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lomlhwa · 5 months

Text

multiple??? (p.sh)

pairing: snake hybrid!seonghwa x bunny hybrid!reader

preview: your best friend claims to have two dicks. there's no way though. ....right?

tags/warnings: fem reader, praise, seonghwa has two GIANT cocks, two cocks in one hole (someone sedate me), fingering, seonghwa is so sweet and careful, split tongue, squirting, oral (m.receiving), cum eating, bulge kink, size kink, pet names (bunny, noona), he's so desperate, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, friends to lovers

trigger warnings: n/a

w/c: 1.4k

song recs for this fic: seven by jungkook, i was made for lovin' you by kiss

a/n: i need seonghwa thank you

“seonghwa, there’s no way in hell i’m gonna believe that you have two cocks. it’s just not possible!”

your best friend paces around your coffee table a few times before giving you a distressed look.

“ask any girl i’ve hooked up with. they’ll know there’s more than one down there,” he runs his hand through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. his slitted eyes stare lasers into your head.

“i can’t believe you’re expecting me to accept that you have two cocks. are they both puny? is that why you have two? do snake hybrids have tiny dicks?” your tall ear twitches on the top of your head as he hisses at you.

“if you must know, they’re both massive.”

you tap your chin to come up with a solution to this dilemma.

“show me.”

seonghwa’s jaw falls slack and he looks at you in pure shock. “SHOW YOU!?” he yells. he crosses his arms over his chest. he huffs dramatically.

“come on, drop them sweatpants and prove it. or…. are you lying?” you push his buttons to try and get him to do what you want.

in all honesty, you’re hoping he’s lying. you’ll never let him live that down and he knows it.

“fuck it.”

seonghwa’s nimble fingers work at the drawstrings of his sweatpants. he hooks his fingers on the waistband of his pants and underwear. he takes a deep breath and looks up at you. “try not to be too shocked.” you scoff and roll your eyes. “i’m not gonna be sh-” you cut yourself off as he drops his pants to his ankles. your eyes widen and your jaw drops. they’re that big and they’re soft.

“holy fuck. you’re massive,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

seonghwa moves to pull his pants back up and you scramble to stop him. “one fuck couldn’t hurt our friendship, right?” you can feel your folds becoming slippery at the idea of taking him. when his forked tongue slips out of his mouth, he can smell it.

“i-i guess not,” he gulps. he looks down at you sitting on the floor by his feet. his cocks grow hard and become bigger right in front of your eyes. your nose twitches as you look up at him. “please, let me taste them.”

he nods, sweat forming on his forehead. your head jerks forward and you take the top member into your mouth, the one under it rubs on your chin. his thighs tremble as you suck on him like it’s your last meal.

“ahh fuck noona,” he whimpers. your thighs clamp together in search of friction. you try and force his whole member down your throat but you physically can’t. it’s too big.

you wrap your hands around his second member, stroking it at the same pace as your head. it twitches in your hand and seonghwa lets out high-pitched moans.

seonghwa gathers your hair into a ponytail in his hands and helps you move your head at a steady pace. you cough and choke around him, saliva pooling on the floor. you run your tongue over the veins in his cock, tracing the lines with spit. you speed up your hand to keep up with him rutting into your throat.

“gonna cum, please let me cum in your throat noona,” he whines at you. you let out a stifled giggle and nod to the best of your abilities. he fucks your mouth a little rougher as he reaches his high.

both his cocks release at the same time. one in your throat, one all over your shirt. you let him finish riding out his high before pulling away from him. you look up at him with teary eyes and a wet chin.

“that’s insane,” you say before looking down at your shirt. you gather some of his cum on your fingers and lick them clean. his cocks twitch while he watches you eat his cum.

you move to get off the floor but seonghwa is quicker than you. he put you on all fours and gets behind you. he runs his fingers just above the waistband of your jeans. “can i, noona?” he asks so politely as he kisses your waist.

“please hwa,” you nod, catching your bottom lip between your prominent front teeth. he’s quick to strip your bottom half, leaving your dripping core exposed. your hole opens and closes as it lets out globs of slick.

“you smell so fucking good, noona,” seonghwa says as his tongue darts out multiple times. he can’t get enough of your scent. your puffy white tail twitches as he runs his hand over the soft fur.

“gotta prep you,” he says before shoving two fingers into your hole at once. your body jerks forward, his long fingers digging deep into you. your pussy makes loud squelching sounds as he fucks you with his fingers.

“moreee,” you plead. luckily, he’s not one to deny you your pleasure. he shoves two more fingers into your hole, spreading you wide open. you kick your feet, your shins hitting the floor with loud thumps.

“please cum on my fingers, bunny. please, i know you need it. give it all to me,” your legs shake as he gives you encouragement. your chest rises and falls at a quick pace as you reach your high. your orgasm comes bursting out of you. you squirt all over his hand and arm, and a little on his shirt.

“fuck fuck fuck,” you blubber as his fingers continue to work your orgasm out. finally, he takes his fingers out and they’re absolutely dripping with your juices. “you sound so pretty, noona.”

he rises on his knees to line up with your entrance. “you’re gonna take both at once. i promise you can do it, bunny,” seonghwa takes a deep breath. his heart is racing at the idea of his best friend taking both his cocks.

he squeezes both lengths in his hands and shoves them into your hole. you let out a strangled cry as he stretches you out. the pain is almost unbearable. you bury your face into your hands and try to breathe through it.

“that’s my girl. you’re doing so fucking well, noona. taking both my cocks. good fucking girl,” seonghwa pulls your head towards his so he can kiss you. he kisses you gently in contrast to the pain between your legs.

once he’s completely bottomed out, he stills so you can get used to it. your walls pulse around him, trying so desperately to adjust to his huge size.

“move, move please hwa,” you mumble between kisses. he releases your lips and looks at you with so much love that you think he might explode. he pulls out almost all the way to the tips before slamming back into you. you stifle a scream as he jabs your g-spot.

“you take me so well. you’re so perfect. fuck, you’re so good to me,” he sets a steady pace with his hips that makes you see stars. your hands grip the carpet with so much force that your knuckles turn white.

“let me see you, hwa. wanna see your pretty face,” you beg. he pulls out of you slowly before flipping you onto your back. he brushes your hair out of your face as he pushes back into your weeping hole. “hi pretty bunny. is this better?” he asks and you nod.

he starts thrusting again and your thighs tremble as they wrap around his slim waist. he’s so beautiful while he fucks you. his face alone could make you cum.

he brings a soft finger to your clit and circles it, sending new waves of electricity through you. your orgasm races towards you and you can tell he’s close too.

“noona, please, can i cum inside you? please, i need it,” he begs you. his hips are stuttering and you can tell he’s waiting for your permission. seonghwa looks at you with desperate and wild eyes, his orgasm becoming harder to maintain.

“yes, please, cum with me,” you nod, bringing him down to kiss you as you both cum. he moans and whines against your mouth as he dumps his loads into you. your walls milk him like your life depends on it.

“thank you, thank you, thank you, noona,” he mumbles as his orgasm fades. your bodies stick together as he detaches from you to pull out. he pulls both cocks out and watches his cum flood out of you. “holy shit.”

“i think this is definitely hurting our friendship cause i don’t think i could live with the idea of anyone else fucking you,” seonghwa admits as he watches you in awe. you smile at him.

“at least take me on a date before we put labels on.” you giggle.

“a date first? i just came inside you. we’re basically married.”

#lomlhwa #ateez #atz #seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez smut #atz smut #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut

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ssspideysense · 4 months

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₊˚ෆ bad habits

summary: peter tends to act on impulse — that’s what got him here in the first place.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: fluff, pining, peter’s a hopeless romantic

wc: 2.7k

What makes something a bad habit?

People usually use the phrase when they mean too much of something— too much coffee in the morning, too many cigarettes a day, too much to drink on the weekends. Overindulgence. Lack of self control.

Peter thought about this as he waited, the skin-tight material of his suit doing absolutely nothing to block the chilling rain running down his back. Past the city lights glimmering against her window pane, the apartment inside was dimly lit. He could make out the splash of colors against the hallway from the living room TV. It wouldn’t surprise him if she fell asleep on the couch again— she had a bad habit of staying up too late, biting off more than she could chew most nights and paying for it a few hours later. He wondered briefly, and hoped a bit selfishly, that he maybe had something to do with that.

He knocked again. Louder, in a little rhythm— bum ba bum, bum ba bum.

No more than once a week. That’s how it started out, however many months ago, when he crawled through that window for the first time. Swinging by more than one night a week would be way too much. He had things to do, really, and so did she. It wasn’t realistic to expect her to wait around, twiddling her pretty little thumbs, keeping her schedule free for a chance to let him into her bedroom window at 12:17 am.

12:18 am.

12:19 am.

Peter shivered. The cold had started to seep into his skin, but the chill that ran up and down his spine wasn’t from the sudden downpour.

Even the glimpse of her figure, a dark silhouette he could pick out in any city crowd, was enough to set off that tingle in the base of his skull, even for just a moment. He watched her scurry over to the window, an apologetic look tugging on her face.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you,” she said, and her voice was music slipping over the smack of raindrops against the iron fire escape, “oh my God, get in here, will you?”

If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. Sometimes he was grateful for the mask and the few freedoms it allowed him—

“Wait here.”

—she couldn’t see the way his entire face lit up as he happily maneuvered through the window, or the way his eyes followed her as she wandered over to her linen closet to grab a towel for him.

Peter stood in a puddle on her hardwood. Obedient, embarrassingly so.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked. In the relative dark of her quiet bedroom, she handed him the towel, gazing up at him with the kind of eyes that make poets pick up pens.

“I should probably be saying yes, since it’s midnight, but I’m going to be disappointing and say no,” she chuckled under her breath and took a small step back.

Peter wrapped the towel around his shoulders like a kid getting out of the pool. It smelled like her laundry detergent, a scent he never thought he’d catch himself daydreaming about when he was miles away and objectively much busier with something much more pressing.

He had a bad habit of letting his mind wander, especially when it wanted to grip onto memories of her.

“You’re gonna hate yourself in the morning,” he replied.

She sent him a pointed look with a raised brow. “And so are you, when you wake up sick. What the hell are you doing? Does the song Itsy Bitsy Spider not ring a bell?”

She fussed over him. He liked it when she fussed over him.

“Yeah, y’know, the part where he climbs up the spout again is my favorite, actually.”

There was a pair of sweatpants and a big hoodie thrown at him before he could even pretend to argue against them.

“I’ll put some coffee on,” she said, gliding away, leaving him to drip quietly in her bedroom as he watched her back disappear down the hall.

“Decaf?” he called after her.

“Do you really want decaf?” she called right back.

She’d slipped from view, little clinks and clunks from the kitchen catching his ears. Peter shrugged the towel from his shoulders and started to peel his suit off. It’d become a second skin, literally and figuratively, clinging to every inch of him, making him shudder as the warmth of her apartment replaced the cold wrap of wet spandex.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind, bug— trying to be more health conscious this year,” Peter replied with a grin. In reality, he knew she’d be up all night and woefully exhausted the next day if she got her hands on some regular coffee, so he’d gladly take one for the team with decaf.

He stood at the foot of her bed in his boxers, looking down at the change of clothes she insisted upon him.

It was strange, the way Peter was utterly exposed like this, not even behind a closed door for a breath of privacy, but it didn’t bother him. The suit and the mask sat in a heap next to her radiator and it didn’t matter. He pulled the comfortable cotton up to his hips and slipped the hoodie over his head.

Soft, warm, foreign yet familiar all at once.

He heard her footsteps, heard them pause at the mouth of the hallway. The gut-drop feeling of meeting her gaze unobstructed, bare-faced and messy haired, wasn’t the same as it was the first time. Or the second, or third— she knew his face just as well as he knew hers at this point. Anxiety faded over time, replaced with a new, giddy sort of rush that started in his chest and spread over his body in waves.

She made him feel like a teenager again, and she didn’t even have to do anything. It was a little pathetic, maybe, how much he looked forward to these kinds of nights, but he’d ruminate about that later in the quiet of his bed.

Peter padded his way down the hall to her, moving through the space like he belonged there. He took in her small smile as she leaned back against the kitchen island. The smell of coffee hit him once the machine started to gurgle softly on the counter.

“Are you still cold? I can crank up the heat,” she offered as he drew closer. Her gaze fell on his mouth then— more specifically, the cut on his bottom lip. A little hiss escaped her as she reached up and brushed her thumb beside it.

He looked down at her with a slightly amused expression, watching her brows furrow down as she examined his face.

“No, it’s fine. I’m already walking around in your clothes, waiting on a cup of your coffee. I feel like a Tinder date that’s vastly overstayed his welcome, and I just got here,” Peter quipped, letting her turn his head by his jaw and study him some more. Her soft fingers caught his stubble but she didn’t seem to mind.

She arched a brow at him and eventually pulled her hand back. “I’ve never had a Tinder date crawl into my eighth-story window before.”

“I’m not really an expert on romance, but something tells me that’s a good thing.”

Her hum was low as she turned and gathered two mugs from the cupboard above her. “Tinder isn’t exactly the place to look for romance anyway, Spidey,” she sat them down with a clink.

Spidey.

He’d chosen to start with his face last summer. A bold choice, truly, but it felt like the safer option at the time. There was eight million people in New York— a couple thousand guys were bound to look just like him.

A face without a name was the tiniest breadcrumb he could drop to satiate that need, that desire to feel seen by her in some capacity without completely laying himself out there.

It was a dance he didn’t know the steps to. But she played along well, stumbling in the dark with him and letting him lead, however awkward and shaky.

Peter leaned against the counter and watched her pour two cups. “It’s not? I’m not really in the dating scene. Do people still meet out in the wild these days?”

And she gave him that little chuckle under her breath he liked. “You sound old,” she mused as she reached into her fridge. The pale light bathed her in a sweet, domestic sort of glow that one could only feel in sweatpants in the kitchen after midnight.

“Hey— I’m only twenty-six,” he countered, dipping his head despite the little grin growing on his face.

He watched her pause, just for a moment.

Another breadcrumb. A thread.

But she didn’t draw too much attention to it. Peter pictured her tucking it away for future reference.

“Well, to answer your question, yes. I guess people do still meet out in the wild,” she poured the creamer and scooped the sugar and reminded him that she knew so much about him without really knowing him, not yet, and he both loved and hated that, “but I’m probably not the best person to ask about all that. I think if a man randomly approached me in a bookstore or something, I’d probably assume he was some kind of weirdo.”

Peter hummed, his brow furrowed but his lips twitched into a lopsided grin. His fingers were cold when he gently accepted the drink from her.

“Alright, noted. What about guys that fall out of the sky and crash into your fire escape?”

He peered at her over the top of the mug as he took the longest, hottest drink of his life— anything to avoid the reality of what he just said for a few moments longer.

His throat burned, but it was fine.

The air felt heavier then, thick like the air outside as her gaze flicked over his face.

“That depends. Is he kind of awkward in a weirdly charismatic way?”

And Peter swallowed down the lava for a chance at a deeper breath without choking, “I mean— in this completely hypothetical and improbable scenario, yeah, I’d— I’d say so,” he replied.

The corners of her mouth curled up softly. “And did he come back a week later, trying to apologize with four different types of candy at ten o’clock at night?”

He cleared his throat to try and hide the chuckle that almost slipped out. “He didn’t know what kind you liked,” Peter said, that heat trickling up to his face for a different reason.

She blew on her coffee before sipping it, because she clearly had more sense than he did, and shrugged.

“Helping you out with a broken nose and a concussion makes for a more interesting story to look back on,” she replied softly.

This line they were toeing was a tightrope, strung high and taught and delicate.

Sometimes Peter wanted to take the leap. Just dive right onto the other side, tugging her along with him.

The clock on the stove read 12:37.

12:38.

“Do you think about it? The night we met?”

And she sat her mug down on the counter beside her. The sweater she wore was loose and comfortable on her frame as she crossed her arms. “Sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

“Do you?” she countered, tilting her head just a bit to the side as she gazed up at him.

Peter leaned back. His mug was empty, the roof of his mouth was a bit sore, but he swallowed regardless. “I do, sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

The rain outside picked up. It smacked against her windows with the whistle of wind just underneath it all.

“Sometimes, when I can’t sleep. I’m usually thinking about the last time I saw you, though. Much clearer picture there,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and looked off to the side, though her soft, slight smile cut the air of annoyance she tried to hold on to.

“Stop,” she mumbled, shaking her head, “that’s not fair.” He had a feeling he knew what she meant— and he had to agree, watching her avoid his gaze.

Peter reached a hand out to pull her arms out of their closed off, crossed position. Despite the tension in her shoulders, she was soft, pliable, letting him grasp her wrists and guide her forward gently into his torso.

He wrapped around her, his nose in her hair, committing the scent of her shampoo to memory.

“I know,” he mumbled back.

She was quiet, her cheek pressed against his chest in that borrowed hoodie she thought he looked criminally good in. After a few moments of his fingers lightly tracing shapes between her shoulder blades, she sucked in a breath. “That’s not fair, either, Spidey.” And she was right again.

He had a bad habit of trying to fix everything.

“Peter,” he said, his voice low against her roots, “it’s Peter.”

The wind shook the windows. She was nearly laying on him with how he held her, his long frame leaned back, arms circled around her shoulders. His breath came in calculated waves, but she could feel the rhythm changing the longer she stayed silent, along with his heartbeat under her ear.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out.

“Peter,” she tried it out, and it felt like hearing her voice for the first time.

His fingers splayed over her back and his palm smoothed up her spine. “Yes?” he mumbled back.

She had a bad habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve, at least around him.

“I think I might have a thing for guys who fall out of the sky and crash into my fire escape.”

Overindulgence, lack of self control— whatever it was, it didn’t matter, really. Peter smiled against her scalp. A low rumble of a chuckle vibrated through his chest. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head once, twice, and squeezed her against him.

She let out a little grunt in response, feeling too much like a squeaky toy to not laugh. “Pe—Peter—super strength, remember?”

“Right, yeah— my bad, bug,” he loosened his hold just enough for her to look up at him, her palms now flat on his chest between them. “But, y’know, you have some pretty weird tastes. I should’ve known when you picked the gummy bears over the Reese’s.”

12:52. He had one foot dangling on the other side of that line he spent far too long thinking about.

And she laughed that laugh and scrunched her nose up the way she did when she found something amusing, yet dumb. She did that a lot when he talked. He took it as a personal victory every time.

“You really don’t have any room to call me weird. You run around the city in spandex every night,” she mused, her lips curled into a smile.

“It makes me aerodynamic.”

“Yeah, you were real aerodynamic when you smacked your head on the rail—“

Peter was never really a planner. It made sense in the moment, to lean in and kiss her, his hands shifting to either side of her jaw. And it made sense the way she hummed into his mouth, either from surprise or the fact that she was very much in the middle of a sentence. But it was alright, because they stood there in the middle of her dark kitchen at 12:55 am, and her lips were soft, much softer than his.

He decided he could excuse every one of his bad habits, maybe write them off as quirks instead, because as he kissed her, he realized that every single one had led him right there; drinking decaf coffee in borrowed sweatpants, listening to the rain and her deepened breathing.

She pulled away just enough to speak, their lips still brushing against each other, “I wasn’t done—“

“Neither was I,” his tone was nothing but a playful tease, and he kissed her again, “how rude of you to interrupt me like that,” and again, “honestly, sometimes I can’t believe the lack of manners in this city.”

Her laugh was grounding when his head was busy floating. She smacked his chest lightly. “Lack of manners? Let’s start with you. You crawl in through my window soaking wet, drink my coffee in my clothes that I totally don’t keep around for you just in case, and kiss me without permission,” she gave him the grocery list and he nodded to each point over-attentively, humming along.

“Right, yeah— you forgot the part where I interrupted you.”

“And you interrupted m—“

Peter kissed her again.

#forgive me i’m rusty #peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #p.parker #tasm #tasm!peter parker x reader

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chocotonez · 1 year

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enhypen summer dates: pool parties

a/n: i like pool parties a lot :) !! enjoy!

summary: you go to a pool party with your lovely boyfriend and the rest of enhypen

cw/genre: fluff, cursing, crack/comedy, playful summer vibes, gn!reader and no descriptions of body other than tanning/sunbathing and briefly some body image themes in sunoo’s, and pls let me know if anything else should be tagged!

june 1k special masterlist here! -> (*☻-☻*)

heesung

-he only goes because you either really want to or the members really want him to come

-I can definitely see him trying to unwind with his Nintendo switch under the umbrella until Niki pops his head out and is like hehe heeyyyy

-the members practically drag him to the pool and depending on who you are you’re either sunbathing and enjoying yourself or helping in throwing Heesung into the pool!

-lots of him going “baaaaby they’re bullying me!!” throughout the day

-constantly reapplying sunscreen to ur face that’s just the law of the land

-probably complains a lot but secretly loves it because he gets to spend time with his second family <3

-HATES getting his hair wet at first he’s one of those people that r like “icky no stop I’m gonna get out if you splash me”

-gets hella competitive if there’s a splash fight tho like damn…dawg is full on SOAKING ppl!!

-is so cute tho especially if he notices you getting uncomfy cuz all the water in ur lungs LMAO, starts yelling at everyone and is being annoying like stop splashing or everyone’s going home!!

-always looks out for you and make sure you aren’t drowning <3

jay

-he goes because he wants to see his pretty partner enjoy themself, and also take a nap on the pool side while going snooozeeee but NOO

-wakes up to jungwon and sunoo SOAKING him and he’ll be scolding them but if you’re there he gets all soft :((

-DEMANDS you wear sunscreen and reminds you every ten minutes

-he’s like an old man “ooo the water so cold…”

-I love him.

-brings the best snacks and strictly follows the rules of not swimming after eating much to your + the members’ complaints

-lowkey would much rather be at the grill preparing dinner so he can keep an eye on everyone and including you!!

