#I showed up to work on the edge of losing it this morning. I got a new chair but I can't figure out what to do to note make it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

munson-blurbs · 9 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Summary: You and Eddie finally get some much-needed alone time, and a confrontation at the Hawkins Preschool talent show tests your commitment to each other.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), protected p in v, fingering, oral (m! receiving), lil bit of edging, broken condom, breeding kink, mentions of Eddie's past, bullying, fighting, Jason Carver's mere existence, mostly fluff and smut before the angst of the next two chapters

WC: 9.2k

Chapter 15/20

Divider credit to @saradika Cutie pie Eddie pic credit to @/sunceddie

You wake up to an alarm set a full hour later than it typically is on a Friday morning, and the extra rest has you walking on air. Or maybe this newfound floatiness comes from knowing Eddie will be arriving soon, the two of you playing hooky from work to spend the day together. Your insides ignite with a rebellious fire, like you’re skipping class to smoke cigarettes underneath the bleachers, rather than taking a paid sick day that you’ve rightfully accrued.

Sunlight streams through the window, just a bit brighter than the usual smears of pink and orange that you normally see when you awaken. And while you still have to drag your yet-to-be-caffeinated body out of bed, the walk to the bathroom seems slightly less daunting.

You can’t let Eddie in fast enough when the intercom buzzes thirty minutes later. You were never naïve to the fact that dating a parent would mean having less privacy; what you didn’t know was how strongly you’d crave him.

Your hands are all over him the moment he steps through the door, simultaneously too much and not enough. Fingers lazily drape across the nape of his neck, and you can feel that his hair is already frizzy from the early April rain. Your breath hitches when you catch a glimpse of the burgeoning outline along the seam of his gray sweatpants.

His lips find yours easily, aiming to meet in the middle, but you press on your toes and bring your core to his. Your pajama top is thin; not sheer, but flimsy enough that he can feel the way you react to the chill of his leather jacket.

“Hello to you, too,” he murmurs with a laugh, muffled by a kiss that catches him off-guard. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab breakfast first, but—”

You shake your head, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the bedroom. “Sex first, food later.”

“Yes ma’am.” He uses his free hand to apply a quick smack to your ass, mesmerized at the way the supple flesh ripples underneath the flannel pants. Jesus, you’ve got him half-hard and you’re still in your pajamas.

He sits on the side of the bed, and you climb to straddle him, your inner thighs nudging his outer. “Been thinking about you,” you say, tugging his earlobe between your teeth.

Eddie pulls you even closer, one hand snaking up your shirt to cup your breast. He’s still cold from the rain and early morning frost, and his touch has your nipple pebbling. “What about me?”

“Well,” you trill, starting to slowly grind against the tented fabric of his pants. He exhales, a shiver of anticipation coursing through his veins. “I believe I promised my rockstar a reward for his amazing gig.” Your thoughts flit back to the night of Will’s party, when you’d snuck backstage and gotten a glimpse of him, his body pulsating with nerves that had almost immediately quelled at your touch. Another sensation had swept over him then, but that was an entirely different type of flutter.

Eddie nudges his nose against yours, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “Your rockstar?” He adores the phrasing. Yours. Belonging to you. And you belong to him; he won’t ever allow you to forget it. “What kind of reward did my favorite groupie have in mind?”

You slide off of him, giggling at the pout he gives you as your body loses contact with his. “Patience, Rockstar,” you warn him, though it’s difficult to contain yourself when you’re salivating just being eye-level with his erection. Your fingers dig into his waistband, and for the second time today, you’re glad for his choice of clothing. You don’t think you could handle buttons and zippers and belt buckles. Not today.

He hisses when your palm brushes along his hardened length, stiffening even while covered by his boxer briefs. A small wet patch marks his tip, leaking precum, and you press a chaste kiss to it. Almost instantly, you feel the tendrils of his thigh hair against your bare arms as his legs reflexively snap shut like a Venus flytrap catching its prey.

“Too much?” you mumble against his happy trail. While you relish in the thought of overstimulating him, you want to keep him on edge as long as you can.

Eddie shakes his head, curls scratching against his shoulders. “Jus’ wasn’t expecting it. ‘Cause you were using your hands, but then I felt your…never mind, I’m gonna shut up now.” He settles back into the mattress and eagerly awaits your next move.

You don’t make him wait long, lips drawn to his shaft with a magnetic force. You only stop to shimmy his underwear down his legs, tossing them to the corner of the room. His cock is flush against his tummy; you catch yourself staring at the dusting of wispy curls that trail from his upper groin down to his heavy sack.

Your dominant hand wraps around the base while the other leans on his thigh for balance. You lean in and spit, letting your saliva dribble down his length before flattening your tongue to lick up the pearly bead forming at the tip. Eddie’s abdominal muscles contract and his fists clench, never taking his eyes off of the beautiful woman on her knees for him.

He lets out a soft moan as you hollow out your cheeks to take more of him into your mouth. A string of syllables that barely resemble words escapes him. “Mmm, yes, oh, sh–fucking hell–thas’ it…” He twists the bedsheets between his fingers, inhaling sharply as your tongue glides up and down his cock. “S’pretty, fuck, gorgeous girl.” He watches intently, staving off blinks so he doesn’t miss a moment of him disappearing between your lips.

He’d once thought that he could never want more than sloppy post-gig hook-ups in dive bar bathrooms with girls whose names he’d never learned, though he wouldn’t have made an effort to remember them anyway. Girls who had only offered their mouths so they could lay claim to his body; the opportunity to brag that they’d blown Eddie Munson before he got famous.

That was before you, before you’d shown him the intoxicating mixture of longing and belonging, of lust and…

You continue drawing him closer and closer to his orgasm, nose grazing his thatch of pubic hair. His hips buck slightly, but your mouth is so full of him that it threatens to evoke your gag reflex.

“Shit, ‘m sorry,” Eddie blurts out, unfurling a hand from the sheets to cup your cheek. He pulls out, allowing you to take a deep breath.

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you tease with a wicked grin, wasting no time assuming your previous position.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie throws his head back. “You like gagging on my dick? Fucking hell, babe.”

“Mhm.” The gentle vibration has him twitching, and you know he can’t last much longer. You bring your attention to his tip, sucking and giving soft kitten licks while your hand takes care of the rest of his length. He’s so painfully hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed that way long after finishing.

“Jus’…just like that. Oh, fuuuuuck,” he groans, silently calling upon every ounce of willpower in his body to keep his pelvis still so he doesn’t disturb the beautiful rhythm you’ve found. “Gonna cum…shit, baby, if you don’t want it in your mouth, you gotta stop now.”

But you do want it in your mouth, so you don’t stop, feeling warm ropes adorning your tongue just seconds later. He’s panting, chest heaving as though he was the one putting in the effort, but he still notices the way you swallow his thick load without missing a beat.

“Did you just…oh, my God. You’re perfect.” He throws his hands up in mock defeat. “I can’t…nothing I do will ever compare to you, I swear.” He motions for you to lay down next to him, and immediately climbs on top of you, the sweat from his chest transferring to your shirt. “Off,” he mumbles, pulling it over your head before you get the chance to do it yourself.

His lips swoop down to your left breast, tongue flickering over the nipple, and his dominant hand travels into your panties and expertly finds your clit. You let out a tiny whimper, barely audible over Eddie’s own grunts, finding pleasure in making you feel good.

“This body,” he mumbles, mouth still attached to your chest, “has me in a goddamn chokehold. It’s all I think about.” That isn’t quite true; he certainly spends plenty of time daydreaming of you, though it isn’t always in such compromising positions. Sometimes, you’re sleeping next to him in bed as he presses gentle kisses to the nape of your neck. Other times, he’ll be cooking dinner and picture you passing him the salt or handing him a serving spoon to dish out whatever noodle-based concoction he’s conjured up. Whatever he’s doing, he imagines you by his side.

“Can you kiss me?” Your request is timid but dripping with need.

Eddie nods, bringing himself to eye level with you and closing the gap between your faces. You taste of minty toothpaste and of him, and he curses himself for diving in headfirst without remembering to kiss you. “M sorry,” he apologizes for the second time that morning, and you forgive him with a soft bite to his lower lip.

Your arms rest on his shoulders and your legs wrap around his calf muscles, desperate to remain as close as possible at all times. No, you can’t stay like this forever, so you’ve got to make it count. “Need you inside me, Eddie.” Your voice nearly cracks, tears pricking at your lash line as the craving for him grows stronger. “Please.”

Eddie musters up a terse laugh. “Sweetheart, I just came, like, five minutes ago. You gotta give me a second to bounce back.” He lowers himself so he can whisper in your ear, “let me take care of you while we wait, hm?”

As soon as you nod, he’s yanking down your pajama pants and panties in one fluid motion. You can’t miss the way his eyes light up once you’re fully on display for him, taking in every centimeter of your body like his existence depends upon it. He starts to shimmy his way down, but your murmured “mm-mm” captures his attention.

“Still want you kissing me,” you say, gazing adoringly into his deep brown eyes. “Maybe you could just use your fingers?”

His instinct is to protest; he’s been desperate to taste you again ever since his tongue last touched the most intimate part of you, but he can’t deny you what you want. He’ll do just about anything to keep a smile on your face.

Without further hesitation, Eddie’s lips are on yours. He braces himself on his elbows as his hands cradle your cheeks. You can feel the heat of his cock, still spent and flaccid, against the top of your thigh. He shifts slightly so he can press one thick finger into your pussy, dragging in and out so deliciously that you barely notice his tongue slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss as you moan.

“Y’like that?” It’s a gratuitous question; he can feel how much you like it in the way you’re clenching around him. “Gonna make my girl feel s’good.”

“Call me your girl again,” you whine, punctuating the plea with a gentle buck of your hips.

Eddie grins, ducking his head where your neck meets your collarbone and sucking lightly. It takes every ounce of strength he possesses not to mark you. He studies the moisture left behind by his lips and wishes it was the exquisite shades of blue and indigo that form when someone’s been claimed.

He slides a second finger inside you. “My sweet girl,” he coos, just a hint of patronization laced within his deep voice, “you like being mine? Belonging to me?”

Your stomach flips at his words; a gnawing hunger for Eddie Munson. “Love it. I…I love being your girl.” You allow your mind to clear, absorbing his gaze, his touch, his skin. The graceful arch of your back beckons him to move faster, tongue peeking from between his plush lips as he concentrates on your orgasm.

Each stroke within you inches you closer to euphoria. Eddie’s thumb is pressed to your clit, cementing his determination to tip you over the edge. He hits all the right spots, committing them to memory; his own personal pathway to the heavens.

It’s your turn to grab onto the bed sheets like a lifeline as pleasure surges through you. Your lips coat his in a warm layer of “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” the praise a victory chant to him. He waits until your eyelids flutter back open and your breathing steadies before taking his fingers from your center and into his mouth, licking your release off of his skin like a delicacy.

Your body may be splayed out on the bed, but your mind is adrift; its only focus is the float down from the high Eddie’s brought you to. If it weren’t for the throbbing reminder pressed to your leg, you might float right into the atmosphere.

You summon the willpower to prop yourself up on your elbows, watching intently as he fists himself to temporarily ease the ache.

“Why’re you doing that when ‘m right here?” you mumble, wetting your lower lip with a swipe of your tongue. You can only hope that there’s some semblance of a smile in your intoxicated expression. “Unless you…prefer your hand?”

“Fuck, no,” he grumbles, curls dancing along his shoulder blades as he loosens his grasp to dig through your top drawer. He shoves aside stray prescription bottles and various knickknacks that you’ve been meaning to go through until he finds what he’s been looking for.

He snatches up the teal box and practically tears the cardboard in half trying to open it. The snake of foil packets tumbles out and he scrambles for them, but you’re faster.

Wordlessly, you rip off one packet and carefully tear off the top. Eddie hisses as you roll the condom down his hardened length, more than ready to be inside you.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, pressing your palms to his soft pecs. “‘S that okay?”

“Is that—baby, if I ever say no to that offer, there’s something seriously wrong with me,” he laughs, already laying back on the bed. His hair splays across the pillow, brown curls swirling atop the cotton pillowcase like Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

Eddie inhales sharply as you sit above him, sheathed cock pressed to your heat in anticipation. He reaches out and grabs your breasts, one in each hand, kneading them in his palms. His thumbs brush over your nipples, gauging your reaction before giving them a small pinch.

Your moan, coupled with the way you grind against him, confirms your satisfaction, but he still asks, “Y’like when I do that?”

You offer him a little smirk, cocking your brow as you cheekily reply, “You tell me.”

He doesn’t have time to respond before you lift yourself and gradually sink down onto him, soaking in every moment of the delectable stretch. Bracing yourself on his chest, you feel him bottom out so he’s filling you entirely.

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” His hands move from your chest to your hips as he helps you adjust to the newfound fullness. “So tight. Feels‘mazing.”

“Just wanna take care of you, Eds. You’re so good to me; I wanna be good to you.” You bounce up and down, moving your hips so no part of your walls remains untouched by him.

He’s mesmerized at the jiggle of your flesh as it connects with his, momentarily rendering him speechless before he regains some composure. “You are. You’re so, so good for me. Can never get enough of my girl.”

You clench around him at the title ‘my girl’, earning you a smack to your ass. The sting makes you whimper, and he swiftly delivers another.

“You’re gonna make me cum too soon,” he huffs, blown-out pupils drifting from your eyes to where your bodies are joined.

You pause your movements to lean down, allowing him impossibly deep within you. “If it’s too much,” you murmur into his ear, hoping your edge-teetering tremble is hidden enough to effectively tease him, “maybe I should just…stop.” You slide your hips forward until only his tip breaches your hole.

Eddie’s jaw drops in complete disbelief. “You…you can’t fuckin’ do that to me.” You expect him to push the rest of his cock inside you and thrust until he’s completely spent, so you’re caught off-guard when he pulls out entirely. “All fours. Now.” He emphasizes his request with another spank, this one harder than the rest.

You oblige, palms pressed into the mattress and toes curled as you await him. He taps his shaft against your bottom once, twice, three times, and then plunges into your warmth.

“Ah—fuck—Eddie!” you cry, feeling the telltale twitch that informs you he’s close. Really fucking close. And then another sensation—a soft pop.

He realizes what it is before you do. “Fuckin’ condom broke!” he grumbles, pulling out again—even more begrudgingly than before—and tossing the split rubber to the floor. He opens a new one and rolls it on with lightning speed, eager to be enveloped in you once again.

“Wish we didn’t have to use those,” you mumble, willing yourself to stay steady despite the push from his pistoning hips. “Be so much easier without them.”

Picturing you taking him raw—you wanting to take him raw—is the last straw. “Yeah? You wanna feel all of me, baby?” he growls, nearly inaudible over the sound of his pelvis colliding with your ass. “Want me blowing my load so fuckin’ deep inside you?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, feeling that delicate wave approaching the shoreline, desperate to crest. “That’s exactly what I want, Eddie.”

“Keep saying my name,” he orders, wrapping one arm around you so his middle finger lays on your clit. Every part he touches makes you weaker for him, scavenging for the relief of release.

“Eddie, feels s’good,” you moan, legs threatening to crumple beneath you. “No one makes me feel like this ‘cept you, fuck, Eddie!”

You finish around him, squeezing him until he’s spilling into the condom with a primal groan of your name. He stays draped over you for a beat before flopping back onto the bed.

“You are…” he turns to you and grins as he searches for the right word, “spectacular.” He gingerly removes the barrier from his dick, tying it in a knot and tossing it into the trash can next to your nightstand. “C’mere.”

You lay on his chest, the sweat cooling as it hits your cheek. “Did you work up an appetite?” you tease, kissing just below his tattoo of a demonic head, “I can grab us some cereal, or we might have some frozen Eggos I could throw in the toaster.”

Eddie smiles so wide it threatens to escape the confines of his cheeks. “Sex and breakfast? You spoil me, Sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well; we need energy to power us through round two.” You scoot upwards to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, the salt of his perspiration tangy on your lips. “Give me a few minutes, okay? Do you like syrup on your waffles?”

“And butter?” he asks with a hopeful smile, peering at you through long eyelashes that would have had you darting to Bradley’s Big Buy if you didn’t already have a stick of Land O’ Lakes in the fridge.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yes, Your Majesty,” you say, giving his bare thigh a small tap. “Would you also care for some freshly-squeezed orange juice? I can have the chef whip some up right away.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, slowly pushing himself up so he can help you in the kitchen. It dawns on him that he hasn’t felt this kind of peace after sex before; his mind has always been clouded with fears of getting too attached, of saying the wrong thing, of deluding someone into thinking he’s enough.

“God, I love you.” The words tumble out before he can stop them, and he freezes in place, one leg through his underwear. “Fuck, I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you rush to reassure him, noting the red tinge forming on the tips of his ears. “I’d say that to anyone who offered me breakfast foods, too.” You give him room to accept the out, to brush off his confession as a slip of the tongue. There’s no use in awarding merit to an accidental comment, regardless of what your skipped heartbeat tells you.

He considers it, every synapse and neuron firing at warpspeed. Maybe he could convince himself that it was an accident if it was the first time he’d felt this, the way your sunshine radiates through him and warms him from within. But that was far from the truth.

“No,” he finds himself saying, grasping onto every morsel of confidence he can find, “it’s not because of the food. I love you.”

Your voice catches in your throat. You want to believe that he’s reciprocating your feelings, but something nags at you. “Are you sure it’s not because we just had sex? Because sometimes that—”

“No,” Eddie repeats himself, unfolding the waistband of his boxer briefs and walking to you. “Because it wasn’t about sex when you calmed me down after the parent-teacher conference. It wasn’t about sex when you taught Harris how to read and bowl and be a better person than I’ll ever be. It wasn’t about sex when you cheered me on during our last gig, and it wasn’t about sex when I saw you holding Ettie.” He takes a deep breath and holds your hands as he gazes into your eyes. “And even after having sex, it isn’t about sex. It’s about you being the one for me. I love you, I love you, I love you.” He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips.

“I love you, too, Eddie.”

Just five words, six syllables, and he’s a goner. Seriousness melts into a sappy smile as he cradles your cheeks and presses the tip of his nose to yours. “Holy shit, we’re in love.”

You kiss him, tongue nudging his as your torsos meld together. If your stomach wasn’t gnawing for something to eat, you’d start round two right then and there.

Throwing on just a shirt and panties, you lead him into the kitchen before either of you can crawl back into bed. His hands never leave your body, snaking around your waist as you rifle through the freezer for the familiar yellow box. His head rests on your shoulder as you drop the waffles into the toaster and press the lever down.

“Eds?”

“Yes, my love?” he murmurs, pecking a soft kiss behind your ear. You both could have sworn that there was nothing better than him calling you ‘my girl,’ but you’re unashamed to stand corrected.

“Could you make yourself useful and grab some plates? Maybe get the syrup or butter?” you tease, noting the dramatic pout developing on his face. “What?”

“I’m keepin’ you warm,” he protests, sliding his hands over the cotton fabric of your faded t-shirt and grabbing your breasts. “And you’re not wearing a bra, so I gotta hold ‘em for you.”

He eventually obliges, setting two Chinette plates on the countertop and padding over to the refrigerator. He plucks the condiments from the side door and places them in the center of the table.

“Cups, too,” you remind him with a cheeky grin, pointing to a cabinet to your right. “No drinking out of the carton in my house.”

“Bossy this morning, aren’t we?”

The toaster chimes a charismatic ding! as the waffles jump out of their slots, and you carefully drop both onto one plate. “Here ya go,” you chirp, extending your arm so he can take his breakfast.

“Where’s yours?” His brows pinch together in confusion, a sly smile stretching his lips. “Don’t tell me I didn’t make you work up more of an appetite back there. Shit, shoulda had you ride me longer–”

Your hip collides with his in a purposeful shove. “I’m getting mine ready now. Go sit and eat, you horndog.”

Eddie drops the plate on the counter so quickly that the Eggos nearly fly off, pulling you from behind for a hug that squeezes all the air from your lungs. You squeal as he bites your neck and barks into it, solidifying that he has indeed earned the new nickname you’ve bestowed upon him.

He takes one of his waffles and places it on your empty plate. “We can eat together.”

You grab the orange juice from the fridge, giving the carton a shake before pouring the contents between the two glasses. It’s not until you sit down that you remember: “Oh, shit—utensils.” You start to get back up, but Eddie puts a hand out in a silent bid for you to stay seated, shuffling back to the kitchen. The drawer rattles as he pulls with just a bit too much strength, and he comes back with two knives and a single fork.

“You only got one—” you start, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t need it.” With that, he cuts off a hunk of butter and slathers it on top of his waffle, knife scraping against the little squares. He slathers every square inch in syrup, folds the waffle in half, and takes an exaggeratedly large bite.

“Eddie Munson!” you lightly chastise, still in shock at what you’ve witnessed. “Did you just eat that like a taco?”

“Sí, señorita.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Oh, my God, I’m in love with a barbarian.” You reach for the bottle of Aunt Jemima and drizzle the sticky-sweetness onto your waffle. “What else is going on with you?” you ask, cutting the food into strips and spearing it with your fork. “Work’s good?”

“Work’s great, actually.” He starts to bring the waffle to his mouth but pauses just before taking a bite. Syrup drops onto the plate with a plop. “I almost forgot to tell you! The regional manager asked me to go to this thrift market in Indianapolis in a few weeks—all on the company’s dime—and try to snag some vintage records.”

“Eds, that’s amazing!” You leap up from your chair and lean in to kiss his syrupy lips.

He licks a smudge of butter from the side of his thumb. “Oh, but that’s not even the best part,” Eddie grins triumphantly. “The market just so happens to fall during spring break, and I was hoping you could join us?” His bare foot nudges yours under the table. “That is, if you think you can survive an entire weekend running after Harris?”

Your jaw drops in mock-offense. “One of us chases after children–plural–every day. Besides,” you add, taking a swig of juice, “Harris isn’t the one I’m worried about.” You gesture at his partially-demolished breakfast. “At least when he eats like this, he has the excuse of being a child.”

His reply is a flick of his left middle finger, his right hand busy jamming the remaining waffle-taco into his mouth. “And yet,” he retorts with his mouth full, “you can’t seem to get enough.”

He’s got you there: all you’ve ever wanted is sitting in front of you now, the corners of his chocolate-brown eyes crinkling as he stands. You allow your eyes to roam his body; not with lust, but adoration. Love.

Your cheek yearns to be pressed to his chest, your hand resting where the soft pudge of his tummy barely rolls over the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. Your legs crave the connection of intertwining with his. You need his arms, biceps strong from lugging around music equipment and holding his son, wrapped around your torso and keeping you impossibly close. Keeping you safe.

You want to spend hours asking about the stories behind the tattoos that adorn his chest, whether meaningful or the result of sheer boredom. You want to curl up on the sofa and put on a movie, absorbing none of it as you spend the entire duration lost in his lips.

The brush of his thumb against your knuckles stirs you from your roaming thoughts.

“Can I ask you something?”

Eddie sits up a bit straighter, hand never leaving yours. “Shoot.”

“Is it…” you fumble for the right words, “why are you like this now?”

“I’m sorry?” His brows knit together in obvious confusion. “Why am I like…what?”

“This,” you repeat, gesticulating at the man before you, warm and tender and completely unlike the stranger you’d hooked up with nearly eight months ago. “Why is the guy who once kicked me out of his apartment currently having breakfast with me half-naked and inviting me on a trip with his son?” Your tone is inquisitive, curious, and Eddie heaves a silent sigh of relief when he doesn’t detect a hint of judgment.

He doesn’t answer your question outright; instead, he poses his own: “Do you not believe that I love you?” He bites his lower lip, mind churning with the early memories you’d made together, the ones he wishes he could lock away and never remember.

