “Just… maybe some light vandalism. Minor property damage, at worst.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“I say we skip last period,” you continued, “grab a carton of eggs from the corner store, and redecorate Ryan Garrison’s shiny little Camaro.”

Eddie blinked. “You want to egg his car?”

“Don’t you?”

There was a long pause. Then:

“I do love performance art.”

You bumped shoulders. “Thought so.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like he was trying to be the voice of reason, but couldn’t quite resist. “You’re gonna get detention.”

“You’ll be right there with me.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not letting you do it alone,” he said. “If you go down, I’m going down with you.”

“Us against the world,” you said, holding out a pinky.

Eddie linked his pinky with yours. “Always.”

The lot was mostly empty, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the faded lines and scattered cigarette butts. Ryan Garrison’s Camaro—sleek, waxed, obnoxiously red—sat like a trophy near the back row.

You crouched behind a scraggly bush with Eddie, both of you gripping your smuggled plastic bag of ammo: a dozen slightly-warm eggs from the corner store fridge. You could barely contain your grin as you peered around the shrub like war criminals on a covert op.

Eddie whispered, “Okay, listen. We do this fast, like guerrilla warfare. You take the driver’s side, I’ll take the back. We launch, we leg it. Got it?”

“Got it,” you said, cracking your knuckles dramatically.

“One… two… go!”

You darted out from cover, pulling an egg from the carton mid-run. The first one hit the windshield with a glorious splat. The second one smacked the driver’s side door, dripping yolk down the shiny paint.

Eddie whooped from the rear bumper. “Eat poultry, you shiny bastard!”

He chucked two in rapid fire—one hitting the trunk, the other bouncing off the rearview mirror with a satisfying crack.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, breathless with laughter. “We’re going to hell.”

“We were already going to hell!” he shouted gleefully, winding up and letting one rip straight at the hood.

Then, “HEY! WHAT THE HELL?!”

You didn’t even turn around to confirm. You knew that voice.

“Run!” you yelled, grabbing Eddie by the sleeve.

You both took off, legs pumping, laughter bubbling out of your chests as Ryan’s furious footsteps pounded behind you.

Eddie tossed the empty bag over his shoulder as you rounded the edge of the lot, diving into the passenger seat of his van while he jumped behind the wheel.

He jammed the key into the ignition. “Come on, come on, come on—YES!”

The engine roared to life just as Ryan came into view, red-faced and livid, streaks of yolk still dripping down his car in the distance.

Eddie peeled out of the lot with a screech of tires, flipping him the bird out the open window. You slammed the door shut just in time and nearly doubled over with laughter.

“Holy shit!” you gasped, clutching your stomach. “We’re actually gonna die!”

Eddie was howling, one hand pounding the steering wheel. “Did you see his face?! He looked like his soul left his body!”

You were breathless, wild with adrenaline and glee, wind whipping through the open window as the town blurred past you.

“That felt so good.”

Eddie glanced at you as the wind whipped through the cracked windows, hair tousled, eyes gleaming.

And in that moment��in Eddie’s van, hair messy, heart racing—you felt more alive than you had in weeks.

Just two teenage dirtbags with egg-stained hands and nowhere else to be.

The van was parked at the edge of the woods, a spot you both stumbled on years ago—your unofficial hideout from everything. The trees opened into a clearing that caught the last light just right, turning everything gold and soft and quiet.

You and Eddie were lying side by side on the grass, backs pressed into the earth, heads tilted to the sky where the clouds burned orange and pink.

The adrenaline had long since faded, leaving a slow, syrupy warmth in your chest. One of your shoes was off. Eddie’s jacket was draped over both of you like a shared blanket.

He was playing with a blade of grass between his fingers, eyes half-lidded. “Do you think the eggs did any actual damage? Like, cosmetic damage. Paint-eating level.”

“I hope so,” you said softly.

He chuckled. “You’re terrifying.”

You turned your head toward him. “You’re just now realizing that?”

He gave you a lazy grin, and the world shifted just a little.

It was quiet for a moment. Not awkward. Not tense. Just quiet.

Then Eddie spoke again, voice lower. “You ever think about how long we’ve been doing this?”

You blinked. “Breaking and entering? Vandalism? Petty crimes in general?”

He snorted. “No—well, yes—but I meant… this. You and me.”

You swallowed, heart thudding. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

He plucked another blade of grass. “It’s weird, right? Everyone else seems to… grow out of their people. Switch friends like seasons. But you stuck.”

You smiled, looking up at the sky again. “Maybe I just like weirdos.”

“Lucky for me,” he muttered.

You didn’t say anything for a moment. You were too busy trying to memorize this version of Eddie: eyes soft, voice gentle, golden light kissing his cheekbones.

You could feel it again—that fluttery thing in your chest that always showed up when he got quiet like this. You’d buried it for years under jokes and reckless nights and pretending you were just partners in crime.

But it never really left.

And now, lying beside him like this, it itched behind your ribs.

You turned your head slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You know… if you ever decide to grow out of me, I’m locking you in that abandoned diner.”

He tilted his head toward you, smirking. “You’d have to catch me first.”

“Oh, I’d catch you.”

He chuckled, and the sound felt like home. Then, more seriously, “Not gonna happen. You’re stuck with me.”

Your chest ached in that soft, good way.

“Good,” you said, almost too quiet to hear. “I don’t really want anyone else.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

It was full of something unspoken.

And you let it hang there, golden and quiet, in the space between your shoulders and his.

You should’ve known something was off the second you walked through the door.

Your mom was in the kitchen, humming. Humming. She hadn’t done that since... since she took your journal and called it "worrisome." And your dad was pretending to read the paper, though he hadn’t turned a page in five minutes.

Your stomach dropped.

“Sweetheart,” your mom called, too brightly. “We’re having dinner with the Darrows tonight. Come change, would you? Put on something… nicer.”

You blinked at her, halfway out of your shoes. “The Darrows?”

She smiled, the kind that never reached her eyes. “You remember their son, Nathan? He goes to the youth group at Trinity.”

There it was.

“You invited someone from church?” you asked flatly, incredulous. “Why?”

Your dad folded the paper like he’d been waiting to jump in. “He’s a good kid. Polite. Plays varsity basketball.”

“He wore loafers to gym class,” you muttered, arms crossing tightly. “He said Dungeons & Dragons was ‘satanic.’”

Your mom’s smile faltered just slightly. “Maybe it’s time you spent time with people who could be a good influence on you.”

You stared at her, chest slowly filling with heat. “This is about Eddie.”

“No,” your dad said—too quickly. “This is about your future.”

You laughed. A cold, stunned little sound. “You think I’m gonna marry Nathan Darrow?”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“You’re trying to fix me,” you snapped. “Like I’m broken. Like Eddie broke me.”

“He’s not—” Your mom stepped forward, her voice soft but sharp, “—the kind of person you should be around.”

That did it.

You didn’t yell. Didn’t cry. You just turned around, walked calmly to your room, grabbed your bag, and climbed out the window like you had a hundred times before.

You didn’t knock.

You didn’t have to.

Eddie opened the door the second you reached the top step, like he already knew it was you.

He took one look at your face and stepped aside, wordless.

You dropped your bag on the floor with a dull thud, toeing off your shoes.

Then you just stood there, in the soft yellow light of his living room, swallowing back the lump in your throat.

Eddie watched you quietly. “They tried again, huh?”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. “Tried to sell me off to a Bible boy.”

He didn’t laugh. He just opened his arms.

You stepped into them without hesitation.

He held you tightly, chin resting on the crown of your head.

The trailer was quiet now. Wayne was working the night shift, and the TV buzzed low in the background, playing some late-night rerun no one was really watching.

You were both at the tiny kitchen table, a half-eaten bowl of cereal between you, cold by now. Eddie was lazily flipping through a tattered Hit Parader magazine while you stared at your hands, still a little wrung out from earlier.

Then, suddenly:

“Let’s get outta here.”

You blinked. “What?”

Eddie looked up, grinning like a spark had just caught in his brain. “Like—out. Just for a night. Let’s go somewhere.”

“Where?”

He shrugged, leaned back in his chair. “Chicago. Why not? It’s what, three, four hours from here?”

You stared at him.

He was serious. And maybe a little sleep-deprived. But also serious.

“You want to drive to Chicago tonight?”

He grinned. “Yeah.”

“Eddie, we don’t have money.”

“I have ten bucks and half a tank of gas.”

“I have eight,” you said slowly. “And a granola bar.”

“See? That’s a feast,” he said, mock offended. “We’ll live like kings.”

You snorted. “What would we even do there?”

He shrugged again, that boyish, chaotic light in his eyes. “Get lost. Walk around the city. Maybe sneak into a punk show. Or sit on a rooftop and scream at the skyline. Doesn’t matter.”

And the thing was… it didn’t.

Because he was looking at you like you were the point of it all. Not Chicago. Not the getaway. Just the idea of being free with you.

You looked at him for a long moment, then said softly, “Okay.”

His smile grew, slow and wide. “Yeah?”

“Let’s be stupid.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You threw your bag into the back. He brought a couple of tapes, a hoodie, a few crumpled bills, and his lucky lighter. You didn’t even ask why.

As the van pulled out of the trailer park, the town faded behind you like static. Streetlights blurring. The stars overhead flickering faintly, and the open road stretching out in front of you like a promise.

“Freedom tastes like exhaust fumes and bad decisions,” Eddie declared, one hand out the window like he could catch the wind.

You laughed, head resting on the seat. “We’re gonna regret this.”

“Maybe,” he said, glancing at you with a crooked smile. “But not tonight.”

And for once, it felt like you could breathe.

Like running wasn’t running away—it was just running toward something.

Something that looked a lot like him.

They didn’t even check IDs.

Maybe it was the smeared eyeliner and scuffed boots. Maybe it was Eddie’s jacket with all the safety pins or the way you both walked in like you belonged.

Either way, you were in—bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, the ceiling dripping with condensation, someone screaming into a mic like the world was ending and it needed to be loud.

You and Eddie lost yourselves in it. No one from Hawkins here. No judgmental stares. Just noise and lights and sweat and freedom.

He grabbed your hand during a guitar solo and spun you in the crowd, his hair sticking to his forehead, laughing like he was seventeen and unstoppable. You grinned wide, your voice raw from yelling, from singing along even when you didn’t know the words.

Later, after the band finished their set and you’d slipped out a side door that led into an alleyway full of graffiti and old posters peeling off the bricks, Eddie fished out a joint from his pocket like it was treasure.

“You carried that through state lines?” you asked, eyes wide.

He just smirked. “You’re welcome.”

You both leaned against the alley wall, the buzz of leftover adrenaline in your chest, sharing slow, quiet puffs between bursts of laughter.

The world softened.

The city was asleep, or pretending to be. Traffic lights blinked for no one. Steam rose from the grates in the sidewalk. You and Eddie walked side by side, dazed and giddy, your fingertips tangled together without thinking about it too hard.

You were both too high to be cold, too happy to care.

You kicked a stray can down the street. He tried to hop on a newspaper box and nearly fell off. Everything was hilarious.

And then, in a lull between laughs, he said, “Y’know, this feels like a movie.”

You glanced at him, lips parted in a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Like… the part right before the world gets all complicated again.”

You were quiet for a moment. The good kind of quiet.

Your hand tightened around his.

“I don’t care if it gets complicated,” you said softly, watching your steps on the sidewalk. “As long as you’re in it.”

He looked over at you—really looked—and for once, didn’t deflect with a joke.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. No dramatic tone, no grand promise. Just fact.

You nodded, a little dizzy. From the weed. From the night. From the boy beside you who made this whole goddamn city feel like home.

“I’m glad I have you,” you murmured, barely audible.

He squeezed your hand.

“Right back at you, trouble.”

The world was pale and still when you woke up.

Your head rested on Eddie’s chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing gently rocking you awake. One of his arms was curled around you, his other hand half-asleep against your hip. The old blanket he kept in the back was tangled around your legs, and the van windows were fogged from the inside.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

There were no words.

Just the soft hum of morning settling in, the birds starting their songs, the ache in your limbs from a night lived hard and full.

Eventually, Eddie blinked awake, eyes squinting at the light filtering through the windshield. His gaze flicked down at you. He didn’t look surprised. Just… calm.

You gave him a sleepy smile.

He smiled back.

Nothing was said. Nothing had to be.

Eddie parked a few houses down from yours like usual. The sun had fully risen now, casting golden light over the familiar neighborhood. Lawn sprinklers clicked on. A dog barked somewhere nearby. Everything felt painfully normal.

You sat in the passenger seat for a moment, your bag in your lap, neither of you ready to break the spell completely.

“Well,” you sighed, hand on the door handle. “Back to pretending.”

Eddie leaned forward, resting his arms on the steering wheel. “We’ll make it out again. Next time—maybe even with money.”

You smiled, heart pinched in the best way.

You opened the door, swung one leg out—then paused.

Leaning back in, you reached across the console and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thanks for running away with me,” you whispered.

His eyes widened just a little—but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t joke. He just smiled, slow and warm.

“Anytime, trouble.”

And with that, you slipped out of the van, hugging your bag close, and vanished up the side of your house just before the neighborhood fully woke up.

Eddie watched the spot you disappeared into for a few seconds longer, his fingers brushing the spot on his cheek where your lips had been.

School was out, and the Hellfire boys were all grouped near the back of the lot like always. Gareth leaned against Jeff’s car, drumsticks tapping lightly against his thigh. Doug was halfway through a story about a kid who fell asleep in math and drooled on his own worksheet. You were only half-listening, the zipper of your backpack clenched between your fingers.

Eddie was off to the side, scrawling something into his well-worn campaign binder, crouched on the curb. The sun caught in his hair. His chain hung loose. He looked ridiculous and perfect.

You smiled without meaning to.

“Alright, nerds, same time Thursday?” Eddie called out, shutting the binder with a dramatic snap.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Jeff grinned, already sliding into the front seat.

The group started peeling away, shouting jokes and farewells, backpacks slung over shoulders.

You waved at Doug and Jeff as they piled into the car. “Later, losers.”

“Bye, honorary loser,” Doug called.

You turned back just in time to catch Eddie’s eyes. He grinned, and you shot him a mock salute.

“Drive safe, Munson.”

“I always do,” he lied, winking as he slid into the van.

You didn’t look away immediately.

And he didn’t either.

Then, with a little wave, he backed out and rolled off toward the main road.

You were still watching the van disappear when Gareth stepped up beside you, arms crossed.

“So,” he said casually. “When are you gonna tell him?”

You blinked. “Tell who what?”

He gave you a knowing side-eye. “C’mon.”

You tried to laugh it off. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure,” he said, drawing the word out. “Totally. You just happened to stare at him like he personally invented sunlight.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

Gareth just smirked. “I’m just saying. The rest of us already know. It’s just you and Eddie who haven’t figured it out yet.”

You turned away before he could see the color rising to your cheeks.

“See you Thursday, Gareth.”

“You owe me five bucks when you finally kiss,” he called after you.

You flipped him off over your shoulder—but you were smiling.

His room was a mess of posters, records, and the distinct scent of weed curling through the air. The window was cracked just enough to let the smoke drift lazily outside, and the two of you were stretched out on the floor, backs propped against the edge of his bed.

Eddie held the joint between his fingers, gesturing with it as he recounted the latest Hellfire session like he was reading from a holy text.

“And then—this is the best part—Doug’s bard tries to seduce the necromancer’s skeleton minion, like full-on charisma roll, flowers, everything—”

You choked on a laugh, nearly dropping the soda can in your hand. “What did you do?”

“I made him roll with disadvantage for being a creep,” Eddie said proudly, eyes alight with glee. “And the skeleton punched him in the face.”

You snorted, nudging your socked foot against his leg. “God, you’re so mean to them.”

“I’m fair,” he corrected, passing you the joint with a grin. “It’s not my fault their stupidity knows no bounds.”

You took a hit and leaned your head back against the mattress, exhaling toward the ceiling, warm and light and a little dizzy in the best way.

Eddie kept talking, something about a cursed dagger and Jeff accidentally summoning a demonic goat, but you weren’t really listening anymore. Not fully.

You were watching him.

The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The way he moved his hands too much when he got excited. The little scratch in his voice when he’d smoked just enough.

Something in your face must’ve changed—softened, maybe—because he stopped mid-sentence and tilted his head at you.

“…Am I that interesting,” he asked, smirking slightly, “for you to stare at me like that?”

You blinked, startled.

Heat crept up your neck.

“Maybe,” you said, too slow, too honest.

He blinked, the smirk faltering for just a second—then he looked away with a quiet chuckle, scratching the back of his neck like he didn’t know what to do with the silence that followed.

You passed the joint back to him, your fingers brushing his. Neither of you commented on how long that touch lingered.

He cleared his throat, eyes flicking toward the window.

“You’re weird,” he said finally, voice a little softer now.

“You’re weirder,” you murmured back, your cheek tilted toward your shoulder as you watched him.

Then, after a beat, you blinked and looked away.

“…Sorry,” you said softly, the word slipping out like it was pulled from somewhere deeper than you expected. “For staring.”

Eddie didn’t answer right away.

You figured maybe he was trying to think of something funny to deflect with, like he always did. But then you heard the creak of the mattress as he shifted closer, and when you glanced back at him, he was already looking at you again.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. No smirk. No teasing.

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

Eddie leaned in just slightly, one elbow resting on the floor, hand curling near your knee but not touching.

“I like it,” he added, voice low.

Your breath caught.

“Like what?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“The way you look at me,” he said. “Like I’m… something.”

You blinked. The joint burned slowly between his fingers. You didn’t even notice the smoke anymore.

“You are,” you said before you could stop yourself. “You’ve always been something.”

Eddie let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a laugh, like he didn’t know what to do with the truth of that. “You’re really gonna kill me, aren’t you.”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

He looked at you, his eyes tracing yours like he was trying to memorize the way you looked when you were this close. When the light was soft and low and you weren’t looking away.

“Because I’ve wanted to kiss you for, like, ever, and if you keep looking at me like that…”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish.

You leaned forward, slow but sure, giving him time to stop it—he didn’t.

Your lips brushed his in the softest, smallest movement, and then again, fuller this time, your hands finding the fabric of his shirt to hold onto.

Eddie let the joint fall into the ashtray. He kissed you back with both hands cradling your face, warm and a little clumsy like every nerve in him was firing at once. His thumb brushed your cheekbone as he pulled you closer, tasting like weed and soda and every shared laugh you’d ever had.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate.

It just was.

Something about kissing Eddie felt inevitable now — like you’d already been halfway doing it for years in every shared secret, every getaway, every “you okay?” and “come with me.”

The weed buzzed warm through your limbs, making everything feel hazy at the edges. Soft. Slower.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed against your lips, eyes flickering over your face like he wasn’t sure you were real. “You’re really doing this to me, huh?”

You smiled, fingertips tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Just shut up and keep kissing me, Munson.”

That got a breathless laugh from him, the kind that disappeared into your mouth as you pulled him into another kiss. Deeper this time. Messier. Less careful. His hands slid up under your hoodie, thumbs tracing the skin of your waist like he couldn’t believe you were letting him.

You rocked into him just slightly — enough to make his breath catch, enough to let him feel you weren’t playing around.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, mouth trailing down to your jaw, then under your ear. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“You’ve been ruining me since seventh grade,” you whispered back, tilting your head to let him in.

You felt him smile against your neck, his hands tightening on your hips like he couldn’t help himself.

“Take me to your bed.”

Eddie’s eyes widened — pupils already blown out from the joint you shared earlier, but now they were all you could see. “You sure?” he asked, voice rough with restraint.

You nodded. “I’ve never been more sure.”

For a second, he didn’t move — just looked at you like he was trying to etch this moment into his soul. Then, carefully, he lifted you off his lap and helped you to your feet, tugging you gently by the hand toward the bed.

Once you were sitting at the edge, Eddie stepped between your knees, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Still with me?”

You answered by kissing him again, pulling him down with you until your back hit the mattress and he was leaning over you. You could feel him — his cock, hard and pressing into you through layers of clothes — and your cunt clenched in response.

Hands fumbled with zippers and fabric, laughter slipping between kisses as you both struggled with nerves and anticipation. You helped him pull off your hoodie and toss it somewhere on the floor, followed by your shorts. His shirt went next, then your bra, then your underwear — and suddenly you were bare beneath him, flushed and glowing.

Eddie’s eyes roamed every inch of you like he’d never seen anything so sacred.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Like… shit, I don’t even have words for you.”

Your face flushed deeper. “Then maybe just kiss me.”

And he did — from your lips to your neck, down your collarbone, teeth grazing gently as his hands explored you. When his fingers found your folds, he paused at how soaked you were.

“You’re really like this for me?” he murmured, running soft, slow circles that made your thighs twitch. “Goddamn…”

Your back arched, head falling back with a gasp. “Eddie…”

He took his time, working you open with gentle touches, one finger inside you, then two, curling and coaxing until you were clinging to his arm.

Only when you were writhing, panting, nearly coming undone from just his fingers, did he reach for a condom from the drawer.

You watched as he pulled his pants and boxers down, revealing his cock — flushed, thick, and hard. You swallowed at the sight, nerves and need colliding in your gut.

Eddie noticed. “Hey,” he whispered, leaning over you again. “We go slow, alright? You say the word, and I’ll stop.”

You nodded, hands trembling slightly as he rolled on the condom and settled between your legs, guiding himself to your entrance.

The stretch was slow — deeper than anything you’d felt, and you gasped, eyes fluttering shut. Eddie stilled, brushing your hair from your face.

“You okay?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah… just full.”

He kissed your temple. “I got you, sweetheart.”

When he started moving, it was careful — slow thrusts, each one deeper than the last, his hands bracing on either side of your head. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting more.

Every drag of his cock against the walls of your cunt made heat bloom low in your belly. His name left your lips like a chant, and in return he whispered yours with quiet reverence.

“Feels so good… you’re so perfect,” he breathed, voice cracking slightly as his thrusts got a little faster, a little harder. “I’ve wanted this—God, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Your fingers clawed into his back as the tension built in your core — a tight, spiraling burn. And when his hand slid down to circle your clit just right, it tipped you over.

You came with a cry, clenching around him, and that was all it took.

Eddie moaned your name as he buried himself deep one last time, spilling into the condom with a quiet, shuddering gasp. His body collapsed over yours, forehead pressed to your shoulder as your breaths mingled in the thick silence.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

Just breathing.

Just there.

Eventually, Eddie rolled to the side and pulled you with him, your limbs tangling as you lay together in the warmth of it all.

You stared at each other in the dim light, faces flushed, lips swollen. Then, shyly, you leaned in and kissed him — soft and slow.

“Still high?” he murmured.

You smiled. “Maybe. But also just… happy.”

He brushed his thumb over your cheek and grinned. “Me too.”

Your head rested on Eddie’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart as your fingers absentmindedly traced circles on his skin. The room had gone quiet except for the hum of the amp in the corner and the soft rustling of sheets every time either of you shifted.

His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

“You good?” he asked eventually, voice a little raspy from smoke and breathless moans.

You nodded against his skin. “Yeah. Really good.”

A beat.

Then his voice dropped quieter, more uncertain. “So… that wasn’t just a high thing, right?”

You tilted your head to look at him. His eyes met yours, softer than you'd ever seen them. There was no teasing in his face, no cocky smirk. Just Eddie — wide-eyed, open, vulnerable.

You shook your head. “No. It wasn’t.”

A long breath left him, like he’d been holding it since the second your lips first touched. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve had feelings for you since, like… forever. And if I just ruined everything by being a horny idiot, I’d probably walk into traffic.”

You laughed quietly, scooting up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t ruin anything. I like you too. You know I do.”

He let that sink in, blinking up at the ceiling for a second. Then he turned back to you, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “So what does that mean for us?”

You hesitated — not out of doubt, but the weight of saying it out loud.

Then you smiled, heart full. “I think it means you’re my boyfriend now.”

He blinked, a beat of silence… then lit up like someone plugged him straight into the power grid.

“Yeah?” he grinned. “Like officially? I get to tell people you’re mine and everything?”

You smirked, tucking your face into his neck. “Only if I get to tell people you’re mine too.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you impossibly closer. “You’ve always had me.”

There wasn’t a formal declaration, no big gesture. Just the two of you tangled up in each other, whispering and laughing and exchanging quiet kisses until you both dozed off.

And when Eddie drifted to sleep with his arms still around you, he had the softest, dumbest smile on his face — like this was exactly where he was meant to be.

The cafeteria buzzed with noise, same as any other day — clattering trays, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum, the occasional yell from the jocks’ table. But none of that mattered as you made your way toward your usual spot.

You slid onto the chair beside Eddie with a lazy grin, and without saying a word, you reached into your pocket and handed Gareth a crumpled five-dollar bill.

He blinked, then slowly smirked as he took it. “Knew it. Knew it.”

Eddie glanced between the two of you, confused. “Wait, what the hell is this?”

“She owed me five bucks,” Gareth said casually, tucking the bill into his jacket. “Told her the day you two finally kissed, she’d owe me.”

Eddie’s brows shot up. “There was a bet?”

You shrugged innocently, picking at your lunch. “It wasn’t a bet. It was a prediction.”

Gareth snorted. “Same difference.”

Doug leaned forward, frowning. “Wait, kissed?”

Jeff narrowed his eyes. “Are you two—?”

Gareth grinned smugly. “Oh yeah. They’re a thing now.”

Doug blinked. “Since when?!”

You leaned back with a smile. “Since Friday.”