-probably helps you pick a super cute swim wear in advance too :(( watch you guys match omg

-has a “kiss the cook” apron entirely for you even though everyone else teases him for being on the grill during a pool party <3

-let’s you have first pick of food :) BUT NO FOOD IN THE POOL!!! >:T

jake

-playing mermaids with you or trying to drown NiKi who knows it depends on his mood

-Jake has a black and white tail and his mermaid powers would be singing and talking to animals yes yes yes

-is somehow full of energy the entire time

-jumps into the pool and falls on someone and has a lot of screaming probably but it’s ok!

-constantly lifts you out of the water and is like “FROM THE WAVES!!” And then drops you back down while giggling with a kiss on your cheek

-loves the games where you ride on his shoulders while you try to push another person

-he likes having you close to him to the point he drags you into the pool while giggling because you were completely dry and now here you are just in his arms and in da water!

-takes so many photos of you

-probably does really cheesy pick up lines and act like you guys aren’t in a happy relationship and everyone is cringing bcuz the entire pool party is just him being whipped for you <3

sunghoon

-loud introvert Sunghoon <3

-screaming in the corner of a pool while creating little waves to splash at anyone who comes too close to the little corner he dedicated to the two of u :>

-he loves scheming little pranks with u to randomly jump on other members or just scare them a little hehe

-spends most of his time messing with other people but he also cuddles with you on a little pool float

-the type of guy to huff and puff when his hair gets wet but immediately dgaf when he gets playful

-if you decide to relax on a pool float or at the poolside he’ll be your personal bodyguard and win a 6v1 to ensure your peace

-“if any of you mess w y/n prepare to face the might of the seas”

-probably the one to whine when it’s time to get out

-swims around and kisses your cheek every time he passes by you <3

-gets blushy and shy when the members tease him for being so whipped but he can’t help it, ur his person!!

-pretends like he didn’t act like an excited puppy all day once you two leave

sunoo

-has a designer floatie and some rubber duckies

-lounges with you on a pool float with matching sunglasses and is holding your hand

-intends to relax with you, reapplies your sunscreen for you every thirty minutes, make sure you’re well hydrated and enjoying yourself but he has the newest water gun model if his members decide to mess w him

-he is not here to play around!! if he’s tanning he will be tanning in peace and that water gun ensures it

-really good at water fights for some reason ?? I have no idea why I can just see him going absolutely crazy with water guns

-takes a bunch of photos of you because he thinks you look super cute all day!!

-loves to randomly splash members and then run away esp if you join in to assist

-nothing is funnier than seeing jay sputter because of a bunch of water sunoo splashed in his face while you two make your getaway to the other side of the pool

-hypes you up!! makes sure to show off to everyone how beautiful you are and how ur just such a stunner in your swimwear !!

-makes u feel like a boss bitch at the pool party no matter what, makes sure you enjoy yourself and have fun! :)

jungwon

-tried 9 times to calm down his members and gave up on the tenth

-does tiny little splashes to you so you don’t get super soaked and u don’t have any pain in ur lungs but when it comes to anyone else he’s summoning actual waves

-a water balloon gets thrown too far and hits a neighbor doing lawn work and so jungwon has to go apologize

-you were invited so jungwon wouldn’t scold the others too much <3 he can’t help but soften up the second he sees you

-“y/n, help me drown sunoo yeah?” w a little cute smile like he’s not scheming

-you really help him relax a lot!! he doesn’t feel like he has to be super stiff and in charge and he can just enjoy himself at a pool party

-constantly asks if you’re comfortable, too hot, too cold, too wet, too dry, he wants to make sure you’re having as much fun as he does

-you two have matching towels it’s just a fact

-pulls the leader card for you if you’re losing a water fight <3

niki

-“love come here let’s splash jake!!”

-has so much fun u don’t understand

-squares up w jake during chicken fights and he ensures you win no matter the cost

-the type to whine and complain at first saying he doesn’t feel like swimming but then gets really into it

-he messes w u too but just a lot less, no randomly coming up from behind to scare you while he makes sure to push his members under the water 💀💀

-brings ice treats for you to eat in the pool when jay isn’t looking

-probably gets you matching jewelry for the pool party just so he can feel extra close to u :)

-loves being in the water with you, so much so he will pull you off of your chair and into the water

-quietly asks if you’re having fun every now and then to make sure you’re ok!! because as much as he enjoys the pool day he would enjoy it 1000x more if you felt the same way

-probably takes a ton of selfies w u by the end of the day because he thought you looked so cute :(

•••

tag list: @chansburgah

#not my best work #but so fun to write !!#enhypen scenarios #enhypen reactions #enhypen imagines #enhypen jay fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen blurbs

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lady-bess · 2 months

Text

Fallout - Prologue

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 2.6k Chapter Tags: Graphic Description of Violence, Graphic Description of Injuries, Comatose Patient, Grief, Angst, Trauma.

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Next Chapter (Into The Ether) ->

Jack gets seriously injured in Colombia after attempting to stop Eggsy and Harry from releasing the antidote for Poppy's narcotics. Ginger works around the clock to try and save him - but is it too late?

“Fallout [noun] - the adverse side effects or results of a situation”.

20th of September, 2017.

“Viva Las Vegan,” Eggsy said, typing the code into the red briefcase he and Harry had retrieved from Poppy. “This one’s for you, Merlin.” And, with the push of the enter key, the antidote to Poppy’s tampered narcotics were released worldwide.

“Thank goodness that was the right code,” Harry joked, “We’d have been in a right mess if it wasn’t”.

“I think we’ll still be in a mess either way, Harry. This is gonna take one hell of a clean up team,” Eggsy said. He pivoted on the spot to survey the diner. All around the two men was a scene of destruction, extending out beyond the large glass windows into the jungle. Poppy Adams had made something unique here, they had to admit that. But now it lay to ruin, littered with the bodies of her accomplices, damaged beyond repair.

“You’re right about that. I’ll go ahead and call back to Ginger, let her know we’ll need a team out here as soon as possible. You tend to Whiskey’s head wound. He got knocked badly back there,” Harry said, tipping his head towards the other side of the counter, where Whiskey lay crumpled over in a heap on the ground.

Eggsy grimaced as he looked at the senior agent laid out on the floor, his mind flashing back to just minutes ago. One wrong move and he would have been in the machine, well beyond saving . The knock to the head wasn’t ideal, especially as it looked to be where he’d only just recovered from Harry having shot him, but at least with the alpha gel it would stop him from having anything wrong long term.

“You think we can trust Statesman now?” Eggsy asked, turning back to Harry. The senior agent nodded as he pulled a phone out from his inside jacket pocket, beginning to dial a number to get the clean-up team out.

“I’d safely assume so. It was clear that Whiskey was working for himself, and himself only . I don’t believe his actions are representative of the organisation he works for. He went rogue, Eggsy. We can trust them now, I’m sure of it,” he said, lifting the phone to his ear.

Eggsy nodded. He had learnt to trust Harry’s instincts, especially given that he was right on the money about Jack in the first place. A part of him would probably always regret not listening to him about his hunch, and asking Ginger to keep Whiskey sedated until the end of the mission. Then again, would he have ever shown his true colours had it not been for this fight?

Eggsy headed over to Jack while Harry placed the call. He overhead him connect through to Ginger, so help would be on the way soon. He knelt down next to Jack, smiling taut and sympathetically as he surveyed the damage.

Jack had a knock to the side of his head, right by his temple. Bruising was already spreading around his eye socket, and Eggsy wouldn’t be surprised if it transpired that he’d cracked his skull. The gunshot scar which he’d walked in here with not twenty minutes ago was already no longer visible under the new damage he’d sustained.

Blood had begun to pool under the agent’s head, and a small trail leaked from the side of his mouth from where he’d taken several hits to the jaw. Eggsy hated that he and Harry had needed to take such action, but it was clear that without it there was no way they were walking out of here alive, let alone releasing the antidote. The mission had to come first, always.

Whiskey’s hat had already come off in the scuffle, knocked off after he smacked his head, and before he went down on the hard floor line a tonne of bricks. His dark brown hair lay unruly all around his head, the usual neat style he maintained beneath the stetson completely ruined. Eggsy leant over to the hat beside him to retrieve the alpha gel, hoping that he still wasn’t too late to apply the alpha gel now. The injuries looked serious, and Whiskey was losing blood fast. His breathing was already shallow, and the colour from his face was slowly fading away.

Eggsy turned over his hat, and his eyes widened. Panic rose within the agent as the safety net was virtually pulled away from him, like a rug had been dragged out from beneath his feet. Ginger had shown him how to use the alpha gel, and it had come in handy in Italy, saving Whiskey from Harry’s gunshot. He was so calm this entire time because he knew that there was more of this gel to help Jack again. But this time, he found that the hat was empty.

There was no saving him so easily this time.

“ Shit ,” he cursed, “There’s no fucking alpha gel!” he said, voice raised to get the attention of Harry on the other side of the counter.

“What?” Harry said, turning to face Eggsy, the line to Ginger still open.

“I said there’s no alpha gel , Harry. His hat never had any restocked after the last batch got used… fuck !” he shouted. Harry’s eyes widened as he saw Eggsy standing up, a look of panic across his face. It was never their intention to kill the agent, merely wound him enough to get him out their way, and then get him back to Statesman for questioning. Neither of them had stopped to consider that their fight could have actually had fatal consequences.

“Fuck, indeed,” Harry said, “…Ginger, did you get that? We’ll need medics here, too. Whiskey has been hurt, badly, and we’ve no alpha gel to give him,” Harry relayed. Eggsy couldn’t make out what was being said on the other end of the line, but he saw Harry nodding along at whatever was being said.

While they waited for a response, Eggsy set to work. There wasn’t much he’d be able to do, given that this damage was certainly severe around the head, but he’d feel remiss if he didn’t try. He knelt back down next to Jack and took off his jacket, bundling it up to use as rags for the wounds that were visible. He pressed the most injured side of his head against the material, giving the blood he was losing something to soak into. He hoped that if he could at least stop the bleeding, it would give him a better chance at surviving this.

He wanted to put pressure on the wound, but he didn’t dare. The more he cleaned away the blood that had already left his body, the more visible the damage underneath was becoming. Eggsy could see a distinct mark under the thin skin around his eye, indicating there was a pretty nasty fracture there. It was hard to tell if there were any more, but given how hard he’d smacked his head, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

“There’s a team close by who are on their way now. Part of the team are medics, who will treat Whiskey as best they can while here, and then send him back off to America for Ginger to continue treating. The rest of the crew will stay and clear up here,” Harry said, jogging slightly to get over to Jack and Eggsy. He grimaced as he saw Jack’s injuries, now in full view.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath.

“Yeah, quite ,” Eggsy said, continuing to try and stop the bleeding, “Have we got anything on us that might help him?” he asked. Harry shook his head, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“Merlin did,” he said quietly. Eggsy sighed, dipping his head down in sorrow. Everything had happened so fast that he’d not really stopped to register that Merlin was truly gone now.

“Alright. Well, let’s do our best with what we’ve got. Then, tonight, we’ll raise a glass of Scotch for him,” he said, a faint smile on his face. Harry nodded, smiling back, and then knelt down next to Whiskey to help Eggsy with stopping the bleeding.

Hours had passed since the antidote had been released, and everyone in Kingsman and Statesman had been receiving alerts for most of the afternoon about the “miracle cure which came from the sky”, saving hundreds of thousands of people. It should have been a proud moment for both organisations to come forward and celebrate what was a momentous victory. But all that had to wait.

Statesman medics did their best with Jack on the scene, applying alpha gel immediately and then carefully getting him onto the transport carrier to take him back to Kentucky. The jet got him, Harry, and Eggsy, back stateside within the hour, and the second the wheels touched down everyone was scurrying off down to the asphalt.

Champ had arranged for Ginger and her team to be on the ground waiting for Jack when the plane arrived, and Eggsy marvelled at the speed in which the transition happened. Jack was safely in Ginger’s escort vehicle about three minutes after the pilot turned off the engines.

She didn’t stop the entire journey back, and this same efficiency continued once they were back in Statesman’s grounds. It was clear that Ginger was panicking, not wanting to lose a colleague like this. She’d already noticed that Merlin was suspiciously absent from the team, but didn’t stop to ask anything. The time for questioning could come soon; right now she needed all her focus on Jack.

Harry and Eggsy stayed out of her team’s way while she worked, hooking Jack up to all kinds of weird and wonderful machines. If there was any hope for him to ever wake up again, and to have a chance at living, it would only be in this facility. That was the one silver lining here, that at least he was in the best place possible on the planet.

But eventually, Ginger gave up. Broken, exhausted, and defeated after trying everything imaginable for hours, she stepped back from his bed. She’d only handed control over to her assistants once for ten minutes as soon as a dose of the antidote reached Statesman, and she went to administer it to Tequila. But other than that, she was flat out working on Jack.

Harry and Eggsy approached her slowly as Ginger dismissed everyone else in her team of lab assistants.

“How’s it looking?” Eggsy asked, wrapping one arm across Ginger’s shoulders for comfort. She sniffled, leaning into him, and shrugged.

“There’s nothing more I can do. He’s completely comatose. Only time will tell if he’ll recover. But there is a strong possibility that he might never wake up,” she said, her voice cracking from trying not to cry.

“We are so sorry, Ginger,” Harry said, standing at the other side of Jack’s bed, looking across at Clara. She smiled faintly.

“You did what you had to do. If he had his way, there would currently be hundreds of thousands of people dying out there, our Tequila included,” she said. “That’s what I’ve got to keep telling myself, I think”.

“How is Tequila?” Eggsy asked.

“Groggy,” she chuckled, “But he’ll be fine. Told him to stick to the booze from now on,” she said. Then a silence fell across the three agents – words couldn’t fill the void that encompassed them all, but a question burned in the back of Clara’s mind.

“What happened to Merlin?” she asked quietly. Eggsy sighed softly, the reality of having lost a dear friend now catching up to him. He squeezed Ginger tighter and looked to Harry, hoping he would explain the events of Merlin’s passing, unsure that he himself had the strength to do so. He noticed, for the first time in his life, that Harry was starting to tear up. But still, ever strong, Harry spoke. Chest out, standing tall, like he was trained to.

“You can shed a tear in private”, as Merlin always said.

“Agent Merlin, unfortunately, passed away on our approach to Poppy Adams’ base. He got killed when a landmine exploded,” he said, missing out the crucial detail that he took Eggsy’s place. Deep down he knew that she’d never forgive Eggsy for it, and that wasn’t fair on him.

“I’m sorry, Ginger. I know the two of you had grown fond of one another since we came to the States. Eggsy and I will be raising a glass to him tonight. We’d love for you to join us,” he paused briefly, gauging her reaction, then continued on, “I think he’d like that, too,” Harry said.

Ginger nodded slowly, a single tear trailing down her cheek.

“Thank you. I think I’ll take you up on that,” she said.

The three agents headed out that evening, an array of monitors and life support machines all hooked up to Jack. There was already a rota in place with a team of staff being in the lab 24/7, so Ginger didn’t have to worry about him being alone, in case anything happened while she was out. What he had done was unforgivable, but at the end of the day they had worked together for so long, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t care about him.

Weeks went by, and with Jack showing no sign of life, Champ made the executive decision to take Clara on board as the new agent Whiskey. He’d lost his moniker, and may never find out. Clara adopted the new alias, but it would take a while for everyone to adjust to the change.

Even though her role as Whiskey now had her out into the field more, finally doing what she wanted, what she had told Merlin she dreamt of doing, she couldn’t quite leave the labs behind just yet. They were Clara’s labs, no matter what moniker she had, or what her new role required of her. The assistants and other technicians wondered if she might be able to leave them behind if he weren’t there, lying in wait for life to come back to him.

Clara carried a lot of guilt since his accident. He was in such a hurry to get in the Silver Pony that she didn’t even think to check that his signature Stetson had been refilled after Eggsy used the alpha gel in Italy. Every time she saw his lifeless body in the lab’s bed, still peacefully sleeping, a pang of guilt ran through her.

Months went on, and over time it got easier to accept what had happened. Jack did wrong, at the end of the day. The Kingsman agents only acted how they needed to in the situation, and for as brutal as the outcome was, she could understand that. It was all in the past now, and she just hoped that he’d be able to forgive everyone involved if he ever woke up. Although, she figured he would probably have to forgive himself first.

Clocking out for an evening, Clara said her goodbyes to Jack. It was a habit she’d gotten into, and as he healed over time and started to look more like himself again, it became a little easier to not grimace every time she looked at him. She’d even been able to bring herself to keep him clean shaven, except for his signature moustache. His hair had grown longer, more grey and curly as the months went by, but she didn’t quite trust herself with his hair.

But for as much as she hoped and prayed that one day he’d be back with everyone, she knew the chances were slim. Especially after all this time. It was now just a waiting game to see when they’d ultimately pull the plug on the former agent, releasing him into the goodnight forever.

Until one night, when her emergency phone line rang.

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Next Chapter (Into The Ether) ->

#pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #agent whiskey #kingsman #jack daniels #agent jack whiskey daniels #eggsy unwin #harry hart #statesman #kingsman the golden circle #not kingsman the golden circle compliant #kingsman fanfiction #statesman fanfiction #agent whiskey fic #description of injuries #canon typical violence #canon typical injuries

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shuacore · 2 years

Text

[ 12:58 ] apple pie

he makes you feel all the things you often joke about missing in college. he makes you stay up late up on the phone, twirling your hair around your finger like a chick in a typical teen romance movie, so much so you sometimes wish you still had a landline. he makes you giggle in a way that only comes out around him and smile so hard your cheeks hurt.

before seungcheol you didn’t know what it was like to be foolishly in love. to be consumed by the kind of love that you see in the movies, filled with photo booth film strips and surprise coffee dates and grand romantic gestures. he calls you baby, and sweetheart, and even angel in the right moments.

he makes it impossible not to miss him.

how do you make a home?

truth be told, you had been resistant to moving in with seungcheol. you liked the idea of having your independence and you liked having your own space.

but somehow, over time, you found traces of yourself appearing in his home.

a green toothbrush next to his red one. your favorite blanket of his draped over the sofa because you always fell asleep during movies. your favorite brand of microwave popcorn in the pantry and a spot for your socks in his drawer.

you remember asking him, “hey, is it okay if i keep some of my stuff in your dresser? it’s not that much, i promise. you don’t have to, if you don’t want…”

and he had just smiled, watching you with those big gorgeous eyes of his.

“i would eat hot coals for you,” he had replied, and the response caught you so off guard that you let out the ugliest snort of laughter.

they were just some socks, but seungcheol was always dramatic like that. it didn’t matter that you didn’t live with him. he was your true home, anyway.

i’ve been running round trying to find a place where i can breathe.

your favorite dates were the ones where you’d walk around fancy neighborhoods, pointing out your favorite houses.

“ooh, cheol, look at that one!” you say, pointing to an A-frame with dark shutters. “oh, it’s so beautiful.”

“we could fill it with that style you like so much—farmhouse?” he adds on, grinning as you gasp enthusiastically. "with a big kitchen and lots of windowboxes."

“and—and we could have a pool in the backyard!”

“we could get a big dog. like one of those burmese mountain dogs.”

“mingyu could live next door.”

cheol snorts, shaking his head. “sure, and wonwoo and seokmin and jeonghan and vernon.”

“would you want kids?” you ask, looping your arm through his as you lean your head on his shoulder. the two of you pause to stand outside the house, admiring its romantic frame and cozy exterior.

“with you?” cheol murmurs, and you’re surprised to hear a crack in his voice. concerned, you look up, only to see him gazing at you with heart-wrenching affection. you giggle as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your temple.

“so many.”

i found you under an april sky.

you met seungcheol in new york, in your second year of grad school. you had been studying at the cherry fountain in central park, working on one of your final papers, when a man in a smart wool coat had come up to you.

he had brown windswept hair, round wire-framed glasses, and a grin that could melt the coldest heart. he looked frazzled, asking if you had seen his friend around (“he’s tall and kind of stupid—oh, i’m gonna fucking kill him—dark hair, Korean?”).

you shook your head no...do you know how big central park is?

somehow, you ran into him again, just as you were leaving for the evening. the sun has started to set and the lights in the high-rise buildings have started to come on. you bundle yourself in your scarf when he notices you.

he’s holding a rose, probably one from a street vendor, and he hands it to you sheepishly, like he can’t believe he actually found you again.

later, when you put the flower in a vase, you notice he wrote his phone number on the tag.

i found mingyu. i hope i can find you again, too.

seungcheol x

home is wherever you are tonight.

tonight you’re alone, writing something in your diary when your phone dings! the little heart next to his name makes you swoon.

cheol <3: hey, can i tell u something?

despite knowing it’s probably not a big deal, your mind races through all the worst-possible scenarios it could be. what if his mom died? what if he’s moving back to korea and he doesn’t want you to come with him? what if he's sick? what if he's breaking up with you—

you: yeah ofc

three little dots pop up on the screen, hardly seconds after your response. you watch them with a strange mixture of excitement and despair, despite how much you reassure yourself it’s nothing bad. seungcheol would never tell you something serious over text message.

you hear the ding! again, and you can't fight the silly grin that inches across your face.

cheol <3: i just cant wait to marry u xx

—

ot13 | masterlist

#shuacore thoughts #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic #seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #svt fanfic #svt imagines #svt fluff #scoups #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol imagines #scoups fluff #scoups imagines #scoups x reader

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3-2-whump · 28 days

Text

(Re)Living a Nightmare, part 3

Well, you made it this far, so I guess I'm not telling you anything you don't already know. Heed the tags, decide for yourself.

Basic Summary if You Decide to Skip, or if You Skipped the Previous Installments

Thanks goes out to @whumped-by-glitter my beta reader and angst advisor for helping me out when I got stuck on this one!

TW/CW: blood (lots of it), rape/noncon aftermath, hypovolemic shock, medical whump, stitches (not described in detail), emotional whump, guilty whumper, whumper grows a conscience (?)

Thomas stared at his bloodied hands, at the bloodied knife, at the mess of reopened scars on Khaled’s bloody back below him. The air stank heavily of blood like a slaughter house, and the only audible sound was a faint yet desperate murmuring. “I didn’t kill him…I didn’t kill him…I didn’t kill him…”

What have I done?

