#I love the big gooey idiot so much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sleepyspnap · 2 years

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i like it when you sleep- Eddie Munson X Reader 18+

tags- Perv!Eddie, (afab reader, gender & race neutral,) Consentual somnophilia, breeding kink, daddy issues, angst for a sec, Daddy kink, mention of slapping, plugs, light bdsm, degradation, praise, fluffy smut & rough smut, best friends to lovers, medium burn. Pet names: baby, bunny, pretty, angel

Description: You slowly fell in love with your best friend. For all his quirks and disgusting behavior. You find comfort in his idiocy and his looming presence. One night, his desperation takes hold and you find yourself exploring something new with him.

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7.6k Words 18+ BELOW THE CUT MINORS DNI

You and Eddie had been friends since you started Hawkins highschool last Autumn. You loved how much of a statement he made in the bleak town both of you quickly agreed upon leaving in the dust when summer rolled around and you both walked across the stage.

You fit right in with his group of boys that dangled with admonished eyes at every display, every word, every story. They saw him as a god amongst hormone riddled boys.

You however, saw very differently. Not afraid to call him an idiot, not afraid to scold him into studying, which led to study sessions in his trailer. It was those dumb study sessions where you fell irreparably in love with Eddie Munson.

He was not the brave warrior of his little character. He was still loud as when he threw on a show, yes, but everything he said was with passion and enthusiasm. He held a joy about him you grew addicted to.

He was soft at times. He’d read you excerpts from the novels he borrowed from the book store you worked at. He would sit and chatter in the smoke filled room as you passed a blunt between you two, giggling yourselves to sleep.

It was so disgustingly obvious how in love with him you were. You essentially followed him like a puppy the you had to catch him in the hallways. You always asked him everything in a bright way that only someone utterly obsessed with everything about someone would say.

It caught on however. You’d find the same gooey look in his eyes when he’d watch you flip through pages of a textbook.

You’re not sure when it was that it crossed the border to more than friends. It wasn’t like falling in love for the both of you. It was drifting right into it, letting it take over as you slowly dropped every wall around hiding your feelings.

It started with a kiss to the cheek on occasion. It developed slow, into small pecks on the face in the quiet space between you when you’d stay over.

The first time you kissed was like you’d done it a million times, and you could do it a million more.

The slip of his lips was easy, you both slid together in sync, a perfect balance.

You never addressed it really. The both of you just embraced what felt right, not caring for the formalities of what proper courting was.

He’d kiss you soft as you left, you’d smile into it, taking in the slight taste of cigarettes on his lips.

“See ya” He’d whisper, before recapturing you. You shake your head with that love sick grin that he teased you for.

And together you both graduated later that year. You’d wrapped your arms so tightly around him in pride. He laughed burying his face in your hair.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” You muttered. Pulling away as others approached you.

“I knew you had it in you!” Eddie's uncle clapped him on the back. He smiled his big dopey grin at you, his and Eddies both shared similarities.

While you saw him on brief occasions, all of which were pleasant, the way eddie talked about him was full of joyful moments.

He really cared about Eddie, and Eddie cared for you, so he offered with open arms a hug.

You accepted it with almost watery eyes.

You spotted your dad approaching, stiffening up a bit and pulling away from Wayne.

“Dad!” You said as he approached, he grumbled curses as he wiped sweat from his brow.

“You got the paper?” He asked curtly, you felt your body tense as he was in an irritable mood already.

“Uh yeah, its in this.” You handed him the book-ish folder that your diploma was in.

“Ok, let's get going then it’s hot.”

You knew he didn't want to come originally. Knew his tantrums were bound to flair up in the inconvenience of it all. He was spoiling your excitement like water to a match tip.

“Actually, uhm, I was gonna go celebrate with Eddie and Wayne.” You said, motioning to where Eddie seemed to grit his teeth at your fathers attitude.

“Alright, call me later if your coming home.”

You knew you weren’t. You knew exactly how this night would go.

You’d had celebrations before. Anniversaries, Birthdays, Eddie absolutely acing his finals.

All of these occasions ending the same way. Your face in the downy pillows of Eddies bed, choking on whines as Eddie fucked deep into you.

You learned quickly as things in you relationship escalated, one of which, was: Eddie was a fucking perv.

He’d grab at your ass and grumble filthy words into your ear when he’d see you in the hallway.

He would almost drool every time you changed clothes in front of him. Eyes locked on your body as you tried to shy away.

He referred to your chest as “My ladies” often. You’d greet him at his van after work sometimes and he’d ask.

“How was it? How's my girls?”

Before his hands would cup your flesh right on the dark sidewalk outside of the brick book store.

He loved the v-neck cut of the plain black shirt you wore to work.

You always grumbled away from his advances in public. Bickering about how he needed to learn so decency.

It was in private where you’d let yourself melt at how keyed up you made him. He would grab and nip at you while you made out. You’d catch him looking down your baggy t-shirts. He’d angle himself to look up your skirt when you’d lay on his bed on the rare occasion you wore them. It felt good to be pretty sometimes.

He was downright gross . Prying eyes and dog-like behavior. But you loved it. It was endearing even.

You liked the way he’d blushed when you found a pair of your dirty panties stuffed in between his wall and the bed. How he would keep polaroids in his wallet for ‘when i jerk off in my car after i leave your place’.

He’d woken you up to wet, sucking kisses on your neck as you felt his hips grind against yours. You would whimper to let him know you were awake.

He could get hard from you changing in front of him. Infact, you’d seen it happen.

It was before the two of you had started having casual sex. You’d only gone as far as heavy petting while making out on the squeaky mattress in his trailer.

It was warm out, and the heat was seemingly stagnant in the trailer. Beads of sweat dribbled down your back making you shiver.

He’d noticed your discomfort, not long after he’d shed his t-shirt for a thinner fabric, cropped just below his belly button. You tried to be polite about it, not letting your gaze linger on the hair that traveled under the waist of his pants.

He’d casted you a teasing look with his big round eyes and it made your heat flushed cheek hotter.

“You distracted?” He asked from where he sat on the edge of the bed now. Gazing up and ushering you closer.

His hands were always grabby. He’d brush them over the curves of your waist. If you wore lower cut tops he wasn’t hesitant to grope and squeeze at them until you were melting under him.

You scoffed tearing away from how his eyes were tracing every curve of your damp skin.

“I have a few tank tops you can change into, might be cooler than your pretty little blouse.” He said, running his fingers over the buttons lining the front of your shirt.

“Yeah- sure.” You’d sputtered, nervous at the option to wear something of his. To look like his. It felt like he was staking a claim whenever he would offer his worn t-shirts, riddled with burn holes and smelling of his cigarettes and the sweet detergent Wayne washed it with.

You weren’t nervous for him to see your body. He’d said so many sugar sweet words before on the occasion he’d see your eyes linger too long on where the pudge of your stomach lay.

He’d just never seen it bare. Something you kept away from him with your own selfishness he’d say it was later on.

You made a hasty move removing your blouse, you revealed the cami you wore under.

Your back was turned to him, glancing over your shoulder he was awkwardly avoiding your body as he flicked his gaze between your eyes and the items scattered around

You could laugh at his nervousness, it was so cute how there was tinges of expectancy in his eyes.

You teased while removing your cami, stretching your arms over your head in a show as you fluidly let it drop beside you. You were now only in a pair of high waisted shorts.

The relief from the heat was almost immediate. You sighed, turning around to look back at eddie.

“God, i didn’t realize how god awful sweating in those blouses is” You laughed out, turning to see Eddie again.

He was flushed cheeked and he was now unabashed about letting his eyes roam your body. You smirked, cocking a hip at him. He blinked a few times.

“Did you say something?” He said dumbly. You scoffed just to tease, watching as he grinned and raised to his feet.

“oh come on pretty” He cooed, you felt your knees weaken as he approached. You were nervous under how dark his gaze looked.

“Don’t be mad at me bunny.” He said lightly. You huffed at him as your cheeks heated.

“Finish changing.” He said, it was demanding, you felt a jolt as you moved with a quickness.

Your nipples pebbles even in the heat. You couldn’t help letting your gaze flicker to Eddies who looked right back, his lip caught between teeth as you stood bare chested.

You pulled the black fabric of his shirt over your head. He moved away slightly, you saw what could be classified as disappointment flicker over his face.

If it wasn’t for your eyes wondering on their own you would have missed the bulge that pressed against the seam of his pants.

Your eyes widened, cheeks going all the more hot as he smirked at you from where he’d now stretched out on his mattress.

His tendencies worsened once the metaphorical rope of tension snapped and he was regularly pounding you into his mattress.

He’d pull you under the bleachers while you were supposed to be running the mile in your gym class. All because his eyes couldn’t leave how good you looked in your running shorts.

“My pretty baby, all mine.” He growled as he sunk two fingers into you.

“E-Eddie.” You whimpered as your eyes scanned to where chatters of your classmates were heard.

“Shhh, quiet now bunny. Don’t want us caught.” He pressed a kiss to your sweaty neck.

His fingers worked magic on you. Which is one of the only reasons you two were able to do these risky things. He knew how to play your body like the strings of his beloved guitar, with just as much skill and practice that it was a quick few moments of hiding pants into his shoulder before you were clenching around his fingers in release.

“You okay baby?” He’d always ask as you gasped through the after shocks, his fingers now gently moving in you to wring out any pleasure left.

“Mhm, so good.” You muttered back, slightly dazed and your clavicle began aching from where he’d sucked the skin between

gnawing teeth.

There were instances where he’d put his desperation to the side, where he’d kiss you slow and sweet, not initiating anymore than what he was giving.

Lucky for him though this made heat pool between your legs. You loved the feeling of him against you, just basking in the feeling of your mouth.

Your hips would buck against his and he would let out a low chuckle before pressing a kiss to your cheek and pulling away.

“Not right now my eager bunny.” He’d utter, just to see you shiver and your eyebrows pinch together with dissatisfaction.

“Eds- c’mon.” You begged tugging on his ratty old t-shirt, slightly damp with the heat that permeated the trailer even as fall was in full swing the heat never seemed to leave the confines of his room.

“baby, just let me love on you.” He groaned, sweet as ever.

You whined, but eagerly accepted his gentle kisses against your sternum. His big doe eyes crinkled with a smile.

This was newer than sex was. Moments where he was truly and utterly wrapped around your finger. Love spilling from ever brush of skin and every press of lips.

It was truly something profound to be loved by Eddie munson and there was nothing in the world you could give to replace the feeling.

He’d weaseled his way right into your very core, implanting himself with curls, and softness and words.

And under your body's desperate plea for release, you wallow in the loneliness of your room at night thinking about those moments. How tender, how gut wrenching, how it was now more than sex to the both of you.

Even with his antics he was probably the only person you’ve ever loved so fully. Every inch of you loved him.

You tried to consolidate the feelings of just wanting to climb inside his chest and lay there for ever. You pressed as close as possible as he strokes your hair. He was smiling softly against your lips. Pulling back every so often to whisper something stupid, or something that made your chest clench.

Of course the love sick sweetness also held that part that was human. You bickered with him often, as you always have, it came natural.

He’d always teases you at any given moment he could. And it was only amplified in front of his friends.

It wasn't uncommon for the group you knew of as his club to join together in Eddie's living room. Even after graduation they needed him.

It would be heart melting to watch his excitement but that gooey feeling was shoved away with how hot he was when he was into a game.

You sat on the couch behind him, him and the others sat in a circle in the floor, a large board set in the middle. You snickered before about the figurines that lay there, earning sharp arguments from Eddie.

It was an hour or so into the campaign when you felt slugish, your eyed glossy with tiredness.

Eddie was deep in thought as he sat cross legged while the others talked among themselves about what to do next.

Your chest fluttered with the need to feel closer, to feel his hands and hear him in your ear.

You pulled yourself off the couch and slid to the spot where he sat, he perked up at your presence smiling softly as he brushed your hair out of your face.