Then, just to twist the knife, you added casually, “Might’ve been more than just a kiss.”

There was a beat of silence before all three of them — Gareth included — let out overlapping groans of “Ew!” and “Dude!” and “We did not need to know that!”

Eddie was laughing, head thrown back, clearly loving every second of it. “God, I love this table.”

Doug covered his ears. “There are things you keep to yourself, man!”

“I did!” you said through laughter. “I was just being honest!”

Jeff shook his head. “There’s honest, and then there’s traumatizing your friends at lunch.”

Eddie leaned in, dropping his arm behind you on the chair. “They’ll live. Let them suffer.”

You grinned and rested your head against his shoulder for a second, completely unbothered by the dramatic reactions surrounding you.

Gareth muttered, “If you guys start making out at the table, I swear I’m transferring schools.”

You winked at him. “Noted.”

In the weeks since that night, everything had shifted — but in the best way. You and Eddie were still you — still sneaking off, still laughing until your stomachs hurt, still thick as thieves — but now there were kisses between conversations and fingers laced under the lunch table. He left scribbled notes in your locker. You stole his flannels. Everyone in school knew, and honestly, neither of you cared.

Being with Eddie was easy, loud, chaotic, and soft in all the right places.

But even with how bold you both were, one line remained uncrossed: your parents.

Until one afternoon, completely unannounced, Eddie Munson showed up at your front door.

You were in your room when the knock came. Then the second knock. Then your mom calling your name, a note of confusion in her voice.

When you came down and rounded the corner into the living room, you nearly choked on your own breath.

Eddie was standing in front of your parents, hands folded politely in front of him, hair surprisingly tamed, black jeans swapped for clean, hole-free ones, and his usual graphic tee replaced with a collared shirt. A button-up, no less.

He looked like someone had dressed him for a church bake sale.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am. Sir," he said, with the most forced, dramatic smile you'd ever seen. “I hope I’m not intruding. I just wanted to formally introduce myself.”

Your mom was too stunned to speak. Your dad just blinked.

You, on the other hand, stood frozen behind them, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You could practically see the effort Eddie was putting into this performance — the polite tone, the slightly bowed head, the complete absence of any skull rings or visible chains.

He even brought a Tupperware of cookies. Store-bought. But he tried.

Your mom finally said, “Well… that’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Oh, I do my best,” Eddie replied with a small chuckle, glancing briefly at you behind their backs — and the look he gave you was pure mischief.

You were going to lose it.

Your dad finally broke the silence with a gruff, “Well, we weren’t expecting visitors.”

Eddie nodded solemnly. “Understandable, sir. I wouldn’t want to barge in, but I figured—” he held up the Tupperware like it was an offering to a god, “—it’d be rude not to say hello properly. Y’know, now that I’m… dating your daughter.”

Your mom gave you a sharp look. You stared back, eyes wide like I didn’t know he was coming either! And then you looked at Eddie, who just stood there, proudly holding his plastic box of cookies like it was a peace treaty.

“Anyway,” he continued, his voice syrupy sweet, “I just wanted to assure you both that I have the utmost respect for your daughter. She’s brilliant. And funny. And kind. Also, she's terrifying when she’s mad, so I know better than to screw it up.”

Your dad raised an eyebrow. Your mom tried to hide a smirk.

You were going to explode.

“I cleaned out my van this morning,” Eddie added helpfully. “Even vacuumed.”

Your mom blinked. “…Oh?”

“Just thought it might help my case,” he grinned.

And somehow, some way, it did.

Your parents weren’t charmed exactly — not yet — but Eddie’s sincerity was hard to deny. He wasn’t pretending to be someone else. He was just turning the volume down. Being presentable. Being brave.

After a few more awkward exchanges and a polite invitation to sit (which he accepted with way too much formality), you ended up next to him on the couch while your parents asked him safe, small-talk questions.

He answered everything — enthusiastically, but just shy of theatrical — and even managed to win a chuckle out of your dad with a well-timed joke about shop class.

When your mom stood to go grab drinks, Eddie leaned toward you slightly and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “I feel like I’m in an episode of Leave It to Beaver.”

You snorted.

“Don’t laugh, you’ll blow my cover.”

You stifled your smile behind your hand.

And when your mom returned with a tray of iced tea and Eddie accepted his glass with a “thank you kindly, ma’am,” you realized just how far he was willing to go — not to change who he was, but to show the people you lived with that he cared. That he wasn’t just your bad influence. That he was something steadier, something that could be good for you.

He caught your gaze while sipping politely from his glass, and his pinky stuck out just a little — just for you. Just to make you laugh.

God, you were in trouble.

You walked him out with the front door clicking shut behind you, silence stretching over the porch like a blanket. The evening air was warm, a slow breeze rustling the trees above as you both stepped down the driveway toward his van.

Eddie was quiet for once, hands in his pockets, still wearing that ridiculous button-up. His curls had started to frizz a little from the heat, and the edges of his nerves were just starting to show again.

You didn’t say anything until you reached the passenger side.

“That was stupid,” you said, arms crossed, but your mouth was tugging into a smile.

Eddie turned to you, playing innocent. “Define stupid.”

“Showing up like that. The shirt, the cookies, the ‘yes ma’am, no sir’ routine—”

“Hey, that was sincere performance art,” he shot back with mock pride. “Do you know how hard it was not to swear for twenty minutes straight?”

You laughed, stepping closer until you were right in front of him, your fingers brushing the fabric of his cleaned-up façade. “It was so stupid.”

He gave you a crooked grin. “But did it work?”

You looked up at him, letting your eyes soften just enough to let the truth slip through. “Yeah.”

Eddie exhaled, just a little. “Good.”

You leaned in, pressing a hand to his chest, fingers curling against the collar of his shirt. “You didn’t have to prove anything to them.”

“I know,” he said softly, resting his forehead briefly against yours. “Wasn’t for them.”

Your heart fluttered.

You let that hang between you for a second before pulling back, smirking. “Still stupid.”

“Yeah,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “But you like stupid.”

You nodded. “I like you.”

He kissed you gently — not rushed, not greedy, just warm and sure and a little amused. When he pulled back, he whispered, “Same.”

Then he opened the driver’s door with a dramatic bow. “Until our next ridiculous adventure, m’lady.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed him lightly toward the seat. “Go before my dad changes his mind.”

He blew you a kiss and climbed in. As the van rumbled to life and pulled away, you stood there barefoot on the driveway, grinning like an idiot.

Yeah, you liked stupid.

Especially when stupid came with a heart like his.

Things didn’t change overnight.

Your parents didn’t suddenly love Eddie — they weren’t inviting him over for Sunday dinners or quoting Iron Maiden lyrics at the table — but they were trying. The edge in their voice softened when they said his name. The disapproving glances turned into skeptical ones. Your mom even smiled at him once, unprompted.

That was a big day.

Eddie kept being Eddie. He didn’t start tucking in his shirts or going to church — he just showed up with a little more patience and a lot less noise when it came to your parents. He didn’t mock the rules anymore (at least not out loud), and you made sure not to push every boundary just to prove a point.

You were figuring it out. Together.

And as for the two of you?

It was good. Stupidly good.

The dynamic hadn’t shifted much — you were still sneaking off in his van, still laughing until they wheezed, still lying side by side under open skies talking about nothing and everything — but the label gave it something extra. Something real.

Calling each other “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” didn’t change who you were. It just put a word to what you'd already been feeling for a long time. Like a puzzle that had been finished for months but was missing that one last piece.

Now, it was all there. In place. Whole.

Sometimes, you’d look over at him while he ranted about guitar solos or rolled a joint with theatrical flair and think — God, how did I ever live without this?

And sometimes, he’d catch you staring and smirk. “You’re doing it again,” he’d tease.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

You'd smile, lean in, and say, “That’s because you are.”

And Eddie — blushing, grinning, stupid, hopeless Eddie — would mumble something like “Damn right,” and kiss you like he meant it.

Because he did.

And you never stopped letting him know you meant it, too.

#kar's fics ☆#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fics #eddie munson #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things

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em1i2a3 · 2 months ago

Text

Driver

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader!

Summary: Rhett has been having fantasies about you in only his cowboy hat.

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut smut smut, and fluff, Rhett and reader are in an established relationship

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up cowboys and cowgirls, yeehaaw), Oral Sex (fem receiving!), Teasing, Dirty Talk (with that ol’ southern twang), Praise Kink, Grinding.

Authors Note: RAF (RHETT ABBOTT FRIDAYS!!!) Yall I frickin love Rhett Fucking Abbott, writing for this man is so fun! I enjoy it so much. Love me a doe eyed cowboy 😭 hope yall enjoy! And thank you for the request @totaldystopiannerd It was so frickin fun to write! Oh my lord! (That gif definitely has the hat in question lol)

Word Count: 6,360

Side Note: thank you to @receedingdawn for the fucking banging banner

It was a lazy Friday night at your place.

Rhett didn’t have any rides tonight, thankfully–no rodeo, no arena lights, no crowds, no eight-second countdowns buzzing in his ears. It was just you and the quietness of your trailer. This was the kind of night he never used to have until you showed up in his life and brought him into the peacefulness of yours.

He was stretched out on your bed in an old t-shirt and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms he kept in the bottom drawer of your dresser–his drawer now. It had happened quietly, somewhere between all the overnights and the morning coffees and the laundry folded with a little too much care. Now, without thinking, he reached for that drawer like it was always his. Like he belonged here, which was the most precious thing you could ask for.

His hair was still damp from the shower you’d made him take when he showed up smelling like sunbaked pasture and motor oil, a smear of dirt on his cheek and a boyish grin on his lips. You could still smell the cedar soap he liked–the one you bought special just for him–lingering warm on his skin. It wrapped around him like a bubble, and radiated off him like a diffuser.

You were across the room, barefoot in your sleep shorts, standing by your record shelf with a glass of red wine balanced in one hand. A loose tank hung from your shoulders, low in the back, swinging gently with every step as you flipped through vinyl sleeves. And every so often–on purpose–you let your hips sway a little more than intended. Just to hear Rhett breathe funny, because you knew he was watching you, it was easy to feel those beautiful blue eyes burning into your backside.

“Somethin’ on your mind, cowboy?” You asked, glancing over your shoulder with a sly grin teasing the corners of your mouth. You didn’t have to see him to feel the way his breath hitched. That subtle ripple of tension that crawled up his chest like he was trying to swallow it down.

Rhett didn’t answer back right away, he just let his head fall back against the wooden headboard with a quiet thud, lips parting, jaw slack. The bedside lamp cast golden shadows over the side of his face–over the curve of his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, the faint creases near the corners of his eyes. His light brown hair curled damply over his forehead, still messy from the towel-dry you’d done yourself when he leaned into you after his shower to nuzzle into your neck. And his five o’clock shadow had deepened into something darker since dinner–smudging along his jaw like something you wanted to run your tongue across.

He looked too good in this light.

Too warm, too comfortable, too yours.

And yet there was something unreadable in his face–just enough restraint to tell you he was sitting on something. So you turned fully toward him, wine glass loose between your fingers, and arched a brow.

“Well?” Rhett’s gaze lingered on your bare thighs before he finally spoke.

“I ever tell you ‘bout a dream I had…Week or two ago?” He asked, voice gravel-soft. You took a slow sip of your wine, letting the sweetness linger on your tongue. One droplet slid down the curve of your up, and you licked it away lazily, making sure Rhett’s eyes were on your mouth when you did.

”Mmm…” You swallowed, head tilting playfully, “You’ve told me several, hun. You tell me about every single one, so you’re going to have to be more specific.” He looked flustered now. That rare, almost sweet kind of flustered that only came out when he was too far in his own head–when the words he was holding back were heavier than he wanted to admit.

You weren’t wrong to ask for more detail.

Over the course of your entire relationship–nearly a year to the day–Rhett had made it a habit of telling you his dreams. Always in the mornings. Half-awake, head buried in your chest, voice still raspy from sleep. Sometimes they were abstract and bizarre–running through water, being chased by something without a face. Sometimes they were so vividly sexual they left a flush on his chest all morning.

And he always told you.

Which meant this one? This one had been kept.

Either on purpose…Or because he hadn’t known what to do with it.

You watched him now as his hands raked back through his still-damp hair, messing it up even worse than before. He was blushing a little, too–high along his cheekbones, just under the eyes. Like he was embarrassed for the first time in months.

”Might be seen as stupid…” He muttered, looking off toward the window like maybe the night air could somehow bail him out of this conversation. Your brow arched, slow and sharp.

”Rhett Abbott calling one of his dreams stupid? That was not on my bingo card for tonight.” That pulled a soft laugh out of him–real and low and a little sheepish. The kind of laugh he gave you when he was flustered and trying to hide it behind charm.

God, he was so bad at hiding anything from you.

You set your wine glass down gently on the nightstand. The lamp cast your shadow long across the bed sheets as you walked toward him, slow and teasingly. He didn’t even try to look away.

Your eyes locked as you climbed onto the bed.

The mattress dipped slightly under your weight as you moved to straddle him, knees framing his hips, and the second you settled in his lap, his hands came to rest on your waist like muscle memory. Like he didn’t even think–he just reached for you.

His grip was gentle but possessive. Like you were the thing that steadied him when his mind got too loud. You brushed your fingertips across his chest, feeling the thump of his heartbeat under your palm, and leaned in close.

His eyes met yours. That clear blue–brighter up close. Long lashes. A tiny freckle just under the corner of his left one. His pupils were already wide, already blown a little from watching you all night. But there was something soft in them too. Something unguarded. A quiet vulnerability that had taken you nearly the entire year to fully earn. You tilted your head.

”C’mon now…Enlighten me with this ‘stupid’ dream.” Rhett let out a breath like he’d been holding it the whole damn time. His thumbs stroked slowly along your hips, eyes darting from your mouth to your collarbone and back again, like the memory alone had his body running warm.

“Wasn’t much…” He started, “Not like the usual ones…” You quirked a brow at him.

”The usual ones usually involve you in a barn and me in a sundress with no underwear, so I’d say the bar is high.” That pulled another laugh from him, and it made his whole chest shake beneath your hands. His head tilted forward, resting briefly against your shoulder as he exhaled.

You kissed his temple gently.

When he looked back up at you, his voice dropped–gravel-thick and shy in the way that always hit you deep.

“You were wearin’ my hat.” Your lips parted, but you didn’t interrupt or say anything. His eyes dropped to your mouth, and lingered there.

”You had nothin’ else on.” He rasped, “Just that old brown hat hangin’ by your front door. And you were on top of me…Ridin’ me so slow…” His hands tightened on your hips, voice faltering as he looked at you, like he was picturing it right then and there.

”Like this,” He murmured.

And then–his hands moved.

He pulled your hips forward against his with a slow, deliberate roll, dragging you across the hard line of his erection through the flannel pyjama pants that fit him just right. The friction was deep and unhurried–more suggestion than thrust–but the way he did it…The way his thumbs pressed into your skin, his pupils dilating even further, like they were going to break through the small rim of blue, as he felt the shape of your body align with his–made your breath catch.

A low hum spilled from your throat, and you let your weight sink into his lap, grinding back softly. Rhett’s breath hitched. His fingers dug into you a little harder.

“I dreamt it and woke up so turned on I damn near hurt myself,” He whispered, ducking his head to your neck. His lips pressed there–warm, soft, wanting, and craving–then his teeth scraped the skin just below your ear.

“And ever since then…” He muttered, voice breaking as his hips dragged you against him again, “It’s been stuck in my head. Just can’t seem to get it out…” His mouth traced your jawline slowly, nipping you once–just enough to make your breath hitch. His erection was now straining against the fabric of his pyjama pants, begging for attention and release.

The pressure made you shiver.

One of your hands came up to his cheek. His stubble scratched faintly against your palm, rough and familiar, and you tilted his head gently until your eyes met again.

You kissed him.

And not quick–not teasing.

Slow.

You kissed him like the whole room had melted away. Like it was just the two of you and the flickering shadows and the low hum of the record player turning behind you. His lips parted instantly, mouth soft and eager beneath yours. His hands stayed tight on your hips, but he didn’t move, didn’t grind you against him–he let you kiss him. Let you taste him, guide him, own him for a moment.

It was heady, how easily he gave himself to you.

When you finally pulled back, lips brushing his as you breathed out, your voice was soft but sharp with intent.

“You wanna see me in your hat,” You whispered, “Riding you like you deserve?”

Rhett looked dazed. Eyes blown wide. Cheeks flushed. His erection twitching beneath you.

“‘Course I do,” He breathed. “Baby… I want it so bad it hurts.”

You leaned in again, kissed him once more–just a soft, lingering press of your mouth to his–and then drew back with a grin.

“Then go get it, cowboy.” His eyes widened, almost comically so.

“Really?” He asked, voice thick, stunned, hopeful. You nodded once, slow and deliberate, your thighs still bracketing his, your fingers dragging lightly along the sides of his neck.

“Go on,” You said, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Earn it.” You shifted off of him gently, settling beside him on the bed with one leg tucked beneath you, and Rhett was up like a man on fire–rising too fast, adjusting himself with a sharp inhale as his erection strained visibly against the front of his pyjama pants.

He stumbled a bit with his words, already halfway out the door. “Don’t–don’t you go disappearin’ on me now,” He called back over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in two seconds.” You giggled, unable to help yourself, hearing the way he was half-running barefoot through the narrow hall of the trailer. The floor creaked under his weight, then came the familiar soft clatter of the coat rack by the door as he snatched it down.

His hat…The one he never let anyone touch.

You finished the last of your wine slowly as you waited, letting the heat in your body spread lazily across your chest. A light flush had crept up your neck. Your legs still tingled from how tightly he’d held you just a moment ago.

When Rhett returned, you looked up–and your breath caught just a little.

There it was in his hand: his rodeo hat.

That dusty brown Stetson you’d seen him wear to every meet, every arena, every time he’d stepped into a chute with fire in his veins. Wide-brimmed, sun-bleached around the edges, a little worn on the crown from where he’d fidgeted with it before each ride. You had seen him toss it off before a fight, and cling to it when he prayed. You’d seen how the light hit his jaw just right beneath its brim–and every time, you thought: damn, he was made for it.

But the way he was holding it now?

Like it was an offering. Like it meant something more than a uniform.

Rhett placed the hat at the foot of the bed, eyes locked on you the whole time, breath a little ragged.

And then–he reached for your ankle.

“Before we get to fulfillin’ that dream of mine…” He murmured, his voice dipping low, soft but rough with intent, “I want to get my daily dose of you in my system.”

You swallowed audibly.

Because you knew what he meant by that.

Rhett loved going down on you.

Loved the way you tasted, how you fell apart for him. Loved when your thighs trembled around his shoulders and your voice cracked on his name. Sometimes he’d spend entire evenings between your legs without ever asking for a damn thing in return–mumbling against your skin that it was his favorite way to end the day.

And you felt that now, in the way his fingers gently curled around your ankle.

“Rhett–” You started, but the words caught in your throat when he pulled.

It wasn’t harsh. Just a firm, coaxing tug as he guided you down the mattress, one hand sliding up your calf, slow and careful.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about it all day,” he murmured. “Thinkin’ about comin’over to you, layin’ you out like this. Gettin’ you all wet and shakin’ before I ever even touch myself.” His voice, with that lazy drawl and that mix of devotion and filth made your stomach twist into knots. His mouth found the inside of your knee first, pressing a kiss there–then higher, then higher–until you could feel his breath against the hem of your shorts. You barely had time to breathe before he hooked his thumbs into the waistband.

“Let me…” He whispered, “Let me taste my girl before she puts on my hat and ruins me…” You looked down at him.

And he looked at you like you were his last prayer and first sin rolled into one.

That hunger in his eyes–the ache behind his pupils–it was nearly feral, but somehow still soft. Steady. Like he knew what he was about to do to you and was savoring it in slow motion.

You didn’t speak.

You just nodded–small, slow, sure.

Your hand came down to gently brush his hair back, fingers sliding through damp strands to keep them out of his face. His breath hitched at your touch, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment, like that simple gesture wrecked him more than anything else could.

Then–with that same quiet gentleness–he slid your sleep shorts down your hips. His hands were slow, careful, almost ceremonial, hooking into the waistband with his thumbs and dragging them down over your thighs, your knees, your calves. When they hit the floor, he didn’t look away from your center for a second. His palms smoothed up the outsides of your thighs as he pulled you down the mattress, coaxing you toward the edge with practiced ease. You let him, with your shallow breaths and your heart thudding against your ribs.

And then–he dropped to his knees.

Right there on the floor, between your legs, with his bare chest rising and falling under the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and his jaw slack like he was already drunk on the sight of you. He slid his arms under your thighs and over them again–cradling, anchoring–until the backs of your knees rested over his broad shoulders. His hands gripped the outer curves of your thighs, holding you open, thumbs stroking small circles into your skin like he couldn’t stop touching you even if he tried.

And when his eyes met yours–

God. That look alone made you ache.

Rhett always looked up at you when he did this.

Never shy and certainly never avoiding.

Like he wanted you to see what he was doing to you. Like he needed you to know how much he loved it.

“You’re already shakin’,” He murmured, voice low and rough with heat. “You that worked up for me, sweetheart?” His breath hit your core, and your hips gave a soft jolt in response.

Rhett grinned.

“Thought so.”

Then his mouth was on you.

And not just on you–devouring you and everything you had.

His lips parted around your folds, tongue sliding out slow and wide, dragging upward in one long, unhurried lick that made your spine arch and your toes curl. The heat of his mouth, the scratch of that stubble brushing your thighs–it all rushed through you like lightning.

He groaned against you–like the taste of you filled his mouth too good, too thick–and the vibration of that sound pulsed right through your core.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your head tipping back, one hand fisting the sheets beside you, the other reaching for him–searching for his hair, his shoulder, anything to ground yourself.

He kept going. Lapping and kissing and sucking gently at your clit, alternating pressure, drawing tiny sounds out of you one after the other like he was memorizing every response.

And still–he kept looking up.

Every few seconds, his gaze would flick up your body, pupils dark and blown, and meet yours with this desperate, tender intensity that had your stomach fluttering uncontrollably.

“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever tasted,” He rasped, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips already slick with you. “Always so warm… always so wet for me…”

Your breath hitched. Your thighs squeezed slightly around his head, and he groaned at that too–loved when you did that–before ducking his mouth right back down and closing it over your clit.

He sucked.

Not hard–but deep. Pulling it into his mouth and curling his tongue around it until your whole body trembled. Then he licked again–quick, focused strokes right where you needed them most–and you could already feel that pressure building fast and thick in your lower belly.

“Rhett–” you gasped, barely able to speak. “Rhett holy shit–”

He gripped your thighs tighter, holding you still as he sucked again, then slowed–drawing a long, slick stroke down your slit before groaning again, low and needy.

“I could stay down here forever,” He mumbled against you, and that sound–the low timbre of his voice reverberating through your center–made your legs tremble even harder. “This–this is the best damn thing I’ve ever had.”

He flicked his tongue just beneath your clit again, then flattened it, slow and firm, circling that sensitive bundle of nerves until your mouth fell open in a silent moan.

“Look at you,” He whispered, glancing up through his lashes. “So fuckin’ pretty when you come apart for me…”

And you did—nearly right then.

Your back arched as the tension snapped. A sharp, desperate cry tore from your throat as your orgasm rolled through you in wave after wave. Rhett didn’t stop. He never stopped. He kept his mouth on you, licking and sucking and moaning like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Your fingers found his hair and tugged hard as you came, and he groaned like it drove him wild, like your pleasure was the only thing tethering him to earth.

When you finally started to come down–shaking, gasping, your chest rising and falling hard–he pressed one last, soft kiss to your center before pulling back slightly, lips slick, chin wet, eyes wrecked.

“You good, darlin’?” he asked, his voice still hoarse, his hands still warm and steady on your thighs.

You blinked down at him, dazed.

“Barely,” you whispered, your body still twitching from aftershocks.

He smirked, running a hand slowly up the inside of your thigh.

“You still got enough in you to make that dream come true?” He asked, thumb brushing gentle circles into your thigh, lips slick and pink from everything he’d just done to you.

You let out a breathless laugh, voice still trembling. Your gaze flicked toward the foot of the bed–where his hat sat in all its quiet glory–and then back to him.

“I always have enough in me to please my cowboy.”

That made his smile flicker wider, that dimple creasing his cheek just before he surged up from the floor, bracing one palm on the mattress and leaning in to kiss you–messy this time. No hesitation. Just hunger and heat and a mouth slick with your arousal pressing against yours like he couldn’t get close enough. It was wet and open-mouthed and a little uncoordinated, noses bumping, teeth catching on swollen lips, and when you both pulled back to catch your breath, there was a thin trail of spit still clinging between your tongues before it broke and smeared against the corner of his mouth.

You swiped your thumb over it.

He licked it from your skin without shame.

Then his fingers found the hem of your tank top and lifted.

You raised your arms without a word, letting him pull it up and off and toss it aside. His eyes swept down over your now fully bare chest like he was trying to memorize every freckle and curve, every little mark he already knew by heart.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he muttered, a little dazed. “Don’t know what I ever did to deserve this.”

You kissed the edge of his jaw, warm and reverent. “Shut up and take your shirt off.”

He did.

The thin cotton clung a little to his stomach from the heat of his skin, but he peeled it over his head and dropped it behind him, revealing the warm flush across his chest, and the super light trail of hair down his navel that disappeared beneath his waistband.

You leaned in and kissed the base of his throat, then lower–tracing the center of his chest, lips dragging over the rise and fall of each breath.