The knife fell to the floor with a clatter as Thomas quickly untied Khaled’s hands. He rolled the boy onto his side, unsticking his front from the cooling blood that had pooled between him and the table top. The small, broken body felt unusually cold under his hands. “Boy, hey –Khaled?” He pulled the torn strip of t-shirt away from his neck and ripped off the blindfold to see glassy, unfocused, tear-reddened eyes. “Khaled, talk to me,” Thomas begged. He raised a hand to lightly slap the boy’s cheek, but lowered it when he saw his lower face painted in blood, saliva, snot, and tears. The dainty golden septum ring in his broken nose gleamed an accusatory red under the cellar lights.

“I didn’t kill him…I didn’t kill him…” Khaled murmured through a ruined throat.

“I know, I know, shh, shh, I know,” Thomas whispered. Of course, Khaled didn’t kill his squad or his brother, and neither did that kid. And he was so close to repeating history and murdering another innocent boy –Thomas thought he would be sick.

“I didn’t kill him…” Khaled whimpered.

“I know you didn’t kill him,” Thomas replied, his own voice becoming gravelly with emotion. He fumbled for his cellphone, disregarding the bloodstains he would get on his clothes by digging through his pockets. Once he found it, he scrolled to a familiar name in his contacts and pressed ‘call.’

Lenore picked up after only two rings, answering with a brusque greeting. “What?”

“Don’t ask too many questions, but do you have any openings at your clinic right now?” Thomas asked, trying to keep his composure as he talked. “It’s Khaled, I think I hurt him bad.”

A static-laced sigh, then a response. “You know the only questions I ask clients are medically related ones. Now, what are we dealing with here?”

“Um, blood loss –like, a lot of blood loss,” Thomas felt the need to clarify. He took a steadying breath before listing off the rest of the injuries. “Deep lacerations, broken nose,” –his eyes wandered down to the blood trickling out of Khaled’s hole – “nothing too obvious after that, from the looks of it.”

“How is his heart rate? His breathing?” Lenore asked, before directing, “Look at his tongue, the area under his eyes, his skin, do they look pale to you?”

Thomas took the time to check these things, ever more concerned at how limply Khaled accepted his touches. He still had that distant look in his eyes, and even though no sound came out, his pale lips still formed the words ‘I didn’t kill him’ over and over.

Thomas readdressed the doctor. “His heart rate is fast, his breathing is too, and yeah, he is very pale all over. Should I bring him to you?”

“No,” she answered. “I’m gonna call you an ambulance, it’ll be quicker.”

Thomas sighed. He cast a worried glance at the catatonic boy lying on the table. He’d rather not get any of the local hospitals involved, but Lenore said it would be quicker, which meant they were on a time sensitive crunch. Did he really hurt the kid that badly?

“Thomas!”

He was not aware she was speaking to him. “S-sorry, what?” he mumbled into the phone.

“Where are you located?” she repeated.

“At the old house, you know the one.” He listed off the address for her in case she did not. As soon as she hung up with a promise to call an ambulance, he put his phone back in his pocket and refocused his attentions on the boy. Khaled had stopped muttering, at least, and now he slumped against the table as his eyelids began to droop closed.

“Oh, baby –come here.” The boss shed his coat and draped it over the boy’s sliced-up back. It was already ruined with blood stains anyway; what were a few more? Now with his wounds covered, Thomas scooped Khaled into his arms and carried him up the stairs, far away from the T & I cellar that would spark too many unwanted questions from the EMTs.

“And you’re saying… a ‘mountain bike accident’ caused this?”

Med student Vikash Gill received a reprimanding side-eye from his supervisor, who was obviously not happy with his tone. But what Vik was unhappy about was this young man, coming in stark naked with a bloodied face and a back carved open like a Thanksgiving turkey, and this older man, who obviously looked like he had money and power and some sort of relationship with the patient.

“He crashed his bike, in the mountains,” the older man repeated, his tone clipped and concise.

The young man beside him remained silent, hardly even acknowledging his surroundings. Something was wrong with this picture… Vik lowered his skeptical gaze back to his chart again. “Well, it seems the EMTs already gave him a transfusion, reset his broken nose, and stopped the major wounds from bleeding on the way here,” he assessed, “so it looks like we’ll just have to give him some stitches. May I confer with my supervisor for a minute?”

The man waved him off, which was all the permission Vikash needed to disappear outside the examination room and discuss what he had just seen.

Dr. Helen Kimura commanded a powerful air of authority, despite only standing as high as her young student’s chest. “What was that?” she demanded, squinting up at him through her glasses. Vik had to swallow down his instant defense mechanism; he felt like he was being scolded by his mother. “You know we don’t use that kind of tone with our patients!”

“You and I also know that no ‘biking accident’ caused those injuries!” Vikash argued. “Didn’t you see those bruises? What kind of ‘biking accident’ causes bruises like those?!”

Dr. Kimura rubbed her brow as she took a breath to compose herself. “Look, you’re new to this city, Vik, so I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt that you don’t know who that man is,” she began, “but that man in there –that’s Thomas Costa. You know, of the insurance group? The guy that owns like a third of this city? Big time philanthropist, donates his massive fortune to the arts and sciences and medicine.” She paused, eyebrows raised, waiting for her young pupil to catch the drift.

Whether Vik didn’t catch it, or just didn’t care, he bullheadedly continued. “But, we have to do something,” he insisted with conviction, “we’re-”

“We are doctors, not detectives,” Kimura interrupted, an authoritative finality in her words. “You want to do something? You patch that kid up, along with all Costa’s other men, and you send them on their way, no questions asked!”

A hint of fear flickered behind his supervisor’s eyes. Vik gulped nervously, casting a glance at the examination room they just left. “How much did he donate to this hospital?” he whispered.

Kimura refused to answer.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Thomas watched the med student stitch up Khaled’s back. All this time waiting and watching left him alone with his thoughts, and his thoughts went to places he didn’t want them to go.

He lost himself back there, lost control –no, that was just an excuse. He wanted to lose himself, wanted to pin everything on that boy, but Khaled had nothing to do with it. Admittedly, it felt good to take out all that pent-up emotion, all that grief, anger, and despair, to finally channel all that toxicity and pain out from himself and dump it somewhere else –onto someone else.

He glanced at the boy he had bought nearly seven years ago. He remembered the scared child who could barely look him in the eyes. Now, nearly seven years later, the boy stared tiredly at him through tear-stained eyes. It seemed the child was right to fear him in the past, considering how close he came to killing him in the present.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas murmured. He reached over to hold Khaled’s hands in his. The rope burns brought unnecessary attention to the tattoos on his boy’s wrists, lining the black bands top to bottom with angry red chafe marks. Khaled made no effort to pull his hands away as a pair of dark eyes stared into his, uncertain and guarded behind their lashes. He cringed a little, sensing only a fraction of the damage he’d done to his key to redemption, not just this one time, but over years and years of using the boy as a punching bag and a fleshlight. “I am so, so sorry,” he repeated, a little louder.

“You’re sorry?” Khaled hollowly repeated. A rough, scratchy sound scraped out of the boy’s ruined throat. Even the act of laughing sounded painful for him. “Did you smash my head against the table harder than I’d realized? Since when do you apologize, Master?”

Over his shoulder, the med student’s eyes widened a hair as he determinedly continued his work behind them. Thomas had to regain control of the situation, spin the narrative. “I owe you a much more specific apology when we get home, I’ll admit,” he replied, hinting at the unsuspecting stranger patching up the boy’s back. “But for now, all I’ll say is that I went too far. I realize that now, and for that, I am sorry.”

Khaled gave him a skeptical frown, but remained silent. His thinking face was on, with his eyebrows drawn and his eyes slightly narrowed, chewing his lower lip subtly between his teeth. The young med student behind him had finally finished the stitches and applied the new gauze. He rattled off a list of care tips and recommendations to follow to take care of the wounds and prevent complications before hurriedly leaving the two alone. Thomas lifted Khaled off the table and helped him change into the spare clothes the hospital had on hand for emergencies. “Can I, um, get you anything?” he asked awkwardly, finally pulling the ugly secondhand sweater over Khaled’s bandaged torso.

The boy finally answered after a thoughtful moment. “…Nico…”

The gate guard? Thomas wondered. Honestly, not how he expected the boy to answer that question at all. He then felt a slight pang of guilt when he remembered Nico was the only friend his slave ever had. “You want to see your friend again?”

A small nod.

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugged, “I’m sure I could make that happen.”And even though he had no reason to lean on him of all people, Khaled leaned onto the boss’ arm, resting his head on his shoulder as Thomas led them out.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood

#whump writing #tw blood #tw rape/noncon aftermath #medical whump #tw blood loss #tw stitches #emotional whump #guilty whumper #whumper develops a conscience! more details at 11 #is it any wonder i went on a fluff writing binge after this?

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powderblueblood · 20 days

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the king of hawkins high

hawkins, indiana. 1960-somethin'. al munson reckons with the reality of his brother being shipped off to vietnam, and carries on a years-long tradition of swapping a ring with his best friend, ray doevski. which could mean nothing. cw: swearing, mention of criminal activities, era-typical misogyny and implied homophobia, guys is it gay to wipe motor oil from your homie's face when they've possibly just set a heinous crime in motion, murder but kind of not really. i didnt proofread this i am really just running on the fumes of vibes atp wc: 6.1k. what goes on. tagging @slowdancer, without whose continued interest in the old man yaoi aspect of hellfire & ice, this would not be possible. i appreciate you more than you know part of the hellfire & ice universe

He comes to with his head against the tile.

Comes to as in wakes up or comes into jettisoned back to sobriety by the force of his own piss stream, he’s not sure, but he is here and he’s awake.

With his dick in his hand.

Al’s mouth feels like a fucking shag carpet. Every bud on his tongue has grown its own ecosystem after the amount of beer and whiskey and tobacco and ketchup and mustard and sugar and salt and smoke and someone else’s spit he’s let populate there.

It’s been a long… however long it’s been, cooped up in this clubhouse on the outskirts of town.

Undesirable types like to hole up here and pretend it’s a bar, but it functions more as a halfway hovel. Some genius calls it the Hideout.

Al just about keeps himself steady as he shakes the last drop out (more’n three and you’re playin’ with yourself), zipping his pants back up with a hop that he instantly regrets. A knife slices right through his temporal lobe.

The tubular bells have begun to ring and remorse starts to churn in his stomach.

Time’s up, party’s over, away we go home.

Staggering back out into the front bar, Al catches a fond sight–a shapely, tanned rump lying bare across the pool table. Given that he’s missing a shirt, he figures he must have been splayed underneath that body before nature had called.

God given miracle he’d made it to the bathroom in whatever state he was in.

One of Al’s hands reaches out and caresses a perky, round cheek, giving it a squeeze. A grumble from the mouth it belongs to, buried under a mass of blonde curls.

“Kar-ennn,” he sing-songs, voice sputtering like a fuckin’ chainsaw, “It’s after ten.”

“Mmnff.”

“On a Sunday.” He bends, bringing his mouth to the peachy mound. Teeth sink in. “You’re gonna be late for–”

“--church!” yelps the blonde, darting up and rolling over in this mad scramble to get her frilly old halter dress back on her body. “Shit! Shit-shit-shit!”

“Oh, slow down,” Al says, his brain moving a little slurrier than he’d anticipated–which is to say, he’s still polluted. He cages his arms around Karen where she’s sitting, leaning his perspiring forehead into her chest which stills her in an instant. “God ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Yes, but my mother is,” she grabs him by the ears, yanking him to her eyeline–woof, way too much movement, “gonna kill me.”

“Proposal,” Al mumbles, leaning for her mouth but landing on her neck, “I tell your mama that we’re gettin’ married. Tell her the next time you enter the house of God it’s ‘cause you’re gonna make an honest woman outta me.”

“Al,” Karen sighs, shoving him off and dismounting the pool table. This bouncy blonde, this head cheerleader apple pie type… Al had her nailed the moment he walked into her homeroom that first day at Hawkins High. Stacked to the ceiling, her gorgeous baby blues stuck on him like a fly trap.

He hadn’t expected to stumble across a babe like her in this glorified cornfield of a town.

“You’re very cute, and you’re a lotta fun. I mean, we have,” she shuffles in her little skirt; so cute, scandalized by herself by the light of day, “a lot of fun, but no matter how many times you ask, there’s no way I’m marrying you just so you can avoid shipping out.”

He adopts a slump. “But what if I said I loved ya?”

“You’d be lying!” Karen cries, a phosphate giggle. She manages to find that letterman jacket she came in here wearing and slides it over her shoulders. Lobs a guilty look over her shoulder at Al.

Like he’s supposed to share in some reverent moment of shame, like he should feel bad that he’s giving her what that Wheeler meathead can’t.

Guy’s graduated and still insists that she wears his letterman jacket. It’s sad.

“Look, are you coming to that Gomes chick’s party, at least?”

“Gomes? Gloriana Gomes?” Karen’s gone all incredulous on him. “Al, I’m going to have to try and sneak past my mother after being out here all night–you really think I’m going to risk my neck going to some greaser cookout?”

“Tell them you’re goin’ to Bible study. Repenting and all that.”

Her mussed curls shudder as she shakes her head, heading for the door with her tennis shoes in her hand. “See you at school. Last week of senior year!”

—

To Al’s shock and delight, someone’s been paying the phone bill at the Hideout–he wonders what kind of bootlegging operation necessitates a phone line, but he’s thankful for it all the same. Lets him punch in one of the only numbers he knows in this shitheel town and bark, “Bring the Caddy ‘round, Jeeves!”

Forty minutes, his found shirt and a flat beer later, a battered, rusted truck kicks up dust outside of the Hideout.

“Thought you were dead,” a clipped voice echoes out the driver’s side.

Al takes his time ambling over. He reaches through the driver’s window and chucks Ray Doevksi’s chin with his ringed hand.

“Wished I was, more like.”

The greased slick of Ray’s pompadour catches an offensive amount of light, and Al’s got to shield his eyes. He throws himself into the passenger side and lets Ray size him up with customary disapproval.

“Christ, you smell like Corn Nuts and pussy.”

“Take a big whiff, Doevski!” Al rifles through the glove compartment before Ray shoves a soft pack of cigarettes at him. “Might be the last one you get for a while, seeing as you’re liable to strike out tonight.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Because you’re sniffin’ after a girl whose big brothers are known Hawkins heavies,” Al scoffs back a mouthful of smoke, more to curb the ever-present craving than anything else. “You don’t got the stones to see a thing like that through.”

He catches Ray’s sidelong glance at him, the line of his hardened jaw with the shiny fucking hair on top. A dollop of oily black, showing up starkly against his pristine white t-shirt. Ray is crisp and calculated-looking, without the starched strangulation of looking like some prep. Ray looks like they peeled Jimmy Dean off the blacktop and reinflated him, gave him a Presley dye-job.

Brought him back wrong.

See, Ray Doevski, Al’s best friend, he looks like the sensitive type but he’s all mean streak.

Al, ever the other boy’s foil, looks like exactly what he is. A hick with a perpetual hard-on and a mouth too smart for his brain to catch up with. Luckily, Al sucked up all the charm in his gene pool; Hawkins has been a cakewalk ever since his folks moved him and his sullen older brother down here from the good ol’ hills of Appalachia.

In fact, Ray was the first person to step to him about that. Make some crack about they got running water up there yet? Or y’all still bathin’ in pig spittle?

‘We haven’t quite gotten to experience the spoils of modern plumbing, but your mama was kind enough to let me wash off after I balled her into oblivion.’

Up went the scuffle, and they were immediate friends after the fisticuffs were thrown.

Since then, Ray’s led Al into the underbelly. The doper contingent that Ray’s foster family has connections to, the bikers trafficking shit through places like the Hideout. The only exciting thing about a town like Hawkins is how many secrets it can hold, and there’s not a whole lot, but enough to keep them entertained for now.

Ray has designs on fleeing to business school after they graduate.

The only designs Al has on are his boxer briefs.

Speaking of, he scratches his crotch.

“Don’t get crabs on my passenger seat,” Ray monotonously scolds him.

“This passenger seat’s a ward of the state,” Al grumbles. Translation: he knows this truck is stolen.

“Am I driving you home, then? Is your tail sufficiently tucked between your legs yet?”

Al hates when Ray acts like he’s his own personal O. Henry story, reading him down to the last punctuation.

See, his last three lost days on the tear with Hawkins’ grimiest and all their passers-through had been the result of some family problems. Well, not problems. Consequences. Of living as a part of the greatest country in the world.

Al’s brother Wayne had been drafted. Ticket up, number called. Death certificate as good as signed.

You’re next, boy, Al’s father had said, If they can find any goddamn use for ya.

“I’m conscientiously objecting to the whole thing.”

“Shit. Didn’t know you had one of those.”

“Just trying it on for size. I can still return it for store credit.”

The rubber on Ray’s tyres squeal onto Philadelphia, stopping dead outside of the Munson household. Clapboard. Best they could do on short notice–needs a lick of paint that no one got around to sticking their tongue out for. But it’s home.

It always will be. Al understands that might be why his heart feels like it’s sinking.

He feels Ray watching him as he stares out the passenger side. A dry swallow.

He doesn’t want to go back in there. He toys with the idea of telling Ray to hit it again, to keep driving til the wheels come off this thing, so he can stay unmoored and un-privy to the disappointment dripping down the walls of that house. Those stains don’t lift.

They never will.

“Pick me up at eight, sugar?” Al snaps back into character, simpering with Donna Reed sweetness at Ray. He rolls his eyes under long-lashed lids.

“If you survive ‘til then.”

A heave to the rustbucket of a door and Al’s hopping out of the truck.

“Al,” Ray calls, gunning the engine back to life. “If I make it with Gloriana Gomes tonight…”

“Mighty girthy if.”

“... that calls for a changing of hands.” Ray gestures to the rock on Al’s finger. The Hawkins High class ring, the big brass bastard with its imitation emerald. Green and gold, the colors of their proud and mighty cowpat of a school. It had been Ray’s originally, seeing as how Al had all but dropped out at this point. But there were few things Ray had that Al didn’t want, and vice versa.

Balls. Charisma. Something big and ugly and shiny.

Something to be proud of.

So one day Al goes, ‘Bet your ring I can’t aim this stink bomb clear through O’Donnell’s classroom window,’ continuing his habit of torturing the newest faculty member. Ray’d said sure, because Al’s aim was reliably shitty– except for that day. Bullseye. Screaming.

Ray had reluctantly handed over the ring.

Then, at the derelict drive-in where they’d watched On the Waterfront together, Ray’d said, ‘Bet your ring I can’t shake down the candy shack for whatever’s in the register.’

A made-up kid-choking emergency and fifty-odd dollars later, Al was handing the ring back.

It went on like that, the bets increasing in risk and moral soundness. The ring bearer was dubbed the King of Hawkins High, a stab at the squares that actually gave a shit. Al lived for it. Not because Ray was easy to best, he wasn’t. One really had to get creative, or not be afraid to be hauled in by the heat. Ray was a worthy adversary.

Made Al feel like he could accomplish things.

“That’s a little tame, don’t you think?” Al says. The stakes had crawled up a little higher than balling some chick, no matter how white hot her family supposedly was. Unless, this is Ray really trying to prove something.

The Gomes brothers were the number one name in town for racketeering, gun thuggery, speed distribution… you name it, they had dominion over it.

If he won over their princess Gloriana, eased into their good books… that’s the making of a man. Al knows that.

Ray knows Al knows that, leveling him with a steel-edged stare over his sunglasses.

“See you at eight, sugar.”

—

The Munson household is dark and quiet, thank Christ, allowing Al to slink into the bedroom he shares with his elder brother and catch some well-earned hungover shuteye.

Sleep sinks him quick, his exhausted, wrung out form hitting the mattress without so much as kicking his boots off. His dreams are vivid and vague, parched and sweaty, indecisive and arresting as they always are after a sleepless bender. In the one he can recall the best, he sits behind a cartoonishly large wheel of a cartoonishly small van. He’s driving around labyrinthian turns, around a trailer park that he vaguely recognises from the outskirts of town.

Gravel crunches underneath, sounding like bones cracking. Grinding teeth.

He wants to get out, but he can’t find the lot that he’s looking for. Someone’s yelling at him from outside the vehicle; and he can’t exactly turn his head to see, but he’s vaguely aware of a baby girl lying in the passenger seat beside him. She’s crying and he’s hushing, promising that they’re almost there.

It’ll all be okay, honey bear! Al’s gonna fix it.

The window of the van is slung low, and hailstones begin to rain in on him and the baby, pelting him in the forehead–

Takes him a minute or two to come to. Wayne stands, a shadowy figure in the doorway with a handful of peanut shells.

“Dinner,” the elder Munson grumbles.

“I’m comin’! Jesus!” Al whines.

“No, this is your dinner,” Wayne keeps tossing the shells. “You wanna run off and join the circus, you better get used to circus food.”

“I’d sooner crawl inside of a lion’s asshole than bend over and take it up the chute for Uncle Sam, I’ll tell you that,” kid brother grumbles into his flat, yellowing pillow.

“Real nice, Allen.”

“You know what,” Al, annoyed now, rustles up in bed, furiously blinking his bleary eyes at Wayne, “When did you go and get so fuckin’ patriotic anyway? Far as I know, your greatest contribution to society was teaching me how to boost a car on my sixteenth birthday.”

Wayne scoffs, tossing the last of the shells onto the floor. “Yeah, and a fat lotta good it did. Still got that… Doohickey pansy chauffeurin’ you around, huh?”

“Christ, you really fell out the sad bastard tree and hit every branch on the way down, huh? Just ‘cause you ain’t got no friends, man–”

“Allen.”

“--doesn’t mean you need to go buzz your head and get a rifle about it, I mean, my god–”

“Al.”

“I think it’s really pathetic, y’know, real pathetic that you’re gonna go play stooge for a system that wouldn’t piss on folks like you or me or Ma or Pa if we was on fire–”

As if Al really gave a damn about the system.