“Hello angel.” He cooed, soft enough that the boys couldn’t hear but just loud enough to be heard over their rambunctious shouts.

“M’ sleepy” You sighed, nuzzling a little into the palms of his hands.

“Do you wanna stay over ?” He asked, you knew just to be polite, you always stayed over when they had late campaigns.

You nodded, leaning forward to take his hand into yours just to play with the thick calloused fingers.

He chuckled lightly, his hands pulling away to grip your wrist and tug you in.

“Cmon, put your head in my lap and rest sweet pea. We should be done soon.” He gently ushered you to lean in, your head rested against the denim and it wasnt the most comfortable feeling but his fingers found solace in your hair and you felt your eyes droop.

Waking up was like the storm following a day of overcast.

You blinked your eyes open to the dark of Eddie's bedroom. Not sure when it was you two had made your way in there, probably due to the exhaustion that still seeped into your heavy lids.

You’d probably have slept nonstop until 11 tomorrow but sometimes woke you with a hazy start.

Not something though, it was someone.

With a groggy mind you felt Eddie.

His breath was hot against your neck, panting fast and hard. It was then you realized he was shifting with vigor against your backside. Hips erratically thrusted against yours as his big palms groped at your exposed chest..

You whined a little when he squeezed, his thumb ghosting your pebbled nipple, exposed to the air due to your shirt being hiked up under your chin.

“E-Eddie?” You whispered out and he stilled. He was panting even in his stiffness, hot and desperate in the silence still of his room.

“Sorry…” He uttered, voice graveled with either sleep or desperation you weren't quite sure which.

“Don’t be.” You smiled softly at his coyness.

You took a moment to contemplate falling back asleep and letting him figure it out but there was excitement trilling up inside you.

So with a bite of your lower lip your hips rolled back into his. He stifled a deep throaty noise into your hair, a hand coming to grip at your waist.

He was hot against you, skin burning and slightly tacky with sweat.

“C’mon Eds, don’t stop because of me.” You chided making his chuckle a little breathless.

“You just look so pretty. Can’t control myself having you- fuck-“ He was cut off again as you slid against him, his hard cock running perfectly across the crease of your ass.

“You’re gonna be the death of me baby-“ He sighed, now unabashedly rolling into you. His breathe picked up again, his hands squeezed and flexed against any exposed skin he could grab.

He didn’t wear his rings to bed and you sort of missed how the metal felt against you. Having felt them so many times in a casual setting it was a gentle reminder that it was him who was able to touch you.

You gasped when he sped up slightly faster.

“Such a dirty boy Eds.” You said, leaning back into his lip’s that began to trail over your neck.

“Can’t believe you’d grind on me while i’m asleep because you’re so impatient.” You continued and he whimpered at your words making a swell if fulfillment wash over you.

“You know i can’t control myself around you bunny.” He defended, breathy and high in his throat.

You felt his hips begin to stutter slightly in his thrusts, growing sloppy as you hummed out pleased noises just to spur him on.

“C-close baby-“ He sputtered. You whined at the thought of him cumming in his boxers from just rubbing himself against your tired body. You wondered how long he had been going before you woke up.

“Cum for me. Want it Eddie. Want you to feel good.” You rambled, reaching back lazily to tug at his hair, just the way he liked. It always rewarded you with a sweet open mouthed noise and this time was no different.

“Fuck- fuck- thats it. You’re so pretty, god i’m- i’m cumming.”

You loved how he sounded when he released, how his body would shiver with the waves of pleasure and how his cock would pulse and throb as he pumped out his sticky release.

Once his breathing slowed and you felt tendrils of sleep creep in again he spoke softly.

“Was that okay?” He asked, a mouse quiet whisper into your ear.

“Of course.” You replied, slurred against the pillow now.

“It wasn't- you dont feel weird about me- ya know- while you’re uh, asleep?” He continued.

You laughed lightly through your nose before making a ‘nuh uh’

“Was it hot at least?” He was more teasing now, doing that classic Eddie thing where he hid an embarrassing question behind a veil if humor.

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

“Obviously.” He seemed a little more shocked than you'd expected. You only assumed he knew about the mess he was creating between your thighs.

“Obviously?” He repeated.

“Yeah, obviously. I’m like, fuck eddie, just-“ You groaned as you wanted to sleep but his persistence in holding pillow talk was nothing if not convincing.

You grabbed at his hand that was wrapped around you, guiding it under the thin fabric of your sleep shorts where you were bare.

If not for your drowsiness you’d grind against the fingers as they explored your slit.

“Oh- You got all hot and bothered from being used?”

It shook you to your core slightly.

Being used.

You trusted Eddie more than anyone. You trusted that he’d always do right by you but the concept of him giving into instincts. Taking what he wanted from your body was thrilling.

“You like that bunny?” He lowered his voice.

You were too embarrassed to reply, his fingers still lazily collected your arousal and there was no shot he didn't feel you twitch at the prospect.

“You want me to use you? Do what i want when i please?“

You nodded and he smiled against your skin.

“How about waking you up with my cock huh? You seemed to like me grinding on you.”

You whimpered softly, the only noise your tired body could produce at the gruff sound of his voice whispering his fantasies.

It was weeks before you were reminded of this conversation. The two of you had been quite busy, leaving little time for fooling around and you were a liar if you said it wasn't taking a toll on you.

But Eddie became a bit unhinged.

He was more clingy than ever, on the days you would come in at night, shoulders slouched with exhaustion, trying not to startle him. He’d smile so wide and tired as he tugged you into him, letting the heat of your skin melt into his.

He let his hands wonder your body as you dressed again the next morning, running late already from the impromptu make out session he had started.

Then a friday rolled around and it was perfect. You were working a short shift, and Eddie had the day off. You’d rented a movie from the Family Video for the two of you.

“Date night?” Steve asked while you shoved the vhs across the counter.

“Something like that.” You huffed.

“Whoah, what's got you huffy princess?” He chided, a smug look leaking onto his face.

You narrowed your eyes in annoyance before scanning the store of any customers before leaning in.

“Steve, i haven’t been properly fucked in like two weeks man. If i don’t get absolutely destroyed by my disgustingly skilled boyfriend tonight im coming to your house and smothering you.”

His eyes widened it fear, the bite of your voice was genuine, a sort of tone you rarely took.

“Geez, didn’t know Munson had it in him to hold out that long.” He muttered by in slight bemusement at your struggles.

“Oh he doesn’t. I’ve been late to work like 5 times in the past two weeks because he can’t keep his hands to himself .”

Steve laughed and slid you your change for the rental before you turned to leave.

“Wait!” He called and you wiped around to face him.

He dug in his pockets for a moment before pulling out a crumpled 20$ bill handing it towards you.

You furrowed your brow, slowly accepting his offer.

“Buy some nice dinner for you both. You’re looking anemic.”

You scoffed but his gesture was well appreciated. Knowing Steve came from money it wasnt rare for him to slide you some cash for no reason. A simple show of friendship and appreciation.

“Thanks, i’ll uh, let you know how it goes.” You said as you turned once again to push through the heavy doors of the store hearing him shout behind you.

“Please don’t actually!”

You did end up buying food as you made your way to the familiar trailer. Three styrofoam containers of chinese food from the place Eddie loved but rarely got due to the pricey cost.

When you arrived the sky was filling out with yellows and oranges as the sun sank bellow the horizon.

He greeted you with droopy eyes and a small smile. Pressing a kiss to your lips fleeting and fast before letting you in.

The place was actually cleaner than normal, the couch smelled of a fabric cleaner now rather than weed and spilled beer.

“You cleaned up.” You said appreciatively.

He looked bashful at the appraisal of his preparations.

“Yeah, been real anxious i guess and it helped me get my mind clear.” He said as he scratched at the back of his neck.

You raised a hand to pet his cheek.

“You look tired sweetheart.” You muttered and he slumped a little.

“Yeah, the uh, the van gave out this morning and i spent hours trying to fix it.”

You wished you were there to see it. His hands muddled in grease and grime, sweat dripping off him as his curls fell in his face.

You set your overnight bag in his room, quick to rid yourself of your work clothes in favor of a t-shirt that laud half folded in his dresser.

The trailer was cooler than it’s been for weeks in your experience. A autumn chill finally sweeping up the blaring endless indiana summer.

But as you thought on it the jeans you were weren’t comfortable, and you were so tired from work. You opted with hesitation to strip your jeans for a pair of Eddie's boxers.

They were pretty weird fitting, as he was a very different size from you, but the knowledge of staying the night dressed in his clothes made fondness swell.

“I have the movie ready my sweetness.” He said as he strolled into the room, smelling of his shower gel.

You pulled him in, kissing him softly again just to have a moment. Dressed in his clothes, in his bedroom, an air of ease lacquered thick.

“How was work?” He muttered and you let out a soft groan in response earning a sweet kiss to the bow of your lip.

“That bad?” He asked, rubbing over right where your back always aches after shifts.

“It was fine. Long. Just wanted to see you.” It was muffled towards the end as you buried your face in his shoulder, letting your burning tired eyes fall shut in a moment of relief.

“Lets get some food for you and we can nap?”

You nodded against him before pulling away. Following as you always did to where the open play screen of a movie played on the television.

You ate and talked and laughed. Even with the tired eyes the both of you had there was no such joy as these moments together.

He had hiked your shirt up a little while after you finished eating and with a full belly you laid your head on his lap.

Your muscles jellied as his fingers brushed featherlight over the sensitive skin of your stomach.

Around your belly button, tracing the curves of your hips that disappeared below the waistband.

“You fallin asleep on me?” He spoke, startling you.

“oh, yeah sorry.” You muttered trying to shake the exhaustion that seeped in your very bones.

“It’s okay baby, you can sleep. I can carry you to bed if it gets too late.” He carded a hand through your hair, you muttered a pained noise as his rings caught.

He chuckled a little. Soft as a morning dew muttering “Sorry sweet thing.” as he took them off his hand returning. Before you knew it his hands were magic and you drifted off.

Waking up was very different from falling asleep.

It wasn't the soft, gentle words and light touches anymore.

Eddie was grinding against your throbbing heat, drops of precum making the fabric sticky with his arousal.

You gasped, whimpering loud as the tip made itself a home pressed hot against your clit.

“Good morning bunny.” He said lowly behind you, voice wavering through pants and groans.

“Fuck- please-“ You whined trying to gather your thoughts.

His hands were gripping rough at your hips, lightly running blunt nails against your sensitive skin just to see you shudder.

“Mmm, you’re such a pretty baby.” He groaned, kissing at your shoulder.

“mm, Eddie- whats- oh fuck-“ He ground harder as you desperately tried to ask a question.

“What bunny? Can’t speak?”

You groaned in reply, still fuzzy minded from sleep and disoriented from the sudden waves of pleasure.

“nuh uh-“ You choked over the response, realizing there's no chance you could speak.

“You wanna know what got me all worked up?”

A short while after you had fallen asleep Eddie found himself tired. His back ached from sitting upright for so long.

The sky was now a pitch black outside and the room was lit by the TV and an amber light dangling from over the kitchen sink.

He moved carefully, not wanting to disturb your well deserved slumber.

He took a moment then to appreciate how beautiful you looked so at ease. Face smoothed out rather than the tired scrunch of stress he’d seen earlier.

He wished you’d marry him. So that you could both get a place of your own, he could sleep next to you every night and wake up to you cooking breakfast. He wanted to let you live a cushy life at home with your books and your movies while he made all the money from gigs with the band.

He wanted to come home from a show and have you on your knees by the front door, wide eyes desperate for him.

Let him take you over the countertops, bend you over the arm of some decorative armchair.

To make matters worse as he lifted you to the bedroom and eased you to the mattress your shirt was now up to the bottoms of your chest from the movement.

Eddie gulped slightly as he felt a familiar boiling between his thighs.

He admired how smooth your skin was, normally covered, now free to his gaze. He felt appreciative that you were comfortable enough to be so carefree of modesty.

