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allbark-no-bite · 5 months

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things friends do.

felix catton x reader (wc: 3.1k)

summary: things friends do include but are not excluded to: sleeping in each other’s bed, kissing, sharing beer, fucking each other

warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected sex

author’s note: y’all i have refused to believe that jacob elordi was attractive but saltburn did me in

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You were not in love with Felix Catton.

And Felix Catton was not in love with you.

He was a lover boy, but he was not your lover boy.

The thing about Felix was that he had just about everyone at his disposal. Girls, guys, it didn't matter. Everything belonged to him so long as he wanted it. But it didn't feel that way. You never felt as though you were owned by him. It was just that he was Felix and who didn't want to belong to him?

Of course 'just friends' didn't constantly have their hands all over each other, didn't sleep in each other's bed or see each other inappropriately naked. And 'just friends' definitely didn't kiss each other on the mouth.

But this was Felix.

Not Oliver, or Farleigh, or Veneita. Felix.

—

The party is so electric that you're not sure if it's the music or your own erratic heartbeat thumping in your ears. The place is so packed that at some point the entire bar had become part of the main dance floor in order to accommodate for the dizzying array of overheated, intoxicated bodies moving this way and that. Blue light illuminates the otherwise dark room. Flashes of neon green splash across swaying bodies, highlighting dancers as they navigate the floor.

To no one's surprise, Felix is in the center of it all. He'd gravitated towards the pole in the middle of the room like a magnet and had taken to it to pay his dues, his slender body rolling to the music with all of his typical charisma.

After a few beers, you're pleasantly buzzed, but you'll probably be toeing the line once you finish the fourth in your hand. Felix is well on his way to a monster hangover, one that he'll sleep off on the floor of your dorm room. Farleigh is right behind him, likely just as intoxicated, but with him you could never tell. Farleigh was always the same catty bitch no matter how drunk or sober he was. You loved him, but he was a bitch.

A heavy weight suddenly staggers upon your shoulders, and you groan against the weight, both you and Felix swaying dangerously to the side as he throws his arm around you. Usually this wouldn't work because he's so ridiculously tall but the alcohol had made him a little less coordinated than usual and he's slouched down to closer to your height. Beer sloshes over the rim of his plastic cup and splashes onto the floor at your feet.

"Having fun, darling?" he asks, half shouting in your ear to be heard over the music.

"Always," you laugh, though it's mostly directed at him.

His skin is clammy with sweat and his breath is coated with the familiar, yeasty smell of beer. "Where's Farleigh?" Felix doesn't even wait for your response before he's shouting for him. "Ay! Farleigh!" There's a cigarette pinched between two fingers of the same hand that's holding onto his cup, and he raises it to get his friend's attention.

His arm still around you, you dodge the spilling liquid heading for your feet. "Felix! Felix, careful!" you scold him, still laughing, so the smile doesn't disappear from his face.

In an attempt to solve the problem, he leans forward and starts to swallow back the remainder of the beer in his cup. He must underestimate just how much he had left to go because it starts to escape past the sides of his mouth, dripping past his jaw and down the front of his open shirt.

You shriek again. "Felix!"

Laughing, he pulls the cup away and brings it towards you. Before you can protest, he's tipping it back into your mouth. He leaves you no choice but to swallow it or wear it across the front of your shirt so you do your best to drink the remaining beer, more nursing from the cup than gulping as Felix was.

It leaves your lips and chin wet, and before you can wipe the excess beer away, Felix does it himself, somewhat roughly dragging his thumb under your lip. He then sucks the digit into his mouth, hardly thinking twice about it. It would have been erotic with anyone else. But this was everyday with Felix. It would have been weird if you hadn't chugged the backwash of his beer.

His attention is just as quickly drug from you to Farleigh. You hadn't noticed the other boy approaching. He gives you a wicked smile, a look in his eyes like he wants to say something but refrains. You tilt your head, prepared to ask him what his mischievous look is all about but Felix interrupts you.

"Farleigh, mate," Felix begins still hugging you close. "The girls are looking a bit bored. What do ya think?"

Across the room, India and Annabel are sitting on a couch together. The piece of furniture itself has certainly seen better days, torn and stained with bodily fluids of varying levels of disgusting. There's a guy with his arm slung around India, but for all she's paying attention to him, he might as well not exist. She's drinking from a bottle of champagne and couldn't look less interested in him.

Farleigh's eyes track from you to Felix, as though making some sort of connection, then he smiles cheshire-like. "Oh yeah, mate. You know, I do think India was actually looking for you earlier." His sinister brown eyes lock with yours, as if waiting for you to object. "Why don't you go put her out of her misery. (Y/n) and I will go busy ourselves at the bar."

Felix grins crookedly, nothing but honest fun shining in his blown pupils. "I will see you two later."

He straightens but not before twisting his neck, body still plastered to yours, and he plants a sloppy kiss to the side of your mouth. His lips taste like beer and nicotine. It's not really even a kiss, just a lack of coordination on Felix's part that he didn't catch your cheek. If Farleigh hadn't been trying to start something in the first place, you wouldn't have even thought twice about it.

It's not the first time Felix has kissed you. Hell, he's probably even kissed Farleigh at some point. Maybe not on the mouth because they were cousins, but that's besides the point. Friends kissed each other all the time. This wasn't anything new.

As Felix removes himself from you, his tall figure walking over to grab India's hand and lead her from the couch, the guy who had been flirting with her for the past hour glaring after them, you level your stare with Farleigh's. "What's that look about?"

Farleigh crosses his arms, looking as full of himself as ever, and rolls his eyes. He really was a bitch sometimes. "Fuck the friend code and fuck him already. You know you want to."

It's your turn to roll your eyes. "I don't want to fuck him, Farleigh."

You don't. Things just weren't like that between you and Felix. Sure, maybe there had been a few occasions where you'd sucked him off and he'd done the same for you in return but that was all purely situational. There were no feelings attached. Just two friends who were close enough to do that kind of thing without it being weird.

Farleigh just scoffs at your ignorance, pushing past you with his shoulder to head over to the bar. "Just like sweet little Ollie doesn't want to fuck him? Please, neither of you look at him all that different."

"Everyone looks at him like that," you argue. "He's Felix."

"No, everyone looks at him like they want his dick in their mouth. You look at him like you'd let him do absolutely anything he fucking wants to you. And honestly, (Y/n), it's kinda sad." He says the last part with faux pity, his voice demeaning.

You scowl at him as he turns back around and walks over to the bar.

Fuck Farleigh. You did not want to fuck Felix.

And fuck him for putting the thought in your head.

—

It's nearing two am by the time you remove yourself from the bar. You're no more intoxicated than you were earlier, having cut yourself off after chugging the last of Felix's drink, but you weren't particularly keen on walking in on Felix and India after tonight so you'd resigned yourself to sitting on a barstool for the remainder of the night.

You keep telling yourself that you weren't bothered by him having sex with her, but Farleigh had put the thought in your head and it wouldn't leave.

Of course you liked Felix. Who didn't like Felix? But did you want to sleep with him? No.

Maybe.

It wasn't like he wouldn't do it if you asked. But Felix would have sex with anything that walked. And you weren't India. You were his best friend. And no matter now many times you two had pushed the line of being just friends, having sex with him would completely ruin the line all together. And then what? There nowhere to go after you start dating your best friend. If it crashes and burns it's game over. And with Felix, that was a guarantee.

You pass India going opposite of you down the hall. One of the straps of her dress is hanging off her shoulder, bedazzled high heels in her hands as she struggles to slip them back on. There's a dark purple hickey at the junction of her throat and collarbone and another lighter one above her breast. You don't say anything to her, just push past her into Felix's dorm.

He's sprawled out across the top of the bed that he never makes, shirtless and only a pair of flimsy boxers to cover his bareness. His head rolls towards you, cigarette between his lips.

"Hey," he greets, smoke spilling from his mouth. "You have a good time with Farleigh?"

You pick your way through the disaster of his room, stepping around empty boxes of pizza and abandoned articles of clothing until you find something that looks wearable. You unzip your dress, only half turned away from him as you pull on one of his shirts. He's seen you naked before and so your ass and the side of your boobs is hardly scandalous to him.

"Farleigh is an ass," you retort, crawling onto his mattress to settle into the empty space at his side. It's without a doubt the same space that India had been just a few minutes before.

Felix frowns, the piercing his brow moving downwards with the expression. "What's he said to you?" His tone is concerned because he knows how his cousin can be.

You just sigh in response, shifting into a more comfortable position at his side. Felix takes another drag of his cigarette while he waits for your response. Farleighs words run through your head again.

"Why haven't we had sex?"

He actually laughs at that one, sitting up on one of his elbows so that he can see you better. The shag of his dark brunette hair hangs over his forehead as he looks down at you. "Do you want to have sex?"

While his tone is amused and humorous, you know he's genuinely asking. Felix would never make fun of you for that kind of thing.

You shrug, looking up into his bemused brown eyes. "I don't know. Maybe?"

This conversation shouldn't be as casual as you're making it out to be, and maybe it wouldn't have been with anyone else, but this is Felix. He's your best friend.

Slowly, he leans down and places a kiss on your lips. It's fairly brief, hardly even long enough for you to kiss him back before he's pulling away. "Then let's have sex," he says, and it's as simple as that.

Felix leans down again, connecting your mouths. Without breaking the kiss, he shifts from where he'd been laying beside you to bracket your hips with his knees. His long fingers find the buttons of his shirt that you just put on and begin to unbutton them, his hands sliding down your sides until you're squirming.

"Felix," you whine, already short of breath from his touch.

"Relax, baby. I've got you," he murmurs into your mouth, sliding one of his hands into your hair, the blunt of his nails scraping against your scalp. It gives him enough purchase to tip your head back and expose your neck to his unrelenting mouth. The hot heat of his mouth pants against the underside of your jaw, the wet muscle of his tongue laving along your throat.

His other hand slides down your hip, then your thigh before coming to your panties. You have to force yourself not to squirm away in anticipation. Thankfully, Felix isn't a tease and he uses two of his fingers to pull your panties to the side. You do, however, jump when he slides them into your slick hole without any hesitation.

The bastard snickers against your throat. "Sorry," he apologizes, kissing apologetically at your jaw. "I guess I should have warned you."

All you can do is huff, your fingers tugging at his tangle of brown hair. He grins at your inability to respond before kissing your mouth again. He swallows the noise that escapes you when he curls his fingers and your back arches off of the bed. He does it again, this time scissoring them to stretch your hole. The burn is more pleasurable than uncomfortable, but it leaves you gasping into his open mouth.

Just when you think that's all he has to offer with his fingers, they somehow slip even further, hitting some part deep inside of you that you didn't even know existed. He curls them and you actually cry out, your knees knocking at his hips to push him away.

"I know, I know," he soothes, using the broadness of his shoulders to keep your legs in place. Felix curls his fingers into your smooth walls a few more times, his thumb circling your clit until you swear you can't take anymore. It's torture, the length of his two fingers inside of you.

Finally, he pulls them away before you can actually start crying. Your arousal coats his long fingers and drips down his wrist, glistening in the darkness of his room. Felix's brown eyes hold yours as he sticks them into his mouth, refusing to look away even as his tongue dips between them. You can barley swallow the spit in your mouth.

Felix grins, leaning down to kiss you. Even if you hadn't wanted to taste yourself on his lips, he doesn't give you much of a choice, his tongue dipping into your mouth. He moans, and it's quite possibly the hottest thing you've ever heard.

Then he's disconnecting your mouths to slide down his boxers. His hard cock bobs free, brushing against the lean planes of his stomach. You've seen Felix's dick before. It's no surprise to you how large he is— incredibly long with a perfectly mushroomed tip— but you've never had to think about it actually going inside of you.

His hand catches your jaw, forcing you to look at his face. There must have been flash of fear in your eyes because he murmurs sweetly, "Look at my face, okay? I want to see you."

You nod as best you can in his hold.

You're not sure if it's on purpose or not but he misses the first try, his cock sliding through your slick and nudging at your clit. Your whole body jolts but his hand at your throat holds you in place.

The second time, his mushroomed head catches at your hole and he slips in, meeting little resistance. He slides in only another inch or so before stopping, his cock already snug inside of you. You whine when he tries to push in further.

Felix kind of laughs, his hand reaching down to circle his thumb at your clit. "M'sorry, baby. You're so tight. Just give me a second."

You swallow, willing back tears. It's not that it hurts, not really, just the fact that he feels so good and you want him inside of you.

Without warning, his hand splays across your stomach and he uses the leverage to push further inside of you. This time your muscles relax enough around him and he slides all the way in.

You moan at the feel of him entirely inside of you.

“There we go,” he groans, the muscles of his abdomen contracting as he holds himself up. Now fully inside of you, he begins rocking his hips, his dick hitting that spongey spot inside of you with every thrust. Felix is breathing heavily into your ear, the squelching of him sliding in and out of you the only other sound in the room.

Soon Felix hits a spot inside of you that makes your toes curl and almost immediately you’re coming, clenching around him as you do so.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Felix thrusts into you a few more times before pulling out just before he can come inside of you. He spills partially onto the bed and partially onto your stomach. When he’s finished, he holds himself up over you avoiding his own release leaking onto you stomach.

When his eyes find yours, he grins, that signature crooked smile appearing onto his face. You can’t help but laugh, your head falling back into the pillow. Felix laughs too. Not because he particularly knows what’s so funny but because you’re laughing.

You’re laughing and he loves you.

He leans over grabbing a tissue from the box beside his bed and wipes you off as best as he can before tossing it onto the floor and laying back down beside you, an arm behind his head You rest your head on his other arm, scooting in closer to his side.

“Are we going to talk about this?” he asks, looking down at you.

You smile to yourself, watching his toes nudge yours instead of looking back at him. “About what?”

“(Y/n), we’ve been friends since grade school and probably kissed a million times.”

Eventually you look up at him, doing your best to not look so sheepish. “Farleigh told me I was worse than Oliver. Can you believe that?”

Felix scoff, his fingers scratching through your hair. “I wouldn’t fuck Oliver.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes playfully at him. “Yeah you would.”

Felix barks out a laugh. “Yeah, I would,” he agrees.

#felix catton x reader #felix catton #saltburn #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #jacob elordi #jacob elordi imagine #felix catton smut

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a-b-riddle · 1 month

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Part 7

Can't stop thinking about how the 141 met reader

(she's a long one. not entirely happy with it either so may edit later)

No harm done yet.

You never saw Simon actually hurt anyone. Johnny and Kyle would share stories about poor recruits who fucked around and eventually found out that Simon had no issue beating them within an inch of their life.

You knew he had a reputation and, like the rest of them, had blood on his hands. But it never bothered you. Didn't make you think twice about loving him or seeing him as the protector he had always been to you. To be frank, you could never actually picture any of them being violent.

But his voice... Fuck. His voice. It fucking rattled you. You actually feared for those fucking idiots now. Sure, they deserved to have their asses kicked, but an ass-kicking was probably going to be a welcomed after thought to whatever Simon would do.

You rinsed off, not bothering to wash your hair, but needing to wash up before getting in the bed. Hoping the scalding hot water washed away the uneasiness on your skin that had began to settle into your bones.

Even feeling fresh and laying in clean sheets, you still found yourself tossing and turning wondering exactly what did Simon do?

Did he walk away? Realizing you weren't worth the trouble, did he just tell them to knock it off?

You had stupidly expected Simon to check in. To check if you made it home alright or at least to let you know he was okay. So you waited... And you waited. You had half a mind to call him yourself before remembering it wasn't your place anymore to care. You had cared enough for the five of you.

It was well past two in the morning before you finally called it a night.

The next morning, still nothing from Mr. Riley. Not a 'did you home alright?' or 'are you okay?' text. Nada. Zilch.

Whatever.

Fuck him.

You had to open up shop, but luckily your Saturday mornings were much more relaxed. The shop wouldn't be open until 10, so you had the time to sleep in and enjoy the morning.

By noon, Mere had sent you several texts reminding you that you had promised to go out. You had tried to dissuade her. The encounter with those men last night had brought back sour memories. One involving handsome men coming to your rescue when it was most certainly needed.

You had tried to bail. Giving her any excuse you could: Last night put you on edge. You no longer wanted to go out. After last weekend, you just needed some down time.

Eventually you had realized she was not taking no for an answer after she had shown up to your apartment, already ready for a night out.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Mere asked. Mere was in her usual Saturday femme-fatal attire. The black leather pants that accentuated her curves and red corset paired well with her freshly box dyed color black hair.

She looked more like a dominatrix than someone who worked at an attorney's office. Even if both professions included bending someone over and fucking them for all their worth. You wondered who would charge more by the hour....

You had pulled out a off white lace square neck top and a pair of high waisted medium washed baggy jeans. A perfectly cute outfit for a night out. Which was your defense when she had suggested you needed to change.

Tab had arrived later than expected (something about a system being down at work), but made up for it by bringing a pre-game snack. Yes, you had officially reached the age where you no longer starved yourself hours before going out to get more drunk quicker and cheaper. No you had to eat carbs or else you wouldn't be able to leave your room the next day as you pathetically nurse a hangover.

Tab wore a denim skirt. If you could even call it that. It paired well with the white tank top that you could make out the shape of her nipple piercing.

But they looked hot. Really hot.

"This is a perfectly acceptable outfit."

"For a day at market, not for trying to get laid."

"I don't want to get laid." You said, rummaging through your closet, yet again. "Getting laid is what got me in this mess in the first place."

A little over two years ago

"Fuck him." Tabitha wrapped her arms around your shaking body as you continued to sob. "He was a prick who didn't fucking deserve you."

"He couldn't even get you to cum." Mere felt the need to remind you as if that would somehow lessen the blow of your heartbreaking into a million shards. The shrapnel feeling like it would kill you.

"I loved him," your voice is small. "I fucking loved him." You had been dating for almost three years. You had his grandmother's ring on your fucking hand for God's sake. "I'm so stupid."

"You are not stupid." Tabitha gave you a squeeze. "He was a liar and a fucking coward." Meredith rubbed her thumb on you bare leg, offering physical reassure. Letting you know even if she wasn't the hugger Tabs was, she was still here.

"You can't keep locked up in this apartment." She was unfortunately right. You had not only barricaded yourself in your apartment for two weeks, but you hadn't returned to your bedroom. The scene of the crime. "You need to get out."

"Yeah," Tabitha rubbed your arm as if trying to coax you out your metaphorical shell. "Get some fresh air. We can go grab a treat. Maybe go out for some coffee." It didn't surprise you that Tabitha was offering a treat to entice you to leaving your sanctuary.

"I was thinking going to a bar." It also didn't surprise you that Mere offered her way of coping. Getting so drunk that you forgot what you even sad about. Or going out and finding someone to fuck the sadness out of her.

"Because getting alcohol in her system in this state is just what she needs." Tabitha was the mom of the group whereas Mere was the fun drunk aunt. They balanced one another out.

"Actually," you said, giving a pathetic sniffle. "Going out would be nice." Getting away from the apartment is what you need. And going out would be the excuse you would need to get yourself all dolled up.

What you hadn't planned for was getting so pissed that you had manage to breakaway from your friends. Searching for them in teh crowd of people. Failing and when you pulled out your phone were met with a completely black screen.

Dead. Perfect.

The same moment you swore the night couldn't get any worse, it did.

He looked the same. Same as he been four months ago when he asked you to become his wife. Same as he had been two weeks ago when you had caught him fucking another girl. The girl he told you not to worry about. The girl he insisted was just one of the guys. A girl you had told him time and time again would fuck him the moment she had the chance.

It wasn't always great to be right.

When your eyes connected, your body had went into immediate flight mode. Every neuron in your body was shooting out signals of RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN. So that's exactly what you did.

You fucking bolted.

Or felt like you bolted. But you could only scurry so fast in chunky heels while simultaneously pulling down your skirt that had decided to ride up. Aching to show your ass for all of London to see.

You had made it a quarter of the way back to your apartment. Your feet aching. Toes pinched together from the strap digging into them.

"Baby, please!" You heard him before you felt his arm clamp down on your shoulder. Hard. When did his touch become something heavy? Something that practically burned you.

You turned. Eyes brimming with unshed tears as you hissed at him to leave you the fuck alone. The begging came, but you turned around. Determined to go home. He didn't deserve the chance to explain himself and he could most certainly shove his apology up his ass.

He wouldn't shut up. Insisting it was a mistake. A one time thing her fault. How she seduced him. As if he were the victim in all of this. You weren't buying it. Not for one moment. One doesn't accidentally invite some slut over and fall balls deep into her while they are in the same bed he shares with his fiancée.

It wasn't until you were in a more dimly lit area that he had gotten the nerve to grab you. His grip was firm on your arms as he held you in place. "Listen to me!" His voice was panicked.

The feeling of anger slowly began to dim as something else began to rise.

Fear.

You were afraid.

You were in a part of town not many people were out and about in at this time of night. No bystanders to really take note of the scene, or at least not any caring enough to stand by and watch; even for entertainment.

Your friends didn't know where you were at and you were tipsy. And alone.

"Cardan," you swallowed, trying to steady your voice. "Please let me go."

"Not until you talk to me," his fingers dug into you. "We can work this out, okay? It was one mistake." He tried to argue, his voice rising, soaked in desperation. "What's one mistake compared to three years?"

"Cardan," you tried to pull away, his grip only tightening. "You're hurting me." It came out as a pathetic whimper. You were so close to crying, too afraid to scream.

"Hey!" A voice barked from behind you. It caused your whole body to stiffen."Get your fucking hands off her. Someone noticed. Someone was here. Someone was here. Someone was here.

"We are having a conversation." Cardan's eyes left you, looking at whoever stood behind you.

"The lass said to leave her be." Another voice. Someone else. Two (three if you counted yourself, but in that moment you couldn't) people against one. There was no a possibility of you getting the fuck out of this situation.

Cardan stood firm. His eyes looking past you. A silent refusal to back down.

"Either you let her go," another voice. Another accent different that the first two. "Or we fucking make you."

"One against four. Odds aren't in your favor, mate." Four. Four men stood behind you. Faceless strangers there to help you.

"This doesn't concern you." Cardan bit out.

"Aye," Scottish. The second guy was definitely Scottish. "I think it does if she's tellin' ye' to piss off and yer bein' a bawbag about it."