“Al, you’re gonna have to grow up pretty soon. You know that, don’t you?”

That plugs him up fast. Al’s vision has unbleary’ed itself. A cold jolt arcs through him, one he tries to scoff away. Wayne always does this, drags out the stoic shit because he knows it’s a surefire conversation ender. He’s so solid that way, this living full stop Al has to call a brother. His way or the highway. His way or the chopper.

Wayne was always telling Al no, always telling Al do this and do that and take the fall, they won’t care, you’re the youngest, they’ll go easy on you and watched as their father snatched a knot into Al’s head that a navy man couldn’t untie.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Wayne leans a little heavier on the doorframe. Al can see paint chips loosening where his shoulder presses.

“Means I gotta go and do this because Ma and Pa won’t be able to survive if I don’t. Not if they got you leechin’ off ‘em still. Which, signs point to,” Wayne gestures to their shared bedroom. A harsh split down the middle; Al’s side is a ragged explosion of dirty socks, underwear, records, comics, cigarette butts. Wayne’s side is so orderly, Al bets he could bounce a quarter off the bed.

Like he’d been waiting to ship out his whole life.

“I’m warnin’ you, boy,” Wayne’s tone darkens. Al wishes it didn’t make him flinch on instinct, but it does. “You better clean up your act. Get some kinda life together. Otherwise, you’re gonna end up in prison before your ticket’s even drawn.”

He lets it simmer for a minute, drawing out the silence that he’d usually feel like he has to fill. It’s so muggy, it has been muggy, this quiet between them since Wayne decided he was the kind of person that wanted to do the right thing. Do what he’s told, more like.

Another knot of a different kind tightens in Al’s sternum. Fear. He doesn’t look at Wayne because to look at him, he would know. Wayne would see it in Al’s face, and Al would see it in Wayne’s. They’re terrified, the both of them.

Munsons are no heroes. They don’t pull out of things like this.

Even if Wayne uses all the right moves, likelihood is he catches a stray bullet or blowback from a bomb and goes down. Stupid for him to think anything else would happen.

Every time Al looks at him, he knows it might be one of the last.

Then again, what else has Wayne got? He wasn’t happy about being dragged by the ear from Appalachia to Indiana. He couldn’t shake the stubbornness to make friends in town. Left school before he even broke tenth grade. He couldn’t hold down a job for nothin’-- Hawkins decided they didn’t like the smell of hick shit that the Munsons were dragging through the place. Their father was barely hanging onto the gig he’d moved them here for, drinking what little he did make. Their mother was catatonic most of the time, drinking twice as much as their father did.

Wayne is floundering, if not practically dead in Lover’s Lake already.

Might as well die someplace tropical.

But where does that leave Al? Al, the spitfire kid who needs Wayne to anchor him so he doesn’t spin completely out of control. He gets this notion of speed, thinks he’s capable of beating God at his own game–not in small part spurned on by Ray Doevski. Gasoline, matches. He needs Wayne, needs his big brother to remind him that the ground below him is hard, not soft. What goes up must come down, and all that shit.

So, how dare he.

How dare he choose Vietnam over Al.

“Well, brother mine,” Al says in a tone smooth as silk, rolling onto his back and stretching his wiry arms up like a languid cat. Smug beats stoic. “Just so happens that army green ain’t really my color. I’ll take my chances.”

—

Hastily scrubbed and half a shoulder of stolen bourbon deep, Al kicks rocks in his shoddy driveway. If he had a watch that wasn’t broken, he sure would check it, then drunkenly shake his fist at the sky and curse Ray Doevski’s tardiness.

Just as that thought occurs, of course, Ray hits his mark. Skids up to the facade on Philadelphia with a little more urgency than usual.

“Don’t burn that rubber too fast, now,” Al says, almost missing the step as he climbs in, “You know how tyres are a bitch to lift.”

“Ain’t you gonna offer me a drink?” Ray’s voice is a little reedier than usual–that usually means he has something on his mind. Something cooking.

Through the encroaching fog of his inebriation, Al gives him a little once over. He’s got a smudge of motor oil on his cheek.

Al wipes it away with a clumsy hand and feels Ray stiffen. His dark, delighted eyeballs seem to jitter in his skull before he jerks his head away from Al’s hand.

A moment throbs, and Al pushes the booze towards him. He doesn’t totally understand and it shows as much on his face.

“S’goin’ on with you?”

He watches as Ray mechanically reminds himself to relax, chill out, they’re headed for a party. Like the gears are clicking behind his face, evening out his expression.

“Lemme ask you something,” and that vibrancy is back in Ray’s voice, “Your folks still on your ass about gettin’ a job?”

“Like flies on shit.”

“What if I told you I had an opportunity that would make them very happy?”

“Happier than they are with my brother, the Colonel?”

“Way,” Ray’s teeth gleam in the late Autumn sunset, the bodacious orange twisting the planes of his face into a handsome Jack o’ Lantern. “Real cash. And fast.”

Al slugs a little whisky and slouches further down in his seat. “Can’t be any dumber than the bullshit I’ve already heard. Hit me.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ flip,” Ray shakes his head, “The Gomes brothers wanna cut us in on a deal. They, uh, they’ve gotten familiar with us. Told you it was worth showin’ your face at the Hideout every once in a while.”

Every once in a while, sure… Ray and Al skulking the parking lot, chainsmoking and playing marbles like a couple of errant kids in order to get familiar with the local heavies. Prove they were trustworthy. That they’d see shit, but they wouldn’t say shit.

Flies on shit.

Al jerks forward as Ray steps on the gas.

“A deal, huh?” Al finally manages.

“Distribution,” the gentlemen’s term for slinging dope. Speed, hash, benzos. Whatever. “This is a real business, Munson. With real payout. We make the right connections, there’s no tellin’ what we can do with it.”

Ray’s just about frothing at the mouth; Al’s never seen him so jazzed about something before. Similar to Wayne with that cool as ice, hard rock front. It’s unnerving to see it crack. Al’s stomach winches.

Prison before your ticket’s even drawn.

Then again, what else has Al Munson got going for him?

Ray’s shark eyes reflect a bolt of lightning that doesn’t appear in the sky.

Al’s groan sounds like thunder. “Fuck it. Sure.”

“Thatta boy! We gotta be at the pickup spot at midnight sharp, Cinderella.” Ray’s hands drum against the wheel, and Al could swear that he sees his bare ring finger twitching. “And–listen, Al. Don’t go spreadin’ this around at the party, alright? Especially to the boys. Mixin’ business and pleasure… just puts a bad taste in people’s mouths, y’know.”

“I’ll behave.”

—

Easier said than done.

Al wobbles through Gloriana Gomes’ backyard with the grace of a newborn gazelle, but at the very least he can make almost falling into the band’s drumset look cute. Lantern lights above him triple, quadruple, and he’s wondering just what the hell the bruiser bitch put in this punch.

“Munson.”

“Ah! The lady of the hour,” Al manages almost coherently. “Lemme get look at you.”

He squints through one eye to take in Gloriana’s shapely figure, packed tight into a halterneck catsuit that would make any man shed a tear and cry glory to God. She’s stunning, this chick, with her blunt black bangs and her lacquered cherry lips and her spike heels–but by god, is she lethal.

Al needs exactly this amount of Dutch courage to even fathom speaking a full sentence to her.

He heard she keeps a switchblade in her bra, which is how she’s won so many pageants. Pure intimidation.

He wants her to shave him bald all over with that very same switchblade.

Lurching forward, his lips brush her bouffant and almost swallow her earring. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“It’s not my birthday,” Goddamn, he can feel her nails dig into his bicep. Whisky dick is being rendered a myth with every passing second. “It’s just a party.”

“Thassa damn shame, ‘cause here I am with this biiig ole gift for you,” Al’s choking on the chemical tinge of her drugstore perfume and the copious amounts of hairspray she wears. This, the girl with always has a lit cigarette perched in her fingers… walking fire hazard. White hot.

Al’s hand slides over Gloriana’s hip, only distantly aware that he’s likely in Ray’s direct line of vision–that man rarely takes his eyes off the baddest Betty Hawkins has to offer.

“You wanna see it? S’in my pocket…”

Those Dutchmen are really onto something.

Her nails dig again and Al wonders, with a throb to the crotch, if she’s drawing blood yet.

“I’m gonna do you a favor, creep,” Gloriana hisses into Al’s ear, “I’m not going to slap the shit out of you in front of my brothers and their friends, because I don’t feel like helping anybody chop up your lousy little body tonight. I just did my nails fresh.”

“I can feel that.”

Gloriana lightly but politely shoves him off. Her face curls up into this charm-offensive, butter-wouldn’t-melt smile, which is completely at odds with her tough girl appearance. Still, it’s like a cherry nipple on a milkshake tit. Just perfect.

“You and that foster home freak are made for each other,” she says to Al, and he sees two pairs of ruby red lips instead of one. She makes it sound like she’s being friendly. Foster home freak—that’d be Ray’s calling card. Hawkins loves to remind Ray and Al that they don’t really belong here.

And then she’s gone, and Al feels a hand physically propping him upright. It’s dinky, bony and feminine so it can only belong to one person–

“Joycey!” he bellows into the young Maldonado birdy’s face. Now, Joyce is a gal that Al has always had a minute for and vice versa. She was always good for a smoke and a jaw about nothin’, as was he, but he didn’t love having to share his stash of finely toasted tobacco with that lug Jim Hopper she’s so goddamned fond of.

Joyce flinches at the greeting, wiping a little of Al’s spittle off her cheek. “Jesus H., Munson, wake the neighbors muchly?”

“Oh, between me and Dick fuckin’ Dale over here,” he gestures in the vague direction of the garage band that belongs to one Gomes or another, he’s sure, “they’ll be up all night. What’s shakin’?”

Joyce digs around her grubby jeans for her smokes, doing Al the honor of both putting it in his waiting maw and lighting it. She shrugs in that tight-shouldered way that she has, always wound up about something or other. She’s so twiggy, this girl–probably why Al’s never tried to put a move on her. He’s scared she’ll have a nervous breakdown or something.

“Just wanted to see how you were.”

That’s the other thing. Bleeding heart Maldonado, always checking in on her good pal Al. Ever since he’d broke the news that Wayne was Viet-bound, she kept looking at him sidelong, all sadlike.

“Me? Spiffy, sweetheart. Just darling, if you must know,” Al says, volume and theatricality increasing. “Any day now, I’ll have a full bedroom to myself. Ain’t that exciting?”

Joyce snorts, a puff of smoke coming out of each nostril like she’s the world’s most anxious dragon. “Gonna invite Karen over for a sleepover?”

“Ixnay on the aren-kay, Joy-say! My god, we can’t have the whole of Cherry Lane know I’m balling a cheerleader,” hands cup around Al’s mouth, cigarette still dangling from it, “It’d be just about my ruination!”

Joyce giggles all big and unbridled, which Al likes because he likes when she loosens up, but it’s swiftly cut off as Al finds himself stumbling into the nearest deck chair–which is to say, into the lap of the person sitting on it. This lucky customer happens to be one Leonard Gomes, affectionately nicknamed Lurch. Guy’s built like a brick shit cathedral, not just a house, with a selection of fascinating prison tattoos covering his neck. Al can’t make ‘em out, even up close.

“Myyy sincerest apologies, big boy!” Al slurs, but doesn’t get up right away. Lurch’s little black eyes are blackening and blackening. “But hey, I’ll catch you later. For our big date, right? Right? Can ya gimme any clues for what we’re movin’, can–”

Oof, hauled up by the front of his ribbed tank! Only Ray Doevski in full crisis management mode could manage such a feat.

Just kidding. Joyce could probably do it if she put her mind to it. Al’s about a hundred pounds soaking wet.

“Hey, this is my favorite shirt, man! Don’t stretch ‘er out!”

A seething Ray hauls him all the way to the front of the house and about heaves him into the truck. Al complies pretty limply, not hating the feeling of being puppeteered around. His limbs were getting heavy.

“Daddy’s givin’ me a time out,” Al pouts. And promptly leans out the passenger door and pukes. It’s all bile, three or four days of full bender bile. He’s barely eaten. It scores his nostrils and steams up on the pavement.

Ray stands just out of the splash zone with his arms folded, waiting for Al to let up.

When all the blood has been sufficiently drained out of his face, he does. Slumps against the seat.

Ray doesn’t exactly look at him with anger. Or annoyance, even. There’s a pillowy nature to the way he stares him down, before he walks over to the Gomes’ garden hose and turns it on, stretching it so it’ll reach Al.

He laps at the water gratefully. A hound.

Ray digs a vial from his pocket, the kind that comes complete with its own little spoon. Something he’d lifted from some foster kid he’d lived with, he had told Al before. This little number is a sight for sore eyes.

“The smelling salts. You shouldn’t have.”

Al huffs a bump up each nostril and shoves the heels of his hands into his eyeballs.

Whammo. Slowly coming back to reality.

“Sorry.”

“S’alright.” Ray’s head swivels around, evidently spotting the Gomes brothers heading to their hot rod. His voice comes out tight and he bolts for the driver’s side of the truck. Moves so fast he makes Al dizzy. “We gotta move anyhow.”

“Midnight already?”

“The witching hour.”

—

His head wedged into the corner of the open window, Al breathes deep the dusty night breeze on Holland. On the drive out here, you can count down the seconds until you smell the lake.

Five, four, three, two… Cannonball.

They drive in an imbalanced silence. Tense on Ray’s end, nauseated on Al’s. But he’s just about starting to come to, starting to clock into the reality of their situation.

Al had tossed around a little grass before; he came by it easy and could move it even easier. An operation like this, however, with clandestine pickups under the cover of night, with the armored Gomes vehicle tailing them–this is serious.

Wait.

Hold on.

Al cranes his neck to get a look out the back window. They’ve lost the Gomes’ headlights. Nothing but dark, dark road beyond the reddened back beams of Ray’s truck. That’s funny. Guys of that caliber, big pieces of gristle and meat, they’re hardly going to be tardy to their own drug pick-up party.

“Where’d they go to, Ray?” Al’s voice is a croak when it comes out, fighting against his burning throat.

“Shut up, Al.”

“Ray–”

“Shut up, Al.”

Al shrinks down in his seat, a child admonished. Ray’s hand flexes over the wheel, a man desperately trying to keep control.

They pull around to this shitheap looking place on Lover’s Lake, so bent it’s practically sliding down the embankment. A van already sits there. Black, sleek. The kind a serviceman would have or something.

Ray kills the engine and some force from beyond prompts Al to grab at his arm before he can jump on out.

“Ray.”

“You’re doing this for your family,” Ray seamlessly reminds him, the gaze he turns on him empty. There’s not a waver in his voice. Like he’d been preparing this little bon mot of encouragement. “I’m doing this for mine.”

“But w–”

“Doing it for love. That’s honorable,” Ray nods. His features have taken on this waxy sheen under the moonlight that threatens to bring Al to a dry heave. He’s like a ventriloquist doll, down to the wooden way he’s moving. “I’ve done things for love that you wouldn’t believe. Now get out of the fucking truck.”

Beat for beat, Ray exits the truck, Al exits the truck, then a guy in overalls appears from the shiny black van. All of it moving in this rhythm that’s making Al’s head swim–feels like an unreality. Feels like he’ll blink, be behind the wheel of that van with a crying baby to his right. Feels like a dream.

Al, for once, clams up. Doesn’t say anything at all, because it’s the only way he can mask the nervous twitch his face takes on when he’s this piss-pants scared.

But it’s funny. It’s not like a drug operation he’s ever dreamed of. There’s no real shadiness to it. Guy just opens up the back of his van and tosses Ray a brick wrapped in brown parcel paper.

“Lurch and Palo on the way?”

It’s incredible. To Al’s knowledge, this guy, this guy with all the drugs in the back of his fucking van, has never seen Ray before but implicitly assumes he’s taking point on this deal. What if he had been a cop?!

But Ray Doevski does have this thing about him. Gives you one good, meaningful look and he has you shackled for life. You can’t help but trust him.

Still waters, man. Just like Wayne, Al thinks and feels something different rise in his throat.

“Lurch and Palo got caught up. Car trouble.”

Overalls guy just shrugs and helps load the rest of the packages into the passenger side of the truck. Al, he just stands there. Rooted. Watching him. Ray doesn’t pass any heed; like he’s not even there.

“Not much of a talker, your guy?” Overalls jerks his head in Al’s direction.

“Nah,” Ray grins in the briefest of flashes. “Strong and silent type. Right, Munson?”

A light flashes on at the porch of the half derelict looking house. Al can spot a hulking figure in the window, obscured by what has to be clouds upon clouds of smoke.

Ray raises a hand in the form’s direction, as howdy doody casual as a fucking neighborino.

“Who is that?” Al hears himself ask.

“Rick. I’ll introduce you next time. You two’ll like each other.”

Next thing Al’s physically aware of is the pile of packages at his feet as Ray guns the truck to life. This insufferable smirk curls up the corner of his mouth, the kind that Al has an immediate instinct to slug right off.

A bad feeling, a terrible feeling twists up his guts.

It’s justified about fifteen minutes into their drive back.

Al sees the flames licking around the plumes of black smoke first, easing up into that inky sky stabbed through with needlepoint constellations. He sees mangled hot rod hardware wrapped around a great big tree. He sees blue lights, he sees red. He sees an ambulance. He sees two stretchers and two body bags.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he spits, his lips feeling loose and panicky. “Ray, Jesus, we have to stop!”

“You wanna stop?” Ray laughs, voice so light you’d swear Al had asked him to pull in so he could take a piss. “You’re sittin’ on a small fortune of narcotics and you wanna stop? Don’t be such a morbid little rubbernecker, Munson.”

—

The untimely passing of the Gomes brothers brought with it a varied reception. The angle from one end of town was that it’s great when God deals with hoodlums before the law has to. On the other, someone had to pick up the slack and keep the seedy underbelly of this wicked little place nice and satiated.

Ray Doevski didn’t leave Gloriana Gomes’ side from the moment she got the news about her beloved brothers. She’d broke down wailing in his waiting arms, her red lipstick bleeding at the edges.

Those same brothers who regarded the scheming nowhere kid with such distaste that they’d never let them anywhere near their sister, or their business.

Over their dead bodies.

The only reasonable move was to remove them from the picture entirely, and step in gallantly. The hero. A picture of suave severity, backroom business acumen seeping from his blacktop hairdo. He’d fill the hole, he’d keep the cash flowing.

When he got the time to cut the Gomes’ break lines, we’ll never really know.

Al couldn’t fathom pulling off such a stunt.

Ray never admitted to it, of course. Can’t show your hand. Not to anybody, not even your best friend. But there was always this sense of knowing… even if he didn’t do it, he was capable of it.

Once he got over the shock of it all, how quick and seamless Ray had made that elimination, Al was overtaken with admiration. Tinged with latent fear, of course, but admiration all the same.

When Ray dropped him off at the house on Philadelphia in the wee hours of the morning, Al pressed the Hawkins High class ring into his hand.

“Well played, my liege.”

“Couldn’t’ve done it without ya,” Ray smiled. “Pleasure doing business.”

Business was right. At Al’s feet sat serious cash. Cash he could use to pull his weight around the house. Cash he could use to get out of Hawkins entirely. Cash he could rub in Wayne’s face, show him, hey! I’m not nothing! I can move this, I can be part of something huge and heavy! I can run this fucking town!

But he didn’t have any clear designs on doing anything without Ray’s say so.

The only designs Al had were on his boxer briefs.

He was only really sure of one thing. He’d spend his entire life trying to best Ray Doevski. Trying to get that ring back on his finger.

Just for the love of the game.

#published by powder #hai brainrot #a. munson by powder #r. doevski by powder #al munson #this is really for like. the real real ones. who else would care not only about my oc but about her dad's homoerotic friendship with #eddie munson's dad #eddie munson fic #fuck it you never know #sorry i need to put my hands up and say it i've thought about and i love al munson #yeah he's a dick. can i fix him? no. do i want to? also no #he's my fun little disaster #munson family values

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blainesebastian · 1 year

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beach day (ccg universe)

words: 2,375 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) “ccg and austin take luci to the beach and have a beach day, maybe after award season and they’re just having a fun vacation” warnings: none notes: will be posting again when i come back from disney, tuesday-ish. thanks to anyone who reads / comments / likes / reblogs, much appreciated! tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted

You know the moment Luci’s feet touch sand that she’s going to be trouble.

She’s never been by the ocean before, so it was obvious to both you and Austin that this small getaway was going to be something. She’s very much used to the park, basically knows that terrain like the back of her hand, can run free under her parent’s gaze to chase squirrels up a tree or talk to some (unwilling) pigeons or find her spot on a swing or slide. But here? New rules, new places to explore.

You make sure you pack everything under the sun for her (pun intended)—sunscreen, floatie swimsuit, a hat, swim shoes, sandcastle building toys, the works. You’ve been to the beach plenty of times, but it’s your first with a toddler.

This was all Austin’s idea, wanting to completely unwind and disconnect after awards season. Nothing too extensive, there’s no need to escape for a complete month or anything, but you can understand the urge to get away and feel refreshed. It’s a restart button. There are so many new projects and passions on the horizon, not to mention Luci makes every day interesting in her own way, you’re just looking forward to unwinding with your little family.

Austin books an air bnb with a patio that leads into the sand and on the water—it’s very exclusive, private, connected to a resort nearby in case they would ever want to be in a pool or visit a restaurant instead of the ocean or cook something. Admittedly, you like the idea of having time to yourself (your husband to yourself), and less possibility of running into any paps (even though you know you’re not completely hidden from the public eye). The almost promise is more than enough.

The resort has a small store that you’re milling around in as Austin takes Luci to the bathroom—you definitely had her use the facilities at the Airbnb before leaving it but, it’s all still a learning curve. Besides, you wanted to get a container of fruit or something to take in the swim bag that you’ve got over your shoulder, perfect to mix with the crackers and cheese that you have already packed. Pushing your sunglasses further into your hair, you adjust your sheer cover-up skirt over your black and white polka-dot two-piece bathing suit. Luci’s got on a matching one piece—you thought you were being very cute and clever with that.