Your heart lurches at your accidental implication. “I do! Shit, Eddie, I know you love me. And I love you, too.” You pause to lift his hand to your mouth, leaving the gentlest of kisses along his fuzzy knuckles. “I guess I just wanna know why you even let yourself love me. Why you didn’t stick to the Cat-and-Mouse. Why…why you chose me.”

He exhales, an incredulous huff of laughter passing through his lips. “You wanna know why I started only having one-night stands? Or why I stopped?”

“Both?” you try.

“So, um,” his eyes look everywhere but at you, “I never really got attention until I moved to Chicago and started playing with that band. All of a sudden, women wanna sleep with me, and I don’t have to, like, beg them.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “But they didn’t really want to fuck Eddie Munson; they just wanted to fuck the lead singer and guitarist of Hard Knox. Didn’t matter if it was me or some other random guy.

“One night, I’m…y’know…with this one girl, and I asked her to say my name.” His cheeks tinge red and he swallows hard. “And she looks at me with these wide eyes, and I realized she didn’t even fucking know it.”

“Did you know hers?” The question comes out before you can stop it, but you already know the answer.

He rubs his eyes with his whole palm. “After that, I realized that the only difference between the Eddie who got laid and the Eddie who didn’t was that no one I slept with really knew me. And if they ever figured out that I’m just this big ol’ nerd who spent high school playing Dungeons & Dragons, they’d…” He flexes his hands to make a poof! motion. “So I decided not to let them get to know me.”

“But then…”

“But then,” he acquiesces, “you show up at the bar, looking like a goddamn dream, and I put up that cocky lead singer persona on instinct. Because that’s the only version of me that women ever wanted to be with.” He sighs. “And then I let my guard down, ask you to spend the night, and I’m thinking, ‘I gotta get her outta here before she sees who I really am. Before she sees that I’m not a rockstar; I’m just a mediocre dad who sells weed to scrape by.’”

You move so quickly that you practically knock over your chair, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around the top of his chest. Your chin rests on his scalp, and he can feel the vibration in your throat as you murmur, “nothing about you is mediocre, Eddie Munson.”

He lays his head on your forearm, kissing it softly before lacing his fingers with yours. “Sometimes, I think I’m just buying time until you get sick of me.”

You shift your position so your lips can brush the side of his neck. “I didn’t fall for the guy on stage that night. I mean, yeah, you looked incredibly hot,” you tease and nip at his collarbone, “but I’m in love with Eddie Munson: the man who gets excited when his son reads a new word, who teases me for liking olives on my pizza, who knows the lyrics to every song ever made–including the ones he claims to hate.”

“Well, Eddie Munson–the real Eddie Munson–is so goddamn lucky to be loved by you.” He turns so he’s facing you, strong hands on your hips as he gazes up with starry eyes.

You cradle his cheeks, stooping down so your noses touch. “You deserve to be loved.”

“Yeah.” The word is more breath than sound. “Yeah, I think I’m finally starting to believe that.”

The remainder of your day is spent having copious amounts of sex; Eddie had insisted on ‘making up for lost time,’ taking breaks only for a quick lunch and a shower.

“Come with me to pick up Harris,” Eddie says as he wraps the bath towel around his waist. Water drips from the ends of his curls down to the dimples on his lower back. “We’re going to Jeff and Viv’s after so he can meet Baby Ettie.”

You raise your eyebrows in amusement, bending over to dry your legs. “I took a sick day today,” you remind him. “I can’t just show up there in your car, like, ‘nothing to see here!’”

“I’ll park far away,” he says with a shrug. “No biggie.” There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “I mean, I could tell Harris that Ms. Sweetheart was supposed to be with us, but she said no—”

You swat at his chest and he pulls back, feigning pain. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

That’s how you ended up hunched over in the passenger seat of Eddie’s sedan, hiding from any passersby who could potentially recognize you. It only takes a few minutes before you hear the sound of Harris’s little voice, chewing his dad’s ear off about his day at school.

“...and then me an’ Charlie traded me snacks, an’ no one even sawed us!” He’s cackling like it’s the funniest joke. “He had my pretzels and I had his gummies, and it was so silly!”

“Gummies, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue, “well, that explains the sugar rush.” Their voices get louder as they approach the car. “By the way, Har Bear, I have a surprise for you.”

As he says it, Harris opens the back door and hops into the car, eyes widening when he sees you sitting up front. “Ms. Sweetheart!” he exclaims, bouncing into his booster seat with pure exhilaration. “What are you doing in Daddy’s car?”

“I figured I could see Baby Ettie with you guys,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, a stark contrast to the little boy practically vibrating from excitement, “if that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, yes, YES!” Harris shouts, his words aimed directly in Eddie’s ear as he tries buckling his son’s seatbelt.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he mutters, wincing as he massages the opening of his ear canal with his forefinger. “Take it down a notch, little man.” He fumbles with the belt until he hears the familiar click. He dons a deep voice to announce, “Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times,” and Harris draws his limbs inwards with a giggle while Eddie closes his door.

“Daddy? Can we listen to music?”

“Mhm.” Eddie reaches for the radio dial, then stops. “Should we let Ms. Sweetheart choose the tape? Since she’s our special guest?” He shoots you a grin that sends a flip-flopping sensation behind your ribs.

Harris taps his finger to his chin in contemplation. “Hmm…okay! Can she pick Metallica?”

“Not quite sure that’s how it works…” Eddie scrunches up his face and scratches at his jawline.

You turn around to face the boy, whose curly hair is now identically frizzy to his father’s. “Actually, Metallica sounds great to me,” you say, adding a thumbs-up for good measure.

“Metallica it is!” Eddie pops in the cassette, the mechanical wheels whirring for a moment before Fight Fire with Fire blares through the speakers. He rests his palm on the back of your seat as he backs out of the spot, tongue poking from his lips in concentration.

Harris alternates between headbanging to the music and babbling about school throughout the drive to Jeff and Viv’s. His energy seems endless as he hops out of the car and races to their front door.

“Har, remember,” Eddie calls out, “we have to be calm and gentle around the baby. Don’t wanna scare her.”

Harris nods as Jeff opens the door. “Mini Munson!” He gives a tired smile, stifling a yawn. “Ready to meet your new cousin?” He chuckles when Harris jumps up and down and squeals. “I’ll take that as a yes. Go ‘head and sit on the couch, kiddo.”

Harris follows Jeff’s instructions, and you and Eddie trail close behind him. Jess and Robin are also there; the latter woman is currently holding Ettie, lightly rocking the newborn in her arms.

“Do you wanna hold her?” she asks Harris, who looks to you and his dad in a silent plea for permission.

“Up to you, Har,” Eddie says with an encouraging smile. “We’ll help you, if you want.”

Harris nods, shuffling so his back is pressed up against the sofa. He squirms anxiously, kicking his feet as he waits for you and his dad to join him.

Eddie sits on his right side, and you take the empty space to his left. “I’ll help you hold her head,” you promise him. “You can hold your arms out like this,” you demonstrate, resting your forearms on your lap with your palms facing the ceiling, and Harris mimics your actions. “There ya go.”

Robin carefully walks over and places Ettie in Harris’s outstretched arms, ensuring that you’re supporting the baby’s head before she fully lets go. For a few moments, Harris just stares at the little girl, seemingly unsure how to react. Finally, he softly murmurs, “she’s so little!”

“Sure is,” Eddie laughs, poking at one of her tiny toes in amazement. “Would you believe that you were even more little when you were a baby?” His grin deepens when Harris’s jaw drops in disbelief. “It’s true! You were the tiniest little thing I’ve ever seen.” As he says it, a lump forms in his throat, and he swallows it before anyone notices the catch in his voice. You don’t need to hear it, though, and you use your free hand to discreetly rub his back in silent reassurance.

Harris purses his lips as he stares at his new cousin, clearly unaffected by the anecdote. “Does she do any tricks?”

His question has the entire group stifling laughter, and Eddie turns pink with embarrassment as he quickly explains, “she’s not a dog, buddy. And she was only born a few weeks ago, so she pretty much just eats, sleeps, and poops.”

“Ew,” Harris’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the last activity, though you’re willing to bet a large sum of money that he’s made at least one poop-related joke today. “So when can I teach her how to play Legos?”

“Not for a while,” Viv admits with a kind chuckle, “but when she’s ready, I promise that we’ll let her big cousin Harris show her how it’s done.”

Her answer placates him, at least temporarily, and he cautiously brushes his forefinger against Ettie’s scalp, smoothing down her wisps of hair. You take the moment to glance over at Eddie, only to find him looking right at you.

Hi, he mouths, though there’s so much more he wishes to say. When Harris was Ettie’s age, Eddie was exhausted, overwhelmed, constantly on the brink of breaking down. He’d sworn to himself and anyone else who would listen that he’d never go through the newborn stage again, but he’s mesmerized by the sight of you and Harris cuddling a baby. He wants this, he wants this with you, sleepless nights and spit-up stained clothes no longer strong enough deterrents.

Hi, you mouth back, suppressing words that ache to spill from your lips. Your pulse quickens at the way Eddie watches his son, not with scrutiny, but with admiration and awe, as though he can’t believe he’d created such a wonderful little human. Teaching children never translated over to a desire for motherhood, but you can suddenly picture yourself helping Harris hold your baby, a baby that symbolizes the love between you and Eddie.

“They look like a little family.” Robin’s attempted whisper grabs your attention; a brief scan of the room shows that everyone else is looking at her, too. Her cheeks flush a deep red and she mutters, “sorry,” swooping in to scoop Ettie into her arms.

An awkward silence hangs in the air until Jess clears her throat. “How was work today?” she asks you, and though you don’t have an actual answer to the question, you’re grateful for the subject change.

“I took the day off,” you reply nonchalantly. “Wanted to catch up on rest, y’know…” You trail off, hoping your non-answer suffices.

“What about you, Ed?” Jeff tries.

“Oh, uh,” Eddie stammers, nervously running a hand through his hair, “I also took the day off.”

Jeff’s gaze flits between the two of you until he finally manages an elongated, “…cool.”

Luckily, Harris is oblivious to the adults’ conversation. “Uncle Jeff, are you coming to my talent show next week?”

“Talent show?” Jeff glances at Eddie with an amused smirk.

“Uh, yeah, ‘s this parent-kid thing at his school,” Eddie hurriedly explains, trying not to trip over his words. He’s still stuck on what he’s implied by admitting that he’d also called out of work. “I didn’t know how busy you’d be with Ettie—”

Viv smiles. “I think he can sneak out for an hour to see his favorite nephew.”

“Robs and I can help out here if you need,” Jess offers to her sister, “as long as Jeff brings the camcorder so we have video evidence of this performance.”

“Absolutely not.” Eddie shuts the idea down immediately, but his protest is drowned out by the sound of Harris cheering.

“Daddy and I are gonna—”

Eddie claps a ringed hand over his son’s mouth. “It’s a surprise.” He looks at you for a moment, bashfulness infiltrating his expression with a timid smile and downcast eyes, and you realize that the surprise is for you.

Harris wriggles out of Eddie’s grasp with a discontented sigh, sliding off the couch and onto thr floor. “I didn’t tell Ms. Sweetheart,” he protests, and Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose as he gathers any remaining patience.

Ettie puckers up her face and lets out a wail that seems far too big for her teeny body, but it serves as the perfect reason to leave. You hug everyone goodbye and give the cranky baby’s feet a gentle tickle before you head out the door. Harris gallops ahead, giving Eddie the opportunity to guide you with a soft press of his hand to the small of your back. Before he's fully outside, he leans in to Jeff, whispering “I told her,” ending the statement with a grin.

“My man!” Jeff grabs Eddie’s shoulder and gives it a small shake. “Let me know when to buy my tux for the wedding.”

“Jesus, you sound like Harris.”

Spending time at Hawkins Preschool outside of contracted work hours would normally be a scenario straight out of a nightmare. This afternoon; however, you’re here to see the most adorable little boy and his handsome dad perform some sort of mystery talent, which makes it all worthwhile.

The cafeteria has been transformed into an auditorium of sorts, with neat lines of metal folding chairs replacing the long tables that typically fill the space. An area at the front of the room has been sectioned off for the performances, and the entire place is abuzz with excitement about the adorableness that is about to ensue.

You spot Jeff and Wayne sitting in the third row from the back and you give them a little wave, bounding over to take the empty seat to Jeff’s left. The smile on your lips quickly transforms into a frown when you see him shake his head, placing his palm on the chair.

“I’m under strict orders to make sure you sit in the front row,” he says with a knowing smirk. He shoos you away, and you begrudgingly turn from their familiar faces, but not before catching a twinkle in Wayne’s eyes.

Soon after you find a seat close to the makeshift stage, Principal Sinclair steps up to the microphone.

“Welcome, friends and family, to our annual talent show fundraiser!” There’s a polite smattering of applause before she speaks again. “Our students—and their parents—have quite a show for you all. First up is Miss Abigail Carver and her mom, Chrissy, who will be performing a cheer routine!”

You clap as Abby and Chrissy step out, green and yellow pom-poms in hand. Your student recognizes you immediately, running over to give you a quick hug that elicits a resounding aww from the audience members. She rushes back to her spot as she and her mother cheer on the Hawkins Tigers in unison.

Next is another student of yours, Joshua Harrington. His dad hoists a Fisher Price basketball hoop and places it on the ground so the two of them can show off their “slam dunks.”

After a few more students from other classes, it’s finally the moment you’ve been waiting for.

“Please welcome Harris Munson and his dad, Eddie, who will be singing a song!”

No sooner do you call out, “Yay, Harris!” do you hear it:

“Freak.”

It’s low enough that no one else catches it; you probably wouldn’t have, either, if the culprit wasn’t sitting directly behind you. You turn around to see Jason Carver, camcorder by his side, poorly stifling a snicker.

Your hands clench, balled into fists, so tight that you feel your fingernails digging into your palms. It’s too tempting to smash his camera—no, smash his stupid face—but you inhale and then exhale for three seconds apiece. Today is about Harris and Eddie, and no overgrown bully is going to ruin that.

Still, you have to bite back a smile at the thought of Jason sporting a black eye, courtesy of the Freak’s girlfriend herself.

When Harris and Eddie take to the performance space, your anger evaporates and your heart becomes heavy with emotion. Harris is front and center, body slightly turned as he watches his dad get settled on a wooden stool and gives his acoustic guitar a tune. The boy dons a black suit that’s a size too big for him, his hands barely peeking out of the sleeves. He’s got on a tie that has to have been borrowed from an adult; you can’t imagine Eddie or Wayne wearing one, so maybe Jeff loaned it. The best part is the fedora that rests atop his messy mop of curls.

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart!” he says with a grin so wide it likely hurts his cheeks, letting out a shriek of delight when you wave. “This song is for you!”

Eddie murmurs a soft, “two, three, four,” and strums a melody that immediately has your eyes welling with tears.

“You make me feel so young,” Harris croons, mouth right up to the mic, “you make me feel so spring has sprung!”

To anyone else, it seems like a silly play on the fact that he is, in fact, young. You know it’s so much more.

“And every time I see you grin, I’m such a happy individual!”

He’s singing Frank Sinatra. He’s dressed as Frank Sinatra. And you know it had to be Eddie’s idea, considering Harris’s musical repertoire teeters between Raffi and Metallica.

He skips a few verses, and when he does, Eddie locks eyes with you and offers a tiny close-mouthed smile.

“And even when I’m old and gray I’m gonna feel the way I do today ‘Cause you make me feel so young!”

You choke down the sob that threatens to escape as they circle back to the chorus. The memory of Grandma’s final Thanksgiving, consisting of singing along to Fly Me to the Moon and sharing store-brand Oreos, soars around your mind. The way she had so easily slipped back into her old self, if only for a moment. The way Eddie had held you and kissed your scalp, protecting you from a force no one could see but everyone could feel.

“You make me feel so young You make me feel so young Ooh, you make me feel so young!”

The song ends and you leap to your feet, cheering just as loudly as you did the other night at the Hideout for Corroded Coffin. You swipe at a stray tear and force yourself to look at your boyfriend, so effortlessly beautiful in a black t-shirt and jeans.

Thank you, you mouth.

I love you, comes his silent reply.

You gaze into each other’s eyes for another beat before you feel a thud against your legs. Harris stands right before you, ignoring the way all of the other kids proceeded out the door after their performances.

“Are those happy tears?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern as he notices your stained cheeks. When you nod, still too overcome with emotion to speak aloud, his face splits into a grin. “Good.” His arms wrap around your waist in a hug that nearly has you toppling over, and you rest your hand on his upper back to steady yourself.

“Easy, Har Bear,” Eddie’s voice is strong but tender, and your entire body relaxes in his presence. You want to pull him in by his belt loops and kiss him, running your fingers through his curls until you’re both smiling too hard to continue. If only you weren’t at your place of work, if only all eyes weren’t on you, if only–

“Looks like the Freak’s got a crush.”

A smattering of the audience members laugh at this, no one more so than the instigator himself. You whirl around reflexively, eyes narrowing at the smug blonde man behind you. Eddie takes a small step forward, quietly telling Harris to go back with his friends as he zeroes in on his longtime nemesis.

He’s going to hit him, you realize, noting the subtle clench of his jaw and twitch of his flexing bicep. I have to stop him before he does something he regrets.

Eddie’s hand shoots out, grabbing Jason’s collar and pulling him in with a jolt. There’s a soft gasp from the crowd followed by silence as everyone waits for Eddie’s next move. You can hear the scraping of metal chairs on the ground as Wayne and Jeff scramble to mitigate the situation before it can escalate further.

To your surprise–and relief–Eddie doesn’t throw any punches; instead, he grits his teeth and hisses, low enough so only you and Jason can hear:

“Don’t ever talk about her again.”

He lets go with a small shove, and Jason stumbles back just as Principal Sinclair arrives to break it up. While time came to a screeching halt, the whole interaction spanned fewer than ten seconds.

Wayne and Jeff reach him first, guiding him out of the cafeteria. The older man keeps his eyes on his nephew, but Jeff shoots Jason a steely glare, insinuating that Jason had better heed Eddie’s warning if he wants to live to see his daughter go to kindergarten. You follow behind and attempt to keep your composure.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie breathes as soon as the four of you are alone. “I shouldn’t have…I just fuckin’ hate that guy.” His eyes dance with anxiety, not sure whether to look at you, his friend, his uncle, or the ground.

You take his hands in yours, imploring him to focus on you as you reach up to brush his curls off of his face. “It’s okay–”

Eddie shakes his head. “I ruined everything. This was supposed to be about Harris, and about making you happy…” He takes a step back, rubbing his eyes with a low, exasperated, “fuck!”

“Baby–”

“I’m gonna get Harris,” Eddie starts to walk away, speaking to himself as though you hadn’t said a word, but he stops in his tracks when Wayne puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Listen to your girl,” he says simply, motioning for Jeff to come fetch Harris with him.

Eddie doesn’t dare protest, trudging back to face you. He’d fucked up royally, and he knew it. What was he thinking, putting his hands on Jason Carver in the middle of a goddamn preschool talent show?

“Eddie,” you take his hand in yours and give it a squeeze, “it’s okay. I’m not mad; I just wish he didn’t get under your skin like that.” You rub your thumb along his forefinger. “He’s not worth it, I promise.”

“I just…” Eddie mumbles, thoughts too scrambled to find the words he needs. He heaves a long sigh. “I shouldn’t have done it here.”

You can’t really argue with that; out of all of the places Eddie could fight Jason, your job wasn’t your favorite option.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You press onto your toes to whisper in his ear. “I almost did the same thing earlier today.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, nudging the toe of your shoe against his scuffed sneaker. “And I have a feeling most people in this town would agree with me.” The notion makes Eddie smile, and you continue. “Let me take you and Ol’ Brown Eyes out for ice cream to celebrate your amazing performance. Please?” You throw a puppy-dog look his way, though he needs little convincing.

Still, a nagging thought tugs at him that he has to resolve before can allow himself to relax. “There might be people there. People we know.” People like Jason Carver and Carol Perkins, he silently adds. “It’s okay if you don’t want to…we can just grab a half-gallon from Bradley’s and bring it home.”

You shake your head, effectively turning down his offer. “I’m taking my boyfriend and his adorable son to Scoops Ahoy, and the three of us are gonna split a fudge sundae,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Are you sure you’re okay with people knowing about us? Being branded ‘The Freak’s Girlfriend’? Hearing people gossip about whatever the Hawkins rumor mill has churned out?

The sensation of your lips on his tempers the overworked gear shifts in his brain. When you pull back, you’re smiling at him.

“Positive.”

tag list (now closed):

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

@breezybeesposts @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @81rain @dylanmunson @oscarisaacwhore @eddiesguitarskills @everheart12 @etherealglimmer @hollster88 @wh0re4life @siriuslysmoking

@bibieddiesgf @winchester-angel @starlitlakes @avalon-wolf @hazydespair @josephquinncore @daydreaminglisa @sidthedollface2 @eddiebaemunson @mandyjo8719 @daydreaming-mood @aol19 @corkadymu @starcourtnights

@rockstarmunsons @metalhead-succubus @boinkybarness @oohworldofpisces @costellation-hunter @toobsessedsstuff @meadow20 @lost-in-the-stars03 @aysheashea @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiemunsonslittlemetalhead

@chamomileh0ney @dream-a-little-nightmare @emma77645 @kurdtbean @sheneedsrocknroll92 @tlclick73 @lolly-in-a-strange-land @bakugouswh0r3

@strangerthingsstories5255 @adaydreamaway08 @itsalltaken @harmfulb1tch @mimischaos @averagemisfit03 @steddiegarbage @vigilanteshit @ellendemeyer152 @sierrahhh @hiscrimsonangel @mrsjellymunson @idkatee

@quentinswife @eddiesguitarskills @momowhoo @jasminelafleur @mmunson86 @mcueveryday @augustsgetawaycar @let-love-bleeds-red @inesven @tanyaherondale @theintimatewriter

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

1K notes · View notes

ma1dita · 3 months

Text

crazy little thing

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 3.4k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where he spends all his drachmas to make you smile. Sometimes, the Apollo kids are better matchmakers than Aphrodite herself. Everyone’s tired of you two dancing around each other. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: lil valentines day special though im working on more est. relationship fluff after this!! happy season 2 renewal babies

(posted 2/9/24 unbetaed)

—

“Come on, you gotta admit—it’s kinda funny!”

Luke is met with blank stares at the camp store after he places a few drachmas onto the folding table in front of the Apollo kids. They’re not sure if he’s trying to convince them, or himself.

Because yeah, that’s the excuse he goes for, wanting to spend his savings on having them sing to a certain head counselor instead of admitting his blatantly obvious feelings, so if you ask Lee Fletcher and his half-siblings, it’s kind of pathetic.

“What do we look like, a traveling mariachi band, Castellan?” he deadpans, watching the usually confident boy scratch the back of his neck with his face red like someone who’s been sitting out in the sun for too long.

“I’m not saying to follow her around all day or whatever, just pick a random time to sing a song and catch her off-guard,” he insists, before meeting the judgmental look of one of Lee’s younger siblings.

Lee chuckles, ruffling his sister’s hair before looking at Luke quite seriously, “She’s a good friend. You’re gonna have to pay us more than that. Special song for a special lady after all.”

The son of Hermes knows he’s gonna regret this sooner or later, but proceeds to throw the rest of his meager earnings onto the table. He has other ways of being resourceful anyway, the box of chocolates he nicked from behind the store counter feeling heavy in his jacket pocket.

“Right…she’s just a friend.”

Luke’s hands fidget at his sides as he stands there, feeling a little stupid.