"So what'll it be?" The third voice, deep and threatening, yet still so... calming. As if the vibrations from his deep, rich pitch washed over you.

Cardan looked back at you, his eyes not as manic. He realized he didn't have a chance. This was a fight he had to walk away from or else he wouldn't be walking away from it at all. "I'll swing by tomorrow, okay?" He asked.

You couldn't do anything, but nod. Agree that you could talk tomorrow in the safety of the sunlight. Eventually he walked across the street before fading out into the night. Blending in with the shadows.

You turned around to meet your would-be saviors.

Four men. All slightly older than you and so handsome you felt foolish for gawking at them as if this were your first time seeing a man. Hell, maybe it was. At least specimens like this. All of them tall and broad. Towering over you.

No wonder Cardan got the fuck out of there. Tabs was right. He was a coward.

"You alright?" The one who first spoke up asked. You could place his voice. Now just needed to place the other three. He had a hearty mustache and mutton chops. A look on any one else would make you immediately get the ick. But for a moment you wondered if that mustache would tickle... "Do you need us to call anyone?"

You felt your cheeks flush with heat.

"I just want to go home." You said. "Thank you for stepping in. I don't know what would have-" You stopped. Too afraid to think about the possibilities. There was a time you would never believe that Cardan had the ability to hurt you.

There was also a time you believed he would never cheat. You weren't really sure what to believe anymore. "Anyway," you continued. "Thank you again." You turned on your heel before continuing your stride.

You had only made it several feet before you were stopped again. "Which way? One of us can walk you home." You weren't entirely sure. But with a dead cellphone and a unhinged ex probably lurking in the shadows, there was little time to weigh the pros and cons before giving them a general direction of where you lived.

Which just so happened to be the direction in which two of the four lived. The Scot and one of the two who had yet to speak. The first one, who had still yet to introduce himself instructed the two of them to drop you off and let him know you had made it home alright.

You had hoped that the rest of your night would be met with silence, but the Scot couldn't seem to help himself. "I'm Johnny." He introduced. "And the spooky, silent type is Simon." He gave a playful wink. You gave him your name, not wanting to be rude.

"Not my place to ask," he began. "But what was the deal with that fucker? Ex-boyfriend?"

"Johnny." Simon's tone held warning. You appreciated the defense, but frankly didn't care. These were strangers. Who cared what they thought.

"Ex-fiancée," you clarified. "One who decided to fuck another girl in my bed. Not even our bed. My bed."

"Jesus fucking Christ," the Scot swore. "I was right. He was a fucking bawbag." For whatever reason, that made you laugh. For the first time in two weeks you fucking laughed. And it felt like you were breathing again.

Simon was quiet, not contributing to the conversation and just letting Johnny babble. Talking your ear off in a short trek as if it were an olympic sport.

You were so distracted with his voice you hadn't realized how far you had made it until the sound of your keys clattering onto your kitchen counter brought you back.

Back to a situation you didn't know how the fuck you landed in.

Two men (who you don't know) are in your apartment. Your friends don't know where you are. You are a little bit too inebriated to plan and exit strategy. Doesn't exactly help your confidence in fighting them off since they are built like fucking brick houses.

"He won't come sniffin' around here botherin' ya, will he?" Simon asks, speaking for only the second time since he had threatened Cardan. You shake your head.

"No," you said. "I have him blocked on everything. So I think when he saw me tonight it was just kind of an opportunity, I suppose?" You offer. Cardan had showed up to your place one time with a random assortment of flowers and a useless apology you had to hear through the door as you covered your mouth. Concealing your cries. Too afraid to let him know you were there.

Too afraid that some part of you would be weak enough to take him back.

"We'll leave ye' be." Johnny said, nodding his head toward the door. "But if he comes bein' a shite to ye again, you can give us a call."

"Phones dead." You explain, holding up your phone as if you needed to prove yourself. Johnny offered the brilliant, yet simple solution of giving him your number. He sent off a text, knowing it would be there when you turned back on and promising to check in later.

They both gave subtle nods of goodbye before turning away.

And just like that, they left. The door clicking softly shut behind them. You stood, frozen for several beats before walking over and locking the door.

You plugged your phone into the charging cable, waiting until it lit back to life before shooting off a text in your group chat with Tab and Mere.

Sorry I took off. Ran into Cardan and fucking made a dash for it. Sorry if I worried you. I'm at home. I'm okay. Grab lunch tomorrow and we can talk about it? My treat?

You signed off the text with a heart emoji and turned your phone on do not disturb. Too afraid of your friends going all Mama Bear on you for running away while drunk. Even if your reasons were valid.

You had texted Johnny again. Not because Cardan dared to bother you again, but to thank him. Acknowledging that not many men would have done for you what he and his friend did. Johnny assured you it wasn't anything.

Before you knew it, the two of you were hanging out with Simon always tagging along. It took you a while to realize he did actually like you, but his stoic nature was just who he was. You had met Kyle and John, both as charming and respectful as Johnny and Simon.

John had been the first two mention wanting to take you on a date. It didn't go well with the other three. They all had the same intention and a rock, paper, scissors tournament seemed to juvenile to figure out who got the privilege in courting you. Eventually, they had decided to ask you.

Putting you on the spot to answer the question that had begun to tear them apart: which one of them will it be?

Johnny made you laugh. He was the first person you thought about calling when your day was a bit grey. He saw the positive in everything and was the one who made you feel like even the bad days weren't so terrible.

Then there was Simon. The one who you felt like was your safe place in body and mind. You would babble all day talking to him, thankful when he would let you rant. Your mind was able to go on auto-pilot in terms of safety because you knew Simon would handle it. He also gave the best hugs.

John was the one who instilled the confidence in you that you needed. Your bookstore, your writing, whatever aspirations you had, no matter how wild, John would support it. Nothing was too big. After you all started dating, he was the first person you ever let read your book. He gave you praise as well as critique, pointing out multiple plot holes and helping you craft it better. And never once taking credit for it, even when it was due.

Kyle was the most thoughtful one. He was the one who knew you liked trying knew things so he made an effort to always make date nights interesting. A new restaurant, a new activity or experience. He was the biggest giver of the group.

So when they did ask you, you answered honestly.

"I can't choose." They insisted that you didn't need to spare their feelings, but you stood firm in your decision. "No. I can't choose. I'm interested in all of you." When they pressed on why the fuck you didn't say anything earlier, you told them to avoid this kind of situation. Where you had to choose. You were fine continuing on as just friends if that meant you got to keep all of them.

Mere and Tabs were great friends, but they are the ones who helped pull you out of the slump. The ones who made you feel lovable. The ones who made you feel like a woman again.

"Helloooooo." Mere's hand waved in your face while another held something she had found in your closet. "So are you going to change or not?" Your eyes darted to the skimpy glittery black dress. The same one for your first date with them. Your stomach twisted as you took the sparkly dark fabric in your hand.

You nodded as if trying to shake the memory out of your mind. "I'll change and we can go." Better just to get it over with.

The place that Mere had dragged you to was a club that played music that you would only listen to while encapsulated in the aroma of cheap liquor and sweat. Your outfit form-fitting. The material too stiff to be comfortable, but it was cute. The hem of your dress coming to rest just below your ass cheeks. Hugging your body in a way that made you feel self conscious the moment you stepped out of your building.

Mere had run into some work colleagues. Names you couldn't and wouldn't remember. There had been a high profile divorce going on. Very messy. She had been so encapsulated by the gossip that she hadn't notice you and Tabitha had slipped off toward the bar.

Tabitha insisted on shots and you needed something to get your mind off the less than exciting night. Your expectations weren't high, but fuck. You would have been much more comfortable wearing the jeans. You felt like a piece of fucking meat. It would have been so bad if someone were gonna buy you a dr-

"This seat taken?" It was a cliche introduction attached to a slightly better than average face. Decent enough where it didn't hurt to look at him, but not attractive enough to be a seat.

"By all means," you said turning back to Tabitha who looked at the guy now sitting to your left and raising her eyebrows. Fucking hell. Not her too.

"It's pretty packed tonight." He commented, attempted to make small talk. You hated small talk. At least unless it came to Johnny who would get into discussion on politics, religion and why on the side was the best way to fuck because it gave him 'a perfect view of the front and back of ye.'

"You come here often?" You asked, not wanting to be a total bitch, but having absolutely zero desire to be entertaining him.

"When I can." He said. "I prefer the Artifact a couple of blocks down. Not many people heard of it. A bit of a hole-in-the-wall place." Oh cool. A fucking hipster who liked to act superior at knowing a place that is underground. You could feel any possibility of getting your pussy wet, dry at the thought of this man actually wanting to come onto you.

Jesus, when did you become so harsh.

I blame Simon.

"Oh," you say, no longer interested in entertaining the conversation. "Sounds lovely. My friend and I just came out for a bit of girl-" you turn to look at Tabitha who had somehow miraculously disappeared in the 45 fucking seconds that your back was turned....

Little bitch.

"Bathroom, I suppose." He laughed. It was the sincerity in his voice that irked you. God, why was he pissing you off just trying to start a conversation?

"I suppose." You gave a soft smile back, turning once the bartender had come over to grab your order. Which the stranger next to you had insisted buying. Nothing quite as arousing as obligated conversation.

"There's no need for that-"

"Percival." He introduced. "But my friends call me Percy." Your immediate thought was who the fuck names there kid Percival. The second was to offer him a fake name. Real enough to be believable, but fake enough where if he tried to search you up on any social media, you could just deny having any.

"I hate to be brash," he started. Then don't. "But I can't imagine a girl like you being single."

"Not really looking for anything romantic at the moment." You say, the first time you've been truthful this entire conversation. Percival leaned in closer, before asking in a low voice that he was doubt trying to convey as sexy, "Are you sure?"

And there it was. The final ick that nailed the coffin shut.

You offered in a soft smile before swallowing hard. "Percival,"

"My friends call me-"

"I'm going to be frank." Your voice is soft, as if explaining to a small child why we don't always get the things we want. "I just got of a very long and deep and meaningful relationship and the idea of being near another man in any intimate or emotional capacity wants me to cause very serious bodily harm to said man."

His expression fell.

"I appreciate your confidence in coming over here and making small talk, but if you're wanting to fuck me or even attempt to be friends, I must inform you that is no only not in the cards, but not in your best interest." You turned, downing the rest of your cocktail.

"Time for a trip to the bathroom myself, I suppose." You stood from your seat, having to readjust your dress.. "Have a good night."

You were washing your hands when a red-faced Mere walked into the bathroom. Tabitha on her heels with a concerned expression.

"What did you do?" Mere asked.

"What are you talking about?" You asked. You had half a mind to ask them why the fuck they pulled a disappearing act after insisting you go out.

"You told Percy you would castrate him?" You looked as if you had been slapped. The pieces falling into place to reveal a totally fucked up puzzle.

"You fucking tried to set me up." You seethed, a finger pointing accusingly.

"Well, fuck, what did you expect me to do?" She asked. "You were sulking."

"Listen to me!" You cried. "I want you to listen to me. I was with them for two years. It hasn't even been two weeks and you're going behind my fucking back and trying to set me up with fucking Percival? How the fuck do you even know him? Do you even know him?" She ignored your last question. How convenient.

"I thought it would be good to get it out of your system." She tried to defend, her pissyness now matching yours. "You always do this. I was just trying to help."

"What do you mean 'I always do this'?" Your eyes turned into slits.

"Why don't we just calm down and-" Tabitha tried to stop the escalation. Mere, very obviously, ignored that cue.

"You get so hung up on a guy, or in this case guys, it takes you fucking weeks to recover." You stare at her. Unsure if she was really comprehending the bullshit that had come out of her mouth.

"I'm certain you aren't trying to make me feel bad for grieving a relationship that I was in for over three years to a man I was engaged to. To find him fucking in my apartment, in my bed the same week I was going to get my wedding dress."

"It's not just Cardan," she went on. "Issac in our second year of school?" You gave a humorless chuckle.

"Oh yes," you said condescendingly, "the boy I had dated from 14-years old- until I was 19. The boy I gave my virginity two months before he told me he was not only not interested in me, but women in general." As if that somehow lessened the blow. "Absolutely shouldn't have bothered me a bit."

"You only went out for classes and food for two months!" She said as if you had hit a pedestrian with your car. As if you were a fool for being so distracted by a breakup you couldn't be bothered to carry on with life as normal.

"I'm sorry that I actually take the time to grieve my relationships." You said. "I forgot that it may be hard for either of you to comprehend what a relationship is like considering the only relationship either of you have is with your work or with each of us."

"Hey!" Tabitha said. "I understand your pissed, but there isn't need to attack us like this."

"Attack you?" You asked. "Attack you? This isn't me attacking you. This is me responding to an uncomfortable situation that you put me in. I told you I didn't want to even think about me. I didn't want to fuck someone else and you go and do this?"

"He seems like a decent guy." You roll your eyes.

"Probably why he's not your type, right?" Mere crossed her arms over chest. Eyebrow arched as if she were hoping the words enticed you to realize that you had a history of going after the wrong guys.

Unfortunately, it did not.

You sucked on your teeth, carefully choosing your words before World War III broke out in a nearly vacant bathroom in South London. You took a deep breath. Calming yourself as best as you could.

Before saying fuck it and letting it loose.

"Just because your idea of coping is getting drunk and fucking someone you plan on never speaking to again, quite literally discarding them like trash, doesn't mean the rest of us cope the same way." You hoped it hurt. You hope it stung the same way she had tried to sting you.

You had hoped that your word would be the final blow before both sides called a treaty.

"You mean like they did you?"

And just like that, you heart stuttered. A rapid dum dum dum in your chest as it had been tripped up by her words. The truth in them heavy. The shift in the air was almost immediate;.

"Sweetheart-" Tabitha had tried to reach out before you jerked away.

"Enjoy your night." You said, grabbing your purse where you had left it by the sink. "I'm going to go home and wallow in my self pity." You exited the bathroom, hearing your named called again before shifting it into gear and getting the fuck out of there.

Weaving through the sea of bodies like water flowing around rocks.

Who the fuck cares if you want to cry? To grieve? To be angry? To get closure? To move on? Who cares if you don't want to be the girl who gets her heart shattered and not fuck somone else? Who wants to feel the comfort of a familiar body, a touch that feels safe one last time before you go back into a world where you will only be touched by a stranger?

It didn't matter that you were the one to breakup with them, even if the relationship was broken. It's foundation cracked.

What did matter is that the people who should have supported you and in the way you were dealing with your loss in your own way, didn't. And that's the part that they seem to forget. It is a loss. It's mourning someone who hasn't died. Someone who is still living, yet still no longer there.

"Off already?" Percy cut in the way, blocking your escape. You weren't in the mood.

"Listen-" you started before he cut you off.

"Not anything romantic, I know," he raised his hands as if in defense, "but maybe like another drink or a dance?"

You closed your eyes, wanting to hold off starting a scene and tearing him a new asshole. "Like I said, not. interested." How much clearer could you spell it out?

"Come on." He said, his hand coming to rest on your hip. The grip on it weak. You were by no means the type of woman that could take on a man like the ones you still held in a chamber of your heart. But you could most certainly handle your own against Percival. "I'm asking for a dance. After what Meredith told me, I figured you'd be down for at a little more than that."

"I don't follow." Your blood ran cold. Your heart praying that any assumptions that were running through your mind were wrong, they were wrong.

"She mentioned you having a group of like guys you fucked, but stopped fucking." He shrugged, offering a coy smile that you ached to wipe off with the back of your hand. "I don't judge. It's kind of hot honest. Did they run train or-" You felt it then. His hand had traveled from your hip to the curve of your ass.

And you froze. You froze like a coward. Too afraid to speak or scream. Too ashamed to push him away, cause a scene.

But you didn't need to do any of that.

In an instant, Percy's hand was off of you. It took you a moment to realize that a figure dressed in black stood beside you. Your own personal grim reaper.

"Put him go!" You pleaded, breaking out of your trance. You took hold of his arm putting all of your body weight on his arm, trying to break his hold. He didn't falter.

You could handle you own against Percy.

But Simon could fucking kill him without breaking a sweat.

You looked at Simon's face. His eyes were darkened. The soft brown you had once loved staring into were now almost black. You could even make out the dark circles, even in the unsettling flickering of strobe lights in the club.

"You touch her again and I'll slit your fucking throat. Understood?" Pure venom fell from Simon's lips, but you knew he wasn't lying. Simon was the type of man who didn't say something he didn't mean.

You knew that all too well.

Percy choked out an ineligible, gurgled response as Simon's hand held firm on his throat. "He understands, goddammit, no let him down!" You ordered hitting at him as if it would stop him. "Simon, please!"

It was only when you said his name, did Simon loosen his grip. Letting Percy drop to a heap on the floor before he started a having a coughing fit, trying to suck in as much air as he could.

Simon looked down at you and the exit before scooping you up and hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of flower.

You wanted to die. You wanted to crawl in a hole and die and never show your face again.

"Get in the car." He at least had the decency to open the door for you. Simon wasn't a flashy man, by any means, but he was still a man. A men did love their cars.

He stood, waiting for you but you didn't move. You glared up at him. He had carried you out of there in the most humiliating way possible. You had to fight against the hemline of your dress or else everyone would have gotten an eyeful.

Hand still on the door, he leaned down, getting closer and closer to your height. "You get your ass in this car right now," his breath warm against your ear. "Or I'll have you over my fuckin' knee." His tone was sharp. It wasn't seduction in form of a threat. It wasn't even a threat.

It was a promise.

"We're over." You reminded.

"Do you think that'll fuckin' stop me from spankin' some sense into your bratty ass?"

"It doesn't give you the right to fucking do that to people, Simon!" You huffed. "You could have killed in."

"Could have," he agreed. "But didn't. You're welcome." he nodded toward the car. "Now, in you go or I'll do it here. You already know I don't mind an audience."

The heated seats were a bit to warm for your liking against your bare ass. The tension in the air was uncomfortable. Your hands ached to touch the radio. Anything to stop the silence between the two of you.

"I got home fine the other night by the way." You said, looking out the window, hoping to make him feel like shit for not checking in like he should have.

"I know you did."

"What do you mean you know I did?" You asked, turning to look at him. He shrugged as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not stopping.

"Just did." Was his only answer.

"Are you fucking stalking me, Riley?" That made him laugh. You would have felt better if there was at least a sense of humor in it, but, instead, only disbelief.

"Oh, Riley now, is it?" He asked.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be." You caught it. A very small slip, but it was something... something you couldn't place.

"Then why?" You ask, your tone softening. "For someone who makes it very apparent to be done with me, you sure do show up at convenient times. Hard not to think your keeping tabs on me."

He didn't say anything. No explanation or excuse. Not evena smart ass comeback or remark.

His hands reached forward and turned on the radio, turning the volume just loud enough that if you were to try and continue the conversation, your words would be drowned out.

He pulled up in front of your building, yet you made no move to get out. You turned off the radio, soaking in the silence once more. You wanted to know why? Why was he appearing out of nowhere like a fucking ghost? Why was he helping you?

He sighed before putting the car in park and stepping out. Coming around to your side he opened the door. "Get inside. Go to bed." There he was again. Fucking bossing you around as if he still had a say.

You wanted to cuss him out. To spew hateful words just as he did you.

But you didn't.

You were tired.

So fucking tired. And the idea of going to bed did sound pretty good in that moment. You made it to the door of your building before he spoke again. "And if you need to out at this time at night call a goddamn cab."

"Why?" You asked, turning around. "Getting tired of having to follow me around on foot, Si?"

There was a pregnant pause. Neither of you speaking. His body shifted forward, as if contemplating getting closer to you. As if the pull you once had was still there.

With his eyes trained on you, you felt a chill run down your spine. Twice you had seen that look on Simon's face before. The look that he had given the figures concealed in the shadows last night. The same look he had given Percy.

Only this time, it was directed at you.

One that personified the saying, 'if looks could kill.'

"Because," he growled out, "the next time I find someone else touching you that way, I'll fucking kill them."

3K notes · View notes

theostrophywife · 7 months

Text

chicken noodle soup.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

song inspiration: is it really so strange? by the smiths

author's note: just a soft fluffy comfort fic cause i've been thinking about matty lately and i needed cheering up after the end of kwaf. let's all laugh at the fact that i set a 1k limit on this fic only to fail miserably lmao 😭

Mattheo Riddle was not a fan of Mondays.

Most of the time, Mattheo spent the first day of the week nursing a hangover and getting higher than a hippogriff at the Astronomy Tower with his friends to achieve equilibrium. The only thing he looked forward to every week was the prospect of riling you up in class. To be fair, it didn’t take much to get under your skin. Being himself seemed to do the trick.

As he walked through the castle halls, Mattheo smiled to himself as he plotted out all the different ways he could provoke you on this dreadful day. For some sick and twisted reason, he reveled in the fact that only he could manage to rouse such a violent reaction out of you. There was something satisfying about the way your eyes blazed, your rosy cheeks tinged with heat as you told him off.

Maybe he'd flirt with you today. Tell you how good you looked in your short little skirt. Watch as you turned as red as the tie around your neck. His pretty little Gryffindor good girl. In Mattheo's mind, you were his to tease and taunt.

With his usual swagger, Mattheo sauntered into Advanced Transfiguration fully prepared to test out his new tactics on his nemesis, but you were nowhere to be found.

At first, he figured that you were just running late. Throughout the duration of your rivalry, Mattheo had never once witnessed you skip class. He would’ve bet his entire cigarette supply that you’ve had perfect attendance since first year. When Professor McGonagall started the lesson and you were still missing in action, Mattheo was understandably concerned.

The uneasy feeling in his stomach didn’t mean that he was worried about you though. This was purely about mutual benefit. Mattheo couldn’t very well have his Transfigurations partner skipping out on lessons. Even though he regularly did so himself. But still, that was different. Everyone knew he was a delinquent. You, on the other hand, were anything but. Until today, you’ve probably never missed a class in your life.

Mattheo waited. Surprisingly, the two of you had the majority of your classes together. All of which dragged more than usual since you weren’t there to yell at him for dicking around. When you still hadn't turned up for Charms or Herbology, he became convinced that something was horribly wrong. Missing one lesson was alarming, but three in a row? That was entirely out of character for you.