He glanced nervously as he reached out running a hand over the expanse of your tummy. He was pleasantly surprised the touch barely made you stir.

He went with gentleness, eyes fluttered between where his hands mapped you, or where your eyes lay shut, lashes beautifully soft against cheeks.

It was moments that he was sure would be seared into his mind forever.

His cock stood hard between his legs now, throbbing to feel you around him.

He remembered the conversation you’d had before. The explicit desire in your eyes and your murmurs of consent that your body was his when he wanted. Tendrils of excitement wrapped around him.

He was startled slightly when you hummed lightly in your sleep and turned on your side, hiking up the leg on top as you snuggled further into his sheets.

He could see you far better now, everything, seductive in their placements. He thought about rubbing between your chest, wetting your skin with his precum as your sweet tongue stuck out to catch his tip with each thrust, pushing them further in attempts to make it feel better.

He let out a frustrated sigh before falling to the empty space behind you.

There were many moments of hesitation between him laying there gazing at you before wrapping his arm around you and tugging you back into him.

He whimpered when he felt your ass against his erection. Warm and inviting. He loved everything about you but it was anything but a secret his adoration for your ass.

In a fit of need he slipped his weeping cock from his boxers, slowly tracing it between your cheeks.

It wasn’t much, not nearly enough, but goosebumps lit up his skin with ferocity. He spread a bead of precum over the tip, letting it make contact with the fabric covering you and watching as a trail of the sticky fluid hung between his reddened tip and the boxers you wore.

“Oh fuck,” He choked out as quiet as he could muster as he carefully let his cock slide over your clothes pussy. He could feel the curves of your lips, the heat that radiated off your core.

It was dizzying as he turned to slow thrusts against you. He could feel himself catch on the button laying directly bellow your mons. Daringly grinding against it with a little more pressure than before.

He was rewarded with a whimper, his body stilling for a moment but your breathing only hitched as you continued your slumber.

He wanted to laugh at the disgusting implications of it all. You, unaware of him. Him, taking whatever he pleased from you with a gentless not to spoil his fun too soon.

There was that looming guilt that he should have asked before you fell asleep if this was still an option. He couldn’t deny that it hung heavy on his mind from the second you laid to rest in his lap.

But he couldn’t linger because he felt a dampness of your arousal begin to seep through the boxers.

He bit his lip at a smile threatening his face. His shallow thrusts continued as he moved even closer, letting his hands brush in a soft circle over your clothes clit.

The reaction was instant. You shifted lightly, mouth falling open in a pleasured sigh. He took this as a sign to persist.

He imagined what you’d look like cumming in your sleep. Waking up to hot waves rolling over you.

He continued his movements with little hesitancy now, gripping at your skin as your wetness caused the boxer shorts to cling to you.

He wondered how long before you woke up. Caught him, could he last long enough to wake you, take you while your mind was still fizzy with sleep.

The answer came soon enough as a whimper rose from you and your pretty eyes fluttered open. He grinned against your skin.

“You’re a tease even in your sleep.” He said as he finished recounting how you got him throbbing, how he felt high on his own supply by grinding against you.

“M’sorry-“ You slurred and he chuckled.

“It’s okay my little whore. You can’t help it can you? Can’t help what you do to Daddy huh sweetness?”

You whined for the upteenth time as the name fell in sultry waves from his lips.

It was a rare name for him to use. He prefered sir or master most of the time. But it was times like this where the title fit like a glove, he was going to be sweet and coddle you through this one. It sparked excitement the same way that it did when you would see his eyes flare with anger before he would take you roughly, spit into your open mouth, slap your skin until it turned a ruby red and then kiss it better.

He was perfect at both and you couldn’t dare change him.

“Your pussy is leaking all over me through my shorts darling.” He whispered, slowing his grinds to trace the wet fabric, rubbing slowly against your slit again.

“Mmm, all for you.” You replied, holding the urge to grind into him. His fingers trailed down the hem of the boxers running over your smooth inner thighs before letting his fingers trail up the leg and slip deliciously under it. He could feel the scorching heat of your arousal better as his fingers hovered over your cunt.

He wasted little time sinking two fingers into your tripping hole.

You squealed at the intrusion of his thick fingers after weeks of getting yourself off on the occasion you weren’t completely exhausted.

“Can’t believe you get this wet from me using you.” He chided, thrusting his fingers shallowly making your breath stutter as he purposely missed the spongy spot he knew just how to locate.

“N-need more.” You pleaded, his fingers began squelching in a crass way as he sped them up.

“Ya know, you’re really not in a place for demanding baby. But i need your little cunt as loose as possible before i fuck you.”

He always made you cum at least once before he would dare put his thick cock in you.

He was big, that wasn’t debatable. What was debatable was how much you wanted it to burn, wanted to feel the stretch of him after not having him for so long.

“Mm, no, I want your cock now!” You pleaded and he shushed you. You fully expected a scalding but maybe it was the looming tired feeling that clung to you both.

“Please daddy? Stretch me on it?”

He groaned before pulling his fingers out swiftly. You made noises of protest, hips seeking him again before they came in contact with your swollen clit.

“Fuck! Ah-“ You screamed as his speed was quick, the lubrication of your own slick making him move at a dizzying speed.

Your orgasm was approaching with an alarming speed, burning and hot as you felt your legs begin to tremble.

“Are you close bunny?” Eddie asked, he slowed a bit, focusing on speaking lowly in your ear, drawing out the teetering feeling.

“uh, yes, fuck, i’m so close for you.” You whined slurred and desperate.

“I’m the only one whos gotten you. to come this fast arent i? Nobody has ever made my pretty bunny feel this good before huh?”

It was a ploy, but with the static in your head you were eager to give him the satisfaction of hearing you praise his skillz

“No! No one Daddy! Just you. Only you make me feel so good.” Your arm curled back to grip at his thick tattooed bicep. Nails digging crescent shapes as you got closer and closer with each rough circle he drew into your clit.

“That’s it, come on bunny. Come for daddy. Gonna be so wet for my cock.”

A strangled whine ripped from your throat as you reached your peak. Legs trembled against the sheets as you were edging into overstimulation as his fingers worked you diligently through it.

“You okay?” He murmured, peppering kisses along your shoulders.

“Mm, yeah- sleepy daddy,” You yawned, body now lax from the force of an orgasm so soon after waking up.

“The faster i cum the quicker you can go to sleep baby.” He said lowly.

His cock was dripping, a mix of his precum and the slick that coated you.

“You can, fuck, you can fuck me now.” You muttered feeling him smile against you before taking nibbling bites at the tacky skin on your back. He played with you for a moment,just to watch you squirm, see your eye brows knit together as his cock brushed your swollen clit.

He slid in with no hesitation taking you by surprise.

You only let out high whines, knowing he loved hearing your noises.

“Fuck baby, you always sound so pretty when i slide in. So wet for me”

“For you, always for you. You make me so wet daddy-“ You muttered as you ground your hips back into him.

He growled at your moment of control, quick to stop your movements by flipping you to your stomach.

Your face buried into the pillow with a scream as he slid back in easily.

His pace was always brutal from this angle. Reaching deep and harsh as he hit from behind. His hands clutching the fat swells of your ass as his heavy balls slapped rhythmically against your thighs.

You felt him in your throat at this angle.

“Am i all in your guts baby? Do you feel how deep i am?” He grunted

You whimpered nodding harshly from where you muffled your cries.

“Mm, want you to come in me! Wanna feel you come against your womb! knock me up!”

You felt him throb inside of you as his pace quickened.

“Such a dirty bitch baby.” He hissed as he gripped your hair, shoving you further into the downy. The bed squealed as he slammed into you.

“Letting me fuck you before you even wake up baby. Wanna please me so bad. So desperate all the time that you’ll let me do whatever i want huh beautiful?”

You wanted to nod, but the grip on your hair had your scalp tingling with sharp pain.

He was burning hot inside you, even his hands felt like he was coated in flames. You felt the familiar tightenin in your gut.

“Are you getting close bunny?” He asked just as the feeling grew with a rapid pace.

“I can feel you clenching baby, i know your close.” He said leaning further into your ear, making easy work to shift to where each thrust slammed his head into that spot that made your body shake.

“Yeah! Oh im close daddy! Your cocks so good please!”

“Please? What are you begging for?”

He tugged on your hair making your neck arch. Just so he could hear your pleas more clearly.

“Please- Please can i come on your cock daddy!” You whined, the knots in your stomach were untethering in an uncontrollable speed.

“I’ll give you anything you want when you ask so pretty.” He replied, his hand snaking to come into contact with your clit again.

You could tell he was close too, his thrusts were sloppy, his grunts with less time in between. You clenched your hole in hopes to pull him along further so that you could both come at the same time.

“Fuck- Wanna come with me whore?”

You whined in confirmation further tightening yourself as you staved off the waves of an orgasm that crested your shores.

“Come on baby! Oh fuck im so close honey, you feel so tight. Sucking me in.” He rambled.

“Oh, fuck, cum baby, cum now, come on.” He urged, thrusting harder with the last bite of energy he had.

“OH FUCK DADDY! Fuck fuck fuck-“ You wailed as you felt all the tension snap, it was more intense than just his fingers.

“That’s it, thats my baby, good fucking baby-“ He praised as he grit his teeth.

His orgasm was intense, he pumped it all into you, deep and heavy and hot into your cunt. You siezed around him, the tell tale signs of you squirting around him were obvious.

“Oh fuck! Oh shit baby! So fucking good! Squirting for me, making a mess while i knock you up.”

Slowly both your bodies relaxed, he slipped out with a trail of cum leaking from your swollen hole.

“mm, gonna have to get a little plug for this pussy. Keep you plugged with my cum.” He cooed, running a finger to collect the slick liquid that oozed out of you.

“Mm, want you to pump me full and feel swollen up with it.” You hummed dazed and fucked out.

“We’ll see my love.” His hands retreated from your sensitive heat now glistening with the mix of both of your releases. You eyes had fluttered shut and you found shock in his wet fingers pressing at the seal of your lips.

“Clean my fingers off baby. Taste.” He whispered, pressing them past your lips. You whimpered around the intrusions before your eyes drooped and you felt yourself slipping to sleep, his fingers a comforting weight on your tongue. The remaining salty taste of both of you was like a gentle reminder of how much he loved you.

You fell asleep quickly, fucked to exhaustion after waking up to him. But you’d never been more content than wrapped in him and oozing his show of pleasure.

“Love you.” He’d slurred a little before you were dead to the world. Hot thralls of love seeped into you.

a/n: Helloooo! Ive been incredibly busy! This took a week longer than planned but shoutout my twitter loves for motivation. Pls do feel free to send reqs in my ask box!

#eddie munson smut #sleepyspnap #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfiction #daddy!eddie #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x afab reader #eddie munson x race neutral! reader #stranger things smut

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myafterlifeisbetterthenyours · 2 years

Note

May I request a hc of Val, Striker, Husker, and Stolas with an male s/o that has a Medusa tattoo?? Maybe they ask what the meaning of the tattoo is and find out why they got it

Male S/O with a Medusa Tattoo

(TW: Mentions of past sexual assault.)

Valentino

Youd been killing and fighting long before you'd died, made something of a lifestyle from it. But when you finally took that big dirt nap, you'd been... freed.

Youd run with plenty of gangs, so when you landed in Pentagram, you finding the entire city essentially one gang terf after another, you fit right in.

Youd quickly sign up to a gang, and seemingly over night you were the top lieutenant, and then, well, you got tired of working for an idiot.

So, you usually ended up killing your boss.

Youd drift from gang to gang, working your way up before either walking away or killing your former boss.

Youd begin working independently for the highest bidder.

And it'd be after a particularly pricey job, you wiping out a large drug den, killing a few dozen men and when you walked out, you'd come face to face with Valentino himself.

Apparently that was his drug den you'd just cleared, and coming face to face with the man you were less then impressed, although he was taller then expected, telling him as much, much to the Overlords amusement.