Lee’s little sister scoops up the coins from the table, her raised eyebrows and light aura mirroring that of her older brother.

“What song were you thinking?” she asks, “Gotta make sure I know it if I’m singing it to your…friend.”

The 18-year-old boy tugs at his dark curls, getting more embarrassed and wanting to retreat with every minute that passes, but he’s never been one to back down from anything–swordfights, monsters, capture the flag, but this—trying to impress you...is a whole different story somehow.

Why are feelings so damn complicated?

It feels like being at the butt of a joke, or more accurately—at the sharp edge of a sword, and Luke never lets his fights end in a draw.

“You guys got it covered. Just…surprise me too, I guess,” he sighs, walking off without finishing his sentence. He wishes he could pray a little harder to his dad for luck, even if he’s unsure of what exactly he’s wishing for (or if his dad will even listen).

“Castellan’s hopeless. You think he knows it yet?” the girl asks her brother, to which Lee laughs.

“I don’t think she does either, even though everyone else can see right through them. The new bets are on who’s gonna break first. Chiron’s been keeping track, but don’t tell Mr. D.”

If Luke wants a show, they’ll make sure he’ll get his money’s worth—and hopefully, it’ll push you two along faster. Lee bet on you two getting together before the summer after all, and he’ll be damned if he loses to Clarisse.

—

Valentine’s Day might be the day of love, but for you, someone who’s single (not by choice), and heavily busy with making sure people aren’t so…enamored in public (you’ve lost count of the reports you’ve written out due to indecent behavior this morning alone)---this just feels like another Wednesday, except with more hormonal teenagers with uncontrollable urges than usual.

Oh, the joys of being the daughter of the camp director, also known as everyone’s favorite narc.

Honestly, love can suck it. With this much love in the air, you can feel it suffocating you like a plastic bag over your head.

That’s an uncontrollable urge. Too much?

Maybe Silena was right, you do need to open yourself up more to romantic opportunities. But if you have to watch another person swap spit and get pawed at like they’re the last dinner roll at the table….You might commit arson and set this place ablaze.

You just didn’t understand why people had to go all out today of all days. Shouldn’t love be shown year-round? Though you were a person of theatrics and enjoy a good show, it is amazing how much grandiose displays of affection make you cringe. It felt very performative, instead of genuine, and you would know, you’re the best actress at camp. You’ve acted out stories before, knowing all of the greatest romances and tragedies by heart. And you pride yourself on being a decent teacher to the campers, but for some of them, love still translates to a bad rendition of a ballad they heard on the radio.

Nothing gets past you at this point.

But that sucks too sometimes, you know?

Multiple failed flings and a heartbreak or two weigh down on you on days like this one, as you’re stuck being a bystander to outlandish displays put on by the Aphrodite kids being put to work. Love is their domain anyway, and yours…makes you feel a little less undesirable. Each demigod has their own strengths and weaknesses, but perhaps in the name of love, some of them don’t know how to take a hint. Several forgettable prose readings, a Sparknotes version of Eros and Psyche, and too many red roses to count have you reeling from exhaustion and a bit of disgust—-and it’s only lunchtime.

So yeah, maybe you’re a little jealous; they could call you Nemesis at this point.

The only flowers you got today were from the little kids from along the path to the strawberry orchard, and though it’s sweet—the human side of you misses affection.

Devotion.

To be a daughter of Dionysus meant to deal in extremes, obsession or nothing, and there are very few people who can handle that. Always being too much to handle, or uninterested as a defense mechanism. Perhaps that’s what scares admirers away.

That, or the fact that Luke Castellan is always attached to your hip. To be honest, you’ve always preferred it that way—the both of you working as a pair always gets things done faster around camp and he brightens your mood, whether you admit it or not.

But you two are just friends.

Really good friends who look for each other in crowded rooms, hands constantly brushing against the other for comfort, and able to pick up where the other one leaves off. Usually he’s the first person you see in the morning, and the last person you say goodnight to. You know how he likes his coffee and he cuts your apples for you as you two sit together in your unassigned seats in the dining pavilion. You watch each other’s workshops and if one of you is missing, everyone knows to ask the other to get an answer.

Right? That’s totally normal coworker/friend behavior.

If you were ever given immortality, perhaps they’d make you the goddess of denial.

You’re sweeping up confetti from the dining hall floor after an uncoordinated excuse of a flash mob was performed for one of the Demeter kids…and not to sound like a heinous bitch, but maybe next time they should use something biodegradable…or less messy. Sighing deeply, you feel someone’s eyes on you, and when you look up, Luke’s standing there with two full plates of food.

“Take a break, trouble. No one’s paying you overtime,” he jokes, and you roll your eyes as you put the broom aside.

“No one’s paying me at all…” you groan, before taking the plate out of his hands and knocking your head against his shoulder in thanks. He snickers as his hand brushes the small of your back, tickling your spine as he leads you to sit at a table.

“Just another holiday. You know how it is.”

“It’d be nice to have a night off though. Sometimes I regret taking up the position,” you mumble through spoonfuls of soup. He throws his large hand over your shoulder, kneading some tension from your trapezius. Head jerking along with the movements, you giggle as soup dribbles off your spoon, which makes his lips quirk into a small smile. Being around you felt so thoughtless and easy that if you told him to jump off a bridge he’d do it without question, which should be more concerning—the hold you have on him is irrevocable. Feelings are way too difficult for his teenage brain to comprehend at this stage. It’s easier to wash dishes with lava or fight off a dragon (bad example, he knows, but there’s something about you that already makes him feel like he’s losing before anything’s even happened).

Luke is someone who fights until the end, a soldier who’s always trained and so ready that sometimes it makes you wonder what war he’s preparing for. Infatuation, or the scarier, four-letter word was not something he was ever briefed on.

“No, you don’t. You’re a control freak,” he says with a grin.

Luke watches you play with the pendant on your necklace, the dragon scale he fashioned into your favorite accessory glinting in your hand. Running your fingers back and forth over the smooth surface, your other hand puts the spoon down and you place your head on his shoulder. He thinks if he had to describe the four-letter word on the tip of his tongue, he’d tell whoever’s asking about the way you kissed his healing cheek after you both left the Garden of Hesperides. More than a year later, Luke is still unable to find the right words even if the weakness has made a home in his heart with your name written all over it.

“I swear if I have to hear another person croak out a lovesong I might just drown myself in the Long Island Sound,” you scoff as his fingers trace circles onto your waist.

There’s a low strum of a guitar that reaches your ears and your forehead meets the cool surface of the table as you shut your eyes and grumble. It’s Lee and his half-siblings, beginning to walk through the hall seconds away from singing until they see Luke shaking his head and dragging his finger across his throat to please, gods, stop. The Apollo kids swivel and 180, walking out of the hall as the music stops dissonantly, rolling their eyes and dragging their feet.

“That was quick,” you say inquisitively as your head pops up from the table to see Luke looking off in the distance.

“Heh…I think they were just practicing or something…”

He then had to run off and pay them more drachmas for the inconvenience.

Fucking hustlers.

—

The sun sets quickly on Camp Half-Blood since it’s mid-February, and Luke finds you trying to calm your nerves as you look at the mess of glitter and paper mache that covers the arts and crafts hall from floor to ceiling.

“I can’t believe this!” you say in disbelief as you look at Luke, and he takes the can of Redbull out of your shaking hand.

“There’s just no fucking way everyone decided to use glitter. It’s everywhere! I’m—CONNOR, PUT THE SCISSORS DOWN!”

Luke sighs as he holds his hand out for his younger brother to give up the craft scissors, which he relinquishes with a mischievous grin.

“Guys, go find trouble somewhere else,” Luke mutters, pushing his head away, and where Connor goes, Travis quickly follows, tossing a canister of glitter back at him and not knowing it was still open.

“Oops.”

Immediately, the both of you are showered in iridescent particles, floating over your heads and stuck in your hair as the older Stoll brother looks at the two of you wide-eyed.

“You've already got trouble anyway,” he says teasingly, and this asshole winks at Luke before bolting out the door.

The room is silent now, and you pinch the bridge of your nose, before speaking, “I don’t care if he’s your brother, Luke. I might just fucking kill him.” You'd say more but your eyes are shut as you try not to breathe in glitter, and then the sound of the doorknob rattling catches your attention. Luke is standing there, finally faced with a door he can’t open, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance–but the effect isn’t as menacing as it should be when he’s covered in red and pink sparkles.

“Not if I get to him first, the little bastard.”

“Just open the door,” you say panicked, running over and forcing his hands off the doorknob.

“I can’t if you won’t let me do it!” He grits, elbowing you and trying to unlock the door with both his inherited gift and brute strength.

“What kind of demigod even are you? Lockpicking is supposed to be your thing!”

“Well OBVIOUSLY, but it’s not working, now is it, trouble?”

Luke finishes off the rest of your energy drink before throwing the can over his shoulder and he swears he can hear you cuss at him under your breath as you berate him about the mess, so he chooses to focus on busting the door down instead of looking at the glitter stuck in your eyelashes and thinking about how the idea of being stuck in a room with you makes him feel weak at the knees. Through the window, his eyes meet the group of Apollo kids staring at the predicament you two are in (and the barricade of chairs the Stoll brothers put in front of the door). He sighs, and Lee’s little sister flips him off as they start to walk away again, instruments in tow.

“You gonna charge him again?”

A tiny Will Solace looks at his elders for guidance as they walk along the path. As one of the youngest in the bunch, he especially idolizes anything his half-siblings do, going along with whatever they see fit.

“No, but we’re close enough to the archery range that I might just shoot them through their hearts myself. Eros and Aphrodite themselves are pretty much begging us to,” Lee grumbles.

“Why are we doing this again?” Will babbles, and his half-sister grabs his hand to help him walk faster.

“A crazy little thing called love. You’ll understand it better someday, kid.”

—

Thankfully, it all starts winding down after dinner. Luke finds you leaning against a tree flipping through your clipboard during the camp sing-along, so he tugs at your elbow to get your attention.

“Wanna get out of here?”

You look at him, slotting your pen behind your ear as you notice faint glitter particles still dotted along his cheeks. As your lips pull into a small smile, you say, "I still have a few things to do after this, don't you?"

"Cleared your schedule for the night," he mumbles, and whether it's the glow of the bonfire or he's actually blushing, a teasing expression crosses your face as you step closer and cross your arms at him.

"You cleared my schedule for the night. How on earth did you do that?"

Instead of a proper reply, he grabs your hand, tugging you out to the docks near the lake.

"Don't worry about it."

He's not going to tell you that he owes Chris and Annie a few favors before the end of the month to make up for the night shift they ended up taking. Instead, you both sit cross-legged at the edge of the dock, a gentle breeze brushing at your clothes and for the first time today, you're able to just exist.

"I hate Valentine's Day," you suddenly say, looking up at the night sky, and he's watching you closely as the gentle shine of the moon casts a cool glow on your face. Luke cringes at your statement, thinking he's already thrown away his shot.

"Why's that?"

"Tell me something Luke, am I unlikable? Like, is there anything wrong with me?"

He looks at you like you've told him you’re secretly a cyclops.

“The fuck? How many times do I have to tell you that everyone thinks you’re great?"

You don't even give him a chance to finish his sentence before you blurt, "I don’t want to be great, I want to be loved!" Reeling back a little, you lean back on your hands to create some distance.

“Sorry... that was a lot, and I’m just...wanting to be noticed. It's nice to have people's attention sometimes, you know?”

You’ve got all of mine, he thinks, realizing he never stood a chance at fighting it—this four-letter feeling you give him is the first and only battle he’ll back down from, and you're the only person he’ll wholeheartedly surrender to.

In short, he’s fucked.

"I always notice you." He pulls out a dented box of chocolates from his jacket pocket, opening it up for the both of you to share, and the look of amusement on your face makes him glad that at least one thing somewhat went to plan today, even if the chocolate truffles are a bit smushed. You’re popping one into your mouth and his dark eyes follow the trail of your fingers to your mouth, feeling his heart beat a bit faster.

But then you both hear the soft strum of a guitar from near the trees, and the two of you turn to hear some of the Apollo kids singing beautifully along the coastline.

I'll be seeing you, in all the old, familiar places...That this heart of mine embraces...

You gasp, grabbing Luke’s arm to push yourself up so that the both of you can turn and face a small group of your closest Apollo friends singing to the both of you. Luke’s eyes soften further when he feels you grab his hand and squeeze, leaning against his shoulder as you listen.

“Did you do this?” you mumble, still entranced by the performance.

“Only if it makes you laugh.”

And you do, in the way that he loves—a bit crazy and too loud, and it’s perfect.

I’ll always think of you that way…I’ll find you in the morning sun….

Whether it’s fireflies or Will bouncing light off the water to look like small, glowing candles, Luke can’t tell—he’s too busy watching your lips pull into a smile so confectionery his sweet tooth starts to ache. The little kid was never good at archery like his other half-siblings, but as your eyes shimmer under the ambient lights, you think his added romantic gesture shot you straight through the heart.

“You know, sometimes I really do hate you, Luke Castellan,” you whisper, and it couldn’t be more far from the truth.

“No, you don’t.”

His eyes flicker to you again, but you’re already looking back at him.

“I don’t.”

And when the night is new, I’ll be looking at the moon…but I’ll be seeing you…

It’s quiet now, and you’re unsure of where the Apollonian ensemble disappeared to but instead of worrying about if they’ll make it back before curfew, you stand there in front of Luke with your guard down.

Getting a little closer than he expected, your noses brush before you pull the slightly crushed wildflowers from your jean pocket, the only physical reminder you’ve kept from today, and tuck them into his jacket pocket, sitting right above his heart.

“Thank you.”

Luke doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he feels your lips gently kiss the marred skin on his right cheek, the blemish having an uncanny resemblance to a stroke of lightning; it serves as a reminder of his weakness. The lines blur as his eyes close to savor it and he doesn’t know if weakness is your kisses or his scar—but he is vulnerable to it all the same, realizing there’s a crack in the otherwise perfect persona that he’s worked so hard on. When his eyes open again, his Achilles’ heel has taken human form.

—

“This has got to be cheating,” Clarisse grumbles as she watches from the distance, hidden behind the trees.

“It’s not cheating if I’m winning. Silena’s gonna get a kick out of this,” Lee chuckles, ushering everyone back towards the cabins. It’s a bit harder to do this in the dark as they try to be quiet and not interrupt whatever will happen next between their favorite counselors.

“Well lucky for you, your gifts are cute and romantic, what am I supposed to do? They fight enough!”

“That’s what got them into this mess in the first place. Come on, curfew’s in 10. We’ll find out which of us wins the bet soon enough,” Chris mutters, pushing them along back onto the main path.

“Easy for you to say, Rodriguez, you live with Luke!”

“Would I ever lie to you, La Rue?” he says with a mischievous grin, and the Apollo kids giggle at the irony.

—

“My body ages,

my anger burns into a seam.

I am so annoyed by love

and still it comes.”

-Kate Baer

ask to be added to luke/general taglists!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan x reader fanfic #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan fluff #made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

670 notes · View notes

sunkissedrafe · 19 days

Note

somnophilia with stepbro!rafe i’m begging!!!!!!

Dreaming

summary: the request above!:)

word count: 2.5k

warnings (SPOILERS): somnophilia (sleeping), icky stepbro, noncon, fingering, p in v, creampie, MDNI!!!

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

it had been a long day. you’d started with an early morning tennis match with your mom, all excited about your newest little matching skirt and top as you pranced down the stairs into the kitchen.

“mom, this is the cutest thing i’ve ever seen!” you beamed, your skirt flying up as you twirled around to show it off.

rafe had to bite his cheek as his eyes burned a trail down your body, catching a glimpse of your lacy panties that stretch just right around the curve of your ass. he knew he shouldn’t look at his stepsister like this-he does his best not to. but lately it’s been hard to control himself, especially with you being so fucking naive, practically giving him a show every time you leave your room wearing next to nothing.

“you like it, ray? s’cute huh?” you walked over to where he sat at the counter, grabbing a strawberry off his plate and pushed it past your lips, sinking your teeth in to take a bite.

“uh huh, yeah.. it’s uh, real cute.” he nodded, using every ounce of strength he had to tear his eyes away from your pillowy lips sucking the juice off the berry.

he had to work even harder when you walked back into the house a couple hours later, your previously perfect hair now a mess, sweaty and stuck to your temples and neck. your skin was shiny and flushed, and he could only imagine the way you looked bouncing around the court without a care in the world, probably giving every man there the view he wished he had.

before he could get too worked up about it you sauntered up the stairs, returning shortly after donning a bikini that left little to the imagination.

“gonna go swim, i think ward and mom are getting in too. you should come!” your voice carried across the spacious house as you skipped to the back door.

it took no convincing- he quickly rushed to change and was out to the pool as fast as his legs would take him.

and, oh, was it a good choice.

he watched you, his blue eyes hidden behind his sunglasses as you pulled yourself up the ladder, water dripping from the ends of your hair and cascading down your delicate skin. you reached your hand up to wring the water out, each droplet hypnotizing rafe as they dripped down the valley of your breasts all the way to the hem of your tight fitting bottoms.

he couldn’t tear his eyes away as you moved to lay down, sprawled carelessly across a lounge chair. your skin glistened in the blistering heat, but even then he could make out the shape of your taut nipples poking through the thin fabric of your wet bikini, rising and falling with every breath you took. every filthy thought he was having went straight to his dick, tightening his swim shorts painfully.

he thought he was about to lose it when your mom brought you a popsicle after you’d complained about feeling dehydrated. “m’thirsty mom.. but the uv index is too good to go inside right now. got anything in the cooler?”

his breath hitched in his throat as your lips wrapped around the end of the popsicle, your plush tongue peeking out to lick around the bottom. fearing he couldn’t hide his raging erection for much longer he jumped into the icy water, sighing as he broke the surface and swam to the pool’s edge.

except when he looked again, the sun had worked in his favor and melted the popsicle, just enough to cause the sugary juice to roll down your chin and drip down to the fat of your tits. his hand found his throbbing dick under the water and gripped it, slowly moving back and forth as he watched you gather the juice with your finger and clean yourself up.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

he’s been aching ever since. it feels unfair to him, the fact that the world was cruel enough to allow such a perfect creation to walk amongst the world and somehow end up being his stepsister. it just wasn’t right, it couldn’t be.

the night was over now, the credits of the comedy movie rolling as ward and your mom collected the empty bowls that were once filled with popcorn and the boxes of snacks littering the coffee table.

“she looks so peaceful.” ward mutters, looking over at you as you breathe rhythmically against a throw pillow.

“i know, i don’t have the heart to wake her.” your mom whispers.

“i’ll be up for a bit,” rafe chimes in, realizing his voice is a bit too loud and eager, clearing his throat before continuing. “i’ll keep an eye on her.”

both parents thank him in hushed tones and wander off to the master bedroom after getting rid of the trash. as soon as rafe hears the latch of the lock he heaves a deep breath, slowly turning his head to fix his eyes on your sleeping figure.

you look so docile, so innocent and soft with your mouth agape, small snores escaping your lips. he hates that he feels a rush of arousal looking at you in such a vulnerable state, peacefully sleeping on the couch in the family home.

what he hates even more is the fact that he can’t stop his hand from gripping around your ankle, his rough palms sliding up the smooth skin of your calf, wiggling your leg and feeling satisfied as it flops limply to the side. you don’t move a muscle and your breathing stays completely steady. he chokes back a groan at the sight of your cotton shorts stretched around your hips, heart racing at the small fraction of skin exposed at your hipbones.

he would give anything to have you whimpering and moaning, eyes rolled back while you voluntarily give him your body as you cry out his name- but he can’t try for that yet. you’re too innocent for corruption, too pure to destroy just yet. he knows he’s sick for being obsessed with his stepsister, but a part of him desperately needs you to want him too.

rafe’s hand reaches out and a shaking finger hooks around the fabric, pulling your little shorts to the side. he bites hard on his lip when he sees your glistening pussy on display, no panties covering what he’s so desperately wanted to set eyes on for months. he drags in a shaky breath as he glances up to your face, still sleeping with no idea of his sinful actions.

his cock stiffens behind the confines of his sweatpants and his heart beats with enough force that he can feel it in his throat. his nerves don’t stop him from sliding his finger up your soft inner thigh, and your unconscious state doesn’t stop the goosebumps from erupting across your skin. in his twisted mind he can’t help but feel that this is a sign you want his touch, that you want him to continue.

and so he does. he lets the rough fingertips of his first and middle finger rub up the folds of your core, splitting them apart to reveal your pink clit.

“sh-shit…” he murmurs under his breath, bringing his free hand to push his hair out of his eyes.

as he moves to touch the tender bud, your shorts snap out of his fingers and back into place. his blood runs cold as you breathe in sharply, turning your head to fall to the other side. in a strike of pure luck your eyes remain closed, the soft rhythmic breathing returning. he decides the shorts are just in his way, they’re too much of a risk. what’s the harm in taking them off? he can definitely be gentle enough.

he moves the slowest he ever has, a touch so delicate you’d think he was scared to shatter you like glass. he hooks his fingers into the waistband and slowly drags them down your legs, so meticulous and careful. once they’re past your ankles he drapes them over the back of the couch, sighing once he sees your bare lower half uninhibited by clothing.

rafe’s mind swirls with sin, images of every way he wants you- to touch you, feel you, taste you. with a featherlight graze he slips his thumb up your wet core, swirling a small circle around the puffy bundle of nerves. he watches intently to make sure you stay asleep, being as vigilant as he can.

he moves back down, circling his middle finger around your entrance before pushing in to his first knuckle. his dick twitches in his pants when he feels just how tight it is already. slowly and with mindful precision he pushes all the way into your velvet walls, his head swimming when he feels the warmth hugging around his finger. he sits idly for a few seconds, taking in not just the physical feeling but the rush of adrenaline that has begun its course rushing through his veins.

to his utter shock, an almost silent whimper-like sound falls from your pouty lips, your hips shuffling around slightly as your body adjusts to the feeling.

she does want this.

his brain races and before he can change his own mind, he slowly curls his finger up into your gummy core, teasing your sweet spot steadily, repeatedly. your sweet juices have coated his finger, your unconscious arousal now evident as it pools out around his knuckle while he bends and thrusts his finger. his aching cock throbs and he can’t help but to grab the elastic band of his pants, pulling them down just enough for his length to escape with a slap against his stomach.

rafe brings his left hand to grip around his base and gives it a squeeze. he slowly inserts his ring finger into you, prodding your walls to stretch and make room for both digits. with his lip bitten tightly between his teeth, he jerks himself to the same steady rhythm as his fingers as they go in and out of your pussy, his breath hitching as you start to mumble and lift your head.

“w-what… mmm…” your eyes are still closed, only half awake.

“shhh s’okay, pretty girl. you’re just dreaming. go back to sleep.” he whispers softly, his fingers not stopping once.

and boy, you must be exhausted, because your head falls back against the pillow, the same steady breathing returning once again.