When Professor Sprout finally dismissed the class, Mattheo sauntered over to Granger’s desk. As always, she was surrounded by her two dimwit friends who immediately tensed the second he loomed near. Potter and Weasley shot him matching menacing glares, but Mattheo ignored them entirely.

“Granger,” he drawled, leaning against the wooden desk. “Care to tell me where my partner’s been all day?”

The Gryffindor girl appeared a bit perturbed by the question. “Why do you want to know where Y/N is?”

Mattheo sighed in exasperation and produced the set of notes he’d taken during class. A first for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually listened to an entire lesson, let alone take notes, but he knew that you would have a million questions for him when you returned. The notes were his way of saving himself from your relentless interrogation.

“Figured the little know-it-all would want my notes.”

“Y/N is feeling a bit under the weather,” Hermione said cautiously. “I can take the notes to her if you’d like.”

“No.” Mattheo declared rather suddenly. He cleared his throat and attempted to smooth over the sharp response. “No, McGonagall tasked me with it. I don’t want her docking points from my house when she finds out that you did my dirty work for me.”

Hermione raised a brow. “Sure.” The quirk of her mouth told Mattheo that she wasn’t convinced by his excuse. “Well, Y/N is resting up in the tower if you fancy a visit.”

After a quick detour to the kitchens, Mattheo made his way over to Gryffindor tower. It was surprisingly easy to gain access to the lion’s den. He simply threatened a third year to let him in and got on with it. They truly needed to upgrade their security measures. One glare was all it took for Creevey to crumble and cave.

With a satisfied smirk, Mattheo walked past the gaudy common room. For Salazar's sake, hadn't the Gryffindors ever heard of subtlety? The decor consisted solely of crimson and gold and the furnishings looked like something out of that muggle show his nan loved to watch—Antiques Roadshow. Antique was right. The worn out couch that he passed looked older than him.

Merlin, now he was starting to sound like Malfoy. Mattheo hurried along before he caught the urge to fold origami notes and chuck it at Potter's head. Fortunately for him, the place was devoid of the Chosen One or anyone for that matter.

By now, his fellow classmates were all in the Great Hall eating dinner, which he was thankful for. It was no secret that Mattheo’s presence wouldn’t be welcome here and he wasn’t really in the mood to fight his way through the Gryffindors just to deliver a note from the kindness of his black heart. Thank Salazar that there wasn’t a single soul in the tower to bicker with. Until he reached your dorm, of course.

The relationship between the two of you was volatile to say the least. Despite Mattheo’s reputation, you weren’t shy about telling him off. When you were first assigned as partners, Mattheo had fully intended to let you do all the work while he skipped class to smoke, but he quickly realized that this would not be the case. You hunted him down at his hideout in the Astronomy Tower and discovered him blissfully sharing some premium grade mirthroot with Theo and Draco. When you found him, you were so angry that you dragged him by the ear all the way to the library, much to the amusement of his friends. Needless to say, Mattheo never missed a study session again.

In a way, Mattheo admired you for it. Aside from his friends, everyone in the castle feared him. It was sort of refreshing to have someone call him out on his shit. Especially if that someone was a funny, feisty, ferocious Gryffindor who he enjoyed pestering every chance that he got. Mattheo always did have a penchant for girls with an attitude problem.

Even as he knocked on your door, the Slytherin boy couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when he heard you grumbling from the other side.

“Oh, for Godric’s fucking sake, what is it now?”

The door swung open, revealing a very pissed off Y/N. Clad in striped pajamas and fuzzy bunny slippers, you placed a hand on your hip and frowned. Even in the throes of sickness, you still somehow managed to inject venom in your glare. Mattheo grinned like an idiot.

“Nice slippers, princess.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Riddle?”

“To make sure my partner doesn’t slack.” He waved his set of notes around. “Don’t think your sickness excuses you from studying.”

“This is payback for making you revise with me after you fell off your broom and broke your arm, isn’t it?”

Mattheo cringed as he recalled the quidditch accident that sent him to the infirmary for a week. In true Y/N fashion, you were sitting by his bedside with a stack of books in your lap the second he woke up. Madam Pomfrey hadn't even put his arm in a sling yet before you were drilling him on proper spell enunciation and wand movements.

“You terrorized the infirmary with your mnemonics,” Mattheo said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s my turn now. This is sweet revenge, Y/N.”

You squinted at his barely legible handwriting. “I’m just surprised you took your head out of your arse long enough to take notes.”

“Glad to see that illness hasn’t lessened your bite. If anything, those teeth seem a little sharper than usual.” He leaned against the doorframe and smiled down at you. “Feeling a bit feral, princess?”

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?” you quipped, baring your teeth at the aggravating boy.

The gesture appeared intimidating for a full second until you sniffled and launched into a coughing fit, which made Mattheo frown.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course I am. I regularly cough my lungs out on nosy Slytherins whose sole purpose of existence is to make my life a living hell.”

He pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. The way his brow furrowed strangely resembled concern. Mattheo trained his chocolate brown eyes on you, examining the rosiness of your cheeks and the slight pinch of discomfort in your features.

"You're burning up." Mattheo's hand dropped from your forehead to the side of your neck. He pressed his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the erratic beating of your heart underneath his touch. It was strangely intimate. "You have an elevated heart rate."

You flushed and swatted his hand away. "Well, yes. That usually happens when one is ill."

"Come on, you should sit down."

"Don't tell me what to do, Riddle."

Mattheo rolled his eyes before dragging you by the elbow. Your protests fell on deaf ears as he barged his way into your dorm and walked you over to the bed. You watched as he pulled up a chair next to you before rifling through the contents of his backpack. Out of the sordid mess of his belongings, Mattheo produced a small container of soup. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a spoon.

“Here, have some of this. It should help.”

As soon as he pried the lid open, the heavenly smell of chicken noodle soup filled your senses. Mattheo scooped up an equal amount of soup and noodle and blew on it to cool it down before tilting it towards you. The sight of him offering you food like you were some helpless toddler was only slightly insulting. You swore to Godric that if Mattheo started making airplane sounds, you’d strangle the bloody twat.

“I can feed myself, you know.”

“Just eat the damn soup, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes in return, but obliged nonetheless. Despite the source, you could never resist comfort food.

“Chicken noodle soup?”

As soon as you tasted it, you knew that it wasn’t just soup. It was your favorite soup. The very same one that Winky made every third Wednesday of the month. You knew because you looked forward to it every time. It was even marked on your calendar. That’s how much you liked it.

Mattheo nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know it’s your favorite so I bribed Winky to make some.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “How do you know it’s my favorite?”

For once in his life, Mattheo looked utterly uncomfortable. He averted his gaze and busied himself by stirring through the carrots and celery. “You, uh, mentioned it in class once.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Maybe it was the fever talking, but you thought that was sweet. “You remembered that?”

Mattheo looked up, a stray curl kissing the tops of his cheekbones as he met your gaze. The shy smile on his face was alarmingly endearing. Sometimes when you looked at those angelic curls and stupid big, brown eyes, you forgot that you were supposed to loathe him. “Of course. It’s my favorite too.”

You chuckled, sniffling a little. “It’s like a hug in a cup, right?”

The curly headed boy nodded. “It totally is.”

After you finished the soup, you expected Mattheo to take his leave. Instead, he inspected the vials of potions laying out on your night stand. He read through every label, frowning a little.

“You should really have some pepperup potion in here.” Mattheo remarked as he arranged the vials one by one. “Are you sure this dose is potent enough? Maybe you should ask them to brew something stronger.”

“Pomfrey prescribed them herself. No offense, but I think I’ll take her years of healing experience over your expert opinion.” Mattheo gasped rather dramatically, which made you chuckle. “As much as I appreciate the notes and the soup, I don't think it's wise for you to stick around. I’m feeling a bit better, but I might still be contagious.”

Mattheo shrugged. “It’s alright, I’m not scared of a little cold. Besides, I still have to go over the Transfiguration assignment with you.”

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll get you sick?”

“Not really,” he said, waving off your concern. “I know you’re going to pester me about everything you missed in class, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

To your surprise, Mattheo’s notes were extremely detailed. It was a bit hard to read given his boyish scrawl, but with a little help in translation, you were making great progress in becoming fluent in Riddle. The more Mattheo explained the concepts and ideas that were discussed in each class, the more baffled you were. You've always known that he was smarter than he let on, but this was borderline impressive.

“How do you know all of that?”

“I asked.”

“You asked?” Mattheo stared blankly at your surprised expression. “You never ask questions in class.”

“I never had to since you're always there interrogating the professor like the little know-it-all that you are. Thanks to your absence, I had to fill your role in class today.”

You grinned. It grew wider and wider, spreading until your cheeks hurt. Mattheo glared at your joyous expression. “What? What’s that shit eating little grin for?”

“You missed me.”

Color flooded Mattheo’s cheeks. You were surprised to find how well crimson suited him. It was almost the exact shade of your house colors. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Riddle, you asked questions in class. You took notes for me. You brought me chicken noodle soup." Mattheo flushed as you pointed out the obvious. "You totally missed me.”

“If you tell anyone, I’ll hex you.”

“Admit it, Mattheo. Your day was utterly dull without me.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, sighing in defeat. “Fine, you’ve got me. I was bored out of my mind without you around. How else am I supposed to pass the time if you’re not there for me to argue with?”

“There’s plenty of other people in the castle that you could bicker with.”

“Yeah, but they’re not you.”

He seemed a little shocked by his own statement, but he didn't try to retract it. In fact, Mattheo almost seemed resigned to it.

“Careful, Riddle. It almost sounds like you have a crush on me.”

“I’d have to be a bloody idiot to fall for a girl who absolutely despises me.”

“That wasn’t a denial, you know.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose like the very idea of it vexed him, but you caught the little smile he hid beneath his fingers. Mattheo snatched the notes from your hands. “Focus on the lesson, will you?” He grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth. “I can’t believe I’ve just said that. Look at what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”

“You’ll live, Riddle.” You poked a section of his notes that you hadn’t quite deciphered. “Now what in the bloody hell is the Gobstopper Ruffian?”

“The Goblin Rebellion. Merlin, my handwriting isn't that bad.”

“Are you kidding? A kindergartner writes more legibly than this.”

The hours passed while you bickered and bantered. You hated to admit it, but you missed arguing with him too. Laying in bed all day had you positively bored, but yet time passed within the blink of an eye as you went back and forth with Mattheo. Somewhere between discussing the possibility of Longbottom running an underground exotic plant ring and arguing over the best Smiths song, the sun had set over the horizon. Mattheo rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“You look knackered, Riddle,” you teased, patting the spot beside you. “Do you want to lie down for a bit?”

Chocolate brown eyes widened at you. “Lie down? With you? On your bed?”

“Yes, that’s typically how people do it.” You smirked as he shot you an apprehensive look. “Unless you’re too scared.”’

Never one to back down from a challenge, Mattheo lifted the covers and gestured for you to make room. “Scoot over, then.”

The jest seemed to have backfired on you because now Mattheo was crawling into bed and making himself completely at home. All the apprehension from earlier melted as he pulled you against him, his chest pressed against your back as he nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder. You stifled a giggle as Mattheo released a satisfied little sigh.

Mattheo wrapped his arms around you until you were covered in the scent of amber, cinnamon, and leather. You never expected to unearth the fact that Mattheo Riddle was a great cuddler, but yet here you were, reaping the benefits of this newfound revelation. He slipped his fingers through yours and nuzzled closer.

"Who would've known that Mattheo Riddle was such a great cuddler?"

"If you tell anyone—"

"You'll hex me. Put a curse on my family. Set my possessions on fire. Yes, I know, Riddle. You keep threatening me, but you never follow through. I'm starting to think that you're losing your touch."

Mattheo squeezed your hip before twining your legs together. "I wouldn't test me, Y/N. You're in a very vulnerable position right now."

You chuckled as he scooted even closer. "Maybe, but you won't do anything."

"Why's that, princess?"

"You like me too much," you retorted, chuckling as Mattheo buried his face in your hair. "One day without me and you're already a needy mess."

"You infuriate me," Mattheo whispered against your ear. "But you're also the best part of my day. I couldn't imagine fighting with anyone else but you, my dear nemesis."

"I totally loathe you, Mattheo Riddle."

He chuckled as you snuggled into him. "I loathe you too, Y/N Y/L/N."

The irony of the statement contrasted with how tangled up you were wasn't lost on you. For two people who supposedly hated each other, cuddling with your enemy had never felt so right. The steady beat of Mattheo's heart lulled you towards sleep. You were slowly succumbing to its hypnotic lullaby until Mattheo's voice broke through the silence.

“Y/N?” He murmured against your hair.

You shifted, your eyes feeling heavy as his warmth enveloped you. “Hmm?”

Mattheo’s voice was low and gravelly, flowing like honey in your ears. “This is nice.”

You smiled against the pillow, staring at your intertwined fingers. “Better than chicken noodle soup?”

You felt him grin against your skin before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on your temple. “Way better than soup.”

TAGLIST

@annaisabookworm @bubybubsters @criesinlies @niktwazny303 @therealallisonspear @athenalikethegoddess @clairesjointshurt @vixzwrites @elle4404

#a cuddle from him could reset my brain chemistry #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fluff

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am-i-interrupting · 2 months

Note

Hello! couldI ask for a headcanon on Rosies, Alastors, Husk, Lucifers, Vaggies, Lutes, Vox's, and velvettes(all separate) reactions to Getting in an argument with the reader(whom they're in a relationship with)

Reader leaves to clear their head for a bit but doesn't return.

About a week later, they find they the reader, bleeding in an alley.

big fan of your work btw, sorry if my request was to complex but thank you for at least reading it.

have a lovely day!

Alastor

Alastor knows he can be an infuriating person to argue with.

He will just continue to smile and speak in a steady tone, as if he’s unaffected even if that’s anything but true.

You don’t get into fights often but when you do, it’s not unusual for you to leave to clear your head.

Normally you’re back the next day. By day two he was concerned. Day three he was worried.

He sent his shadows out to find you.

As soon as one of them saw someone who even resembled you in the slightest, he appeared there even if you weren’t.

When he found you wounded, he was furious.

Not at you, but the person who dared touch you.

His anger nearly consumed him but he pushed it to the side in order to tend to your wounds.

You appeared in his radio tower where he quickly patched you up.

His touches were quick, a bit painful, and precise.

But he got you patched quickly and efficiently.

The argument you had was quickly put aside in favor of the more pressing matter, finding his next guest for his show.

Husk

He’s a pretty reasonable guy most of the time. It takes something pretty big in order for either of you to yell much less storm out.

When Husk woke up with a hangover and you no where to be seen, he cursed himself as he remembered what he’d tried to forget.

He sent you a message, just asking if you were okay.

He followed it up the next day by calling and leaving you a voicemail. He explained that you could take as much time as you needed but please, just let him know you’re okay.

It was Charlie who found you, the princess far more willing to take action than he was. Too afraid of pushing your boundaries himself even if he was worried.

He immediately went into assistant mode as Niffty went into mini-nurse mode.

When you were stable, he took you up to your room and tucked you in bed.

“Don’t worry ‘bout the argument, baby. We can talk about it later.”

He kissed your forehead and laid beside you in bed, hand on your pulse.

Lucifer

He’s not a fighter. He’s an avoider.

He’s not even really conscious of the fact that he does it. He just isolates.

That’s probably what caused the disagreement in the first place.

When he found you, immediately in panic mode.

Just wants to make sure you’re okay.

Being the first Angel cast out of heaven, he knew how to tend to wounds and quickly attended to yours.

Stroking your hair the entire time, just begging you don’t leave him.

Lute

Lute can be stubbornly loyal and it was probably something to do with work or Adam that caused the fight.

Whatever, go ahead. Leave. It’s not like she cares.

She lies to herself so well she believes it until she finds you bleeding.

Which, what the fuck? You weren’t in Hell. These things didn’t happen.

She doesn’t know how to take care of wounds. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s never seen someone bleed.

She takes you to Emily. Reluctantly.

Emily doesn’t really know what she’s doing but she quickly gets in contact with people who do, being so well contacted to the winners.

She is by your side, fight entirely forgotten, the entire time.

Will actually punch Adam if he says something about her going soft.

Rosie

Rosie is a problem solver.

That’s what she does.

She actually takes off work to try to figure out how to solve your problems and brain storm.

It’s only when she’s figured out several solutions she thinks will work that she tries to find you.

When she does, oh is she absolutely pissed.

But first, she’s stitching you up.

Very gentle but very honest.

A lot of “this’ll hurt” might give you something to bite on.

Will go out and find the poor soul who did this to you and serve their bloody heart on a silver platter to you.

Vaggie

She immediately goes into work mode.

She just overworks herself. She doesn’t know what to so she just tries to be useful.

When she finds you she feels her stomach turn and heart drop. Immediately yells for Charlie to get help as she bursts through the Hotel doors carrying you.

She’s holding your hand the entire time muttering how sorry she is.

She’ll pull you into her lap and stroke your hair.

Her hand will end up resting atop your pulse as she gets sleep for the first time since you left.

If you so much as breathe wrong, she’s calling for someone more experienced to check on you.

Velvette

Velvette’s a ruthless person to get in an argument with.

It’s not surprising when you leave and don’t come back.

She’ll act like she’s not worried but secretly is.

When she finds you, she’s swearing up and down and she scoops you up.

She basically dumps you with Vox. Trusting him to get you to stop bleeding and you to pull yourself together in the end.

She’s going on a hunt.

She comes back bloodied and with a mania in her eyes that is rarely seen.

You don’t leave her side for a while.

Vox

Vox has eyes everywhere.

He’s keeping one on you at all times.

He doesn’t need to find you even when you storm out because he always knows where you are.

You need time away from him? That’s fine. He’s watching you the entire time though.

You don’t even get the chance to start bleeding anything severe because as soon as you get nicked, he’s there.

The soul who dared to hurt you is electrocuted and fried before you even realize it’s Vox who entered the scene.

“Hot as it is watching you fight, I do hate to see you hurt.”

He stroked right beneath the place where you were cut, smearing the blood.

#vox x reader #hazbin vox x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin husk x reader #husk x reader #hazbin rosie x reader #rosie x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lute x reader #lute x reader #hazbin vaggie x reader #vaggie x reader #hazbin hotel velvette x reader #hazbin hotel velvette

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wardenparker · 5 days

Note

Woo hoo! Way to go on the 2.5k followers! You deserve it

I would like to request Joel Miller w/ “put me down”

Pre-outbreak Joel Miller 1,642 words. "Put me down." Co-written with @absurdthirst

Reader has been drinking. Established relationship. Jealousy.

Joel rolls his eyes, wondering again what the hell is in the air tonight. He’s glad Sarah has already gone to bed, although she would probably be snickering at the scene. “Babe, maybe you should slow down.” He grunts swiping the beer bottle that he had been nursing and tossing it into the trash.

“Baby, it’s game day,” you protest with a giggle, even though you know he’s probably right. You made your sangria much stronger than usual and you’ve had more than a few cups while hanging out with his friends.

“Yeah it is.” You’re having fun, which is something that he would normally never deny you. Although it seems like you’ve gotten a little….boisterous in the last half hour. “How about we get a sandwich?” He suggests, thinking the bread would be good to help counteract the wine sloshing around in your stomach.

"But we have so many snacks!" The remnants of a chip and veggies and dip plate, the garnishes from a pile of wings, and the last two cookies from the batch Tommy baked are all out on the counter around you, but none of it constitutes actual eating.

He snorts, shaking his head at your wild flailing as you gesture around the counter and miss when you go to grab a chip. “Yep, sandwich.” He grunts to himself, turning around to grab the loaf of bread off the counter. “Or a wrap?”

"Can you be my wrap?" Alright, so you might be a bit tipsy. If the intense giggling from your silly joke is any indication. That doesn't mean you don't want to take advantage of the fact that you're the only two people in the kitchen right now to snuggle up with your boyfriend.

That makes him laugh, rolling his eyes at your antics and he turns to press his lips to your forehead. “You’re drunk.” He accuses fondly.

"Not totally," you protest, pouting at him as deeply as possible.

“Totally.” Joel laughs, leaning in and squashing your lips between his fingers playfully until you pull back. “Eat a wrap then you can have a glass of water.”

"And a kiss." Tacking that onto the end with a grin, you pull your arms around him so he can't pull away to do anything – let alone make a wrap or get a glass of water.

“And a kiss.” If you hadn’t almost started a fight, your possessiveness might be cute. Amusing even. But you had almost been ready to throw hands and he didn’t need the cops showing up here tonight.

"Oh-kay." The pleasant buzzing in your head and the fact that that bitch Larry Anderson had brought with him isn't in here to eye fuck Joel, combine to put you in a very amenable mood.

“Good.” He pecks your lips and reaches behind you to open the fridge. “Ham, or…ham?” He asks, the fridge slightly bare, but in his defense, he had been buying for the party and not wraps.

You hum, pretending to think really really hard, and realize you've forgotten the question while you were screwing up your face into comical expressions. "Ummm...wine?"

“Jesus.” Joel rolls his eyes and moves to the cabinet beside the fridge. “Water now.” He orders, tone a little sharper than before. He doesn’t want you with a bitch of a hangover tomorrow.

"Don't be mad." A pout overtakes your face immediately, but you lean against the kitchen counter and prepare to take whatever Joel dishes out. Even tipsy you know you probably overdid it earlier. It's not your fault that girl wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

“I’m not.” He grabs a plastic cup, not even trusting you with a glass one at this point. “I just want you to be well hydrated.”

"Well..." The best you can do is shrug, but you're still pouting. "You sound mad."

“And I always look like an asshole.” Joel reminds you with a small chuckle. “So….?”

"I had to be mean to her." He pulls one of Sarah's plastic cups out of the cupboard and moves back to the fridge to fill it with cold, filtered water. "She was looking at you like you were a piece of meat, baby."

“Doesn’t matter.” He reminds with, turning around to hand the cup to you with a smirk. “I’m yours.”

Joel always takes care of you, and you know that even after two too many glasses of sangria, so you take the water cup dutifully. "I knowww. You're my piece of meat. But she wasn't respecting that and that's not okay."