Youd explain you'd done the job for money, nothing personal, tell him how you'd do it again.

At that, Val was fairly impressed.

So, he'd offer you a job, no price too high for the Overlord.

And thats how you ended up working for the man. And while the money and access to top of the line weapons were most definitely a positive, what you loved most?

Valentino was smart!

You could actually respect the man, of course you were still warry of the man, as you were with any man you caught making eyes at you.

But despite the initial mistrustnd you quickly worked your way up to his inner circle, you worked so well, you didn't even care about getting paid.

And Val found you just as interesting.

Finding your mentality and abilities very fascinating. The man taking a deep interest in you, the two of you often speaking before or after meetings, or when he was on the move, you basically following him around until he needed something done.

And you always got it done.

And it'd be after a particularly heavy night of drinking, something you often did with the man, Valentino insisting upon it.

And after some drinky, you'd end up in bed together, something he did with many of his employees, although you were far from a pushover, fighting him in the sack, demanding he go slow, the man easing you into it, surprised by your initial reaction.

This would happen several more times until some genuinly gooey feelings seemed to bloom between you.

Of course he kept it on the DL, not wanting something like a real relationship to mess up his image.

But given your close position to the Overlord, and his already lecherous nature, no one bat an eye at your affair.

And it's be after one of these heavy nights of passion, that you'd be sat on the edge of your bed, lighting a cigarette.

And that'd be when he'd point out the large madusa tattoo coupled around your arm.

Youd be silent for a little while, taking another puff of your cigarette before telling him.

Youd ask if he knew the story of Medusa, how she sought out protection from Athena as Posiden pursued, and when he forced himself on her, Athena... Athena punished her for being assaulted.

Youd always been around criminal's. Gangbangers and mobsters, grew up around them, they were like family. And the leader of your former gang had taken a liking to you.

He... he wanted you. And when you didnt just give in, he took you, and when word got out youd been violated by the man.

Like *That*, you were a social pariah. You were call slurs, branded as some... slut, some... nothing.

You bacame nothing.

And so you decided yo prove them wrong. You killed them. You killed them all.

You went from gang to gang, killing for anyone who you could.

And the Tattoo... the Tattoo was to remind you. To remind you you weren't a victim. You were a monster, made by a monster, and you'd make sure no one ever victimised you again.

You were sat there for a long while before you felt his arms slide around you, pulling you back into his broad chest.

The overlord gently playing with your hair as you laid against him.

He'd tell you he liked you, but you knew he was a bad guy. Did more evil then most could in several lifetimes. Not to mention he was a Pimp. He did shit like what had happened to you, and... understood if you hated that about him.

That would be a major issue in any kinda relationship.

Youd simply tell him you were hardly one to judge.

You'd killed hundreds of people, innocent and otherwise, in many, many horrific ways. What happened to you was horrific, but it's Hell, kill or be killed. And you couldn't hold it against Val if he acted horrifically.

At that Valentino would kiss you softly, the two of you quickly wrapped in a loving embrace, the Overlord holding you close.

Youd never really be an "Item" out in the open, your relationship would never really breach his inner circle, mostly for your safety and to maintain his Image as a master Pimp.

Things like genuine emotions weren't allowed in his lifestyle.

Val would also turn down the 'Pimp' aspect of his life. Well, at least when he was with you, although you'd let him know he didn't have too, you were a grown up and had chosen to be with the Pimp. But the Overlord would insist, actively playing up his "gentlemen" persona.

The two of you having a well hidden, but also very intimate relationship, The overlord seeming to genuinely come to care for you.

Striker

Youd met at a bar, the two of you having just finished your respective job, both of you in a better mood then usual, celebrating your victory with a drink.

Youd end up talking, quickly bonding over your mutual work in the killing industry. Striker so rarely meeting other professionals.

As in, actual professionals. Not some goon.

Youd share drink after drink, speaking on the many jobs you'd done. Although you had an edge, having killed many when you were alive. But Striker playfully told you those didn't count.

Youd drink some more, the two of you boasting or bragging over your achievements on the job.

And after a grand night together, it would become something of a tradition for the two of you.

Every week or so, usually after a job well done, you'd meet at the bar, sharing a few drinks and usually just talking.

This would go on for months, the two of you slowly building a friendship, and as Striker did with anyone he found worthy, hed begin a very flirty relationship.

And at that you got stiff. As in uncomfortable, the Imp noticing and quickly easing up on the flirts, keeping himself on a bit of a leash.

Of course, that relationship would turn sexual eventually, after weeks of talking, and a particularly heavy night of drinking, the Imp inviting you back to his, and... we all know what would happen with the Cowboy Imp.

That wouldn't be the last time either, you often going over to his place after a job, or when you had nothing to do, the Imp doing the same at yours.

It'd be pretty early into this "friendship" when Striker would ask about the Tattoo. He of course wouldn't know anything about Greek Mythology.

So you'd tell him the story of Medusa, and how she was victimised.

Then you'd tell him your own story. How you were abused, then humiliated, tormented for something completely out of your control.

Then you'd explain how you killed them, getting the Tattoo to as a symbol, showing you weren't some victim. You were a monster, and you made sure everyone knew it.

It was also why it took you so long to get comfortable around the Imp, finding yourself finally comfortable to be around another man.

Striker would be a little surprised, but would simply lean against you, tail curling around the both of you as he called you a bad Mother-fucker, thanking you for opening up like that.

Youd snort, looking down at him and after staring at each other for several moments before you shared a tender kiss, the both of you falling back on the bed, holding each other close.

This being the first of many nights curled up with your serpent-like Imp, Striker promising himself he wouldn't let anything like that to happen again.

Husker

Whenever you weren't killing someone, you were typically thinking about killing someone.

And you did your best thinking over an alcoholic beverage.

It would be one night at such an establishment, nursing a beer bottle, that you'd meet Husk, the man wanting a drink but unable to pay for it.

So, you'd get him a drink.

You made plenty of cash and lived a humble lifestyle, so buying a round for some poor SOB wouldn't break the bank.

And so, with new drink in hand, you'd get to talking with the gruff looking cat. The cat already smelling like a distillery.

Hunker was a drunkard, that was clear, but he was a clever one at that, the man showing you a few tricks with the cards.

Sfter a few tricks, a round of poker and a Loooooot of drinks, Youd end up in bed together, a surprising turn of events as he didn't seem the sort go out on one night stands.

Neither were you, but you were drunk and the cat had his charm.

And well, the bottle had its own power~

And so, that first morning was awkward to be sure, the Cat practically disappearing after a rough breakfast, not even saying goodbye.

But a few days later, at that same bar, who would you find sat at the bar, trying to get a drink, unable to pay.

Youd again buy him a drink and well, you getting along quickly once more and well, rinse and repeat.

This would happen 2 more times before Husk stuck around for breakfast proper.

And well, after that, you found the two of you spending a great deal of time together.

Now, husker was certainly an alcoholic, and you actually picked up something of a drinking habit from the cat, but you were already a cold blooded killer, so a bit of alcoholism couldnt hurt.

But Husker was a great drinking buddy.

He knew all the best drinking holes, and had a hangover cure to cure any hangover.

It would be after another heated night in bed, the cat would be laid beside you, when he'd ask about the Tattoo.

And after a few moments of silence, you'd tell him.

Youd tell him about how the person you most looked up too, had brutalised you. Violated you. And everyone you knew and trusted had turned on you, treating you like it were your fault.

You were made a monster, much like Medusa by Athena, so you showed them a monster. The Tattoo a reminder of how it wasn't your fault, how a victim could become a monster.

Husker would awkwardly sit there, telling you that was some heavy shit, you laughing at the cat's unsure nature.

Youd lay there a while longer before turning to him, telling him he should move in. You didn't like him sleeping in alleyways or outside a bar. You trusted him and wanted... something.

And after several moments, the Cat would agree, although he didn't actually have anything to bring to your place.

Youd just laugh, pulling the cat close as you both drifted to sleep.

Stolas

Funnily enough, you actually met through Stella.

And by 'through Stella' I mean, she hired you to kill him.

And after falling through his roof, having climbed through it to surprise him, youd be laid there, staring up at the man where you'd tell him you'd been hired to kill him.

Stolas was caught off guard but remained surprisingly calm about it all, probably because he could turn you to stone with a glance.

It was probably that.

But you'd end up talking for a while, you essentially finishing by telling him you wouldn't need to kill him, as you hadn't been paid yet, if you worked for him instead.

Stolas would consider it, before noting you were an assassin. The owl lewdly asking what other skill you had.

To which you'd smile, listing off several skills you had from fighting to fixing things, the Owl taken aback by the genuine response.

So, you'd talk a while longer, before he'd finally decide to hire you as his personal bodyguard. He would have hired you to kill Stella, but he didnt want to deprive Octavia of a mother, not to mention there was no guarantee you would switch over again.

And well, Stolas just wasn't that kinda guy.

You quickly found yourself genuinely liking Stolas, especially as a Boss.

You spent most of your time with the man, and while he appeared like any other snobbish noble Prick at the get-go, when you got closer to him, you found a very delicate creature.

And because of it, because he was a genuine person, you found yourself warming up to him.

He was a very deep, emotional individual, and seemed desperate for some kind of connection.

So, you began keeping him company, having nothing else to do when you weren't bodyguarding.

Technically you'd only been hired to protect him, but in his own palace, you were basically unneeded, as well as a long list of other places.

So you had plenty of time to talk about this and that.

You developed quite the little connection, genuinely coming to enjoy your time with the Owl, as both your boss and a companion.

And it'd be after yet another long conversation, that youd playfully ask if he'd like to take it to the bedroom, you knowing the pent up ball of repressed sexuality got dreadfully lonely between full moon visits from his Impish Plaything.

And even through his Flush face, he'd agree, the two of you awkwardly heading to the bedroom.

You were just as awkward as he was, the both of you easing into it, the man surprisingly encouraging.

It was a very passionate night, you not acting as course or unruly as Blitzø, but carefully and passionately.

You made love where Blitzø Fucked.

And for Stolas, that was a VERY new experience, the man never knowing sex as anything but rough and overwhelming, or slow and unpleasant.

I.E. Blitzø VS Stella.

And with your more intimate methods, he'd start to... feel things.

Strange things.

Like emotional things he'd only felt with Blitzø. And with you being with him all the time, connecting on bot a personal and intimate level, these emotions would only continue to grow.

Eventually you'd end up in bed again. And again.

Then again.

And it'd after one night together that he'd ask about the Tattoo. And so, after a few moments you'd tell him.

Youd explain Medusa, Stolas surprisingly already knowing the tale. So youd explain your assault. And the Victimisation that followed it.

How others seemed to blame you for the revolting acts that was forced upon you.

And finally how you got your revenge, becoming a monster yes, but never a Victim again.

Stolas took a moment to register everything, heart aching to hear you'd gone through all of that, and after a moment he'd get a little closer, telling you he didn't think you were a monster.

In fact, you were one of the best things that had ever happened to him, and he... he had developed feelings for you.

Strong feelings.

Youd look into the owls dazzling eyes, scanning his face for any deveption, before reaching out and cupping the man's cheek, pulling him in and planting a tender kiss on his... beak? On his lips.

The two of you just staying like that for a while, holding the other close before you'd gently thank him for being there.

The owl would refute it, thanking you for being there. For everything.

Hey everyone, so I actually don't like to shy away from such serious topics like sexual or domestic abuse, but I know these headcanons are a comfort to many men and women who just need them after a hard day and don't need to be reminded of past trauma.

As for the Tattoo of a Medusa, I did my best to respectfully and accurately depict.

And I didnt wanna imply anything with the reader being a monster in the headcanons, but it's hell and I know its a common, and unfortunate trend, for men that suffer abuse to propagate it onto others, so it made sense for them to be a brutal person. But I'm glad to be showing a bit of the male side when it comes to sexual assault, it's a subject all too rarely spoken about publicly.

But I do really hope you enjoyed, fell free to comment your thoughts as always, and thank you for reading. Bye Bye.