“God, I want you,” You whispered.

He swallowed hard. “I’m yours.”

And then he was shoving his pajama bottoms down–quickly, too worked up now to be careful. His cock sprung free, flushed red and hard, the tip already glistening.

Rhett had barely finished kicking his flannel bottoms to the floor when he climbed back into bed, propping himself against the pillows, chest heaving with anticipation. His hands twitched slightly at his sides, like he didn’t know whether to grab you or just sit back and let you ruin him.

You stayed on your knees at first, watching him settle. The lamplight painted him in golden hues–his chest flushed and rising with ragged breaths, his thighs taut, cock heavy and twitching where it rested against his stomach. His eyes never left you, like you were the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

Then, with that quiet confidence you knew he loved, you shifted up onto his thighs and slowly climbed into his lap.

You made sure your knees bracketed his hips perfectly. Making sure the skin of your inner thighs brushed against his, and then, still holding his gaze, you reached for the hat.

Your fingers slid under the brim, lifting it from where it lay beside you. The moment the crown settled in your hands, Rhett’s breath caught–audibly. His eyes went wide again, not just with heat, but with something deeper. Worship. Wonder. Like watching you hold it turned a fantasy into something sacred.

Then slowly you brought it to your head, and you slipped it on.

The wide-brimmed Stetson sat low over your brow, casting your eyes in shadow and making your mouth the brightest thing on your face. Your lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk, and Rhett visibly shuddered.

“Jesus Christ,” He whispered, voice barely there. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”You smiled wider. He reached up like he couldn’t help himself, and with the gentlest touch—like it was second nature—he flicked the brim of the hat once with his knuckle.

“Looks better on you than it ever did on me,” he murmured, a soft laugh catching in his throat. You giggled back, the brim tipping forward slightly with the motion, and that light, giddy sound made something in Rhett’s chest physically stutter.

Then you leaned forward, just enough for your bare chest to press against his, the heat between your bodies rising, coiling, fusing into one steady burn.

Your hand slid between your bodies.

Rhett inhaled sharply as your fingers wrapped around him–hot, thick, hard, already slick at the tip. You stroked once. Twice. Slow, deliberate movements that had him tipping his head back against the pillows with a guttural groan. His hands flew to your hips like instinct, gripping them firmly, grounding himself in the feel of your skin.

You teased him, letting your slick gather at his head as you guided him through your folds, rubbing the crown against your entrance, but not quite letting him in.

“Jesus,” He hissed, his hips twitching up slightly, fighting the urge to thrust. “Baby… please…”

You didn’t give in right away.

Instead, you leaned in, letting your chest brush his again, your breath ghosting over his jaw as you murmured–

“You dreamed about this, didn’t you?”

His hands gripped tighter.

“Yeah,” He rasped. “Every goddamn night since.”

You held his gaze as you tilted your hips–slow, careful–until his tip nudged your entrance. You paused there, savoring the moment. Savoring the heat, the stretch, the way his lips parted as if to beg, but he held back.

Then, with a steady exhale, you started to sink down.

He was big. You both knew it. Every time you took him it was a stretch–deep and toe-curling, your body adjusting to every thick inch of him.

But this time? It felt even more intense.

Maybe it was the hat. Maybe it was the fuel of the dream behind everything. Maybe it was the way Rhett looked up at you like you were some kind of goddess kneeling above him, his mouth open, his brows drawn, like the sight of you riding him like this might actually break him.

You sank down inch by inch, slow and steady, your jaw dropping open as the burn turned to fullness, and then to pleasure. Rhett groaned like a man possessed, his fingers flexing hard on your hips, his knuckles white.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped, his voice hoarse and shaking. “You feel so good–so fuckin’ good–”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were too focused on the way he filled you, stretched you, your hands bracing against his chest as you slid down until he was seated completely inside you. Your walls fluttered around him involuntarily, and he let out a choked sound, his hips jerking up once with a desperate need to move. You let out a shaky breath, lifting your gaze.

You started slow. Just the barest roll of your hips, your thighs trembling slightly as you adjusted to the weight of him inside you. Every inch of him pressed deep, dragging against your walls in that way that made your breath hitch and your belly clench. Your palms flattened over his chest, steadying yourself against the tremble that spread through your limbs.

Rhett’s hands stayed tight on your hips, not forcing, not guiding–just holding.

His eyes locked to where you were joined, and he let out a choked, reverent sound. One of his hands slid up, tracing the curve of your waist, the slope of your ribs, until his thumb brushed reverently beneath the underside of your breast. His other hand reached for the brim of the hat.

He tilted it back slightly on your head so he could see your face better.

“Look at you…” He whispered, voice low and ruined. “My girl…ridin’ me like a goddamn dream.”

You rocked your hips again–slow, dragging friction that had you both gasping. Your folds were slick, soaked, stretched wide around him, and the wet sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, lewd and obscene. His cock pulsed inside you, thick and throbbing, and your walls squeezed around him reflexively.

The brim of the hat shaded your eyes, and Rhett looked absolutely wrecked by it.

You leaned forward, your hair falling in soft strands around your face, and you kissed him again–sloppy, wet, desperate. Your tongue licked into his mouth as your hips picked up a slow, grinding rhythm, your clit dragging over the soft patch of hair above his base with each rock of your hips.

He moaned into your mouth, teeth catching your bottom lip before pulling back slightly. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse–like it had been scraped raw from how badly he needed you.

“You’re killin’ me,” he groaned. “Feelin’ you like this–watchin’ you on top of me, wearin’ my hat–fuck, baby, it’s too much.”

You rolled your hips again and leaned back slightly so he could see the way your body moved above him, the way he disappeared inside you, the way your stomach fluttered with every rise and fall. His hands slid to your thighs, then your ass, gripping tight, holding you open, watching every slick, filthy grind.

“You want me to stop?” You teased, breathless.

His head shot back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut as he let out a guttural, almost-pained sound.

“Don’t you dare,” he choked. “I swear to God, I’ll lose my mind.”

You smiled, slow and wicked, and began to ride him in earnest.

Not fast. Not yet.

Just deep.

Grinding circles, pulling nearly all the way off his cock before sinking back down with a slick, breathy moan. Your hands slid down his chest, dragging over his stomach, and Rhett watched with glassy eyes as your body moved in perfect rhythm over his.

Every stroke was a worship. Every roll of your hips drew a cry from him–half groan, half prayer.

“Look at you,” He panted, hands sliding up your waist, thumbs stroking your ribs. “Takin’ me so good…So goddamn deep…”

He sat up, slowly, arms wrapping around you as he buried his face against your chest, mouth hot and open over the swell of your breast. He pressed kisses there–wet, messy, dragging his lips across your skin like he couldn’t get enough. His stubble scraped your sensitive flesh, and you gasped, your hands finding his hair, holding him close.

“You’re all I think about,” He whispered, voice trembling. “You in this hat…ridin’ me like you were made for it…You feel so good, baby–so warm, so wet–I could die right here…”

You rocked harder, your breath catching with every grind, every drag of his cock against that aching spot inside you. His tongue flicked your nipple, then sucked it into his mouth, and your head tipped back as you moaned.

“Rhett–fuck–Rhett, you’re gonna make me–”

“Come on, darlin’,” He rasped against your breast. “Come for me. Wanna feel you all over me. Want you to make a mess. Let me feel you clench around me while you wear my fuckin’ hat.”

You whimpered–high, needy–and rolled your hips faster now, chasing it. Your slick dripped down between your thighs, coating him, sticking to his skin in hot, wet strands. The bed creaked under you, and Rhett’s hands clutched your ass, helping you ride, pushing up into you as you rocked down onto him again and again.

The hat stayed perfectly perched on your head.

And Rhett looked up at you like he’d gone and seen heaven.

“Come on,” He begged, “Show me how good it feels. Come on, baby–I need it–fuck, I need it–”

You came with a cry.

Your hips jerked, thighs trembling as your orgasm tore through you, slick flooding around him. You clamped down on his cock, pulsing hard, your moans broken and raw. Rhett groaned and held you there, grinding his hips up once, twice—and then he followed.

“Fuck–fuck–oh Jesus–” His head tipped back, mouth open, eyes glassy, and he came inside you in thick, hot spurts that you could feel dripping down between your thighs.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you panting, sweating, your skin sticking where it touched.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight.

And then he reached up, breathless, and tipped the hat off your head just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, before he removed it completely and put it on the nightstand.

“You just ruined me for every other fantasy,” He whispered. Rhett’s breath was still coming in soft, uneven waves beneath you, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours.

The afterglow wrapped around you both like a weighted blanket, warm and heavy, laced with sweat and the slow pulse of satisfaction. His arms were still locked around your waist, one hand splayed across your back like he didn’t want to let you go, not even to breathe.

He tilted his head just enough to look at you, still dazed, still flushed–and smiled. That slow, crooked, post-orgasm grin that only came out when he was taken care of, and truly spent.

Then he let out a lazy exhale and murmured, “Now whenever I wear that hat, I’m gonna be so goddamn distracted thinkin’ about this moment right here.”

You bit back your smile, leaning in close, your nose brushing his. “Wasn’t that the whole point?” you whispered, and kissed him.

It was soft at first–just a brush of lips, a sigh passed between mouths–but then his hand curled around the back of your neck, and he deepened it, just enough to let the warmth spread again. A hint of tongue. A little groan. He kissed you like a man still savoring dessert.

When you finally broke apart, Rhett gave a breathless, quiet laugh. His eyes crinkled at the corners in that way that made your chest flutter–genuine, drowsy, gorgeous.

“Well…” He murmured, eyes half-lidded and glowing gold in the lamplight, “In theory, I didn’t really think past the idea of you ridin’ me with my hat on.” He gave your bare thigh a soft squeeze, his thumb drawing lazy circles against your skin. “Or the long-lastin’ effects it’d have on me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, your head dropping briefly to his shoulder as your body relaxed against him. You felt him chuckle beneath you, his whole body shaking gently. The sound of it, warm and boyish and sleepy, was your favorite thing in the world.

“You good?” You asked softly, your fingers brushing through his hair again.

“Darlin’, I’m ruined,” he sighed dramatically, but there was nothing but affection in the way he looked at you–like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

You let the silence stretch a beat, then whispered, “We should probably wash off before we pass out like this.”

“Yeah,” He said, groaning a little as he shifted beneath you. “Before I end up glued to you for life.”

You kissed him once more, then slowly rolled off, muscles still trembling as you carefully stood on wobbly legs. Rhett watched every movement, his eyes roaming with unabashed hunger and satisfaction, like he was committing the sight to memory.

As you padded toward the bathroom, trying not to trip over your own feet, you felt the air on your slick thighs and winced at the mess between them.

Rhett caught that little shuffle in your step and gave your ass a light, playful smack.

You gasped in mock outrage, laughing as you glanced back at him over your shoulder.

“Hey!” You teased, swatting at the air.

He just grinned up at you from the bed, completely unrepentant.

Then, without missing a beat, you turned and picked up his hat from the nightstand. You gave it a little twirl between your fingers and then tossed it gently toward him. He caught it one-handed, eyes still glued to you, slipping it on his head as a joke, messing with the brim a bit.

“Maybe next time,” You said, voice sweet and slow, “I wanna see you wear this in the bedroom, cowboy. We can make some more memories that’ll ruin you.”

Rhett blinked.

Then his grin went from lazy to wicked.

“Yes, ma’am,” He said, tipping the hat toward you with that glint in his eyes.

You raised a brow at him, lingering in the bathroom doorway with one hand on the frame, your silhouette soft in the dim light. Steam had just begun to curl from the faucet, misting up the mirror. You leaned your weight on one hip, letting your fingers brush your thigh, voice light and teasing.

“You just gonna sit there lookin’ smug,” You asked, “Or are you actually gonna join me?”

Rhett blinked once, then twice–like your words hadn’t fully registered at first–and then his expression shifted into something downright wolfish.

“Hell yes, I’m joinin’ you,” He said, practically throwing the hat onto the nearest pillow as he stood, bare and flushed and beautifully wrecked. “Can’t miss an opportunity to get you all soapy and wet, now can I?”

You laughed, and so did he–both of you loose and glowing in the afterglow haze, your bodies still humming from everything that had just happened. He was already halfway across the room before you could turn, catching your hand as you disappeared into the bathroom, tugging you back toward him for one more lingering kiss. Hot, slow, and full of promise, that the night was far from over.

#rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbott fluff #lewis pullman the man you are #lewis pullman characters #lewis pullman #sweet Lordy lord we love cowboys lol #give me the strength #Spotify #x reader smut #x reader

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rafesbimbo · 2 months ago

Note

pls gyno!rafe with a huge breeding kink and cockwarming reader until she’s in sobs begging for it

warnings: medical kink, cockwarming, breeding kink manipulation, soft coercion, size kink, begging, overstimulation, unprotected sex, dirty talk

pairing: gynecologist!rafe x reader

it was a saturday. after hours. the clinic was locked to the public, the lights dimmed low except in the private exam room you knew all too well.

and you were perched on the edge of that padded table, gown already pushed up to your waist, thighs trembling, panties lost somewhere on the floor.

“look at you,” rafe murmured from between your knees, large hands parting them slowly. “couldn’t even wait ‘til monday, huh?”

you shook your head, shame heating your cheeks. “i-i needed to see you.”

“yeah?” he raised a brow, eyes dipping between your legs, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “and what exactly were you hoping i’d do, baby?”

your lips parted. no answer came.

you didn’t need to speak. your body always said enough.

rafe stepped closer, unbuckling his belt slow, like he wanted you to watch.

“you booked this appointment like a good girl,” he said softly, guiding his thick cock through his fist. “so you’re gonna do what i say, right?”

you nodded.

“words.”

“yes, sir.”

his smirk deepened. “atta girl.”

he didn’t prep you with fingers. didn’t taste you like he usually did. didn’t tease, didn’t ask what was wrong.

he already knew what you wanted.

so when he grabbed your hips and sank into you with a slow, unforgiving roll—stretching you impossibly wide—you sobbed.

loud. high-pitched. already crumbling.

he didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt, cock nudging something deep inside you that made your legs twitch.

but he didn’t thrust.

he stayed still.

full.

thick.

warm.

your walls fluttered around him instinctively, desperate for more. he groaned, breath heavy against your neck.

“feel that?” he whispered. “how good you take it? fuck—so tight around me already.”

your hands clawed at the edge of the table, back arching.

“please—please rafe—need you to move,” you whimpered, eyes glossy, face hot. “s’too much.”

his hand rose to your cheek, stroking it almost lovingly.

“too much?” he echoed, tilting your chin. “or not enough?”

you let out a breathy sob, head tipping back.

he kissed your throat gently, like he wasn’t splitting you open, keeping you filled to the brim with no relief.

“you know why i’m not moving, right?” he murmured. “because i like keeping you like this. warm and dripping.”

your pussy clenched again, helpless, soaking.

he chuckled darkly. “you’re already leaking down my cock, sweetheart. barely touched you and you’re messier than any patient i’ve had on this table.”

you whimpered. “rafe—please—"

“no,” he said softly. “not until you mean it.”

his thumb circled your clit once. a single stroke that nearly made your vision white out.

“mean what?” you whispered.

he leaned in, lips brushing yours. “that you want me to breed you.”

your breath hitched.

his cock pulsed inside you.

“that’s what you came for, isn’t it?” he murmured. “not an exam. not reassurance. you wanted to be filled. stuffed full until you couldn’t think straight. just like a good little breeding toy.”

your tears spilled over again, jaw going slack.

he wiped them with his thumb. “go on. ask for it.”

“please,” you gasped. “please rafe, breed me—need it—need to feel you cum inside me, please—”

his groan was ragged.

he drew his hips back an inch, then slammed forward.

you screamed.

finally—finally—he gave you what you needed. brutal, deep thrusts that punched moans from your throat, your legs trembling violently around his waist.

“so fuckin’ needy,” he growled, hand tangling in your hair. “gonna cry for me the whole time, baby?”

you were already sobbing.

“that’s right,” he panted. “let me hear it. let everyone in this clinic know you’re getting bred like you were made for it.”

his thrusts only grew meaner, rougher, more possessive with each stroke.

you were breaking.

you were blissed-out.

you were cockdrunk and crying and full of nothing but rafe cameron.

and god, you never wanted it to end.

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simjakesgirl · 15 days ago

Text

what you don’t know (18+)

synopsis: you and jungwon have been together for a few months now, but you haven’t had sex yet. little did you know teasing him at a party would be the worst way to get him. tags/warnings: afab reader, dom!jungwon, brattamer!jungwon, sub!reader, discipline, overstimulation, p in v, no protection (wrap that…), bondage, spanking, fingering, sorta dacryphilia, size kink if u squint, oral (m receiving), jungwon is rough! (sorry if i forgot anything..) author's note: omg im finally done with this YAYYYYYY i’m so happy. i’ve been writing this for like a month im ngl. i’m rlly bad at multitasking and writing multiple things at once cuz i always confuse the storylines so bare with me everyone😭. hope you guys enjoy this!! lmk if you want more long smuts like thisssssss!

you’d been with jungwon for almost 4 months. on the outside you both had the perfect relationship. he was charming, thoughtful, funny, basically perfect. he also always made time for you, often taking you out on all kinds of dates whenever he could, having movie nights with you, baking with you, doing all kinds of sweet things. it was always sweet. for a long time that was enough for you, but eventually you craved more of him.

and he’d never give you that.

as soon as things started to heat up, he’d back out. of course you talked to him about it, but he always reassured you he didn’t want to “hurt you” or he wanted to wait for the right time. whenever that may be. you knew he wasn’t a virgin and neither were you which added to your confusion as to why he felt he had to wait or be so careful. you could tell in the way he would touch you, he was holding back. when he kissed you, you could feel he wanted to do so much more, but he would just break it off. it started weighing on your mind and the more you thought about it, the more you wanted to do something about it. you finally thought you got the perfect opportunity when jungwon invited you to stay at his apartment for the weekend.

you laid against the couch, staring at the ceiling and listening to the dull ticking of the wall clock. you were waiting for jungwon to come back from work, but either you were extremely tired or he was taking extremely long. you yawned, almost missing the sound of the door opening. slowly jungwon crept into the living room where you laid, the dim light of the lamp you put on illuminating his face just enough for you to see he was soaking wet. his dark hair was pushed back out of his face, giving you a full view of his playfully stressed expression. you looked him up and down, noticing how good he looked. he wore a white dress shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone while the rest of the shirt was tucked into his black dress pants. he also had his suit jacket draped over one arm and work bag in the other. he dropped his things on the empty coffee table and approached you as you slowly sat up. bending slightly to your level, he gave you a kiss. you didn’t even feel tired anymore at that point, all you could think about was him. you tried to deepen the kiss, placing your hands against the back of his neck to pull him closer and for a second it was working. jungwon started to kiss you roughly and inched just enough for you to begin laying back, but then he abruptly pulled away.

“baby i’m soaking wet,” he said, giving himself an excuse to leave.

you sighed, pushing yourself back into the couch, “even if you weren’t things would’ve ended like this.”

he sucked in a breath, “look, it’s just not the right time.”

“is there ever gonna be a right time?” you argued.

he stuck his tongue in his cheek for a brief moment before regaining his composure, “y/n, i know what i’m telling you. let’s just go to bed.”

with that he left, just like clockwork. you hesitantly got up after contemplating wether you should just go home and made your way to the bedroom. jungwon was already in the shower and you decided to just lay on one side of his bed, eventually falling asleep before he got in.

when your eyes popped open, it was morning. the sunlight beamed through the thin curtains of jungwon’s room, but he was nowhere to be seen. you heard shuffling from the kitchen and got up slowly, still groggy. immediately you locked eyes with jungwon.

“sorry, did i wake you?” he asked, coming up to you.

you still felt mad at him and just shrugged your shoulders, breaking the eye contact.

“you’re still mad at me, hm?” he tried to bite back a smile and wrapped his arms around you, your head resting on his chest. “you’ll be even more upset at the next two things i have to say.”

you looked up quickly, your expression contorting from anger to curiosity.

“first, i got called in today,” he began, “and we’re invited to work dinner tonight.”

he smirked as he watched your expression do a full 180 from curiosity to annoyance.

“ugh, do we have to go?” you pouted, letting your head sink to his chest again.

“yes, unless one of us dies,” he laughed, rubbing the back of your head with his hand.

you huffed, closing your eyes. you really hated work dinners even though you’d only been to one before. all jungwon’s coworkers would just show up with their partners if they had one and talk about nonsense that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. they were all rich idiots you had no interest in. you felt jungwon’s lips press a short kiss on your head before he left. you figured he didn’t kiss your lips before you guys argued again. the more you thought about the argument and the work dinner, the more you started to think of a way you could make things work in your favor for once. if jungwon was going to keep holding back, you’d have to give him a reason not to.

by the time jungwon got back home, you were almost completely ready. all you needed to do was put on your outfit. by the way he smiled and kissed you, you knew he probably thought yesterday’s spat was over and done with. this time you made no effort to deepen the kiss, instead just taking what he gave you. he changed into an all black outfit, only slightly fancier than his usual work attire. the black dress shirt hugged his figure particularly well, accentuating his broad shoulders. in the time he spent changing, you managed to slip into your outfit. you wore a black, lace detailed short dress along with black heels. when jungwon saw you, he paused for a moment. just a brief moment, but you swore you might’ve seen something flicker in his eyes. maybe it was just shock, but you liked to imagine it was more.

as you made it to jungwon's car, he pulled the door open for you. he was always a gentleman of course. you got in, feeling his eyes on you from behind as you climbed in. maybe things would end up working out, but you couldn't let yourself falter just yet. you had a while to go. he got in the driver's side shortly after, quickly starting the car and taking off to the dinner.

they usually reserved an expensive hall for these work dinner parties and this time was no different. the perks of jungwon working at a prestigious business you guessed. as you walked in, you felt jungwon snake an arm around your waist, his middle and ring finger coming together to drum a dull rhythm against your side. you felt pathetic as that small gesture was enough to make you want more. still, you smiled next to him as he greeted everyone and tried your best to not let it show.

after a while you spotted your target, jay. did you like him all that much? not really. did he like you? absolutely. he and jungwon had bad blood because of the sheer amount of times he'd hit on you before. jungwon thought he was hopeless, regardless of his place in the company. it would be too easy and just enough to make him jealous. of course, you weren't going to flirt with him for real, it was just means to an end. he was off to the corner, sort of far from where you and jungwon were currently standing. you felt jungwon's arm loosen around your waist as he got into a deep conversation with a coworker about something you'd never understand. it was now resting a bit to your lower back, but off of you enough for you to slip without him reacting. you noticed a server walking with drinks toward jay and figured if there'd be a right time, it was now.

"wonnie, i think i'll go grab a drink," you whispered into his ear.

he gave you a small nod, dropping his hand and watching you walk away for a few seconds before returning to his previous conversation. you tried to not make it obvious you were approaching jay until jungwon was immersed again. grabbing a drink off of the serving tray, you hurriedly sat next to jay. he looked confused at first before biting back a smile and taking a sip of his drink.

"you couldn't stay away, even with your boyfriend right across the room?" he questioned, playfully squinting his eyes.

you laughed a bit, "don't know if i'd go that far, but whatever you say park."

he took a glance over at jungwon who was unfortunately still deep in conversation and then back at you.

"what would you call it then?" his eyes bore into yours as if he was searching for something in them.

"i'd call it boredom," you giggled, taking a sip of your drink while looking at his reaction.

"oh, funny," he wore a slight smile on his lips. "but i don't think that's true. you got a boyfriend right there, sweetheart, yet you're here with me."

you looked over at jungwon who seemed to be looking around for you a bit now while still attending to the person in front of him. a few people blocked his view from the sight of you and jay, but you could feel things might come to an end soon. you shot back to jay, trying to hide any trace of distraction on your face.

"you're right, maybe i've just been thinking lately," you sighed, inching your chair closer to his.

"is that right," he smirked. "thinking about what?"

"i'm sure you have an idea." you replied, resting your head against your hand.

you tried to not make it obvious as your eyes darted back to jungwon, catching the exact moment he saw you and jay together. his energy shifted immediately and you didn't miss how his jaw clenched or the way he stiffly ran a hand through his hair. he seemed to be trying to act like nothing happened, but you could tell. you could tell he was holding back. he wasn't going to cause a scene, not until you were alone. you should’ve stopped there, but you were having too much fun for your own good.

"hm, i think i rather you tell me," jay tilted his head slightly in an attempt to read you.

“maybe i’ve been thinking about us,” you muttered, sitting towards the edge of your seat, your knees almost touching his.

he seemed surprised by your words for a moment but quickly collected himself.

“what’s there to think about? you hate me, i love you. what’s changed?” he took a long sip of his drink, looking away from you until he heard your voice again.

“who said i hate you,” you questioned, leaning in while smiling just a bit. “i might just be confused.”

you sneaked another look at jungwon who seemed to now have quarter of his focus on the conversation and the rest of his focus on you. your proximity from jay was definitely enough to send him over the edge, but he held back. instead he just took his bottom lip between his teeth before smiling to himself a bit and shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. you figured before things escalated any further, you should end it.

you backed up a bit from jay, standing up from your seat as he watched with a confused expression.