“You don’t need to worry.” He promises softly, moving back to the fridge. “She doesn’t have anything on you.”

"I trust you," you clarify, dutifully sipping the water that he's gotten for you. Joel's loyalty has never been in question. Not when you were friends, not when you crossed the line into dating, and not now that you're living with him and Sarah. But the sangria had made you feisty and that was that.

“Good.” He chuckles as he slaps together some ham and a thick slice of that Muenster cheese you insist is better than Kraft. “Because you are the one sleeping in my bed, hogging the covers.”

"I keep telling youuuu." The singsong in your voice is interrupted by another drink of water. "We need a king-sized blanket. A big blanket. For us two hogs."

“I just will shiver every night.” He teases, folding the wrap up like a letter and handing it to you to eat. It wasn’t pretty, but he never claimed to be a good cook.

"But we could be warm snuggly burritos!" You insist, which is always the argument you give for why you should get an extra-large blanket for the queen sized bed you share, but this time you take a dramatic bite of the wrap he's made for you to punctuate your point.

“You would just steal all of those covers too.” He reminds you, leaning back against the counter as he eat watches you eat.

Giggling, you hold up one finger, crushing your wrap into an accordioned lump in the process. "One snuggly burrito."

“You might be a little cute when you’re this drunk.” Joel huffs, folding his arms over his chest.

"Baby..." Trying very hard to make your face serious fails spectacularly, and you end up giggling again. "I'm always cute. You said so."

“I did, didn’t I?” He huffs. “Finish eating and we’ll go back out to the party.” He bribes.

“Okayyyyyy.” It doesn’t stop you from leaning into his side though, and Joel lets you snuggle him without protest or question.

You eat the wrap quickly, making Joel think that one of your problems might be that you haven’t eaten today. When you reach for the veggies and dip, he encourages you to eat some of it too, not wanting you to have just the wrap on your stomach. Not having realized you were hungry in the first place, you’ve now eaten an entire meal standing in the kitchen and the pout you give Joel afterward intensifies. “Now I’m sleepy…” you huff, indignant at yourself for daring to be tired during a house party. Even a small one.

He chuckles quietly and pushes off the counter to walk over to where you had drifted away from him. Grazing off the table. Smirking, he bends down and scoops you up, about to carry you upstairs.

The squawk you let out could raise the dead, but he laughs so it ends up in half-hearted huffing and puffing as he carries you up the backstairs. “Put me doooowwwn! I can walk!” Not that you actually want him to, of course. Being manhandled by Joel is a privilege.

He smacks your ass, laughing again when you squeal. “No.” He tells you, continuing to climb the stairs. “You’ll go back out into the living room and fight that girl.”

“She put her tits in your face!” You groan, not bothering to fight as more stairs pass under Joel’s feet. He’s far stronger than you anyway. “Only my tits go in your face.”

You’re possessive when you’re drunk and it’s kind of hot. “I like your tits in my face.” He hums, grabbing your ass this time instead of slapping it. “That’s why I stood up. So she couldn’t do that.”

“And I like your little pancake ass,” you giggle, smacking his ass as he goes. Slinging you over his shoulder was a tactical error on Joel’s part.

“Hey.” Joel’s step falters and he snorts as you start to giggle. “Payback, huh?”

“Yep!” Another bright giggle breaks through as he hits the top step.

“You need to go to bed.” He huffs, shaking his head.

He carries you into the bedroom, only setting you down again when it can be directly on the bed. Before he can step away, though, you reach up to snag the edge of Joel's t-shirt and give him a soft smile. "I love you, baby."

“I love you too.” He promises, leaning back down to kiss you softly. “Lay down, I’ll get you some aspirin and water.”

"Then cuddles?" When you're tipsy – or drunk – it's not hard to turn almost any expression into wide, pleading eyes. In this case, it's the wide and pleading eyes that you know Joel just can't resist.

Joel sighs softly, knowing you are feeling a little vulnerable and he nods. “Fuck ‘em.” He decides. “Tommy can keep their asses in line.” He tells you as he brings the bottle of Advil and the cup of water from the bathroom.

“Cuddles!” Maybe it’s simple of you, but ending any night in Joel’s arms is all you want. All you’ve wanted for years now. The day you went from friends to lovers was a gift, and that gift is just as precious to you now as it was then.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #Pedro Pascal fanfiic #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x female reader #Joel Miller x f!reader #microfic #fluff #drunk reader

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devilmademewriteit · 9 months

Text

If You Lie Down With Me

pairing: (pre-ellie) dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: there’s only one guy in all of boston that can get you a morning after pill. unfortunately, on top of being a huge asshole, Joel Miller also happens to be your dad’s closest peer.

warnings: rough sex / smut (masturbation, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; unprotected sex; light choking & restraint; light dom/sub dynamic; fem afab reader; reader has long-ish hair (that gets touched); plot-typical violence (guns, death); plot deviations (no Tess); medication ingestion; pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, no explicit consent).

word count: 6.5k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all I’m baaaaAAAaack! so this is basically the other version of Dark But Just a Game that I started back when I was writing it & figured I’d finish it to get out of my hiatus. like any devilmademewriteit fic, it’s dark and nasty and deprived like meeeeeee <3 hope u enjoy !

don’t forget to reblog, check out my masterlist, sign up for the taglist, & leave any comments / feedback / & suggestions!

(ps: new part of Salvatore up next !)

—

“three times the guy I ever thought I would meet, so don't say you're over me when we both know that you lie”

— lana del rey, ‘If You Lie Down With Me’

—

Fuck.

Waking up to a racing heart, a pounding head, and a stomach swimming with nausea was never ideal, although it was always a better experience alone — when you could squint and hiss at the light slicing through the weaknesses in the drapes without hearing your groans echoed by a lower, louder, and annoyingly more pitiful voice.

Right. What was his name?

Jared? Jordan? Jermaine?

Ah, who cares.

If he’d wanted a safe place to nurse his hangover, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed. Sure, the odds of dad being conscious at this hour (especially the odds after a party like last night’s) were Kate Moss — no, Rolling Stones — slim, but the man would get up at some point, meaning that this poor J-whatever was likely sleeping through his only window of escape from certain homicide.

You whisper. You shake him gently. You gingerly tap the roundness of his bicep.

Huh — Not bad.

You congratulate last-night-you for reeling in this morning’s good-looking catch.

Still… nothing. Not a twitch. Nary a croaked ‘lemmesleep’ graces your ears.

After loosing an exasperated sigh and running through your options, you decide to take the most effective (and least girl-next-door) route. The corner of your elbow collides with his ribs, and the boy jumps up, his loose, blonde curls as wild as his eyes, searching the room for his attacker.

You want to smile at the scene, but the motion hurts your head.

“Y’gotta go,” you croak out, thumbs rubbing circles against your aching temples.

He collapses onto his back, copying your movement with his own fingers to his brow. “God. I feel like shit.”

Despite muttering your agreement, you let your eyelashes flutter closed and your weight turn you away from last night’s paramour: no use figuring out who he is after the (f)act — that just makes it personal.

After a few breaths, the boy moves back up to a shakey sitting position.

Probably sourcing for his clothes.

He reeks of booze and sex — but then again, so do you. His roughened, unfamiliar tenor climbs to barely above a whisper, “Z’something stuck on my leg… blood, or something…”

His interrupting your suffering comes as a deeply unwelcome annoyance, so you try to sort him out to clear him out: “Prolly just the condom,” you mumble, rolling back onto your shoulders, reluctantly supervising his movements.

He lifts up fully, sitting criss-cross and pulling his calf towards him.

“No,” he tries to laugh but succumbs to the nausea, settling for a low breath instead, “S’blood, dude, from beer darts — and I didn’t use a condom.”

Your eyes immediately dart over, settling on his naked, wretched, shivering form. He notices your ire and the hitching of your throat, immediately defensive.

“I asked if you wanted to.”

Unfortunately, he had. The memories of your drunken entanglement start to resurface inside your mind. “It just feels better without one.” This time, you curse last-night-you for being such a careless, inconsiderate, horny bastard.

You’re making problems for me, girl.

“J’s get out.”

J-whatever spares no time complying, collecting his few strewn belongings and staggering out the front door. Once it slides shut, so too do your poor, weary eyes.

Shit.

There goes the afternoon.

Getting your hands on condoms in the QZ was at least fifteen times easier than snatching a morning after pill. Those were a hot commodity, especially among the younger, less responsible crowds.

Luckily for you, as a member of aforementioned younger, less responsible crowds, you knew where your best chances lay in finding whatever it was you needed (if what you needed was deeply immoral or wholly illegal). Unluckily for you, that ‘best chance’ happened to be your dad’s closest and longest-running business partner: temperamental, judgemental, frustratingly competent, Joel ‘Local Asshole’ Miller.

But that could all be dealt with after another eight hours of sleep.

—

Opportunity strikes sooner than expected.

Miller’s in your living room by the time you wake up, the low rumble of his southern baritone recognizable even through the closed door. After scrambling to throw on some clothes, you press an ear to the chipping paint, hoping to determine the number of bodies gathered in your home.

Not many. Just Miller (and the old man, of course).

The latter’s presence bodes ill for you. This would all have to be done in secret, which was not an uncommon strategy where ever the former was involved. No one dealt with Joel Miller to conduct clean-cut, wholesome activities. No one was calling him up for a spare copy of the holy book.

No, getting him alone was essential.

A drink slams down on the counter. After a good, patient ten minutes, you hear your father (‘s rather crude way of) excusing himself to the washroom and heavy-set footsteps decrescendoing down the hall.

This is it.

You slip through the door.

At first, your company takes no notice of you, his eyes still glued to the maps and papers littering the counter before him.

Then, a low grumble: “fun night?”

His voice makes you weak in the knees — an involuntary, near ritual-like response you’d noticed around your mid teens and hadn’t managed to kick yet.

You swallow before responding. “Yes.”

It’s all you manage to muster. Miller finally looks up, wincing slightly as his back straightens. He looks tired, at least more than usual, with his wild, grey-streaked hair tousled and the lines by his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

You’re sure you don’t look much better, a suspicion proven by the man’s slowly spreading, barely-noticeable smirk. That gaze makes you self conscious, mute; your right hand snakes up, absent-mindedly dragging a fallen bra strap back to its proper position.

“So, what was his name?”

He’s teasing, sure, but Miller was there last night. He’d always had sharper perceptions than your father did, especially — and ironically — when it came to you. That skill tended to squander your confidence as the daughter of a modern-day mafia-boss and the owner of a hard, violent heart.

Rushed by the sound of your father’s footsteps, you default to honesty.

“I don’t remember.”

“Try.”

“Josh.”

Amusement flits across his stern expression. “Again.”

“Jamie.”

“Warmer.”

“J-J-something—”

“Gettin’ colder, sweetheart—”

“I need the pill.”

It just tumbles out, an exasperated, desperate plea. Miller, a bit taken aback by your candor, drains of his previous playfulness. You almost notice the split second those dark eyes glaze over. For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s distracted by his imagination’s recreations of the act that had you making such a request.

You almost notice the tingling between your thighs.

He stares. You stare back.

Fuck.

It was moments like this that made you wish Tess was still around. Oh, she wouldn’t be any kinder — no, not at all — but she’d certainly be more professional. Tess was all work, no play. Joel was…

You’re enjoying this, you bastard. You’re enjoying that I’m cornered like this, aren’t you?

The bathroom handle clicks when it turns, and your heart drops into your toes.

Maybe Miller really wasn’t going to help you. Maybe he didn’t have the pill and you’d just embarrassed yourself for nothing. Or, maybe he did, but preferred outing you to your dad at the very first opportunity — letting him deal with you the only way he knew how.

Your fears seem confirmed: his eyes leave the grace of your own, trailing back to his big, splayed hands on the countertop. Unwelcome tears burn the corners of your eyes as the panic begins to set in, as footsteps begin to fall…

“Mine. Tonight.”

It’s low and rushed, but it’s clear, cutting off to the sound of your father lumbering in. A man who saw, thought, and lived through transactions, he’s (thankfully) blissfully ignorant of the tension collapsing around him.

“Morning,” he throws your way.

A taunt, of course — it was well past noon.

You nod in acknowledgement, slowly backing into the doorway of your sacred, beckoning room. They resume their conversation from before, letting you sink into irrelevance.

Before shutting yourself in, you catch a few of Miller’s hushed words. They’re spoken casually to your father but, you later decide, surely meant for you:

“Not that one kid — Jeremy — don’t trust him.”

The door seals (well, not seals… it creaks on its rusty hinges and squeezes into its shrinking frame), and relief courses through you, reaching the very tips of your fingers.

That only lasts a minute.

Soon, you’re negotiating with the rising anxiety of being at Miller’s place alone, asking for his help with a problem that could’ve been avoided if you’d only kept your legs shut.

Alone with Miller, the both of you knowing that you hadn’t.

Crawling back under your covers, you begrudgingly make a vow of celibacy. If this was the cost of attention and a (potential) mid-range orgasm, you were about to become very frugal.

Dreams come easy, but they don’t come sweet.

Flashes of last night’s sins overlay Joel Miller’s unintelligible speech, his voice from the next room over lulling you into a rather confusing, disturbed sleep.

—

At nighttime, it’s a short walk to his building.

Down this alley, past this street, up this back stairwell. Part of being in with Boston’s seedy underbelly gained you access to the best and most up-to-date intel; by the age of twelve, you could run the safest — well, least policed — post-curfew routes from memory.

(Which had come in handy in situations a lot more dire than this.)

Sneaking in was easy, although you cursed him for being so preoccupied during the day. Coming in at this hour required some delicate maneuvers through a half-shattered window, and a less-than-graceful leap down left you with a nick on your cheekbone and a shallow cut along the side of your hand.

Thankfully, the blood mostly dries on your walk up the six or eight or ten flights of stairs. You don’t resent the exercise; it feels good to move, putting the jitters building in every still moment in abeyance.

Still moments like the kind that passes after a barely-audible, coded knock delivered by a girl sucking on the side of her hand, almost wishing for the door not to open.

It does.

He’s in jeans — dirty jeans, dusty — and a simple flannel. It’s Miller — it’s Miller at his most Joel-Miller-like-ness.

So why am I so fucking nervous?

He holds the door open, brows knitting at the sight of your hand in your mouth.

“Window,” You offer.

He mouthes a silent ‘ah,’ before leaning forward to duck his head out the door and, in the process, somewhat sandwiching you against his chest.

Maybe it’s because he smells like forest-fires, but your skin burns red-hot.

Miller looks both ways, checking the status of the hall (empty), then nudges you into the dim light of his place with the weight of his hand against your lower back.

The door shuts behind you.

You’d been here at least a million times before, but the thoughts rising now feel so… new. The jacket strewn on the side of the sagging sofa is his — Joel Miller has sat at this table and showered, slept, fucked inside these walls.

Cut it out. It’s just ‘cause you’re alone. And older.

But what about it, now that you were alone and older?

Old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman and a little bit of desperation at just the right amounts… and there sure was a lot of him, and some desperation, too…

“Nervous?”

Your feet hit the floor, all thoughts evaporating at the sound of his word. Blushing, you try to de-code his taunt, spoken with playfulness and too much condescension.

“Wh — what’d you — nervous for what? No.”

He’s already across the room, sifting through a box of miscellaneous items. A yellowed lamp shade catches his side-profile, illuminates the smirk spreading across his face. Then, a low command:

“Relax,” and your spine settles, acceding to his wish. “Some girls get nervous, y’know, takin’ it the first time.”

Oh.

You clear your throat, daring to take a step into his place, incensed enough to trace the indents and stab-marks decorating his kitchen table.

“No.”

You’re taken aback by the accuracy and the strength underpinning your answer. It’s true, you aren’t afraid, and hadn’t been afraid of much in a very long while.

What’s a Joel Miller to your best friend’s public hanging? What’s he to a dozen rows of semi automatics raining down on your zigzagging toes? What’s he to a period cramp?

Like a bolt of lightning hitting you in the chest, that cocky, gauche and indelicate rebel you’d grown into reappears.

“I’ve been told I take things pretty well my first time.” The tension rises — this time, at your command — just as Joel does, carrying a leather pouch in his right hand. “And it’s not, anyways,” you add for good measure.

The leather drops onto the marked-up table. Joel crosses his arms.

“Not sellin’ me on givin’ you one of these, sweetheart.”

He gestures to the bag.

A mock-frown as you draw closer to him. His eyes, although severe, reflect the playfulness dancing in your own.

“Why not?” You ask, voice dripping with false innocence.

Joel’s gaze doesn’t stray as it hardens, focused on your own. “They’re for accidents, mistakes, attacks,” he explains, deep and dangerous, “Not girls who can’t keep their pretty lil’ legs together.”

Oof.

On one hand, it sounds like he’s genuinely chastising you for your careless behaviour. But, on the other, he sounds jealous, taunting, hungry.

I’ll play that hand.

Sleeping all day had left you wide awake, and that long-time, school-girl crush on the man before you was dying for content to fantasize about. Even if he pushed you off, you’d get to feel the weight of his hands on your body, right?

So, you return with a taunt of your own: “You think my legs are pretty?”

He shakes his head, his signature scowl spreading as he mostly ignores you. “I think you should at least use condoms,” a breath, “N’ know their first names.”

Ouch.

“I usually do.” you murmur, “and it broke last night.”

“Bullshit.”

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

Joel sighs and lowers himself into one of the four old, rickety chairs lining the table. His hand comes up to his temples and you notice how his legs, exhausted, part.

The man doesn’t deign to respond.

Irritation begins to well in your core, sneaking through your arms and up into your throat. The muscle in your jaw must be twitching like crazy.

How does he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Across the QZ, as a skilled liar and born and bred bandit, people tended to hold whatever image of you that you’d crafted for them.

Not Joel. Never Joel.

He saw through you in a way that had always felt… intimate. It was one of the reasons, you guessed, he didn’t dare spend too much time alone with you and why you’d always been curious about him (as a man, of course). Now, there was no avoiding your obvious vulnerability from either of you — you were stripped bare, your dressings in his hand.

It makes you want to flee as much as it makes you want to leap into his arms.

You snatch up the pouch, opening it up to find a mass of differently coloured and shaped pills. Rifling through, you ignore Joel’s stare boring into your hands’ erratic search.

“Yellow ones,” he says.

“I know what they look like,” you retort.

“‘Course you do.”

He moves faster than he should be able to.

One moment, your palm is slicing through the air, headed straight for the highest point of his cheek. The next, you’re facedown on the table. Your attacking hand is caged in by a much larger, much stronger one, pinned to the decaying wood; the other, he pins behind your back. Pills litter the floor — Joel’s boot crunches into a wayward one as he adjusts himself behind you, leaning over your struggling, smaller frame, immobilizing you with his weight.

“Let go of me—” you hiss, words smothered by the wooden surface pressed to your profile.

“—Shut up ‘n listen,” he commands, leaning over to tower over his trapped victim. “Try that again n’I’ll do worse’n kill you. Understand?”

Despite the authenticity of his threat, a strangled laugh wracks your lungs.

“Gonna turn me in for contraband, Miller? Watch them gun me down in the square?”

You smile through your heavy breaths. There, behind your hips, is a growing movement indicative of some other kind of punishment he’s got in mind.

“Or,” you continue on coyly, “Give me another reason to need that pill?”

Joel pauses, untangling your meaning.

Then, an exasperated scoff. His hold tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You always thinkin’ of the fastest way to get a man to fuck you?”

“Only when his cock’s pressed against my ass.”

He goes quiet — only for a moment. Somewhere outside, rounds echo through the night.

“Z’that what you want?” His voice is deep and threatening, promising of the kind of hard, mind-numbing fuck you’d been craving for weeks.

After a hard swallow, you nod, catching the raise of his eyebrows in your periphery.

A moment passes as he mulls over your answer. Only your shallow, anticipatory breaths populate the quiet space.

“Alright.”

And he lets go.

Heart racing, wrists aching, you flip around to his neutral, impenetrable expression.

“Get down on your knees.”

Without taking a moment to decide whether you’re living anything more than just a really fucked up dream, you sink to your knees, folding your hands in your lap (to stop them from shaking). Before you, Joel’s bulge twitches while he watches you yielding to submission, and you try to ignore the excitement building between your own two legs.

His eyes burn into yours: black, starved, weighty. He tells you to shut your own and you do, unable to resist the tone of his command. Within the self-imposed darkness, Joel’s following order — ‘open your mouth,’ — parts your lips as if they were under his spell. You wonder what you must look like to him, needy and ready to receive whatever you’re given.

He speaks again.

“Show me your tongue, angel.”

The gruffness punctuating his arousal doesn’t let you stand a chance. You let your mouth fall open wider.

Next, there’s rustling. You try to remember whether or not he’d had on a belt, listening and failing to hear the soft clinks of a buckle coming undone.

Too soon, something wraps around your chin — thick, calloused fingers — and the pressure of a thumb running down the middle of your tongue sends a rush of electricity down every stacked vertebrae. It’s slow, tantalizingly slow, as if the man were trying to memorize the feel of every groove, ridge, and bud on his leisurely way out.

When Joel drops his hand, a small weight remains at the back of your throat.

“Close.”

You do, opening your eyes to meet his own: severe and wanting — or wanting for severity?

It’s a pill. That much is obvious once the taste begins to spread, bitter and chemical and totally gag-worthy. He follows up with ‘swallow’ for his own sick enjoyment; by the time he says it, it’s clear that you already have.

What kind of game is this, Miller?

Your cheeks burn when your company kneels down. He places his big, broad hand partly on your neck, partly to the side of your jaw, and you’re still too taken aback to tear it off. The feel of his rough palm against your racing pulse silences every urge to enact revenge. Words don’t come — too quickly forgotten on one’s knees.

“You’re way too easy for your own good, sweetheart,” he near-whispers, shooting to kill in a blow packed tight with condescension. “Don’t let me see you here again.”

And that’s it: your cue to get lost.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Miller pulls away from your reddening skin, straightening to stand. You follow suit soon after, heart pumping lead, tongue bruised by the memory of his touch (more overwhelming than the metallic residue dripping down your throat).

He turns, running a few fingers through his hair. It’s the last look you get before resigning yourself to the journey back home.