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demonpoxballad · 3 years

Text

Airport Scenes Always Make Me Cry

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count - ~1300

Summary - Movie night date with you and Steve - very cosy vibes with a pretty intense make-out sesh (eek!)

Warnings - quite sexual kissing, mention of an explicit scene from a movie, mention of Steve's crotch region.

Masterlist

Hi again! I apologise for the lack of context with these oneshots - maybe one day I'll write a chapter where they meet, but I'm enjoying just doing random little scenes at the moment. Again, if anyone has suggestions or requests send them my way <3

- Liv xx

“Hi! How are you?” Steve sounded excited and nervous to see you as he leaned over to give you a kiss on the cheek.

You scrunched your eyes up in delight before quickly reverting to a cool demeanour as he drew back to look at you. At least, you hoped it looked cool. “I’m good, how are you doing?” You stumbled across the threshold and handed him the flowers you had bought as a thank you for having you over.

It seemed like he loved the flowers, he wouldn’t stop thanking you and talking about how nice they were. “Come in, come in! I’ve just done pizza and snacks; I hope that’s okay?”

It was more than okay – the living room looked so cosy and the smell of mozzarella and basil made your stomach rumble. “Sounds perfect. Thank you so much for having me over again.” You took your snow boots and coat off and left them at the entry way.

“Seriously, it’s my pleasure,” he called from the kitchen, bustling about and putting the flowers in water. You took a moment to scream silently and hop about giddily in the hallway. “Are you a fan of the snow? It’s been pretty crazy out there today.”

You forced yourself to stand still like a normal adult. “It’s actually my favourite type of weather.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I just love how everything looks, and how cold it is.” Granted, you were freezing from the walk, but Steve’s flat was so snug, and you couldn’t wait to curl up on the sofa and watch a film with him.

“I have to admit, it doesn’t bring up fond memories for me,” he said, good-humouredly. He grinned cheekily at your shocked face, leaning against the kitchen doorway with his arms folded across his chest. You felt horrible for laughing, but it seemed like he didn’t mind making fun of himself. “Please, sit down,” he gestured to the living room.

You tentatively perched on the sofa with a blanket whilst Steve put the film on - you had both decided on ‘Love, Actually’, which suited the wintery night. He plopped down right next to you, shoulder brushing yours, even though the sofa was big enough for four. The blood rushing violently in your ears drowned out the opening of the film.

Eventually you relaxed and settled into the sofa, bringing your legs up and resting them against his, shifting the blanket to share between the two of you. That gave him the encouragement to bring his arm up and around your shoulders. You were both grinning to yourselves like teenage idiots.

The food was as good as it smelled, with gooey chocolate brownies for pudding. “Hey – you have, um…,” Steve started, pointing at your face.

Of course you would make an absolute tit of yourself. “What? Is it all over my face?” You tried to get rid of it but your hand had chocolate on it too and just seemed to make the situation worse. Steve threw his head back in laughter while you flapped around, trying to hide your face from his.

“Hey! No, here, let me,” he insisted, ignoring your mumbling noises of protest and reaching over to hold your chin, wiping your lips gently. Whilst his gaze was concentrated on your mouth you found yourself staring at his eyes, quickly flitting back to the tv when he caught you. You felt his gaze lingering on you as you tried not to smile bashfully, glaring intently at the screen.

“Stop it.”

“What?! I’m not doing anything!.” He definitely was. His watching felt like touching, and it was all you could do not to shudder.

After a while he resumed watching the film, thumb gently comforting your collarbone.

Every now and again you would glance up to see if he was enjoying it. He always noticed and grinned down at you, giving your shoulder a squeeze. You giggled nervously at his shocked face whenever the porn actors’ scenes came on, slightly worried that he would feel too uncomfortable. But he seemed to find it funny too, even though his eyes were darting around the room, no idea where to look.

During the airport scene at the end of the film, you couldn’t help but feel a bit weepy, it always got to you. Steve surprised you when you looked over at him to see his eyes looking a bit damp and red. “What can I say? I’m a romantic,” he chuckled while wiping his eyes, and your heart fluttered with how fond you were becoming of him. You gently peppered his face with kisses, tasting the salt on his eyelids and making him giggle even more.

He sneakily turned his head to catch one of the kisses directed at his cheek, drawing you in to his sweet, hot embrace. His other hand ventured to your leg, gently caressing it as he bent over you. A squeal escaped your lips as you clung onto his shoulders to avoid toppling backwards. He took the hint and adjusted his grip, cradling your shoulder blades with his hands.

Then he started to deepen the kiss, teasing open your mouth and stroking it with his tongue. You responded eagerly, licking his bottom lip and sucking it into your mouth. A growl slipped out of his mouth, so deeply pitched you felt it in the pit of your stomach.

“C’mere,” he murmured, grabbing your waist and pulling you on top of him, your knees settling on either side of his hips. You tried not to think too much about the bulge in his jeans pressing into you. It seemed like a good sign, but you weren’t that experienced and thinking about anything contained in his pants concretely made you feel a bit panicky.

It felt good to be on top, to have more control and be able to sit back and look at Steve whenever you liked. You did that a lot in between making out, clutching his jumper into your fists and massaging the soft muscle underneath with your fingertips. You loved just staring at his face, tracing his eyebrows, feeling the flutter of lashes as he blinked. He seemed to enjoy these moments as much as you, taking the opportunity to run his hands up and down your waist and back, appreciating the way your body curved and folded. He even brushed his hands up the inseam of your jeans, which sent literal shockwaves through your body, shallow breaths gasping out of your chest.

Eventually he pulled back and reached to the collar of his jumper. “I promise I’m not getting naked,” he said breathlessly as he yanked his jumper over his head. You really wouldn’t have complained. “I’m just – warm.” It was true, the air around the pair of you felt like it was throbbing with heat, but you knew he always ran a little toasty anyway. His shirt was all rucked up after taking his jumper off, showing a strip of skin lightly trailed with dark blonde hair. He pulled it down self-consciously – you were probably gawking – and then took a hold of your hips to pull you close again.

You spent 40 minutes there on the sofa curled over Steve, stroking him with your mouth like you needed his contact to breathe. And when you both grew tired, lips swollen and numb, he lay down with you on top, head resting on his chest.

“I should probably go home soon.”

“I don’t want you to.” His legs came up either side of your waist, playfully circling around as if to keep you from leaving.

You smiled sleepily against his t-shirt. “I don’t want to, but I should.”

“I know.” He held up your face and kissed you on the nose. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Yes please.”

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow?” God, he was cute. You pressed your lips against each corner of his smile.

“Yes and yes and yes.”

#marvel #Steve Rogers #Captain America #Steve x Reader #Steve Rogers x Reader #Steve Rogers Oneshot #Steve Rogers Fluff #Movie Night #Date Night #soft!steve rogers #soft!steve rogers/female!reader #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers/you #steve rogers fanfiction #fluff #Love Actually

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proserpina-magnus · 3 years

Note

Hiiiiii could I request a Marauders x reader… platonic. Where they are just coaxing her through a bad day/migraine?

Hii! there isn't that much comforting other then them being clingy and sorta protective, but I still hope you like!!

The Marauders When You Have A Migraine

Word count; 1.8k

[ Warning: fem reader, doodles, eating, migraines/description of headaches, swearing, Sirius refers to you as “their baby” ]

Quick note, there’s a scene where the boys draw on the reader with a marker. I didn’t specify what colour the marker was, so depending on your skin colour you can interrupt the colour as you wish.

You slumped at the Gryffindor dining table, hair matted in a low messy hairstyle. You didn't even try and brush it out, you woke up and left it how it was. You couldn't even bring yourself to dress in new fresh clothing, you wore what you slept in.

Eyeing the breakfast options, you felt a pain tingle through your head. The nerves bunching and squeezing together to make it unbearable to concentrate.

" [ name ]! We have class in 15 minutes and you're not even dressed!" James bellowed from across the table, you pushed your shoes against the floor and slumped. Remus gave a confused look, his eyes narrowing as he glanced between Peter and Sirius.

"Come on, we have time to get some food in 'ya," Sirius declared, pushing toast onto your plate. The curly raven haired male even buttered your toast just the way you liked, even filling your glass with fresh squeezed orange juice.

"How 'ya feel-in?" Peter pronounced through mouthfuls of food, James swatting the blonds head in retaliation. "Wormy, don't speak with your mouth full,"

Sirius cackled from beside you, Peter stomped his foot onto Sirius in response. Sirius made a dramatic scene, falling towards the cold stone floor as he held his foot with forced shaky breaths. "My foot! My foot! I've been assaulted!" He whined, rolling from side to side.

Remus lets out a loud sigh from beside you, your head buzzing from the noise of ongoing chatter. You could hear James laugh loudly, like he always does. Usually his laugh was contagious, but it was incredibly annoying at the moment. Along with snickers and loud whines, you gripped your cup and brought it to your lips. Peter swallowed, reaching for another pancake as he watched you take long sips.

" ya never answered my question," Peter rambled before taking a gracious bite. You shrugged, Sirius sliding back into his seat. The boys all looked towards you, your fork picking at the blueberries Sirius pushed onto your plate moments prior.

"Another headache?" James asked, cleaning his pants from crumbs as he pushed his finished plate aside. You nodded briefly, a plain expression adorned on your features. Another hot buzz dangled in your mind, your forehead throbbing along with it.

"Maybe we should take you to madam Pomfry, you shouldn't be getting them this often," Remus responded. Sirius made a pouting face, before he took you into his arms.

"Our baby is hurt!" Sirius exaggerated loudly, causing staring eyes to look towards the group of friends. You flushed a bit, embarrassed by Sirius nature. You pushed him away, going back to picking at your food.

"I ain't nobody's baby," you said while pushing Sirius further away, James and Peter sniggered as Sirius made puppy dog eyes. You rolled your eyes, a bit grumpy from the constant throbbing.

"Bloody hell, it fucking hurts. It's not even bad, it's just the constant throbbing is pissing me off," you complained, shoving the piece of toast in your mouth. You watched as students finished eating, occasionally leaving for their first class of the day.

The boys all exchanged looks, Remus placing a hand on your back to give it a gentle rub. You push your plate back, your arms coming on the table as you rest in them.

As more students leave, professor Mcgonagall makes her way over to your rambunctious group. She softens at the scene, seeing the four boys rub your shoulder or arms to try and give their sympathy.

You sigh as you hear her shoes click with the ground, professor Mcgonagall stands a few inches away from you all. She clears her throat, all eyes directing towards her except for you.

"Class is about to start... is there a problem with miss [ last name ]?" The older woman asked, trying to mask her worry. Remus had explained earlier to her that you had been having numerous migraines.

"She's having another headache Minnie, our baby is dying!" Sirius exclaimed, Remus reaching over to swat him away from you with an annoyed look plastered on his face. Even though you couldn't see Sirius, you laughed as you thought about his whining face.

Professor Mcgonagall clasped her tongue, about to tell off Sirius for the nickname he'd given her. But instead, she placed her attention on you.

"I'll take her to the infirmary, surely madam Pomfrey has a potion to help," she explained, the boys all standing together in the same motion. You still kept your head pressed into your forehead.

"Can we go with her?" James whispered, hoping that they could be with you. They all hated when you were in pain, it felt like they had to protect you. You were their bestfriend, they surely couldn't let a thing ever bug you unless it was them.

"I'm sorry Potter, but you have class," Professor McGonagall frowned, the boys were about to protest to stay with you. But Minnie quickly shut them down, her hand raising as all the boys shut their jaws closed.

"It's alright, I'll see you later," you told them, raising with a throb as you walked with them all towards the doors. You parted way painfully, Sirius almost crying as he clung onto your leg. The rest of the boys watched, even James tearing up. He took his round spectacles off, dabbing his eyes with a spare cloth he had in his pocket.

"You can't be serious," you retorted at them, an annoyed look on your face as Minnie checked her watch with frowned eyes.