“but maybe you’re right though, it’s probably all useless.”

he looked taken aback by the sudden change in your attitude, but didn't chase you. as soon as you left his attention was swept up by someone else anyways, so he definitely wouldn't be dwelling on that whole ordeal. jungwon on the other hand, as you walked towards him it was almost like he could sense you coming. he looked over his shoulder and when he saw you, he seemed to almost lose his composure. you rested a hand against his shoulder once you reached him, feeling the muscle tense up under you. some piece of you felt like the whole jay thing was a terrible idea, but you were already in too deep. you looked down to your glass, focusing on it to occupy yourself. suddenly jungwon's arm wrapped around you with a stronger grip this time. you almost jumped out of your skin at the sudden contact and decided to sneak a look at him. he looked happy to those in front of him, but you knew it was fake. every time he finished saying what he wanted to, his jaw and grip would both tighten. it felt like he was trying to bruise you with his strength, but you fought to act like everything was normal.

"wonnie, do you want a sip?" you lifted the glass up and smiled just a bit in an attempt to ease the tension.

you watched as his body tightened when you spoke. he slowly leaned down, a hand coming to the top of your head so he could tilt it and whisper in your ear. he was gentle, but you could feel the undertone of something sinister in his touch.

"did you offer that up to jay too?"

he made it so everyone would have no doubt what just happened was nothing more than a casual interaction between a couple. jungwon was furious, but he was calculated. you on the other hand were a mess. his words sent a pang through your soul. it wasn't what he said, but how he said it. he spoke in such a low, demeaning tone. one he never used before. it was enough to scare you, but also enough to drive anticipation through your body.

you didn't say anything else to jungwon throughout the rest of the night, his actions spoke enough. he kept an iron grip on you the whole time, even opting to hold your hand when you guys had to sit and listen to one of his bosses speak just so he had a hand on you. then it was all over. before you could even register it, you were following jungwon to his car. the silence was deafening, but none of you tried to break it. once you got to the car jungwon whipped the passenger door open, not saying anything but instead jerking his chin to gesture you to sit. he looked deep into your eyes, the tension so thick you didn’t know what could cut it. you crept in, jumping a bit as he shut the door and made his way to the driver’s side. you felt you might’ve pushed him too far, further than you intended. all you really wanted was for him to feel a pang of jealousy, enough to give you what you wanted, but currently the only emotion jungwon knew was jealousy. as he got in the car and situated himself, you heard him let out a quiet sigh. he probably figured you didn’t hear, but you did. it was more than a breath, it was him trying to steady himself. now that he had you alone, every bone in his body wanted to confront you, but he knew better. if he started now he wouldn’t be able to stop.

the drive home was torture. jungwon didn’t speak to you, nor did you speak to him. you would glance over every once in a while, looking at how tightly his hands gripped the wheel and how locked his eyes were on the road. his whole body seemed stiff, almost like if he moved suddenly he’d break. you felt like you should be scared, but you couldn’t help but like the side of jungwon you were seeing. it made him even more attractive in your eyes. his possessive nature over you made you feel something you never felt before. you didn’t think you could have such an affect on him until now and that made you crave him more.

the area started to look familiar and you realized you were close to jungwon’s apartment. a mix of excitement and nervousness churned in your stomach. you felt once you got up there, all hell would break lose. or would it just end like it always did? you couldn't have done all that with jay back there for nothing.

jungwon parked the car, coming around to your side and opening the door for you. still a gentleman clearly. you felt his eyes on you as soon as you turned your back. for some reason you just stood there stupidly while listening to his footsteps getting closer. you had no idea what you were anticipating because jungwon ended up just passing you, his eyes leaving your figure the second he got in front of you as if you weren't even there. you followed him, speed walking a bit to catch up. still no talking, just the sound of footsteps until you both reached the elevator. you sighed a bit, wanting to say something to him but holding back as you waited for the doors to open. the doors opened abruptly with a small ding and he got in first, you following quietly behind. you looked down, fiddling with your cuticles as you waited to get to jungwon's floor. unfortunately he couldn't just live on floor 3 or something.

"i can't wrap my head around it you know?" jungwon spoke suddenly, your soul basically leaving your body and returning within seconds.

you looked up at him, his eyes staring straight ahead as a hand came to his hair, ruining its perfect form once again.

"what do you mean," you choked out as you figured you could ride this wave to your advantage.

he just laughed a bit. not his typical laugh, a laugh that made you realize you probably made a mistake.

"there's not much up there, huh," he asked more to himself than to you. "don't worry, m' gonna help you remember."

you looked away after a bit, the elevator opening shortly after. you slowly followed jungwon to the door, sucking in a deep breath before he unlocked it. he gestured for you to go in and you felt him following closely behind, locking the door swiftly once you were both in. he quickly grabbed your arm, turning you to face him.

"start talking." jungwon's eyes bore into yours like knives.

"wonnie i don't-," you started.

"you don't think i saw how close you were to him? practically fucking touching him and then flirting with him?" he scoffed, his grip still strong on your arm. "and you think i didn't see how you'd look at me afterwards as if you were waiting for a reaction?"

you were stunned by how shit your plan went, you didn't even know how to salvage it. explaining the fact that you just wanted him jealous would probably soften jungwon, make him laugh, wash away whatever side of him was in front of you. you couldn't have spent your precious time flirting with a man you weren't interested in for nothing.

"well maybe i wouldn't have to look for things in other men if you'd fuck me," you spat, trying to free yourself from his grip.

he stared at you, dumbfounded by your words. then, something seemed to change in him. he didn't let go, instead dragging you towards him so your body collided with his. you looked up at him, his eyes darker than normal, but you could still spot hints of softness in them.

"i'm sure jay would've already."

that was it. his normal bright eyes were replaced with something dark and sinister. the person holding you looked like jungwon, but it didn't feel like him at all. his grip on your body was almost bruising and the way he eyed you, he seemed hungry.

"bring him up again, baby. find out what happens." he spoke lowly, quietly, like if he spoke louder you'd crumble.

a smile stretched across your face as you took his threat as an empty one.

"should i call him," you asked mockingly. "he gave me his number."

next thing you knew, jungwon was effortlessly picking you up, throwing you over his shoulder, and walking to his room. he plopped you down on his bed, towering over you.

"i thought you were smarter than that, sweetheart. it's a shame," he sighed, fake pity lacing his voice. "don't say i didn't warn you."

he reached down to your dress, bunching the fabric up just enough to reveal your panties. the fact that's all you had under the dress just seemed to piss him off more.

"lift your hips," he directed, hooking his fingers around the fabric and sliding it off your body once you did.

everything after that was a blur. you couldn't remember a single thing he did to get you in the position you were in. the only thing you knew was that it was all beginning to be way too much. jungwon's fingers kept pumping in you, no signs of stopping hitting your senses. he was relentless, completely unforgiving. no matter how much you whined for him, told him it was too much, he wouldn't stop.

"i-" you gasped, your walls clamping down on his fingers for the thousandth time probably. "i-i c-can't, i can't d-do it."

it was humiliating. he stood there, fingers knuckle deep in you, looking completely clean meanwhile you looked a total mess. as the sensation of your orgasm pulsed through your body once again, you couldn't help but choke on your sobs. deep down you didn't want him to stop, but the foreign feeling of his fingers and the way they wouldn't stop was driving you insane. his touch was so calculated, he wouldn't move a finger unless it was apart of his intricate plan. you felt like you had no control over your senses and you really didn't. jungwon had all of it and it was clear he knew that too. he watched as the tears ran down the side of your face, uncomfortably dripping into your hair.

"you're crying?" he mocked, his voice making you feel dumb. "isn't this what you wanted, huh?"

you didn't answer him, you couldn't. you were so lost, his voice sounded so distant and muffled as if your senses were fading. all you could do was pathetically whine out to him. jungwon didn't like that. he removed his fingers, his free hand tangling in your hair roughly and pulling your body up so you'd look at him.

"answer me, y/n." he spoke in such a stern, deep voice you almost shook.

"wonnie i," you swallowed dryly, your voice hoarse from before. "please i-i need you."

he almost laughed at you, easing up his grip on your hair.

"bad girls don't get what they want just because they cry a little sweetheart, you know that right?" he wore a teasing smirk on his face, his gaze making you feel so small and embarrassed.

he took his hand out of your hair, his other hand coming to your mouth, fingers prodding at your lips. you opened your mouth and he stuck the fingers that were just in you right inside. he watched you intently, the way your lips wrapped around his digits was almost hypnotizing. the feeling of your tongue against him was enough to make him crazy. suddenly he pulled them out, but before he could do anything else you were grabbing at his belt.

"please won i'll be so good," you pleaded to him.

before you knew it he was grabbing your hands away roughly, scoffing at you.

"you know baby, for a second there i was really considering fucking your little cunt too. it seems like i have more to teach you though."

you felt tears pricking at your eyes and jungwon noticed too, but he didn't care.

he gestured to your dress, "take it off."

you carefully lifted the fabric off, delaying whatever was to come, but jungwon noticed that soon enough. he pulled the dress off of you himself before flipping you onto your stomach.

"give me a number," he demanded firmly.

your mind was racing way too much to even focus and his previous actions were still having an effect on your body. jungwon wasn't in the mood to be patient. before you could even register what he said, he was picking a number for you.

"10 should teach you something," he started. "count for me."

abruptly, his hand came down to your ass harshly leaving an intense stinging sensation in its absence. you cried out to him, gripping the sheet under you just so you had something to hold on to.

"what are you supposed to do?" jungwon asked, his hand landing another slap.

"c-count," you forced out, smushing your face into the mattress under you.

"so why aren't you, hm? you can't even count and you think you deserve my fucking dick?" he scoffed.

"i'll be so good i promise, jungwon. p-please i can do it," you begged. you tried to turn over to face him, but his free hand held you with an iron grip as his other hand landed another harsh smack in the same spot as the last two.

"o-one," you choked out, the stinging growing more painful every hit.

"good job, baby, that's it. slip up again and you won't get anything but your own fingers to fuck yourself on," he firmly stated, another slap coming down on your bottom.

even though it was hurting you, you couldn't help the way you were enjoying it. it seemed the more he slapped you, the wetter you were getting. it was becoming more pleasurable than punishing and jungwon had no idea until he heard you make a noise. a small, accidental moan when he hit you for the 8th time. you figured he didn't hear it, but he did. every second of it.

"you're enjoying all of this, huh?" he questioned. "you like when i get rough with you, don't you?"

you nodded your head and he flipped you back over so you could face him.

"you want it?" he asked, his coming out huskier than before.

his eyes looked even darker, but before you even knew it you were nodding your head.

"nuh uh, need to hear you say it. tell me how bad you want it.” his face hovered over yours, eyes staring deep into yours.

"want it so bad wonnie, please all i want is you. i don’t want anyone else i swear. just wanna feel you please,” you pleaded.

the sound of jungwon taking off his belt sounded almost like music to your ears, but your happiness was short lived as you felt him flipping you over again. he placed your wrists together, wrapping the cool leather of the belt around them just tight enough that you couldn’t free yourself. then his hand snaked around your neck, pulling you up so you could sit on your knees against the mattress.

“get on the floor.” he jerked his chin to the ground in front of him, his hands coming to his sleeves so he could roll them up just enough to expose his forearm.

you carefully stepped down off the mattress, your knees meeting the hard floors uncomfortably. you were basically eye level with jungwon’s bulge and the way he looked down at you made you nervous. there was some sort of animalistic glint in his eyes and the angle you were at made you feel like a mouse coming in contact with a lion.

you watched as jungwon’s hand slowly came to the waistband of his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them before freeing himself. he was bigger than you anticipated, in both thickness and length. you couldn't help but feel somewhat nervous, but you were also aching to just have him inside you.

your hands fought their binding as you desperately tried to free some of the tension between your thighs but nothing was soothing it. jungwon made sure you wouldn’t be able to touch yourself, it was clear he wanted you to struggle and beg for him to touch you.

“go ahead baby, you wanted it right?” his voice rang out.

you sat there stupidly for a moment and jungwon tangled one of his hands in your hair, guiding your face closer to his cock. then you got the hint. you opened your mouth and without hesitation he was pushing your head onto his dick and letting out a deep sigh.

“what happened to your confidence. hm? you were so bold throwing yourself at jay, now look at you.” he mocked, his voice coming out strained.

you felt so weak in your position. jungwon was basically using you like a puppet, you had no control over yourself whatsoever. he made sure of that. you just there to take whatever he wanted to give you.

tears began to prick at your eyes after a bit. the pressure of his hand pushing your head deeper and deeper onto his cock was getting to be too much. you were pushing you head back against his hand, trying to get a break, but he wasn’t budging. giving him a sign was hard without your hands too. you tried to remind yourself to breathe through your nose, but the air didn’t feel like enough. you tried to take some deeper breaths, but nothing was working. jungwon scoffed a bit. you almost missed it amidst your panic. then finally he was pulling you away to get some air. you started to cough, the abuse of your throat catching up to your senses faster than you expected.

“so pathetic, can’t even suck a dick right.” jungwon degraded, looking down at you.

you squirmed around a little, desperately trying to squeeze your thighs together or rub the heel of your foot against your clit to somehow help yourself out but nothing was doing it. jungwon noticed too, but he enjoyed your struggle too much. the way your lip pouted, your eyebrows knitted together in frustration, and tears welled up in your eyes. it was a sight he didn’t want to forget.

“look at me,” he spoke after a bit.

you lifted your head, holding your frustration in once you met his gaze.

“apologize.” he demanded firmly, not breaking the eye contact.

“i’m so sorry jungwon, i-i only did it so you would get jealous. i d-didn’t mean any of it please believe me. i o-only want you just you.” you rambled on trying to show just how sorry you were.

you stared deep into jungwon’s eyes, unable to read his expression.

“prove it.” he undid the belt on your hands, leaving it on the ground as you climbed back to the bed.

before you could get properly situated, his lips crashed on to yours, creating the messiest kiss you ever had with him. more teeth than lips. it was everything you wanted from him. it wasn’t sweet at all, it was dirty and so raw. you reached your hand down to his shirt, unbuttoning it as far as your hand could reach. your head was spinning as jungwon pulled away, undoing the rest of them and removing his shirt. you’d seen him shirtless before, but this time it felt so different. he looked 10x hotter than usual and the way he was looking at you just made you burn up. suddenly he was leaving, going to grab a condom from his dresser. he noticed how you were staring at him as he backed away and instantly realized your intention.

“you sure?” he asked, his expression softer than before.

you nodded, “yes please i need to feel you wonnie.”

he approached you once again, biting back a smirk as he looked down at you.

“well you asked for it.”

he ran his dick up and down your folds, coating himself in your slick before slowly pushing himself inside. you hadn't had sex in so long the stretch was worse than usual. the pressure was intense and unrelenting, you couldn't help but squirm under him. jungwon tried his best to refrain from just ripping the bandaid off and pushing himself completely inside. you on the other hand wanted everything to be slower, it felt like too much already. you started scooting backwards before jungwon's hands came to your sides, holding you in place.

"where are you going baby?" he asked with fake concern.

"it's to-too much wonnie, i-it feels like too m-much," you whined out, gripping his forearm.

"yeah, is it? is my poor baby hurting?" he asked, a cocky smile gracing his lips.

you nodded your head, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and squeezing him to put the pressure somewhere else. jungwon couldn't help but get more turned on watching you. cheeks red, eyes welling up with tears, and hands helplessly gripping his forearm for some sort of support. he brought a hand down to your clit, rubbing it with his thumb to act as a distraction in order for him to speed up the process.

"wonnie- wonnie it h-hurts," you yelped, squeezing your eyes shut.

"i know, baby, look you're almost there. just a little more." he soothed.

he kept going, your face contorting in pain. you felt hot tears streaming down your face as you watched jungwon work himself inside. his dark hair fell over his face as he watched himself disappear inside you. his restraint was wearing, but he held on. in the end he was afraid to hurt you despite how he came off. he watched your face and how much pain you were in, but your tears almost made him lose it. he almost felt bad for liking to see you cry, but every time he remembered what you did to end up in the situation you were in, he’d lose the guilty feeling.

“hurts that bad huh?” he asked.

you nodded, looking at him.

“you can’t say i didn’t try to keep you away, you’re too fucking stubborn.” he lectured, his voice coming out tight.

“m’ s-sorry.” you muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

he kept going and you tried your best to take it all right until the end. when he finally bottomed out you felt so incredibly full but mostly thankful the hardest part was over. he stayed still for a moment, waiting for you to properly adjust, but when he did move you almost immediately started feeling the pleasure of the situation. it felt like jungwon was almost made for you the way his cock hit all the right spots. you held your grip on his arm, his name falling off your lips more times than you could count. it was all going to his ego, the way he was making you feel good and not jay. the way no one else was making you feel good in that moment but him. no one else could make you feel as good as he did.

“feel good?” he breathed out, his voice husky.

“mhm,” you whined out, biting your bottom lip.

“who’s making you feel good, hm? is jay making you feel like this?” he questioned.

you shook your head quickly, “no, only you could make me feel like this wonnie.”

he bit back his cocky smile, “yeah?”

you nodded, crying out to him as his dick hit your spot. he kept ramming into you, feeling your walls clench around him tightly. you became a babbling mess as you tried to tell him you were close, but he already knew.

“go ahead baby, cum for me.”

that was all it took and you were cumming hard for him, your thousandth time for the night.

"why don't you call jay and tell him whose cock you’re cumming on?" jungwon rode you through your high, watching how your body was reacting to his words. “oh you like that don’t you? fucking filthy.”

you moaned out to him, your stomach flipping at his voice. it was so strained and so much deeper than usual. the jungwon you knew felt so different than the man before you and it was driving you insane. you would’ve tried something so much sooner if you knew this would be the result after the ages of teasing.

after some time you felt jungwon’s thrusting getting more erratic and you realized he was close.

“fuck, m’ gonna cum baby. tell me how bad you want it.”

“want it so bad, want everything,” you cried out.

he kept going and you watched his jaw go slack just before he pulled out, cumming on your stomach. he let out a deep sigh, his head falling as he caught his breath. then his eyes were back on you, a different glint in them this time. it was like the color was back, they were so much more familiar.

“are you okay?” he asked, watching your motionless body.

you laughed a little, “mhm, i’m really good.”

“good, but i’m still mad at you.” he replied, going to the bathroom to get a towel and clean you up.

“i hope you know i didn’t actually get jay’s number, won.” you admitted, turning your head to watch him.

“how about this, new rule. we don’t mention him again, hm?”

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alinathinkstoomuch · 5 months ago

Text

Heels of Dreams

pairing: aaron hotchner x wife!reader summary: you wear heels for a fancy dinner, but in the end, it’s not your shoes that carry you home. warnings: suggestive, fluff, hotch being the perfect man once again by carrying reader home and taking off her heels, age gap implied, reader giving hotch a hard time about being old. (all i hear is hotch is a boobs man, hotch is an ass man no! hotch is a legs man! he told me himself!) word count: 2k ✧ masterlist

Your feet ached – so much so that you weren’t even surprised when Reid, probably fed up with your quiet whining, casually mentioned over dinner that high heels were originally invented for men. And honestly? That made perfect sense. Only creatures that ridiculous would willingly subject themselves to this kind of torture.

He had then launched into an explanation about how, somewhere in the eighteenth century, heels became associated with women’s fashion, but by that point, you were far too focused on two things to pay attention: the persistent throb in your feet and the slow, deliberate movement of Aaron’s hand as it slid over to rest on your thigh.

That had effectively wiped out any interest in Reid’s history lesson.

It had been a small dinner, one of those rare nights where the girls – Penelope, really – insisted on dressing up. She had made a reservation somewhere far fancier (and significantly less sticky) than your usual bar, declaring it a much-needed change of scenery.

So, you had picked out the prettiest pair of shoes you owned – the ones you knew Aaron liked because he had insisted on buying them for you. He hadn’t even flinched when the price climbed high enough to require a comma, just given you that quiet, unwavering look that made it clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

And now, after hours of balancing on them, you were really hoping that look extended to carrying you to the couch.

“Regretting your choice of footwear?”

You huffed, dramatically shifting your weight onto one leg. “I regret your choice of footwear.”

His brow lifted. “Mine?”

“You picked these out, remember?” You gestured toward your aching feet, the expensive, unreasonably gorgeous shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of your dress. “You practically demanded I get them.”

Aaron hummed, slowing his pace just enough to make you aware of how much effort you were putting into keeping up. The ass. “I don’t recall any demanding,” he said, tone far too innocent. “I seem to remember you trying them on and looking at me like you were hoping I’d tell you to buy them.”

You gasped, stopping in your tracks. “That is not what happened.”

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable – except for the glint in his eyes, the one that only appeared when he was in the mood to toy with you. “No?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No.”

He paused for a moment before asking, “Which one is it going to be?”

“Huh?

“Do you want to walk home in my shoes,” he clarified, like he was offering you something as normal as his jacket, “or am I carrying you?”

You stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was actually serious. “You can’t just carry me,” you argued, crossing your arms.

Aaron arched a brow and before you could react, he took a deliberate step forward, closing the space between you. “You underestimate me,” he said and suddenly, you were very aware of how close he was.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you can – I just don’t think you should.”

His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. “Why not?”

“Because it’s ridiculous.”

“You’re limping,” he pointed out, not unkindly. “And you’re already dramatic when you’re comfortable, I can’t imagine how much I’ll have to hear about this tomorrow if I don’t carry you.”

“Jeez, you’re making me sound like a real catch.”

His smirk deepened just enough to make your breath hitch. “You are,” he said simply, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “That’s why I’m carrying you.”

And before you could even form a protest, his arms were around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

A surprised yelp escaped your lips as he adjusted his hold, settling you securely in his arms, carrying you like you were weightless. The absurdity of it all – his confidence, the way he did it without hesitation, the sheer ridiculousness of being carried down the street like some sort of Disney princess – sent you into a fit of laughter.

“This is silly,” you managed between giggles, clinging to his shoulders. “Baby, put me down, I’ll walk barefoot.”

“Not happening.” His grip on you tightened, as if the very thought of letting you go was out of the question.

You let out another giggle, looping your arms around his neck for balance – not that you needed to, because Aaron held you like you were made for this, like carrying you home was just another part of his routine. Like it didn’t even require effort.

“Well, at least it’s not too far,” you mused, mid-yawn. “Wouldn’t want you throwing your back out.”

Aaron huffed out a laugh, the warmth of it brushing against your temple. “My back is fine. I think I can manage a few blocks.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, a teasing smile curling at your lips. “You think you can manage? Should I be concerned?”

“I should drop you just for that.”

Your eyes widened in mock horror, gripping his shoulders a little tighter. “You wouldn’t.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a smile “Wouldn’t I?”

Still, you gasped dramatically, clutching him even tighter. “Wow. Threatening to drop your much younger wife? That’s low.”

He sighed, the kind of long-suffering exhale that only came from years of dealing with you. “Here we go.”

You bit back a grin, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I mean, I get it – you’re not as young as you used to be. It must be exhausting carrying someone so full of youthful energy.”

“You do realize I’ve tackled suspects more than twice your size, right?”

“Yes, yes, very impressive,” you conceded with a wave of your hand. “But, you know, they don’t cling to you and distract you with conversation while you’re carrying them.”

“No, usually they’re either trying to stab or shoot me.”

You blinked, considering that. “And I’m the difficult one?”

Aaron didn’t bother dignifying your last remark with a response, he just shook his head, adjusting his grip on you. The movement brought you even closer and you could feel his warmth bleeding into you. If you weren’t still revelling in the absolute delight of being carried, you might’ve admitted that this had been your plan all along.

Eventually, the familiar sight of your apartment building came into view, and you sighed dramatically. “Well, we made it. Against all odds. How’s your back? Need me to book you a chiropractor?”

“Maybe a divorce attorney,” he mumbled, earning a swat at his chest from your clutch.

“Excuse me?”

But before you could demand a proper retraction, he angled you slightly, adjusting his hold so effortlessly it was almost infuriating, and you barely had time to react before he nodded toward the door.

“Kick,” he instructed.

Rolling your eyes but obliging anyway, you lifted a foot and tapped the door open, muttering, “Chivalry is dead.”

“Chivalry is alive and well,” he corrected smoothly, stepping inside with you still securely in his arms. “It’s just carrying a very mouthy woman up the stairs.”

You gasped again, scandalized. “Wow. I think that definitely just earned you a night on the couch.”

“We both know you’d end up joining me anyway. In fact,” he mused, his voice dropping as he carried you up the stairs, “I recall you saying that the best sex we’ve ever had was on that couch.”

Your mouth snapped shut, heat rushing to your cheeks so fast it was disorienting.

“You cannot just say things like that,” you hissed, your head whipping toward the door opposite yours. “We have neighbours. You know Agatha is a night owl.”

Aaron exhaled a quiet chuckle, completely unfazed. “Agatha’s hard of hearing.” He paused then added, “Keys, honey.”

With a dramatic sigh, you started digging through your clutch, fingers sifting through a graveyard of lip glosses and tiny perfume samples you had no intention of ever using but refused to throw away.

Aaron tilted his head, watching with mild amusement. “Need some help?”

“I’ve got it,” you muttered, ignoring his deeply unnecessary smirk as you fished out your keys. “Not all of us have the luxury of bottomless suit pockets.”

“That’s not what they’re called.”

“Whatever, Mary Poppins.”

He shook his head as he patiently waited for you to unlock the door – still very much carrying you.

Finally, your fingers closed around the keys, and with an exaggerated motion, you yanked them out. Aaron hummed, the sound low and pleased, before lowering you just enough so you could reach the lock.

The door swung open and he carried you inside, kicking it shut behind him. He made his way over to the infamous couch. The moment he set you down, you let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, stretching out dramatically. “Ugh. My hero,” you drawled. “My feet may never recover, but at least I died beautifully.”