“that’s it.” he coos only to himself, his thumb grazing against his swollen pink tip.

i have to feel her.

he’s bombarded with intrusive thoughts- thoughts of how warm and wet you’d feel around his cock, how pliant and accessible you are as you lay exposed to him. it doesn’t take much convincing seeing as how deep of a sleeper you’ve seemed to be so far. as smoothly as he can, he removes his fingers from your core to bring them up to his mouth, sucking every drop of your arousal from them with a groan.

so fucking sweet.

with great caution and a watchful eye, he slides his sweatpants down to his ankles and kicks them away before taking place in front of you, his knees sinking hard into the plush couch cushions. the sight of his cock so close to your pussy has him thinking he could cum from that alone. he brings his length to sit atop your folds, dragging the underside back and forth across it before he lets his head brush against your clit. your body reacts and your hole nearly begs for him, clenching and fluttering around nothing.

he rests his palms against your knees, pushing them ever so slightly apart to make room for himself as he pushes his tip into you, sucking in a sharp breath as he sinks in. inch by inch your walls envelop him tightly, swallowing him as he presses into the hilt. he stops and has to compose himself, choking back every lewd moan and curse he wants to let out in fear of startling you awake.

slowly he pulls out before plunging fully in once more, throwing his head back when your pussy squeezes tightly around him in response. something ignites deep in his primal mind and he can’t stop himself from fucking into you over and over, using your unaware, sleeping body as his own personal toy. each careful thrust twists his mind into a more sick, sinful frenzy.

your mouth falls open and your body’s natural instincts kick in, moaning and whimpering as your cervix is kissed by rafe’s tip. the sweet sounds of his stepsister crying out in her sleep for him, for his cock, causes his stomach to tighten and threaten release. he draws himself out and your hips buck up, an extra loud whine escaping your lips.

“you like feeling full, huh?” he whispers into the air as he moves one hand to grip around the fat of your tit through your thin shirt, kneading and squeezing. his fingertips find your taut nipple and pinch it through the fabric, pulling and squeezing as he continues to thrust into you. and, like bodies do, yours reacts to the stimulation by being sent into an orgasm, pulsing and squeezing around his cock as you release your juices onto him.

the sensation and his sick arousal bring him to his peak, hips stuttering as he spills hot ropes of cum into you, painting your walls with his entire load. he thrusts into you as he rides out his high, and for a moment he stops to catch his breath, letting his cock stay inside of you as he leans forward against the back of the couch for support.

as carefully as he can he pulls his hips back, his cock leaving your warmth and his cum falling out of your pussy beautifully in front of his eyes.

he hates how much he loves it.

he loves how much you’d hate it.

he picks his pants up from the ground and quickly pulls them back up his legs before grabbing your soft cotton shorts and positioning them around your ankles. when he slowly pulls them up you begin to stir, and in a rush he pushes them up to your hips. he watches your eyes flutter open slowly and blink a couple times as they adjust to the dim lighting.

“r-rafe?” your voice comes out in a tired rasp.

“mhm, i’m here. you gotta get to bed.” he mumbles in a casual tone, reaching his arm around you to pull you into a sitting position.

“i… okay.” you sigh groggily, moving to your feet with his support.

your feet drag the floor as he helps you to the stairs. he holds back a demented smirk as he ushers you up them, watching his cum saturate the fabric between your legs.

this has to stay my little secret.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

taglist: @stepbrorafe @bunnycvnts @hewwokitti3 @pinkribboncoco @rafesgiirl @beautifuldisaster88 @mousie101 @laniirackssss @ditzyzombiesblog

221 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

Dirty Work 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I'm ahead on studying so figured I'd get this going.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The television blares as you come downstairs. The hues flicker through the archway as you peek inside. Your father must’ve left it on. You’re used to finding him passed out on the couch but he’s nowhere to be seen.

You yawn into your hand, another week ahead of you. You near the couch as the volume makes your ear drums buzz. Why does he always have it so loud?

Your morning tea hazes your vision. You have those few moments of peace before you have to start the day. The warmth flowing into you, nestling in your stomach, comforting you. As you come around in search of the remote, you stumble to a stop.

Your father didn’t make it that far. He’s slumped over on the edge of the couch. Your heart leaps into your throat as you see the remote on the floor. He must have dropped it. You snatch it up and mute the television, leaving its glow to light the room.

“Dad,” you touch his shoulder, but you already know. He’s not rasping or coughing or choking. Oh no. Oh no no no.

You try to roll him onto his back, then to sit him up. You can’t move him. He’s limp and heavy and…

You run away, racing upstairs to grab your phone from your night table. The charging cord snaps out of the port as you flip it open and rush back to the first floor. You’re panting as you key in the emergency number and put the phone to your cheek.

“Hello!” You nearly shriek at the operator as they answer, “my dad! My dad!” You shake your head as you try to gather yourself, “my dad’s not moving. He’s not breathing.”

“Alright, ma’am, I need you to calm down, can you do that for me?” The man coaxes.

“I don’t know,” you whine.

“Ma’am, you gotta calm down. You wanna help him, don’t you? So take a breath, alright?”

You inhale and let it out, “he’s not breathing,” you babble again.

“Okay, ma’am, you gotta get him on his back for me, can you do that?”

“Y-yes,” you chuff out and go back to the couch. You push on your dad, lifting his arm until he flops onto his back, “he’s on his back.”

“Alright, do you know CPR?” The operator asks.

“I… yes,” you gulp. The doctor sent you to lessons after your dad got the tank. He said it was standard for family members. Your dad told you it was garbage. “Yes, I know how.”

“Good, I need you to breathe for him. You remember the steps, right?”

“I– I can do it,” you say convincing yourself as much as him.

“Do it now, alright? I want you to keep on until the ambulance gets there. You don’t stop,” he says calmly, “I’m tracing your location and I have people on the way.”

“I’m… I’m gonna do it. Now.”

You place the phone down and hit the button for the speaker. You stand over your father’s limp body as your eyes gloss with tears. He can’t be dead. You won’t let him do that. He never listens to you but you’re not going to let him die.

You tilt his head up and move the oxygen tube out of the way. You put your hands on his chest and pump, keeping count as you do. Then you pinch his nose and bend over him, blowing into his mouth, just how they showed you.

You don’t stop. You won’t. You can’t believe this is happening. It’s not going to happen. You can’t lose your dad. He’s all you have. He’s all you’ve ever had.

You hear sirens and the operator speaking to you. You tune it all out as you focus on your dad. You’re crying as you pump again. One, two, three…

The world is foggy around you as you count, over and over. You feel someone touching you, pulling you away. There’s noise all around as the colours turn to blurry orbs all around you. You fight to get free until you realise it’s okay. They’ve come to help.

You watch the paramedics in their white shirts work on your father as another stands beside you. She hands you your phone as the operator talks to you.

“It’s okay, ma’am, they’re going to get him to the hospital,” he assures. “And take care of you.”

You thank him in a wobbly voice and shut the phone. The woman beside you gives a sympathetic look. The men by your father mutter.

“He’s breathing,” one declares, “get the stretcher.”

“He’s… he’s alive?” You squeak.

“Stand back,” the paramedic beside you stops you from going forward, “gotta let them get him loaded up.”

“Is he going to be okay?” You murmur.

“We can evaluate him at the hospital,” she insists, “you can ride with him but first, they need to get him there.”

You nod and wipe your wet cheeks. He’s alive. Barely. You think you might have saved him. For once, you think you did something right.

🧹

You call into work as you sit out in the waiting room. You hope missing your shift doesn’t affect your probation. Clara thanks you for letting her know but you expect it’s a hassle she doesn't want.

You have your spring jacket pulled over your pajamas and a pair of slip-on sneakers. You wring your hands almost raw as you wait and watch the clock. You are overflowing with anxiety.

You rock in your chair as the minutes stretch to hours. You see others come and go. Some in rough shape, others on their own strength. Stretchers roll in and out, occupied or otherwise. The sterile scent dries your nostrils and stains your tongue.

As noon rolls around, you get up and find the vending machines just inside the entrance. You drop coins in the slot and push the button for an English tea. The cup drops down into place and the nozzle churns loudly, spitting out thinly steeped tea. It’s better than nothing.

You return to your seat and blow over the top of the cup. Your mind pendulums between the room down your hall and the beeping machines, and the empty house with its fantastical gardens. You should’ve been mopping Mr. Laufeyson’s floors that day.

You finish half the tea before you give up on it. It’s lukewarm and bland. You slouch down and cross your arms. Your eyelids droop but you won’t let them close. You yawn and watch a woman comfort her sniffling child as he sneezes into her shirt.

It’s all so surreal. It feels like a dream. It is your worst nightmare. The doctor warned you but you hoped… you hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

Your name is called and you sit up, nearly jumping out of the seat. You wave your hand and approach the woman in blue scrubs.

“That’s me,” you gulp.

“You can come see him now,” she says.

You blink, “he’s okay?”

She gives you a look, “he’s stable. Come this way.”

She turns back as the large double doors open inward and strides forward. You follow her and she leads you to a room. She points you inside. “He’s on the other side of the curtain.”

“Thank you,” you utter before she’s off. Everyone is in a hurry there. You suppose they have to be.

You turn and look at the closed curtain around the first bed. You pass it and peek around the next. You find your dad, eyes shut, tubes crisscrossed all around him as a machine echoes his heartbeat. You pull the curtain shut and sit in the stiff plastic chair just near the end of his bed. You stare at him, eyes welling hotly.

“I tried,” you croak, “I really tried, dad.”

You drop your face into your hands and let yourself fall apart. You bawl, swallowing down your sobs as you choke. You try not to make too much noise in your grief. You wouldn’t want to disturb your neighbour. But you can’t stop yourself. You’re sorry. You’re so sorry.

You let him down again.

🧹

Your father wakes up the next day. He isn’t cognizant as he thrashes and chokes on the tube down his throat. You hit the bell and stand back to watch in shock. The nurses rush in and shoo you out.

It’s hours before you see him again. The new nurse says he’s sedated and will need to be for a while. You ask if he’s okay. Again. Her answer isn’t much of one.

You spend the first two nights sleeping in the plastic chair. You can’t bring yourself to sleep in the house alone, but you have to leave him. You have a job that day and you need the money. Especially after seeing the invoice for the ambulance.

You go home and change on the third morning and go down to the east side for your assignment. You get through it without thinking. You just do. The familiarity of scrubbing, sweeping, and mopping mutes your emotion. Outside the hospital, you can almost pretend it’s not real.

When you finish, you go back to the hospital. You eat in the cafeteria before you go to your father’s room. Your stomach mulches painfully as your body greedily digests the processed chicken noodle soup. It’s your first meal since the day you got there.

Those yellow walls become your new home. You only leave to go to your third shift that week and otherwise linger. When the nurses send you out, you have tea in the cafeteria or choke down another unappetizing meal from a plastic tray.

Your father’s awake on Sunday night. They tell you they’re weaning him off the sedation. His eyes are glassy and confused. He doesn’t look like himself and for more than the tubes that keep him alive.

Monday morning you say goodbye and promise to be back after work. He grumbles and coughs. He doesn’t have a feeding tube anymore but hasn’t said a word. You don’t know if he can or if he just has nothing to say.

You set off to Mr. Laufeyson’s house. Another week. You’re halfway through probation but you won’t celebrate. You only want to panic. You need money. You need more shifts. Three houses a week for another month and a half won’t do.

As always, you just have to take what you can get.

You shake off the last week before you cross the threshold. Hopefully your eyes aren’t too swollen. Between the lack of sleep and crying, they’re raw and itchy.

You open your phone and click the stubborn button on the keypad to scroll. You put in the code and push through the gate. The garden is a blur of green as you ignore it. You’re not there to watch the leaves dance or breathe in the beauty. This place is just as gray as the rest of the world.

You go inside and begin. Shoe covers, gloves, and… you don’t have your water bottle. Oh well. You proceed down the list. Room by room, item by item. You don’t see him. You don’t hear him. You hope he’s not there.

You get to the second floor. There’s a new bullet point. ‘Study: grease the office chair.’ Huh?

You recall on your last visit how the chair squeaked with his every move. You huff and return downstairs. You go to the closet where the rest of the supplies are and find a new bottle. Small with a narrow nozzle. You read the instructions as you ascend back to the upper level.

You open the study door and stop short. You didn’t think too knock. You sputter but keep any words from spilling out. You keep a grasp on the doorknob but before you can back out, Mr. Laufeyson lifts his gaze from the laptop and catches you in his sights.

“Stay,” he demands and slowly closes the laptop lid. You wince as it clicks. “I thought you quit.”

You stand dumbly in the door. You glance from him to the wall then down at the bottle in your hand. He clicks his tongue and his chair squeaks as he leans forward.

“You may speak. I want to know where you were.”

Why? Your habitual silence keeps you from blurting that out. You clear your throat.

“I couldn’t work, that’s all,” you say, peeking up at him sheepishly.

He tilts his head as he narrows his eyes, “for what reason?”

You don’t know what to tell him. You don’t think he really cares. You roll the bottle in your grasp.

“I had an emergency,” you explain, “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t–”

He puts his hand up, “they sent another one. I didn’t like her. She didn’t dust the mantle.”

“I’m sorry, sir–”

“Mr. Laufeyson will do,” he corrects.

“Mister–”

“We’re done speaking,” he interrupts.

You sniff. Did you offend him? Should you have told him more? You only want to be professional and it wouldn’t be proper to bring your personal life to work, would it?

He stands suddenly and you grip the bottle tight, keeping your arms straight at your side. He struts around the desk, his height emphasized by his long steps. He approaches you, stopping as you move out of the way of the door.

“Fix the chair,” he demands, “that damn noise is driving me mad.”

He sweeps out, leaving you grasping the bottle of grease in confusion. Is he mad? And why is he so concerned with your absence? He doesn’t seem very fond of you. Will he tell Clara? Could he have you fired?

You try not to worry about it. You already have enough on your mind. You can only do what you can do. Grease the chair and finish the job.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #avengers #thor #marvel #mcu

254 notes · View notes

ghouljams · 10 months

Note

So glad I’m finally getting notifications!! I go through your blog like it’s the morning paper 💕

Happy belated 4th of July!!🦅 It’s the only day out of the year I’m patriotic lol. May I ask how crazy our cowboys got for the holiday??

It is a recent but honored Price family tradition that Soap and Goose almost burn down the barn every fourth. This is Ghost's first year seeing it actually happen.

"I assume you're both tired of having 10 fingers," Simon tells you nice and even, watching you and Soap tie cakes and mortars together.

"Haven't lost one yet," Soap responds at the same time you remind Simon,

"We've got a bucket of water nearby."

"Look we're at least a hundred extra feet from the barn this year, I've got a nice long fuse, nobody is losing any fingers." Soap nods, you nod.

"If you set the barn on fire again you're going on probation." Price gripes sitting back in his lawn chair. You give an affronted gasp and he nods solemnly, "both of you, shit mucking for the next month."

"I am your pride and joy!" You tell him.

"You're a fire hazard," you dad tells you, smoking a cigar on the edge of your safety perimeter. You don't think he fails to see the irony in that statement, but you do think he chooses to ignore it.

"I think it's a deserved punishment," Simon nods, Soap at least has the decency to glare at him for agreeing.

"We're not gonna catch the bard on fire, we've got plennae of room." Soap twists the last of the fuses together and inspects his work. "Somebody get Gaz out of the house, he's going to miss the show."

"Think that's the point," Simon mumbles as you go to drag your last guest off the porch.

"You're both insane," Gaz gripes, putting up more of a fight than you'd thought.

"Quit being a baby, nobody's ever been exploded before." You tell him, enjoying the noise Gaz makes at your joke.

"Ha ha, you're so funny," Gaz drags his feet as you tug him closer to the lawn chairs, "people die Goose, people die every year because of shit like that," he points at your explosive pyre.

"And yet you always have fun when we do this," you roll your eyes, pushing him down into the seat you'd put out for him.

"I really do," he settles into the lawn chair and takes the offered beer from your dad. You're pretty sure Gaz only puts up a fight to pretend so he can pretend he wasn't a cheering party when something unintended catches on fire.

"Alright everyone back up, I'm lighting this beauty." Soap announces, you grab Simon's hand and drag him back to the lawn chairs, sitting him down next to Gaz. His hands grab for your hips to pull you into his lap.

"Watch those hands Lieutenant," your dad barks. Simon's hands fly away from you, raised by his head like Daddy might point a gun at him to enforce the rule.

"I gotta be on stand by with the water anyway," you whisper to Simon, "but maybe I'll knock later?" He smiles behind his mask, eyes narrowing just enough to tell you what you already knew as he takes your hand in his.

"Doors always open." There's unspoken "for you" that settles between you two. Simon presses your knuckles against his mask, gentle and affectionate. He doesn't let anyone else into his private space as readily as he does you. Even Soap still knocks.

Speaking of Soap. The man of the hour strikes a hot match and lights the first fuse, jogging over to safety with the rest of you. He gives you a thumbs up.

The first mortar ignights and shoots a stream of blue into the sky. The loud bang-pop of the explosion echoing in your ribs. The flower of sparks fizzles and another shoots up behind it. Then a cake goes off and sparks fly like feathers shoot a high train that almost instantly ignights the next mortar to send more pops into the sky. Another jet of purple sparks from the cake sets off a Roman candle. The 'tump' of it shooting flares up is offset by the crackling of another fuse burning and-

"That's not supposed to happen," Soap mumbles, watching two more mortars and another Roman candle light.

The five of you watch solemnly as a flare from the Roman candle soars over your heads and onto the roof of the barn. Simon drops your hand as you watch the sparks try to catch on the tar, short bursts of flame lighting up the roof. Your dad sighs and dials the fire department as Gaz runs for the hose.

509 notes · View notes

midnightfictionlibrary · 11 months

Text

Gravity - Jamie Tartt x Fem!reader

Gravity - Jamie Tartt x Fem!Reader

Content : angst, slight verbal argument, implied sex, friends to lovers trope

Word Count : 2.3k

Plot Summary : Jamie had been your best friend for years, but would a drunken one night stand ruin that?

A/N : Having a lot of fun writing Jamie fanfic so I’m going to keep going. Pls like and reblog if you enjoy/want more! <3

🎵Gravity is working against me…and gravity, wants to bring me down 🎵

Listening to the music playing softly from the speaker on the counter, you stand with your hands gripping the edge of the kitchen sink, your head pounding slightly from your fun night out with the team, an outing that led to one of the biggest mistakes you could have possibly made. One that could ruin everything. You were trying your hardest not to freak out, but it was a bit hard once you feel warm, strong arms wrap around you from behind.

Soft lips press into the side of the tender flesh of your neck, and you close your eyes at the sensation. “Good morning, love.” Jamie mumbles sleepily into you, and his slight stubble tickles your neck. In another life, or under different circumstances, you would have treasured a moment like this. But Jamie was your best friend, and you couldn’t ruin what you had. Losing him would hurt more than anything, so you decided when you woke up this morning to get ready for the day that you would have to let Jamie down and make it clear that this was a one time thing. Doing press for the team and being Jamie’s friend was one thing, but you add feelings in and things could quickly get messy.

You turn around to face Jamie, trying not to notice how devastatingly handsome he is in the mornings after waking up. Your brows are furrowed, and Jamie places a finger between them, reminding you to smooth them out.

“Why do you look so upset?” He says, a touch of apprehension in his question. As if he knows what you’ll say. As if he knows you’re about to bring him down easy. His hands slip from your waist to rest behind you on the sink as he straightens up and peers at you.

“Jamie…” You start, searching his face. “You know I care about you. I do. I just…”

“You what?” He asks, moving his head to catch your eyes again when you look away from him. Your heart is racing and your mouth feels dry. You know that he feels things for you, and you feel them too. But preserving the friendship is something you think should be a priority. What if you ended up together and then broke up? Then what? Everything that you shared and experienced together would just be painful memories, and you didn’t think that you could handle that, because you needed Jamie to stay in your life.

“I think this was a mistake.” You say, and then it’s out in the open.

It’s silent except for the faint outros of the song playing earlier. You can see Jamie’s jaw working, and he’s still so close to you. He steps back abruptly, clearing his throat. “Got it.” He says simply, upset lacing his voice.

“Jamie -” you start, but he holds a hand up to stop you.

“No. I got it. I can’t make you care about me the way I care about you. Wouldn’t be very nice of me.”

“But I do care about you, Jamie.”

“This is a funny way of showing it, love.” He scoffs, locating his shirt by the living room couch where he had heatedly discarded it the night before. He tugs it over his head and you watch him, unable to think of anything to say.

“You’re not being very fair.” You manage to get out, and as he’s walking back to your bedroom to gather the rest of his things, he stops.

You swallow, biting your lip as he turns to you.

“Fair?” He asks, brows furrowing. He makes his way back towards you, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen. “How am I the one not being fair?”

“You won’t even let me explain!” You say, starting to get frustrated with him. “This is just like you, shutting down once you’re upset and not letting anyone get in a word edgewise.” You stop and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just…I care about you so much and that is exactly why I think this was a mistake.”

Jamie watches you stand there and is struck by how beautiful you look in the mornings. And it breaks his heart all the more. But he meant what he said earlier, it wouldn’t be nice of him to ask you to give him your heart if you didn’t feel you could. This hurt, but he would do what he always did, which was find comfort in the arms of some other one night stand. He realizes he hasn’t said anything in response to you and shakes his head slightly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t follow why.” He manages to say.

“You’re important to me. What if this ended badly? Then work would be miserable and what? We never speak to each other again?” You take a step towards him but he backs up again,unable to let himself be close to you while he’s hurting. “I can’t handle that.”

Jamie swallows, and wordlessly turns, gathering his things from your room. He silently moves around, then leaves your apartment as silently as a ghost. You hear the door click closed and cover your face with your hands. “Fuuuuck.”

You make your way to your small office, coffee in hand, still reeling from your conversation with Jamie earlier. You walk in, turning on your various ambient lights, because the big fluorescent one would just exacerbate your small hangover. You hear a knock on the door and secretly hope it’s Jamie.

“Oh. It’s just you.”

Roy raises both of his thick eyebrows, “Nice to see you too. You look like shit.”

You snort, rolling your eyes as you continue to set up your desk for the day of work ahead.

“No, ‘fuck off Kent’?” He grumbles, sighing as he leans against the door frame. “Oi, out with it. Why are you moping about in here like a fuckhead before the day’s even started?”

You sigh, opening your laptop. “I slept with Jamie last night.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Roy shakes his head, as if confused. When you look up at him, his usually glowering face does look confused. “I thought you had feelings for him?”

You nod, starting to sort through the emails you had received. “I do.” You say simply, as if that were clearly obvious.

“So shouldn’t this be exciting?” Roy asks, moving into your office to sit in the chair across from you at your desk.

You blow out through your mouth. “I told him it was a mistake.”

“Fuck. No wonder you look like shit.” Roy says, leaning forward to peer at you. “Why?”

Leave it to Roy to get you to spill what you were thinking with his blunt lines of questioning.

“Because I don’t want to lose his friendship. It didn’t go well so honestly, I probably fucked it anyway.”

He sighs, rubbing his beard with one hand before patting your hand with the other. “Listen. You do deserve to be happy. I know for some reason you don’t think so. But love is scary and sometimes you have to take a risk.”

You look up at him, lip quivering, which makes his eyes widen. “Shit.”

You burst into tears and put your head down on your desk, which causes Roy to startle. He thinks about coming around to hug you. He clears his throat awkwardly, but lays a gentle hand on your shoulder before leaving your office. At least he knew that you would rather be alone, but he did give you something to think about. The door closes with a soft swoosh.

You stay with your head down on your desk until you calm your heart rate, and looking in your compact mirror, you touch up your makeup before standing up. You had to get behind the scene’s thoughts before the match today, so you figured one of the best people to ask would be Sam. He was always enthusiastic to help, and genuinely seemed to like doing the team Instagram stuff, at least more than the other boys.

You make your way to the locker room, knocking until you hear “We’re decent!”

You plaster on a fake smile and pop in. “Hello, my favorite boys!” You can feel Jamie’s eyes on you, and you try not to look at him. “We need some before-the-game thoughts so I came to grab Sam quickly.”

Sam grins brightly at you. “Anything for our favorite press manager.”

“You’re just saying that because you like being my social media star.” Today was the game the boys were using Ted’s new strategy, so you knew they were all excited and abuzz. “So Sam, I think we’ll just do a quick insta story right here in the locker room. More authentic for the fans.”