"Well... technically," Sirius began, but he couldn't finish his sentence as you kicked him off of you. You were upset, tired, and in pain. As much as you loved them, they were too much sometimes.

"Just go, I'll see you later," you tried to cover up your annoyed state, but the boys picked up on it. Sirius straightened up, fixing his shirt as they left with their heads down casted towards the ground.

"Idiots they are," you told Professor McGonagall, she only laughed and led you towards the infirmary.

—-

After a few missed classes, it was finally lunch. All the boys scrambled to the dining hall, shoving foods on plates. They ignored the stares, jogging up to the infirmary where you slept.

With the creak of the door, Sirius and James peaked inside. They saw no one, only a lump on the farthest bed. They all skipped over to you with slow whispers, trying to make sure you won’t wake up. Sirius pushed the blanket of your face, all of them relieved to see you still asleep.

“Prongs, do you have a spare marker on you?” Sirius asked, a growing smirk on his face. James put down the plate on a nearby table, fishing through his pockets to try and find a marker.

“Pads, no,” Remus said sternly, knowing what the raven haired male would do. Peter looked between the three boys, a bit unsure of what Sirius was going to do. The blonde boy put his plate near James, picking up half a sandwich as he sat near your feet.

“Pads yes,” Sirius smiled widely, James passing him the thick inked marker. Remus rolled his eyes, not stopping Sirius from his antics. Sirius crawled on the bed, an evil smile on his features as he unclasped the marker. He wrote “baby” with big thick letters on your forehead, giggling when you twitched and tried to swat his hand away in your sleeping state.

“Give me the marker,” James whispers, not waiting for Sirius to pass him it as he snatched it for himself. The bispecticle male drew 4 happy stick figures and a rat on your cheek, his tongue poked out in concentration.

“Why am I the only one in my amingi form?” Peter asked, frowning as James passed him the marker. He began to draw a small smiley face in your open palm, writing a messy “Peter was here” on your arm.

“Because, there wasn’t enough room and plus, you’re cuter in rat form,” James teased, but his words sounded very sweet so Peter took it as a compliment. Sirius and Remus cackled loudly, making you stir awake. Your eyes fluttered open, looking around between the boys above you.

“Uh… hello?” You greeted, stretching slightly as you looked around the empty room. Sirius pushed Peter and James away from the bed, sprawling his limbs out to hog you from their affection.

“Hi!” They all chanted at once, Remus moving closer as he pushed at Sirius to make room. The tall male sat down, rummaging through his bag for a minute before pulling out a chocolate bar.

“Eat,” Remus said, even opening the wrapper for you. He broke off a piece, swatting Sirius's wandering hand when he tried to take a piece for himself. You sat up on the bed, unaware of the markings on your skin. You chewed the gooey chocolate, resting against the bed frame with a satisfied hum.

“Did you bring me food?” You asked, a smile on your face as you realized all the plates. The boys nodded, bringing the plates over for you all to feast upon.

“What’s so funny?” You asked when Sirius started to laugh, James also chuckling. You irked slightly, touching over your face to try and see if there were crumbs. This made the boys laugh harder, making you feel embarrassed as you choke out a “what? Is there something on my face?”

You notice the little doodle Peter left you, realizing what had happened. You pushed Sirius's head, making him bump into James. You laughed at the scene, both boys rubbing their forehead with a pouty face.

“Does it come off?” You asked Remus, a sigh on your lips as you ran off towards the bathroom.

“Nope,” he called out, a small smile on his face. You looked in the mirror, seeing the obvious doodles drawn by your boys. You knew exactly who the culprit was for the big letters written on your forehead.

“Sirius! What the hell is this?” You called, stomping back to the bed where they all sat. Sirius raises his hands, pointing to James and Peter. “It’s not just me! They did it as well!”

“You bitch,” James gasped, a hand on his heart as he held a dramatic glint in his eyes. Peter dropped his head, muttering his apologies. All the boys start to bicker at Sirius, calling him a tattletale. You smile and lean back against the bed, bringing a biscuit to your mouth as you watch the quarrel unfold, this was definitely the entertainment you needed on this shitty day.

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thotsforvillainrights · 2 years

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May I have headcannons for Chimera, skeptic, and Nine with an S/o who's sweet and kind nature often gets them flirted with but they're often either oblivious or not sure how to take it?

(Omg I love the idea of this!)

~Chimera/Skeptic/Nine Oblivious S/O~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

~Chimera~

-He always on your back about your kindness. Sure it was alright sometimes but he’d prefer if you toughened up just a bit more. He saw the world different than you did. It was hard for him to appreciate any good in the world before he found himself falling for you. He sees everything more for what it is. It doesn’t help that he’s been through some pretty rough stuff for most his life. That’s why he wants to make sure you’re not being too soft on folks. “If you don’t stop all that kindness then someone bad is gonna come along and take advantage of it. People are gonna use you like a doormat and suck the life out of you until there is nothing left. Are ya even listening right now? Hey! Y/N!” You’ve chosen to ignore his daily lecturing in exchange for smelling the roses...smelling the literal roses outside of a florist shop. He rolled his eyes and watched you from a distance. A small smile was beginning to work its way onto his face when he felt a twang of love bubbling up in his chest from simply watching you be so happy. Suddenly out came one of the florist shop workers. He continued standing at a distance but he listened to the conversation. The more this idiot spoke to you, the more angry Chojuro was becoming. You were just standing there and chatting as if the worker wasn’t flirting with you?! You were just too oblivious for your own good. Chojuro sighed and decided to step in. You yelped suddenly when you felt strong hands wrap around you. The familiar scent of whiskey and cigar smoke greeted you from behind. You were calm when you realized it was just Chojuro holding you, but he was the complete opposite. Call it animalistic but he didn’t care being seen as a beast just this once. He growled menacingly until the shop worker got the silent message to go away. You’d surely get another lecture from Chimera when you got home, but you likely didn’t care to listen lol.

~Skeptic~

-He loved you, he truly did...but sometimes he wondered if you were short a few braincells or not. Your constant kindness wasn’t the huge issue here. In fact, he liked that you were kinder than him since it helped to balance him out. The amount of times you’ve brought him down from a rampage far outweighs the small amount of times he could calm himself without you. On top of that, your kindness made him feel sort of gooey inside (which he didn’t want to admit of course). No, the big issue here was the fact you were oblivious often to many things. Worst of all, you were oblivious to other people flirting with you. Someone could say something to you as clear as day and you wouldn’t interpret it as a ploy to get at you. Nope! You just carried on as if all was well while thinking that you must’ve made a new friend. Now there wasn’t much he could do when you two were apart as he’s been trying to not overwhelm you by keeping satellites on you at all times. However, when he’s with you then he’s observant and ready to snap at a moment if need be. Now was one of those times. “Y/N let’s go home alright? I’m getting hungry and it’s too hot out here.” He lied. The temp was just fine and he’d eaten lunch with you not even 30 minutes ago. You were too busy happily chatting with the skeeze that decided to just ignore Skeptic was there and focus only on you. Finally he couldn’t take it anymore and got extremely close in the person’s face. “This is my partner. They’re taken so if you’ve got any use in those twigs of yours that you call legs, then use them to get out of here.” You could finally read the scene in front of you and prepared to calm him down. Luckily the person listened and took off after seeing Skeptic’s expression. You should apologize to him for subjecting him to that scene just now. Or else he’ll be pissy for the rest of the evening.

~Nine~

-He’s very patient with you since he’s come to learn so much about your personality over time. He notices how much kindness you house inside that body of yours. To him you were like the warmth of the sun after near constant cover of rainfall. You were something the world truly needed, a soft spot wedged between all the roughness surrounding everything. However, some people were more drawn to you than others. Some people (despite him being at you side obviously) wanted you to themselves. They wanted something to call theirs. The only fault he would say you have is that you seem to be oblivious to all of this. Due to you being so kind, people just keep on trying over and over. It’s frustrating to say the least but don’t worry, he’s not frustrated at you. It’s those people that upset him greatly. So he makes sure to stay very close to you when going out together in case he needs to put the moves on you. To you it’s just a sweet sudden gesture of his affections. A quick kiss or two. But to the people trying to win you over, it’s a display of dominance and a marking of territory. It’s clear now that you were taken. The person apologizes and walks away. Now if only Nine could find a way to help you see advances when he wasn’t around to protect you...

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my heo academia #bnha nine #bnha chimera #chojuro kon #skeptic bnha #tomoyasu chikazoku #Headcanon

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chubbology · 3 years

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The Munchies

prompt: a stoner feedee's girlfriend uses him to test out new edibles and deals with his munchies

Remmy returned home from visiting relatives on the last day of December, and he was very glad to be back. They’d fed him well and his pants were tight, but all the small talk and bad vibes had been as much of a drag as usual.

He opened the door to his apartment and breathed in a familiar, potent scent.

“Baby!” Brianna ran from the kitchen and tackled him.

“Happy almost New Year! Wanna hear my resolution? Baking and getting baked. Check it out.”

She brought him over to the counter, where she was almost done filling up three containers of what Remmy had no doubt were various edibles. He ignored the kitchen mess.

“I’m liking what I see,” Remmy laughed.

She preened and then pinched his love handle. “I bet you do."

"These aren’t your typical brownies, though," she said. "This is gourmet.” She kissed her fingertips in a muah.

The first container was full of moist shortbread, the second with a kind of apple crumble dish that looked divine. Last but not least, the third had a jumble of what like peanut butter cups.

“Try something!” Brianna gushed. She seemed to be a little floaty already. “You’re gonna be my new taste tester. I think I could really be good at this. Make some cash, too.”

So Remmy tried one of the peanut butter cups. His eyes widened, and he smiled. “Bri, these are incredible.” He ate another.

“Take it easy. Two should get you stoned. So says the recipe anyway.” Brianna rubbed his pudgy forearm as he eyed the rest in the container, biting the inside of his lip. “Hey. If you’re just hungry, I can fix that. You wanna eat?”

“I’m starving,” Remmy said. A lie, since he’d had a big lunch before driving back. But he could eat.

“Okay, I’ll get you something! Pay day was Monday. Let’s splurge. What do you want?”

McDonalds, Remmy’s mind supplied easily, in an almost salacious tone. His relatives thought they were too good for McDonalds, and now his body thrummed with the desire to just get a truckload of those greasy combos and revel in the guilt and satisfaction of eating every last unhealthy bite.

Then again. Brianna probably wasn’t okay to drive right now, he didn’t feel like getting back in the car, and the scale told him he’d hit 240 recently, “Let’s just order in.”

“Sounds good to me.”

That night, as they ignored the idiots on television bringing in the New Year, the two of them picked at the apple crumble - which tasted as brilliant as Remmy had suspected - and lounged around, enjoying their high. Brianna barely touched her Chinese takeout, and Remmy ate all of his. Then hers. Then he started grazing the kitchen for more food.

Over the course of the next week, the two of them finished off the rest of what she made, plus some more recipes that turned out delicious. Brianna got a pleasant high every time, and Remmy enjoyed the edibles, too, although his experience was slightly different. It was just—

He just—

He got hungry. Munchies but on unholy overdrive. Cranked to eleven and a half. With every high, Remmy became a little more overwhelmed by the sheer amount of food he felt compelled to pack away, savory and sweet. Takeout and fast food and quarts of ice cream. Nuts and fruits, too. Jar of peanut butter here. Tub of icing there. He’d never been very active, so it came as no surprise when his clothes began stretching over his chest and belly and thighs and ass. He popped a button getting dressed one morning and couldn’t stop thinking about it the rest of the day. He hadn’t realized it would happen so quickly, his body converting all the calories into flab. Flab that padded him out chubbier than he already was, and then more on top of that. In the mirror, he started to look big.

Brianna seemed unfazed by her boyfriend’s growing girth. She took to her baking resolution with as much gusto as she did anything that interested her, and even into March, April, and May, she was selling the edibles well and raked in money that almost made her day job obsolete. Remmy was constantly praised for being “the bestest taste tester ever” and enjoyed a steady stream of free highs to balance out the lows of spending most of his time working his IT job from home.