You watched as he crossed the room with that same grace, making his way back toward the door. He slid off his suit jacket, draping it neatly over the back of a chair before reaching for the lock.

He made his way back over to you without a word, nudging your legs apart just enough to settle between them, sinking onto his knees. His fingers went immediately to the delicate strap of your heels, the pads of his thumbs brushing against your skin as he worked.

“Wow. Didn’t even have to ask.”

Aaron barely glanced up, his focus on your ankle as he did his best to undo the tiny buckle – one-handed, no less, because his phone and wallet were still in his grip. “I take care of what’s mine.”

Your stomach did a little flip, but you refused to let him win just yet.

“Hold these.” He pressed his phone and wallet against your stomach, and you took them instinctively.

Your fingers brushed over the wallet – the one you had given him for his birthday last year, the worn leather soft and familiar against your palm. You turned it over in your hand, shaking your head. “Oof. Trusting me with your wallet? Big mistake, Hotchner.”

He slipped the first shoe off your foot. “Spend whatever you want,” he murmured, his fingers wrapping around your ankle, lifting it slightly. “Take whatever you want. Take everything.”

Before the words could even land, he dipped his head and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your ankle. His lips continued to trail lower, placing another kiss just above the curve of your foot, then another, his movements achingly tender.

You exhaled a quiet, contented moan, your body melting into the cushions as his touch worked its magic. It was like he knew – of course he knew – the exact places that hurt, the spots that had been aching for hours, and now, with nothing more than his lips, his touch, his presence, he was undoing all of it.

Like he needed to make it better.

Like he wanted to erase every trace of discomfort you’d felt all night.

His hands skimmed up your calves, pushing your dress up, fingertips pressing gently into the sore muscles before his thumbs followed, kneading warmth back into you.

Then, with that same patient care, he reached for your other foot, undoing the second buckle. The strap slipped free and he set the shoe aside before his hands returned to you, skimming up the length of your legs.

And then his mouth followed. Kissing. Worshipping.

His lips trailed over your shin, each kiss pressing something deeper into you – something that made your chest feel full.

His breath was warm against your thigh when he mumbled, “Marry me, baby.”

You blinked down at him, another giggle slipping from your lips, light and breathless. “Aaron, we’re already married.”

You felt him smile against your skin.

“Marry me again.”

Another kiss.

“And again.”

Another.

“And again.”

Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging it slightly, your heart stuttering as warmth curled deep in your stomach.

He looked up then, eyes full of love, lips hovering just above your skin.

“As many times as you’ll have me.”

And just like that, you knew – you’d say yes to him a thousand times over.

dividers by cafekitsune

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch #ssa aaron hotchner #Spotify #aaron hotchner x reader #mine🌟

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natsaffection · 3 months ago

Text

Full throttle. | N.R

Older!Natasha x Younger!Reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI!, Age gap, bike riding, begging, crying, holding down, fingering, multiple organs, overstimulation

Word count: 2k

A/n: Returning something.

The engine purred beneath them like a living thing, raw and powerful, as the city blurred past in streaks of light. Natasha handled the motorcycle like she was born on it, confident, controlled, dangerous in all the right ways. You sat behind her, arms wrapped tightly around Natasha’s waist, chin just barely brushing the woman’s shoulder as the wind rushed over your bodies.

But the longer you rode, the more distracted you became.

At first, it was just the thrill of the ride, the speed, the scent of leather and fuel, and the way Natasha’s body moved so effortlessly in front of you. But then the vibrations started to settle in, low, constant, and absolutely maddening. The steady hum of the bike beneath you made your thighs clench, your pulse thrum.

You shifted slightly on the seat, pressing closer to Natasha, as if it would help. It didn’t. The denim of your jeans felt suddenly too thick and too thin all at once. You bit your lip and tried to focus on the road, the skyline, anything but the way the vibrations teased you. God, you needed to focus.

But then Natasha shifted gears, and that subtle growl of the bike deepened, richer, rougher, it rolled up through your spine and straight between your legs. Your breath caught, and you had to fight the urge to arch into it. Subtly, too subtly, you hoped, you adjusted your position, just slightly, trying to get the angle right. But it wasn’t enough. The denim, the seat, the teasing hum…it was torture.

Unbearable, delicious torture. And all the while, Natasha didn’t say a word. You tried to convince yourself the older woman hadn’t noticed, she was focused on the road, after all. But Natasha Romanoff was an assassin. She noticed everything.

And she definitely noticed this.

When they finally pulled into the garage under their building, you were practically throbbing with unsatisfied need. Natasha cut the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening in its contrast, and slowly pulled off her helmet, shaking out her hair.

You hadn’t moved. You couldn’t..Not yet.

“You good back there, kotenok?” Natasha asked, voice calm, and..amused. Too amused.

You swallowed hard and slid off the bike, trying to keep your composure. Your legs were a little shaky, but you hoped Natasha wouldn’t notice. (She definitely would.)

“Yeah..” you said, your voice a little too high, too fast. “Just…adrenaline.”

Natasha smirked and turned, stepping close, invading your space like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Mmm.” she hummed, brushing a gloved finger lightly under your chin, tilting it up. “Adrenaline, huh? Not the vibration?”

Your eyes widened. “I- what? No, I didn’t..-“

“You’ve been squirming on the back of that bike since we hit the bridge.” she murmured. “Thought I wouldn’t notice you chasing that little pulse between your legs?”

Heat exploded in your cheeks..and lower, much lower.

“Nat…”

“You think I didn’t plan that route?” Natasha’s voice dropped, smoky and low. “You think I didn’t know what that engine would do to you?”

You froze. “I d-don’t know what you mean, Tasha.”

And that..that, was the final crack. Natasha’s jaw clenched. Because you knew exactly what she meant. And you were still playing dumb. And god.. she loved the fight. But not as much as she loved winning.

Natasha stepped in until her body brushed your front, close enough to trap you without touching. Her breath was warm when she spoke.

“I felt every little shift. Every roll of your hips. You were riding that seat like it could fuck you if you just angled right.”

You whimpered, so soft, like you didn’t even mean to. Natasha smiled slowly. “There she is..”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

“You think you can just walk off my bike, flushed and wet, acting like your pussy wasn’t pulsing the whole time?” Natasha’s voice dipped low. “Sweetheart, I felt it through the seat.”

Another sound left your throat, half breath, half moan. Natasha leaned in and smirked against your ear. “Still don’t know what I mean?”

Your silence was all the answer she needed.

“Good.” Natasha murmured. “Because now you’re going to get back on.”

Before you could react, Natasha’s hands were on your waist, strong, firm, already in control. She lifted you with practiced ease and placed you right back on the bike.

You didn’t fight it. You just exhaled, eyes hazy, body melting under Natasha’s hands like you’d been waiting to be put back in your place.

Natasha moved behind you, slow, intentional. She swung her leg over and settled down, chest pressed against your back, her thighs bracketing yours.

Then she placed a gloved hand on your inner thigh, possessive and controlling. Natasha leaned in, lips brushing your neck.

“Now you stay still.” she whispered. “Because this time, you’re not chasing the vibration.”

Her other hand reached for the key. “I’m giving it to you.”

The engine roared to life beneath you, and you gasped as the vibrations rolled through your body, stronger, more focused than before, and now with no distractions, no city, no excuses. Just you, the machine, and Natasha’s hands on your hips.

“That’s it.” Natasha purred. “Ride it.”

She reached around you slowly, deliberately, and took both of your wrists in her hands. She dragged them forward, placing them firmly on the handlebars.

“Don’t move them.” Natasha said, her voice like gravel and smoke. “I’m not going to tell you twice.”

You swallowed. Your thighs were already trembling, the vibration of the engine pulsing between your legs like it knew every inch of your body. And now, your arms were caged in place, Natasha’s hands wrapped over yours on the bars, holding you tight, forcing you to stay.

“Nat-” you breathed, trying to shift your hips. Natasha tightened her grip.

“Sit still.”

You whimpered. “Feel that?” Natasha murmured against your neck. “That’s what you wanted all along. You just didn’t want to say it. You wanted to sit here, legs spread, wet and needy, letting the bike fuck you until you fell apart..”

Your hands gripped the handles like lifelines. Your head fell forward, your breath stuttering as your core clenched around nothing but need. You shifted, instinctively grinding down, this time not holding back.

Natasha pressing kisses down your neck, whispering filth into your skin. “Keep going. Let it fuck you. Let me watch.”

One of her hand slid from the handlebar down your front, pressing into your lower belly, forcing your hips down, into the vibrations. “You’re gonna take it..” she whispered. “Right here. You’re gonna come with my hand holding you in place and your thighs wide open. And you’re gonna say thank you when you’re done.”

You shuddered, back arching against Natasha’s hold. Natasha leaned in tighter, lips brushing your ear. “Do you understand me?”

Your voice broke. “Y-Yes. Yes..yes, Natasha..”

She didn’t let go. Not when you started to shake. Not when the whimpers turned to gasps. Not even when you started begging, legs trembling, voice cracking, hips jerking helplessly against the relentless hum.

Her other hand ghosted over your stomach, then dipped between your legs, palming the heat there through the denim, pressing you down even harder against the seat.

“Feel that?” she whispered, voice rough and trembling with her own restraint. “The way the bike’s humming right on your clit?”

You whimpered, utterly wrecked, barely able to breathe, and Natasha just smirked against your cheek. “Let’s make it worse, hm?”

She revved the throttle slightly, just enough to spike the vibration, no movement forward, just power, steady and thick between your legs. The engine purred louder, and the new intensity made you gasp, hips jerking.

“Uh-uh.” Natasha pressed her thigh down harder, forcing you still.

“Ride it.” she hissed. “Rub against it. You want to come? Then grind.”

You let out a strangled moan as you obeyed, hips rolling against the seat in slow, desperate circles, the vibration perfectly centered, Natasha’s hands guiding every movement.

“That’s it.” Natasha murmured. “Use it. Use my fucking bike to make yourself come.”

You were crying out now, soft, breathless sounds that you couldn’t stop, couldn’t care to hide. Your thighs were shaking violently under Natasha’s hold, your hands white-knuckled on the grips.

“Keep your hands there..” Natasha reminded, biting your neck. “Don’t you dare stop.”

She rocked your hips faster now, pressing her fingers hard against the seam of your jeans, dragging it back and forth in time with the engine’s pulse.

“That’s it. That’s the spot. You feel it, don’t you? You’re about to soak the seat, baby.”

You sobbed a moan, mouth falling open as your orgasm hit like a crash, blinding, uncontrollable, your entire body trembling as you shattered, still pinned in place, still forced down onto the engine’s relentless rhythm.

But Natasha didn’t stop. She kept you there, hands firm, body caging you in.

“Look at you..” she whispered, voice thick with lust. “So fucking perfect when you come for me.”

You slumped forward, breath ragged, body limp. And still, Natasha stayed behind you, stroking your thighs, kissing your neck, voice softer now, but no less firm.

“We’re not done until I say.”

And the engine kept purring. You were still slumped over the bike, shaking, thighs twitching as the last pulses of your orgasm bled through your limbs. Your cheek rested against your forearm, breath ragged, body boneless. The engine had gone quiet, but the ghost of its vibration was still humming between your legs, so much that you couldn’t tell if you were still coming or just remembering how it felt.

And then Natasha moved. Slow and precise. She didn’t ask. She didn’t check. She knew.

One hand slid down your back, fingers tracing your spine with maddening gentleness. The other returned to your thigh, coaxing it open again as she leaned down, voice soft but lethal.

“Natasha, w-wait, wait..”

“No.” Natasha breathed, lips brushing your ear. “You don’t get to come once and be done. Not when I’ve been holding back this whole ride. Not when you were grinding against me, making these pretty little sounds.”

Her gloved fingers moved between your legs again, right over the soaked seam of your jeans, and pressed. Your whole body jolted.

“N-Nat-!” Your voice cracked, breath hitching into a sob of overstimulated shock. But Natasha only purred.

“Oh, baby, you’re already soaked through. And you’re still so sensitive, aren’t you?” She ground the heel of her hand slowly into your core, right where the vibration had left you raw and throbbing. “That means you’ll come even faster this time.”

Your hands scrambled at the grips, trying to pull away, but Natasha’s body was right behind yours, trapping you, and her hand moved fast, purposeful now. She wasn’t teasing anymore..She was claiming.

“I said don’t run.” Natasha growled. “Don’t you dare pull away from me.” You let out a desperate whimper, your voice caught somewhere between protest and surrender.

“I-I can’t, please..”

“Yes, you can.” Natasha whispered fiercely. “You will.”

She grabbed one of your hands and slammed it back onto the handlebar, pinning it down with her own.

“I’ll hold you through it.”

And she did. She pressed her other hand back between your thighs and started rubbing hard, tight circles over your clit through the soaked fabric, relentless, timed to the rhythm of your breath.

Your whole body was on fire, twitching with too much sensation, too much pressure, but it was all centered there, between your legs, where Natasha wouldn’t stop.

“God, listen to you..” Natasha groaned against your shoulder. “Whimpering like you don’t love this. Like your pussy isn’t pulsing against my hand already.”

You sobbed. “It’s too much!” you gasped. “I-I can’t- Nat, please-”

“Begging already?” Natasha hissed. “You’re not even close yet. But you’re going to be. Right there..feel that?”

You screamed when Natasha pressed just right.

“You’re coming again.” Natasha growled. “Come for me. Fucking come.”

And you shattered..Again. Harder and louder. Your whole body bucked and locked, thighs trying to snap shut, but Natasha held you wide, rubbing you through it, drawing it out, forcing you to stay there, helpless and overstimulated, twitching and sobbing against the handlebars.

Only when you were slumped, boneless and barely breathing, did Natasha finally ease her hand away-, glove soaked, lips brushing along your jaw, whispering, “That’s my good girl. Every last drop of you belongs to me.”

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha smut #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanov smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanov #black widow x reader #marvel

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abyssyby · 5 months ago

Text

messy spaces

— your boys try very, very hard to keep a secret…

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: rocket baby & shy baby's (also referred to in my head as sunlight (lucian/cian) & sun-warmth (kyros/kyro)) debut! a little self-indulgent, soft sylus family moment bc he'd be a great husband and a wonderful father of two sensory-seeking boys. i hope you enjoy! ❀ -urs

sylus x reader | fluff, domestic family stuff, twin boy dad!sylus, crafty-hobby-collector mom reader, keiran & luke are here too!

Sylus needs to get you out of the house.

He watches you flit around the room like a bird, a twin on your hip, rambling in delight about how the boys had burped loud enough they could have scared away a wanderer. And you were beautiful, a picture of comforting grace— in one of his large shirts, your hair a mess (thanks to your son chewing on it) and bright and joyful eyes shining.

But he needs you out of the house.

He hums appreciatively when you plop down beside him on the couch, his arm automatically wounding around your shoulders and pulling you to his side. The tip of his nose tickles you as it feathers from your neck to your cheek, where he presses his lips tenderly.

You flush and clear your throat, because no matter how long you’ve been together, with him every moment always feels like the first time. “Cian, was looking for you earlier, wanted to show you something.”

“Hm?” he mutters, kissing back down the trail he’d traced. “What was it?”

You shrug. “He wouldn’t show me, said it was papa’s secret.”

Sylus’s panic was undetectable if it weren’t for the stutter in his movement. The slight flex of one of his fingers in your shoulder, the soft exhale through his nose. Ever so in tune with your husband, you raise a brow. “What is it?”

The look he gives you is cool and unassuming, and then he flashes you a charming smile. “It’s harder to keep secrets from you when you’ve gotten so sharp.”

“I’ve always been sharp.” you frown.

He kisses you soundly on the lips, pleased with the little pout he coaxed out of you. “And beautiful.”

He looks at the sleeping child in your arms and bends down to kiss his forehead too. Your heart melts at the sight. Then he stands, and your frown deepens. “Where are you going?”

“To handle a whistleblower.” he says, straightening his clothes and shooting you a mischievous grin. “And to teach him how to keep secrets from mama properly.”

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

For every corner, every nook and cranny of the base, Sylus had a mental replica of how it should be. One of the most surprising things you realized when you’d started to live together was how clean he was. He liked keeping things in a certain order, and because of this, he was good at leaving and moving without a trace.

You’d abide to his rules when you moved in as much as you could, but you couldn’t keep up with his tidiness. It never bothered him though, instead, he delighted in it— to see some of his toiletries pushed to the side to make way for your own, how you sometimes accumulate glasses of water with lipstick stains by your bedside, your clothes at the foot of the bed when you’re rushing to get changed— knowing you are here, under the same roof, in the same space, with him.

And just as he felt with your trail of breadcrumbs, he felt it tenfold with his boys. The post-hurricane-esque damage of toys and trinkets in his spotless living room, the mess of baby food on the dining table after a meal, crayon marks on his pristine walls, a stray stuffie in his office. A shock to find, of course, but it was never unwelcome.

And so, he follows his son’s trail to the playroom (once an extra armory, flipped by you and the big twins while he was away). It wasn’t hard, it was literally a trail of animal crackers.

He pushes the already ajar door open. “Lucian—“

“—there’s too many of them, little boss—“

“—And another one—“

Three heads look up at him as he enters. One would argue three of his sons were caught red handed dealing illegally acquired animal crackers (it wasn’t snack time yet). But there they were, his loyal henchmen in party hats and his own three year old in a crown, arm very evidently elbow-deep into the cracker tin canister.

“Papa!” Lucian smiles, crumbs all over his cheeks and chubby little fingers.

“Boss.” Luke and Keiran greet as well, glancing down at the hands in their lap.

Lucian doesn’t stay idle, instead he shakes off his crown and rushes to Sylus’s leg. He is picked up and balanced in the crook of his father’s elbow. Sylus’s eyes soften with a molten glow as he brings up gentle fingers to brush away the dirt on his boy’s cheeks. “What are you doing, little boss?”

“Papa, I sharin’!” he grins proudly. Sylus raises a brow.

He peeks over the child’s shoulder to Keiran and Luke with their masks half raised, already munching on the animal crackers on their plastic plates. He gives them a pointed look that makes them slow and turn away, knowing full well they weren’t supposed to succumb to snacks-during-not-snack-time. “With Luke and Keiran?”

“Mhm!” Lucian is already trying to make his way up Sylus’s shoulders. Sylus lets him.

“Mm, that’s kind of you.”

A crumbly finger leaves an imprint just beside Sylus’s eye. “I good.”

“Yes, angel.” Sylus looks up at him. Lucian’s face, a reflection of his own with your irises and your smile, hangs upside down to meet his gaze. “Did you find my surprise?”

Lucian frowns for a moment. After the day he’s had, retrieving a memory after such a long business transaction must be a monumental feat for a clever little mind. The time today he found Luke and Keiran and was told to “shh!”. But it comes to him eventually, and when it does his face lights up like the sun. “Ah-huh!”

“Did you show mama?”

“No.”

“Did you tell mama?”

Lucian blinks. “I tell: no, mama! No go in!”

Ah, yes. Of course. Sylus chuckles, pinching his cheeks. “Good job, angel.”

He’ll clean the mess up later, not that he truly minds it, but he wouldn’t want ants festering in his children’s favorite room.

And that’s what it was: his need for you to have your own favorite room.

He never thought that setting up an old armory would bring this much joy to his children, having once thought the whole base was theirs to conquer, and yet seeing them return somewhere when they have no idea where to go, seeing them drift in and out of the playroom made him realize: that was their little safe space.

And just as his little adventurers were half of him, who once in a lifetime ago, could never have enough space, enough lands, enough resources and things to dominate, they were also half you. Yearning for peace, a quiet little bubble to gather your thoughts, regulate your heart and breathe.

He has his spaces. His boys have the base and the playroom. You… you need your bubble.

Lucian hangs tight on his father’s head, both arms perfectly hugging the circumference as Sylus walks to the hidden room. Papa’s secret surprise.

Down the labyrinth halls, around the priceless statue of a dragon he bought at an auction (its pedestal desecrated with Bluey stickers), there lies the auspicious grey door Lucian had thought would be a good hiding spot.

“Is book room.” Lucian says, one hand mindlessly drifting down to cover Sylus’s left eye.

Sylus doesn’t flinch, but nods. “It's mama’s room.”

“Upstairs…” Lucian answers quietly, thinking it was a question.

Sylus chuckles and pushes the door open.

The incense marinates the room in the scent of fresh linens and citrus, and the sunlight shoots through the half-drawn curtains onto the soft plush carpet— the kind of texture you and Kyros particularly enjoyed. On the wall, a large shelf with lines of books and empty spaces for you to fill. A corner with an easel and paints; old paintings you’d stored away in the spare rooms to make way for your childrens’ needs dusted and placed on your old wooden art table. Your favorite weapons encased in glass, decorated the bare walls.

A desk with a laptop for your writings. A basket of yarn and needles and the other things you bring to your shared bed to poke and weave. A circular couch, closer to a cat-bed, by the window. A hammock by the wall. A beanbag in the corner. And more, so much more.

Everything Sylus had taken note of, committed to memory. Things you’ve said, “sorry for the mess” for. Things he’d thought of and said— she’d like this. All gathered, collected and stuffed— organized in this room.

“Smell nice.” Lucian says, scrambling to get down his father’s shoulders. He does it too quickly, almost falling if it weren’t for Sylus’s foresight. He catches his toddler by the armpits with little fanfare and sets him down on his feet. Lucian, against his usual nature, walks carefully into the room, as if afraid to disrupt its peace. “Mama like books.”

“She does.” Sylus nods, inspecting the work the bigger twins have done with the lighting. Silently regarding their good work, he looks down to his son eyeing the hammock. “Wanna try?”

Lucian runs towards the hammock and grabs onto the tassels. But before he can tug the entire thing to come crashing down, Sylus lifts him up and places him in the giant seat. He pushes the swing and Lucian’s giggles bounce off the walls.

Sylus beams at your smile on his son’s face. The sun setting through the western window bathing the room in a warm glow. He can’t wait to show you. He can’t wait to give it to you. He hopes, still, despite how long and how sure he’s known you, that you like it.

And that’s why he needed to get you out of the house.

Sylus has a plan— he’s good at planning, and even better at executing those plans— and that involves gifting this to you as the big ta-da! The final pièce de résistance at the end of a good day.

There is a traveling carnival in a few days, one he’d invited you to go see days before. You’d arm yourselves with baby carriers and strollers, extra diapers and snacks, hats and hand-held fans, and bring the boys to experience it. Then, he’d take you to a nice restaurant with air conditioning to cool down. You’d order your favorite meal, he’d pick the onions off of Kyros’s plate, and Lucain would be a mess of squash and cream. And after, you’d make it in time for the fireworks to set off across the river.

He’d drive home, hold your hand as he watches you in the corner of his eye fight back sleep, while the little snores in the back lull you to unconsciousness. You’d take the kids in from the car and set them down in the nursery, and before you head back to your own bedroom, he’d ask you if you’d like to see something he’s working on. Might even bring up Lucian’s term of—

“Papa secret.”

He freezes— this time, completely detectable. He has better instincts than this in other, more dire situations, like ambushes and break-ins.

But not for you.

You, standing by the door with a smug little smirk on your pretty face. One hand guiding an already awake other twin to toddle in towards his brother.

Lucian screams in surprise and delight, caught— because he wasn’t very good at secrets just yet. But although close, he wasn’t the one who pulled the pin on this grenade.

Kyros. The quiet little thing. All whispers and contained excitement. The one Sylus had assumed to be safe. Wrongly.

Now, happily chanting over and over, “Papa secret, papa secret…”

Sylus sighs, running his fingers through his neatly done hair out of exasperation, and then turning to look at you with a defeated upturn of his lips. “Beloved.”

You lunge. Arms embracing his shoulders and molding your lips to his. He catches you just a second later through the haze, and grins into your kiss. “You…”

He asks, “Do you like it?”

You pull back and nod. Words cannot surmise how you feel. The stars bursting in your chest, the tears burning your eyes, the love— oh, the love the spills over and takes captive your entire soul.

Sylus laughs, cupping your face in his large hands and kissing you again. “I’m glad.”

You sniff, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Is this mine?”

His thumb brushes the corner of your eye. “I don’t crochet.”

Your fist lands on his chest with no real force. He catches it, spreads out your fingers over his heart. You stare at him thoughtfully, and it knocks the breath out of him how your eyes twinkle in the light.

“I wanted to surprise you.” He says, tone almost apologetic.

You smile. It dawns on you that he probably had planned this huge reveal. You consider him and brush his hair away from his eyes. “I am surprised.”

He exhales, a scoff and an exasperated laugh. “I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions.”

And you can’t hide the little smile you try to suppress— sure, the little twins were expected to blab one way or another, but you didn’t really need them when you have the big twins acting shifty and weird around you when you asked them what the light fixtures were for when they came in the mail. “Maybe a little.”

“Please.” He taps your forehead with a teasing finger. “You’ve always been sharp.”

Just before you can kiss him senseless again, his attention is called with a tug on his pant leg. Kyros stares up at him.

“Pa, up pease?” He says, pointing to his brother on the swinging hammock.

He gives you an apologetic look which you return with a fond smile, as he pulls away from you and hauls Kyros up and places him beside his brother.

“Papa, swing fast-fast!” Lucian howls, shaking the blanket and making the new hinges groan.

Sylus secures Kyros with pillows and guides his hands to hold the corners of the blanket. “Tell me when it’s too fast, okay?”

Kyros nods. And Sylus pushes.

Quickly, the room’s once undisrupted peace is washed with a peaceful kind of chaos. Intended to be a space for you and all the things you love, now filled with the entire world.