Still, before turning the rusted handle, in a brief moment of respite, of clarity, you seize the final word:

“I’m only ‘easy’ when I’m drunk. Or interested.”

Silence courses through the room as Joel registers the meaning behind your confession.

“Goodnight, Miller.”

With that, you see yourself into the hallway, checking its status before tearing into the stairwell.

You barely breathe.

He wanted me — he had to have wanted me.

Miller was a pragmatic player; surely, he’d only bother to play with toys he liked like that… right?

Right?

Unable to clear your head or cool the heat radiating through your core, you take the long way home, the distant sounds of a war between rivals soothing the cacophony of noise swimming between your ears.

—

For the next two weeks, all you’re able to think about is him.

You think about him when he’s gone and when he’s in the room, grumbling in hushed tones to your father. You think about him when you’re unable to fall asleep, letting your hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, imagining your own fingers as thick, tan ones running through the warmth between your legs.

He takes no notice of you — a fact you deeply resent. Even in your skimpiest clothing, he’s like a damn horse with blinders on. You decide, in the past weeks, he’d either acquired the patience of Job or purged every sinful craving from his system when he’d stuck his fingers down your throat.

Naturally, you’re more than happy when, at breakfast (two in the afternoon), your father gives you the heads up about tonight’s gathering at the Bar (which was really just an asbestos-ridden basement equipped with enough prohibition-style gadgets and architecture to host a good ‘strategic meeting’ every other month).

“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he mumbles. “Need you to keep your ears open. Had to take a couple rats out last week…”

Everyone’s gonna be there.

Smiling to yourself, your thoughts start to spin out. Business, distractions, booze. Tonight would host a million opportunities for you to get him alone.

Hope blooms through your chest.

Do your worst, Miller.

—

“Man, I wish we could’ve experienced cocktails. Straight hooch is ass.”

A peer named Mel, just a year older than yourself, cringes as she sips on whatever murky liquor’s found its way into her cup.

You don’t mind the taste so much, having grown mostly immune to its taste and burn. In fact, you’d come to welcome the subsequent lapse in breath and judgement.

There was little else in this world that made you feel alive.

“Mhm,” you respond absent-mindedly, looking for a familiar scowl among the mass of scowls peppering the crowd.

A sigh to your right. “Always awesome, having your attention.”

The criticism snaps you back into your body. You smile sheepishly at your friend, apologizing through a wince.

She shrugs, her raggedy, pin-decorated jacket jingling with the movement. “S’okay. Known you long enough to know that look.”

For that, she receives a quizzical glance.

Mel comes back with a scoff. “No victims tonight?”

“Oh god,” you shoot her a look of disgust. “Do you mind not using such weird vocabulary? Make me sound like a predator.”

As the words tumble out, you zero in on the object of your search. There he is: eyebrows knit together in concentration, drink in hand, unsurprisingly (and annoyingly) in conversation with your father. A few other stragglers are in the mix, too, but they’re easily overlooked. Time slows to a full stop in his wake —only for the briefest of seconds —

“Well since the last guy actually wound up dead a week later, I think it’s fitting.”

Once again, Mel’s managed to wrangle your interest.

You stare blankly into her onyx eyes, ringlets falling through molasses around her face. “Jeremy?”

And she’s bewildered. “You didn’t hear?”

This time, both of your heads turn in the same direction.

“Ratted to FEDRA about the storehouse off tenth,” she explains, gesturing towards Miller and your father with a tilt of her head. Famous for her bravery, she stoops into your shoulder, averting his gaze and speaking under her breath, “Judging by the way they found him, my guess is it was mostly Miller’s stuff.”

It’s as if she’d screamed it.

The subject of your conversation turns to face you right as your company’s words drift off. Despite the level of noise, the amount of people, and the cloudiness of the air, you’re trapped in the corridor of your mutual stare, cornered.

The challenge, the knowing marking his expression.

“I need some air.”

You twist into the body standing behind you, shoving row after row of criminal scum out of the way. Mel doesn’t follow — she’d never hung around to comfort you, only to inform you. A mutual, typical relationship for the age, and just how things worked in the QZ.

You slam into the door, stomping into a deserted, silent alley, empty save for a few drunk strays. Your lips begin to tingle and a scream builds inside your lungs. Stalking blindly into the night, unsure of your direction, alone in half a top and a plain, ass-length skirt, shivering despite the warmth of the air…

You’re practically begging for trouble.

Just as your eyes catch the numbers on the old, rusted street sign above, just as you realize you’re on a monitored street tonight, only safe after curfew every other Monday and Wednesday, you’re grabbed by the waist, pulled into the space between two buildings, and shoved into a sheltered nook.

A dim, yellow light clicks on automatically. There’s a door (chained closed) leading into the building to your left and darkness to your right.

And there’s Joel Miller above you, his expression indeterminable.

“You asshole,” you barely hear yourself breathe over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears before lunging forward in a useless attempt to, once again, strike his profile.

He catches your wrist, no doubt having anticipated the attack. It’s written on your face, in your eyes, in your shallow, uneven inhalations. He takes your other hand before you’ve even thought to use it, lifting it above your head and slamming it against the old stucco behind you.

“You’re violent,” he says flatly.

He tightens his hold when you struggle against it. “Proud of yourself, yeah? You’re a killer.”

That inspires a slight smirk. You half expect him to return with an ‘as if you didn’t already know that.’

Instead, he says, “Sweetheart, you didn’t even know his name.”

“You should’ve told me.”

And that’s the real source of this anger: it’s rage at being the last to know.

And for what? To protect your feelings? Since when had anyone in your life bothered to do that?

“And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” you add for good measure.

You’d wanted him to touch you so badly for weeks now, but here, scorned at being left in the dark and confused at the death of a paramour, you only want to get free.

“And what’d he call you?” He spits, leaning down and in, inadvertently pressing his thigh between your legs — when his breath grazes the skin of your ear, it causes them to part (against your better judgement). “Got lots of names, right?” He continues to tease, “Heard your boyfriend’s pretty one for you before I shut him up — ‘that fuckin’ slut,’ f’I’m rememberin’ right.”

Despite your rage-shakes, you’re warming at the core, Joel’s pressure against it dizzying your already-addled head. It confuses you, makes the scorn easier to access.

“How did I come up, Miller?” You exhale, jutting your chin towards him. “Couldn’t help asking for all the dirty little details, could you?”

He smiles, and the act lacks any sort of kindness. “‘Lot easier gettin’ him alone once he thought he was meetin’ you.” Joel slams your wrist harder into the wall when you try to wriggle away. “Not sure you wanna keep making that kind of impression, angel.”

It’s hard to rationalize with him so close, as his pet-names echoe inside your head. He’d used your name to enact gang-law violence on a boy who’d been inside you, and yet, all you can think, all you can hear, is the way ‘sweetheart’ sounds tumbling off his lips.

“Fucking let me go, Miller,” you manage to exasperate, resenting the begging edge to every word. “I don’t need another abstinence lecture from you.”

Kicking one ankle off balance, Joel turns you around, pressing your stomach to the wall, your back into his chest. Ignoring your whines and pitiful struggle, he wraps a free hand around your neck, pushing your head against his collarbone. Your stomach erupts with butterflies as the rough pad of his thumb traces the front of your throat.

Yes — no — yes, he wants me — no, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong —

“‘Be wasted on you, anyways,” he says, rough and earnest, like his hand sliding down your chest, your breasts, your stomach, “Startin’ to realize if I can’t fix your dad’s mistakes…” and he’s finding the hem of your skirt and yanking it up, bunching the fabric around your hips —

“Might as well take advantage of them.”

He moves hungrily. He’s everywhere, sliding into your underwear and across your breasts, his big arms and suffocating biceps enveloping your entire frame.

“Joel—”

But he claps a hand over your mouth, silencing any hope of your pleas being effective.

“Think I haven’t seen you? Your lil’ looks…” a low laugh, “n’ those fuckin’ clothes?” God, the rumble, the sheer want in his voice hammers at your initial resistance, and you feel yourself welcoming the feel of his thick, long fingers, sliding between your wet folds. You’re clay, melting against the curved, firm wall of his chest.

You mewl pathetically into his palm.

Another low laugh wracks his lungs, dances at the top of your ear.

“Knew you’d be this wet for me.”

“Knew since you got down on your knees,” Joel continues, uncovering your mouth only to ease a few fingers between your lips — lips that part as though commanded, and a mouth that welcomes and caresses whatever it receives, “‘N opened this pretty lil’ mouth for me to fuck it. Can’t close my eyes without seein’ you like that — so fuckin’ needy.” He exhales from between his teeth, signalling his approval while you suck him down to the knuckles.

His fingers tease your clit and you give him your thanks by pleasuring those of his other hand.

When his hands move, it’s to hold you steady and balanced as he drags your underwear down your legs. That thick, heavy cloud of arousal hides any and all rational thoughts from view.

And he knows. He knows you’re past the point of no return, restraining you only out of his desire to rather than out of a real need to. He knows from the whine you breathe at the loss of his hand against your clit, moving to work at his belt buckle instead.

“Gonna use a condom?” You breathe, emboldened by your clearing senses at the temporary lack of stimulation.

At first, you think he’s missed your taunt.

He backs up, pulling your hips along with him until the tips of your fingers are no longer touching the decaying wall before you. Joel pulls you upright and against him with an arm around your waist and a hand around your throat, turning your head and tilting it back to meet your eyes.

You grasp onto his forearms, failing to stand, unable to breathe. His hardness digs into your back, and his cruel eyes show you just how much pleasure he takes in your struggle.

“Don’t like to waste ‘em,” he finally answers, rocking his cock against your spine, “But I will if you beg. You gonna beg?”

He manipulates your answer, fingers moving to your red-hot core — he barely grazes the nerves, only dancing over the needy flesh. You can’t tear your eyes from him either, tethered to your body through his gaze.

Joel Miller was a frustrating lover.

“N-no,” is your answer, slightly strangled and softly stuttered.

He smiles. “S’what I thought.” Then, “Show me what you can do, angel,” he coos, lips just inches away from yours, his hold on your body relaxing —

“Use your pretty lil’ hands n’ put my cock where you want it most.”

And you both know exactly where that is.

After a nod, Joel allows you to bend forward slowly — it’s like moving through honey. Your legs burn with effort as you reach between your legs to wrap a hand around his thick, hard length.

Christ, he’s huge.

He groans when you touch him and uses his own hand to help guide his tip between your folds. One hand holds your waist, fingers extended under your ribs to support your weight in a skilled show of experience.

With his tip at your aching entrance, you try to lean back, to slide yourself slowly down his many inches.

But Joel doesn’t allow it.

He pushes into you in one go, clicking his tongue at your strangled gasp —

The man hadn’t even bothered to open you up with his fingers.

“Ah, c’mon,” he condescends, “You can take it.”

Then he’s setting a hard pace, hands moving from your hips to your ribs to your biceps to your hair to your neck — anywhere he wanted to go, he went. One eventually comes to the front of your throat, tilting your eyes back and up towards the ceiling. Every one of his thrusts arches your back further until you’re contorting into a half-moon shape, standing only by the grace of his support.

And it feels so good. Joel fills you up to the brim, takes you to heaven and floods your ears with hymns, punishes you in the kind of way you’d only experienced in dreams.

Words tumble out, but they’re filled with nothingness. “Joel,” “fuck,” and “yesohgodyes,” quickly become staples of your vocabulary.

He laughs whenever you sob, grows harder every time you moan, restrains you when you try to run away.

The hand around your throat tightens, digging unforgivably into the flesh as you start to let go, as your walls begin to clench and flutter appreciatively around his cock.

“M’I making you happy, sweetheart? My cock making you smile?” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into his chest. Joel readjusts you into whatever shape you need to be in at the new angle, hips still slamming into your ass. Struggling to stand on your tiptoes, he steadies you with his arms and his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look up into his rugged face.

“Mmhm,” is all you can offer him, the pitch jumping up halfway through when the head of his cock grazes that perfect spot inside your cunt.

He doesn’t let up.

“Show me, baby—” he commands, out of breath, too, but not nearly as tortured as you, “—Show me your smile.”

You do your best, smiling up at him, degrading yourself even more at the hands of Joel-fucking-Miller. And he eats it up, loves the way your grin turns into a bitten lip and knit eyebrows over closed eyes, slowing his thrusts to rock even deeper inside you.

You moan something unintelligible, and a laugh rustles through your tangled hair.

“Am I makin’ you come?”

You nod, feeling that familiar rush of pressure blooming somewhere within that throbbing bundle of nerves under his spell.

He smirks in pride and victory, the last look you get before your head falls against his shoulder, your muscles going lax as the peak builds, as your half-sobs grow louder.

“S’it, baby, tell ‘em,” he coos, nipping and sucking the skin on the side of your throat. “Gonna tell the whole street how you take it like a good lil’ slut.”

His fingers fall to your clit, enticing you right over the edge. You vision blurs and your legs shake, but Joel talks you through your orgasm, sweet nothings starting with, “S’right — show me — yes, fuck — good girl…”

And then —

He stops.

You whine, stars dancing before your eyes as the mean, mean man inside you refuses to fuck you through your climax.

“Joel,” you plead, grinding back against him in a pathetic show of need, “Come with me.”

He does the opposite, sliding himself out of your sore opening. You turn to face him, restoring your balance with hands against his chest, gazing up at him in desire-stricken reproach.

“Use your mouth,” he says, voice gruff at your ruined sight and from his own hand on his cock, keeping his arousal level, “Not gettin’ any more help from me.”

It’s unclear whether ‘help’ means pills or his cock, but you assume both to be safe.

You try to argue (having spent the last few weeks dreaming of Joel dripping down your legs) but he just won’t budge.

Then, his voice softens.

“You know your dad’d kill me, angel.”

And it’s really the sweetness of his tone that does it.

Sinking to your knees, it’s déjà vu when you open wide for him, steadying your shaking knees with both hands on his half clothed, half naked hips. Gravel and debris dig painfully into your bare knees, but you ignore the sting, smiling instead at the taste of yourself on Joel’s cock, lips sliding adoringly down the thick length of it.

He groans his approval, tangling his fingers in your hair to help guide your movements.

As you take him in again and again and again, pleasing every inch of him, he chokes out a laugh.

“Never seen you so quiet,” he muses (mostly to himself), caressing your cheekbone with his free hand —

“Gagged by an old man’s cock.”

You pull off, pumping him with both hands, asking breathlessly, “Are you all so big?”

He smiles, eyes darkening at the dirty compliment. “Give you a few numbers n’ you can tell me.”

God, he’s beautiful from down here.

You hold his attention and lick a slow stripe down the underside of his cock, half-grinning up at his lust-filled expression.

“I only want yours, Joel Miller.”

An uneasy inhale as you take him back in, his brows furrowing and his cock growing impossibly harder. Your words please him, he returns by groaning orders and praises like: “S’all yours, baby — take it all — take aaall that dick — good fuckin’ girl.”

He’s so close and you know it, moaning in submission at his hand’s pressure against the back of your head. With your nose crunched into his abdomen, you hold your throat open for him to use it however he pleases — reduced to nothing more than the man’s plaything.

There’s a low “ah, fuck,” from above, and then you finally know what Joel Miller tastes like.

It’s better than the Plan B.

You hear nothing beyond his recovering breaths, feel nothing past pride, lust, and exhaustion.

Eventually, he loosens his grip. You pull off of him delicately, drawing a groan from between his gritted teeth when you make sure to suck every last drop of his seed into your mouth.

Sitting back on your ankles, you roll your head up to face him.

He swipes a thumb under your lips, clearing the saliva connecting you to his softening cock.

“Still mad at me?” He asks.

You’d be crazy to say yes.

“Only for pulling out.”

You note the twitch at the corner of his mustache.

Joel helps you back on your feet, using one hand to pull you up by your arm and another to arrange himself back to decency.

You adjust your shirt; Joel fixes your skirt. It’s a strange kind of silence settling inside this pocket at the side of a random, ruined building.

Then, your company clears his throat, that mask of seriousness falling over his expression once again.

“You gonna be smart?”

What ever could he mean?

Stay away from him? Stay away from men? Practice abstinence? Use protection?

Either way, you’re not one to make promises you know you can’t keep.

You cross your arms.

“No.”

He sighs.

Well, looks like things are already back to normal.

His face softens and he shakes his head, already regretting his next words. “Just — just come find me, then. I won’t do… this again, but — but I’ll help.”

You frown.

“What do you mean, ‘this’?”

He stares down into your accusatory eyes with a look you’d received many times from him, one screaming, “get real.”

“Fine,” you mutter, breaking eye-contact, “Thank you.”

With a stoic nod, he walks around you, heading back into the night. You try, in vain, to watch him go in silence — god knows you had some thinking to get to — and find that, instead of getting it out of your system, the entanglement had only left you wanting for more.

And more and more.

“Is this what you meant?” and you hear his footsteps halt, “When you told me you’d do worse than kill me? When I tried to hit you?”

It comes out before you can help it, and you twist around to face his still, broad shoulders.

You can hear the smile teasing his lips as he utters the words.

“Why are you askin’ me that?”

Still facing his back, you break into a smile of your own. “So I’ll know what I have to do to get you to do it again.”

You watch him shake his head, grey-streaked ripples in the low light.

“Try your best not to find out, angel.”

With that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving you in the flickering doorway. Thighs aching, heart racing, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of what it felt to have them taken from you by Joel Miller.

A feeling you’d chase.

—

Put your red boots on

Baby, giddy up

Baby wants a dance

Baby gets her way

Dreamy nights

Talk to me with that whiskey breath

Twirl me twice

I'll treat you like a holiday

And don't say you're over me

When we both know that you ain't

Don't say you're over me

Baby, it's already too late

Just do what you do best with me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like a ballerina, super high

Dance me all around the moon

Light me up like the 4th of July

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When we both know that you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

When you lie down right next to me

Get your jacket on

Be a gentleman

Get into your truck

And pick me up at eight

'Cause we were built for

The long haul freight train

Burnt by fire

Without trial like a stowaway

And don't say you're over me

When they all know that you ain't

If you lay down right next to me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like ballerina super high

Dance me all around the moon

Like six times 'til I'm sick and I cry

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When they all know that you're lying

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

When you lie down right next to me

—

TAGLIST (cont’d in reblogs): @millllenniawrites @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @killerrxger @niallsbunny @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0 @redhotkitchen @isitselfishifwetalkaboutmeagain @pseudonymist @goldengrapejuice @soullumii @kamcrazy123 @wclverine

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ihni · 3 months

Text

Billy Hargrove has been dead for little over two months when Steve opens the door to find him on the doorstep, dirty and pale and shaking. He stares at Steve with wide eyes – bluer than Steve remembers – before he collapses into a heap of dirty limbs halfway across the threshold. Steve pulls him inside, disposes of him in the couch in the living room, and naturally proceeds to freak the fuck out.

After some processing, he decides that he must be experiencing a very vivid dream – and honestly, it’s a welcome change after the usual nightmares – and since it’s merely a dream, he opens a bottle of his dad’s best whiskey, because where’s the harm, right?

An hour later finds Steve sitting on the floor with his back to an armchair, predictably drunk and watching Billy sleep. Or possibly being unconscious. It doesn’t really matter which, since it’s only a dream.

Turns out, though, that it’s not a dream – or if it is, it’s a damn weird one. Because Billy wakes up, and when he looks around the room and spots Steve there, he starts to cry, which. Is not something that Steve’s brain could ever dream up, alcohol-soaked or not. And Billy feels solid enough under Steve’s hand, when he awkwardly pats the other boy’s shaking shoulders.

The events that have taken place are eventually revealed, but make no sense to either of them. Apparently Billy woke up somewhere dark and cramped (the coffin, he doesn’t say, but Steve hears it anyway), promptly panicked, and … broke out, somehow. Dug himself out from the rain-soaked earth, and stumbled along the roads until he saw a house he recognized. Which was Steve’s house.

It’s impossible, Steve knows. Billy has been dead for months. Steve saw him die – had first row seats to the sight of him getting impaled by a monster made out of meat and bones – and coming back from the dead after all that is simply not possible. Yet here Billy is, sitting on the floor of Steve’s living room, not a mark on him.

(Literally. There are no marks, no scars. Just smooth skin where they both know he was speared through.)

They spend the rest of the night slowly making their way through Steve’s dad’s expensive whiskey.

In the morning, Billy says, voice hoarse; “I need you to drive me to California.”

Steve thinks of asking why. Thinks of Max, thinks of Billy’s parents, thinks of telling the Party or the police or at least some adult who would possibly know what to do. What he says, though, is “Okay.” The world swims, and he adds, belatedly, “Tomorrow, though. I’m too drunk to drive now.”

A snort is the last thing he hears before he falls asleep where he’s sitting.

~~~

Half the next day is spent nursing hangovers and realizing that nope, last night wasn’t a dream or an alcohol-induced hallucination. The other half is spent making preparations for the trip.

Now when Steve is sober, he revisits the idea to simply tell someone. Billy being back is a miracle, and there are people mourning him, people who has missed him –

Billy shuts that down hard and fast. “No one is mourning me here,” he says, voice gravel-rough. “If they act like they do, it’s because they’re feeling guilty. There’s nothing left for me here.” He licks his lips, and his next words are a whisper. “I never wanted to come here in the first place.”

And, like. If he really thinks about it, Steve realizes that they wouldn’t be able to keep Billy being back a secret if he stayed in Hawkins. And if they tell Max, or Billy’s family, then word would spread. The government would no doubt hear of it. There would be a high probability of Billy being taken in for tests, experimentation, whatever else.

He doesn’t deserve that, Steve thinks as he watches Billy emerge from the shower wearing borrowed clothes. Because Billy died saving them. Sacrificed himself for them, even when they’d done so little to try to save him. This? Driving Billy to California? It’s the least Steve can do for him.

~~~

They get on the road the next day. Steve has taken time off work blaming the death of an elderly aunt and a rare family gathering, and been as vague as he can get away with concerning how long he’ll be away. Early in the morning, they put their bags – Billy’s is a borrowed one, containing only Steve’s things since he has nothing of his own and understandably didn’t want to keep the clothes he had on when he was buried – in the trunk of the car, and get in.