Sam nods and sits in front of his locker, and as you begin filming him, your eyes wander to Jamie. He’s speaking to Colin, but he feels your eyes on him and looks over to you, giving you a polite, but terse smile. Your heart slips and you switch your attention back to Sam, who has just finished giving his thoughts.

“Thanks, Sam, that’s great.” You smile at him as you pause for a moment to add his social media tags on the story you post. “And done. Thanks boys, have a great match!” You blow them all a friendly kiss as you leave the locker room, letting out the breath you were definitely holding in. You go to your office to gather your things to join the coaches on the pitch. Usually you take pictures from the box with Keeley and Rebecca, but today you wanted real action shots. Engagement was down, so you needed something exciting to get the fans back to interacting with the team’s socials.

You’re a bundle of nerves as you take a space between Beard and Roy, and Roy looks down at you, seeming to assess if you were going to burst into tears again. You wave a hand at him dismissively and he makes his characteristic approval grunt. Ted and Beard greet you and you smile at them, holding up your phone to capture some pictures and hopefully videos of the match. You take a deep breath as the game starts, quickly realizing that this first half was not going to go well. You watch Jamie, wondering what he’s thinking and wishing you hadn’t hurt his feelings this morning, that you could call out to him or assure him, anything. After another missed goal, you lower your phone and groan, turning towards the dugout.

You stayed in the dugout while Ted coached the boys before the second half, and you were sure he was giving them some pick me up energy. The new strategy wasn’t working well so far, but this was the first game it was being implemented and figured it needed time. You take a picture of the stands, posting it quickly. You weren’t able to catch any videos yet with the way the game was going, but being down on field level definitely seemed to be catching fan’s attention. You look up when the team runs out, looking renewed and envigored. You notice they’re all patting Jamie’s back, and you smile, hoping he would catch your eye. He refused to, and hadn’t looked at you since you had been in the locker room earlier. You sigh, watching as the game begins again.

Immediately, there’s a difference in the way the boys are playing, and Jamie…is actually holding back a lot. You can’t keep your eyes off of him the entire second half, forgetting to even capture footage like you were meant to. Every move he made, every smile he gave his teammates, every word of encouragement he shouted solidified the fact that you were a fucking idiot. The gravity of the situation dawns on you and you feel stupid.

You stand anxiously with the coaches as it comes down to the final seconds of the game, hands clasped close to your mouth. Roy glances down at you with a smirk, knowing that you’re watching Jamie. He hopes your chat earlier got you in better spirits and helped you figure a few things out.

When the last goal is scored and the game goes to Richmond, you throw your hands up in celebration and scream with the coaches, the fans, and the team. The boys are huddling, hugging each other, jumping up and down, and before you know it, you’re running out onto the field.

“Jamie!” you yell, running right for him. “Jamie!”

He turns at the sound of your voice and opens his arms just as you crash into him, and lifts you up off your feet to give you a soul crushing hug. You look down at him as he’s holding you up, a huge smile plastered on his face. “I’m sorry!” You shout over the noise, stroking his face. “I love you, and it wasn’t a mistake.”

His gaze softens at your words and he sets you down, moving his hands up to cradle your face gently, before crashing his lips into yours passionately. You throw your arms around his neck and relish the moment, ignoring that some of the team had definitely noticed and were cheering the two of you on. When you finally break apart, Jamie rests his forehead on yours, smiling a cheeky grin. “I knew you couldn’t stay away from me.”

You laugh out loud, throwing yourself into another hug. He wraps his arms around you, peppering your face with kisses. He carries you into the locker room after the boys, feeling elated. After all, all he could ever want was in his arms.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #friends to lovers #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x y/n #ted lasso

579 notes · View notes

cosmichoneibeee · 8 months

Note

Hey, since requests are open, may I ask for hcs or something for Viper x female reader working together in the lab? Kind of strangers to a mutual secret crush? Thank you~ <3

Being Viper's laboratory colleague and secret crush

Words count: +/- 4.8k

A/N: Hi anon, maybe I got a little carried away on this topic. I love Viper so much and everything that involves her, I always end up losing a little bit of the notion of how much has already been done when I write to her. Also, ladies, take your eyes off her, she's my wife

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ˙·٠•●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●•٠

It wasn't meant to be like this, it wasn’t meant to happen

Viper doesn't usually hire new scientists to work with her, but she made an exception after seeing your resume

For you, just having the opportunity to work for Sabine Callas is like winning the jackpot

And for her, it's great to see at least one person as interested in what she does as you are - unlike other people she has to deal with on a daily basis, as she says

She started to really realize you existed when she realized how much you looked like herself when she was younger: eager and euphoric to make the world different

But that doesn't mean she'll go easy on you.

From day 1 you knew how strict she was with the work you were supposed to do, perfect wouldn't be near enough

You'd expect her to be short and to the point, but she seemed to nag you a little too much.

Expects you to work overtime virtually every day

You didn't like her from the beginning, despite her being an extremely beautiful and intelligent woman

It's not hard to imagine that you almost regretted applying for this job after all the demands and care you had to take just to make a report and then having to hear how bad it was from Sabine herself every single time

She really made your life hell

Until the day where just you and her stayed late

After being told to redo all the work you have made for almost a month, you broke down and exploded, asking why she was so mean

She watched you in silence as you babbled angrily, with that look of superiority, of always being ready to end your life in a few words

But she didn't do that, she just sighed

"I just don't want you to become like me." "And your work was…reasonable."

Were the only things she said that night, aside from her usual commands

After that day, you noticed that she had become less strict with you and that was an incredible relief, knowing that your job wasn't so bad after all

She liked the change, you were much more productive that way and you smiled more

God only knows how much she enjoyed seeing a less stressed, always on the edge, side of yours

And suddenly, she found herself counting the minutes for you to get to the lab, to walk in radiant, like the first brightest ray of morning sunlight, to ask how a reaction worked or to ask for help with something, that she “unfortunately” had to be almost glued to you to show how it was done

You've been her protégé, since your first day, you just didn't realize it yet

Of course, she would like to see you a better version than the day before, but she always overlooked the little mistakes you made in your reports and she will continue to.

And no one will dare say anything about you, ever, because Sabine has ears everywhere and she doesn't mind having a live subject to try her toxins

She may have fallen in love first, but you'll fall in love harder

Prince Sabine

Such a gentleman and elegant

Already keep in mind that she will never say outright that she likes you, but she will let her actions speak for you to realize someday

Blanket over your shoulders when you stay late to research and end up sleeping in your own notes

And if she finds out that you drink coffee, every morning your favorite cup will already be full

Sabine has a lot of money, it is natural for her to drink good quality (and very expensive) coffee, you will start drinking too because you deserve it.

She gets extra gentle after disappearing for a few days to do her “personal project” stuff

She likes to watch you, almost admiring from afar, but you'll never catch her looking, she hides it very well

You on the other hand is always caught staring at her, it’s like she has a sixth sense and always knows when you’re looking

She gets sooo confident after these moments

You'll just see a discreet smirk and her going back to work as if nothing had happened, but inside? She is holding back from shaking her hands in euphoria and blushing like a teen.

The only time you can pick up tidbits of information about her personal life is during your overtime, when only the two of you are working.

She won’t say much, but hey, any information is information

And she gets more...touchy in those moments when you two are alone - as touchy as Viper can be

She snakes a hand up your back, soft and slow, looking for any reaction of disgust or fear from you.

She notices the way you look at her when you two are working, she's not stupid

But she can't believe that life would be so kind as to give her someone as perfect as you.

Not after all she have done

She makes baby steps in your “relationship”

Part of her hopes you'll get tired of waiting and go find someone else

Part of her expects you to stick with her and keep coming after her, because she will come after you...someday.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ˙·٠•●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●•٠

@ Do not copy any of my works, translate and/or post it on others websites.

#valorant #valorant x reader #valorant x you #valorant headcanons #valorant fanfic #viper #valorant viper #viper x reader #valorant viper x reader #viper x you #sabine callas #sabine callas x reader

193 notes · View notes

ayyy-pee · 2 years

Note

I love your literary work ❤️😍

one day you could write about Geto, Choso and Gojo finding out that they are going to be parents or their reaction when their baby is born🥹🥹❤️

sorry, but my english is not very good🥲

I love your job💕💕

Oh I love this! I hope you enjoy!

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Kofi

JJK Dad Drabble

Suguru, We Need to Talk

You’re acting weird and it’s putting Suguru on edge. The last few days have been…difficult to say the least. He’s been tiptoeing around you because these days it feels like anything he says or does makes you blow up. If Suguru is being honest, he’s worried, panicking even.

You’d stayed home from work today and it was only five minutes ago that you texted Suguru that you needed to talk when he got home. He stares at his computer monitor in his office, racking his brain for what he possibly could’ve done in the last week to finally push you over the edge. Because that’s what this conversation was going to be wasn’t it? You were tired of him, ready to pull the plug on your relationship. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to lose you.

He runs his fingers through his hair, ignoring the way his hands tremble. The words on the screen begin to blur and Suguru hates that it’s because of the tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes thinking about losing you.

Fuck it.

Suguru smashes the power button on his screen, probably too hard but whatever. He can’t wait until 5pm to rush home to you. If you’re going to leave him, he’d rather you get it out of the way because the pain of waiting on the impending end is excruciating.

When Suguru unlocks the door to his apartment, the dread sets in tenfold. He scans his surroundings, not finding you curled up under a blanket on the couch where he left you this morning. The apartment is eerily quiet and Suguru fears it’s because you’ve already left.

Suguru hurries to the bedroom where he still sees no sign of you. The bathroom door is closed, but that’s not out of the ordinary. He makes his way across the room and knocks gently on the door, calling your name. It takes a few seconds, but the door unlocks and he sees you. The split second of relief that washes over him quickly dissipates when he sees your face – eyes red rimmed and puffy, cheeks flushed. You’d clearly been crying. The dread sets back in for him.

“Suguru…” you murmur and Suguru can feel his hands begin to tremble again. He balls them into fists at his side, steeling himself for what’s next. He wonders if you’ll keep the apartment in the breakup. Or if you’ll be open to working this out with him. If you’re willing to work it out, he is too. He doesn’t want to lose you.

You turn around quickly, reaching for something on the bathroom counter before holding it up to show Suguru.

He glances at your hand, brows knitting together before he looks back at you.

“What’s that?” He asks, eyes darting back to the stick and then to you.

You sniffle, your bottom lip quivering as you wipe your eyes. “I haven’t been feeling well, but I’m not sick with a cold. I can’t keep anything down and…and I took a test…and it came back positive and…I’m so sorry, Suguru,” you’re rambling and trying to choke back the sobs threatening to escape and Suguru is still staring at the test in your hand.

Then it clicks.

“Y-you’re pregnant?” He finally asks, eyes wide as he looks you over.

“Yes,” you confirm quietly, setting the test back down on the counter. “I know this isn’t what we had planned and I’m so sor–”

You yelp as Suguru pulls you into him, folding you in his arms tightly. It takes you a moment to realize he’s not angry with you. He’s not upset in the slightest. So you wrap your arms around him, burying your face against his chest.

He can’t contain his relief, his joy. The anxiety of the day washes away and all Suguru cares about is you. You and the tiny bean now growing inside of you – the creation you’d both made together.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” he breathes happily as he buries his nose into your hair. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

“We’re gonna have a baby,” you repeat to him.

You both stand in the bathroom holding each other as you let the news settle in. Suguru’s mind races thinking about the ways your lives are about to change, but he can’t wait. He loves you and there’s no one on this earth he’d rather go on this journey with.

You're Late, Satoru

The doors to the women’s center burst open as Satoru flies through the halls.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he exclaims, rounding the corner and almost taking out a nurse. He didn’t plan on being sent out so far on assignment today and he definitely hadn’t meant to take so long to exorcize the damn curse. It was his fault. It’s what he got for playing with his prey. He never could help himself. It was just a little too enjoyable for him to watch these stupid curses squirm before Satoru blew their heads off.

........

Satoru had just sat down in the car when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket with the eighth text from Nobara.

She sends a text with your name in capital letters followed by many more.

Nobara: Sensei your wife took us out for the day so we won’t be at the school until later just fyi

Nobara: Also she’s WAY cooler than you and super beautiful wtf

Nobara: DON’T PANIC BUT HER WATER BROKE WHILE WE WERE ALL AT LUNCH AND SHE COULDN’T REACH YOU SO I’M TELLING YOU NOW

Nobara: GOJO SENSEI!!!

Nobara: WE’RE TAKING HER TO THE HOSPITAL

Nobara: LIKE LITERALLY YUUJI PICKED HER UP IN HIS ARMS AND RAN TO THE HOSPITAL

There’s a text from Megumi as well.

Megumi: Are you an idiot? Your wife is having your baby right now and you’re nowhere to be seen. I know it doesn’t take that long for the “strongest sorcerer alive” to exorcize a curse…

Nobara: HURRY AND GET HERE SENSEI I CAN SEE THE HEAD ITS SO GROSS

In his panic, Satoru put the car in gear, flying down the highway to get back to you as soon as he could. Only in the middle of driving did he realize could have just warped there. But it was too late by then.

........

“Can I help you, sir?” She’s looking at him as though he’s grown an extra head and it takes Satoru a moment to realize it’s because he’s still got his blindfold on. He rips it off his face, tucking it into his pocket and ignoring the quiet gasp that escapes the nurse when she sees his eyes.

“Yes, um, I’m looking for my wife,” he says quickly.

The nurse signals for him to follow her as she hurriedly makes her way over to the nurses station. “Last name?”

“Gojo.”

She sits down, typing your last name into the system. The sound of the keyboard feels way too loud to Satoru as he tries to calm his pounding heart wondering if you were okay, if the baby was okay. Time felt so slow in this moment, his eyes watching the nurse's finger rolling the center of the mouse as she scrolled.

“Ah, found her. Gojo is in room 6, just down the hall.”

Satoru wastes no time, dashing around the nurse’s station to your room. He sees Yuuji and Megumi leaning against the wall by your room as he gets closer. Yuuji beams when he sees Satoru approach, Megumi scowls but that’s not an unusual reaction to seeing Satoru for him.

“Yuuji, Megumi…thank you,” he says seriously.

Yuuji opens his mouth to speak but a piercing wail on the other side of the door makes all three of them nearly jump out of their skin.

Satoru rushes in, taking in the scene in front of him, beeping machines, a team of nurses rushing around the room and the doctor standing at the foot of the bed. Nobara stands on one side of the hospital bed, holding your hand as the doctor swipes away the mess on the tiny screaming human in their arms.

And Satoru promises he’ll get to that later, but he wants to see you first. His long legs carry him to your side just in time for the doctor to lay the little thing in your arms.

“Congratulations,” they tell you both cheerily. “It’s a girl.”

“A girl,” you whisper, staring down at the bundle swaddled in your arms. You finally look up at Satoru, eyes welling up with tears. “Satoru, we have a daughter.”

He leans forward, kissing your head sweetly. “We do. I’m so sorry I missed it. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here with you– here with you both.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Satoru sees Nobara quietly sneak out of the room. Once he hears the door shut, he places a finger under your chin, tilting your head up. He takes the time to look at you, truly look at you in all of your glowing, newly maternal glory. And you’re so beautiful. You’ve never been more beautiful than you are in this moment. He’s never loved you more than he has in this moment. You’ve given him something he never dreamed he could have and he will never be able to repay you.

He places a soft kiss to your lips, leaning back and wiping the tears now freely falling from your cheeks.

“You want to hold her?” You ask and Satoru does. He wants to hold her really bad.

You lift the baby up and Satoru slides his hands under her, bringing her up to cradle in his arms.

“Watch her head,” you tell him, already a protective mama bear.

Satoru smiles down at his new love and he takes his time looking her over, his Six Eyes scanning her tiny form. She’s beyond perfect. His eyes drinking in the sight of the white tuft of hair sitting atop her head, the little wrinkles of her arms and her tiny lips.

Then he gasps when she opens her eyes and he sees them – the same brilliant blue eyes he possesses staring right back at him. He’s in love.

“Hi baby,” he coos softly, kissing his baby girl sweetly on her head. “I’m your dad.”

His daughter opens her mouth widely, pulling in a huge breath and yawning. And Satoru is in awe. He’s never known love like this before.

Satoru grins at you before bringing his gaze back to his daughter. His heart swells to the point it feels it may burst. He feels his eyes sting, the tears falling before he can stop them and Satoru knows that he would do anything for you, for your daughter, for your family.

They Will Be Loved

Choso sits on the couch, hands folded in front of him as he stares at the positive pregnancy test sitting on the coffee table in front of him. You’re beside him, quiet and observant. You haven’t said much since you showed him the test, but neither has he.

This is good news, happy news. It should be happy news. You’d been trying for a while to get pregnant with no luck and now here you were. You were pregnant with his child. Finally, he could say his wife would be bringing a life into this world.

And yet, he couldn’t help this overwhelming sadness that was eating away at him.

He feels your hand touch his shoulder gently, breaking him out of his thoughts. He peers over at you, frowning at the sadness he now sees in your eyes. Choso knows it’s because of him. It wasn’t his intention to put his sour mood on you but he did and now he feels awful. It’s not fair to you to have this moment taken away.

“Baby…are you okay?” You ask him quietly. “I know this is big news, but I thought you’d be happier.”

Choso wraps his arm around you, pulling you into him. “I am happy, love. I’m really happy. I promise.”

He kisses you tenderly and you melt into his touch.

Pulling back, you gaze into his eyes. You can’t ignore how somber Choso looks despite receiving the news you’d both been wishing for for so long.

“What’s wrong?”

Choso shakes his head. He’s already brought the mood down enough. He doesn’t want to do anything more to ruin the moment. He doesn’t want to add any stress to you, especially given your current condition.

“Choso, talk to me,” you plead. And Choso knows he can’t refuse you. You’ll only keep asking and you deserve to know the truth so you can both move forward to enjoy this pregnancy journey together.

He inhales deeply, closing his eyes as he gathers his thoughts.

“It’s just…I knew this day would come. I was excited for this – I am excited for this.” He rubs his tired eyes, sighing. “But, I wish my brothers were also here to enjoy this.”

You quickly wrap your arms around Choso, rubbing circles on his back to soothe him. You knew this conversation would be happening when the time came. Choso was very big on family and the loss of his brothers, Eso and Kechizu, heavily weighed on his mind daily. You don’t think he’ll ever recover from their absence, but you do what you can to help Choso cope with the missing pieces of himself.

“I know, babe. They would have loved to spoil their new niece or nephew,” you squeeze Choso a little harder when you hear him inhale sharply, likely trying to hold back his tears. “But you still have Yuuji here to do that. And we can make sure they know all about their uncles and how much you loved them. I promise.”

You kiss Choso’s cheek softly, your hand still drawing circles on his back as he nods. He turns his head, kissing your neck before he buries his face there. He always found refuge in his particular spot. It’s been that way since the loss of his brothers. In the late hours of the night when the nightmares woke Choso, he’d scoot across the bed and tuck his face between your neck and shoulder before falling back to sleep almost immediately.

“I just miss them so much,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck. “But you’re right. I still have Yuuji. I know he’ll love them as much as Eso and Kechizu would have.”

You hum, squeezing your husband tight. “Yes, he will, babe.”

You’re not sure how much time passes before Choso pulls back, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I’m so in love with you,” he says, bringing his palm up to rest on your belly. He runs his thumbs along your stomach, smiling genuinely for the first time since receiving the news. “And this baby…whoever they may be.”

TAGS: @Sacvh @suguju @pink4lili @watyousayin

1K notes · View notes

marleysfinest · 11 months

Text

fem reader x reiner nsfw smutty ramble please pay me no mind i'm back on my reiner bullshit.

I must credit @pisspope @fromriches-tosin & @lemmetreatya for planting the sick notion of desk-fucking into my brain so CARELESSLY

ok but modern au businessman reiner who asks you to bring his favourite coffee to him on his lunch break. you pick up the flat white and practically run to the downtown skyscraper home to his offices and whoosh up the elevator to the top floor to find his secretary having already gone on lunch and his office door wide open. he's sat behind his desk with his black suit jacket hung neatly on the back of his chair, and he's gently rotating left and right as he stares at the numbers in front of him. you close the door slowly with your foot and he looks up to you looking hungry as he smiles. he discards the paper and leans back, beckoning you closer, and you gladly oblige. you rest the coffee on the desk - knowing already it'll be cold by the time he drinks it - and as you lean down to give him a kiss to say good afternoon he pulls you onto his lap so that you're straddling him and can already feel him pressing against you.

"that happy to see me, huh?" you coo as he holds you firmly in place and peppers your collarbone with kisses. you reciprocate by running your fingers firstly through his soft blonde hair, and then down the back of his neck and beneath his shirt. he smells like clean cotton and clementines.

"always," he mutters back, "when am I not?"

you grin back at him and lean in for another kiss, and you're met with force.

"what about your secretary?"

"they know not to bother me when the door's closed."

without further warning he unbuckles his belt and lifts you to prop you on the desk, gently tilting you back and positioning himself on top of you and squarely between your legs. he lifts your skirt and expertly pulls your panties to one side and slides in with ease and begins to make a mess of the desk, not that he minds. all of it - the business, the riches, the work-hard play-hard - comes second when it comes to you. you can tell he's working out the morning's stress as he thrusts into you, but he doesn't take it out on you. his grip is firm, his motions are rough, but still he treats you like the most precious thing on the planet. reiner seems to have found the perfect middle ground between fucking and making love.

"I've thought about this since I walked in here this morning," he says, his voice almost husky between the panting, "why didn't I fuck you before I got in the car?"

he's half thinking out loud, half really asking. you can't help but smile. three years in and you've still got him wrapped around your little finger like you did when you'd only been together three months. he fucks almost desperately as he hits you in your sweetest spot again and again, and despite feeling suddenly aware of the cityscape out the window beside you - if anyone really wanted to, they'd get a free show - you feel yourself begin to tighten and approach your climax. reiner senses this and his eyes widen, ever eager to feel you pulse around his cock. every time, though, it pushes him to his own edge. you reach up and grab his hair once more, holding him firmly in place.

"it's okay, baby, cum for me," you purr. his thrusts grow harder and the façade of cut-throat businessman melts away before your very eyes as he becomes lost in you fully.

"cum for me," you whisper again, resting your foreheads together. with the deepest, most delicious groan he releases inside you, but doesn't wait for his high to be fully over. he would die before allowing you to lose that feeling, and so swiftly pulls himself away, replacing his cock with two thick fingers and beginning to massage away. you can't help but let out a loud whimper as he uses his own release to keep your cunt nice and wet, letting him build up some speed to get you close again. as your thighs tense and your grip on his hair tightens he doesn't let up, and right on cue, he issues his command.

"cum, baby."

you pulse around his fingers and feel the mix of both of you drip onto the desk. he opens a drawer at the bottom of the desk and produces a clean towel - ever prepared - and gently cleans you up. after you've both regained some composure, he takes a sip of his coffee.

"I'd say there's still a good 45 minutes of lunch left, you wanna get some food?"

#reiner braun #reiner x reader #reiner x yn #reiner smut #reinerposting #attack on titan #aot #aot smut

388 notes · View notes

eddievanhammettmunson · 1 year

Text

Timezone

Rockstar Eddie Munson x AFAB reader

Author’s note- hola my ghouls, goblins and fellow gremlins. This fic is based on the song Timezone by Måneskin. I recommend going and giving it a listen. Anyway, enjoy.