As Sylus pulls back to let the hammock swing from its own momentum, you wrap your arms around his torso from behind, pressing your face in the space between his shoulders. You mutter a muffled, “Thank you, my love.”

Sylus takes your hands and brings them to his lips in reply. Needing you to know that your thanks is welcome but not needed. All he needs is this— you, your kids, and the wonderful mess you’ve made in his life.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading!

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callsign-fox · 3 months ago

Text

Closing the Distance - Bob/Robert Reynolds

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

Warning: 18+ / Foreplay

I hope you guys love it! xo

The floor creaked for the third time in five minutes.

Y/N cracked an eye open, sleep still heavy in her limbs, and peeked over the couch at the large figure sprawled on the floor. A mess of brown hair caught the faint streetlight, casting soft shadows across the wood and the sharp line of Bob’s jaw.

“You doing okay down there, Boy Scout?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

A groan came from the floor. “I’m six-foot. This blanket’s a napkin. And I’m lying on Bucky’s freshly refinished hardwood. So yeah, living the dream.”

Y/N smirked. “So you’re fine then.”

His laugh was low, genuine—enough to make her lips twitch despite herself.

“You know,” she added, “you could’ve had the couch. I would’ve given it to you.”

“I was trying to be a gentleman,” he said, stretching with a grunt. “Didn’t know chivalry came with lower back trauma.”

She chuckled softly, warmth spreading through her as she lay in the quiet of the apartment. It was too late to be awake, too early to get up—but sleep wouldn’t come. Not with him there. Not with everything unspoken hanging between them.

Silence lingered, charged with something neither dared name. Then she cracked it with a sleepy grin. “You always suffer this loudly in silence?”

Another soft huff. “Only when there’s an audience I’m trying to impress.”

She glanced down again. He looked ridiculous—arm flung over his face, blanket tangled around his legs—but somehow, he felt like home. And maybe that was the problem.

“So,” she said lightly, “who’s the lucky audience?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he dropped his arm and met her eyes through the dim room, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Take a wild guess.”

Her stomach did a slow flip. That fluttering, electric kind that always meant trouble.

“Careful,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Say something sweet like that again, and I might actually let you up here.”

A beat.

“You sure that’s a threat and not an invitation?” His knee shifted closer, just enough to make her breath catch. “Because the way you’ve been tossing and turning—I think you want me closer.”

Her breath caught, sharp and shallow. She rolled onto her back, the couch creaking beneath her. The silence wasn’t empty—it pulsed, heavy with everything they hadn’t said.

“Bob…” she whispered, voice fraying with everything she felt.

But he was already moving. Slow, deliberate. He pushed the blanket aside and knelt beside the couch. Her heart raced as he braced one hand on the armrest, climbing over her until he hovered, just close enough to feel the heat of him—but not touching.

“You shouldn’t,” she breathed, even as her body arched toward him.

“I know.”

He stayed there—suspended—waiting. Then, his voice came, rough with honesty. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you. And you’re not exactly helping.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Not when his knee slipped between her legs. Not when his nose brushed hers, their breaths mingling.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he murmured, voice a vow. “Not unless you ask me to.”

Her fingers curled into the couch, pulse thudding in her ears.

“And if I don’t?” she whispered, barely a challenge.

He smiled, soft and aching. “Then I’ll stay right here. Close enough to hear you breathe.”

It unraveled her. She reached for him, fingers trembling as they curled into his shirt—not pulling, just needing him closer. And when she looked up, voice barely a whisper, she let it out.

“Then kiss me.”

Bob didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance in a breath, his mouth brushing hers in a kiss that felt like reverence—soft, savoring, as though he’d been holding back for too long.

Her sigh cracked something open between them. The kiss deepened—slow, then urgent—his hand sliding beneath fabric, skin to skin. He groaned, pressing against her, his knee anchoring between her thighs.

“God,” he breathed against her jaw. “I want to feel every inch of you.”

She tilted her head back, giving him space. He kissed along her throat, slow and deliberate, tasting her. When he reached the curve of her chest, he paused, breath catching. His nose brushed the soft skin as his hands trembled, cupping her breast.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispered, voice frayed at the edges.

His hand drifted lower, tracing the lines of her body—ribs, waist, hip—until it settled there, warm and steady. Then, lower still, fingers grazing the edge of her underwear. He stilled, forehead pressed to hers, waiting.

The space between them pulsed with tension. Her body ached for him, heat coiling low. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, trembling. “Please… touch me.”

His breath hitched at the plea. Slowly, his fingers dipped lower, the air between them electric. Their breaths synced—fast, shallow, building.

She leaned into him, heart pounding. “I want this… I want you,” she said, voice raw. “Don’t hold back.”

Her hand traced down his chest, guiding him closer. Still, he held on to restraint, every muscle tight with control.

She slid her hand to his waistband, pulling him in. Their lips met again—soft, urgent, desperate.

He hovered, fire in his veins, brushing his lips over hers in silent question. She answered with another kiss, deeper now, her hands slipping beneath his waistband to feel him.

Bob exhaled shakily, his control unraveling under the feel of her hand on him. He buried his face in her neck for a breath, grounding himself, before lifting his head again—eyes dark, focused entirely on her.

His fingers slid between her legs with purpose now, parting her gently. Her breath caught in her throat, hips rising instinctively to meet him. He watched her face, every flicker of pleasure reflected in his own expression as his touch grew bolder, more sure.

Y/N gasped, her hand tightening in his hair, hips rolling into his palm. He found her rhythm and matched it, teasing, coaxing—until she was panting, her body strung tight with anticipation.

“Look at me,” he whispered. She did, eyes wide and glassy. “I want to see you fall apart.”

She bit her lip, but didn’t look away, even as her body began to tremble under his touch.

Bob groaned, eyes fluttering shut, hips twitching forward into her hand. His grip on her faltered, only for a second, before he returned the pressure with renewed intensity. They moved in sync—hands exploring, learning, taking.

Their moans tangled between kisses, each touch more urgent than the last.

Y/N’s body arched as tension coiled tighter and tighter, her breaths breaking against his mouth. Bob’s name left her in a desperate gasp as his fingers pushed her higher, each stroke pulling her closer to the edge. She clung to him, her body trembling, eyes locked with his.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice wrecked.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, kissing her again—slow, deep, like he wanted to swallow her whole.

Her hand on him grew more purposeful, matching the rhythm he gave her. His jaw clenched, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as she stroked him, the pleasure nearly breaking his composure. Still, he held on—for her.

“I can’t hold on much longer…” Y/N whispered.

His lips crashed against hers as her body shattered beneath his hand, a soft cry breaking in her throat. She convulsed against him, hips grinding as the waves of pleasure rolled through her, long and all-consuming.

Bob followed a heartbeat later, his release torn from him with a groan that vibrated against her skin. His forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged, every muscle drawn tight before he finally melted into her.

For a long moment, neither of them moved—just clung to each other, sweat-slicked and breathless, hearts pounding in the same frantic rhythm.

He kissed her again, softer this time, brushing hair from her face with reverent fingers.

She let out a shaky laugh, voice barely above a whisper. “If that was you holding back... I’m in trouble.”

He smiled, lips brushing hers again as he murmured, “I guess you’re in trouble, because the night’s only just getting started.”

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slowburningechoes · 6 months ago

Text

on my mind

Ah!! Here it is, I hope you all love it. Pls keep in mind an exhausted doctoral student wrote this with little reviews/edits hehe

Summary: After months of secretly pining over Wilson, you find something suggesting he might feel the same way. Despite it all, curiosity gets the best of you and what you get is far beyond anything you ever fantasized about.

Pairing: James Wilson (House, MD) x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: very self-indulgent smut, 18+ content (NSFW/NSFM) / brief mention of past infidelity, mutual pining, sexual fantasization, slight age gap, fingering, oral (f receiving), cunnilingus, vaginal sex, office sex, desk sex, threat of exhibition, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), body worship, breeding, soul connection, porn WITH plot and feelings

Word Count: 7.8k

here is the ao3 link if that’s your preferred site

Wilson didn’t have the best romantic track record when you reflected on it, standing outside his office, debating whether or not to knock.

That was what Cameron had told you on the first day consulting the team as a new psychologist at PPTH, when she caught you trying not to stare.

You had been so engaged in observing how the diagnostic team battled through a differential before he arrived. The quick exchange of wits and sly remarks was so enthralling, you couldn’t look away. Until something else distracted you…

The door swung open, and in walked a man who carried himself with an effortless kind of charm. His brown hair appeared perfectly tousled, but still neat enough to be professional, like he had absentmindedly run a hand through it just before coming in. His white coat, crisp and clean, hung open just enough to reveal a comfortably fitting dress shirt and a tie that was loosened ever-so-slightly.

As he stepped into the conference room, he seemed to be already three steps ahead in the conversation he was about to join — like this heated exchange was something he’d been witnessing for years. He paused, silently observing Foreman and House trade intellectually sarcastic banter. As the exchange died down, his eyes met yours. His sharp features softened as he looked at you with curiosity, the hint of a dimple appearing as his lips curved into a playful smirk.

“You know, House, I’m impressed,” he joked, tapping House’s cane with his foot. “It only took you this long to admit you need some serious psychological help.”

His warm brown eyes flicked back to you, winking, amusement lingering just beneath the surface.

A scoff escaped House, followed by a characteristic retort, “I’m not admitting anything, Wilson. Besides, I wouldn’t want you getting jealous watching someone else take the job you volunteered for all these years.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite knowing so little about their dynamic. Apparently, you were not alone in this reaction, as the rest of the team seemed to find House’s response amusing, likely because it was true.

“James Wilson, Head of Oncology,” he said, rolling his eyes at House’s comment. “You must be Dr. Y/L/N. I’ve heard good things from your new colleagues.”

His hand extended towards you welcomingly. Despite a flutter of nerves beneath the surface, you shook it, hoping your feigned confidence wasn’t too obvious.

“Y/N’s fine,” you responded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Dr. Y/L/N has always felt a bit too formal for me.” Your gaze held his for a brief moment, feeling the subtle weight of the connection. A soft gasp escaped your lips, despite trying so desperately to keep it in.

“Y/N,” Wilson repeated softly with a smug smile.

He held your hand just a moment longer than necessary. When he finally released it, the hold he had on you remained. There was something magnetic about him, making it impossible to draw your gaze away as he repositioned himself against the wall. You blinked a few times to ground yourself, quickly glancing down at the file in your hand before instinctively looking up at him again. His eyes caught yours and his smirk deepened ever so slightly, as if he’d caught you giving away exactly what you hadn’t meant to. He appeared to take quiet pleasure in the fact that, for just a moment, you were completely distracted by him… but you were certain that was just wishful thinking getting the best of you.

It was then that Cameron leaned towards you, voice in a low whisper, “Careful with that look — you don’t want to end up in the ex wives club.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, not only at the fact that he was divorced but that it seemed to be more than once.

Cameron nodded matter-of-factly, subtly mouthing the word “three” as she held up the same number of fingers under the table before gathering her things to head to the patient’s room.

While you felt the warning in her comment, it didn’t deter you much over the coming months. After all, it was highly unlikely that Wilson would even share your feelings. Despite this, there was something magnetic about his presence, and you often found yourself running into him, both accidentally and — more than you would like to admit — on purpose.

You had bought each other lunch in the cafeteria on a few occasions and took time to chat at least every couple of days. Even when you didn’t run into each other for a few days, both of you exchanged small reminders. One time, when you spent all day managing a patient in psychosis from the emergency department, he left a sticky note on your desk that read, "Missed you at lunch. Hope your patient is doing as well as possible. Also, House is being insufferable — rescue me soon?" A few days after that, after Wilson had an emotionally exhausting morning with some of his late stage patients, you had appeared at his office door with a cup of coffee exactly how he liked it (sickeningly sweet), offering no explanation other than a casual, "Figured you could use a pick-me-up." These exchanges became regular but still made your day every time.

There were quieter moments too, ones that lingered in your mind long after they happened. A late-night conversation in the breakroom when both of you had been too exhausted to keep up pretenses, speaking in hushed voices over lukewarm chamomile tea. A touch that lasted a fraction longer than necessary when he passed you a patient folder for a consultation he requested. Playful glances exchanged across the hallway after House made some inappropriate joke at his expense. Small pick-me-ups scratched onto sticky notes and left on desks or forgotten items.

But today, something a bit different occurred. By the time you finally got back to your office late in the day, you found a vanilla bean scone from the café waiting for you on your desk, a thoughtful surprise he had left earlier that morning. It was nothing out of the ordinary until you saw, across the brown paper, scribbled in pen, a note that read: Saw this and thought of you. Can’t seem to stop doing that lately. Come by my office soon?

At first, you thought he was just being normal Wilson — friendly, with the touch of flirtatious he has with everyone. That was until you read it a few more times and those moments over the past few weeks replayed in your mind over and over. You had been thinking of him incessantly from the moment you first saw him, but always tried to keep it professional. His note to come by sounded charged in your mind, more suggestive than any of your previous conversations. You contemplated his intentions for longer than you would like to admit, but figured you would never truly know unless you asked.

Which is exactly how you ended up here, in front of his office, two cups of coffee in hand, torn between knocking and shamefully walking back to your office. The hum of the hospital growing quiet as the typical business day came to a close.

There was no way he was serious… was he? It was probably just some stupid bet he had made with House. God, that would be embarrassing. Maybe you should just leave the coffee and accept that your relationship would only ever be a friendship. When all those inner arguments (and more) failed to motivate you to turn and head to your office, you thought back to that conversation with Cameron. Even if he was serious, it was unlikely to last. You didn’t want to end up hurt like so many times before… but you were interested to see where this went.

Curiosity is what did you in… so, you knocked. So, what if it’s what killed the cat? “Come in!” his voice called, slightly muffled from the other side.

You hesitantly step inside, jumping a bit as you hear the door click behind you. You had barely stepped into his office before Wilson glanced up from his desk, his expression shifting from slightly stressed to pleased when he saw it was you.

“And here I thought my afternoon was going to be boring,” he said, standing to meet you by the door.

You lift the coffee cup slightly, before handing it to him, “Just returning the favor.”

He raised his brow in curiosity, leaning back to rest against his desk. “Oh, is that all?”

His feigned disappointment was laced with more flirtation than you had noticed before.

You shook your head silently, glancing down at the floor as you felt an embarrassed blush spread across your cheeks.

“Your note,” you say, barely above a whisper, “...intrigued me.”

That got his attention, pausing from taking a sip of the beverage you brought.

“Oh?” His smirk turned curious as he scanned you up and down. “How so?”

You hesitated, but only for a second, “You’ve really been thinking about me?”

You brought your eyes to meet his as you finished your question, masking your nerves by tightening your fingers around your cup of coffee. When your eyes met him, the look on Wilson’s face was a mix of amusement and satisfaction.

“Well, that depends,” Wilson responds, sitting the cup down and crossing his arms across his chest. “Would saying yes make me seem endearing… or deeply concerning?”

You tilt your head, feigning consideration as you build your confidence. “Hmmm… that depends on just how much you’ve been thinking about me.”

A moment of silence passed as Wilson pondered his answer, breaking it with deep breath and a step towards you.

His grin deepened, and he leaned a little closer, admitting. “More than I should, really.”

Your stomach fluttered. You hadn’t expected him to admit it so easily, so effortlessly… or even at all. The part of you that wondered if the note had been some bet was fading, but you couldn’t help expressing your doubt even as your heart pounded into your throat.

“You’re not just… messing with me, right? This isn’t some House-ordained social experiment, is it?” Your voice was softer than you had desired, hesitation dominating your tone. You wanted to believe him more than anything, but you knew better than to take things at face value when House might be involved.

Wilson studied you for a long moment, his expression nearly unreadable, except for the flicker of something undeniably heated in his eyes.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is noticeably lower than before, still smooth and warm. “No, no… this isn’t some bet. If House was putting me up to this, don’t you think it would’ve been months ago?”

He did have a point.

Wilson tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he watched you consider his argument. Then, he slowly brushed his fingertips against the edge of the desk he rested upon, fingers tapping twice, as if considering his next words carefully. Or maybe he was just giving you time to process the shift in the air between you, which had become quickly thick and charged.

"Though if it was, I would’ve lost already," he stated matter-of-factly, bringing himself to stand up right, taking a step towards you. “Because this is painfully real for me.” His gaze flickered over your face, lingering for just a beat too long at your lips before returning to your eyes.

You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck. "What is, exactly?"

Wilson exhaled a quiet chuckle, the sound richer, deeper than his usual easy amusement, “You really have no idea, do you?”

You shook your head, any idea of what he meant absent from your mind.

"The way I catch myself looking for you even when I know you’re not there.” Wilson’s breath came slow and measured, but you could feel the tension humming beneath it, the weight of his restraint barely holding. “The way I think about you when I know I shouldn’t.”

Wilson stepped even closer, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up as he thought silently. Your breath caught as you shamelessly notice the veins in his arm becoming more pronounced, the subtle flex of his hand accentuating the tension coiling beneath his skin.

"I tell myself to stop," Wilson admitted, his tone almost confessional. "That it’s unprofessional, that I should focus on work... But then you walk into the room or I hear your voice, and suddenly, I don’t care about anything else."

“Wh-what do you think of?” You asked breathlessly, looking back into his eyes.

He didn’t respond at first, a conflicted look replaced his previous vulnerability. Wilson took the coffee from your grip, gently placing it on the desk next to his before stepping back towards you. He appeared deep in thought, the crease between his brows deepening as they furrowed and he brought his hand to briefly cover his mouth. His warm brown eyes flickered over your face, searching, as if debating how much he should give away.

Then after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, slowly and steadily, “It was small things at first. How the first day we met, your quiet laugh was so genuine and radiant.” Wilson cautiously raised his hand to barely brush fingers through the hair that hugs your cheeks. “Or how you sucked in a little breath when I said your name for the first time…”

You dart your eyes away from him, feeling simultaneous embarrassment and surprise. “I, oh — that wasn’t subtle was it?”

He shook his head with a quiet chuckle, a knowing smirk appearing across his lips.

“Not at all,” Wilson teased, bringing his fingertips to caress your neck. “Should I keep going?”

You nod quickly, likely a bit too enthusiastic. His arms came up by your ears to brace the door behind you, making your heart thud in your chest even harder.

A low hum came from his throat before continuing, “Then I started to notice how your perfume would linger after you left me.” He held still for a moment, stiff with restraint. “It’s so intoxicating… I swear it follows me all day.”

As Wilson finished his sentence, his face buried into your hair and one of his hands dropped to grip your hip. Your breath hitched at his touch as his breath warmed you, shifting from beside your ear to the curve of your neck.

“J-James,” you gasped, a near moan as his breath tickled against your skin, lips so close to touching flesh.

“I’ve tried not to think about all of it, Y/N,” he whispered deeply, barely audible. “I promise, I really have.”

The hold he had upon your hips moved to nest in the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

“I’ve tried to distance myself, stay professional,” Wilson explained with a tone of desperation, bringing his eyes back to meet yours. “But then I’d always end up coming back… asking you to lunch or finding something, anything, that I could use to get a consultation from you.”

“So, what you're saying is... you’ve been using work to get closer to me?” You let a playful smile slip through, despite your nerves standing on end.

Wilson’s gaze softened, sincerity behind his eyes. “Is that so bad?” His voice was low, almost questioning. “Because, honestly… I couldn’t help myself. Every excuse I found — every consultation or referral or accidental cafeteria meet up — was just an excuse to see you. To be close to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

The air around you seemed to thicken with the confession, and your breath hitched, feeling the weight of his words pressing against you. His honesty disarmed you, and you found yourself drawn in closer, despite the unspoken tension.

“And you know what?” Wilson asked, his hand in the small of your back spreading open to feel you even closer. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been thinking about me, too.”

“I —,” you breathe, a chill crawling up your spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Of course you did.

“Don’t play coy with me,” Wilson said with a bit of bite in his tone.

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, tilting your chin just enough to where you could not avoid his gaze, a knowing look in his eyes.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was softer now, rich with quiet amusement. “The way you look at me when you think I won’t catch you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Wilson only hummed, bringing his thumb to press against your bottom lip.

“Or how you always seem to find a reason to stay just a little longer when we talk,” he continued, his face looming closer to yours. “Like you don’t really want to leave.”

You never realized he had been paying attention to any of that, or really that you had acted on your internal feelings so obviously.

Wilson’s fingers pressed just a little firmer into your waist, bringing your body flush against you. His body was soft and warm against yours.

You swallowed hard, words unsaid stuck tied in your throat. There was no escape from the truth pressing against your ribs, demanding to be spoken. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you could stop yourself, gripping just enough to steady yourself.

“I do,” you admitted, voice hushed. “I - I think about you… all of the time.”

You looked up at him through your lashes. Relief washes over him, relaxing the tension in his shoulder and softening his facial expressions. however, the look of desire in his eyes did not fade.

“I thought so,” he murmured, voice lacking its usual teasing lilt. Instead, he sounded almost relieved. “And how do you think about me?”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his question settle between you. It was so very “Wilson” — turning your own question back to you.

Your fingers stroked against his tie as you thought, evading his gaze. “The same as you — I think about you when I shouldn’t be,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “When I’m supposed to be working. I think of you whenever something good happens… or something bad, and I need to tell someone. When I see something and I wish you were there to see it too.” You bite your bottom lip, pulse thrumming wildly beneath your skin. Then, you barely mumble, “And — I think about you when I’m alone at night...”

Though your voice trails off at the end, Wilson’s body language shows that he heard exactly what you said. He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, his grip at your waist tightening for just a moment, relaxing again as he exhaled slowly. As he opened his eyes, they were darker, his pupils blown with an unspoken hunger, yearning that simmered just beneath the surface.

The weight of your quiet confession hung between you, making the whole room charged. For once, he didn’t have a quick-witted remark, no teasing quip to defuse the moment. Instead, he reached up, his knuckles brushing along your cheek, his touch achingly gentle.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he whispered. There was no real warning in his tone, but rather a slight hint of desperation.

You tilted your head into his touch. “Why not?”

His gaze flickered down to your mouth, lingering there for just a second too long before he looked back into your eyes. “Because,” he said, pausing momentarily, his face riddled with confliction, “...it makes it very, very hard to resist you.”

A rush of heat engulfs every inch of your body, making it nearly impossible to think. Before you can, your fingers dance across the fabric of his tie.

“Then don’t,” you respond quietly, the last bit of uncertainty melting away as the words escape your lips.

He didn’t move, which you had somewhat expected him to. You could feel the weight of his restraint, so tense it could snap at any moment. His jaw was clenched, as though he was just barely holding it together.

You didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him to crumble — you needed him to.

With a sharp breath, you curled your fingers tighter around his tie. You thought for only a split second before pulling him down to you with a sudden, desperate urgency that surprised both of you. Before could even think to hesitate, your lips, finally, crashed into his.

The moment your lips met, it was as if a dam had broken inside him. You felt the weight of everything Wilson had been holding back in that kiss — the hunger, the frustration, the overwhelming need. His hand that cupped your lower back pulled you in tighter, while the other cupped your cheek, ensuring you couldn’t break away from his kiss. Wilson’s lips were so soft yet demanding, the hint of sweet coffee on his tongue as he coaxed you open, exploring you with a raw intensity. His breath was hot against your mouth between kisses. A low, needy groan came from him as he deepened your embrace, motivating your entire body to react, heat pooling in familiar, secret places.

The rhythm of the kiss became frantic, desperate, each movement clumsy and raw, breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. You could feel the loss of control in every touch, every trembling sigh that escaped your lips. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer with need. He obliged, his fingers tracing feverishly from your back to your waist, skimming upward to your ribcage, then to the curve of your breast, each touch sending jolts of heat through your body.

Then, Wilson’s lips reluctantly left yours, only to trace the line of your jaw with messy kisses, his breath erratic. “Y/N,” he said between kisses, nearly begging. “I can’t… you have to tell me to stop.”

You shook your head, against his request. “Not a chance, James,” you breathed, your voice raw with need. The next words felt like they were ripped from your soul, a silent plea to let go, to fully give in to what had been brewing for months before. “Don't stop. Please – don’t stop.”

Wilson’s lips found yours again, rougher this time, his hands clutching you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Wilson pushed you further against the wall, lifting you up just slightly so his hips aligned with yours.

There was an undeniable ache between your legs, where the heat had gathered earlier, beginning to throb and grow slick with need. Your desire for friction was so overwhelming, you hadn’t even noticed your hips rolling into his with desperation until Wilson groaned, low and guttural, separating your kiss once more.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop?” he asked, his words soft and just centimeters away from your lips.

“I’m sure,” You nod with reassurance. “Because this,” you whisper against his cheek, the heat of your breath brushing against his ear, “is just the beginning of what I think about when I’m alone.” The words were more than a confession, but also a promise and a challenge all at once.

“Christ, are you trying to kill me?” Wilson muttered, words laden with shock.

He dipped his head lower, pressing open-mouth kisses from your lips down the nape of your neck and onto your collarbone. His hands began to explore further, tugging your blouse from its tucked position, slipping his finger beneath the fabric. The built up tension made his touch sting, sending a shiver down your spine and the heat beneath your legs becoming practically unbearable.

“Please, James,” you whimper, a handful of his hair and the other dipping down, applying friction in an attempt to relieve your need.