Steve is driving. When they pass the “Leaving Hawkins” sign, Billy lets out an audible sigh and slumps down in his seat. Steve glances over at him, and Billy explains without being prompted; “I always hated this town. I can’t believe they fucking buried me here.”

His incredulousness over the fact draws a snort out of Steve.

~~~

It’s strange, how easy it is to get used to having Billy Hargrove next to him while in a confined space. Stranger yet, how well they get along considering their history. And even more strange, how different Billy seems now, when they’ve left Hawkins behind them.

Or perhaps it’s not strange at all – at least not in comparison to all the other weird stuff they’ve both seen and somehow lived through. In the great scheme of things, one young man coming back from the dead and wanting to go back home doesn’t even make the top ten list of weird shit.

Billy is surprisingly funny, and witty, and smart – and it is dazzling without the sharp edges. It takes Steve a while to recognize what is missing, and when he does, it makes him watch Billy with new eyes. Because Billy doesn’t seem to exist behind a layer of anger anymore. The tension is gone. The further they get from Hawkins, the easier Billy seems to breathe.

The change is remarkable. Makes Steve think that he probably never knew who Billy really was, before this.

He finds himself thinking that he is looking forward to getting to know the real Billy.

~~~

They take turns driving. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they sit in companionable silence, and sometimes whoever’s in the passenger seat naps while the other drives. They stop at gas stations to stock up on gas and snacks, and at diners for food. That first night, they drive straight through, but the next night they stop at a motel for some proper sleep in a bed.

They share a room, but lie in separate beds. They talk for hours in the dark before falling asleep.

“I never wanted to be buried underground,” Billy says, when they’re both on the edge of sleep. “They knew that.”

“What did you want, then?” Steve asks, never having considered an alternative.

“I wanted to get back to the ocean,” Billy says. “Have my ashes spread over the surface of the water and become one with the waves again.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. That he’s sorry that even Billy’s own family didn’t respect his final wishes? That it sucks that they buried his body in the dirt of a town he hated, leaving him to rot there forever when he never even wanted to come there in the first place?

“’One with the waves’ … That sounds beautiful,” he decides on. And then, as an aside, “I’ve never even seen the ocean.”

Steve can hear the smile in Billy’s voice when he speaks next. “You’re going to love it. It’s … everything.”

~~~

They get closer – to California, and to each other – and the closer they get, the less urgency Steve feels to get to their destination. Because what will happen when they get there? Steve can’t just leave Billy there without a means to support himself. Without a home, without a car, without money – without someone to take care of him. Steve can’t help it – he worries.

And then he looks at Billy’s smiling face next to him, and feels his worries being washed away.

He still finds himself taking the scenic route more often than not. Insisting on taking detours to see the sights. Claiming he’s too tired to drive unless he takes a break.

Billy smiles as if he knows what Steve is doing, but he doesn’t make a comment. Doesn’t complain. Seems to enjoy this little bubble they’re in together, in Steve’s car with the world passing them by outside.

It’s strange. But it’s nice, too. Steve kind of doesn’t want it to end.

~~~

The last night, they stop at a motel an hour or two from their destination. They could have kept on driving, but none of them seemed to want to. So they get a room, as usual. Steve pays, as usual. There are two beds, as usual.

Yet, when it’s time to sleep, Billy forgoes his own bed and goes to stand by Steve’s. There’s a question in the air between them, unasked.

Steve answers by peeling back the comforter in invitation. His mouth is dry and his heart is beating like a drum in his chest as Billy climbs in next to him.

They don’t speak much, that night. But they kiss. And they hold each other.

“I never wanted to come to Hawkins,” Billy whispers between kisses. “And I hated it there. But I met you, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.”