Working, gaming, watching old movies. Remmy already stayed sitting most of the day, but as he gained weight, gained a lot, filling out his desk chair to its limits, crumbs becoming his constant companion, he felt even less like standing up. His weight climbed to 280, 290, 300.

June, July, and August passed uneventfully, and pretty happily, too. Brianna stopped asking him what food he wanted from the grocery store and just bought him things. Bought him things she knew he’d eat when he got high, things that made his ass spread wider on the couch, his arms round out like sausages, his pudgy chest start to really droop. The scale said 320, 330, 340.

Remmy gave up trying to gain control of the new appetite Brianna’s heavenly edibles seemed to install in him irrevocably. When he craved, he ate, and he ate. And like a dam breaking, his body surged with so much excess fat he began spilling out of even his newest clothes.

He was a little ashamed, sure. But quite a few of his relatives were fat, so they couldn't talk, and it felt like sweet revenge to embarrass his irritating parents by becoming so overweight. As for everyday life, well, he just moved around from room to room slower, wore the same stretchy clothes a lot, and that was it. Remmy did mention his weight in passing sometimes to gauge Brianna’s feelings about it, but Brianna only ever giggled, called him cute, and passed him her venti sugary monstrosity of a coffee concoction, which he thoughtlessly sucked down to the dregs, ingesting a thousand-plus calories just like that. This made her eyes sparkle, huge and utterly endeared.

“Like a piggy,” she said, thumbing his fat cheek. “Always willing to eat.”

In bed, she made it clear she liked him the way he was, and was becoming. And it wasn’t long before Remmy realized he was into how big he was becoming, too.

They continued like this. Getting high together and watching movies and making out and snacking. Well, Brianna snacked. Remmy feasted. Gorged himself, to put it precisely, with Brianna’s enthusiastic help. “You look good soft,” she’d tell him, playing with belly fat that his stretchiest t-shirts couldn’t cover anymore.

Remmy would swallow another bite of a snickers and spread his huge thighs a little, with effort. “You call it soft, but I’m the one who gets tired moving from the office to the kitchen.” I’m so heavy, he wanted to say. God, I’m so heavy.

“Just move your computer to the kitchen then,” she said. “Duh.”

It was a seed planted that came to fruition a month later - when Remmy’s food cravings became unmanageable and his weight climbed past 360 - that he felt he would simply be more productive during his day job if his breaks to get food from the kitchen were shorter.

By November, whether he was high or not, Remmy was grazing all day, everyday. What Brianna got from the store became insufficient, and he started a habit of ordering take out most days. In big portions. His scale creaked at 375. When Brianna wasn’t home, he sometimes ate takeout on the scale to see if the number would rise.

On Remmy’s birthday in early December, Brianna made a fresh batch of his favorites again: the peanut butter cup edibles. After ordering pizza for delivery, she got in the shower, and Remmy scarfed down three of the big cups as soon as they cooled. Then he waited, leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone, belly hanging, feet hurting. He didn’t want to go to the effort of sitting on the couch and getting back up again when he could just stay in the kitchen, where he knew he’d end up anyway.

He scratched his supple underbelly. Found a pack of Twizzlers and started eating those.

Soon enough, his breathing slowed as he felt the high slowly come over him. And, as expected, his whole body immediately began to tingle for satiation. Fattening food sung to him from the pantry and fridge and freezer all at once, and it was all going to make him so huge and heavy he wouldn’t be able to stand on his own wide feet, but he wanted it anyway.

He didn’t care if he was pushing 390 now. He’d blown up, yeah. Inflated from a thick guy to obese and waddling. At this point, he was so pumped so big with blubber that he couldn’t twitch without jiggling, but so what? He was hungry. Being high made him want to consume, and so he did. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.

Remmy opened the fridge and took out his birthday cake, which Brianna must have stuck in there after getting home from work. He couldn’t wait to eat it properly. There was no way he could wait until after the pizza came. Besides, it was his birthday. Remmy took off the plastic lid of the round, triple chocolate cake and felt his nerves light up with anticipation. He was going to eat it all, and there was no stopping him.

He found a knife and cut himself a slice three times the size any reasonable person would take. Desperate to get the goodness into his mouth without delay, he skipped a fork and bit right into the gooey, dense cake and mouse and fudge. God, Brianna was so perfect for getting him the unhealthiest cake imaginable. She knew he didn’t care if he was ten pounds heavier tomorrow, if his fat ass ripped his sweatpants open, if he ate so much he couldn’t haul himself to bed—she knew he needed this.

He ate slice after slice, and it was mostly gone when Brianna got out of the shower, looking sexier than usual in her matching purple lingerie. She’d gotten chubbier with so much junk food in the apartment, and fat clung to her in all the right places. But her pudge was a far cry from his angry-red stretch marks and neck rolls. Hell, his moobs had grown bigger than her tits.

She found him in the kitchen, eating and holding his drooping belly, and she rubbed his back, cooing at him when he apologized.

“It’s okay. I figured you wouldn’t be able to wait all night. How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Remmy said, but all he could think about was getting his next bite. As she watched him, he tried to hold out. Tried to prove he could stop eating for two seconds. Three seconds, four - his resolve broke and he crammed the rest of a slice into his mouth and chewed, choking back a moan.

“You get the munchies so bad, don’t you?” Brianna grinned and leaned against his belly, patting and cupping his weighty breasts in the way she knew pleased him. “Let’s get you sat down. I’ll bring you what you need. Just sit and relax and watch whatever you want.” They moved to the couch and Remmy sat, the cushions wheezing, his thighs and belly quivering. Brianna tucked the remainder of the cake into his pudgy hands. “Don’t worry about a mess. It’s your birthday. And there’s more where that came from.” She winked. “I just needed to keep this cake refrigerated because it’s fancy. There’s a whole sheet cake on top of the fridge that’s cheap and huge. Covered in icing. Perfect for munchies.”

Remmy could only feel a wave of relief at this news. There would be more cake. And after that, there’d still be more junk in the cabinets. There was pizza coming. His high was just right. Brianna turned on the television to his favorite show and he settled further back into the cushions, feeling his second chin swell out and engulf his first. Everything was just right. He was lucky to have Brianna and food. So much food.

A year later, around the same time, Remmy skipped his usual trip to see his relatives for the holidays. At 520 pounds, it was simply too much effort to move.

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

#weight gain #fic #female feeder #male gainer #named

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aliensunflower-fics · 4 years

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Marinette Changes Schools: A funny little Lila salt prompt

So, there are a lot of ‘Marinette changes schools’ au’s and I love a whole bunch of them don't get me wrong. BUT the one thing I haven’t seen yet is Marinette changing schools not because of Lila or salt but simply because her parents are moving and they want her to attend a school close to home. So without further ado let me sell you on my little idea:

Lila has been plotting weeks worth of plans and lies, she’s thought up some sob stories about being stalked, about near death experiences, about celebrities that are like her family. She has plans for Marinette all the ways she could make the girl look bad and all the ways she could force Adrien to see her. That all goes out the window one day when she gets to school and it's a sob fest. There is a clear air of dread and dismay, the blue skies she saw on the way to school replaced with heavy storm clouds. And when she gets to class it's worse. Marinette and Alya are hugging and crying, Adrien looks like he's been shot, Nino and Kim are demanding to know ‘why’ even Chloe looks upset, her blue eyes a little glassy. Lila quickly learns why, Marinette’s parents' business is doing GREAT so great in fact that they have decided to open a second location! The twist? They also decided to move INTO the new location and with it being on the other side of Paris and her parents fears for their daughters safety that means Marinette is moving to a new school!

Now Lila doesn’t even have to school her face into a practiced expression of shock. She genuinely is shocked here she’d been planning months in advance picturing the ways she would destroy her rivals life and steal her friends! And now just like that Marinette is MOVING? Of course Lila quickly decides this is a good thing! After all if Marinette is out of the picture ruling the school will be that much easier. Sure Chloe might be queen bee but with Marinette gone people will be looking to replace her! In walks Lila Rossi, a gorgeous upstart model with a heart of gold and connections coming out of her bangs! She’d rule the school and Adrien would fall for her, then Marinette would probably come crawling back desperate for her old friends only to learn she’d snatched them all up! It was brilliant! And with Marinette gone she could probably do it in record time! So Lila covers up her smirk and says she’s devastated to hear that the twin tailed girl would be leaving and begins plotting.

In the month that follows Lila leaves Marinette alone letting her have her friends for what would be for the last time. After all if everyone still loved the designer when she left they’d be all the more eager to replace her with a new and better version. Of course just because Lila is playing nice doesn’t mean she enjoys it. Alya is practically glued to the girl and ignores Lila even when she’s not trying to sabotage Marinette. Adrien is acting like his life is ending and all anyone will talk about is Marinette. When she checks social media it's all just pictures of ‘old-great times with Marinette’ or new photos and videos of helping the girl pack up and move into her new room, which Lila seethes about for a week when she sees the photos of the spacious luxurious room with a private bath. Apparently the Dupain-Cheng’s new bakery was in a pretty ritzy rich neighborhood. During school Marinette is mobbed by a constant stream of people begging her to stay and when they accept that not happening they all at least beg her to ‘come back and visit’ Marinette promises and Lila has to hide her snort. Fat chance of that actually happening.

Finally the last day arrives and Lila has to hold back the urge to gag as everyone fills the nearby park giving Marinette gifts and heartfelt goodbyes. Adrien is the last one to offer his gift and Lila seethes as Marinette gingerly opens the box with a gasp and pulls out two brand new pink hair ribbons, and Adrien goes on to say that they’re made of imported silk! SILK, as if the little baker brat deserved silk! The whole exchange is cliche and romantic as Marinette removes her current hair ribbons to tie in the new ones and Adrien ties the old ones around his wrist like some idiot who doesn’t realize what a love struck longing look he's giving his ‘good friend’. But Lila just keeps reminding herself its just a bit longer and sure enough not long after the hideously gooey exchange between Adrien and Marinette is over the designer is leaving with more tears and farewells. FINALLY Lila thinks she can get back to what matters! Ruling her empire.

As it turns out ruling her empire is not what she thinks. For the first month after Marinette leaves all anyone will talk about is the photos she’s posted online. The first week its ALL about HER new school is a private well known academy with uniforms, and isn't Marinette cute in it? And look at her in her custom black kitty thigh highs? Lila wants to scream, but not as much as when she catches Adrien drooling over the photo of said thigh highs and twirling the old nasty hair ribbons around his wrist. The second week its all about the video tour of her new home and school that Marinette sent Alya. Lila glares the whole time as Alya puts the video on the projector at lunch so everyone can see the big new gorgeous bakery and the beautiful house on the second floor and her stupid big bedroom that should belong to someone like herself and not some bratty bakers daughter! By the third week Lila has had enough and fakes some nasty texts from Marinette hoping to speed up the process of helping her classmates move on to HERSELF. It backfires spectacularly with Alya going on the warpath to learn who would dare frame Marinette now that she’s gone. Lila is starting to realize that somehow Marinette has reached a higher level of popularity now that she’s gone. But she reminds herself it won't last forever that in ‘just a little bit longer’ everyone will forget the baker. Right?

A little bit longer. Never happens. Lila asks the girls to hang out that weekend with plans of winning them over with some juicy celeb story? Alya says they all already made plans to hope aboard the train to spend the whole weekend at Marinette’s new place! Lila tries to corner Adrien into a date after a photo shoot. He disappears and all she hears from the workers on set is that he's been looking up some new bakery on the other side of town. [Marinette is suddenly being visited by Chat Noir every other night but she figures she must have moved closer to where his civilian self lives if hes dropping by so much.] She tries to throw a party for the class? They can't. Marinette will be coming out to the park today! With her new school friends!