Warnings- cursing, smut. Unprotected p in v. Oral (m receiving)

Summary- Eddie is on tour with corroded coffin missing his girl. 3k words

*You're wearing my old clothes, but you, you wear it better. And every time I see your face, the moon should be jealous*

“Hey sweetheart”

“Hey Ed’s. Why are you calling? Shouldn’t you be getting ready”

“Yeah I just wanted to hear your voice. What are you doing right now?”

“Laying in bed….wearing your shirt. I miss you Ed’s.”

Eddie sighs and rubs a hand over his face. He misses you too. Like crazy actually. He thought living out his dreams would be more fun but it’s proving to be exhausting and without you by his side everything is taking a toll on him.

“I miss you too doll. I gotta go get ready but keep my shirt on will ya? Looks better on you anyway.”

“I will. Hardly take your clothes off anymore since you left. Have fun at the show Ed’s. I love you.”

*And I’ll keep talking to the wall ‘till he’s a friend of mine

I call you every hour just to tell you that I’m losing my mind*

After the show the first thing Eddie does is run off stage and call you. Even though you just spoke on the phone before the show. It’s become more like this lately. Not being able to stand being apart from your voice even.

“Hey sweetheart.”

“Hi Ed’s. Why are you calling so late?”

“I’m going crazy here without you doll. Being stuck on these buses and planes with Gareth and the guys is driving me crazy. God I miss you.”

“I miss you too Ed’s you know that but look on the bright side. You’re out there following your dreams. Now I hate to do this Ed’s but I have to go. I'm supposed to be asleep right now and I have work in the morning okay. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweets.”

You hang up the phone and go to sleep hugging yourself in your bed.

*Now I know you’re sleeping

Where I’m supposed to be in

Wish I could have stayed*

After you hang up the phone Eddie sighs on the other end. He goes back to his room for the night and strums away on his guitar for a bit lost in thought. Every thought in his mind are just thoughts of you and how it would be to hold you right now. How it would feel to be inside you, beside you, always. He falls asleep holding his guitar.

*Only thing that keeps us apart

Is seven thousand miles, running like a mad dog

Only thing that keeps us apart

Is a different timezone

So fuck what I'm dreaming, this fame has no meaning

I'm coming home

Only thing that keeps us apart

Is a different timezone*

The next day at practice a fight broke out between Gareth and Eddie. Eddie storms off and goes to sit in his room when Gareth knocks on the door.

“Fuck off man!”

“Fuck you Eddie open the door so we can work this out”

Eddie sighs and opens the door and Gareth walks in and sits on the edge of Eddie’s bed.

“Eddie what the fuck is going on with you man? You��re so on edge, man.”

Eddie sighs and runs his hands down his face.

“I don’t know man. I just….”

“You just what?”

“I miss y/n man. And Wayne. It’s just a lot harder being away from home than I thought.”

Gareth walks over to Eddie and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Eddie, it's okay to miss them. I miss my family too.”

“I’m going crazy, man I really am. If I could just see her or have her here it would be better you know?”

*Tomorrow I got another plane, I'm not gonna take it

Instead, I'm gonna fly straight to you, I paid double for the tickets*

At the airport the next day Eddie sat in the terminal debating. The rest of the band is flying off to Vegas for their next concert in 4 days and he’s supposed to be getting on that plane. But then why is he standing here looking at flights to Indiana.

“Eddie!”

Gareth calls Eddie across the terminal. If he’s gonna get on that plane he has to do it now.

“Eddie!”

“I’ll catch you in Vegas Gareth.”

“Where the hell are you going man.”

“I’m going to see my girl.”

“You’re gonna be in such deep shit man.”

“It’s worth it if I get to see her.”

Eddie walks up to the counter and requests a ticket to Indiana for tonight. They make him pay twice as much for an economy ticket cause there’s only 1 seat left on the plane. Eddie feels like the luckiest guy in the world. Getting on the plane he knows it was the right call. He doesn’t even know if you’ll be home when he gets there but if you aren’t he’ll just wait till you get home.

*And I don't give a shit about the contracts that I signed

And they can say whatever, we'll be making love, I'm fucking you tonight*

Eddie doesn’t get into Hawkins until around 10 pm and when he finally gets back to your home it’s around 10:30. He hopes you’re not asleep but he can tell you’re not by the way the light in the living room is still on. He realises you’re probably waiting for him to call you cause he hasn’t called all day. Part of him feels bad cause he knows you’re probably worried but he can’t bring himself to feel too bad when he knows he’s about to see you.

He walks up to the door and knocks. He hears some shuffling and the unlocking of the door when it suddenly swings open and you’re standing there in his Metallica t-shirt and a pair of shorts.

“Eddie! What the hell are y-“

You’re cut off mid sentence by Eddie tackling you back in the breath snatching hug. His face is tucked into your neck and he’s hugging you so hard you can hardly breathe. You hold onto him and run your hands up and down his back in a soothing motion until he finally lets go and steps back just enough to brush some hair out of your face.

“Hi sweetheart.”

“Hi Ed’s.”

Something in your face didn’t look overjoyed to see him. He became concerned that maybe you were mad he was here.

“Everything okay sweets?”

“Yeah Ed’s.”

“You look a little mad sweetheart?”

“Oh no no no! Eddie I’m not mad! God you have no idea how happy I am to see you right now. I’m just worried. What happened? What about the contracts and the concerts? Don’t you have obligations.”

Eddie sighs and runs his hands up and down your arms.

“Yeah I’m gonna be in a little trouble when I meet up with the guys in Vegas in a couple days. But fuck all that sweetheart. Fuck everything. I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of trying to do this without you. I need you. I need you so fucking bad it’s not even funny. I’ve been losing my mind without you. Fuck the contracts right now. I’ll deal with the consequences later. Just. Just tell me you need me too?”

“Of course I need you Eddie. I’ll always need you.”

“Then will you come with me?”

“What?”

“Come with me. When I go back on tour. I need you there with me babe. I can’t do it without you.”

“I’ll think about it okay. Just tell me what you need at this moment.”

“I need to make love to you right now. I’m fucking you tonight okay baby?”

“Of course Ed’s.”

Eddie captures you in a heated kiss and lifts you off of the ground and carries you into the bedroom. He sets you down gently on the edge of the bed and stands at the end of it. He begins to undress himself and you do the same until you’re both naked at the end of the bed.

“Here rockstar. Let me help you out a bit.”

“What are yo-“ Eddie watches as you get onto your knees. You reach up and stroke his cock until it’s hardened in your hand. You pay special attention to the tip as you drool a little bit on the end and use your drool to smear down the shaft and work your way back up.

Eddie is a moaning mess above you.

“Oh f-fuck sweetheart. You have no idea how much I missed this.”

“How about this?”

“How about wh-OH FUCK”

Is all Eddie manages to say before you’ve taken him into your mouth quickly and sank down until he’s hitting the back of your throat and you’re gagging. You suck anyway. Bobbing your head up and down and up and down faster and faster as Eddie loses all composure above you. He’s got his hand in your hair guiding your head.

You press your tongue up against his tip and suck the precum leaking from him and he thinks he might just lose his load then and there so he reluctantly pulls your head off his cock.

“What happened Eddie? Did I bite you or something?”

“No no no sweetie I just really wanna fuck your right now and if I let you keep going I was gonna lose it all.”

“We’ve got all night for you to fuck me eddie.”

“I know baby I know but I need this right now. I need you right now. Not just your mouth baby. I wanna make love to you.”

Eddie kneels down to your level and places a kiss on your lips before pushing you to where your back is against the mattress. He slithers a hand between the two of you while you kiss and he begins to rub your clit for a little while until he thinks you’re wet enough.

He removes his hand from your clit and you whine at the loss of contact. You watch as he begins reaching into the night stand to retrieve a condom but you grab his arm and stop him. He looks down at you in shock.

“Fuck sweetheart are you sure?”

“Yeah Ed’s. I’ve missed you so fucking much. Need to feel you. All of you.”

“Holy fucking shit baby you can’t just say shit like that to me you’re gonna make me bust before I’m even in you.”

You laugh and slap his arm and he laughs and leans in to kiss you. The kiss becomes all tongue and clashing teeth as the two of you grind into each other harder and harder until either of you can’t stand not being joined as one.

He spreads your legs and lines himself up with your entrance and pushes in. The stretch is divine. After being gone for a few months you feel incredibly tight to Eddie and he almost feels like he’s going to pass out from the pleasure he’s feeling. Not only is he getting to fuck you right now. But he’s getting to fuck you raw. Boy you both have got it bad for each other.

But Eddie meant it when he said he wanted to make love to you. He pulls out almost all the way and then pushes back in roughly and all the air is knocked out of you. Every stroke is deep and slow. The roll of his hips is a steady rhythm. He’s hanging onto the head bored behind you as he needs it to steady himself as he fucks into you so deeply.

You’ve pretty much already melted beneath him but when he finds that one spongy spot inside you that makes your entire body convulse around him he knows to hit that spot. With the next roll of his hips he sneaks the hand not holding the headboard down between the two of you and begins rubbing your clit in figure eights.

You’re holding onto him for dear life. Scratching down his back with your nails. Running your fingers through his hair.

He pulls back to look into your eyes and you’re overcome with emotion. All the love you two have for each other is pouring out at this moment. You can see and feel how much he loves you and you just can’t hold back as you begin to sob.

Eddie seems to understand as he reaches he rests his forehead against yours and you hear him sniffle a little bit. He rolls his hips again and you let out a broken moan through tears. Grabbing onto him even tighter than you thought you could.

Instead of stopping Eddie just leans down and licks the tears off your face and pushes in a little deeper and you can begin to feel your orgasm building in your tummy. Eddie knowing you and knowing your tells can tell you’re close and knows he’s rushing towards his orgasm as well.

Eddie begins kissing and sucking all over your body. Marking you up and leaving hickies all over you. His mouth reaches your breasts and latches on to your nipple and begins to suck away.

The combination of his cock driving into you, his mouth on your breast, and his hand on your clit is enough to have you hurtling towards the edge. Screaming Eddie’s name into the night.

Eddie keeps driving into you chasing his own orgasm as he begins to speed up. You want to ensure you feel all of him so you wrap your legs around him to prevent him from pulling out.

“F-fuck sweets are you sure?”

“Yes Eddie. P-please cum in me I need to f-feel you”

Eddie cums right then and there. His whole body is rigid as your body milks him for all he’s worth and he paints your walls white. He swears in that moment he’s never cum that much or that hard in his life.

His body slumps on top of yours and he wraps his hands behind your back and presses you into him as he leaves tiny kisses up and down your shoulder as the both of you breathe deeply.

The two of you fall asleep cuddled in each other breathing each other in.

*Now I know you're sleeping

Where I'm supposed to be in

Wish I could've stayed*

The next 2 days are over in a flash and before you know it you’re standing in the airport saying your goodbye to Eddie. You decided not to join him on the last leg of his tour because he only had a few more cities to go before he’d be home anyway and you couldn’t afford to take the time off work. But you promised you’d go with him on the next tour and this time as he said goodbye you sent him off with a kiss, a scrunchie, and a box full of Polaroids to look at.

“Sweetheart you’re sure you don’t wanna come with me?”

“Wanting and being able to are two different things, Eddie. Of course I want to go with you. But I think we both know I can’t right now. We’ll call each other everyday and then see each other in a few weeks anyway when the tour is over. You can make it Eddie. It’s your dream, remember.”

“My dream doesn’t mean shit without you honestly.”

You laugh a little bit and wipe a stray tear.

“I promise I’ll come with you on the next tour in a few months Eddie. But you always have me. Whether I’m with you in person or not. This is your dream and I’ll be right here waiting for you when you come back. It’ll all be worth it.”

He kisses you on the forehead and you watch as he boards the plane and takes off. You both cry when the other person can’t see you.

Eddie lands in Vegas and gets in trouble with his team but says it was worth it and that he’ll most likely do it again in the future.

*Only thing that keeps us apart

Is seven thousand miles, running like a mad dog

Only thing that keeps us apart

Is a different timezone

So fuck what I'm dreaming, this fame has no meaning

I'm coming home

Only thing that keeps us apart

Is a different timezone*

The rest of the tour goes well. Eddie and you call each other pretty much everyday when you’re able to. Eddie still misses you like crazy and of course you miss him but being able to see him for those couple days really helped the both of you. Eddie came back to the tour feeling refreshed from seeing his girl. His arguments with the bad went way down in numbers. But he still couldn’t wait for the tour to be over. Eddie began a countdown till when he’d be able to see you again.

“3 more days Gareth!”

“3 more days till what Eddie?”

“3 more days till the tours over Gareth? Duh! 3 more days till I can see my girl again!”

Gareth laughs and leaves Eddie’s room.

*So fuck what I'm dreaming, this fame has no meaning

I'm coming home

Only thing that keeps us apart

Is a different timezone*

Three days later Eddie plays his last concert in Los Angeles and thanks the crowd. He dedicates his last song to his girlfriend back home. Once the concert is over the first thing Eddie does is rush off stage and find the nearest phone where he dials your number.

“Hi Ed’s! How was the show?”

“It was a great show baby, the crowd was amazing. You know what’s even more amazing?”

“What’s amazing baby?”

“The fact that I have a flight an hour from now.”

“What! Eddie, I thought you wouldn’t be home till tomorrow at the earliest!”

“Pulled some strings baby. I’m coming home. Be ready. Once I get home you’re not getting rid of me. No more separation.”

“Never. I’ll be ready when you get here Eddie.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

507 notes · View notes

gudfornuthin · 1 year

Note

Hi I was just wondering of you can make a Bernard x reader and maybe just a little lime or smut please thank you so much ❤❤❤

Sugar and Spice

Bernard the Elf x reader

Working as a baker at the North Pole was no easy task. Especially when the overbearing head elf is breathing down your neck. When true feelings are brought to light, how will you deal with them?

Thank you for the request! It’s not really smut as I’ve never written that before so it’s not intense but I’ve mixed this fic with an idea I already had. I kinda went off the rails lol. Hope you enjoy❤️

( gif credit to @corrodedcoffins )

It was an as always cold, winter morning at the North Pole. Elves scrambling around, making sure everything was complete and ready for Christmas. Less than two months to go and they were falling behind. Santa had only checked the naughty and nice list once, the workshop needed major renovations and three of the reindeer have fallen ill. Safe to say that everyone was on edge. Especially head elf, Bernard.

Striding across the grounds, his expression was anything but happy. Having a less than pleasant conversation with Curtis, he needed time away from the chaos, just for a moment. Bernard hated to admit, but he didn’t do well with stress. The constant pressure put on his shoulders, always feeling like if anything goes wrong, it’s all on him. It’s tough. And he needs some time to relax.

Making it to the front doors of the bakery, he walks through, immediately hit with the smell of fresh cookies and gingerbread. Bernard continues through to the main area, dodging elves holding steaming trays. He arrives by the ovens where he finally sees you. Messy hair, flour down your apron, and what appears to be sprinkles stuck to the sleeves of your shirt. Raw dough scatters the once clean tabletop and Bernard rolls his eyes at it. Mess was never good.

You turn around and spot the head elf, smiling wide. “Oh hey Bernard! Wasn’t expecting to see you this early.”

“Y/N,” he replies in a less than cheerful tone. “Working hard I see?”

“Well I was decorating some of the gingerbread houses and realised there was some icing left over from the cookies, so I had an idea,” the young elf’s eyes light up. “Rather than wasting time and making more red icing, I’ll just use the remaining green icing I already have for the gingerbread houses and have it all matching!” You breath out and spread your arms, happy with your work. Bernard, less so happy.

His eye begins to twitch and his teeth clench. He didn’t want to lose his temper, but the day had already set him on that track. “You can’t do that. You have to follow the recipe exactly as it’s written. You can’t change it without consulting the others otherwise the other bakers won’t make it like you have.”

You blink, taken back by his blunt response. “Sorry, I didn’t realise it would be a big deal. It’s changing one colour and better yet, saving ingredients. Which I thought you’d be all for.”

Bernard knows you’re right, but he can’t seem to drop the sudden grudge he’s holding against you. He grabs for the icing. “No, there’s not enough time to change things so just stick to what you’re supposed to do.”

Sadly, you were equally as stubborn. Furrowing your brow, you snatch the icing away. “Who put coal in your stocking?” You jest, but the metaphorical question still stands. You’d been in a pretty good mood until Bernard showed up, seemingly ready to put up a fight with anyone who got in his way.

He reaches for the icing once more, but you pull back. This continues on, both of you acting like a young child unwilling to share their new toy. The other elves in the room have stopped to watch the display you’re both apart of.

“Y/N this isn’t funny either give me the icing or I’ll have to ask you to leave the bakery for today.” “Make me.”

You both glare at each other. Bernard pulls one last time on the bag and you squeeze, the icing pouring out fast and covering both of you in the sugary treat. The elves gasp. You both stand there in shock.

“Bernard I’m so sorry I didn’t meant to-” you’re unable to finish the sentence before the head elf turns and walks away, leaving through the back doors, slamming them in the process. You stand alone, feeling defeated and childish. You didn’t meant to go off on him. It all just seemed to blow out of proportion. Grabbing a kitchen towel and trying to wipe off the icing, you dash after Bernard.

———

You find Bernard in his office, using a worn rag to rid himself of the mess caused, muttering over and over again. You knock on the door and he looks up. His face turns blank. He huffs out and nods, you taking that as your sign to enter. The place is filled with tension, unsure who should break the silence first. You take the leap.

“You ran out of there quick. Didn’t give me any time to apologise.”

“It’s fine, just needed to clean myself up.” Bernard scrubs his top vigorously, the icing unwilling to leave. You make your way further into the room, arriving in front of him with your towel. “Here, you’re just making it worse.”

Bernard admits defeat and allows you to swab at the remaining sugar. He avoids eye contact, looking anywhere but you. Whether it was because of the scene you both caused, or the current close proximity, you didn’t know.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Bernard whispers, still looking off into the distance, “your idea was really smart, helpful. It’s just been a rough few days.”

“It seems to me that you only ever have rough days,” you stop what you’re doing and look up at him, “you can talk about it you know. Never bottle these things up.”

There’s a silence for a while, the only sound heard from the towel rubbing the icing off a shirt which definitely needed a proper wash.

“I sometimes wonder if I’m good enough to be head elf.”

His response shocks you. Sure the last few months seemed to have Bernard on edge, but he’d always been able to handle it in the past. Hearing him question his abilities made you feel sick, wondering how long he’d felt this way.

“Bernard, you are an incredible head elf. We’d all be in shambles without you!” He shakes his head but you continue on. “Everyone looks up to you; you make sure deadlines are met and the elves are at ease. Santa wouldn’t be able to do this job without your help.”

You take his hands and he finally looks at you, a slight blush covering his already rosey cheeks. “Bernard, you don’t need to do this by yourself. You can’t put all this pressure on you when things fall slightly behind. And you certainly can’t quit as head elf. We all need you,” you take a deep breath, “I need you.”

Bernard’s eyes grow wide, as do yours, shocked by what you just said. Sudden thoughts rush through your head. You’d always known there was something there when it came to the head elf. You found him attractive, and blushed anytime he was near. But saying it out loud now felt strange. You felt vulnerable. You felt stupid. Coughing awkwardly you step back.

“That was out of line, I’m really sorry if that’s made things awkward I didn’t-” before you can muster up a lame excuse, Bernard steps forward, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you in for a kiss. It takes you a moment to understand what’s happening, but soon after you place your hands on the sides of his face and kiss back. He pulls you closer, the movement forcing you to stand in between his legs while he leans back against the desk. You hate how cliche it all feels, but sparks were truly flying. One of your hands moves up into Bernard’s hair, slightly pulling at the curls, eliciting a moan from his mouth. He turns you both around, now with your back against the desk, as he lifts one of your legs to wrap around his waist. It was intense. It was surprising. It was definitely long over due. Who knew slightly switching up a recipe would result in this?

Bernard moves his kissing down your neck, biting hard and more than likely leaving a mark. You pull harder on his hair and tilt your head, giving him more access.

“God, you’re amazing,” he says in your ear with a slight husk. “I could stay in here with you forever.”

Sadly he doesn’t, as there’s a sudden knock on the door, throwing you back into reality. A small voice is heard from outside the room. “Bernard, you’re needed down in workshop.”

He pulls away from your hold, turning to the door and clearing his throat. “I’ll be right down, thank you.” There’s a slight wobble in his voice and you smirk, knowing it’s because of you’re previous activities. He looks back at you, reaching for your hand and smiling timidly. You smile back and shuffle your feet, a sense of awkwardness setting. Bernard doesn’t know what to say, but thankfully you beat him to it.

“It’s okay, we’re okay. We can talk about this later tonight,” you move closer, winding your arms around his neck and playing with the shorter hairs at the back of his head. “Go be the best head elf the North Poles ever seen.”

His smile widens, and he leans in for one last kiss. After a few moments, you both let go and he strides out the door with a spring in his step, feeling a lot better than he did earlier. You can still feel his lips on your neck and his hands on your waist. It was definitely a good way to start the morning.

#bernard the elf x reader #bernard x reader #x reader #the santa clause #david krumholtz #the santa clauses

765 notes · View notes

sailoryooons · 1 year

Note

yoonkook crack. jungkook has still not exited his twilight phase and wants to be a cullen soooooo bad. yoongi, an actual hundred-year-old vampire, is tired of him.

❀ Pairing: Human!Jungkook x Vampire!Yoongi

❀ Summary: Jungkook loves reading his smutty vampire comic and so what if he fashions himself a little bit after the main character. Yoongi finds it wildly offensive. Every day he has to watch Jungkook play at being ominous and spooky - and okay, maybe it’s a little cute. But it’s mostly offensive, and Yoongi would know. He’s a vampire, after all.

❀ Word Count: 8,727

❀ Genre: Supernatural, coworkers to lovers, crack, pwp

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings:Jungkook is whatever the weeb equivalent is to Vampires - a Veeb, if you will, a little bit of pining, Misc. Vampire Lore I Made Up, Sekhmet vampire theory makes an appearances again, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected anal sex, oral (m. receiving) a lot of fluids and lub and come and spit, ass play (m. receiving), Jungkook cannot pick a position to fuck Yoongi, bottom Yoongi, top Jungkook, like? Random convos about predator/prey dynamic but not really you’ll see what I mean it’s there if u squint, Jungkook basically being a giant vampire nerd and cringe sometimes but it’s cute?

❀ Published: April 5, 2023

❀ A/N: THANK YOU TO M FOR REQUESTING THIS ABSOLUTE FUCKING GONG SHOW OF A FIC. This fic ame about… I actually do not at all remember how we got on this topic but basically we were laughing at the idea of Vampire Nerd JK losing it after finding out Yoongi was a vampire. Jungkook was originally supposed to be Acting More Like A Vampire but I realize it was more of I’m Kind Of Like A Vampire and The Authority On Them. Whatever, I actually like how this turned out and I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT M I LOVE YOU AND WE ARE IN A COMPLETELY NORMAL, MONOGAMOUS, VERY ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP. ALSO WHOOPS I SLIPPED AND MY 1-2K IS OVER 8K I’M EMBARAZZARDDD

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Milestone Event Request Fill |

Min Yoongi hates Jeon Jungkook.

No, that’s not entirely true. What Yoongi hates is Jungkook’s stupid fucking comic books.

Jungkook slinks into the breakroom, eyes sweeping the mostly empty room until they settle on Yoongi and he smiles. Yoongi’s stomach flips at the small - perhaps imagined - light in Jungkook’s eyes as he pulls his backpack tighter and rushes over to the chair opposite Yoongi.

Slinging his backpack on the table, Jungkook winces when he knocks Yoongi’s thermos over. Yoongi catches it, lightning quick as Jungkook looks at him with wide, surprised eyes. He murmurs an apology and Yoongi waves it off, settling back into his chair as Jungkook sits down and begins shuffling through his backpack like a pack rat.