You reach for a small package of pineapple and strawberries at the same time this guy does, both of you kinda doing that awkward laugh and pull-back before he motions for you to go head.

“Thanks,” You smile, picking up the container and checking the price.

“Haven’t seen you around the resort before,” He says, grabbing one for himself and you get what he means even though you know where this is going. The resort is on the smaller side, exclusive, and this is the first time you and Austin have brought Luci over here to check out the small market.

Before you can even say anything—

“Feel like I’d remember someone as pretty as you.”

You let out a slow breath, giving the guy a kind smile, “That’s because I’m actually here with my husband and daughter.”

And you’ve got no idea if the guy thinks it’s some kind of line, because he glances down at your hand and doesn’t see the wedding ring (you’ve taken it off for the beach) and has the audacity to keep going.

“And here I was gonna offer to buy you a drink.”

“She said no,” Austin says as he approaches and you turn to look at him over your shoulder. He’s got Luci in his arms and it looks like he’s put her hair into pigtails since he’s had her. His tone is kinda neutral, probably not to alarm his daughter, but his face is set—eyes a sharp blue, that muscle working in his jawline. “You havin’ trouble with that?”

The guy clears his throat and shakes his head once before backing off, quickly moving towards the cashier to buy his fruit and leave. You sigh softly, giving your husband a warm smile in hoping to melt the ice around him. Sliding your arms around his waist, you lean in and peck his lips.

“Can’t leave you alone for a minute in this suit, apparently,” He teases against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip with his own. “Sharks start to circle.”

A soft laugh rumbles in your chest, squeezing his waist, “No one is circling.”

“Sharks!” Luci exclaims excitedly, “Fishies.” She reaches for your face with both of her hands, clasping your cheeks.

You can’t help but snicker, playfully tugging on one of her pigtails, “Yes, sharks and fishes. We’re gonna go check out their home soon.”

Austin takes the fruit from you to buy and you slip it into the beach tote before heading back outside. The sun is high in the sky, the weather hot but not suffocating, clouds like hazy cotton balls hanging about in the mass blue. It’s literally a perfect day for the beach. You take your sandals off to walk in the sand once you reach the Airbnb, Austin setting Luci down and holding onto her hand so they can work together to find a perfect spot to put their towels down.

Luci points and you nod because this will work, it’s right by the water but close enough to their patio that they can set drinks on the deck instead of in the sand. You throw the towels down, opening them up to sit on and removing your cover up because there definitely needs to be sunscreen. You can feel Austin’s eyes on you and when you look over, you can tell he’s checking you out, his gaze tracing over your skin like his hands would.

Kind of ironic coming from him, how beautiful he is, panels of smooth skin with kisses of freckles on his cheekbones and shoulders. He’s wearing small pieces of accent jewelry, a ring that’s not his wedding band (so he doesn’t lose anything valuable) and a thin silver chain resting around his neck. You playfully stick your tongue out at him as he undresses and he lets out a soft laugh, removing his t-shirt so that he’s just in his fitted swim trunks.

Luci takes off her sandals and attempts to make a run for the water and luckily Austin is quick, he does a half spin and picks her up right out of the sand, “Where do you think you’re goin’?” He asks, flipping her onto her back in his arms.

“Daddy!” She giggles, kicking her legs, “Water.”

“Water,” Austin shakes his head, sitting with her on the towel, fixing her swimsuit straps. “For one, my lil dino,” He reaches for the sunscreen you’re handing him, sitting down on the towel next to Luci. “You need sunscreen, and secondly, you never go in the water without me or mom, understand?”

He tips her chin up to make sure she’s listening and she nods, her eyes bright and wide as she takes a look out at the water, Austin putting sunscreen on her arms and legs while you put a small dollop on her face.

She gives you a cheesy, big grin and you can’t help but chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss to her hair. After you all have a decent layer of sunscreen, both you and Austin hold onto one of Luci’s hands so she’s in the middle and walk towards the water.

Luci has always been a really curious girl, so she’s not scared when she dips her toes in and then a whole foot, squealing as the wave of cool water slips over her ankles and legs. Austin chuckles a little, gently swinging her with his arm into the next wave. She then reaches both of her hands towards him,

“Up!”

You sink into the water, up to your waist, toes curling in the sand underneath you. You smile as you watch Austin lean down and bring Luci into his arms and he slips down towards you, the water reaching his shoulders eventually as you both wade out.

Austin keeps a secure grip on Luci, who claps at the water and reaches for you every so often, touching your hair and shoulder. You dive under at one point and bring up a seashell, which she’s totally enamored by, and you decide that you’ll keep and maybe make it into a piece of jewelry for her one day. It’s a sturdy, nicely shaped, off-white one—almost has this semi-pink hue to it. Perfect to go on a necklace.

It's a lot of time spent in the water until Luci decides that she wants to build a sandcastle for the rest of the day. She’s very particular about the structure, disregarding a lot of what Austin attempts to build, much to your amusement. You take a few videos and post one to your story, Jillian instantly commenting and leaving a mix of love and jealousy in her emojis.

When you head back inside for the day, Luci is definitely spent. You just manage to give her a quick bath and change her into pajamas before she’s like warm clay in your arms. She slumps against your chest, face tucked into your neck.

“Haven’t even had a chance to get my swimsuit off yet.” You chuckle lightly as you pass Austin in the kitchen, who’s quickly changed into a soft pair of gray joggers and a white t-shirt. His hair is slightly blonder today from the sun and in wild curls, cheeks kissed tan-ish pink.

He takes a break from pouring both of you an iced coffee from the fridge and reaches for Luci, “I’ll put her down, you should take a shower—think you got sand in your hair.” He playfully reaches for a strand near your jaw and you smack his hand away.

“Charming.”

He smirks and plants a quick kiss on your cheek before you can hit him again and moves to take Luci down the hall. Shaking your head, you walk to the bathroom and turn the shower on, rinsing and shampooing quick in order to get into more comfortable clothes. When you use your towel to dry off though, it kinda feels like cardboard or like the Airbnb didn’t use enough fabric softener when washing these things. It hurts to use, especially on your shoulders and…

Wait. You wipe the steam off the mirror, turning to look over your shoulder at your back and groan.

“Crap.” You mumble under your breath, pulling your underwear on and towel drying your hair.

You open the door to let the steam out, wincing at the red skin and you’re trying to figure out what you an even put on to lounge in…it’s going to have to be something that’s similar to the strap design of your bathing suit. Ugh.

“Where’s the aloe?” You ask Austin as he comes round the corner from putting Luci to bed.

He takes one look at your shoulders and a soft smile twinges its way to the corners of his mouth, “You do this every time.”

Austin sounds far too amused for your liking…and if you didn’t need him to find the aloe and help you apply it, you’d be throwing this towel at his head. “I do not.”

You wander into the bedroom after dropping the towel in a basket in the bathroom, sitting down on the bed. This is totally not your fault…you kept applying sunscreen throughout your day after being in and out of the water. What else could you do? You sigh softly and tip your head back as Austin comes in with the green bottle, rolling it between his hands to warm up the aloe—honestly, husband points for that one.

“Least it’s me and not Luci.”

Austin hums and settles down behind you, brushing your hair aside and pressing a kiss to your sore shoulder. He squeezes aloe out into his hands and continues to warm it on his palms before gently settling his touch on your skin. You wince a little, closing your eyes, letting out a slow breath as he rubs it in.

“Should start feelin’ better in a few minutes here.” He says, leaning forward to plant a kiss to the back of your head. You smile a little, can’t help it, the feeling of his touch and the heat of his body utterly comforting.

“Today was really nice.” You stand from the bed and reach for a sports bra in your suitcase that has similar straps to the bathing suit you had on today. With a little bit of help from Austin, you wrangle the thing on and…avoid being in a decent amount of pain, so. Pulling your hair up into a bun, you turn to look at your husband, “Luci’s definitely a fan of the beach and water.”

“And seagulls.” Austin chuckles warmly, moving a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “There was a lot of tryin’ to talk to them today.”

“Probably misses her pigeon friends.” You snicker.

But admittedly, this was great. Without doubt something needed after the stress and busyness of award season. You reach out to place a hand on Austin’s chest, your thumb tracing back and forth along his collarbone. You’ve still got time left on this vacation clock, but you’re already thinking ahead—

“We should definitely come back when we’ve got the time.”

Austin picks your hand up and presses a kiss to your fingers, “We’ll make time.” And you smile because you know that’s a promise.

Chewing on your lower lip, you raise your eyebrows, brushing your fingers on his cheek, “You know what we’ve got time for right now?”

Austin lets out a warm laugh, amused, “You gonna be able to do anything with a sore back?”

You playfully push him to lay down on the bed, crawling on top of him until you’re straddling his waist, “Looks like I’ll just have to be on top.”

Austin hums, his eyes darkening blue as he leans up and draws you into a kiss.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things #ccg

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corn-fanfiction · 7 months

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SAVIOUR COMPLEX (Mark Hoffman x F!Reader) (PT. 7)

(PT. 6)

Rated: M

TAGS: language/past abuse/Mark Hoffman being a c*p/reader's life is maybe becoming less normal/Mark is protective bc it's his job but he's also problematic/because he's a c*p/Detective Gibson is his own tw/kissy kissy

**NOTE: Hey guys. Thank you so much for interaction with this fic, and I’m seeing a lot of new followers. I love that!! But I really need to stress right now how I do not support/endorse C*stas M*ndylor as a person or his opinions. He’s racist and I enjoy and only enjoy Mark Hoffman’s character. If you are a C*stas Stan, I highly encourage you to maybe cease interacting with this fic.**

“To say that this looks bad is an understatement.”

Mark scoffs and paces the Chief’s office.

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“No, let’s go over everything that’s happened tonight. You breach protocol by taking your case out on a date, you bring her to an active crime scene where her boyfriend has just died in a Jigsaw trap, and you are in the FBI’s sights! How is that dramatic?”

“Ex.”

Chief is stunned, baffled and befuddled. “Excuse me?”

“Ex boyfriend.”

“Are you-“ Chief sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “You’re pulling my leg, right? This is a joke. This has to be a joke because I know you're not this stupid.”

“Watch it.”

“No, fuck it. You’re off her case and you’re suspended until I can figure out what the fuck to do with you. Turn in your badge and gun.”

Mark stares him down. He doesn’t move.

“Do it, or we’re gonna have a scene.”

Mark grinds his teeth, his jaw ticks. He’s holding air that he refuses to sigh away as he slams his sidearm and his badge down on the Chief’s desk.

“Who’s my replacement? I assume whoever it is has her next door in interrogation, right?”

“Questioning.”

“Don’t fucking split hairs with me right now.”

Before the Chief has a chance to respond, the heavy metal doors to the interrogation hall open and close. Mark throws the office door open and sees you passing. He gives you a comforting hand but then leaves when he hears a snort from Gibson. He turns on him and Gibson either isn’t expecting it or doesn’t think Mark will actually put hands on him. On both fronts, he’s wrong, because Mark grabs him by his collar and holds him with shaking arms.

“What the fuck is your problem, Gibson!?”

Gibson pushes Mark’s arms from his chest and shoves him. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to send the message.

“I’m doing my job, Hoffman. Don’t forget, you’re a suspect too, and in danger of ‘reassignment’. Right?”

Gibson huffs and adjusts his shirt. Mark points a finger at his chest.

“You better keep your nose outta things before something happens to it.”

“Is that a threat?”

Mark is about to let him know that yes, it is a threat, when he feels a hand on his arm. He whips around and there you are, staring up at him with empty, dark eyes that are pooling with tears. God, you look ragged, traumatized- you are.

“Mark, come on, please. Please, let’s just go home. Please.”

He softens at your plea. He’ll do anything for you right now, and that includes walking away from this fight. He gives Gibson a final mean look and guides you out of the station and takes you home.

Now, he’s staring out the window of your bedroom as you’re curled against him in sleep, one arm tucked under your head and the other draped across you. He realizes that he probably shouldn’t have even brought you here, but rather have taken you back to his place. You need familiarity, sure, but whoever had been stalking you could still be after you.

That was something else you didn’t know. When you and Mark had arrived on the scene and he saw Ted’s body, it was apparent that it wasn’t…fresh. Of course, he knew that Gibson had to have shown you the photos but there’s no way you were in a state to notice that detail. And it looked like more than a couple days. The death was old…older than the day someone showed up outside your window.

He pulls you closer. Not only is someone imitating Jigsaw- him, not only had that person killed Ted, but they were likely the one stalking you.

It isn’t far fetched to think there’s another Jigsaw copycat; after all, that’s how he got the gig. The difference is that John and Amanda are both dead, and neither of them can handle this so Mark can focus on you. Mark racks his brain to shake loose any possible suspects. Everyone with any hand near Jigsaw is dead except him…and Jill. Christ, what if this is all Jill? Jealous because he has you and she has no one?

But Jill doesn’t have the physical strength to manage this on her own, and Mark’s watched her long enough to know she lives a solitary life. So no, Jill may be possible, but highly unlikely.

It has to be someone you know, or someone who knows him and his feelings towards you. It would be too large a coincidence for it to be a random copycat.

Who? Who?

The good news is that if he's suspended, he has plenty of time to find out.

There’s a banging on the door the next morning. You immediately jump and press your back to the headboard. Mark stands, reaches for his gun and then curses when he remembers he turned it in the night before.

You look up at him in a panic and he raises a calming hand. He glances at the window- nobody there. Goes down the hall and grabs a knife from the kitchen.

A peek out the front window reveals Gibson at the door, tapping his foot, looking around, checking his watch. Mark curses and opens the door, subtly setting the knife on the kitchen counter.

Gibson stops, looks Mark up and down, then cracks a smile.

“Jesus. Wasted no time, I see.”

Mark scowls and his grip on the door tightens. “Careful, Gibson. There’s no cameras here.”

Gibson looks over Mark’s shoulder and into the apartment.

“She around?”

“Yes, she’s in bed, and very fucking traumatized from the shake-down you gave her. That make you feel big, Gibson? Harassing a woman who’s being stalked and just saw her ex-boyfriend murdered?”

“Just doing my job. You know all about that.”

Before Mark can get another word out, you come up behind him, now having donned some pants and a cardigan.

“Detective Gibson. What a…well, whatever it is. What do you need?”

Gibson smiles at you, self-satisfied.

“I’m taking over your case. And with the recent danger, we think it’s best we put you in a safe house.”

Your eyes widen and you push your way past Hoffman who puts a hand on your shoulder. You shrug him off.

“Fuck that! You and your precinct already upheaved my life with this protection bullshit, now you wanna take me away from my job, my apartment? And for what? Jigsaw very clearly has no problem with me!”

“Yeah. Wonder why that is.”

Mark watches as you turn red.

“Besides, not like you’re leaving much behind.”

Mark barely has time to grab you when you lunge for Gibson, who leans away with a chuckle.

“Easy. I can always still take you in by force.”

“Fuck off, no you can’t,” Mark bites. “She can deny if she wants to.”

“Yeah, but that don’t look too good either, does it? Got a reason to stay away from the police?”

“Aside from the fact they’re batting 1,000 when it comes to harassment?”

Gibson looks from you to Mark.

“You don’t seem to mind too much.”

“That’s it-”

Mark is out the door before you can stop him and he slugs Gibson in the jaw. The younger detective stumbles back into the yard and Mark looms over him.

“Get the fuck outta here. And unless you have a warrant, you can tell the chief to shove this whole thing up his ass.”

Gibson stands and spits some blood into the grass.

“Your ass is out, Hoffman. You hear me? You’re fucked!” Gibson shouts and returns to his cruiser, stepping into the driver’s seat and retrieving his walkie-talkie. You run out to get Mark.

“Mark, what the fuck?!”

Mark sighs, shakes out his hand, turns to you. “I’m sorry. I- I can’t stand that prick. He was asking for it.”

“Yeah, no kidding! He was egging you on and you gave him exactly what he wanted. You could lose your job!”

“Nah,” Mark says, shaking his head and heading back inside. You follow him.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have a word with the Chief, pay some penance, do crossing duty or something for a few weeks. Shit like this happens all the time.”

Mark goes to your freezer and grabs a bag of peas to cradle against his knuckles. When he faces you again, you’re leaning against the counter, chewing on your lip, staring at the imitation marble.

“What?” he inquires.

“Nothing.”

“No, what are you thinking?”

He watches as you splay your hand against the countertop, moving your fingers back and forth. He moves to stand next to you, moves his head to be closer to yours. Nudges you.

“Come on. Let me in.”

You sigh. “I don’t know what’s happening anymore. I don’t think I’m in danger. Or maybe I am. I don’t really care. But…maybe it’s best if we took a break? Just until the dust settles?”

Mark’s heart plummets into his gut and his eyes search yours, his head unmoving.

“You want that?”

“No. No, I really don’t. But I’ll be fine, and you can’t lose your job.”

Because it’s all I have.

Well, that was before he had you.

“Let Gibson take over my case. Once it dies he’ll get bored, I bet. I’m willing to wait.”

You finally meet his eyes and your hand finds his on the counter.

“What if I’m not?” he mutters, his lips so close to yours.

“I mean, I never really pegged you for a patient man. But…”

It’s like you can’t help yourself. Your lips come up to meet his and his hand gently cups your jaw.

Another kiss. One deeper and warmer. Before there can be a third that leads to something more, you pull away and Mark sighs.

“Maybe it’ll die out fast, you know?”

Mark nods at the refrigerator.

“Maybe.”

“Hey,” you say, tilting his face towards you. “Look at me. It’ll be fine. Distance and fondness and all that.”

“I don’t think I can get any fonder, honestly.”

He watches in pain as your eyes flutter through that small confession and a smile pulls at your lips.

“Well, just hold on to it, then. And phones exist, you know?”

He dips down for a kiss on your cheek.

“So do midnight rendezvouses. And windows.”

“Come on,” you gently push against his chest. “Just think of how nice it’ll be when this all passes. Maybe my bed will see some action other than cuddling all night long, hm?”

Mark groans. “God, why would you say something like that when you’re trying to rush me out the door?”

“If I was rushing, you’d be gone already. I’m stalling, actually.”

Another kiss. Then one on the forehead.

“Alright. Go makeup with the asshole outside. Apologize to the Chief. Help kids cross the street or something. I’ll see you soon.”

Mark grinds his teeth but submits, laying the peas on the counter.

“Sorry for defrosting those.”

You smile reassuringly, and it does help him feel like things will be okay. “Maybe we'll eat them next time.”

#mark hoffman #saw fanfic #mark hoffman x reader #angst #fanfiction #saw franchise

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hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf · 2 years

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Kinktober Day 9: Masturbation with Hongjoong

Trigger warnings: none?

Content warnings: toys and bad attitudes (read: mc’s a little bratty and hongjoong doesn’t like that), hongjoong goes all doting boyfriend at the end

Summary: Your fuck buddy wants you to put on a show for him.

Word count: 1851

Tags: @hyuckilstan @mork-ly @wubbster @critssq @skzgallll

Kinktober master list

Smut below the cut

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s a little unfair.” You pouted. “If I’m calling up a fuck buddy it’s cause I need to get railed, not cause I want an audience while I masturbate.”

He listened to you in silence for a few seconds until you started to crumble and finally gave a blasé response. “If you wanna get fucked into the mattress tonight, this is the prerequisite.”

You wanted to be mad, you really did, but it was impossible. So you let out a sigh and crossed your arms as you stared at your phone. “You better wreck my shit afterwards…” You grumbled, listening to his smug hum.

“I’ll see you in five.” Before you could give a response, the line went dead and you sighed.

Hongjoong lived on the sixth floor of your apartment building. You’d run into each other a few times and were instantly attracted to each other, had even gone on dates, but neither of you were willing to cut off your other flings - though you’d eventually stopped meeting them and both of you were currently each others’ only partners. So you’d decided after hooking up after seeing each other at a bar downtown that you’d keep fucking and just make up rules along the way. You shook yourself from your thoughts as you got up from your cozy spot in the corner of your L-shaped sofa and left for your bathroom to freshen up.

He arrived sooner than he said he would so you opened the door while holding your hair up, not having had a chance to pull your hair tie from your wrist yet. He pushed the door shut and grabbed your wrist to stop you. “I like when you leave it down.”

“Well are you gonna help brush it out after it gets matted?” You scowled up at him as you dropped your hands to your sides and he chuckled.

“I can if you’d like me to.” He shrugged and snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. “But making you a mess is the first step.” He whispered as he nudged your head back so he could kiss your neck. You shivered when he pressed his lips to your pulse point and took a deep breath, inhaling your scent. It always got to him how nice you smelled; never failed to get him hard.

“Let’s go to my room.” You murmured, knowing he’d fuck you right there on the spot if you didn’t urge him towards your bedroom. He’d done it before.

He pulled back and stared at you for a moment before nodding. He looked like he wanted to speak - he did - but he waited until you closed your bedroom door behind him. “Open your drawer.” You wrinkled your nose at him but went to your bedside table and opened the bottom drawer as he made his way over. He knelt down and grabbed a condom, tossing it on the bed before picking up your wand vibrator. It wasn’t your favorite but he seemed to love it. “I want you to use this too.” You nodded slowly and he dropped it on the duvet before striding across the room to your desk and taking a seat. “Strip.”

“You want me to make a show out of this too?” You asked, making sure to sound irritated, though you were anything but when he nodded. You slid your hands under your ripped Bon Jovi Runaway tank and up your belly, reaching higher until you were cupping your breasts. You let out a small sigh as you gave a gentle squeeze before pulling the top over your head. You dropped it on the floor and took note of the way his expression changed when he saw your bare chest, smug at the effect you had on him.

You popped the button on your denim shorts and shimmied out of them, letting them drop to the floor and pool around your feet. You did a quick turn after stepping out of them and showed off your ass, half covered by a pair of lace cheeky panties. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw him shift in your office chair, putting the slight tent in his sweats on display for you. You bit back a teasing comment about him already being half hard at almost nothing and hooked your fingers in the elastic waist of your panties.