He drew back, studying the quiet plea upon your face and your hand trembling against your still-clothed center, attempting to find satisfaction as you rocked your hips. You could only imagine how pitiful you looked, but it was entirely overwhelming for Wilson. His breath caught in his throat and he fell to his knees, lips parted with desire and his brown doe eyes looking up, with an expression that was almost fawning.

Wilson reached behind you to find the handle of his office door, which he clicked into the lock position. Still on his knees, he watched you silently for a few more seconds, admiring the look upon your face. Your brows furrowed in desperation, soft grunts escaping your lips, as you unsuccessfully searched for your release. He stared up at you, soaking it all in.

Then, suddenly, both his hands gripped the fabric on the outer sides of your thighs, shifting your skirt upwards to your waist and revealing your shamelessly soaked panties. The sudden rush of air hitting your sex made you gasp, chills climbing up your stomach and hardening your nipples.

Before you could fully process the atmosphere overwhelming your senses, Wilson brought his pointer finger to slowly glide over the damp spot of your underwear, running perfectly between your covered folds. As he reached your clit, your breath hitched, prompting a teasing smirk to grow across his cheeks.

“Now,” he sighed, still basking in the sight. “I’m going to show you what I’ve thought about doing to you,” he paused, placing a gentle kiss against your mound, before continuing slowly, “…Every. Single. Time. You wear a skirt like this.”

A moan escapes you as his fingers hook on either side of your underwear, pulling them down to expose you entirely. Instinctively, you kick them off your ankles.

“God, you’re so…,” Wilson places careless kisses against your thighs, admiring your bare pussy before him, “so perfect.”

You look down at him, reveling at the sight of your pussy on full display. Just as you wrap your fingers in his hair, he lunges forward, pressing his lips against your clit, bracing your back with one hand, and spreading your thighs open with the other. Your legs go weak as his tongue darts out and begins lapping at you relentlessly. The mix of his soft lips intermittently sucking your clit and the deep pressure of his fingers digging into your flesh, is so consuming that you absentmindedly tighten your grip on Wilson’s hair. You begin pushing and pulling him while bucking your hips into his mouth, fighting desperately to reach your climax.

He can sense your need, which is reflected as his tongue begins to flick more methodically against your clit in addition to providing suction. His dominant hand joins his mouth, one finger massaging your entrance before slipping between your folds. Your body responds almost immediately, becoming even more aroused as he introduces a second finger, pumping you with a complementary rhythm to the one he is devouring you with.

The sensation is so overwhelming that there are tears in your eyes, and cry-like whimpers escape softly from your mouth. “P-please, I’m so close.”

He maintains his pace, but curls his fingers just enough to find the exact spot where you needed stimulation most. Looking down at him, seeing his mouth full of you and his pupils blown wide with desire is too much to handle. His lips provide deep suction against your swollen clit and the tension burning in your stomach releases. You are overcome with pleasure as you ride out your orgasm on Wilson’s face, his fingers and tongue still putting in work to ensure he can lap up every last drop.

When you were finally able to catch your breath, your legs were impossibly weak. You steadied yourself against Wilson’s body as he rose to his feet, a look of teasing satisfaction on his face.

“You taste so sweet," he hummed, his voice low and lustful. He pulled you flush against him, the heat between you both rising with every second. As his tongue flicked against yours, you could taste yourself mixed with him, the fire inside you burning brighter with every passing second. He groaned softly as you deepened the kiss as if he couldn’t help himself anymore.

You pulled back, barely able to catch your breath, lips swollen from the intensity of his kiss. "You know, I did expect you to be a giver," you teased, running your tongue over your lips. "But that… that was better than anything I ever imagined."

“That’s because I’ve been obsessed with the idea of what you’d taste like…,” he breathed, his words thick with need, “And the scent of you�� God - I’ve been dreaming about it, craving it, for months now.” He couldn’t stop himself from groaning, the raw honesty in his admission pushing you to pull him down by his tie, lips crashing together again in a messy, heated kiss.

You broke away after a few moments, breathing heavily, a smile curling on your lips as you slowly pulled his tie loose. “Well, since one of your fantasies has been fulfilled," you sighed, tone heavy with teasing lust, “it’s only fair that one of mine gets to be, too. Don’t you think?”

You look up at him through half-lidded eyes. There were so many thoughts that had run through your mind — so many fantasies you’d envisioned over and over again, but there was one that had played over and over in your mind far more than the rest.

For a moment, he was mute with anticipation, admiring how your fingers began to undo the buttons of his dress shirt. By the time words finally break from his throat, one of your hands is caressing down his chest, the other grazing along the waistline of his pants.

“I’ll give you anything, whatever you want.” He assures, reaching to cup your cheek. Pressing his forehead to yours, he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself, but his voice cracks as he pleads in a near whisper, “Just tell me — but don’t stop touching me, please.”

His plea is so raw, so desperate, it makes your heart race, your pulse quickening in response. You can feel the weight of his need, how much he’s willing to surrender, and it sends a wave of satisfaction through you. You can’t help but feel a deep sense of accomplishment hearing the vulnerability and desperation in his voice.

You let your fingers trail over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. A slow, teasing smirk grows across your face as you lock eyes with him. “I’ve been thinking about this for months, you know.”

His breath catches, his pupils dilating as his gaze flickers to your lips. The heat between you both is undeniable, and the anticipation thickens.

“Tell me... tell me what you’ve been thinking,” he mutters with desperation.

You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you speak, your words a slow, tantalizing whisper, “I’ve been imagining you… having your way with me, right here on your office desk.”

The words hang in the air and you watch as his body reacts, muscles tightening and his throat bobbing with a heavy swallow.

"I’ve imagined you pushing me onto this desk, your hands all over me, taking control, claiming me,” you hum, bringing your hand to brush against the bulge in his pants. “No hesitation. Just you, making me lose myself in you."

A deep groan escapes his lips, your words and touch unraveling him. Wilson’s eyes squeeze shut as he tilts his head back as if he’s struggling to regain some sense of control. Then, without warning, his lips crash against yours. His kiss is frantic, starved for you. His hands grip you, sliding up your back, threading through your hair, pressing you so close it’s like he wants you under his skin.

"You have no idea," he moans between kisses, breath hot and uneven, "how many times I’ve wanted this, too. How many times I’ve thought about throwing everything off this desk and putting you right where you belong — right under me.”

The words send chills down your spine, desire coiling tight in your stomach. His hands are already moving, feverish and impatient, pushing under your clothes, dragging his fingertips over every sliver of bare skin he can reach. You gasp into his mouth as his grip tightens around your waist.

Then, in one swift motion, Wilson’s hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk. The sound of scattered papers and objects hitting the floor barely registers before he’s on you again, mouth crashing against yours, feverish and insatiable, his tongue sweeping in, tasting, teasing, like he’s trying to devour every gasp, every moan.

His hands roam with an urgency that borders on worship — gripping, kneading, learning every inch of you that he’s been deprived of for far too long. Then, with a low, needy groan, his fingers find the hem of your blouse, tugging it up, over your torso, leaving your top nearly bare before him. The fabric is barely gone before his lips descend, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your neck, over your collarbone. A sharp gasp comes from your throat as chills scatter across the tops of your breasts, your skin prickling at the contrast of the cool air and the heat of his breath.

Wilson takes a slow, deliberate step back, his gaze raking over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of the sight before him. His chest rises and falls, his lips still parted from your last kiss. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, his fingers move to his belt. The slow slide of leather through the loops is deliberate. His knuckles graze his waistband as he pulls the belt free, the flex of muscle beneath his sleeves hinting at the tension coiling just beneath his skin.

As Wilson tosses his belt to the ground, the air feels thicker, heavier, expectation crackling between you, leaving you breathless with want. You have truly never felt this aroused in your life, your heart rate quickening, muscles tense, and every sensitive part of you swollen with desire. You never expected that you would ever really be laying on top of Wilson’s desk, watching him undress and waiting for him to take advantage of your body — let alone that he had thought about it, too.

As he moves back towards you, slacks now undone, you can’t help but notice the outline of his prominent erection straining beneath his boxer briefs. You reach out to touch him, but he meets you first — his hands slipping under your skirt, fingers digging into your skin before drawing the fabric down your legs. As the garment falls to the ground, Wilson kisses up your legs and to your torso, caressing every part he does not touch with his lips with his fingertips. Eventually, he meets your breasts, still guarded by your bra, placing kisses along the valley between them. He then cups both of them with his hands before sliding behind you to unhook the final bit of clothing that was keeping you from being completely nude before him.

As Wilson pulled the thin barrier of fabric from your body, his warm hand replaced the supportive cups that protected your tender breasts. His eyes linger on your chest, admiring as it rises and falls, thumbs grazing over your hardened nipples. Your breath seizes in your throat as he takes one into his mouth, suction pulling between gentle flicks of his tongue.

As much pleasure as you feel in this moment, you can’t help but remember Wilson’s bulge, hard and twitching just underneath a layer of cloth. You sit forward, propping yourself up on your forearms, prompting a perplexed look from Wilson who was reluctantly releasing his mouth from your breast.

“Everything okay?” he inquires, catching his breath.

You do not answer him with words, instead you lean forward and bring your palm to press softly against his bulge. Wilson’s eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted in a struggle between ache and pleasure as a grunt escaped him. He was full and swollen as you gripped him firmly through his briefs, precum staining the fabric darker.

You kiss his chest softly as you sneak your hand beneath his waistband. His flesh was hot as your fingers danced across his erection, which jerked in response. You wrap your hand around him, savoring how strained and tense his thick cock feels, before bringing your thumb to glide down the slit.

“I need to feel you inside of me,” you insist with a begging tone, eyes fluttering up at him with need.

Before any words come from his lips, his dick is already out and Wilson is stroking it with painfully slow, drawn-out motions. The head of his cock is swollen and flushed and a prominent vein on the underside is near-throbbing with with every motion.

“God, yes,” he groaned in agreement with your request, before pulling you down closer to the edge of the desk. “Spread yourself open for me, beautiful.”

Without taking time to think, you separate your legs, bringing your fingers down to glide through your slickness. Wilson revels in the sight, but still moves towards you — his earlier restraint melted away entirely. Placing one hand on your thigh, he uses the other to guide his cock to massage between your labia, tip grazing against your clit, sending shock-like waves of pleasure through you. He stays there for a moment, gliding himself through your folds, properly preparing both of you before lining up with your entrance.

You lock eyes, both of your faces twisted with anticipation and desperation, as he begins to sink into you with a pace so slow and deliberate it is nearly excruciating. At the same time, you were grateful for this patient approach, as the thickness of his cock stretches you out, creating the perfect mix of pain and pleasure across every inch of your body.

“Y/N,” Wilson cries in a hushed whisper, nearly half-way inside of you. “Y-you’re so tight a-and warm… damn.”

You moan in satisfaction at his words, hands searching for something to hold onto as you unravel beneath him. Seeing your fingers wrap around the edge of the desk, Wilson reaches one hand down to intertwine with yours. There is something intimate and touching about how he holds your hand as he presses deeper into you, true care mixing into this moment of raw lust.

As he bottoms out, feeling the base of his dick against your pussy, your free hand clings to his back, fingernails digging into the skin beneath his shoulder blades. Wilson fills you perfectly, stretching you just enough to still surround him like a sheath. You have never felt this full before, which makes you even more aroused, bucking your hips to grind your clit against his groin. It must look utterly pitiful, but you can’t help but search for friction.

“Fuck, you’re stretching me out so good,” you whine, pitch higher than before and laced with pleasure.

Looking up for reassurance, you see Wilson’s face is blown with pleasure, slack-jawed and brows knit together, pupils blown. “You’re perfect,” he mumbles, slowly pushing the first full thrust into you.

It doesn’t take long for him to build up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease, despite your walls attempting to cling to him with every entrance and exit.

Despite the pace being steady and his strokes being deep enough you feel them in your stomach, there is something so soft in the way Wilson fucks you — more as if it wasn’t fucking at all, but more like making love. His eyes look over you with admiration, like he’s soaking in every motion of your body, and the hand not holding yours roams freely across your skin, frequently nestling fingers against your aching clit. When a cry escapes you as he begins rubbing it in figure eights, he presses a kiss to your lips — not only to muffle the sound but as an indication that he loves to make you feel this way.

He whispers against your lips as he breaks the kiss. “You feel amazing, better than anything I ever dreamed…” You feel him trembling with overwhelm as he continues breathlessly. “I-I’ve never felt — fuck — any pussy as perfect as yours.”

“James,” you gasp, feeling his dick hit against the most sensitive area inside you. “Please, keep going… r-right there.”

Wilson nods eagerly, in surrendering agreement, “Anything you want, my love. I’ll do anything for you.”

He keeps true to his promise, continuing the same pressure and angle of his thrusts until you’re completely undone beneath him — vision blurry and every inch of your body nearly numb with pleasure. The only thing keeping you grounded is your back against wood and his hand still holding yours.

You can barely form thoughts, let alone words when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on them needily and grunting enough that low vibrations hum against your chest. Every inch of you was buzzing with pleasure, but you felt the familiar pressure grow deep within you.

“I - I’m going to cum,” you manage to say, looking down at him with pleading eyes.

Wilson releases his latch from your breast, barely taking time to catch his breath when he provides a pressured reply, “Please, please cum on my cock. Shit — I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

His permission is all you need to let go as he keeps up his pace, working your clit relentlessly with his free hand. Your eyes roll back into your head as the sensation of heat rushes across your trembling thighs, walls clenching around Wilson’s thick cock as you cum. The pressure slowly lessens and your clit is throbbing from overstimulation when you come back to reality, your mind still foggy in bliss.

“That was so fucking hot,” Wilson whines, face scrunched with the sweet agony of pleasure. You can tell he’s close, before he even tells you, through strained breaths. “Y/N — tell me where I can cum. I’m so close, please.”

“Cum in me,” you beg, consumed with feverish need. “I’m on the pill. Baby, please — fucking fill me with your cum.”

A guttural groan leaves Wilson’s lips as he hears your request, his dick twitching inside of you. “Christ — yes. I was hoping you’d say that.”

With a few more strokes, you feel him become rigid inside of you and his breath hitches in his throat as he releases inside of you. The warmth of his cum coating your walls sends a rush of bliss throughout your body, a soft yet satisfied smile growing across your face.

You both try to catch your breath as you come down from your shared high, soaking in the last seconds of being physically one. As Wilson’s tense body relaxes, he nearly collapses on top of you, bare chests still heaving and sweat-laden pressed against one another. You’re both exhausted, yet idyllically happy. You run your fingers through his now-damp hair as his breath slowly returns to a normal pattern.

The quiet hum of the room settles around you and the faint rustle of fabric begins to fill the air. You both begin to dress, but the heat between you lingers, tangible and unspoken. As you pull your skirt up over your hips, the soft fabric brushing against your skin, you instinctively glance at him. His eyes are fixed on you, intense, almost reverent, as if he wanted every moment, every movement, etched into his mind. The tenderness in his stare is enough to make your heart race like he's memorizing every inch of you, this closeness, this shared silence.

You gather your hair, pulling it into a ponytail, a vain attempt to fix the mess it’s become. As your fingers complete the final loop, Wilson steps towards you, cupping your face with his hands and bringing you in for a tender kiss. His thumb traces your cheek with a tenderness so light, it feels almost like a whisper. Your fingers weave through his hair, drawing him closer, as if you’re aching to be closer, wanting to melt into him, as if he hadn’t just been inside you. The moment is quiet and brief — but feels like an eternity. You both linger in it, savoring the silence that speaks volumes.

As the kiss ends, the absence of his lips on yours leaves a hollow ache, but it is almost immediately remedied when he speaks. “Come home with me?” Wilson asks, his voice wrapped in a quiet, inviting warmth.

His eyes search yours, steady and sincere, yet there’s something more behind it, something vulnerable like he’s offering you a piece of himself. “I’ve wanted this for so long... wanted you,” he says in a near-whisper, his tone thick with emotion. “Now that I’ve had you... I can’t stand the thought of letting you go.”

The sensitivity in his voice makes your heart race, his words carrying all the unspoken hopes you’ve both held onto these past few months. You let the moment stretch between you, just enough to collect yourself, but not long enough to let the fear of doubt slip into his mind.

“Of course, I’ll come with you,” you respond quietly, your voice filled with affection as you press a gentle kiss to his flushed cheek. “I don’t want to be anywhere but with you. We’ve both waited long enough for this, haven’t we?”

A soft, almost disbelieving smile appears on his face, as he threads his fingers gently around yours. “I’m so glad you said that,” he sighs in relief, his voice thick with sincerity.

“I’m yours, James,” you assure him, squeezing his hand in return. "I have been for a long time.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he murmurs in a pleased tone, a look of admiration beaming down at you.

“I think you’ve shown me that tonight,” you reply with a slight tease. The months of longing, of stolen glances and unspoken feelings, all seem to settle into this one moment—solid, certain, and undeniably real. “Take me home?”

His smile deepens, tender and unguarded as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get out of here,” he says softly, opening his office door.

The silence as you walk hand-in-hand down the hall is no longer heavy with anticipation but is instead filled with something quieter, more certain. Peaceful.

Outside, the cool night air hits your skin, stinging as it contrasts your flushed cheeks. Wilson pulls you close as you walk, his thumb tracing soft circles against the back of your hand. Neither of you speaks, but the silence is full of contentment and understanding. Every glance, every brush of his fingers against yours, a language all its own.

When you reach his car, he pauses, turning to face you as if needing to see you clearly beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. His gaze lingers on your face, soft and searching, before he leans in and presses a tender kiss to your lips, sealing some still-unspoken promise.

“Home,” he whispers breathlessly, the single word carrying more weight than it should. As you settle into the passenger seat beside him, heart thrumming in your chest, you know, deep within you, that you’re finally right where you’re meant to be.

#james wilson #house md #james wilson smut #james wilson x reader #house md fanfiction #house md fandom #james wilson fanfiction #dr wilson #gregory house #house fanfiction #house fandom #x reader #smut #malpractice md #dr james wilson

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catiuskaa · 4 months ago

Text

𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬.

syn. the nights were mainly made to worship all that we loved during the day —in chan’s case, there’s nothing else, as he crawls back to you, always.

wc. 3.8k

cw. minsung mentioned, chan is a simp, they are whipped for each other, someone has daddy kink (and it’s both of them), teasing, explicit content, oral (f.rec), a healthy dose of marking, protected piv sex (love to see it), soft soft aftercare, fluff + smut convo honestly, and i think that’s all, folks!

req! by annonie right here. i see ur vision pookie, and i hope i did it justice! i fear i maybe did more smut than aftercare…? idk… sorry i took so long too</3. hope you like!

[☆★🤎★☆]

Honey, I’m home.

It’s such a common statement. A way of not only announcing the fact that one’s finally back from the hardships they had to endure during the day, there it be copious amounts of work, bullshit from dumb colleagues who wouldn’t know common sense from a toaster even if it burned their house down, how Jisung managed to forget his lyrics yet again, and his phone is dead, so he has to call his “husband” —his words, not mine— and make Minho bring him his charger to the studio…

Overall, in broad, general sense, the statement is used to express the feeling of welcomeness that being not just back in one’s house, but home, always brings. Not only that, but it too serves as a way of expressing it to whoever waits within those walls of comfort.

And, for the first time in a long while, it so happens that Chan was already home when you arrived.

But there was none of that when you closed the door behind you, took your shoes off by the entrance and headed to his room, knocking on the already open wooden surface.

Chan turns his head first, moving the desk chair on its axis to face you propperly.

“You’re back,” he smiles.

His eyes don’t leave your figure, not as you lean on the doorframe, not as you let out a soft chuckle and finally get close to him.

For some people, love is felt most clearly through touch—the warmth of a hand on the back, a lingering brush of fingers, a head resting on a shoulder. Being touchy isn’t about neediness, but about closeness, about wordless ways of saying “I’m here” and “you matter.” It’s how comfort is given and connection is deepened, in gestures that feel small but speak loudly. Whether it’s an absentminded thumb tracing a palm or a full-body hug after a long day, physical affection becomes the language that says everything else doesn’t have to be said.

That’s how Chan knows something’s up. Because, instead of throwing yourself to his bed face first, ready to tell him about the day you had —common when your day was specially bad—, you make it a point to stand between his parted legs, your hands traveling to his neck, threading in his hair.

You’re biting your lip. He’s one second from cheekily offering to bite it for you, when you finally speak.

“I was scrolling down Twitter in the bus,” you say softly, your voice smooth. His hands travel to the back of your thighs as you keep on speaking, a sheepish smile on your face. “Someone… someone posted something I think it’s funny.”

He blinks. He’s a bit lost now, but you chuckle, seeing it in his eyes.

“It was a reply to a post a stay made,” you giggle, blushing. “About your solo act in tour.”

“What did it say?” He smiles, giggling with you.

There’s a light pause, and in your eyes you’re pretty sure it’s obvious the ginger hesitation from stating what the post said out loud, but then, staring at his eyes, you just let it out.

“I hope someone can give him head to thank him for this amazing performance.”

Chan dies.

It’s the way you say it—soft, almost teasing, like you know exactly what you do to him. Your voice brushes against his ear, low and playful, and something in him just short-circuits. His hands, already resting on your waist, tighten instinctively, fingertips digging in just enough to make you shift closer. Suddenly his pulse is everywhere—thudding in his chest, his throat, and lower. His breath hitches, and he drops his head a little, trying to compose himself, but it’s no use.

Get fucked, ‘honey, i’m home.’

“I liked it. Reposted it, too.” You confess with a soft chuckle. “And then I thought, you know.” You swallow dry, blushing , which almost kills him again. “I can. Matter of fact, I have.”

He hums in response, and tugs you closer, making you sit on his lap.

“Okay,” he chuckles, sinking his head in the crook of your neck, into your hair, and you move your arms around his neck, giggling too. “That’s a way of getting me off my computer.”

“Good,” you tease softly, next to his ear. “It’s late anyways.”

“It’s going to be so much late when I’m done with you,” he confesses in a low voice, not bothering to think if that’s correct grammar or not.

Instead, he presses a soft kiss on your cheek, then your jaw, until he moves back, one of his hands moving from your ass to cup your cheek.

It starts with a single kiss. A soft peck, quick and familiar. Then another. And another. Each one lingers a little longer, his lips pressing into yours like he’s testing the edge of restraint —whether yours or his, he doesn’t really know, merely wsiting to see who breaks first. Secretly, he knows he will.

His hands pull you closer until the chair that holds the both of you groans from the combined weight. When he finally pulls back, just a breath apart, he’s already smiling—low and crooked, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“I missed you today,” he says, voice rougher than it usually is. Then he’s kissing you again, deeper now, slow and intense, like he’s trying to make up for every second you were apart. His mouth moves with purpose, stealing your breath, and when his fingers slide up your spine, you arch into him without even thinking.

You move from him, peppering kisses all over his face. It’s coaxing, or at least you attempt it that way, until you notice him smirking.

“Don’t tease me,” you whine, pouting.

“Why, princess?” He smiles, faking innocence, letting out one of those squeaky laughs of his. “Something wrong?”

You groan dramatically, hiding your face in his neck as he laughs and holds your body closer.

“You’re a meanie,” you mumble against his skin.

“And you’re blushing.”

You huff. “Meanie.”

His hands stroke your thighs slowly, up and down. “You’d like me even more if I was meaner,” he grins teasingly. “Wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

Moving away from his neck, you pout again.

“I’ll leave,” you squint your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Chan tongues his cheek. He wonders if he can tease you a bit more, which he knows he probably can, but there’s only so much he can resist you. So he licks his lips, smiling at you.

“Really, princess? You’d leave daddy alone, even after what you’ve told me?”

You can’t stop smiling, not as he looks at you like you hung the stars, as your stomach flutters and as your cheeks burn. You try to play it cool, but your laugh comes out a little too breathless, and he definitely notices. The way he touches you doesn’t help either—his hands cheekily going anywhere they want, fingers brushing your arm, his hand resting low on your back like it’s always belonged there. You’re giddy, lightheaded, way too aware of how close he is, how good he smells, how your body is already leaning into his without asking permission. Not to him, exactly —that’s saved for a different night—, but to you, your own brain closing the door behind and leaving you all alone.

“Finally,” you kiss him cheekily. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

The kisses start playful. You’re still giggling when he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, and you feel yourself melt against him, warm and dizzy from how good it all feels.

Yes. Home. Finally. Sitting in his lap feels too easy, too natural—like you were meant to be there. And then, without thinking, your hips shift—just a small roll. Unintentional, but nevertheless, the second it happens, you both freeze. His breath catches against your skin. Your cheeks flare hot, the air between you thickening.

Chris lets out a somewhat breathless chuckle next to your ear, threatening to send shivers down your spine. He bites your cheek, teeth not sinking in, but rather like a way of teasing you back. Judging by how your breathing stops and hitched, he stands corrected.

He smirks. The look he gives you threatens to rip your clothes off one by one, undoing you almost entirely. That slow, knowing smirk curls at the corner of his mouth, equal parts smug and hungry.

“Oh,” he says, low and teasing, like he just discovered something dangerous. His hands slide over your hips, firmer now. “You sure you missed me just a little?”

Your face goes warm immediately, and you bite back a smile, ducking your head just a little. Of course he noticed. Of course he’s smirking like that. You nod, sheepish but honest, and he chuckles softly—the sound low and familiar, the kind that always makes your heart do a flip.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, already slipping his hands lower, settling them on your hips like he’s done it a thousand times before. He moves you slowly, guiding your body against his with that quiet confidence he only ever shows when it’s just the two of you.

The grind is subtle, teasing, but the heat it stirs is immediate. You let out a shaky breath, forehead brushing his as your fingers curl into the back of his neck.