Though Yoongi’s eyes are focused on the pages of his book, the letters swim before him as he observes Jungkook from the edge of his vision. He smells sweet, like honeysuckle. Sunshine. Warmth. He makes little sounds of frustration as he struggles to find what he’s looking for. After several huffs, Yoongi looks up, inky eyes looking at Jungkook who stares at his bag angrily.

“There are Hello Pandas in the cabinet,” Yoongi offers gently. Jungkook looks up, blushing and chewing his lip. Yoongi shrugs as though Jungkook asked a question. “Saw them in there this morning.”

“Cool, thanks, hyung.”

When Jungkook gets up, back facing Yoongi to go to the office pantry, Yoongi allows himself a small, secret smile.

This shared routine of reading at lunch is Yoongi’s favorite. Every day they arrive in a pattern. Yoongi first, sitting at the table closest to the fridge and pulling the chair so it’s back is against the wall. He’ll pull out a book and spend the first five minutes reading, the loud noises of office life no longer a distraction after years of practice.

Second, Jungkook will come in. He’ll look around to assess who is in the breakroom, even though he always sits in the seat across from Yoongi. He’ll get his little snacks - usually Hello Panda cookies or a protein smoothie - and sit next to Yoongi and read his Fang Fucker comics, which he hides away with custom book covers.

So no, Yoongi doesn’t hate Jungkook. Not at all, really. But Yoongi does hate the way that he spots little vampire fang pins on Jungkook’s bags. Sees that he’s wrapped a red ribbon around one of the straps, smelling faintly of dried blood.

Yoongi ignores the pang of hunger in his stomach as Jungkook returns, settling into his chair as Jungkook tears the corner of the package open with his teeth. He does everything with his fucking teeth, and Yoongi has told him dozens of times that Jungkook is going to damage them.

I have sharp teeth, hyung, was always the response, a secret smile on Jungkook’s face.

Now, Jungkook pulls out his book and cracks the spine, the sound whisper-soft against Yoongi’s sharp hearing. Jungkook slouches in his seat, popping a cookie into his mouth as his eyes become hypnotized on the page, book supported by his knees as he brings his feet on the edge of his chair, curled up.

Yoongi’s stomach turns to acid when he sees the comic panels. A crass, horrendous take on vampires, Fang Fuckers follows the story of two lovers separated by the laws of the supernatural. Belle, a human prone to accidents and drawing the attention of anything with a pulse forever pines after Eddie, a vampire always clad in jeans and who is effortlessly cool.

Glancing at Jungkook’s outfit, Yoongi presses his lips in a firm line. Today, Jungkook is dressed in jeans with the ankles rolled, a pair of dirty high-tops on his feet. His t-shirt is tucked loosely into the waist of his jeans, making Yoongi’s eyes linger far too long on Jungkook’s tapered waist. His tattoos are hidden by the sleeves of a jean jacket, worn and soft with time.

Lately, Jungkook lets his hair grow out. It’s wild and wavy, trimmed somewhere between a mullet and a wolf cut. Just like Eddies, Yoongi notes with an eye twitch. Still, it looks good on Jungkook, the way most things do.

The hair and the outfits aren’t the only thing that Jungkook imitates. Yoongi tries to focus on his own book instead of thinking about Jungkook’s little habits. The way Jungkook tells people he’s allergic to garlic, or how he has taken to walking as quietly around the office as possible. In a way, it’s a little bit amusing to watch Jungkook try to be mysterious and vague about how he spends his weekend.

Just yesterday, Yoongi watched Jungkook flinch at the sun as everyone started walking to their cars after work. It had made him roll his eyes, but it is… sort of cute, this little fascination Jungkook has with the undead. The eternal. The absolutely ridiculous and not-at-all-accurate vampires in his little stories.

But it’s also a little insulting. Especially when Jungkook argues with Taehyung about whether or not a stake would actually work on a vampire, or if vampires can see their reflections in a mirror. Yoongi has heard them whispering, tucked away in Jungkook’s cubicle next to Yoongi’s as they search Reddit threads about the best place to look for vampires.

Taehyung walks into the breakroom. He’s in flowy tan trousers, a white t-shirt tucked in, and a soft-looking cardigan. He’s got multi-layered necklaces around his neck that clink as he goes to the fridge, asking what Jungkook is reading.

Jungkook doesn’t look up when he says, “Spiderman.”

“That’s nice,” Taehyung answers, a smirk evident in his voice. Yoongi knows Spiderman is their code for reading their little vampire porn. “New volume?”

“Uh huh,” Jungkook mumbles around a mouthful of Hello Pandas.

The snap of the cookies in his mouth sets Yoongi on edge. He glares at Jungkook, but the younger boy doesn’t notice, crunching away as he drinks in the colorful pages of his little book. Yoongi's jaw ticks. Jungkook’s brow is pulled together and he chews with a frown, the only sign that Yoongi has that he’s enjoying his snack and reading.

There is a steady rhythm to the sounds of the breakroom. It’s Yoongi's favorite place at work. He’s always the first in, making coffee that fills the space with a slightly burnt smell. Taehyung comes in next, smiling and clothes swishing, always bright-eyed. Jungkook is usually the last in, quiet and avoidant as he snatches banana milk from the fridge and vanishes to his cubicle.

The break room isn’t much. The linoleum is peeling, the fridge hums so loud that Yoongi can hear it at his desk, and there’s always a mysterious puddle by the sink. But his coworkers fill the space with their chatter. It’s where he learns about their lives.

It’s where Yoongi learns that Taehyung loves to listen to jazz, humming Ella Fitzgerald while he uses the microwave. It’s where he learns that Jimin is dating Hoseok from product marketing, the room filled with their secret smiles and innocent hands brushing against one another. It’s where he learns that Jungkook liked to read Fang Fucker. Where he learns that Jungkook, sometimes a little distracted, communicates in soft noises rather than words.

The break room is filled with the drama of coworkers and whispers. It’s full of humanity and Yoongi is well… not.

A sudden hiss catches Yoongi’s attention. He smells the blood before he sees it. Taehyung is reaching for a rag at the counter, lemon left on a cutting board with a scarlet-painted knife. Yoongi works his jaw as he watches Taehyung wrap his hand, iron and salt blooming in the air, heavy on Yoongi’s tongue.

Jungkook goes rigid. Yoongi is distracted for a split second, eyes turning from Taehyung tending to his sliced finger as Jungkook launches upward out of his chair and bolts for the door. Yoongi raises his brow, watching it slam shut beside him as Taehyung looks up at the closed door, then swivels to Yoongi.

“Uhhh, can you get me a bandaid?”

Yoongi nods, glaring at the door as he stands. “Sure.”

If there is one thing Yoongi knows, it’s that he is sick of Jungkook playing the part of a vampire.

The love-hate relationship between work happy hours and Yoongi is a complexity Yoongi has yet to unravel. He likes watching his coworkers unwind, sipping drinks through their little black straws and admitting they hate Jeffery from the data team. He thinks it’s sweet when he sees Hoseok get Jimin flustered by whispering something in his ear - something Yoongi wishes he didn’t hear over the roar of the bar but does.

And yet Yoongi doesn’t like the press of people. Doesn’t like the way the sound of their collective voices buzz through him, or the way that he can feel their pulses throbbing behind thin skin, a hypnotic beat only he can hear and feel. It makes him feel crowded and irritable, but he likes watching the bright, burning flame of vitality and life here.

It makes him feel human again, even if he hasn’t been for a very, very long time.

Taehyung is pressed against the bar, telling Jungkook at hyperspeed how he met the very tall, very broad man next to him, who watches Taehyung with soft eyes and a dimple carving a hollow in his cheek. Namjoon. His name is Namjoon, Yoongi remembers.

Yoongi watches over the rim of his glass, sipping his whisky as Jungkook’s finger traces the drops of condensation on his beer bottle, zigzagging around the label, ignoring Taehyung as he rambles on about Virginia Woolf. The movement catches his eye, and Yoongi focuses first on Jungkook's finger, long and slender. Then the tattoos and swirling ink that vanish under his sleeve, then the veins in his hand, pumping O positive through his body.

Though there is a unique note to each blood type, people smell different too. Taehyung smells like sugar, something light and spun like cotton candy. Namjoon smells like lemon and wax, something Yoongi would maybe find in a bookstore. And Jungkook…. Jungkook smells like honeysuckle, growing strong under a warm sun in the middle of spring.

Yoongi’s mouth waters and he looks away, knocking back the rest of his whiskey and waving the bartender down for another. When he turns back to the conversation, Jungkook is scowling, brows pinched, mouth pouted. “That isn’t all I know about wolves,” he huffs in Taehyung's direction. His hands disappear in his jacket sleeves as he fiddles with the string. “And anyway, what would you know?”

Taehyung gives Jungkook a look. “About the same as you? We read the same comics.”

“Ugh, those aren’t the only source material.”

Yoongi puts together that somehow the topic of Virgina Woolf has led them to wolves and vampires. He fights the urge to roll his eyes, but he squeezes his glass a little tighter. Yoongi looks at Namjoon, hoping that Taehyung’s new boyfriend will help.

Instead, Namjoon sips his gin and tonic and cocks his head. “I’ve seen Tae reading those comics. Do they actually have any relevance to the historical lore of the vampire, or is it made up?”

“Oh a ton of it is deep rooted in historical and scientific studies,” Jungkook answers excitedly. Yoongi groans and Jungkook casts him a dubious look over his shoulder. Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek and looks away. “The writer did a ton of research.”

Bullshit, Yoongi thinks but doesn’t say it out loud.

Still, Yoongi listens to Jungkook drone on and on about how the pop culture depictions of vampires originate from the stories and myths of small villages in Romania, furthered by Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Now that makes Yoongi grin into his glass a little, agreeing that almost all of the media surrounding vampires rely heavily on European myths and stories.

He watches the way Jungkook speaks, momentarily hypnotized. Jungkook isn’t an eloquent speaker, stopping often to blush and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear or find his words, chewing on his bottom lip. When he gains confidence, he speaks faster, using his hands more as he speaks, looking back and forth between Namjoon and Taehyung who are a loyal, captive audience.

Yoongi softens a little.

At heart, Jungkook is someone who is a bit of a fanatic. It’s harmless for now, Yoongi thinks. He’s always carefully listening to Jungkook, no matter how annoying it gets. Making sure that he can protect him, that he can pick up when Jungkook is in any real danger.

“Historical research suggests that the first coven of Romanian vampires was called the Ouroborus,” Jungkook says. Yoongi goes rigid. Taehyung looks at Yoongi over Jungkook’s shoulder, tilting his head in a question, but the youngest of their group continues on. “That’s where Stoker got Dracula’s name idea from. It comes from the Romanian word dracul which is the devil but really it’s from the Latin draco for dragon. Really silly, because the dragon looks nothing like the serpent, but I think Dracula was a real figure who started the Our-”

“The Ouroborus are not Romanian, nor was that the point of origin.” Yoongi only belatedly realizes he says this out loud as the group turns to him. Jungkook’s flushed lips are parted and his eyes are round. Yoongi hears the way Jungkook’s heart speeds up, and senses his confusion. Yoongi clears his throat and diverts his eyes, shrugging it off. “That symbol means nothing.”

“The Ouroborus symbol is for eternal life,” Jungkook says slowly, still recovering from the fact that Yoongi has bothered to entertain the conversation. Yoongi already regrets speaking up. The room is noisy and his throat burns. He’s a little hungry, and Jungkook, who turns toward him, smells a little too good. “And the confusion between the snake and the dragon makes perfect sense.”

“The Ouroboros is not eternity. It’s life and death.”

Jungkook frowns and sets his beer on the counter. “Hyung, no it’s not.”

“Ah, whatever. It’s fine, forget I said anything.”

“No, hyung. You’re wrong.”

And oh. Yoongi knows that expression that Jungkook is wearing. His jaw is set and sharp, lips pressed in a firm line. Jungkook stares at Yoongi, eyes intense and fist closed on the bar top, pressing into the sticky, lacquered counter. It’s cute when Jungkook looks like this. He’s determined and frustrated, and Yoongi hears the way Jungkook’s pulse begins to rush and sees the way his jaw flexes.

Jungkook has never turned his argument face on Yoongi. There was nothing to ever argue about. Until now, Yoongi has tolerated Jungkook’s vampire fanaticism in silence. And yet the simple mention of Ouroborus has Yoongi on edge.

“It represents infinity,” Jungkook insists. “The eternity of life of a vampire, the never ending cycle of immortality.”

“It’s the never ending cycle of death and life.” Yoongi’s tone is hard. He feels the overwhelming need for Jungkook to get this right. To not look into Ouruborus. To understand. “The Ouroborus originates as far back as Ancient Egypt when the god Ra created the goddess Sekhmet to destroy and punish humanity. She and her followers were immortal - the eternal representation of death and destruction. And when they couldn’t stop, Ra banished them to the darkness, never to walk in the sun again. Her followers took on the snake eating its tail to represent how their existence would always bring death and destruction.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Vampires didn’t originate in Egypt. That’s not right.”

“They didn’t originate from anywhere, Jungkook. They just are. And they’re not all the same creatures, no matter what your little vampire porn book tells you.”

Yoongi regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. Jungkook recoils like he’s been slapped, his expression slipping from frustrated to hurt.

Sighing, Yoongi reaches for Jungkook. Jungkook shrugs him off and throws cash on the bar before looking at Taehyung and Namjoon who watch in mute horror, bystanders to a car crash they can’t control. “See you guys later.”

Shoving his way through the crowd, Jungkook vanishes. Yoongi can still smell him, though. Can hear the way Jungkook’s heart is racing, can taste the anxiety and anger rolling off of him. Yoongi wants to smack his own head against the countertop.

“Well go after him,” Taehyung says, drawing Yoongi’s attention. Taehyung looks him up and down and laughs a little. “You’re hopeless.”

“What do you mean?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “You obviously hate Jungkook’s obsession with vampires for whatever reason, but you’ve spent the last three years at work circulating him like a little satellite. You think I don’t notice you stocking the cabinet with Hello Pandas? Or putting that nasty banana milk in the fridge? You hate it and yet you indulge in him. So go apologize for making fun of him and make out or something.”

“I…” Yoongi trails off and Taehyung smirks.

“You told Jimin to stop talking about his fascination with tarot two days in because it was annoying you. You’ve let Jungkook talk to you and around you about vampires for three years.”

Yoongi scratches the back of his ear. He can’t blush, but if he could, he would be stained pink from his ears to his nose under Taehyung’s accusations. “Ah. Sorry to ruin the night.”

“Go,” Taehyung grins. “And at least make out for a little, watching you pretend not to notice one another during your little reading lunches is exhausting.”

It’s a cool night, silence blanketing the mostly-empty parking lot. The sun has made her final descent and given way to the moon, which slowly climbs into the sky, bracketed by stars. Yoongi sees Jungkook standing near the entrance to the fenced-in parking lot, looking down at his phone as he toes gravel beneath his shoe. Yoongi hears the soft crunch and he sighs.

Jungkook doesn’t hear him coming. He never does, and this time Yoongi doesn’t announce his arrival or make human noises. Instead, he takes a second to drink in Jungkook. Jungkook is bathed in the halo of a streetlamp that buzzes loudly above their heads. It’s still early night, a little bit of color in the sky near the horizon, but Yoongi only has eyes for Jungkook, who sniffs a little and wipes at his face with the back of his sleeve.

An ache fills Yoongi’s chest when he realizes that Jungkook has been crying. Or at least has shed a single tear. He sees Jungkook swallow thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing. He adjusts his backpack, fang and bat pins reflecting in the street lamp.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Jungkook lurches and cries out in alarm, jumping away from Yoongi and whirling around. Yoongi winces when Jungkook stumbles but catches his balance, pulse beating so loudly that Yoongi can’t help but drop his gaze down to where Jungkook’s blood rushes wildly through his jugular, artery pulsing.

“Yeah, well,” Jungkook huffs, scowling. “You did.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah right.” Jungkook turns away and looks at his phone. Yoongi can see him waiting for an Uber.

“Jungkook.”

“I get it,” Jungkook snaps. “You think I’m weird. You don’t like my comics, you don’t like that I find this stuff cool, and you don’t like me. Message received.”

“I never said any of that.”

Jungkook throws a heated glance his way. “Oh, so you do like my comics?”

“No,” Yoongi admits. “Because they’re wrong.” He sees the hurt flicker across Jungkook’s face and Yoongi wants to scream. “I don’t mean wrong because of the sex shit or whatever. I don’t care about that. They’re wrong about vampires. All of it.”

“How would you know?” Jungkook asks the question and Yoongi wants to answer so badly. Wants to blurt it out, wants to admit that he has the stupid answers to Jungkook’s questions. “You don’t know anything about vampires. And then you made fun of me and embarrassed me.”

“You shouldn’t be talking about or looking into Ouroborus.”

“What do you know?”

“I know things.”

“Not about this, you don’t even like vampires.”

“You don’t know what I like.”

“Yeah, because you barely talk to me. We’ve been coworkers for years - sat next to each other for years. I get it, but don’t make fun of the things I like. Don’t talk nonsense just to tease me.”

And oh Yoongi sees it now. Sees the insecurity creep in, sees the boy who thinks that his coworker is taking the thing he loves most and using it as a weapon.

Jungkook seems to fold in on himself, arms hugging around his middle, chin tucking to his neck. He looks so small like this, and Yoongi wants to kick himself. Hasn't Jungkook seen how much Yoongi does like him? Hasn’t he noticed how Yoongi waters the plants on Jungkook’s desk that would have died by now? How he puts his favorite snacks in the break room? How he always makes sure to stay late at the office and walk out together, just to make sure no one hurts Jungkook?

“I wasn’t making fun of you,” Yoongi says gently. “You scared me.”

“I-” Jungkook cuts himself off and tilts his head. His earrings catch the light. Delicate like the careful slope of his mouth, like the soft skin of his neck. “Scared you?”

“Most of your rambling about vampires is annoying,” Yoongi admits and Jungkook scrunches his nose. “But harmless. Not able to hurt anyone. Sometimes you’re right. Sometimes you’re wrong. But then tonight you started talking about Ouroborus, and I don’t even know where you heard of that, but you shouldn’t be looking into it. Into them.”

“There are symbols in my comic book,” Jungkook says slowly. His lips are a little pouted, distracting Yoongi from the dangerous subject matter. “And hints. So I looked it up. They’re like, a vampire coven-”

“They’re a cult.” Yoongi is firm. Clenches and unclenches his fist. “Stop looking them up, Jungkook. They love people like you, hypnotized by the mystery and the thrill. Please.”

“How do you know?” Yoongi knew he would ask. Jungkook shakes his head, earrings clinking together. Down the street, a cat yowls at someone walking by. “I thought you hated my vampire stuff. You always make a face when Tae and I talk about it.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“Okay, well I do hate your vampire stuff.”

“Exactly, so why should I take anything you say for fact? I’ve spent hours reading on this stuff-”

“Well I’ve spent two hundred and seven years as a vampire. My anniversary is actually in two weeks.”

Yoongi’s admission hangs heavily between them. Jungkook stares, open mouth. Yoongi suddenly has the very human urge to shift from foot-to-foot. Or to fidget, which isn’t something that he feels often - nervousness isn’t something that he feels often.

Yet he feels it all the time with Jungkook. Feels like squirming in his chair when Jungkook leans on the breakroom table between them, laying his head on his backpack with Fang Fucker tucked in his lap. Feels annoyed when he sees Eddie turning into bats on the pages, misting across panels to save Belle on the other side. Feels fond and happy when Jungkook gets through a presentation without stumbling, especially after Yoongi could hear him practicing in the bathroom all morning.

Jungkook makes Yoongi feel so human. Makes him feel things that he doesn’t need at all, but wants.

“You what?”

The Uber pulls into the parking lot, tires hissing against crackling gravel. Jungkook ignores the car completely, even though Yoongi waves his hand and moves out of the car's way. Headlights flash toward them as Yoongi turns, and Jungkook gasps, leaning backward but not taking a full step.

Yoongi knows what the younger has just seen. A sliver reflection of eyes, flashing in the sudden flooding of light against them. Predator eyes when exposed to light in the dark. Jungkook is squeezing his phone tight in his hands, knuckles white. His heart is racing and he totally ignores it when the driver rolls down the window and asks if he’s Jungkook.

“Prove it,” Jungkook says to Yoongi.

“What? You believe me?”

“Maybe. Prove you’re one and that you’re not just turning this into a joke.” He takes a deep breath. “Prove you’re not making fun of me.”

“I would never-”

“Prove it, Yoongi.”

Yoongi. Not hyung. Yoongi fights a smile at how ferocious Jungkook demands this, hands fisted at his side. Yoongi gestures to the car. “Get in. To wherever you live. I can show you.”

Nodding, Jungkook pops open the door and slides right into the car. Yoongi sighs, looking upward and closing his eyes briefly. Of course Jungkook would get into a car with someone who just told him he was a vampire. Jungkook has no fear of Yoongi, not a single worry in the world. Even as Yoongi slides into the back seat, casting his dark eyes in Jungkook’s direction, there is not a single iota of anxiety in Jungkook’s face or scent.

Just pure, unfettered excitement.

City lights blur by. Yoongi watches Jungkook, flickering shadows and light as they pass by other cars on the road. Jungkook watches Yoongi right back, his dark eyes studying Yoongi as though he could find some sort of visual indicator that Yoongi is the vampire he says he is.

This is dangerous. Yoongi knows that he shouldn’t be indulging. But the crestfallen face Jungkook made when he thought Yoongi was making fun of him and the memory of Jungkook sniffling softly makes Yoongi throw caution to the wind.

Yoongi trusts himself around Jungkook.

They don’t speak until they’re at Jungkook’s apartment and he’s walking over the threshold, flipping on the light. Yoongi remains on the other side of the door and that urge to fidget is back as Yoongi’s anxiety spikes. He doesn’t move, watching as Jungkook holds the door open, his back facing Yoongi.

Idiot, Yoongi thinks, Jungkook not realizing that he has turned his back to a predator.

When Yoongi doesn’t cross, Jungkook looks over his shoulder, head tilted. Puzzled. Yoongi gazes at Jungkook intently, eyes flickering to the floor back up to Jungkook. For a human, Jungkook is perceptive. He tracks Yoongi’s gaze and his mouth forms a soft ‘o’ as he meets Yoongi’s eyes.

“Can you not cross?” Yoongi shakes his head and Jungkook hums, holding the door open wider. “Prove it.”

Yoongi sighs. Lifts his foot and brings it forward, though he already knows what’s going to happen. He meets an invisible barrier, foot stopping in mid air. It feels like kicking a wall, solid and unrelenting. Yoongi puts his foot back down, but Jungkook doesn’t seem satisfied.

Reaching through the door, Jungkook pulls Yoongi by the hand. Yoongi flinches, startled that Jungkook is touching him so freely as he pulls Yoongi’s hand toward the door frame. Jungkook’s hand passes through just fine, but he meets resistance as Yoongi’s hand hits the invisible wall, palm flat and pressing on it.

With a noise somewhere between a gasp and giggle, Jungkook tugs Yoongi’s arm. Yoongi rolls his eyes, but lets Jungkook yank at his jacket sleeve. Nothing he does helps, and Yoongi is stuck with his hand pressed up against the barrier and Jungkook’s long fingers wrapped around his forearms, tugging.

“Wow,” Jungkook whispers. He looks up at Yoongi, stars in his eyes, blush on his face and the most beautiful smile Yoongi has ever seen. “I just have to…?” Yoongi nods, understanding the question. “Come in, hyung.”