The next morning, they wake up in each other’s arms.

~~~

“I’ll show you my home,” Billy says when they get back in the car after breakfast. Steve is back behind the wheel, because he wants a reason to keep his eyes on the road. If he watches Billy too much, he’ll do something stupid – like turn the car around and go back to Hawkins with Billy still in it, or perhaps decide not to go back to Hawkins at all, himself. Just, stay here with Billy, for a while longer.

It’s a fantasy that hurts, so he pushes it down. Concentrates on following Billy’s directions, and drive through a city bigger than one he’s ever been in.

(When he first spots the glittering blue between buildings, he gasps. So does Billy.)

They drive through the city, then out of it. Along a winding road with fewer and fewer buildings around, the ocean vast and terrifyingly endless to their right. Eventually Billy directs them down a gravel road that doesn’t have a sign and looks like it might lead onto private property. Steve would worry, would perhaps protest, if it wasn’t for the longing on Billy’s face.

They have to walk the last bit, Billy says. They get out of the car. It’s hours before noon, but it’s already warm. Steve’s in just a T-shirt, and for a second he his face to the sun to feel the warmth of it on his skin – before turning to Billy only to see him turned to the sun, too. Like a flower in bloom.

He looks golden, in this light.

After a short walk down a steep incline, they end up on a little beach. A tiny one, empty, with rocky outcrops on either side which makes it seem like they’re the only people on earth. The sand is fine and pale under their feet, the water lapping at the edges of it and then stretching out in front of them until it meets the horizon, far far away.

It’s beautiful. But it’s not exactly a house. And didn’t Billy say he’d show Steve his home?

“Mom used to take me here when I was a kid,” Billy says, kicking off his shoes. Steve does the same, and pulls off his socks as well. “We used to come here all the time.” Billy holds out his hand with a smile, and Steve takes it. They make their way to the water. “She’d watch me play in the water for hours, sitting on a towel, just listening to the waves and the seagulls.” The first step into the water is a shock – it’s cold, but not freezing. It almost feels alive. Steve takes a tentative step after Billy, bolstered by Billy’s widening smile. “I think taking me here was the most peaceful she ever got to be. It was for me, at least. The best times of my childhood.”

They stand there in the surf, feet in the water and holding hands, when Billy turns to Steve. His eyes are shining with unshed tears and his smile is wobbly as he places his hands on either sides of Steve’s face and leans in for the softest of kisses; their lips just barely brushing against each other.

“Thank you,” he says, and Steve’s heart skips a beat because it sounds like goodbye, “for not letting me stay buried in Indiana.”

He backs up a step. Brushes a tear from Steve’s cheek – that he hadn’t realized had fallen – and turns towards the endless sea. Takes a deep breath and starts walking.

Steve wants to reach out to stop him, wills himself to to say something, but he can’t. Somehow, he knows that this is where they were heading from the start. This is why they had to go here.

As Steve watches, Billy … dissolves. Like in a movie. One moment he is solid, and the next he’s … not. He turns to dust in front of Steve’s eyes, fine dust that glitters like gold in a sudden ray of sunlight. It – he – is spread out over the water, is carried over the clear surface by the gentle breeze.

Instead of being trapped in the ground inland, he becomes one with the waves again.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #sorry guys #canonical character death #got a scene stuck in my head and had to get it out #look at me keeping around the 2K mark!

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fullsandwichmiracle · 5 months

Text

"Oxford: A Year Abroad, part two”

Paring: Felix Catton x reader

Warning: 18+, MDNI, nsfw, smut, size kink, weed ( tell me if i missed any)

Word count: 2243

01|02|03|04|05|?

Y/N awoke with a throbbing head, finding herself nestled against Felix's chest. As she looked up, she realized she had slept next to him and struggled to recall the events of the previous night. All she could remember was playing truth or dare, with the memory fading after Venetia's question. Did she have sex with Felix and not remember it or why was she in bed with him. They were both in underwear so she ruled out that they probably didn't have sex. Y/N emerged from the bed, slipping into her still partially damp clothes, and made her way to the door.

"Where are you going?" Felix mumbled in a groggy morning voice, causing Y/N's heart to race. She turned around, saying, "I need to get back to the dorm; my friends are probably wondering why I didn't come home last night.”

Felix nodded and said, "Sit down I'll get you a cab; I need to get back too." Y/N settled back on the bed, waiting as Felix arranged for a cab.

"Did we do anything last night?" Y/N asked shyly looking down into the floor while Felix retrieved his trousers from the floor and began dressing himself. After throwing on his shirt, He positioned himself Infront of Y/N, delicately raising her chin while towering over her.

"Don't worry, love, nothing happened. Wouldn't mind doing it another time" he said, then gave her a kiss on the lips before heading out the door. Y/N was left speechless, watching him stroll away. Soon, she realized her shoes were nowhere to be seen and decided to go look for them.

When the cab arrived, Felix waved at Y/N to join, holding her heels, making her feel foolish for searching the entire house. They entered the cab, and Felix placed the shoes on Y/N's lap. " They were still by the pool," he remarked. As Felix brought up the pool, the memory of jumping in rushed back to her.

Upon reaching the campus, Felix tipped and settled the cab fare, then took Y/N's hand and strolled towards the campus building. "Which floor?" he inquired, looking at her and awaiting her response. "Third," Y/N replied, and they proceeded to climb the stairs. Felix followed her to her room, planting a kiss on her cheek when she paused outside her door. He then said, "Goodbye. Now that I know where you live, I'll be able to come and visit you and not only undress you in the corridors as you walk by.” Y/N blushed, unaware that she wasn't the only one staring in the corridors. He kissed her once more and casually strolled away to his room, conveniently located at the end of the hallway. The proximity ignited a desire in her, tempting her to follow him into his dorm. However, she restrained herself, mindful not to appear too clingy, realizing she also needed to take a shower and brush her teeth.

Throughout the day, Y/N lounged in her bed in pajamas, nursing a hangover and immersed in reading. She couldn't help but fantasize about the possibility of Felix showing up at any moment. Whenever she thought of him, she became all flustered and wanted to masturbate. She wanted to fuck him so bad. And as night fell and Felix didn't make an appearance, Y/N started preparing for bed. When closing her eyes, all she could think about was how much she desired him.

In her pajamas, Y/N left her bed, stepped into the corridor, and approached Felix's door, giving it a knock. The one who answered wasn't Felix but Farleigh. He glanced at her, realizing she was looking for Felix. "You have company," he mentioned, inviting her inside. Y/N entered, noticing that his room was more spacious than hers. Felix was on the floor near the couch, indulging in something that definitely wasn't a cigarette. Felix gestured for Y/N to join him on the floor. Farleigh went to the counter and made another joint. As she settled in, Felix inquired, "Do you smoke?”

And held out the joint for her to take a hit. She took a puff while it was still in his hand and began to cough.

"Not really, just cigarettes," Y/N replied, taking another hit and this time inhaling the smoke. Felix gazed at her, almost proud that she did well. Farleigh sat down and started smoking his new joint now that Felix shared his with Y/N. After passing the joint back and forth a couple of times Felix glanced at Y/N and asked, "Wait, why did you come over?" Y/N blushed and, already feeling the effects, didn't mind the presence of someone else in the room. She went to sit on Felix's lap and said, "I'd like to take you up on your word from this morning.”

Felix took another drag of the joint and exhaled the smoke towards her. She inhaled, and he handed her the joint, all the while caressing her as she took her hit. He began unbuttoning her pajama shirt, revealing she wasn't wearing anything underneath. Farleigh, still seated across the room, cleared his throat to remind them of his presence. Felix cupped Y/N breasts and nibbled at her nipples that were getting stiff.

"Leave if you don't want to watch because I'm not stopping," he declared before resuming kissing her round big breast. Farleigh grabbed the joint from Y/N's hand and remarked, "I'm taking this as a thank you," then exited onto the balcony attached to his living space.

After he departed, Felix gazed into her eyes and inquired, "Do you wanna fuck me” and Y/N nodded, and he continued, "I want to hear you tell me that you want daddy to fuck you.” Y/N had never used such words before, but she genuinely desired for Felix to take her.“ Please fuck me daddy” She said, hoping that was going to please him. "You can do better than that, sweetie," he said softly, kissing her ear and massaging her breasts. “Please I need you to fuck my wet pussy daddy” She said, somewhat liking it. Felix responded, "Good girl, that's what daddy likes to hear." Standing up, he lifted her with him and tossed her onto the couch. He towered over her, and she realized how small she was compared to him, he could destroy her. He asked, "Want me to continue?" Y/N nodded, and he added, "With words" standing over her.

” Please don't stop daddy, I want you inside me” she said this time getting more turned on as she said it. She felt her pussy throbbing and wanted to feel him inside her. He started to explore his hand outside her pajama pants, feeling how wet they were while maintaining eye contact. Y/N moaned slightly from feeling his hand so close to her soaked pussy. “Already this wet for daddy, good little girl” he said, taking off her pants and panties in the same motion. His hand came back and his fingers began to circle her clit and she moaned softly as he started kissing her thighs. “Please daddy” she said, wanting Felix to stop teasing her. “I'm only getting started sweetie” he said, sliding a finger into her throbbing vagina as she moaned louder. He began fingering her while he's eating her out faster and faster as she moaned louder and louder as his tongue circled her wet pussy. “I'm cumming” Y/N moaned and Felix stopped whilst she was at a tipping point. “ You're not coming until I let you” he said, kissing her pussy and then unbuckling his belt and taking off his pants and boxers. His dick was massive and Y/N didn't think it would be able to fit. Again his size compared to her made her feel so small. “ Come and suck on your daddy's dick sweetie?” he said as he went up from the floor and sat on the couch next to her, Y/N crawled towards him and took his big cock in her hand feeling how it was throbbing. “You know I want to hear you say it” he said while holding her by the chin to look her in the eyes. “Can I please suck your dick daddy?” she said wanting to feel him inside her. Felix took his hand off her chin and put it at the back of her head leading it towards his dick. He didn't force her head, only guiding the tempo. As he moaned asking her” do you like sucking daddys big dick?” she answered with a moan that vibrated on his dick, making him moan louder. She started taking his cock deeper in her throat and almost gagging by its size. Going faster, enjoying his cock filling her throat, nearly taking it all. Felix moaned as Y/N sucked his cock deeper than he thought she would be able to.

He pulled out his dick from her mouth telling her “ turn around so daddy can fuck your wet pussy” Y/N turned around, on her knees and answer “ yes daddy”. Felix held his dick and traced it around her throbbing pussy. “Good girl, are going to be able to take all this” he said, smacking her ass with his other hand. “ I will try” she whimpered not knowing if she actually could, she had never been with anyone that was this big.

He began to enter her and as she moaned he moaned “Good girl” and went in further “ you're so tight I'm only halfway in” he said moaning. He began to circle her clit again while he started to thrust deeper and deeper every time. Y/N moaned“ Daddy, fuck me!” and as she said that he turned her around so she was laying on her back, he pulled her closer to him inserting himself inside Y/N again and with her legs around his neck. Somehow he got deeper, hitting her g-spot every time he trusted. Y/N moaned loudly and Felix put his hand covering her mouth “ shh, I want to be the only one who hears you” he said, shushing her. Not able to answer with his hand over her mouth she nodded. He continued to thrust inside her hitting her g-spot every time. He took his hand off her mouth and placed it around her neck slightly choking her only enough to make her want him more. Y/N legs began to shake as she was not able to take it much longer and was going to cum. “I'm going to cum” she moaned as he was going faster at a perfect pace. “Not yet sweetie, daddys not done fucking his perfect little girl.” he stated while starting to go even faster. “I can't hold it daddy, I'm going to cum.” she said in a moan. He began fingering her clit and said “ Be a good girl and listen to daddy ” and began going even faster inside her sobbing wet pussy and flickering her clit. She couldn't hold it anymore and squirted as he continued to fuck her restless. He began to moan more as he thrusted inside her. “ Do you wanna cum on daddy's dick?” He said looking into her eyes.

“ mhm.” she murmured, not being able to speak, ready to burst. “Okay on three, one, two” he said going faster and deeper ”three” as he said that Y/N came and got cum all over Felix dick. He thrusted inside her as she felt him realizing himself into her pussy, filling her up with his load.

Y/N was breathing heavily and shaking from her orgasm. Felix pulled out and kissed her. “Good girl taking daddy so well.” He said and went to get a towel from the bathroom. When he came back he cleaned Y/N off and suggested “ Do you wanna shower?” And all she could do was nod, still not able to speak. Felix helped her up and began carrying her to the bathroom where she took a shower with Felix. Y/N gazed at Felix wet from the shower looking down on her, He bent down to kiss her passionately before handing out of the shower and drying himself. As Felix went out Farleigh emerged from the balcony with red eyes `` It sounded like you had fun, daddy” he mocked Felix who was dressed only in a white towel around his hips. As Y/N came out of the bathroom with a towel he said “ And there comes daddys good little girl” and chuckled. “ Shut the fuck up Farleigh, your only jealous you didn´t get any action” Felix said with a stern tone. Farleigh laughed before heading out the door saying “ Good night you two”. As the door closed behind him, Felix remarked, "Don't mind him; he's just high," and kissed Y/N on the forehead. He then took her hand, guiding her into his bedroom. A sizable bed occupied the center of the room, adorned with satin bed covers. Y/N couldn't help but ponder on the cost of living in such a spacious dorm room, especially in contrast to her own.

Still exhausted from their hookup, they both laid down in the bed. Y/N curled up beside Felix, gradually drifting into sleep. Felix gazed at her, peacefully sleeping next to him, smiling, and desiring her never to leave his side.

#felix catton smut #felix catton x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton #felix catton fanfic #felix catton saltburn #felix catton x you #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn #jacob elordi smut #jacob elordi x reader #felix catton imagine #jacob elordi imagine

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roosterforme · 8 months

Text

The Younger Kind Part 35 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: A new bed, a new toy, and another surprise for Bradley. He wanted to try everything with you, and you were keen to let him. And you were thankful he kept pushing things in a direction that you were becoming very comfortable with.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, smut, anal play, butt plug, pregnancy discussion, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

When Bradley woke up with a hangover on Sunday morning, that was his first indication that he'd overdone it at the Hard Deck. His second indication was the fact that it was eleven o'clock and he was just stirring. He would have never had a chance to enjoy a night out drinking like that if you weren't here with him to get up and take care of Noah.

As he climbed out of bed, he groaned and headed right for the kitchen where he drank a full glass of water and turned the coffee maker on. There were dishes in the sink, but you and Noah were nowhere to be found. He poked his head out the back door and then looked out the front window before he saw you both.

You were crawling around on the driveway with Noah and a bucket of sidewalk chalk, and it made him so fucking happy. His kid looked delighted. Then he remembered asking you if he could fuck a baby into you last night. "Oh, god," he groaned, rubbing his eyes with his fingers until he saw stars.

He stumbled back into the kitchen to retrieve his coffee mug and take a long sip. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable here. He didn't really care if you wanted to wait; you were so young, and you were just starting out in your nursing career. He could understand that. He just wanted to know what you were thinking.

The coffee was scalding hot, but he downed it anyway before returning to the bedroom to pull on his gray sweatpants. Then he headed out to the driveway, barefoot and missing the two of you.

"Morning," he greeted, his head still not feeling too great. And on top of that, he was afraid he'd be able to read your discomfort on your face after he told you he wanted an answer about a baby. But instead you jumped to your feet and closed the distance to him with a vibrant smile on your face.

"Hi, Daddy," you whispered, running your chalk covered hands up his chest and giving him the kind of kiss that was probably not appropriate for the driveway. But he didn't really care. You had his bottom lip between yours, and your fingers were tugging through his messy hair, and he'd have taken you right inside if it weren't for Noah asking him to draw a dinosaur.

Should he bring up the baby discussion? Should he wait? You didn't seem to be expecting anything from him at the moment as you ran your lips along his neck when he accepted a piece of blue chalk from Noah.

"A dinosaur?" he asked his son. "How big?"

"Huge!" Noah exclaimed, jumping into the air. "Mommy drew three little ones already," he said, pointing across the driveway. Bradley didn't think he'd ever get tired of listening to Noah call you that. So with a smile on his face, Bradley squatted down and started drawing a pretty sad looking creature with a lot of teeth.

"Are you sure that's a dinosaur?" you asked him as you drew a fourth smaller one that actually looked correct. "Noah, Daddy needs art lessons. And maybe some glasses, too."

Bradley tossed a piece of chalk playfully at you as Noah came over to see the ugly dinosaur he had drawn. "He does," his son agreed, picking up yellow chalk and trying to fix the dinosaur.

It wasn't until much later that night that you were lounging on the couch with your head resting on Bradley's thigh and a bag of Skittles in your hand that he said anything about it. He stole a few pieces of candy and then ran his thumb along your flawless cheek. "Baby?" he asked, voice deep and raspy. You rolled onto your back so you were looking up at him, and Bradley watched your jaw work as you chewed.

"Hmm?"

He wanted to make sure he got this right, because he didn't want you to worry about his response or your own thoughts on the matter. "How would you feel if you got pregnant?"

Your face stayed calm and serene, and a smile played at your lips. "I was just waiting for you to bring this up again." But he didn't respond, still unwilling to affect your opinion. "If I got pregnant right now? I'd be very, very nervous, Daddy. And also really excited."

His heart rate ramped up so quickly, he felt dizzy even though he was sitting down. "Excited? Yeah?"

"Very," you replied, popping a purple Skittle between your lips. "Noah would be an amazing big brother. And you're already an excellent dad who dotes on his child. I know that a baby would just send you over the moon."

Bradley hauled you squealing up onto his lap, sending Skittles flying across the carpet. "Hey! That was my snack!" you protested, but then he was kissing you and wrapping his arms around you.

As you straddled his legs, he ran his big hands up your back and said, "I'm not in a hurry, okay? I'm sorry if I made you feel like I was last night."

You kissed his nose and whispered, "You didn't."

"Regardless," he replied, "I'll let you bring it up again when you're ready."

You giggled. "You want me to tell you when I'm ready for you to fuck a baby into me?"

He groaned and tightened his grip on you. "Yes. And I want you to say it just like that, okay?"

You were laughing harder in his lap as he smiled and tried to kiss you.

---------------------------

Later in the week, everyone was rushing through breakfast when Bradley asked, "Did you say anything to Dr. Kelly about taking a day or two off?"

You chewed up a piece of toast and said, "I'll ask her today, promise. It's just that I'm a little nervous to bring it up."

"Why?" he asked, handing Noah a fork for his eggs. "I thought you liked her."

"I do!" you replied a bit defensively. "She's great. But she also asked me after I cut my hand if there were any... issues going on at home."

Bradley's eyes went wide. "Oh."

"Yeah. I mean, I told her there were no issues at home and that you were deployed at the time anyway, but it was still a little awkward."

You watched his brown eyes as he slowly brought them to focus on your face. "I should stop by and pick you up one day. I haven't been there yet. They don't know me. Maybe that would help."

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his waist. "Sure. You can do that if you want. Gotta run so I can come home for lunch when the new bed gets dropped off!" You kissed him and then Noah and shouted that you loved them as you ran out the front door.

You were way too excited about the new bed. And about the things you were going to do with Bradley in the new bed. And you were giggling as you thought about how he was going to react to some of your suggestions. He had been extra loving after you assured him you'd let him know when you wanted to try for a baby. The new bed was about to get a workout. But first things first.

The morning at work went by quickly, and then you were back at home where you had already removed all the bedding and Bradley had left the mattress propped up in the hallway. Then the doorbell rang with so much commotion, you just showed everyone where the old bed was and where you wanted the new bed. And then you stood in the kitchen doorway and ate a bowl of cereal and watched with a smile as the old bed was taken away. It was being donated to someone who wouldn't care that your boyfriend and his ex made a sex tape on it. Someone else could enjoy the bed since you were having a hard time with it.

"All finished," one of the men told you about thirty minutes later as they headed out.

"Really?" You peeked into the bedroom and had to press your lips together so you didn't squeal. It was perfect. When you jumped onto the mattress and rolled all the way across it, you sighed at how comfortable it was. And you had to admit, it was nice using Bradley's credit card for this.

You quickly made the bed with a set of clean sheets, and then you retrieved the things you'd ordered online out of your underwear drawer and tucked them under your pillow for later tonight.

Since you took a long lunch break at home, you had volunteered to stay at work a little late. Bradley was responsible for picking Noah up, and you were sure Casey was flirting with him probably right at this very moment. You rolled your eyes as you carefully disinfected the exam rooms and set everything up for the following day. Casey looked as desperate as Helen had. You weren't desperate. Your boys would be waiting for you when you got home.

At least that's what you thought. You could hear Dr. Kelly talking to someone in the hallway, and then you heard her laugh as she got closer to the room you were cleaning. "She's right in here."

Then Noah and Bradley were in the room, and you were trying to get your latex gloves off as quickly as possible so you could take Noah in your arms. "What are you doing here?" you asked Bradley as you held Noah tight. "I'm done in fifteen minutes."

Bradley leaned in and kissed you, and you realized just how good he looked in his khaki uniform. "Just wanted to surprise you. Noah kept asking what it looked like here."

You smiled at him, and then Bradley and Dr. Kelly returned to their previous conversation while you showed Noah the stethoscopes and the huge container of cotton balls. Then you set him on the table and pretended to examine him while he giggled.

"Mommy, can I have a sticker?" he asked. "I got one last time I went to the doctor."

"You can have more than one," you replied, kissing the top of his head.

When you left work with Noah in your arms, his shirt was covered in seven stickers, and he was all smiles. When you buckled him in the back of the Bronco and squeezed his hand, you turned and looked up at Bradley over your shoulder. "Will you drive my car home so I can drive with Noah?" you asked softly.

"Of course," he replied immediately, handing you the keys to the Bronco.

You dug around in your bag for your own keys, and when he took them, you said, "I love you so much."

Bradley smiled and kissed your cheek. "I love you, too. See you at home, Princess."

And then you got to turn on the playlist you made for Noah as you guided the Bronco along the busy streets with Bradley right behind you.

"Are you going to get married?" Noah asked, and when you looked at him in the rearview mirror, his face was calm as he looked out the window.

"Married?" you asked, unsure how to answer him.

"Are you and Daddy getting married? Everyone at school has people who are married," he said. "Mommys and Daddys and stuff."

Bradley mentioned putting a ring on your finger while the two of you were going at it. You weren't exactly sure how sincere he was about that. But it would be perfect. "Maybe someday, sweet Noah."

"Okay," he replied before asking you what's for dinner.

-------------------------

It was almost comical the way you wouldn't let Bradley in the bedroom to look at the new bed until after dinner. You got Noah situated with a cookie and an episode of Mickey Mouse, and then you wrapped your arm around Bradley's waist and asked, "Ready to see it?"

"Yes. I've been ready since I got home, but you wouldn't let me," he muttered as you moved to stand behind him and guided him down the hallway while you covered his eyes. "Is this really necessary?" he asked, laughing as he stumbled.

"Yes," you replied, getting him situated inside the bedroom before you lowered your hands. "What do you think?"

He looked at the bed and the bedding, and it was all very nice, but then he noticed what was missing. "Where's your crown?" he asked, looking back at you. "It belongs on that post on my side of the bed." He was gesturing to the completely empty bedpost, getting worried that it had been removed with the old bed.

You were looking up at him in awe. "I have it," you promised him, running your fingers through his hair. "You make me feel special."

"It's your princess crown," he replied. "It belongs on the bed. And you are special." Bradley watched you retrieve it from your dresser drawer, and when you handed it to him, he put it right where it belonged. "That's better."

But you were already climbing up onto the bed in your scrubs and crawling toward him. You looked a little nervous as you stopped on your knees in front of him. "I thought we could break the new bed in tonight after Noah goes to sleep?"

"Hell yes," he groaned, leaning in to kiss you. But you scooted away from him and wouldn't let him touch you at all. Then Bradley watched the little grin that broke out on your face as you reached under your pillow and pulled out some soft looking pink fabric. "What's that?" he croaked, his hand coming to rest on his hardening cock as you draped it over the front of your body.

"Just a cute nightie I found. Do you like it?" Your eyes were glittering with mischief, but Bradley could tell that you needed to hear how incredibly sexy he found you.

The blush pink lace and silk were going to look amazing hugging your body. And what a way to break in the new bed. "I love it, Princess," he promised, gesturing to where his hand was resting. "Obviously I can't get enough of you."

You looked pleased with yourself as you crawled back across the bed, and Bradley groaned out loud as you kissed his cock through his khaki pants. Then you looked up at him and whispered, "I have some more surprises, too. I'm going to go take a shower first, Daddy. Will you get Noah ready for bed?"

Bradley nodded and melted into your touch as you eased your hands up his body before kissing him and scampering off to the bathroom. "Fuck, fuck," he grunted as he watched you go. Before he could get on with his night, he had to count to fifty to get himself under control.

When he got to the living room, Noah was already yawning. "You almost ready for bed, Bub?"

"I don't want to go to bed," he complained with another yawn. "I want to eat popcorn and play in the cushion fort with Mommy."

Bradley kissed him and turned off the TV before scooping him up. "It's getting a little late for a fort, okay? And besides, it's Daddy's turn to play with Mommy."

"What are you going to play with?" Noah asked as Bradley helped him change into pajamas.

Bradley snorted and said, "Hopefully everything." He kissed Noah and tucked him in, and by the time he got back to his own bedroom, you were wearing that pretty nightie, waiting for him on the bed. And the soft glow of the bedside lamp made you look like a dream.

"Daddy," you whispered, your eyes on him as he unbuttoned his uniform shirt and yanked it off. You were biting your lip as he tossed his undershirt aside, too.

"You ready to break in this bed, Princess?" he asked softly as he crawled across the bed to get to you. The mattress seemed nice, and sleeping on it would probably be great, but he wanted to get his hands and lips on you first. "You look beautiful."

You giggled as he caged you in with his big body and kissed you. Your small hands were warm on his face and in his hair as you guided him down for more kisses. When he eased his hands up your thighs and around to your bare ass, you whispered, "I used your credit card to buy the nightie."

"Good girl. Did you earn another spanking?"

He was kneading his hands into your butt and thighs as you said softly, "I actually bought some other things, too. Do you want to see them?"

Bradley looked up into your eyes which were filled with apprehension now, and his hands froze on your body. "Yeah, I wanna see them, but what's wrong?"

You reached your hands back under your pillow as you asked, "You know how you told me you never spanked anyone before?"

"Yeah," he grunted. Then Bradley's eyes went wide as you held three items out to him.

"Have you ever had... anal sex before?" Your voice was so soft as you showed him a bottle of lube, a purple USB drive, and a purple silicone butt plug. You were nervously nibbling on your lip, awaiting an answer, but Bradley's brain couldn't seem to put one together fast enough.

His hands were moving back to your ass seemingly of their own accord as he buried his kisses against your neck. "No," he told you, kissing along the top of your chest and back up to your lips. "Never."

You moaned softly and wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his khaki covered erection closer to you. "Do you want to, Daddy?"

"Fuck, Baby," he whined, bringing his hands up to your face to cup your cheeks. "I told you already, you make me want to do everything with you."

When you whimpered, Bradley eased himself down your body, pushing the nightie up and kissing your pussy. He ran the tip of his nose through your wetness as you bucked against him, but he didn't stop there. He propped you up in the air with your legs spread wide, and he kissed your asshole. You even looked pretty here. Tight and perfect.

"You've never had anyone fuck you here before?" he asked, eyes on yours as you propped yourself up on the pillows.

"No. Of course not. You were the first guy to ever go down on me! Remember?"

"I remember very fucking well. And I plan on being the last. The last to do anything." He kissed you there again as you whined his name.

"Bradley. Anal sex can be something else we do for the first time together."

He groaned and had to thrust himself against the new bed for some relief. "Baby, you're killing me," he said before kissing along your pussy and down, spreading your wetness everywhere. "You're a fucking dream."

"Daddy," you gasped as he wrapped his lips around your clit. "Daddy, we need to start with the plug tonight. Okay?"

"Mmhmm." He ran his thumb in a little circle around your asshole as he kissed your thigh. "You put that toy on your princess credit card?"

"I did," you gasped as he teased you.

"Good girl." Then he was caging you in again and kissing your mouth, worshipping you. "So sweet. We'll go slow. I'll take care of you."

"I know you will, Daddy."

--------------------------

You would have felt a little bit ridiculous, but Bradley was so outlandishly turned on, it didn't matter if your movements felt clumsy. He was making sounds you'd never heard from him before, and his words next to your ear were so sweet.

And you hadn't even told him what comes next yet.

After you managed to get him naked, you offered to go down on him. "You want me to take care of this first?" you asked, running your fingers along his erection. He was so hard, it looked painful.

"No," he said, gently taking your hands in his. "I plan on fucking your pretty pussy once we get your ass full of the toy." He was smirking as he eased you onto your back and hiked your nightie up above your breasts. "Gorgeous."

You spread your legs wide for him and propped yourself up with a pillow under your lower back. "I'm ready," you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. Because this wasn't scary with him. A few seconds later, Bradley was working his lube covered fingers around your hole while he kissed your lips and your cheeks.

"Does that feel okay?" he asked.

Your head was tipped back, and you were panting slightly as you said, "It feels good. Different. But good." Your voice sounded needy, and Bradley ate up your words with his lips as you moaned for him. He was going slowly, never pushing so that he hurt you.

Once he had worked the tip of his middle finger inside you, both of you seemed surprised by how much you were enjoying yourself. You felt full in a new way, and your body was telling you to take more. Bradley held your gaze and whispered, "You look like you're really enjoying this, Baby."

"So do you."

He groaned softly, his cock resting against your thigh and leaking precum. "I love this. I love you." And with those words, he eased his finger a little further. And he went slow just like he promised he would when the time came for your plug.

"Use more lube?" you asked him softly.

"Of course, Baby," he promised. And he applied just the right amount of pressure to the toy while he ran his other hand along your neck and kissed you so sweetly, pausing at every gasp and moan from you. "You're doing so well."

And suddenly you felt full and tight in all the right places, and you could tell by Bradley's reaction that you'd done everything right. He kissed you hard on the mouth, moaning your name. When you looked up at him, you whispered, "Let's make a video."

His cheeks were flushed pink and his brown eyes were wide in disbelief. "Are you serious, Princess?"

"Yes," you said, your voice just a needy little whine. "I got the purple USB drive for us. Now get your phone ready and fuck me, Daddy."

He scrambled off the bed to get his phone, simply asking, "Are you ready for me to start recording?"

"Yes," you gasped, running your hands along your breasts. You were so turned on, you were almost ready to beg him for relief.

But he held up his camera and climbed back in bed as he said, "There she is. There's my pretty Princess. And her new toy."

"Daddy, please," you managed as he propped his phone up on the nightstand, and then his lips were on yours again. And it felt like his hands were everywhere.

"Oh, god damn," he growled, and you were still spread wide as he ran his angry, red cock along your pussy. When he hit your clit, you cried out, already about to come. "Oh, shit," he whined, pushing his cock inside you.

You were keening, and he was pressing his mouth to yours to keep you quiet until he bottomed out. You felt so full. So good. And then Bradley rocked those delicious hips against yours. "Oh my god!"