You pushed them down and smirked at the sharp inhale you heard from behind you before getting on the bed. You propped against the headboard and frowned at him, legs drawn towards your chest and crossed at the ankle to obscure his view. “Why do you have to be all the way over there? Come closer.”

“What, are you worried I won’t hold up my end of the bargain?”

“Not at all. But isn’t it only fair if I also get to watch you?” You tilted your head to the side as he stood. “Besides, we both know how much you love my pussy. You’ll be dying to touch me at some point.” You teased and he rolled his eyes at you.

“Unlike you, I have self control.” He sniped as he crawled onto the foot of the bed, towering over you despite only being on his knees. He reached for your legs and you shrank away from him, sticking your tongue out. He froze with his hand out and cut his eyes at you, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek in annoyance. “Oh, you wanna be like that tonight, huh?”

“So what if I do?” You challenged, your tone full of innocence despite the defiance you spewed.

“You should know by now,” he started, reaching for you again and gripping your knees. “That acting up will only get you edged until you’re crying out of desperation and that when I do finally let you cum - if I let you cum - I won't stop until you’re an incoherent babbling mess, crying from the overstimulation as you try to writhe away from me.” His voice was low and dangerous and you felt a thrill run through your body. “So unless you wanna be on bedrest for the next week, I suggest you drop the attitude.” Your mouth went dry at his threat and you allowed him to part your legs. “That’s what I thought. Now show me how you get off when I’m not here.”

You nodded slowly and he sat back, gaze trailing down your body and locking on your cunt. You closed your eyes to avoid any chance of making eye contact with him and licked your fingers before teasing your nipples. To be honest, it was embarrassing. You felt strange at the thought of someone seeing you at your most vulnerable, holding the knowledge of what you did when you were alone. It was something you usually reserved for a boyfriend, yet you were allowing Hongjoong to see. The trepidation only made you wetter though and you found yourself rushing to dip a single finger into your heat and drag your wetness up to your clit.

You started out small, isolating your middle finger and circling your clit while you brought your other hand to your mouth to stifle your sounds. You moaned for the benefit of your partners, it didn’t change how things felt to you, and he wanted to know how you took care of yourself when he wasn’t around to fuck your stress away. So you kept quiet save for an occasional whine whenever you pressed your fingers back inside.

You heard a soft sigh one such time and peeked out to find him with his dick in his hand, working himself slowly. You wanted to get on your knees and suck the life out of him, or maybe turn your ass up in the air and let him fuck you stupid. You did neither and instead reached for the wand he’d tossed on the bed earlier.

“Put it on the highest setting.” Your eyes flew open and you stared at him in surprise, parting your lips to stutter out a ‘b-but-’ only to be cut off. “Not a word. If you question me, I’ll leave.” Your mouth snapped shut and you did as he demanded, letting out a surprised cry despite knowing what would happen. “That’s a much nicer sound than all the backchat you seem to enjoy.” He said smugly, watching as you tried to relax yourself.

You couldn’t have responded if you’d wanted to, you were too high strung to form a coherent sentence. You simply tried to combat the borderline-overwhelming pleasure and forced your eyes open to watch him. He was on his knees again and he looked like he wanted to reach out and touch you with his free hand. You let your head fall back against the headboard, eyes slipping shut as you bit back a moan.

You reached blindly for him with your free hand and he took it in his, lacing your fingers together. “You’re doing so good for me.” He cooed, noticing the brattiness had entirely left your system and was replaced with desperation and the overwhelming need to be good. “You’re so close, aren’t you?” He sounded like he was talking to a child with the way he coached you. He was right though. He knew all your tells and it was obvious to him that you were on the verge of combusting. “Let go. It’s okay.”

His thumb swiped over the side of your hand in a comforting motion and the tingles that spread from there were the final straw. You couldn’t possibly hold back even if you’d been ordered to. You let out a cry of ecstasy that vaguely sounded like his name as your back arched from the bed and his grip on your hand tightened. You tried to ride out your orgasm with the wand pressed firmly to your clit but it grew to be too much and you threw it to the side, trying to catch your breath as your body spasmed.

After a few minutes of calming yourself, during which Hongjoong had leaned over you to fuss over and take care of you, you opened your eyes and were greeted with his fond expression less than two inches away from your face. “You back?” You nodded and offered a dazed smile.

“I’m back.” You assured him and he leaned closer to press a kiss to your forehead. He was always extremely gentle with you after an orgasm - unless you were being a brat, then he would put you back in your place before finally offering a gentle touch when you couldn’t take anymore.

“You did so good.” He praised and you averted your eyes to contain the pride that swelled in your chest. It was then that you realized he didn’t finish.

“Does that mean you’ll fuck me stupid now?” You asked with a playful grin as you looked back up at him. His expression darkened, his want for you on full display, and his gaze shifted to your lips.

“Hands and knees.”

#kpop smut #ateez #ateez smut #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong #hongjoong smut #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong smut #kinktober 2022 #kinktober #tbh i’m surprised i got this done with time to spare

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maxbegone · 9 months

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happy wedensday, friends! i don't know about anyone else, but this is the first day we've had all week without rain and I am living for it.

thank you @kiwiana-writes for the tag ♥️ I hope the rest of the week treats you well.

He smirks at Henry, picking up his walkie. “Watch this. Shaan, come in, Shaan.”

Alex can practically hear the sigh from here. “Yes, Alex?”

“I see you driving. Mind helping us at the gate?”

“What for?”

“Confidential,” he says.

Oscar clicks through then. “Since when do we do confidential?”

“Since right now for, like, five minutes. It’ll be quick.”

“Wouldn’t bet my life on it,” Shaan tells him, but Alex sees him turn the truck in their direction and calls it a win.

“What was that about?” Henry asks him.

“Just someone I want you to meet.” At his look, Alex gives him a pat on the arm and says, “He’s British, too. Y’all will hit it off.”

When Shaan pulls up, he steps out in all his too-handsome glory and leans against the hood of the truck, arms crossed and looking up at them both. “Care to tell me why you made me make the detour?”

Alex leans against the rail. “Shaan, this is Henry. Henry, Shaan. Discuss.”

Shaan shakes his head. “Alex, if you waited a little longer I would have still been at yours when you two had gotten back.”

“That’s not very friendly of you, Shaan,” he chimes.

“Fine. Hello, Henry. My apologies for Alex. He’s an acquired taste.”

“I’m sure he is—wait.” Alex absolutely does not miss the startled look on Henry’s face or the way his cheeks immediately go red. “I-I mean, he’s been very accommodating.”

“Shame he doesn’t put his energy to use in ways that won’t give me and my wife grey hair.”

“Oh please, y’all love me.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘tolerate.’”

Alex shrugs. “Same thing.” He claps Henry on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go give him a proper hello.”

He gathers their things and makes his way down the ladder, and when he’s finally eye-level with Shaan, he drops the facade a little. “Everything alright?”

“Yes, Leo just wanted me to come by and discuss the plans for the turn of the season. He has some things mapped out and Zahra and I want to make sure we’re on the same page with you all before we begin.” He turns to Henry. “Where in England are you from?”

“London.”

“A fellow Londoner.” Shaan actually smiles. “We’ll get on easily. Is your friend from London as well?”

“Oh, Pez? Yes, we grew up together. I went to Oxford before moving to Brooklyn to work with him at his nonprofit.”

“I went to Oxford as well. I had plans to get my doctorate but I was working in research and things changed.”

“Geez, are all y’all the same?” Alex mutters under his breath. Both Shaan and Henry give him a look. “What, you’re both from London and you both went to Oxford. Did you play polo, too, Shaan?”

“No, I did crew.”

Explains the arms. Still a rich guy’s sport. “Wow. Okay, anyway! Wanna give us a ride back to the house?”

“Is your shift finished?”

He shrugs. “We’ve got five minutes. My dad’s next anyway.”

“Fine,” Shaan sighs. “But only because I’m heading that way to begin with.”

Alex hops into the flatbed and to his surprise, Henry barely even hesitates before following suit.

Dust kicks up behind them as they drive along, Alex with his arms stretched out along the side as if he’s louding in a pool while Henry keeps himself tucked against the wall. They wave to Oscar as they drive past, who shakes his head in amusement.

Alex does a full vault over the side of the truck when they pull up, half showing off, and takes both rifles from Henry.

“I’m gonna go put these back, you head on inside.”

“Are you sure?” Henry asks.

“Yeah, it’s a one man job.”

Henry gives him a smile before jogging to catch up to Shaan, and for a moment Alex wonders if it was a bad idea to have introduced them. Something makes him feel like they’ll get along like a house on fire, and he really hopes Shaan doesn’t sour Henry’s opinion of him too much.

He shrugs it off.

#rwrb #rwrb fic #firstprince #wip wedensday

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brokenjere · 2 years

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seventeen going under (j.f) (part 8)

seventeen going under (j.f)

AN: hey guys! I added a tag list for this fic, so if you wanna be added leave a comment on the most recent chapter or send me an inbox to be added! Thanks for enjoying💖

synopsis: Taylor’s in town, Conrad forgets Belly’s birthday, a mean game of chicken, and a long awaited kiss and run

i don’t wanna be your friend, i wanna kiss your neck - the 1975 fallingforyou

catch up here

I stayed home while Jeremiah went to get Taylor from the bus stop with Belly. I wasn’t the biggest fan of Taylor and any chance to avoid her was taken even if it meant she was shamelessly flirting with Jeremiah and I wasn’t around to gauge his reaction. But his reaction wasn’t my business. I made that very clear.

I went into town to get groceries with my parents and watched as they acted like a newlywed couple picking out staples for their new home. I lagged behind like a puppy with too short of legs to keep up. Dad picked up something too sugary and Mom scolded him to put it back and when she wasn’t looking, he tossed it in the cart anyway and gave me a thumbs up.

At home, I helped mom make a lemon loaf for Belly’s birthday. It was one of the only things she knew how to bake well and made it every year for her. As it cooled down on the counter, I added one candle right in the middle. Happy birthday, Bells.

My phone went off in my back pocket and I pulled it out to see a text from Jeremiah:

We’re going swimming in 10. Be there :)

I didn’t reply and put my phone back in my pocket. “I’m gonna go next door, okay?” I called up to my mom who was upstairs in her bedroom. She yelled back, “okay!” And I went out the back door. I didn’t really care to go swimming, but I had my suit on underneath my clothes anyway. It was a written rule that when in Cousins, you always had to have a suit.

I was still reeling from my talk with Jeremiah and took my time walking through the backyard. It all just felt too heavy for me to carry right now. I don't even know how I'll feel once I see him.

Jeremiah, Steven, Belly, and Taylor were all in the pool already when I snuck through our bushes. Belly saw me first, waving me down and calling out my name. I smiled and called out, “Happy sweet sixteen!” Steven and Jeremiah were hanging off the edge of the other side of the pool, talking to themselves. Jeremiah looked at me when Belly called my name and he smiled. Really smiled. Like nothing had happened, which I guess for Jeremiah, things were easy to let go of.

“Are you coming in?” She asked, checking out what I was wearing. I shook my head but kicked off my flip-flops so I could sit on the edge of the pool with my feet in the water.

“Why not?” She swam over to me as I sat down, the water hitting just below my knees. She held herself up on the pavement with her arms and she was getting water all over the place but I didn’t mind.

I looked out at the pool where Jeremiah and Steven were talking when I arrived. They were now both staring at me instead of engrossed in whatever conversation they were having. I looked down at Belly instead. “Not in the mood. What are you guys doing?”

“I think we should play chicken,” Taylor said as she waded in the pool, a big grin on her face. Belly smiled and agreed, swimming back over to her friend. I kicked my feet in the water as the four of them decided who was gonna be whose partner and Jeremiah kept stealing looks over at me and I kept dodging them.

Belly got up on Jeremiah’s shoulders and Taylor got up on Steven’s and as they pushed at each other in the water, I watched as Jeremiah gripped Belly’s thighs. The way her legs hugged his upper chest and how, if she wanted to, she could run her fingers through his hair without even having to try. I was jealous of her in that moment. That she was that close to him. That her skin was touching his.

“What are they doing?” I heard Conrad speak behind me. Somehow, he snuck in the backyard when I wasn’t paying attention and he was with Nicole.

“Chicken,” I told him. He laughed a little and went to sit down next to me when Belly called out for Nicole. During the whole deb ball process, her and Nicole had kind of become close, I noticed. She had become close with all the girls, I think. Slowly. Without me noticing.

“Aren’t you guys a little too old to be playing chicken?” Nicole asked, laughing through her words. I saw Belly’s face drop and Conrad stiffened next to me as he dropped his feet in the water. His calf was touching mine under the warm pool water.

“It was Taylor’s idea,” Belly said.

There was an awkward pause and then Jeremiah broke the silence, “wanna play water volleyball?” Before anyone answered, he threw Belly off his shoulders behind him and into the pool and everyone laughed and it was no longer awkward. Always the comedic relief.

“Kind of rude of her,” I mumbled, only Conrad could hear. Nicole was taking off her shoes and setting her stuff down and Conrad glanced over his shoulder to make sure she didn’t hear. I didn’t care.

“That was kind of rude.”

“She can’t hear me.”

“So what,” he hissed. I looked at him and his eyebrows were furrowed and he looked more serious than I thought he would have and I recoiled into my body for a moment.

“Since when don’t you side with your friends?” I asked as Nicole sat down next to Conrad, smiling because she had no idea what we were talking about or that it was about her.

“Side with his friends about what?” Nicole asked. She wrapped her arm around Conrad’s shoulders and leaned into him, smiling. He smiled down at her and shook his head and we both said “nothing” at the same time. “Oh, okay," she mumbled, brushing it off.

I looked back out at the pool. The net was now set up and they had started playing their game and Conrad and Nicole engaged in small talk next to me but I tried not to evesdrop. I envied the time it was just the five of us. Me, Belly, Conrad, Steven, and Jeremiah. There was no Taylor crashing our party and Nicole would not be soaking up Conrad’s attention and it would have been me on Jeremiah’s shoulders.

When we were younger, before all the hard stuff happened, chicken was one of our favorite things to play. Belly would go up on Conrad’s shoulders and I’d get up on Jeremiah’s and our hands would be really slippery and we would laugh too hard until our stomach cramped and I’d fall off of Jeremiah’s shoulders before he was able to catch me.

Belly always described Conrad’s shoulders as a safe place to be. She said that Jeremiah felt too wobbly like she would fall and crash at any second but to me, Jeremiah was the most stable of them all. His were the ones I wanted to lean on.

I stood up and started to pull down my shorts but Conrad caught my wrists frantically when he noticed. “What the hell are you doing?” He scolded, looking around at everyone. No one was looking except for Nicole, who was peeking at us but trying to look like she wasn’t.

“I have a swimsuit on underneath,” I informed him, still trying to pull down my shorts but resisting from his grip. He looked over at everyone in the water, then back up at me, and released his grip. “What the hell is your issue?” I chuckled, taking my shorts off.

Conrad shook his head and rang out his fingers with his hand. I took off my shirt and tossed myself in the pool. I felt Conrad staring at me the entire time I swam over to Jeremiah and Steven. “YN! Finally,” Jeremiah laughed, reaching out to me. I put my hands in his and he pulled me the rest of the way. I let my body glide through the water until it crashed into his chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around me and I couldn’t help but lean into him like he was an old blanket.

“You gonna be on my team?” He asked into my now wet hair and I nodded. He twisted his fingers into my hair as he hugged me tight and that’s how I knew we will always be okay.

I walked into Belly’s bedroom, towel drying my hair, as she and Taylor gushed on her bed about her birthday presents. I dropped the lemon loaf off in the kitchen as we ran through Susannah’s house trailing water behind us all. Susannah and Laurel yelled as we booked it up the stairs, the boys going left toward Conrad and Jeremiah’s rooms and the girls going right toward Belly’s.

“Aren’t they pretty?” Belly asked, inspecting each of the pearls between her fingers.

It was a gorgeous pearl necklace. “Susannah gave it to me.”

“You got to wear that tonight,” Taylor grabbed it from Belly’s hand and held it up to Belly’s neck where it would sit right above her collarbone. The white contrasted her skintone perfectly.

“What else did you get?” I asked her as I sat down on the bed, bunching the wet towel up and putting it in my lap. She beamed and reached over her bed to her nightstand, opening the drawer, and pulling out a small box.

“This is from Jeremiah,” she said, handing it over. I took the box from her and opened it. A car keychain. “Because he’s been teaching me how to drive,” she explained as she dangled the charm bracelet that rested on her wrist. I knew the bracelet. I knew Susannah got it for her a long time ago but I didn’t know he was teaching her how to drive. When did he have the time?

“He’s teaching you to drive?” I asked, glancing up at her but then concentrating back down at the charm. It was silver and perfect and I ran my finger over it gently.

“Yeah, he let me drive to get muffins one morning and I drove to go get Taylor.”

I nodded and closed the box, handing it back to her. I don’t know why the bottom of my stomach feels like it’s on fire. A burning rage that made its way up my small intestines and through my chest making me feel like I wanted to vomit. “What did Connie get you?” I changed the subject.

Belly looked down at her lap with the box in it and shrugged. Her hair fell into her face. “He said he forgot.”

“What?”

“He forgot,” she spoke louder, looking up at me. Her eyes were soft and sad like now she was finally really feeling the feelings of him forgetting. Conrad forgot? I couldn’t imagine him forgetting. The entire month of June, every year, he asked about Belly’s gift. Always wanting to get the perfect one. He was good at that: finding the perfect thing to make you feel all the feelings.

“How could he have forgotten?” I asked quietly, almost more to myself than to Belly. Taylor clapped her hands and said, “who cares! He’s a dick anyway. Jeremiah and Steven mentioned Nicole’s having a party later. We’re gonna go, right?”

I started to protest but Taylor held up her hand to stop me. “It’s Belly’s birthday. You wanna go Bells?” Belly looked between me and Taylor and quite frankly, I didn’t care if we went or not. Not really. Like Taylor said, it was Belly’s birthday. Hesitantly, she agreed.

“After the dinner Susannah made, okay?” Belly conditioned. Taylor nodded eagerly and I excused myself to head home and get changed and showered for dinner but Jeremiah stopped me on my way down the hallway.

“Hey, where are you going?” He was hanging halfway out of his bedroom, his bicep holding him off the doorframe. I could see his muscles, focusing on them before I even knew what was happening. He had a small smile on his face, his hair messily laying over his eyes and he was happy. Happy to see me. Happy I was there.

“I was gonna go home and change and stuff. Just refresh before dinner, you know?” He nodded and held out his hand, his door swinging open, inviting me to take it. I did. “What?”

“Come downstairs with me. We’ll watch a movie and hang out.” I hesitated to reply, looking away from him momentarily. He tugged on my hand a little bit and eventually, a smile grew on my face unwillingly and I nodded. “Okay, hold on,” he said as he went back into his room. My palm felt cold now that it didn’t have his in it. He grabbed some clothes out of his dresser and handed them to me. “Change into these. They’re dry,” he looked me up and down, “and clean.”

“My clothes are clean!” My voice cracked and I looked down at the t-shirt and jean shorts I was wearing that were clean this morning when I put them on, but now the shirt had wet spots where my boobs touched from my wet swimsuit and my shorts were wrinkly, riding up my thighs and giving me a wedgie. Wet, damp swimsuit underneath it all.

“Change,” he demanded with a laugh, pushing me into his room and shutting the door as he waited out in the hallway. I loved his room. Both this one and the one in Boston. Being in here was like getting a hug from him. Enveloped by his scent, consumed in his energy. I would drown in it forever if he asked. I exchanged my clothes and wet suit for his warm, baggy t-shirt and cloth shorts that were both too large for me. I tightened the strings on the shorts so they wouldn’t fall off and I bunched my clothes together in a pile next to his dirty laundry.

“I’ll grab my stuff before I leave, okay?” I told him as I exited the room. His eyes slid over my body, taking in how homeless I look, probably, but he smiled.

“Are you naked under those?” I scrunched my nose up. Partly in distaste for the comment and partly to give my face something to do other than produce a bright pink hue on my cheeks.

“Well I’m not wearing my wet bikini, that’s for sure.” Jeremiah bit his lip but it happened so quickly that I think it might have been an accident. He shook his head and then took my hand to lead me down to the living room.

Jeremiah flipped all the lights off, closed all the curtains, and piled a bunch of blankets and pillows on the couch. I moved the giant ottoman to the couch, creating a bed for the two of us. This was how we always did movie nights. “Do we have snacks?” I asked.

Jeremiah scoffed, holding his hand to his chest. “Do we have snacks? Would it be the Fisher house without snacks?” He trotted to the kitchen, pulling bags of chips and two bottles of sodas out of the fridge. I threw myself on the couch, wrapping myself up in the blanket. Jeremiah was next to me within seconds, handing me my Diet Coke and a bag of Sun Chips. I took them greedily and did a happy dance, making Jeremiah laugh.

“What movie are we watching?” I asked. Jeremiah flipped through the channels on his TV, eventually landing on On Demand. It was something my mom would be offended by if she heard me call old school, but in the age of Netflix and streaming, On Demand was old school but it was our tradition.

Jeremiah eventually found Napoleon Dynamite, a usual for us that we hadn’t watched in a long time. It was one of our favorites. I snuggled into the pillows and opened my bag of chips. “Can I have one?” Jeremiah pouted, eyeing up my bag.

“You gave them to me,” I said, furrowing my brows. He shrugged and tried to reach for my chips but I swatted his hand away. He laughed and tried again until we were in a full on wrestling match over the garden salsa. His hands were attacking my hips, tickling my sides until I was hiccuping from laughing so much and I was pushing him away and off of me but he pinned me down.

His fingers were interlaced with mine and he held my hands down above my head. His face was only inches away from mine and I bet he could taste the chips in the air between us which made me feel self-conscious. I swam in the blue of his eyes and he searched mine. My heart was pounding so fast I wondered if he could hear it. I wondered if he could feel it. “Jere-” I breathed but then he was kissing me. His lips were on mine and I was kissing him back. I couldn’t help it. His lips were soft and sweet and he tasted like Jeremiah, my Jeremiah.