AH HA! Lila see’s opportunity and decides to tag along. After all if Marinette has new friends Lila can twist it! She’ll whisper about her replacing them all! Make them hate Marinette’s new friends! Fill them with jealousy till they hate Marinette! It's BRILLIANT! And, it fails in less than two minutes, with Alya learning about Aurore being a ballet dancer and the two girls bonding over their mutual love of DANCE?? How the heck was Lila supposed to know Alya had been a champion ballet dancer in her younger years! Then Nino is bonding with some kid named Allen or whatever about classical vs modern music and how to blend the two! And some kid named Claude is joking with Kim, Max, and Alix! And this is definitely not how things were supposed to go!

The worst part is Adrien, who is passive aggressively fighting for Marinette against Kagami AND Felix who are both all too eager to show how ‘close’ they’ve gotten to the baker's daughter while Adrien’s been across the city. Kagami is all to happy to show off that she ALSO bought Marinette some new silk hair ribbons [in a red shade that happens to match her fencing uniform] while Felix eagerly wisks Marinette away the moment Kagami and Adrien are distracted the two fencers find him openly flirting with an oblivious Marinette her hair down because ‘oh felix was nice enough to help me get some leaves out of my hair and said i should leave it like this!’ [while both Kagami and Adrien agree she looks beyond cute they know this means war.] Needless to say Lila didn’t realize that Marinette was that damn popular with men and woman.

The week after the meet up Lila is worn so thin she’s ready to snap. Not only did the class not get jealous but they actually became FRIENDS with all of Marinette’s new buddies and were planning many more meet ups including a paintball war over the baker girl that saturday. Adrien had taken to openly mumbling to himself about changing schools and how he ‘cant believe’ his own flesh and blood would so openly flirt with HIS very good friend! And what was with Kagami showing off how easily she can pick up and carry Marinette? And why did she invite Marinette to watch their next tournament! He needed to train, what if he lost?? In front of Marinette?! And then she thought he was too weak to keep her safe like all good friends are supposed to do! Clearly Kagami was trying to replace him as Marinette’s very good friend! Poor Nino who was sitting next to the boy had actually volunteered to switch with Lila but she came up with a lie to avoid it, she’d had enough of hearing about Marinette from Alya and Juleka and the rest of the girls, she didn’t also need to hear it from Adrien!

It all comes to a head that Saturday during the paintball tournament when Lila now at her wits end her plans out the window her schemes barely thought out hopes to find something ANYTHING to ruin Marinette’s day and reputation and everything. But Lila just so happens to get completely pelted with paintballs everytime she so much as moves and then later gets ignored when trying to wow Marinette’s new friends, and then gets called out by Felix and Kagami snaps and finally she snaps and SCREAMS and runs off and not even a dark little butterfly comes to help her ruin the perfect day. As it turns out Hawkmoth was a little preoccupied with trying to save his business after all the computers and data involved in his precise scheduling were mysteriously corrupted suddenly freeing up his son's time and schedule so he could spend more with HIS very good friend and no one else's. Kagami and Felix apparently had the same idea as when he gets to her new house their already their doing their best to get on her parents good side.

Basically just give me some comedic, fluffy, Lila salty, Marinette changes school fics. Because I love them ok.

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#lila salt #ml salt prompt #lila salt prompt #adrinette #alya sugar #marichat #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #miraculous salt #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #protective Adrien #my fic #kagaminette #felinette

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween. What he loves more than that? You.

pairing. gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating. idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded. it’s just that fluffy. (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings. established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower.

wc. 9.7k

beta reader(s). the lovely @kerikaaria read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy. tysm! 💛 i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly. oops...

author note. this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves. while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside. i hope you enjoy it!

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened. You remember, faintly, the mention of a party. Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc. He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought. If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway. Win-win or whatever.

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge. Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean.

“Zarya’s one! Zarya’s one—“ You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen. You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too. There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch. “Zarya’s actually one!”

No one cares. She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map.

“Jesus—“ Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue. You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.

I need healing! I need healing!

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way. Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though. There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point. Stupid. You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support.

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked. So infuriating and yet— nope. Just infuriating.

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise. Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise. He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face. You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru. He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team. A silver lining, you suppose.

Your second round starts well enough. Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta. Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana. You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn. Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost. (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado. The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong. Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter.

“You winning?”

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction. You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.

(It’s not your own fault. He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!” You want to be more mad. Really, you do. You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long. Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn.

“What?” Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime.

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves. All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder. You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days. You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery.

It’s a little distracting; he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual. You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck. Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see; it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over. You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication. (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.)

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so. You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words).

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet.

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya? She has grav.” Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon. Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock. If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game.

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void. Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces. Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next. Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,” says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head. He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match. It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.

“Rip is right,” you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map. If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms. Jungkook chuckles at that.

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well. There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested. Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”

You don’t turn your head. Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you. Sometimes, you love it; other times, you hate it. Most times, though, he’s right. He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame).

“Can we go top left?” You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main. Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team. Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited. “You should be back right by the stairs. You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point. Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav. She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you. As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen.

“Told you,” he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore.

“I was going to say thank you.” Just not right now. You can’t multitask quite like he can.

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display. “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock. Thank freaking god. You can win this, you think. Easy. No problem.

“Go Ana on defense.” At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth. You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin.

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time. He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat.

“Do you just want to play?” You don’t mean it seriously. You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you. It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship.

“Nah, I’m snacking.” He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon.

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions. He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do. He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do. He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t.

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair. You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears.

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game. There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back.

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie. “We won,” you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug.

“Of course you did.” He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you. He’d been a great coach.

“What’re you doing here?” It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest. He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair. (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines. You don’t care.)

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.” You remember, because you’d been disappointed. Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,” he states, like he’s talking to a moron. You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen. Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena. It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it.

“Yeah, we,” Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker. “Halloween party, baby. Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises: (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party? You didn’t think idols had those. Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no. Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.” It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach. It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day.

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face. It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way. Why’s he looking at you like that? Why’s your memory so bad? Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions?

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance. It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage. A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns.

“I— don’t remember that.” You’re lying through your damn teeth. Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass.

“But you did!” He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal. It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me! You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate.

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here. It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia. “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular. You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish.

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs. (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs. You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.) It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing. The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames. Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them; Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.

“I don’t think I can pull this off,” you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious. (You were, once. Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.)

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places. Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest. You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it. (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention. Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you. You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp. A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue. “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance. It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway. “You have to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I don’t have to say anything,” he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten. It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot. It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart. “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then. He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened. He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom. How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure. All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up; yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug. You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson. They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay— that was scary. I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.” A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees. It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?” You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there. He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms; he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh. His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised; Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer. (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.” Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end. It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature. You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee. Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact. A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious. You look—” You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose. A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon. “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it. Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders. You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!” You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself. All part of his plan, you suppose. “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.

“Okay! Sorry!” Except he doesn’t look very sorry. More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you. You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie. You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment. (Not that you really mind.)

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip. It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting. Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks. It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love.

Today, it comes after the fourth count.

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.” Well, of course you will. As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas. It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams.

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times. “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins. It’s unfairly adorable. Still, you push. Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you. From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted.

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot. You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum. A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to. You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you; rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.” By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful. The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday.

It turns out to be the opposite: one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend. He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger. You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another. For tonight, they’re one and the same.

“Joker? Seriously?” You can’t hide the delight. It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction. Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask. “Don’t sound so excited.” It’s an actual concern of his. He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more. He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting.

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky. You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises. It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently. You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared; you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.” You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes. It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes. It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling. Bastard. “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker. You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter. He’s dressed this way because you like the character.

“Oh,” you say, because there’s not much more to say. Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it.

“Yeah,” he parrots back, a little smug.

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life. He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set. You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better. (You suppose he is.)

“Angel, come here!” He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side. Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love. There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball. You don’t mind. You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.

“I’m winning,” he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh. Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst. Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.” You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element. He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some. It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is). “How many games have you won?” Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.” God, his ego. You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best. Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck. He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you. To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.

“Can we play?” Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks. You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs. Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend. (How fitting.) “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch. “No, you’re just bad at games!” He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes. Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink. In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus. (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?) You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily. Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.” And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond. He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life.

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”

“Ahhhhhh, stop!” It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own. Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads. “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!” You know it isn’t true. Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines). But together? It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.

You absolutely loved it.

“Sure, sure,” the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot. One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins. A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour. You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one. Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour. “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.

“Drink this!”

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?” You’re incredulous. Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl. It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless. Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!” The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too. “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy? It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?).

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it. Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body. “Don’t die!” He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”

“No, you’re fine.” He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up. You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement. “Your face, oh— Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane. You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together. It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor. Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms. You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?” It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies. He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile. “What’re you doing down there?”

“Just hanging out,” you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft. A modern day olive branch. “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close. Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like. It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like. Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away. You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness. “You sound drunk, angel,” he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek. It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin. It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves. “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,” comes Jimin from beside you. There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.

“That’s the plan,” Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment. It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him. He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation. When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case. “Want to head home?”

You do. You really, really do.

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are. Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—” There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet. “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway. “Sorry,” you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused. It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.” He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh. Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away. “Here, let me.”

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time. (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,” you tease, clinging to him like a koala. You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven. “Or are you the court jester? That’s what Joker is, right?” It’s a joke and a bad one at that. Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.

“You’re drunk.” He says it more kindly than you expect. Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve. You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded. There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare. It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought. You have to tell him. Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it. “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down. As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands. (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.) “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?” You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon. You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.” It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that. You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style. You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression. “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does. You pout, as you so often do.

“Okay,” you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder. You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings. “Will you wash my hair?” You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.” Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck. When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips. You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat. Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.” As if that’s meant to stop you. He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention. He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,” you mumble into the expanse of his chest. He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable. You think you could live in the feeling of his arms. (You’re lucky you get to.) You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most. “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation. You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless. It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.

He’d explained it to you once. Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first. Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t. JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm. Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that. You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.” You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon. You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure. “Gotta get undressed to shower,” he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises? It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care. Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow. You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep. He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle. His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck. You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight. You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits. There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.” The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.

“We are, angel,” Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back. It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame. “Just need to get you warmed up first.”

“The shower’ll be warm,” you say - or think you say, anyway. It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).

“Do you want me to stop?” It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off. Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat. “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.” Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern. You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise. “I never want you to stop.”

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair. He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted. “I love you,” he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment. He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off. You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders. You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.

“Start the shower.”

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that. You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away. The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,” he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream. He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip. You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does. You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside. It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you. You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.

“Hair?” You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder. It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.

“Patience, baby.” It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess. He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue. (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—” The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand. Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it. It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips. A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit. The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump. Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair. “Patience,” he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist. He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue.

“Kook,” you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess. There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest. A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.

“Relax for me.” You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more. You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish. (You wish you could see him.)

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him. (It was.) He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense. Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures. With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,” comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care. Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls. He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard. Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot; it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.

“K-Kook.” It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.

“I’ve got you.” And he does - hook, line, and sinker. He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave. It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go. He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn. See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service. Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him. You should recognise the look on his face. “Kook?”

“My turn.” It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward. There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you. It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in. “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely. (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed. In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine. It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat. His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear. It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure. “Oh fuck,” he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.

“Always so good for me.” Another thing he says, often and without prompting. It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet. “Always so perfect for me.”

“Because I love you,” you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.

“Love you too, angel.” He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway. He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted. He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart. Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust. An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision; it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard. He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high. You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings.

“Kook,” you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower. The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm. You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing. It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.

“P-please, Kook. Please.” You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his. He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation. “Come for me, Kook. Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars. Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you. It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs. You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.

“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.

“I love you,” you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours. “But I still need you to wash my hair.” It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days. “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.” Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements. He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery. Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.

“I thought I was an angel.” You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks. Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline. Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice. “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”

You can’t argue with that.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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