“Missed you more than a little,” you whisper, and he grins—cheeky, warm, already leaning in for another kiss that promises he missed you just as much.

“Daddy missed you too, princess.”

His lips find yours again, deeper this time, and the way he shifts beneath you makes your breath hitch. The chair creaks softly under the weight of both your bodies, his hands steady at your hips, but it’s not enough—not anymore.

He kisses you once more, slower, like he’s making a decision, then pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“Come here,” he murmurs, voice rough with warmth, and in one fluid motion, he stands, lifting you with him like it’s second nature.

Your legs wrap around his waist without thinking, arms around his shoulders as he carries you the few steps to the bed. The room blurs around you, all focus narrowing to the way his hands hold you, the way your bodies stay close, connected. When he lowers you to the mattress, it’s careful—reverent almost—but there’s a promise in his touch, in the way he leans over you again like he can’t stand being even a breath apart.

The mattress dips under his weight as he follows you down, never quite breaking the kiss, just shifting it—slower, deeper, until it’s all heat and breath and the soft rustle of the bedsheets. Chris’ hands roam, familiar, but still making you shiver.

He kisses you again, deeply, tasting you like a candy he’s been craving to have before he starts trailing those kisses lower. Down your neck, over your collarbone, taking his time, savoring every inch of skin. His hands glide down your sides, smooth and steady, until he reaches the hem of your shirt and helps ease it off with a sudden softness that somehow he always carries and still it makes your breath catch.

He glances up at you as he shifts lower, and there’s something in his eyes—affection wrapped in heat, like he wants to give, not just take.

He watches you the entire time, eyes dark with focus, with want. “God, I love when you look at me like that,” he murmurs, voice rough.

Your hips shift slightly under his hands, your fingers mindlessly scratching his hair, as they lock around his neck.

“Like what?”

“Like I could ruin you,” he says simply, before kissing your collarbone, “and you’d let me.”

His mouth never fully leaves your skin—kisses trailing down your stomach, each one slower than the last, until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. He looks up at you with that teasing glint in his eyes, the kind that makes your pulse trip. “Let me,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, and then he leans in.

You feel the scrape of his teeth first—light, playful—just before his lips close around the zipper. He tugs it down slowly, deliberately. The sound of it lowering fills the quiet between your breaths, each inch building the anticipation curling low in your belly. When the zipper’s undone, his hands take over, easing both the denim and your panties down your hips with a touch so gentle it borders on worshipful. And then he’s leaning in again, kissing the newly exposed skin with a smile against your thigh, like he’s exactly where he wants to be.

When he settles between your thighs, he doesn’t rush. His hands stroke your hips, your thighs, grounding you as his mouth finally finds you. The first touch of his tongue is slow and warm, and the sound you make earns a satisfied hum from him. He keeps going like that—unhurried, attentive—learning every reaction, every twitch of your hips, every moan and every gasp.

It’s not just about pleasure to him. It’s about you.

And when your fingers slide into his hair and your back arches off the bed, he only holds you firmer, as if to say, I’ve got you. I’m not stopping until you fall apart for me.

You shiver and tremble beneath him, letting out heavier moans and whines. He hums, the sound traveling through you, threatening to make you come already.

Your fingers tug his hair, and he smiles against your thigh. “Seems you’re already letting me ruin you,” he bites your thigh, cheeky. “Like when daddy ruins you, princess?”

You gasp at the bite, a shiver running down your spine. His words send a thrill through you, and you can feel yourself growing more excited by the minute. You feel your cheeks flush as you imagine what he's promising.

"Yes, daddy," you whisper, your voice already a little breathless. "Please ruin me, make me yours."

He chuckles, the sound low and husky. "You're such a good girl for me, aren't you?" he murmurs, his lips tracing a path up your thigh, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. "And you know that I always take good care of my princess, don't you?"

His fingers slide along your inner thigh, his voice dipping.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shake your head, hand still in his hair. “If you stop now, I swear I’ll kill you.”

Your fingers curl and your nails scratch his back without thinking, and he lets out a soft gasp, his shoulders going slack as he leans into your touch.

“Anything for you, princess,” he whispers, licking his lips, almost drunk on the taste of you, his gaze already completely under your spell. “I’ll give you whatever you want, but please, keep touching me like that.”

He moves up and kisses you, relishing on the moans he swallows that spill from your lips as his hands move to take place where his mouth has just been, his fingers moving, slipping inside with wet ease.

“Oh, princess. You’re close already?” He watches you nod, moaning almost breathlessly, and slows down. He chuckles softly at the sound of your whine, unable to resist the adorable look on your face. "You're so cute when you're needy."

Nibbling on his lower lip, he pulls back just enough to reach toward the nightstand, eyes still on you, lips parted like he doesn’t want to be away for long. He grabs the foil packet and flashes you a look —half teasing, half focused—before tearing it open with his teeth. It’s effortless, practiced, but the sight alone makes your stomach flip.

His smile fades into something softer as he finishes rolling the condom on, hands steady but reverent, like he’s handling something precious. Then he’s back over you, fitting between your legs with ease, his skin warm against yours, his mouth returning to your neck, your collarbone, every place that makes your breath catch. The pace slows for a moment—like he wants to savor it, like rushing would be a waste. His forehead presses to yours, noses brushing, and he whispers your name like it’s a secret, grounding you both in the quiet, electric space between heartbeats.

When he finally presses into you, it’s slow—measured, but deep. You gasp, legs tightening around his waist, and he groans low in his throat, the sound rough and honest. His hands slide under your back, pulling you impossibly close, his mouth finding yours again in a kiss that’s all heat and promise. The rhythm builds naturally, guided by every stuttered breath, low whine, and whispered name, until it’s just you and him.

He builds a steady pace, slowly losing it’s rythm as pleasure takes the lead.

“You sound so… so good… so, so… f-fuck…” he moans against your skin, his body holding you so tight, his movements getting just a bit more desperate and rough as he attempts to hold back, trying to last just a little longer.

“S-so close… I’m so… so c-close…” You moan, desperate, your body shaking and trembling, on the very edge of a release.

His hand finds yours, interlinking your fingers. He whines lowly as you come, his heart pounding and body shaking. He can’t hold back any longer, his body completely overwhelmed by the feeling. He moans your name, every second feeling more intense as you continue to move against him. Holding onto you tightly, he comes not too long after you, almost letting his body fall over yours, unwilling to let you go.

He clings to you, feeling completely raw and vulnerable, his body trembling with the aftermath of such intensity. The world goes black and white, and for the smallest moment, time seems to almost stop between the sounds of your breaths in sync, the trembling of your body, the heat your body lets out… It’s all so intense, in his mind almost impossible to explain or describe.

The two of you stay like that, for a few moments, breathing in sync, holding onto each other as the aftershocks take over. You feel him pull away, and you can feel the loss of him, but in the blink of an eye, he’s right there, condom discarded, but he’s still right there, as he helps you get under the bedsheets. Holding your face in his hands, he kisses you, softly, gently.

He stays close, arms wrapped around you like he needs to keep you there, grounded against him. His fingers trace lazy patterns along your back, and his voice is quieter now, softer.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing your hair away from your face.

You nod, smiling. “Yeah. You?”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Never better.” He shifts slightly, reaching for the blanket at the edge of the bed, draping it over both of you. “How’s that? Warm enough?”

You hum, already melting into the calm of him, nuzzling into his neck. “Mmhm.”

You’re curled up against his chest, legs tangled with his, your breath soft and steady as your fingers absentmindedly trace circles on his arm. He’s quiet—so quiet you glance up to check on him. But he’s already watching you.

That look in his eyes makes your breath catch. It’s intense, unguarded. Like he’s seeing you for the first time and falling all over again.

“What?” you whisper with a smile, almost sheepish under the weight of his gaze.

He shakes his head a little, smiling like a fool, like the feeling in his chest is too big for words.

“Nothing. Just… you.”

You giggle.

“That’s not an answer, mister.”

He laughs under his breath, then kisses your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Want me to run you a bath?” He offers softly.

You lay your hand over his, stroking the back of it as he cups your face. “Only if you join,” you wink.

His answer is immediate. “Done.”

He shifts to sit up, but not before giving you one more kiss—slow, sweet, like a promise. “I’ll be right back. Stay cozy.”

You hear the soft creak of the faucet turning on, the gentle rush of water echoing faintly from the bathroom. He moves around quietly, opening drawers, setting things down, and humming under his breath as he prepared this little ritual he’s done a hundred times for you.

When he returns to the bedroom, he’s shirtless, damp towel in one hand, and smiling like he just lit every candle in the world just for you. “It’s ready,” he says, voice warm. “Perfect temperature. Bubbles and all.”

You sit up, letting the blanket slip off your shoulders, and he immediately steps forward to wrap it back around you, his hands brushing down your arms with affection. “Want help getting there?”

You nod, and he lifts you easily, bridal style, because of course he does, earning giggles from you. He carries you into the softly lit bathroom, where the tub is already steaming, the scent of lavender and something faintly sweet in the air.

“There we go,” he smiles, helping you in. The water ripples as he steps in behind you, warm and careful, settling in with a low sigh. His arms come around you almost automatically—slow, steady—and you melt back into him with a sleepy grin.

His chest is pressed to your back, his legs on either side of yours, and his chin rests on your shoulder. He exhales deeply, his breath brushing your skin.

The warmth of the water surrounds you, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his skin against yours, the way his fingertips draw slow patterns along your arms beneath the surface. Every now and then, he presses a kiss to your shoulder or cheek, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world just to love you like this.

Your fingers stay twined with his. You don’t talk much—there’s no need. It’s one of those rare, quiet silences that says everything. He leans his head against yours and lets out a little hum, content.

Eventually, the water cools just slightly, and he shifts, his lips brushing your ear. “Come on,” he whispers, soft and coaxing. “Let’s get you dry before you fall asleep on me in here.”

You let him help you up, both of you dripping and a little giggly as he wraps a towel around you and one around himself. He dries you off gently, his hands sweet and familiar, pausing to kiss your shoulder, the curve of your neck, your forehead.

You step out of the bath, feeling the steam cling to your skin, and glance at him with a sheepish smile. “I just need to pee real quick,” you say, before slipping away toward the toilet.

Bathtub empty, both of you dry and spent, he pulls the blankets down and helps you crawl to bed first, then slides in behind you, pulling you into his chest like it’s instinct. His arms wrap around you again—just like in the tub—and this time, the sheets are warm, the room is quiet, and your skin is still damp in that post-bath glow.

He kisses the back of your shoulder once more before whispering, “You okay?”

You nod, sleepy and safe. “Mhm. You?”

His reply is immediate, low and sincere.

“Never been better.”

Home has never felt so warm.

[☆★🤎★☆]

~kats, who has listened to hozier’s cover of “do i wanna know?” an unhealthy amount of times.

permanent taglist! @svckrpvnch @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @lyramundana @cheeksung @staytinyluva

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nineteenninety-six · 4 months ago

Text

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ Chocolate Bars and Injuries

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

AN: I ofc watched The Pitt and became obsessed so here’s a fic! Beware of medical inaccuracies and ooc-ness and there should be a second part because I can’t stop my self

TW: Parental death, usual medical injuries etc

Synopsis: Jack unintentionally bonds with a young patient and then somehow even more unintentionally, falls for his older sister.

PART TWO PART THREE

Dr Jack Abbot would never admit it, especially aloud but he was terribly bored. The ED wasn't exactly busy at that moment with borders waiting in the hall waiting to be transported to the appropriate departments in the hospital. Dr Shen was in triage with a med student, residents were tending to the higher priority patients coming through triage, and Dr Ellis was checking in on patients which left Jack bored at the nurses station and Jack Abbot 'hated' being bored, especially on shift.

He eyed the patient board, hoping for something even slightly interesting. Just as he was going to take another coffee break when a new case appeared on the screen. A simple adolescent with a supposed fracture, low stakes but it was something to occupy his time and so he pushed himself to his feet and swiped a tablet from the charging station, making his way to the room.

You tried your hardest to comfort your little brother as he wiggled uncomfortably on the hospital bed, trying to keep him from moving his injured arm but as time passed, it was getting increasingly harder for you to do so.

A traumatising experience months ago had meant that when you suggested taking your brother to the hospital after an accident on the jungle gym earlier that day had ended up resulting in a meltdown. It had taken hours of convincing and begging, along with a promise to get a new toy for him to finally agree and you found yourself in a sweet spot in the hospital that night. It was late enough that the rush of the day crowds had left but too early for the late night antics crowd had not yet arrived so they only had to spend an hour in the waiting room before they were shuffled into the ED and onto a free bed. Your brother had already had his x-ray taken when you arrived and so you were just waiting for the results.

You were internally debating whether or not you should quickly run and grab a chocolate bar to placate your brother when the curtain was drawn open and you were greeted by a doctor and a nurse.

"Hi there, I'm Dr Abbot" The man's eyes flicker between the two of them on the bed and then his tablet. "And I've heard you've hurt yourself little guy."

Your little brother, Caspian, whimpers in response, curling up even closer to you.

"We had a fall at the jungle gym earlier," You responded as you tried to untangle yourself from your brother, "He hurt his arm."

"I've got the x-ray results here and it looks like you've got a fracture so we'll give you a cast and then you'll get to go home." Dr Abbot turns to the nurse beside them and quickly mutters off what he needs before the nurse nods and leaves them.

"You hear that Cas?" You turn to your brother, "Nice and quick!"

Caspian's pout deepens, "Chocolate?"

You huff a disbelieving laugh at him before you turn to Dr Abbot who watched the both of you with a curious look.

"Is there a vending machine here?" You ask, already reaching for your purse.

"Yeah, down the hall and around the corner" Dr Abbot tells you, "I'll stay with him, the nurse will be back shortly."

You turn back to Caspian, cautious of how he would do without her, "I won't be long. Please behave for Dr Abbot"

You stepped past Dr Abbot as you left and he was momentarily dazed by the scent of your perfume as you breezed by. He watched you until you disappeared from his line of sight and then brought himself back to reality. For all he knew, the kid on the bed was yours and you were probably married as well.

Caspian eyed Dr Abbot with apprehension as the doctor took a seat on the stool. The doctor was generally quite awkward with children, of course he came across them and treated them when they arrived in the ED but talking and interacting with children was just out of his comfort zone.

"So, uh, what's your favourite chocolate bar?"

Caspian giggles at his questions, his shoulders retreating from his shoulders as he considers his answer.

"Kitkat!"

Dr Abbot laughs, "Yeah? I like that too."

"I'm going to get a new toy tomorrow!" Caspian bragged to the doctor.

Jack couldn't help but laugh again. He had no idea why but he finds it easy to talk and get along with the kid.

"Yeah..Because you're doing so good today?"

"Uh-huh!"

You returned shortly with a handful of chocolate you had got from the vending machine, interrupting their conversation and Caspian perked up at the sight of you, eagerly reaching for a kitkat.

"Thank you~" Caspian spoke around a mouthful of chocolate.

"Don't be gross and don't speak with your mouth full." You chastise Caspian, as you dumped the rest of your haul into your bag but Dr Abbot spied the smile on your face despite your words.

Soon the nurse returns with the supplies for the cast and Caspian is brought back to earth, crying into your shoulder as you try to comfort him.

"You can sit with your mom little man, but you gotta shift a bit so I can access your arm."

You freeze momentarily at his words. It's not the first time you've been mistaken as his mom, you're most definitely old enough to be but since you've gotten custody, it's happened more frequently.

"Oh I'm not his mom. I'm his older sister." You correct the doctor.

"Oh" Dr Abbot pauses, "My apologies"

You shrug, "It's fine. No worries"

Dr Abbot was silent as he wrapped Caspian's arm, only breaking the silence to ask him what colour Caspian wanted before he returned to his work. Truthfully, he wouldn't normally do something like this but it was quiet in the ED that evening and he had also taken a little liking to the quiet boy and his sister.

After he had done the final patches, he looked up and saw Caspian half asleep in his sister's arms and so he lowered his voice as he spoke to you.

"We're done here." Dr Abbot shifted his stool a bit closer to you, "It'll take around four to six weeks to heal and the nurse will be back with your discharge papers and your care plan that outlines the next steps."

"Thank you" You smile at Dr Abbot, "Seriously. Cas doesn't have the best experience in hospitals and I don't know how you did but he felt calm around you. He is usually quite upset and irritable but I think he likes you."

"Ah, it wasn't me, he's a cool kid." Dr Abbot felt shy, almost, of the gratitude he was receiving.

After you thanked him one last time before he left, you waited patiently for the nurse to return but as you dug in your bag for one of the chocolates you bought earlier for a snack, you unknowingly woke your young brother.

"Dr Abbot likes KitKat…" Caspian murmurs against your shoulder, surprising you.

"Holy sh—" You gasp, your heart thundering against your chest, "Did I wake you?"

Caspian nods before he repeats what he said, "Dr Abbot likes KitKat."

"...Yeah I heard you…" Your words trail off as you get a sudden idea, digging back in your bag for a random receipt and grabbing a pen nearby.

Hours later, long after you and your brother had been discharged, Dr Jack Abbot was sitting at the nurses station, taking a breather after a sudden rapid set of back to back patients. He was sipping his coffee and talking to the night shift charge nurse when the nurse he had worked with earlier made their way over to him with something in their hand.

The nurse had a soft smile as they passed over the item, "This was left behind for you."

Jack reached for the item, a curious expression on his face. "By the kid?"

The nurse nodded before they left, returning to other patients.

Jack looked down at the item and smiled. It was a Kitkat bar wrapped in an old receipt that had a little note scribbled on it.

'Cas said you liked Kitkats. I hope you enjoy it ❤'

Veronica, the night shift charge nurse curiously peers over at him, "What's that?"

Jack waved the chocolate bar before he opened it up and took a quick bite before he elaborated, "The sister of the kid with the broken arm left this for me. She bought a bunch from the vending machine earlier."

Veronica smiled at him, "That's kind of her."

Jack smiled to himself, "...Yeah"

It would be just under two months later when you see Dr Abbot again but at least this time it was you in the hospital bed and not Caspian.

It was nearing one am and you were relaxed in the hospital bed, sleep tugging at you as you tried your hardest not to drift asleep. Caspian was fast asleep in your lap and you felt almost jealous of him. If your palm wasn't almost split in half and burning in pain, you would have gone to sleep and gone to the hospital the next day but alas that wouldn't have been a good idea.

You were on the edge of falling asleep when the door opened and a doctor introduced himself.

It was Dr Abbot again.

The doctor paused at the end of the bed, recognising you as well.

You sat up, the urge to sleep disappearing at the sight of the doctor, smile tugging on your lips, "Dr Abbot, it's you again"

"You know, most people don't see an ED doc twice in a month and if they do, they usually aren't happy about it" Dr Abbot replied as he read over your chart.

“Can I be technical and count them separately?” You joke, “Once as a family member and once as a patient, they can’t be combined.”

“Says who?” Jack asks, pulling up a stool up to your side to examine your wound.

“I say,” you joke once more, pausing when Dr. Abbott looks up at you. “Or do I need a doctor’s backing as well?”

His movements are gentle, pausing to give you a moment to breathe after you wince in pain when he gently pulls away the dishcloth you had haphazardly wrapped around your hand after you had sliced it open. His words are soft as he explains his actions, his voice a low murmur that sends a warm shiver down your spine. His touch is soft yet firm, confidence and warmth radiating through his gloves as he pokes and prods around your wound.

"How did this happen?"

"Lost a fight against a craft knife" You laugh.

"Yeah, those don't tend to end well." Jack murmurs, eyes still on your hand.

"I found some of those DIY decorations online and decided to try it out," You huff and roll your eyes, "I think next time I'll just stick to stuff in the stores."

"It's going to need stitches" Dr Abbot announces as he pulls back and stands, "I'll be back with the nurse and then we can get started."

Dr Abbot disappears quickly but the door slamming behind him wakes Caspian and now you were tasked with calming the tired and irritable five-year old with one hand but when Dr Abbot returns, all of Caspian's bad mood disappears at the appearance of the doctor. You were surprised he even remembered Dr Abbot but you weren't going to complain.

"Dr Abbot!" Caspian beams.

"Caspian!" Dr Abbot indulges the young child, "How's your arm?"

Caspian flaunts his cast free arm proudly, "It's better now, it doesn't hurt nomore!"

"And you're keeping out of trouble? Being good for your big sister?" Dr Abbot asks, gently guiding your arm into the correct position as he pulls the tray of equipment he needs closer.

Caspian nods before you pass him your phone and send him to the chair in the corner of the room so he can entertain himself and not see you get stitched up.

"I wanted to apologise again about last time" Dr Abbot says as he meticulously stitches you up after he numbed the area.

At your confused expression, he elaborates, "When I called you Caspian's mother."

"You're not the first one to think that so don't beat yourself up. I'm twenty-five years older than him so it's a common assumption," You clarify, laughing at the shocked expression on the doctor's face, "I was a 'oh shit we're too young to have kids baby' and he was a 'oh shit we're too old to have kids baby'."

Jack can't help but be curious, his mouth opening before he could stop himself, "And you take care of him? What about your parents?"

At this, your expression changes slightly. Your brows lower and your lips pout a bit, "They uh- died a few months ago…car accident."

Once again, Jack had shot himself in the foot.

"My apologies. Again." Jack murmurs as he finishes up the stitches, "I apparently can't help but put my foot in my mouth whenever I speak to you."

Your lips quirk at his admission, "You get nervous when you speak to me?"

Jack's eyes flicker up at you, his own lips falling into a small smile, "Are you teasing me?"

"More like flirting but I think I need to brush up on my skills." Your eyes never leave Jack's face.

Oh how Jack wanted to flirt back but you were young. Too young, he tried to rationalise. He was in his mid forties and you were in your early thirties at most. Both adults yes, but Jack tries to convince himself that the age gap is too large.

Jack will always deny it but you were certain you saw him flush. Red spread across the top of his cheeks before he tucked his head down in embarrassment. Jack finishes stitching and wrapping your hand in silence before he pulls away, telling you the next steps once you've left the hospital. Feeling guilty of putting him on the spot, you reach out to grab his wrist with you non-injured hand, pulling him to a stop,

"I'm sorry," You apologize, "If I overstepped or made you uncomfortable. It wasn't my intention, I promise."

"No harm done, I assure you." Jack tries his hardest to appear unaffected, stepping away from you, "We're done here, the nurse will be back soon with your discharge papers."

"Actually," You reach back out to take hold of his arm and shyly look up at him,"If you have the time, can you keep an eye on him for a moment? I need the bathroom."

Jack considered it for a moment, he wasn't needed at the moment and all the nurses needed to do was call his name and he'll come running so he agreed, "Sure."

You squeeze his arm thankfully before you leave the room which catches Caspian's attention and he watches you leave with wide eyes.

Jack turns to the young boy, "I enjoyed the chocolate you left me last time."

Caspian's eyes light up at Jack's word as he climbs down off of the chair before he climbs onto the bed so that he is closer to Jack. "I told her you liked 'em!"

Jack paused, the idea of reciprocating the chocolate gifting entering his head.

"Hey kid," Jack focused back on Caspian, "What's your sister's favourite chocolate?"

Caspian's nose scrunched in disgust as he answered, "Bounty…gross!"

Jack's own nose scrunches in disgust at the answer, "...Yeah you're right about that kid."

Soon you return back to the room, the nurse not far behind you as they hand you the discharge paper for you to sign.

"Did you drive here? How are you getting home?" Jack asked, concern leaking through his words.

The nurse flashes him a curious look, a doctor did not usually concern themselves with how patients were getting home.

You peer up at him from where you were signing the papers, "No we taxied. We'll be fine won't we Cas?"

"Yep!" Caspian chirped.

Jack paused as if he wanted to say more before he eventually nodded, wishing them well before leaving. Jack immediately made his way to the vending machine and bought a Bounty chocolate bar and when he returned to the nurses station and pulled out a post-it note and a pen, he paused as he thought about what he should write before settling on,

'Let's hope the next time I see you, it isn't in my ED. Enjoy. - Jack Abbot'

"You're not going to leave your number?" Teased Veronica over his shoulder.

In a moment of doubt, he asked her for advice, "It's not too much is it?"

"No! It has a good mix of flirting and you, Sergeant grumpy" Veronica assures, referencing the nickname he had garnered during his time at The Pitt.

Jack watches as the nurse guides you and your brother out of the ED and Veronica leans down to whisper in his ear, "You're running out of time."

Jack knows she is right so he quickly follows after you, the chocolate bar held firmly in his hand as he searches for you in front of the hospital.

"Hey," He calls your name, jogging up to you, holding out the chocolate bar towards you, "A little birdie helped me return the favour."

You looked down and smiled at the bounty chocolate bar in your hands, "My favourite! This little birdie of yours is very smart."

You grin down at Caspian who simply smiled tiredly, the late hour affecting him now.

Just then the taxi pulled up, and you placed the chocolate in your pocket as you focussed getting Caspian buckled inside but before you made your way into the cab, you smiled at him. A full sincere smile that leaves Jack breathless.

"Thank you Dr Abbot, for everything. You've made our hospital visits durable and Cas has really taken a liken to you. Really, thank you for everything"

With that you wave at him before you climb into the cab which shortly pulls away leaving Jack alone in front of the hospital, kicking himself for not writing his phone number on the post-it.

Jack let out a dismayed sigh before returning back to the ED, regretting letting you leave without a number.

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #the pitt x reader #the pitt imagine #the Pitt imagines #x reader #imagines

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