He ripped himself off of me when a voice cleared its throat from behind us. Jeremiah sat up, his hands no longer connected to mine. He was sitting on his legs on the ottoman in front of me, looking behind me toward the kitchen. “Conrad, you scared the hell out of me,” Jeremiah laughed.

Conrad.

I sat up and looked behind me. Conrad stood there with his hands in his hoodie pocket and stared at us. He didn’t speak, just looked between me and his brother. His fucking brother. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “Conrad,” I said. His eyes snapped to mine and suddenly, I was alone on an island. Water rushed over my body as it washed up on the shore.

I frantically started to grab my phone, shooting up off the couch. I could hear Jeremiah calling my name, but it was like it was off in the distance. He was a sailor, just him and his boat off in the ocean calling me out to sea. “I gotta go home,” I said, pushing past Conrad and out the door.

The summer air hit me like a brick. It was humid out, the sun beating down on the pavement. I didn’t even realize I wasn’t wearing shoes. “YN!” It wasn’t Jeremiah. He didn’t come after me. Did I want him to? I think so.

Conrad caught up to me, stepping in front of me to stop me from going further. “What?” I choked out. Conrad glanced back at the house. I almost did, too. To see if maybe he was standing on the porch watching us. Letting his big brother pick up all the broken pieces. Jeremiah was good at that.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered, dipping his head low to match mine. I bit my lip and tried to look away but he used his fingers to guide my chin so that I was forced to read his face. His concern, sadness, and pain. It was all right there being served up on a silver platter. So unlike him.

“I don’t know,” I lied. “I just have to change, okay? Susannah will be home soon to start dinner, right?” Conrad shrugged. “I just have to go.”

“Are you going to be at Nicole’s party?”

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. We’re all going to go. For Belly’s birthday.”

“You forgot,” I whispered. I don’t know if that really even mattered at this moment. It wasn’t my birthday. He wasn’t mine to scold. He wasn’t anybody’s and neither was I. “You didn’t get her anything.”

Conrad looked stunned. His face changed from concern to irritation but only briefly. “I-”

“You never forget. She deserves an apology.” I stepped around him and ran to my house. My feet slapped the pavement but I didn’t feel the pain of the heat or the rocks beneath my feet. I didn’t feel it until I was in the comfort of my own bedroom. Until I was sobbing into my pillow.

Taglist:

@things-that-make-sa-happy @marajillana

#jeremiah fisher #jeremiah fisher fan fic #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher imagine #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #the summer i turned pretty imagine #tsitp imagine #conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #reader insert

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 2 years

Text

Cariño (Part 3) Jake Lockley X F!Reader

Cariño Masterlist

Rating:18+ (this chapter is clean, but it’s gonna get a bit steamy later on!)

Warnings: Typos (gotta have some typos), slimy man.

A/N: Oh wow, did this chapter cause me problems or did this chapter cause me problems. I have rewritten it twice. Please let me know if you think I have missed a warning!

Summary: “And that’s why we don’t bring twenty two million dollar cars with us on a job.”

You're in. Just a short wait before the heist can begin, surely it's got to be plan sailing from here?

Word Count: 3000

Tagging: @pleasurebuttonwrites

Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

_______________________________

The car was not what you were expecting. Scratch that, it wasn’t what you were hoping. In the elevator ride and walk through the lobby you had prayed that Jake at least had the forethought to bring a vehicle that was subtle. Subdued. Something that wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention for more than a few moments.

It was a pristine white Aston Martin, vintage by the look of it – though you weren’t an expert on cars – with a vanity plate that read, ‘SPKTR’.

You stared dumbfounded at it as Jake moved forward and opened the passenger door for you. He grinned wickedly.

Words weren’t forming easily. “Jake, this is… This,” you gestured to the car. “We- we are meant to be keeping a low profile.”

“But we’re meant to fit in, right?” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m a big-time investor with old money.” He quoted your own words back to you with glee. “Surely a lesser vehicle would be beneath me?”

You opened your mouth to speak as he took a step towards you and leaned in close until you were almost touching.

“I’m just playing my part.” His voice was barely above a whisper, low and velvety.

A shiver ran along your skin, heat pooling. He was so close, his eyes blinding and too painful to look at. You stared at his lips, his cupid’s bow. Perhaps that was worse.

You swallowed, the sound of it upsettingly loud.

Jake bit his bottom lip and grinned as he stepped back, still holding the passenger side door for you.

“Okay.” You said, meaning the word to sound authoritative, strict. But it came out as almost a squeak. You didn’t look at him as you sat and Jake made sure you were sitting comfortably before he swung the door close and got into the driver’s seat.

You hated to admit that the car was equally nice on the inside than it was on the outside.

“This is the only thing,” he said, looking at you before he started the car. “I promise.”

“You said that before-”

“That was about the car.” He held out his hand, nearly close enough to brush his fingertips over your bare shoulder. “So is this.”

“That was about bringing a car.”

“Cariño.” He practically purred, glazing at you while you stared straight ahead.

“It’s fine.” You didn’t sound very convincing, but he grinned anyway as he started the engine and peeled away from the curb. The growing darkness of the night sky was soothing.

You checked your bag, making sure everything you needed was in it despite that face that you already knew it was, and shifted to a more comfortable position in your seat.

“Everything is going to be fine.” He gave you a glance from under his eyelashes when you looked up at him.

You paused. Unsure of what to say, the urge to snap something back at him died in your throat as you got snared in his gaze. You shook your head, a flush of heat rising embarrassingly to your cheeks, and went back to staring straight ahead.

It only took a beat for a frown to form on your face. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“Of course.”

Your frown deepened. The route was a little complicated and you couldn’t resist prying. “Been here before?”

“Nope.”

You paused and double checked the dashboard. “No Sat Nav?”

“Don’t need.”

“How come?”

He looked at you again, one hand on the wheel and elbow resting on the car door. “I’m a taxi driver. We just need to look at the map once,” he taped his temple. “It’s second nature.”

You scoffed. Jake was certainly not a cabbie. “If you think I’ll believe that Lockley, you must thing I’ll believe anything.”

Jake chuckled to himself, the sound quiet and far away, like the light of distant stars.

He sounded the most like himself, or at least the self you were used to; the self that knocked on your front door with a job, quiet and with sharp eyes, than he had since he met you in the hotel room.

You snuck a look at him while he drove, the streetlamp light illuminating his profile before it dimmed and repeated the process.

The gentle rumble of the engine would have been soothing if you hadn’t been quite so on edge. You ran your thumbnail over your bottom teeth, almost daring yourself to bite, in an effort to calm yourself ever so slightly.

“Do you remember the plan?” You ask, without realising you had spoken out loud at first.

“Of course.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

There was a pause.

“Can I ask you a question?”

The tiniest upwards pull of his lips was illuminated briefly. “I will resist the urge to say, ‘you already have.’”

You let out a short laugh and shifted in your seat again, leaning your head to the side to stare out of the passenger side window. The buildings were slowly beginning to give way into farmland. You pinched your nail between your teeth, held it there, but did not bite through.

“What did you want to ask?”

It was easier not to look at him. It was always easier not to look at him. “You’re different.”

“Hm?”

Your reflection looked back at you through the glass. This was stupid.

“You seem different.”

Jake let out a low laugh again. “I told you cariño,” he waited until you looked back at him before he continued. “I’m playing my part.” He held your gaze for a second too long before looking back to the road. “Old money investor. Just getting into character.”

You smiled without feeling any of the joy. Of course that was it. And swallowed. Of course it was.

You drove the rest of the journey in silence. It wasn’t necessarily a comfortable one, but it wasn’t uncomfortable either.

After a while you had shut your eyes to the outside world whizzing past, telling yourself it was the motion that was making your stomach churn.

Jake slowed as he approached the gates; grand painted cast iron things that glowed from the ground lights beneath, stretches of high, slightly over the top you would say, immaculately manicured bushes framed the sides.

Jake whistled and came to a stop by the guard’s house just before it. Two smartly dressed men, obviously security, approached his door as he wound the window down.

One of them held a tablet, the low light of it gave the guard’s face a sickly glow.

“Good Evening Sir,” he nodded to Jake before turning to you, “Miss.” You nodded back at him.

“Good Evening,” Jake echoed, holding out his hand to you without taking his eyes off of the guards.

You passed your invitations out of your bag to him and he held them out to the guards languidly, gripping the thick card tightly between his fore and middle finger.

“Jake Kealey,” he said his fake name – you thought it was funny – “and Evelyn Davis.”

The first man briefly looked at the invitations while the other checked your names on the tablet and nodded.

“Welcome to the Malay Estate, please enjoy the party.”

“Thank you.”

Jake drove in smoothly as the gate opened.

“I don’t know why you have a fictitious first and last name,” he paused a little for effect. “While I only have a fake last name.”

“I thought it would be easier.”

“Hm?”

“For you to answer to your real name.”

“I think I could have handled it.”

“I don’t know.” It was your turn to pause for effect. “You’re not so good at following instructions.”

The tease earned you a smile and a click of his tongue, a promise that he would get you back for that later.

You checked your phone, scanned for the security system and smiled. There was something so wonderful about modern technology. If they had still been using old cameras and tapes this would have all been a lot more complicated. Part of you had even worried that this was going to be the thing that went wrong, that your information had been out of date. But it was exactly as you had planned.

The camera system was computer based, and connected to the WIFI with a very poor five digit password. Someone had missed out on their online safety training. But you had to give them credit for the strength of the internet signal.

You connected to the system and activated the jammer – it wouldn’t stop the cameras, that would cause too much suspicion and you knew that they still had actual guards watching the live feed. However it would stop them from recording.

Quickly, you scanned through the cameras. Everything was as you had expected, all in the same rooms and same positions. You selected the cameras that lead to the direct route to the room where the ankh was being held, all of them empty of people and hit record on your external system. You just needed enough footage of nothing happening to overlay on the live feed later. That way you and Jake wouldn’t be seen by the guards watching either.

The mansion, even though you had committed its layout and schematics to memory, was nonetheless as impressive and imposing in real life.

Jake whistled as you drove closer. “Fancy.” His tone was off hand but there was a clear echo of disdain beneath it.

“Blood money.” You muttered.

He turned to you, eyes dark as he parked in front of the valet. “What money doesn’t have blood on it?” He held your gaze for a beat too long before he opened his door, and you were left uncertain on whether his scrutiny was on you, or internal.

There were so many people milling around outside and inside already. The melodies of the live music mixed in with the countless conversations instead of being completely drowned out, the sound was a little overwhelming to say the least and you were thankful when Jake offered you his arm again as you both walked in through the grand entrance.

“I only need about thirty minutes before we can start, okay?” You whisper to Jake, leaning slightly towards him.

He smiled, his tongue between his teeth. “I know cariño,” he gave you a side eye look, “you’ve told me so many times already.”

You resisted the urge to react to his teasing. Just.

You were both barely in through the door, the massive marble staircase before you, the chandelier catching your attention for a moment too long, when a man appeared in front of your path.

“You,” he gestured to Jake with his hand that isn’t holding a glass of champagne.

You tense for a moment, this is it. The thing that goes wrong. Someone knew him, someone-

The man breaks into a smile, “you’re the owner of that car out there aren’t you?”

“I’m sure there are lots of vehicles out there.” Jake drawls, calm and composed, all self assured swagger.

The man laughed heartily, “there sure are! But I’m talking about the DB1 Aston Martin, beautiful thing!”

Jake gives him a dismissive head tilt, and smiles.

“I knew it! I knew it!” The man takes a step closer, completely ignoring you. “How did you get hold of one? I mean, only fifteen were ever sold!”

You were going to faint. You were going to kill Jake.

He shrugged. “It’s been in the family for a while.”

The man nodded enthusiastically while taking a large gulp of his drink. “I understand, I imagine you’d never sell it, even if I did have a spare $22 million hanging around?”

Your grip on Jake’s arm tightened to what was most likely, a painful degree.

Jake laughed politely. “No, I’d never sell it.”

“Good man, good man! I’m Rick White,” he held out his hand.

“Jake Kealey.” He shook it firmly.

“And who is this lovely creature?” Rick breathed, as if he was only just noticing you. You managed to resist the urge to wrinkle your nose, and kept your polite smile plastered to your face like it was an Olympic sport.

“Evelyn Davis,” you held out your hand, rather begrudgingly. “I’m Mr Kealey’s PA.”

“PA!” He exclaimed, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your knuckles. His skin was damp and unsettlingly cool.

Jake flinched as Rick’s mouth touched your skin, a small thing, but undeniable.

The man didn’t let go of your hand straight away. He held it close to his chest and brought up his other hand to rest over the top of it. The sensation was like centipedes crawling up your spine, the urge to swat him away, to wipe his spittle from your skin was nearly undeniable.

“I was sure you would be Me Kealey’s date, not his PA, though I am sure,” he leaned a little closer, pulling your arm towards himself as he did so, “you’re an exceptional PA.”

Oh, this Rick White sure was a swell guy, you sure would be sad if that grand chandelier decided to come loose on his head.

You didn’t see Jake grit his jaw, but did feel as he moved his arm, your hand leaving the safety of his bicep.

There was no time to lament the loss of contact however, he swiftly moved closer to you, his arm around your shoulder and resting his hand on your hip.

His touch light but sure of itself, unmistakable and warm. A flush of heat ran up your neck as you fought the urge to lean into it.

Jake firmly gripped Rick White’s shoulder with his other hand, a friendly smile plastered to his face that did not touch his eyes. “She is.”

There was a heartbeat of a second before Rick laughed, thankfully letting go of your hand which you wiped on the side of your dress as discreetly as possible.

“Come, have a drink with me and my associates!” He gestured to the side, through the nearest door.

Jake glanced at you, but Rick didn’t leave you a moment to decline. He moved quickly, this time taking Jake by the shoulder and trying to guide both of you into the previously mentioned room.

Jake tensed further, his free right hand clenching into a fist at his side. If he gritted his jaw any harder he was sure to crack a tooth.

“We’d love to, of course,” you quickly said, moving to put your hand on Rick’s forearm to stop him from pulling Jake anymore. (And from most likely getting a smack in the face for his efforts.) “Of course we would, but we just have to meet someone first, a small bit of business to get out of the way before we can relax.”

You hated the way Rick’s attention was enwrapped with you, his eyes a little red and glassy. Jake’s grip on your hip tightened, bordering on painful.

“Business before pleasure, I’m afraid.” You added, somehow managing to keep up your tight smile.

“I can’t tempt you with just one drink first?”

Oh man, this guy wouldn’t let up.

“It really can’t wait, sadly.”

“It can’t.” Jake added, voice low and dangerous.

“Shame!” Rick lamented loudly, obviously a little too drunk to read the barely surface level threat. “Well, I simply must-”

“We’ll just sort everything out and then catch up with you,” you grabbed Jake’s hand and started to move in the opposite direction of where Rick had been trying to lead you. “Later!” You added quickly before disappearing into the crowd of guests.

You didn’t relax until you’d left the main hall, quickly leading Jake out on the labyrinth of rooms, stuffed with people and artworks that were probably worth more than your life, and out the back into the grounds and gardens.

It was busy out here too, but the air was cooler now, the sun completely set.

You breathed deeply and looked out over the garden, at the lights and set up bars and live music, at the guests dancing and talking in groups, even further out to the dark grounds beyond them.

It was only then that you realised you were still holding Jake’s hand. Another flush of heat ran up your neck and you quickly let go as if you’d been burnt.

“And that’s why we don’t bring twenty two million dollar cars with us on a job.” You said teasingly, giving him a smile and trying to cover your sudden blush.

He didn’t joke back, still tense and simply nodded once.

A pang of guilt clawed at your throat. “Jake,” you said softly and moved closer to him, just nudging your shoulder against his arm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, you’re right, cariño. I shouldn’t have brought it.”

You swallowed. “But then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of you driving me around?” You gave him a hopeful look and, after a moment, he gave you a small smile. It was like being blessed with the first sign of the sun after a long rain.

Without really thinking you touched his arm lightly with the very tips of your fingers, “besides, something always has to go wrong. I’ll take an annoyingly slimy man kissing my hand over a smack to my face any day.”

Jake snorted but you saw his line of sight dart to your face. The bruises were still there, lingering under the makeup.

“Come on,” you took his arm again and began to lead him down the brick steps towards one of the many bars. “Let’s get you a drink.”

You walked in silence for a moment before Jake spoke. “Trying to get me drunk cariño?” You gave him a look, but would be lying if you said you preferred his reserved tone over his teasing.

“Yes actually.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you.

“I want a go driving that car of yours.”

Jake laughed loudly. It was the most beautiful sound in the world.

#jake lockley #moon knight #moon knight fanfic #fanfic #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x f!reader #jake lockley fanfic #my writing

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waywardrose-archive · 2 years

Text

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY | 7

stranger things | eddie munson x reader | rated e | 5.6k

spotify playlist | for @punk-in-docs

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex (f receiving), handjobs, condoms, piv sex, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: Nothin’ but smut. 🖤 Check the #em tagd tag ⬇️ for previous chapters!

After you agreed, Eddie stood with a groan. His back popped. You grinned, though certain yours would do the same. He mumbled something about his numb ass, but turned to offer his hand. When you took it, he pulled you onto unsteady feet. You wobbled in your loose boots and grabbed his other arm.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he said, and put a hand on your hip.

“Thank you, honey.”

His cheeks pinked.

You smiled — probably looking as giddy as you felt.

“You like it when I call you ‘honey’?” you asked.

“You can call me whatever you want.”

“Can I call you mine, then?”

His lips parted, yet he remained quiet.

You continued, “Or should I call you Eddie Muffin?” You held back a laugh, voice going reedy as you asked, “My little muffin man?”

Playful now, he growled, “Little?!” and shoved his icy hands under your jacket.

You squealed and tried to get away. He yanked you to him, wriggling his fingers under your top.

“I’ll show you little.”

“No!” You squirmed. “Please—!”

His hands found your bare skin; touch so chilly, it nearly burned. You yelped, pulling away and hopping over the wheel stop. He gave chase with clawed hands and snarling lips. You dodged around the few parked cars, snickering despite your heart knocking hard in your chest.

“You’re gonna get it!” he said, grinning.

You laughed. “Oh yeah, Muffin Man?”

You darted around a car and attempted to keep enough distance between you and his icy hands. He stalked you around it, eyes flashing with mirth and lust. Heat pooled low in your belly as clashing urges of making him work for it and allowing him to catch you warred in your head.

“Yeah, I’m gonna catch you and kiss you and make you scream.”

“Scream in horror,” you said, acting scared and putting your hands to your cheeks. “Oh, Eddie!” You jogged towards the motel, cackling. “You demonic muffin!”

The staccato thump of his boots got closer and closer. You darted to the left. His fingers slipped over your jacket. You glanced back in time to see him lose a boot. It hardly deterred him. He cursed as he ran unevenly after you, hopping over litter and other debris. He didn’t appear to care about getting hurt. He was too focused on you.

You pivoted and ran towards him to corral him to the motel’s sidewalk. His eyes widened, though he didn’t slow. You swerved around him, giving him a wide berth and sticking out your tongue.

He reached for you as he laughed. “Don’t show it if you aren’t gonna use it!”

“Who said I wouldn’t?” you asked as you sidestepped his grasping hands.

Your loose boot caught in a crack. You tripped, but kept yourself upright by pinwheeling your arms. You skipped away from the crack, which was more a chasm than anything else. You now had to make up for the loss in distance. He gained on you by the second.

You hopped and hit the ground running. The sidewalk was only a few yards away. Your lungs nearly burned from how hard you’d been racing around the parking lot. You focused on the splitting paint of your room door and kept moving—

Until Eddie’s arm wrapped around your middle.

He jerked you against his front, wrapped his other arm around you, and lifted you off the ground. You kicked your feet with a squeak, almost losing your boots. His hold tightened, and he turned to the parking lot.

“Eddie, what...?”

“Gotta get my boot.”

He carried you to his deserted boot despite your protests. You weren’t light, and you certainly didn’t want him hurting himself. However, he ignored your fussing. He set you on your feet briefly to slip his boot on, then he picked you up again.

You giggled at his ridiculousness and let your legs sway as he walked to the door.

“I can walk,” you said.

“And run and jump — I’m quite aware.”

“Then you can put me down.”

“Nope! Not yet.”

You groaned as if tired of his shenanigans and flopped your head onto his shoulder. He chuckled in response, breath tickling your ear. The sky was a melding of orange and lavender. Gilded pink clouds streaked the domed expanse.

Once at the motel door, you fished the key from your jacket pocket and had him lower you enough to unlock it. You closed the door for him, dropping your key on the broken bed. He marched to the other bed, lowered you to the floor, and turned you by the hips to face him.

High color stained his cheeks and nose, reminding you of the pink clouds outside. You wanted to taste that color and feel the heat of his blood just under the surface. You put your hands at his nape to draw him down. He resisted, though, moving his head back each time you moved forward.

“Eddie...”

“Lie down.”

“Kiss me first.”

He unclasped your hands and brought them forward.

“I’ll kiss you when you lie down,” he said.

You huffed, latched onto his jacket, and flopped onto the bed, dragging him with you. He landed with an ‘oof’ and a chuckle before nestling his hips between your thighs. You ducked to kiss his throat, dragged your teeth over the delicate skin. Against your lips, his pulse hammered below the corner of his jaw. You sucked at it as you ran your hands over his heaving chest.

He rolled his pelvis with a soft groan. His sleep pants left little to the imagination. The hard ridge of his cock jerked against your belly. You wanted it all: his cock, his lips, his tongue, the salt of his skin.

You mouthed to his ear, nosing under his unruly hair, and sucked at the lobe. His hips hitched as he shivered and gasped. You nipped at the fragile rim of his ear. He whispered a curse, sagging on his elbows.

Sliding your hands down his sides, you breathed, “Kiss me.”

“Fuck, I can’t say no to you.”

“Then don’t.”