Before Yoongi can step through the door, Jungkook tugs Yoongi’s arm. It doesn’t make Yoongi move much. He’s an aged vampire, strong and fast. But it’s cute when Jungkook lets out a squeal as Yoongi steps over the threshold into Jungkook’s home, the door slamming shut behind him.

Jungkook doesn’t bother turning the lights on, getting up close to Yoongi and tilting his head. He’s much taller than Yoongi, though about as broad. This close, Yoongi can hear the blood rushing through Jungkook’s nervous system, a whisper of sound against his hyper-sensitive ears. He can smell Jungkook, sweet and like spring, nearly taste him on his tongue as Jungkook looks at Yoongi’s mouth.

“Fangs?” he asks, because it’s Jungkook. Of course he isn’t afraid that there is an apex predator in his home, that Yoongi could rip him apart and- “Show me.”

Yoongi doesn’t know why he does it. Or maybe he does. Because since Jungkook walked into work three years ago, Yoongi has done nothing but indulge Jungkook in everything. Let’s him ramble about Fang Fucker. Gives him all of his snacks. Let’s Jungkook take Yoongi’s favorite pens that write nice and smooth when Jungkook loses his own pens.

As Yoongi opens his mouth and feels the sharp sting of his fangs gliding through his gums, he realizes that he told Jungkook the truth simply because it’s Jungkook. Because he wanted Jungkook to know. Because it makes Jungkook light up like a solar flare, clapping his hands as he grins at the two, sharpened points that help Yoongi puncture his prey and drink deeply from the artery.

“How do you turn?”

“No.” Jungkook straightens and looks down the wide bridge of his nose at Yoongi, lips downturned. Yoongi’s fangs vanish and he glares. “I’m not telling you that, you’d just try and do it yourself.”

“I’m not suicidal.”

“Who said death was involved? Don’t fish for information, Jungkook.”

The boy at least has the decency to look chagrined. “Fine. I have questions.”

“I’m tired.”

“Do vampires sleep?”

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose, realizing he has opened himself to the world’s longest line of questioning. “In a way, yes. Not the way humans do.”

“So like a resting trance.”

“That’s…” Yoongi thinks about when he lays down, settling somewhere between waking dreams and fully functioning. The dreams aren’t like the dreams that he had when he was a human. They’re more like memories, flipping through like a scrapbook as he rests. “Yeah, actually. Pretty accurate.”

Jungkook’s grin is wicked. “Learned that from Fang Fucker. I guess it’s pretty accurate after all, huh?”

“No.”

“Will you fuck me?”

If Yoongi was a creature that relied on breathing to live, the air would leave his lungs. He doesn’t gasp anymore, but he would now if he could, blinking two dark eyes up at Jungkook who is grinning, and who has something sharp and mischievous in his gaze.

“What?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Yoongi’s gums ache. “You suddenly find out I’m a vampire and want to fuck me?”

“What? Wait!” Jungkook lurches after Yoongi, who turns on his heel toward the door. He only stops because Jungkook asks. It’s like Jungkook’s word is his command, and Yoongi knows that he could leave. Could vanish from the apartment. And yet he doesn’t. “I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t… no.”

“Then how did you mean it? You’re telling me you would ask that if I wasn’t a vampire?”

“No, but not because I don’t want to.” Yoongi cocks his head and Jungkook’s face flushes. He hides behind both of his hands and lets out an aggravated sound. “Ugh! I just, I got excited and it was the first thing I could think of and yeah, I do want to fuck you because sex with a vampire like - is it like the comic books? I would love to know.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi says gently, but it goes unheard.

“But that’s totally not why I want to in general, hyung. Taehyung thinks that you have a crush on me, and it made me so nervous at first because I always thought you were so pretty and quiet and maybe a little bit scary, but now I realize that maybe you’re not scary, you’re just a vampire.”

Yoongi says Jungkook’s name again, but the boy is on a roll, ranting into his hands and hiding his embarrassment from Yoongi as best as he can. Yoongi is no longer irritated, though, as Jungkook continues mumbling and smelling like honeysuckle.

“And I totally have a crush on you, which is why when I thought you were making fun of me I got so upset and had to get out of there. I didn’t want you to see me cry even though crying is totally okay, but you’re always so unemotional and I thought it would annoy you more. And then you’re all here like ‘I’m a vampire’ and it fried my brain and I don’t know? We’re in my apartment, so sex seems like-”

“Jungkook.”

Jungkook looks up from where his face is buried in his palms. Eyes wide, innocent. Mouth parted, slick-shined with his spit. Yoongi’s eyes drop to Jungkook’s mouth. Wants to know if he tastes just as sweet as he smells. Wants to know what the shape of his mouth is like, wants to feel the soft and hard lines of Jungkook’s body hiding under the cotton of his shirt.

Yoongi isn’t like Eddie in Fang Fucker, who kept trying to hide from the desire for Belle. Yoongi isn’t scared of himself. He knows what he’s capable of, he is good at control. He’s been alive long enough to have mastered himself, and he isn’t worried about snapping Jungkook’s neck or taking a bite.

So Yoongi doesn’t fight some long-winded internal war. Doesn’t feel guilty when he slides toward Jungkook, letting his feet move him vampire-smooth. Jungkook sucks in a little bit of air. Watches how Yoongi settles up close to him, tilting his head up.

Jungkook’s breath is warm and is as sweet as his blood smells. Jungkook shivers and Yoongi grins. This close, he can ount each and every one of Jungkook’s long, silky soft eyelashes.

“You,” Yoong murmurs, voice low and soft. “Can fuck me, Jungkook. I will be doing none of the work.”

“Really?”

Yoongi looks down at Jungkook’s mouth again and hums, zeroing in on it.

Jungkook wastes no time. Yoongi watches Jungkook close his eyes and lean in. He has a brief second to smile, to lean up into it, pushing onto his tiptoes to meet Jungkook’s eager mouth. Jungkook’s lips are soft soft, tasting faintly like cherry chapstick that he must have applied in the parking lot waiting for his car and a little bit like beer.

Yoongi doesn’t mind, humming delightly as Jungkook pulls Yoongi toward him. Yoongi lets him, Jungkook pressing their waists together as his hands loop around Yoongi’s back, holding him there. Jungkook is a messy kisser, but he’s eager and gentle, tongue licking at the seam of Yoongi’s mouth until Yoongi opens up.

Jungkook brushes his tongue gently across Yoongi’s teeth, feeling for the sharpness of fangs. Yoongi huffs in Jungkook’s mouth, pushing him slightly and making Jungkook stumble a few inches. Jungkook is shadowed in the dark of his living room, eyes half-lidded and mouth shining in Yoongi’s spit.

“I’m not biting you.”

Jungkook grins, his tongue poking through his teeth as he wiggles his eyebrows. “Bet you want to though, huh? Wanna bite me, hyung?”

“I’m not one of your little fictional vampires,” Yoongi assures Jungkook, who pulls at Yoongi’s shirt to bring him closer. Their chests are pressed together, Yoongi looking up as Jungkook bends down to steal another sloppy, open mouth kiss. “I have control and I’m not worried about it.”

“Control, huh?” Jungkook tugs Yoongi's hand. “I bet you have lots of stamina too.”

Yoongi feels like he’s walking on air when he follows Jungkook to his bedroom. He takes in multiple things at once, able to flick his gaze across the room and see all of the details of Jungkook’s life at the same time that Jungkook tugs on Yoongi’s sleeve, making a soft noise that indicates he wants Yoongi to move faster.

Jungkook’s room has a boyish charm. His bed is pressed up against the wall, a single lamp over it with a stack of comics on the nightstand. His sheets smell clean, though vaguely of floral soap. There are comic panels pressed in glass and displayed in wooden frames over the bed: Spiderman, Scarlet Witch, Fang Fuckers.

Near the bathroom, there’s a meticulously organized bookcase, teeming with comic books and actual books. Yoongi sees the names flash by as Jungkook nudges Yoongi toward the bed and huffs when he realizes he can’t simply shove Yoongi onto the mattress. The vampire laughs and sits down as Jungkook sheds his jean jacket, letting it hit the floor.

It pleases Yoongi that Jungkook’s room isn’t messy, though a little disheveled. There seems to be an organized chaos to it, to Jungkook. He likes that, the way that Jungkook is at the nexus of impossible spectrums. LIke now, when Jungkook looks shy and innocent as he drops to his knees in front of Yoongi, looking up at him through dark lashes.

Jungkook’s hair curls so elegantly across his forehead. Yoongi reaches forward, carding his hands through the silk strands. It’s just as soft as he thought and he smiles, leaning down to catch Jungkook’s mouth again, tongues tangled and the wet smack of their kisses sending heat into Yoongi’s stomach, making his cock stir.

Of course Jungkook can get Yoongi semi-hard by just kissing. But what really does it, is when Jungkook breaks from the kiss, a string of spit between them for a moment. Yoongi watches it break before his eyes zero in on Jungkook’s tattooed hands going for the button on Yoongi’s jeans.

“Wanna suck you off,” Jungkook admits, fingers working the zipper. Yoongi leans back on his arms, watching Jungkook with rapt attention.

He is so fucking beautiful. The ink on his arms is exquisite, moving in artistic whorls of mostly black art with some pieces of color splashed in. Yoongi thinks that the pair of them are a lot like Jungkook’s tattoos. Yoongi is the stark, unchanging black and Jungkook is the bright, splatter of color and life.

Yoongi’s hands go to Jungkook’s arms, fingers tracing the color. Jungkook pauses trying to get Yoongi’s pants off, letting Yoongi feel him. Jungkook is so warm, vitality humming in his veins under paper-thin skin. Jungkook ducks forward, pressing a kiss to Yoongi’s wrist, Jungkook’s mouth eager to place butterfly-soft kisses on Yoongi’s skin.

It makes Yoongi smile. He can’t remember the last time he was intimate with someone. It doesn’t matter. He lets Jungkook feel his skin.

“You're warm,” Jungkook notes, turning his attention to tugging on Yoongi’s jeans. Yoongi lifts his hips, helping him pull them down his thighs and knees, fabric scraping. It feels so good, the heat of Jungkook’s hands, the taste of his excitement in the air. “Not cold at all.”

“We live between life and death,” Yoongi sighs, head tilting back as Jungkook rips off Yoongi’s shoes. Jungkook’s sweet scent mixes with the headiness of his arousal. Every inch of Yoongi’s skin is like an exposed wire, especially when Jungkook places open mouth kisses to Yoongi’s thighs, making him twitch. “We are neither entirely dead nor entirely alive. I adapt to the temperature around me.”

“Fascinating,” Jungkook mumbles as his mouth leaves wet stains, inching toward Yoongi’s briefs.

Yoongi is throbbing. He feels light-headed and shaky when he lifts his head. Jungkook is eager between his legs, pressing his palms against Yoongi’s thighs to spread him open more, to give himself more room. Yoongi lets himself be pried open, watches with parted lips as Jungkook dips forward, licking at the damp spot on his briefs.

A curse drips from Yoongi’s mouth and his lids flutter. He’s determined to watch Jungkook, slack-jawed as the shy little Jungkook Yoongi knows is replaced with an eager, hungry thing. Jungkook mouths at Yoongi’s cock over the fabric, making his hips lift from the bed, a moan falling out of his mouth.

Jungkook looks up, mouth wet and eyes sparkling. “You sound pretty.”

“You look pretty.”

Yoongi smiles when Jungkook’s nose and cheeks turn cherry blossom pink. “Are vampires always so nice?”

“No.” Jungkook skims his hand up Yoongi’s thigh, skating over to grip Yoongi firmly, massaging through what suddenly feels like the world's thinnest fabric. Yoongi hisses between his teeth, eyes shutting as Jungkook teases him. “And you don’t want a mean vampire.”

“I don’t,” Jungkook agrees. “I want,” he continues slowly, pulling at the fabric of Yoongi’s briefs. “A sweet, gentle vampire. Who is very quiet and likes to read his books mysteriously. Who secretly does things around the office for everyone and- fuck you have a thick dick.”

Jungkook stumbles on his cute little monologue, making Yoongi laugh. It comes out closer to a growl, startling Jungkook. Yoongi’s cock bobs against his shirt, precum smearing on the dark fabric. The brown tip is aching for Jungkook’s mouth, inches away and panting.

“That was sweet.”

Jungkook looks up at him, fingers digging into Yoongi’s thigh where he holds his legs open. “You’re sweet. You’re nice. And you…” Jungkook turns his face away, trying to hide that he is furiously blushing again. Yoongi can see it though, can make out every single detail on Jungkook’s face and it makes him melt. “Whatever, I’m going to suck your dick now.”

Laughter dies in Yoongi’s throat, replaced by a deep groan that comes rumbling out of him as Jungkook licks the underside of Yoongi’s shaft, tongue flat and eager. Sparks slide up his back as he clutches the sheets. Jungkook mouths up the side of Yoongi’s cock, hand going to grip at the base, tongue laving, hungry, determined.

“Fuck,” Yoongi whispers. Jungkook giggles, pulling Yoongi’s swollen tip toward his mouth. He licks around the head happily, Jungkook nearly humming in delight.

Yoongi’s mind is blank. He watches, entranced and hips squirming as Jungkook takes Yoongi’s cock into his mouth proper, hollowing his cheeks and giving an experimental suck. Yoongi’s hips come off of the bed, and Jungkook whines, retracting his mouth with a wet sound as he blinks up at Yoongi.

“No,” is all he mumbles in Yoongi’s general direction before he’s back on him, taking Yoongi into his mouth and down to the back of his throat. Yoongi doesn’t move his hips, anchored to the spot like Jungkook wants.

“Holy shit!” Yoongi curses.

He can tell Jungkook loves this. His throat twitches around Yoongi and his eyes water, looking up at the vampire as he pulls back a little. His tongue scrapes the sensitive underside of Yoongi’s dick and Yoongi thinks he might come just like this.

Jungkook seems to lose himself in a messy, wet rhythm. He closes his eyes, lashline shining with unshed tears every time the crown of Yoongi’s cock kisses the back of Jungkook’s throat, feels the soft, dewy spot as Jungkook swallows Yoongi deep.

Curses across many languages spill from Yoongi’s lips. He falls backward on the bed, moaning up toward the ceiling. Jungkook is loud, his ravenous mouth stretched tight around Yoongi, drool escaping the sides of taught lips and dripping down to Yoongi’s balls.

“Your fucking mouth,” Yoongi whispers, voice broken as he trembles under Jungkook’s ministrations.

Jungkook pulls off Yoongi with a wet-pop. “Wanna fuck you.” He licks up Yoongi’s precum again. “Can I fuck you, hyung?”

“Yes.”

Yoongi has no reservations. Hei can protect Jungkook, from both Yoongi himself and anything else. There is no fear there, only want. Only desire that has been burning for three fucking years that he sat next to Jungkook, the cute boy who poured over his vampire comics.

The whisper of clothes is loud in the room. Jungkook presses himself against Yoongi, crawls on top of him and cages him in. His mouth is filled with the taste of Yoongi’s precum and his own unique taste, but Yoongi devours him, biting into Jungkook’s bottom lip, pulling back and letting Jungkook grind into him.

Jungkook is warm, like the sun is trapped underneath his skin. Yoongi hasn’t felt the warmth of human skin like this in so long. He leans into Jungkook, hands pressed on the smooth, strong planes of Jungkook’s back as the younger grabs lube from his nightstand and pops the cap open with ease.

Cool, slick fingers prod at Yoongi’s tight rim and he lets out a rumble, drawing innocent eyes toward him. Yoongi grins and nips Jungkook’s mouth, wiggling his hips to chase Jungkook’s hesitant fingers. “Come on,” Yoongi urges, starving for it. Aching to be fucking filled, to have Jungkook closer. “Loosen hyung up.”

Jungkook whimpers, ever eager to follow instruction. He presses a finger in, sinking to the second knuckle and Yoongi sighs, head going slack as he lets Jungkook experiment, sliding his finger in and out gently. It feels good, but Yoongi wants more. Yoongi needs more. Hasn’t had this in years, hasn’t ever had Jungkook.

“More.”

It’s all Jungkook needs, growing confident and gently fucking into Yoongi’s tight walls with a set pace. Yoongi is spiraling. Feels like he can’t catch his breath, though he doesn’t need it. He vibrates at a new frequency as Jungkook slides in another digit, the wet squelch mixing with their moans.

Yoongi pulls Jungkook’s mouth to his, teeth clacking, tongues uncoordinated, noses bumping together as Jungkook stretches Yoongi. It feels good, especially when Jungkook reaches that soft spot in Yoongi, making his stomach lurch and his feet dig into his bed.

“There?”

“There,” Yoongi agrees in high-keen.

Determined, Jungkook gets after it. Busies his mouth with sucking Yoongi’s flesh raw, nipping, licking his way around the expanse of Yoongi’s throat. Jungkook seems to particularly favor the sensitive spot over Yoongi’s jugular and Yoongi laugh-moans when Jungkook’s teeth drag against where Yoongi’s pulse would be.

“Fuck me,” Yoongi begs. “Just fuck me, I’m good.”

“Okay.”

They’re a tangle of slick limbs. Yoongi tastes sweat on Jungkook’s skin, his tongue heavy in his mouth as Jungkook jostles him up his bed, pushing his thighs open, splaying him open butterfly-perfect.

Jungkook’s eyes are soft and curious, looking down at where Yoongi lays marked and messy, pliant for Jungkook, eager hole gaping, cock weeping. Yoongi pulls at Jungkook’s hands. Makes a soft sound. Wants him, begs for him quietly.

With a soft smirk, Jungkook fists his own cock a few times, pumping his thick, long length. Yoongi’s eyes follow the movement, chewing on his bottom lip, waiting and wanting. He knows is going to feel perfect, wants to feel the push and drag-

Jungkook’s tip catches the rim of Yoongi’s ass and he sighs. Digs his fingers into Jungkook’s skin and pulls. He is careful with his pressure, always regulating what he’s doing, never touching Jungkook hard enough to bruise. The smile on Jungkook’s face as he ducks his head to watch his cock sink into the heat of Yoongi is enough for Yoongi to know that Jungkook knows. Knows Yoongi has this under control. Knows that at any moment, Yoongi could take over. Could ruin Jungkook and leave him dripping and broken.

That’s not what Yoongi wants. He wants this. The pressure of Jungkook filling him up, tight squeeze, light burn, walls hugging and fluttering. He feels Jungkook deep, never ending, ceaseless. And then Jungkook’s tapered hips are pressed against Yoongi’s ass, stilling as Yoongi fights around the stretch.

“Come on,” Yoongi pants, a human habit that had slipped in between the distraction of Jungkook splitting him open. “Come on, Kook.”

Yoongi doesn’t know if it’s the way he whispers the plea or if it’s the nickname, but Jungkook sheds his hesitance. He presses Yoongi’s thighs to the mattress, putting his weight into him. It feels good, to have the heavy feeling of Jungkook on top of him, especially when he starts fucking Yoongi in earnest.

The world turns to liquid. At least, that’s how it feels as Yoongi turns molten under Jungkook. The younger fucks Yoongi hard, face fixed in a snarl as he grabs at Yoongi’s thighs, fingers slipping on lube-slick skin. Yoongi’s eyes roll backward, letting Jungkook’s thrust lull him somewhere like a dream.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hisses. “You like being fucked like this, huh? Big dangerous vampire, split open by me, huh?”

“Yes.” It’s a raspy note stuck in Yoongi’s throat, so he nods. Babbles something else. He doesn’t know.

With a huff of laughter, Jungkook pulls out. Yoongi’s eyes fly open, a protest on his lips, ready to snarl that he felt good, that he felt full. Jungkook cuts him off, flipping Yoongi over, handling him as though Jungkook were the predator here.

Before Yoongi can think much, Jungkook is prying his ass cheeks apart, spitting right on his already wet hole. Yoongi keens and Jungkook chuckles behind him, sliding back in and fuck it feels so good.

With a hand grabbing Yoongi’s hips to lift him, Jungkook powers into him, the snap of his hips fast and efficient. The sounds he makes puts Yoongi’s world on a spinning top, going round and round. Jungkook sounds so pretty, whining as he adjusts himself so he’s fucking deeper into Yoongi.

Warmth blooms inside of Yoongi and he lets out a scream. Jungkook hits his prostate head on and it feels like he’s unraveling, pressing his face into the sheets and arching his back. He scrambles backwards, pushing himself onto Jungkook’s cock, desperate for more more more.

Just as Yoongi starts to crest toward the peak of his orgasm, Jungkook shifts again. Yoongi growls and Jungkook ignores it entirely, pulling out of Yoongi with a wet mess and turning him around. He lifts Yoongi easily and the vampire loves it. Loves how Jungkook handles him, instructing Yoongi to loop his legs around his waist. Loves when he holds onto Jungkook’s shoulders, shining with sweat as Jungkook fucks up into him, his hands bounding Yoongi in his lap.

It’s so deep that Yoongi thinks he might die. Perhaps one can kill a vampire after all. It wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, head sinking into Jungkook’s shoulder. The smell of honeysuckle flooding his senses. The feeling of Jungkook fucking him with everything he has. The soft feeling of Jungkook nosing Yoongi’s hair in contrast with the way he slams Yoongi down into his lap.

Overwhelmed, Yoongi comes suddenly. A snarl rips out of him and his fingers tighten a little, but not enough to do more than bruise. Not enough to hurt Jungkook - never hurt Jungkook. He shudders as Jungkook quickens his pace, chases his orgasm, driving Yoongi toward overstimulation.

Yoongi squirms and squeals, fights Jungkook - but not really. Not in any way that tells Jungkook Yoongi is actually trying to get away, because they both know that he can. Jungkook laughs, pinning Yoongi down and sinking deep into the heart of him where he comes with a long groan, face dropping into Yoongi’s neck.

Yoongi feels the rough wetness of Jungkook’s tongue, licking a stripe up his neck. Despite himself, Yoongi laughs and rolls his eyes, feeling alive and brighter than ever.

“Beast,” he jests, slapping Jungkook’s side.

Jungkook sloppily kisses his way to Yoongi’s mouth, letting himself soften inside, not willing to pull out. Their mouths mingled together, not really kissing, not really not kissing. Just tangled tongues, sometimes just mouths pressed against one another.

“So you like being handled, huh?” Jungkook asks, eyes fluttering open. Yoongi looks up at them. This close, he can see all the different shades of brown, layer after layer of shades. “Vampire likes being a pillow princess?”

“And you like being rough and fast,” Yoongi shoots back. “Makes you feel like a predator, huh?”

Jungkook’s nose goes red. Yoongi likes it when Jungkook’s face reddens. So full of blood and life and lust. “A little.”

When Jungkook pulls out, it’s an audible, wet mess. Yoongi feels the spill out of him. Doesn’t care. Likes the debauchery of it. Plus, he’s distracted when Jungkook lays down next to him, head on Yoongi’s chest. He isn’t going anywhere, seeking the comfort of Yoongi’s arm as Jungkook’s heart rate begins to die down.

“So,” Jungkook says airly. “I guess this makes me a fang fucker?”

Yoongi groans. “Not those fucking comic books.”

“I have so many more things I wanna try, hyung.” Jungkook looks up at him, eyes glittering. “Give me ten minutes. I wanna see how long you can ride me.”

Yoongi huffs, but there’s mirth in it.

So Yoongi doesn’t hate Jeon Jungkook at all. Not one little bit.

#bts smut #bts fanfic #yoonkook smut #yoonkook fanfic #jungkook smut #yoongi smut #vampire yoongi #halis milestone requests #minors dni #minors dont read #yoonkook #yoongi x jungkook #jungkook x yoongi

357 notes · View notes