He lowered himself until his chest pressed to yours. His hair curtained your face. He took your mouth like you imagined he’d take your cunt, demanding and overwhelming. His tongue tasted of weed and artificial orange.

You slinked your hands over his hips, then between his legs to fondle the hot mound of his erection. He gasped against your lips as he rocked into your palm. You reveled in the fact he let you do it, that you could touch him until check-out at noon.

Voice slinky, he said, “Fucking teasing me.”

Before you could say anything, he forced your wrists above your head. Your breath sped at his hold. In silent reply, you planted your feet on the bed and circled your pelvis. He moved with you, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Want it bad, don’t you?”

“Don’t you?” you asked.

“Oh, yeah.” He spread his knees and fanned opened your jacket. “Can feel your hard nipples.”

You didn’t have time to be self-conscious. He rose on an elbow to drag the hem of your pajama top up. It was a caress over your stomach, your breasts. He stared at your peaked nipples. His eyes darted to your face to check in. You bit your lip and pushed your chest towards him.

He latched onto a nipple, sucking and digging his teeth around the tip. Your mouth dropped open as you arched and buried your hands in his hair. Every hot pull went straight to your pussy. He gathered your breast in his hand, the rough pads of fingers rasping at your skin, and squeezed it to draw more of you in his mouth.

You wanted to plead, but you didn’t know for what. More? Harder? Wilder?

Fuck yes to all of that.

You whimpered, “Eddie, shit.”

He released your nipple, breathing heavily. The sudden chill of his spit evaporating tingled to your toes.

“Yeah, me too.”

He reared up to throw off his jacket and yank his t-shirt over his head. You sat forward and ran your hands across his smooth torso, thumbs tracing the dip going up the center of his body. He caught your hands just below his tattoos; his dusky nipples hard under your palms.

You met his dark eyes before looking a path down his body. He had enough muscle definition and the hint of a farmer’s tan coloring his forearms. He was gorgeous. You wanted to mark him, leave your lust in scratches and bites and hickeys.

Your cunt pulsed at the sight.

“Jesus Christ,” he said and dove in to kiss you.

His lips crashed against yours, teeth nipping and tongue teasing. You held onto his shoulders, his neck, the heavy hair at the back of his head. He pushed an arm under your jacket, around your ribs.

You realized you’d forgotten all about your jacket.

“Help me,” you said while wiggling to free your arms.

Together, you scooted up the mattress to leave your jacket behind. You shoved it away until it fell off the bed. Neither of you were graceful, yet it didn’t matter.

He ducked to kiss your throat and follow the neckline of your top to your upper chest. He cupped one of your breasts, touch burning through the thick fabric. You whined when it wasn’t enough. You wanted to feel his skin.

“I got it,” he said, and unbuttoned your top with shaking fingers.

You smoothed his hair away, ruffling his bangs, as he went. Once finished, he gave you a coy grin before ducking to kiss between your breasts. He held your neglected breast to steady it as he kissed its nipple. His fever-hot mouth had you groaning and clutching at him.

A muffled groan agreed with you as he sucked.

Just as it got to be too much, he slunk lower. Like leaving breadcrumbs, he sprinkled biting kisses down your stomach to the waistband of your pajama bottoms. He inched them down, exposing the top of your underwear.

He buried his face with another groan, nose nudging at the dip of your bellybutton. His humid breath heated your skin.

You breathed, “Eddie...”

“Smell so good.”

You arched your back as you held onto his flexing shoulders.

“Don’t stop.”

He met your eyes, his own dark with need.

“Yeah?” he asked, shifting down the bed.

You whimpered an affirmative and straightened your legs. One booted foot hung off the bed. Your inner thighs burned; your pussy steamy and soaked and quivering. You didn’t know where you wanted him now. You just wanted all of him.

He hooked his fingers under the waistbands of your underwear and bottoms.

“Lie back, let me—” He swallowed. “Let me do this.”

You nodded as he tugged your clothes down your hips. He trailed kisses along the curve of your belly. Each touch of his soft lips had your stomach and cunt fluttering in anticipation.

He paused to kneel and twist off your boots. You wiggled your toes and wondered if you should push your bottoms down for him. He liked to do things himself, but you wanted him too badly to wait.

Before you decided, Eddie turned. He took hold of your waistbands again. The fabric hid the triangle of your pubic hair and your upper thighs. You bit your lip, wanting him, yet not wanting him to judge. You knew you weren’t perfect—

He frowned.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, just...”

He crawled up to kiss you once more. You deepened it automatically as you ran your hands over his hair, his shoulders, down his inked arms. You could kiss and rub your bare skin against his all day.

He pulled away a scant inch.

“You know I think you’re beautiful, right?”

You smiled and glanced at his red mouth as your face warmed further.

“So are you.”

“Not like you.” He brushed his nose against yours. “Let me see you, baby, taste you.” His eyes closed. “God, I want to feel you on my dick.”

Heat bloomed in your chest and raced to your cheeks at his unexpected words. You figured he’d get you in bed, strip you, and fuck you. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. You should’ve known better. Last night, he’d wanted to be close to you, pleasure you, and experience climax with you. He’d sucked your wetness from his fingers, too.

On top of that, you didn’t know when you’d get such an opportunity to have him like this again.

You kissed him, held his face, breathed in the clean musk of his skin. You had to remember this moment.

You broke the kiss to say, “Whatever you want.”

He blushed, rosy and perfect.

Without a word, he straightened and worked your clothes down. His boot caught in the rumpled sheets, making him lurch with a laugh. You laughed with him and brought your legs together to assist. He pulled off your clothes, cast them aside, and kicked away his boots.

His smile dissolved as he studied you.

“Goddamn.”

He gripped your hips and maneuvered between your legs, shuffling down the bed. You almost protested, but your words died as he kissed your belly. You fisted the sheets when he continued to nose against your skin.

He wrapped one hand around your hip, the other holding your inner thigh open. He kissed down your belly, beyond your bush, and traced a thumb up your wet slit.

“Tell me if I do something wrong, okay?”

“‘kay,” you said as you laid your head back and closed your eyes.

“‘kay.”

He eased your labia apart. The cooler air made your pussy clench. You were completely exposed. His hair tickled your inner thighs. A warm puff of air displaced the cooler. His mouth was right there. You were about to look when the velvety flat of his tongue lapped up your folds.

You encouraged him with a sound. He lapped at you again until he pressed the lower part of his face into your pussy and pushed his tongue inside you. He frenched your hole. You gasped and stared open-mouthed at the ceiling.

He returned to licking, catching your clit at the top. With each drag of his tongue, your hips jerked. Sparks sizzled up your spine. You wanted him right there and whined for it.

He shushed you and slipped a finger inside. The new fullness only added to your growing pleasure. He pumped his finger in time with his lapping tongue.

You moaned because this was new. No one had ever been this coordinated.

He slowed as the fullness in your dripping cunt increased. Another finger. He was working you open, stretching you for his cock. The very thought made you want it more, made you writhe.

He rested his temple on your thigh, his soft hair caressed your skin.

“Shit, baby, it’s okay.”

“Keep going!”

With a desperate, hungry sound, he licked a thick stripe between your folds. His silky, strong tongue swirled around your clit. You fisted his hair, because, yes, right fucking there.

He groaned and kissed your clit.

“Eddie, please!”

He pressed your hips to the bed. You realized you’d been flexing and humping into the air. You wouldn’t apologize, though. It was too good for an apology.

A third finger joined the two inside you. The stretch was body memory. You remembered this fullness. It didn’t hurt. His fingers glided together, stroking nerves you could never reach.

He groaned when you pulled his hair. He flicked his tongue over your clit. Pleasured cracks crazed over your body. Your muscles tightened, yet you felt more fragile as he pumped his clever fingers and licked your clit.

“Circle it,” you said, breathless. “Like last night.”

He swirled his tongue again without having to ask. You pulled at him and keened. All your focus, all your feeling, centered between your legs. Those cracks became fractures. You gasped, like the air had gone thin. It was too much. Those fractures became fissures until you shattered like fine glass.

You cried out, cunt throbbing and ears deafening. Everything blurred. The only things that remained were his driving fingers and unrelenting tongue.

You snapped back to writhe and twist under his unyielding hold. Your cunt kept throbbing. Your heart thundered in your ears. You finally collapsed in broken, blissful pieces.

You hid your hot face in your elbow and groaned. No one had ever made you feel that good. You hadn’t known someone could give you an orgasm like that. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, but you laughed. Your brain signals were all fucked up.

Eddie’s thighs pressed to the back of yours. The light changed as he blocked the lamp with his body. The mattress dipped next to your shoulder, and gentle fingers pried your elbow away from your face. You opened your eyes to find him blushing and glowing with sweat.

“Hi,” he softly said as he lowered himself.

You grinned. His breath smelled like pussy.

“Hi.”

Your pussy.

“You good?”

You snorted. “Oh, yeah.”

You pulled him in for a kiss, tasting the salty-sweet tang of yourself on his tongue. You swept his hair from his face as he kissed you. He trailed a warm hand down to play with your breasts. Your cunt clenched again, empty and needy and ready. So ready.

The ridge of his clothed erection burned against your thigh. You clutched at his pert ass to pull him against you. He gasped into the kiss, eyes going hazy. His hips jerked.

“I have condoms,” you said.

You’d bought a 10-count box from the pharmacy the other day. Along with candy, a magazine, a word-find book, a pack of hair clips, and a small eyeshadow palette you hoped was worth the price. The clerk hadn’t blinked twice at your basket. Maybe it had been presumptuous to buy condoms, but it was better to have them and not need them than vice versa.

You continued, “We can—” You swallowed, throat dry. “—if you want.”

Eddie’s cock pulsed.

“Are... you sure?” he asked, though his eyes darkened.

You nodded and wet your lips. He swooped in to kiss you hard. You moaned into the kiss as you squeezed his ass. A fervent need you’d never known built until you were rocking your hips and pulling at him.

He wrenched himself away to hover over you on hands and knees. His flushed chest heaved with each panting breath.

“Shit, I’m gonna blow the second I’m inside you.”

“That’s okay. I want you to feel good.”

You dragged his sleep pants down until the waistband rested at the base of his cock.

“Can I?” you asked.

He gulped and gnawed at his plump bottom lip as he looked between your bodies.

You added, “Please?”

He nodded, saying, “Okay.”

You pulled them down to mid-thigh and stared at his pretty cock, which was flushed dark and glossy at the tip. It made your mouth water. You wanted to touch it, kiss it, suck on it; find every sensitive point and exploit it until he came with a shout.

You glided your hand down the length of his cock, thick precome wetting your palm, and fondled his tight sac. He moaned and spread his thighs as far as his pants would allow.

“Ah fuck, this is a bad idea. You’re gonna make me come.”

“You can.”

You ran your fingers to the tip and traced the flared crown. The skin was velvety, precome slick. The heat and heft of it had you imagining it throbbing in your hand and dripping pearly drops.

You looked at his strained, blushing face.

“Show me how you like it,” you said. “How do you do it?”

Eddie guided your hand to wrap around his cock, firmer than you expected. He twisted your hand as he had you stroke it. His hold fell away as you found a rhythm.

He rocked counter to you, his eyes squeezed shut and lip between his white teeth. You watched the red tip thrust through the circle of your hand and had a wicked thought. You dipped your free hand between your legs to gather some extra wetness.

When you added your wet hand around his cock, Eddie choked.

“Oh, Jesus— That’s— Fuck, I can’t...”

You kept stroking him with both hands, twisting them like he showed you.

“Are you going to come on me?” you asked.

“God, yes, I’m gonna cover you in it.” He moaned. “Come on your tits.”

You hummed to encourage him.

“Gonna send you home to your parents covered in my come.”

“So nasty, honey.”

“You like it.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah, I do.”

“Shit, shit— So good.”

“C’mon,” you said, stroking him a little faster.

His head tilted back, exposing his elegant throat and the lush pink that suffused his skin from chest to cheek. He was gorgeous like this: stomach curling forward as his hips thrust, wild hair clinging to his beautiful face.

His cock got harder in your hands as he cursed brokenly. He crested over you with a groan and thrust with your hands two, three, more times. Then his mouth dropped open, and he came with a ragged sound. White threads of come gushed across your torso, landing high and warm, nearly dowsing your nipples.

You stilled your hands to commit the sight of him to memory.

Eddie let his head hang as he caught his breath. His hair shrouded his face. While you wanted to see him, you wouldn’t demand it. You knew he needed a moment.

In the meantime, you released his cock and brought your hand to your face. His come mingled with yours streaked the inside of your thumb. You licked at it. The briny-bitter-tang lingered on your tongue. Somewhere underneath was the bite of smoky clove. It wasn’t off-putting.

You thought of the future, of giving him head and drinking him down. You’d have that bit of him inside you, like making him yours in every sense. You didn’t understand why that gave you such a feeling of possession.

You looked up to find him watching. You smirked and cleaned your thumb before showing him your tongue.

His jaw flexed.

You swallowed for show and thought, You’re mine now.

He descended upon you, his chest smearing his come between your bodies. He grasped the hair at the back of your head and pulled. You gasped and arched your neck. He took advantage to kiss you deeply. His tongue slithered over yours, tasting himself in your mouth.

You moaned; him a second behind.

He sucked at your bottom lip. Your stomach swooped like it was the first kiss.

“So good to me, baby,” he said, then kissed the corner of your mouth. “Always so good.” Then your cheek, your jaw. “Want you so bad.”

You grasped his shoulders and bent your legs around him. Something solid and long nudged your belly. His cock. He was still hard.

“Can you go again?” you asked with a grin.

He chuckled, sounding incredulous while nuzzling your neck.

“Yeah, I think I can,” he said.

“Get a condom.”

He kissed you before rearing up and grabbing a corner of the top sheet to wipe his come from your body.

“I thought you were going to send me home covered in come.”

He smiled impishly.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

“Why, Edward Munson, you nasty boy.”

His eyes sparkled at the tease as he wiped his chest and stomach.

“And you’re a dirty girl. I’ve got you all over me.”

“It’s a good look on you.”

“I agree,” he said with a cheesy wink.

You laughed. “Go get a condom!”

He shuffled off the bed and kicked out of his pants, cradling his dick the whole time. You scooted to the head of the bed while he went for his duffle. You almost corrected him, but stopped when he produced a small box of condoms. Evidently, you weren’t the only one who traveled prepared.

You finally shrugged off your pajama top and lounged against the mound of pillows. Letting your knees rest to the side, you watched him tear open the box and pluck a thin packet from inside.

He turned, his cock heavy between his lean legs. You pressed your thighs together at the thought of him soon being inside you.

“Spread those legs for me, sweetheart,” he said.

You slid down to recline on your elbows.

“Spread ‘em,” he repeated, eyes twinkling.

You bit your lip as you swayed a crooked knee up. He stared at you as you stared at him. His erection hardened further to slope away from his thighs. You couldn’t maintain any sort of eye-contact. The rugged lines of his body drew your gaze like metal to a magnet. His slim hips sported the perfect v-lines pointing right to his cock, which jutted from a sparse patch of brown pubic hair.

That desire to touch him — kiss him — all over swept through you again. You wanted to know every inch of him. You yearned for his body tight to yours, his cock to fill and warm you.

Your stomach fluttered for the nth time this morning. You clutched at the sheets with quivering hands. You had no poetry to describe him. Not really. He was just Eddie. Your Eddie. Talented, funny, smart, and surprisingly sexy: Eddie.

You met the dark heat of his eyes.

“Wow,” you breathed. “You’re...”

You shook your head, at a loss for words.

He grinned with a touch of self-deprecation or defensiveness, like you hadn’t been ogling him for the past minute.

“Weird?” he said to finish your sentence.

“Incredible.”

He let out a bark of a laugh as his cheeks reddened.

“Incredible?”

Remembering how he’d described you, you said, “Beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

He played with his hair and almost dropped the packet.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, yeah. Now come here.”

He put the packet between his teeth and crawled up the bed. You glanced at his crotch, watching his cock swing between his legs. Holy shit. You hadn’t had sex in a while. Holy fuck. Yes, you’d just jerked him off, but that was not the same. You were out of practice — not like you’d had a lot of practice before moving to Hawkins.

You reached for him to hide your apprehension. It would be fine. Couples had sex every day.

He spit the condom to the side and asked, “Still with me?”

You drew him down for a kiss instead of replying.

He’d been making you feel amazing. The kiss was no different. You lost yourself in the feel of his full lips on yours. You combed through his hair, damp with sweat at the temples.

His knees knocked into your legs as he maneuvered between them. You rolled onto your back and spread your thighs. He cradled your breast and stroked the stiff nipple with a thumb, making you sigh.

“Keep going,” you said.

Wasting no time, he put a hand between your legs. He sucked in a breath like he was the one whose nerves sang. He found your tender clit to give it a few gentle circles. Your cunt throbbed with each rotation. You bit back a needy whimper as you hung onto him.

He slid a finger inside you and groaned.

“Pussy’s so hot.”

You flexed your hips to encourage him. He then slowly pumped a finger as he glanced between your face and groin. It felt good, yet at the same time a tease. You told him to add another. When he did, you exhaled at the delicious fullness.

“Good?”

You said, “Mm-hm,” with your lips clamped between your teeth.

“Fuck, let me...”

You nodded frantically, not caring what he wanted to do to you.

“Yeah, yes, do it.”

“One more, okay?”

“Now who’s teasing who?”

His smile was short-lived.

“This is killing me too, but—”

“I know: you don’t want to hurt me—”

He kissed you like a demand. You demanded right back, sucking his tongue and pulling at his shoulders.

You groaned as he squeezed a third finger in your aching cunt. The weight and stretch of it comforting and gratifying. And not enough — even though it was Eddie filling and touching you.

He pushed his fingers deep, stroking the front wall of your cunt. Sweat broke out on your back and at your hairline. Heat suffused your body from your center outwards. The pillows beneath you were stifling, and you wrenched them away.

“Enough,” you said. “I’m ready.”

He whispered a curse and eased his fingers out. The emptiness left you bereft, yet you ignored that as you watched him kneel between your legs. Pink finger imprints decorated his shoulders. His swollen, red lips reminded you of a wound. His flushed cock dripped clear precome onto the bed as he tore open the condom packet.

He rolled on the translucent condom, brows furrowing. You sat up to assist, but he gave you a look that had you leaning back on an elbow. Instead, you held his hip with your other hand and savored his smooth skin.

Once satisfied with the condom, he stopped your hand with his own.

“Lie back,” he said.

You did and let your bent legs drop open.

“Get down here and kiss me.”

He looked at your pussy and wrapped a hand tight around the base of his cock. He wet his lips and hovered on an elbow above you. Finally, he pressed his lips to yours.

In a natural pause, you whispered you wanted him.

And you did. You didn’t care if this was the only time. You wanted him to know.

The tip of his cock ran through your slick folds until it caught at your hole. He cursed against your lips.

You said, “It’s okay. I’m ready.”

“I’ll go slow.”

You breathed to release the tension in your muscles. He began that gentle, decadent push inside. With how wet you were, he sank to the hilt. You groaned and held the back of his arms to steady yourself. His cock was definitely not his fingers, yet it didn’t hurt. Nevertheless, you felt invaded and pushed to your limit.

“Jesus Christ,” he said as he bent his head.

His hair brushed your forehead.

As you acclimated, you said, “Give me a minute.”

He rested his head on your shoulder.

“Can do.”

Your cunt pulsed as it relaxed. He grunted against your collarbone. You were full to the solar plexus. His cock twitched deep inside you.

A small sound bubbled out at the feeling.

“Ready,” you said, though you weren’t sure if that was true.

Eddie grunted an affirmative and widened his stance. His groin ground against yours, making you clutch at his sides. He kissed your neck before slowly rocking his hips. You drew your knees higher, which had him sinking impossibly deeper.

He groaned and wrapped an arm behind your shoulder.

As his pace quickened, the bedsprings squeaked. The shimmying bed propelled your hips up to meet his. Each slap of his pelvis fucked an abrupt sound from you. He was so deep, his cock sliding over every lit nerve in your dripping cunt.

He pulled you to meet a thrust. It angled you differently; the shaft of his dick rubbed at the underside of your clit. You moaned and tensed and dug your nails into his skin.

He growled a ‘fuck,’ held you tighter, and thrust faster. Your cunt almost clenched, but it couldn’t. He was too thick.

He fucked you harder, cock pistoning deep — as if to draw something out of you. Your eyes went wide, your mouth opened soundlessly, as you clung to his flexing back. You didn’t know it could feel like this.

“Ah, Christ,” he moaned, then caught your lips in a kiss.

The bed clanked with his thrusts, sounding like it might break at any second. It sounded like you felt, because you didn’t know if you would make it through whatever was building.

You gasped against his open, panting mouth. He crashed into you, again and again. You twisted under him, tensing and grinding. You clamped your knees to his sides as your thighs jittered.

“That’s right, baby, c’mon.”

You moaned something like his name.

He shoved a hand between your bodies and rubbed hard on your clit. Near mindless, you stared into his eyes as he ground into you. You saw the second his climax took over. His cock throbbed. His dark eyes went unfocused as his fingers tensed. Calluses rasped over your clit. That was all it took to wrest you into a devastating orgasm with him.

Eddie hugged you, his heaving chest pressed to yours. Humid breath heated your neck where he’d buried his scalding face. His hair clung to your damp skin. You hooked your ankles behind his back as your cunt continued to pulse out of sync with your heart.

He smelled so good, all delicious sweat and musk. You mouthed at his slick shoulder.

His hand smoothed up your spine to support your neck. He lifted himself to meet your gaze. His face was pink and dewy with those vibrant eyes of his holding something so warm, so fond, so devoted, you couldn’t mistake it for anything but love. It radiated from his heart like a personal star.

You smiled as happy tears pricked your eyes and guided him down for a kiss.

Is there a joke about muffs in there somewhere? Probably.

QUESTION: Should I start a Stranger Things taglist? Are writers still doing those? If you want to be added to one, please comment or send a message.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #reader insert #em tagd #waywardrose writes

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