His flushed cheeks and handsome face were all you could see as he fucked you, keeping your legs spread wide. A few more strokes, and you were coming, clinging to him as you clenched hard. "Good girl," he coaxed. "You're just loving me and your plug at the same time, aren't you?"

"Yes!" you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he continued to fuck you. And then his words became unintelligible as you reached for his phone to capture a few more seconds of video as he came inside you with his hand on your breasts.

When you managed to watch the playback of the video later, you would notice that Bradley took the phone from you to record the way his cum seeped out of your pussy and all over the base of your toy. But in the moment, all you knew was how fucking good you felt. How good you always felt with him. Because he told you a million times over that he loved you. That he'd protect you with his life just like he would Noah. And he let you have your new bed and your very own video, because he knew that's what you needed, too.

When Bradley curled up with his head on your chest, pressing soft kisses to your breasts, he whispered, "You're incredible. I love you. I love my family." His thumb and index finger were caressing your left ring finger, and you were thinking about throwing away your birth control.

"I'm going to use the credit card for a booster seat for Noah for my car," you whispered. You were trying not to get ahead of yourself, trying not to think about the fact that it would be a tight squeeze to get an infant car seat back there as well. But Bradley was the one who went ahead and made you feel a wave of excitement in your chest.

"Let's order it tonight. And maybe we'll need some more car seats someday."

---------------------------

Daddy and Princess will return with their toy. Noah will return with more angelic adorableness. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 36

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chelseeebe · 10 months

Text

menswear.

been wanting to write a menswear inspired lil ficcy for sooo so long n to celebrate the fact that i will finally hear it live after 9 years i thought this was a great time

a/n: i just wanna write a disclaimer that i am british and tend to britain-ise my writing so if it seems off for an american wedding don’t bite me x it’s ovulation week which is the only way i can explain this if i’m honest

summary: meeting steve at an old friend’s wedding could really only lead to one thing, couldn’t it?

18+. smut. alcohol and drug use. steve is a mess. no use of y/n!

steve’s still drunk from the night before, his tie crooked and one of the buttons on his shirt is uneven. he looked even more disheveled than he felt.

he hadn’t been keen on the idea of going to the wedding of his ex girlfriend and the man who essentially took her from him. not that he blames jonathan of course, he wasn’t exactly the gold standard boyfriend. he had his faults and would quite happily admit to them.

but still, it was confusing and weird and he’d tried to get out of it but robin had quite frankly insisted that he be there or else he was a terrible person.

so, as all sensible people would, he got absolutely fucking blasted the night before. he hadn’t meant to get so drunk but catching up with old friends and the kids he once looked after, had lead to him being carried off to his room by his best friend who was mumbling a bunch of profanities under her breath.

he still stank of booze, christ even he could smell it. it lingered on his body despite the twenty minute cold shower he had forced himself through this morning. there had been an attempt to style his hair but it mostly hung around his face in limp strands.

did you know the best way to beat a hangover is to keep drinking? hair of the dog and that. at least, that’s what he was telling himself. nursing a double whisky at the hotel bar at stupid o’clock this morning.

he didn’t have robin to hang off today, left to his own devices as she’d been recruited into the bridal party. her one track mind focussed on nancy and not her absolute failure of a best friend.

the venue was nice, a tad unorthodox and not where he’d choose to get married but it fit the strange pairing in a nice way. slinking up the cold stone of the aisle, trying to find his reserved seat among the crowds of people.

max pulls him into one of the rows, shoving him down on the empty seat with a small scowl on her face. she’d seen him struggling from her seat and had so graciously gone to help the poor man.

‘thanks.. max,’ he groans, nodding at the girl a she settles into his seat, honestly just hoping that the service would go quick so he could resume his pitiful drinking.

he sighs, thumbing through the programme. smiling slightly as he reads the officiants name, el hopper. they had just had to make this the strangest wedding he’d ever have the pleasure of attending.

‘do you know the bride or groom?’ your voice speaks from beside him, it’s the first time he’s realised that he’s actually sat next to anyone and he’s actually not in his own little world of misery.

‘huh?’ he asks, looking up to meet your eyes.

you’re smiling, looking as spritely as he wished he felt. clearly some people hadn’t got wasted the night before. amateurs.

‘do you know the bride or groom? sorry- i don’t really know anyone here,’ giving him a shy chuckle as your cheeks flush, maybe you would have to dip after the ceremony.

‘oh.. oh no, i know both of them.. nancy’s my ex girlfriend,’ he wants to kick himself because what on earth had compelled him to say something like that.

‘oh wow..’ you laugh, ‘not awkward at all then,’ kissing the back of your teeth.

‘it’s actually not.. not really,’ he shrugs, shuffling in his chair to face towards you properly, ‘i mean, if i had a choice i probably would’ve skipped but.. what can you do?’

‘right.. still, i don’t envy you,’ smoothing down the creased material of your dress, a deep green to match the earthy tones of the wedding.

‘d’you wanna know my secret to weddings?’ he smiles, leaning in.

‘mhm hit me.’

‘you just gotta get as drunk as humanly possible and they’re actually not so bad..’

‘isn’t it like..’ you check your wrist watch, ‘it’s noon,’ breaking into a giggle.

‘and that is why i started last night,’ tapping his finger on his temple, he was a genius really.

he wasn’t new to this game. having been forced to a plethora of fancy weddings with his parents and the wave of weddings from high school friends, he was wise to all the tricks in which made weddings bearable.

‘well, i might have to join you.. i don’t know anybody here,’ looking around at the hordes of strangers milling around the large room.

‘why are you here then?’ immediately wincing at his choice of words, ‘shit no.. i meant, do you know nancy? or jonathan? or have you snuck in?’

you giggle again and it’s music to his ears. sat next to a pretty girl who finds him funny? maybe today couldn’t be all that bad after all.

‘i know nancy.. we were roommates at emerson, she’s like.. the only person i’ve kept in contact with.’

he nods, going to speak but is abruptly interrupted by the sound of the organ chiming. your cue to actually start paying attention to the ceremony at hand. he turns his attention to the alter, exhaling heavily.

‘i’m so sorry.. i never asked your name,’ whispering with his body still facing the front, but completely leaning his shoulder into yours.

oh this wedding was about to be so much fun.

you had taken steve’s advice, who’s name you had now learnt, immediately downing a glass of champagne when you got to the reception. hey, if you were going to have to meet a thousand new people tonight, you’d have to be a little buzzed to do it.

it’s no surprise you’ve been shoved onto the singles table, finding your name on the board and slinking off to your corner of the banished. steve already sat slumped over at his seat which was suspiciously next to yours again. he totally hadn’t swapped out stacey’s name card for yours.. never.

you slide into the chair, ‘we have got to stop meeting like this,’ gently nudging his elbow with yours as to not alarm him.

‘huh,’ he smiles, eyes glistening, ‘it must be fate,’ swivelling on the chair to give you his attention.

‘must be,’ raising your eyebrows ever so slightly.

he’s nursing what must be his fifth? sixth? drink, this time opting for something a little more socially acceptable with a beer. if it weren’t an open bar he’d offer to buy you a drink but it seemed a little cheap.

‘so, where are you from?’ he’s utterly intrigued by you, desperate to know everything there is to know.

‘denver and then boston.. for college and now i’m in cincinnati for my job,’ you shrug, feeling immensely coy under his gaze, ‘i take it you’re from indiana like nancy?’

she had spoken about how people mostly stayed in their small town, they’d meet someone in high school and fall into the suburban family life without ever realising it. and then before they knew it, it was too late and they were stuck there. she was determined to not do that.

‘yeah..’ he sounds deflated, thinking of the place he called home, ‘but it’s home i guess..’ he taps on the table, ‘what d’ya do for work?’

‘i’m an editor at a publishing house,’ his expression says that he doesn’t entirely understand, ‘i work with a lot of writers and basically tell them what to do,’ that was the very basic premise of your role but you’d gathered that he probably didn’t actually care much.

‘oh wow.. so you’re boss lady then?’ swigging on the now-warm liquid, he’s listening intently to whatever comes out of your mouth.

‘hah.. not quite,’ fiddling with the tiny name plaque in front of you, ‘one day.. hopefully,’ you were never a fan of talking about yourself, ‘so what do you do?’

he rolls his eyes playfully, ‘work for my dad, i didn’t get into college soo.. he gave me a job,’ eyes wandering to the guests now joining your table, ‘but really i’m just a glorified assistant and even that’s being generous,’ playing off his disappointment with a small laugh.

‘well that doesn’t sound too bad..’ picking up on his demeanour, ‘shall we get another drink before we have to sit through the awful speeches?’

his pretty pink lips curl into a smirk, ‘i like your thinking,’ standing from the table with his hand offered out for you to hold.

‘i-i’ll say a couple words.. c’mon,’ he grins, stepping up towards the small stage, hopper reluctantly passes the mic over to steve, watching apprehensively as he climbs onto the stage.

robin sighs, this could really only go one way and she sure as hell did not want to be in the room to witness it.

there’s a chance that you two had slightly overdone it with the free bar.. you wince watching him up on the stage. the opinions of these people meant absolutely nothing to you but quite obviously did to him.

‘as you all know.. nancy is my ex girlfriend-,’ there’s a collective groan from the audience, ‘but.. but no, that’s not what i came to say.. i wanted to say that-,’ he hiccups into the microphone, ‘that the first time i properly spoke to jonathan, he beat my ass and fuck did it hurt,’ chuckling to himself, ‘but that ass kicking actually.. and you won’t believe it, but it made me a better person and y’know what.. i’m really happy for you,’ he thrusts his glass into the air, ‘so, please join me in a toast to our newly weds.. you deserve it,’ turning to face the cringing couple at the table.

nancy gives him a small smile, it wasn’t exactly shakespearean but the sentiment was nice and he hadn’t embarrassed himself or fallen off the stage head first so she was going to take it as a win.

‘thank you, steve,’ jonathan nods, steve’s sure he can see a tiny smile on his face despite the lousy speech he’d just given.

hopper claps him on the back as he gets off of the stage, taking a mental note to keep an eye on the boy for the rest of the evening. the free bar may not have been the wisest decision after all.

steve collapses into his chair, immediately leaning into you, ‘that was good, right?’ taking a sip of his drink.

‘uh.. yeah, maybe didn’t need to mention the ex girlfriend thing buuut.. i don’t think it was that bad,’ you laugh, watching as he nods in self satisfaction.

‘good, i’m glad you approve,’ his eyes are narrow, glossy as they look back at you, he tilts his glass for you to cheers.

‘cheers.. to a not-so-bad wedding,’ you say, knocking your glasses together.

‘and to new friends,’ he adds, that same grin you’d now become accustomed to after only a few short hours.

‘to new friends.’

you and your new friend had sorta maybe totally took full advantage of the free bar and the tiny bag of magic powder steve had kept in his blazer pocket. it wasn’t something you’d usually indulge in, but the champagne had gone to your head and the party was getting dull so..

‘i just wanna say.. i don’t do this shit all the time,’ using his credit card to push the powder into small lines on the edge of the basin, ‘just for when i need a little pick me up..’

he looks up at you from his hunched over position, he’s half-smiling as he pulls a ten dollar bill from his wallet, fiddling around as he rolls it into a small cylinder, offering it to you.

you’re cramped into one of the tiny cubicles together, your back pressed against the cold wall, ‘mm hmm and me either.. just to clarify,’ carefully placing the half-empty champagne flute down on the sink.

‘ladies first..’ hand brushing against against the small of your back as he stands up, mere inches from your face.

you oblige, bending over to sniff the powder, wincing as it stings on the way up. holding out the note for steve to take, his fingers brushing against yours as he takes the note. perhaps it was the copious amounts of alcohol but you could’ve worn you felt your heart miss a beat.

he stands back up, holding his nose. eyes still very much refusing to leave yours. they’re a beautiful chestnut colour and you’re sure they looked even better with a sober mind.

‘ready to dance?’ you ask, raising your brows.

his tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth to wet his lips, ‘in a minute,’ your heart pounding in not only your chest, ‘fuck- can i kiss you?’

‘please-,’

interrupted by his lips pressing against your own, eyes fluttering shut as his clammy hand finds your waist, pressing himself into your chest.

your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, his tongue glides over your bottom lip, mouth opening for him, as your fingers thread into his hair. he tastes of beer, cigarettes and the mint he’d not-so-sneakily shoved into his mouth before bringing you in here.

it’s all teeth and tongues, his hands getting grabby as they begin to roam around. you so desperately want to jump up onto the sink and let him fuck you into the porcelain right here. pressing your thighs together trying to satiate the growing ache.

you don’t, obviously. his lips chasing yours as you pull back, clawing at the back of his neck, the thumping music of the reception getting louder as someone enters the bathroom.

you put your finger on his lips, willing him not to say a word as the stranger locks themself in the cubicle right next to yours. he’s smirking, pupils blown out from the substance you’d shared. it was exhilarating, pushing his knee between your legs, fingers digging into your sides.

jesus christ, it feels like you’re in this position for eternity. waiting forever for the mystery person to vacate the bathroom. growing impatient as his fingertips dance around your hips, teasing as they tug on your dress.

eventually, they get the fuck out and steve is on your lips again before the door had chance to shut fully. moaning softly into his mouth at the sheer feeling of his thigh brushing against yours. you were a mess and he’d barely touched you yet.

‘shall we.. go? i have a room upstairs,’ mumbling between kisses, not wanting to let go of your lips for too long.

there’s a banging on the door just as he’s managed to slip your dress off. you clutch the material to your chest, covering your dignity in fear of intruders.

‘steve? you in there?’ a woman’s voice calls through the wood.

your eyes widen, absolutely certain that he’d had some hidden girlfriend who was now positively fuming that he’d disappeared with you.

his head slumps as he breathes out, hair brushing against your face, seemingly relieved with whoever was outside, ‘it’s rob.. let me just..’ he clambers off of the bed, ‘she won’t leave until i answer.’

steve swings open the door, met with an unimpressed robin. she’s been scouring the party for the last hour trying to find him. only to find out that he’d last been seen with a girl no one had ever seen before.

‘heyy rob.. everything okay?’ he asks cautiously, well aware that he was shirtless, belt hanging from his pant loops.

‘is everything okay with you? you just disappeared.. what’re you doing in there?’ eyeing his disheveled appearance.

‘ah shit i’m sorry.. i couldn’t find you,’ lies, he hadn’t even looked, far too interested in getting you back to his room.

her eyes narrow, glancing down at the hastily removed heel in the doorway, ‘d’you have a girl in there?’

he frowns at his best friend, ‘wha-? i’m just, going to bed..’ following her gaze to the shoe, ‘yes.. there is.’

you try not to giggle from behind the door, watching as he kicks your shoe backwards into the room.

‘ew,’ she grimaces, ‘why’d you answer the door, you freak.. i’ll see you in the morning,’ scoffing as she walks away.

steve closes the door gently before making his back to the bed, ‘i’m so sorry.. she woulda called the cops if i didn’t answer,’ climbing onto the mattress, sat on his knees in front of you.

‘oh? and she’s your..’ slightly bemused as to who that even was and why she seemed to care so much.

‘best friend,’ he leans in, tugging at the dress still pressed against your chest, ‘so where were we?’ devious smirk painting his face as your grip begins to loosen.

he presses forward, connecting your lips once more, nudging you into laying back, hovering over your body with one hand attempting to wrestle the dress from between your bodies. it lands on the carpet with a soft thud, his hand now free to roam the length of your body, fingers softly brushing over the waistband of your underwear before settling on your thigh. it’s cruel and teasing, you’ve already wasted so much time.

you move your hips upwards, chasing his touch. utterly desperate to feel him again. groaning into his mouth, not bothering to hide your impatience. steve smirks, walking his fingers up toward your hip.

his fingers slip into your carefully chosen panties, choking for air as he pulls back from your lips, ‘holy shit.. you’re soaking,’ still lingering around your aching heat, not doing anything to satisfy the growing wetness.

‘shut up,’ you grumble, pulling him back onto your mouth. rutting your hips to signal how desperate you really are.

he finally gets there, middle and forefinger travelling between your slick folds, rubbing pathetic circles around your clit. you’re grateful for the long awaited release, detaching from his lips to moan.

‘ohh fuck,’ he mutters, feeding off of the delightful sounds coming from your mouth. his cock twitching against your thigh.

‘please,’ you whine, unable to take any more of his incessant teasing. it had gone on for what felt like forever. you blame the various substances for your neediness and the subsequent lack of embarrassment for it.

‘keep begging like that and you can have anything you want,’ rescinding his fingers to tackle his own belt, hastily unbuckling the metal and yanking his suit pants down. boxers coming to rest around his thighs shortly after.

your eyes widen at the sight of his leaking cock springing up. you had felt that he was big but holy shit, this was something else. your surprise doesn’t go unnoticed, his veiny hand fisting his cock as his other hand comes to rest beside your head.

‘i’ll go slow,’ he breathes, eyes hooded as his chestnut eyes gaze into yours. he was used to the apprehension by now. your clammy hands grip onto the back of his neck, feet coming to rest on his lower back. nodding quickly underneath him.

he slides into your cunt achingly slow, his mouth falling open. a strangled sound rumbling from his throat, ‘fuck.. you feel.. so good,’ staying where he was, assessing your reaction before making his next move.

it feels like he’s splitting you open but it’s good. burning desire filling your veins, ‘fuck me..’ you nod, ‘please fuck me,’ becoming accustomed to the feeling of being full, pleading for him to just move.

you don’t have to tell him twice, an animalistic growl escaping as he begins to thrust his hips. he’s still holding back, you can tell but it’s oh so much better than his stagnant pace of before.

your eyes struggle to stay open, eyelids fluttering as he slams into you. hitting the sweet, soft spot you’re sure only he could reach. back arching off of the mattress, sweaty chests colliding, chasing that feeling.

‘oh my god,’ you moan, loud enough for whoever is staying in the adjacent room to hear. it’s filthy, lewd and desperate. the sound of his balls slapping against your supple skin, fastening in response to your encouragement.

‘yeah?’ he pants, reaching his hand around to brush the wild hair from your face. ‘been waiting to do this- nghh.. all fuckin’ day,’ relentless with his tempo, pubic area perfectly catching against your throbbing cult, hurtling you towards your orgasm.

‘fuck,’ you grit, eyes screwed shut. it’s disgusting how the sounds of your cunt fill the room, even worse that it was encouraging him. pounding into your hole ruthlessly, grunting as he nears his own orgasm.

the familiar sensation twists in your stomach, mouth hung open as it’s useless even attempting to muffle yourself. ‘steve..’ you mewl, more as a warning that you were fast approaching your release.

he can feel it, the way you clench around him and the utter mindless babbling coming from your mouth were all too familiar. ‘you gonna come? huh? you wanna come?’ struggling to keep his own composure.

you can’t even verbalise your response, nodding maniacally while your legs squeeze around his waist, keeping him deep inside as you begin to tremble. stomach flipping and your head becoming fuzzy, the tip of his cock nudging against the spongy spot as you come undone around him.

the pleasure is almost overwhelming, tears pricking in your eyes as you writhe against him. ‘shitshitshit,’ whining breathlessly into his ear.

‘oh fuck,’ he barks, beginning to lose his rhythm. hips stuttering as he fills you up, thick ropes of cum painting your walls. pulling out far too late and collapsing on top your sweaty body.

chest rising and falling in time with his as you try to regain your breath, still clinging onto his neck while he buries his face into your shoulder, arms wrapping around your back.

‘oh fuck is right,’ you remark, giggling at his pathetic demeanour. fingers running through his damp hair, his wet lips pressing against the skin of your neck. your mind still too hazy to truly comprehend the implications of him coming inside of you. something for tomorrow you to worry about.

‘i’m sorry,’ he mumbles, cocking his head to finally look up at you, ‘your fault..’ attempting to crack a joke.

‘oh it’s my fault?’

‘oh yeah,’ shifting off of your body and onto the bed slightly, still holding onto your waist. ‘i’d have a baby with you any day,’ wrestling to pull the blanket over your bodies.

you narrow your eyes, resting your head on the soft pillow, choosing to blissfully ignore his comments. the toll of the long day starting to take on your body as your eyes begin to close. snuggling into the side of his body, tangling your leg between his.

‘i wasn’t joking,’ he murmurs sleepily, fingers brushing your back softly.

‘shut up.’

you’re wary of even waking him, wondering if it’d be easier to just slip out unnoticed. maybe you could leave a note on the bedside table for him to find.

no. no, that’d be rude. most one night stands you wouldn’t even be contemplating it, you’d have ran out of there the second you were awake. something felt different with steve.. like maybe you shouldn’t.

you nudge his arm, leaning over his body.

‘steve? steve.. i have to go..’ you coo softly, coaxing him awake.

he jolts, snapping his head in your direction, ‘huh? what?’ squinting as he comes to, head already pounding from the copious amounts of liquor he’d ingested last night.

‘i have to go..’ smiling at his sleepy demeanour.

‘what? no.. no no, where are you going?’ voice heavy with sleep, a whole octave deeper than it was last night.

‘i’ve gotta check out out of my room and drive home.’

he sits up agains the pillow, stretching his arms out with a stifled yawn, ‘now? it’s so early,’ his fingers wrap around your wrist, ‘stay.. ten minutes,’ gently trying to pull you back into the bed with him.

‘it’s a long drive.. i can’t,’ you mutter, standing strong despite the overwhelming urge to just get back into the warm bed with him.

‘let me walk you back then,’ the smooth pad of his thumb tracing along your wrist, ‘gimme like.. five minutes and we can go,’ dropping your arm as he springs out of the bed.

‘you don’t have to.. really,’ you persist, watching as he shimmies into a discarded pair of sweatpants, frantically searching for a clean t-shirt in his suitcase.

‘well i’m going to,’ he pulls it over his messy hair, it had been neglected the last few days and he’d been kicking himself for not looking his best for you.

you simply smile at him, nothing you could say would change his mind so it was easier not to and you weren’t exactly averse to spending more time with him.

he emerges from the bathroom looking slightly more put together, ‘okay i’m ready.. let’s go,’ grabbing his wallet, nearly empty cigarette box and his room key from his discarded pants pocket and grinning.

it’s a comfortable silence on the way back to your room, steve nodding his head at a few wedding guest stragglers who were either doing the exact same thing you were doing or trying to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.

the atmosphere is pleasant, almost natural as you walk the halls. arms brushing against each other with every step.

‘well, this is me,’ nodding at the basically untouched hotel room. you’d stepped foot in it once to drop your bag off and hadn’t seen it since.

steve’s biting down onto his bottom lip, ‘you really gotta go now?’ sounding a little disappointed.

‘i’m back to work tomorrow.. i’m sorry,’ trying to disguise your own disappointment. realistically, you probably wouldn’t see him again. just a one time, crazy wedding story you would look back on fondly in a few years.

‘i’m not,’ he offers, trying desperately not to let this go. dating in hawkins wasn’t great, and he wasn’t sure that he’d ever find someone like you even if he searched for his entire life. he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t at least try.

‘oh?’ raising your brows.

‘yanno, i’ve never been to cincinnati before,’ smirking down at you, ‘i was actually thinking of taking a little vacation there.. like, this week?’

the corners of your lips twitch into a smile, ‘you know what? that sounds like a great idea.’

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington au #stranger things x you #steve harrington fanfic

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fallingthruspace · 2 years

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A moment of silence for all the people in Ireland & Scotland who are probably nursing the mother of all hangovers today 😔

#current events #Ireland #scotland #the queen #england #queen elizabeth

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sidekick-hero · 4 months

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Carry you

When Eddie opens his eyes, he has no idea where he is.

That should probably scare him, but the only thing he can think in that moment between blissful nothingness and cold, hard reality is "the bathroom at the party looked different." Because he is in a bathroom, that much he can say. There are white tiles everywhere and a roll of toilet paper in front of him and... is that a plastic handrail?

Lifting his head is a Herculean effort, but somehow he manages to do it, even though it makes his stomach turn.

In front of him is a freestanding shower and a bathtub with stairs to get into. The bathroom is huge and sterile, smelling of disinfectant.

As more and more of his senses come back online, Eddie notices several things at once:

#1 He's wearing what can barely be called a gown, cold air hitting his exposed skin everywhere. His back, his legs, hell, even his junk gets more of a breeze than he likes.

#2 He's nauseous, his stomach rolls uncomfortably, and his head is killing him, a sharp pain that's increasing in intensity by the second.

#3 He knows that something is definitely very, very wrong and he can feel the anxiety rising like bile in his throat.

It's that last realization that triggers his fight or flight response and in seconds he's off the toilet he's sitting on, the sudden movement sending him stumbling, his legs wobbling and his head spinning. Everything hurts and he feels so weak. He catches himself on the railing next to the toilet and figures that's what it's there for. Although he has no idea what kind of person would have such a strange bathroom. The last one he was in, at Tim's or Tom's or Terry's party, something with a T, for sure, the tiles had been black and there had been a lot of bamboo furniture and gold accents. It had smelled nice too, vanilla and cinnamon.

He staggers to a door that hopefully leads out of this fucking nightmare. Maybe Gareth or Freak are behind this, to teach Eddie a lesson for ditching them again to go partying when they had to pack up their shit after the show. But not Jeff, he's too nice to do something like that. The next morning, when Eddie arrives with a hangover the size of his ego, to quote Gareth, Jeff will only look at him with disappointment.

Or maybe they just don't care enough about him anymore to pull a prank on him. Eddie can't remember the last time they even talked to him, beyond discussing the bare minimum for their shows.

Leaving the bathroom, he carefully walks down a long hallway with the ugliest yellow linoleum Eddie has ever seen. It hurts his eyes and his stomach gives another unpleasant churning. On his right, he sees a glass door with "Intermediate Care Unit" written in big white letters.

What the fuck?

He turns right and continues down the hall, hoping to find someone who can tell him where he is and why his body feels like it's been hit with a sledgehammer. Repeatedly.

"Mr. Munson, you shouldn't be out of bed," a stern voice calls from behind him, and when he turns around he sees a middle-aged woman in white scrubs looking at him with a stern expression on her face.

Feeling more and more like he has landed in an episode of The Twilight Zone, Eddie looks at her with an incredulous look on his face. "Who are you? And where is everyone?"

She scoffs at his answer, clearly not pleased.

"I am the nurse responsible for getting you well enough to leave this ward as soon as possible, and you would make my job a lot easier if you would go back to your bed." Before he can process the meaning of her words, she continues. "As for everyone else, well, no one else overdosed, so I would assume they're all home by now."

Eddie can only stare at her open-mouthed, disbelief and horror probably written all over his face, because her own face is softening slightly.

"Now come on, let's get you back to bed, you really shouldn't be wandering around."

She gently takes his elbow and leads him to a door with the number 719 on it. As she opens it for him, Eddie sees three beds inside. To the left and right, he sees two old men, both looking directly at him. The one on the right says, "We tried to stop him, Nurse Elli, we really did," in a high, nasal voice that is already getting on Eddie's nerves. "The kid wouldn't listen to us, would he, Harry?"

"Exactly," Harry answered, at least in a deeper, more bearable tone.

Ignoring the geriatric Ernie and Bert, Nurse Elli leads him to the bed in the middle and helps him to lie down again. Only then does Eddie remember that all he's wearing is a thin hospital gown with an open back. Well, he thinks, Nurse Elli has seen worse in her profession than his pale, scrawny ass. Besides, it's not like much of his modesty has survived the last two years of sex, drugs and rock'n'roll that have been his life.

By the time he's back under the covers, his nurse has turned around and is walking back over to the door. A bone-deep exhaustion has begun to seep into his body, slowly dragging him back under, but seeing her walk out of the room gives him a burst of energy.

"Wait! Someone needs to tell me what happened. What am I doing here?"

Embarrassment burns hot under his skin as he hears the tears in his voice, but the sound of it breaking at his question makes Nurse Elli stop. She turns back to him and her eyes are much kinder than before.

"The doctor will be with you shortly. He'll explain everything to you, Mr. Munson. I'll let him know you're awake now."

And then she leaves, and Eddie sinks back into his bed in the hope that the next time he opens his eyes, it will all have been just a bad dream.

It was not all just a bad dream.

The next time Eddie comes to, he's alone in his room, except for a middle-aged man who seems to be the doctor Nurse Elli told him would be stopping by.

Doctor Owens explains that he overdosed on alcohol and coke at a party at some music producer's house and had been in a coma for two full days. They quickly stabilized him, pumped his stomach and gave him fluids through an IV. Eddie is lucky he's still young and his system recovered from the shock quite well. When he showed signs of waking up, they brought him down here from the ICU to free up his bed for someone who needed it more.

"If Mr. Harrington hadn't called 911 and told them to come get you, you'd be dead right now, Mr. Munson. I'm sorry to say this, but from what I've heard, no one at the party even cared, just insisted that you brought your own drugs and they had nothing to do with it. Mr. Harrington has also been your only visitor so far."

His words should make him angry or sad, something, but he can't process them. Not when his brain is still struggling to make sense of the first part of his statement, Eddie’s heart racing in his chest.

"Mr. Harrington? As in..."

"Steve Harrington, he says he's a close friend. He's the one who called the ambulance, gave the operator your cell phone number so they could track your phone and get you to the hospital. He's been visiting you every day since. He also called your uncle, because we are not allowed to give out any medical information to anyone outside of the family. Your uncle should be here soon, I called him yesterday to give him an update on your condition."

His mind is reeling, too many thoughts fighting for dominance and one word screaming louder than any of them in his head.

Steve, Steve, Steve.

How... it couldn't be. Not after their last fight. Not after the things he said to Steve. To his horror, he feels tears burning hot in his eyes at the memory. A memory he had pushed as far back in his mind as he could because every time he thought about that night he wanted to curl up into a fetal position and cry.

"You are a lucky man, Mr. Munson. This man seems to care a lot about you, as does your uncle. You should let them help you. And if you will allow me to be very clear with you: You need all the help you can get. You're young, so your body can take a lot. But it's not in good shape. You have an old man's liver, and your spleen and kidneys are showing signs of the abuse you put them through. The echo also showed some irregularities in your heartbeat. If you continue down the path you're on, your organs will fail and you will die, Mr. Munson. Painfully. So my advice to you is to get clean as soon as possible. We have some facilities we work with, a nurse will bring you some brochures."

Eddie could only nod numbly, tears now falling freely from his eyes, his throat tight and his head aching. Everything hurt. Especially his heart.

"Okay, we'll keep you here for two more days until we're sure you're stable enough to be on your own." Doctor Owens tells him, turning to leave and get on with his day, as if he hadn't just dropped a damn bomb on his head. He pauses at the door and turns back to him.

"And a word of advice from someone twice your age who's seen a lot in his time here: stick with people who really care about you, like Mr. Harrington, instead of spending your time with people who leave you lying in a bathroom in your own vomit."

With that, he steps out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him and leaving Eddie alone with his thoughts.

Eddie doesn't know how long it's been since Dr. Owens left. It could have been hours, days, weeks, for all he knows, too deep inside his own head to spare any thought for the passing of time. Lying in a hospital bed, the nausea and pain raging through his battered body, Eddie finally breaks down and lets the thoughts come.

He's lost in his memories, thinking about everything that led him here, alone and in pain in a hospital bed, after nearly killing himself with things he swore he'd never use. Weed was fine, though he didn't indulge much anyway, preferring to sell it and make some much-needed money than to smoke it himself. But coke? Nah, he knew how epically stupid it would be to even try that shit.

And yet he did.

A party to celebrate the release of their first single. One lapse in judgment while flying so fucking high that nothing could touch him. One bad decision was all it took for him to succumb to the effects of the white powder.

The high he felt after snorting his first line had been magical and he's been chasing that feeling ever since, blind to all he's sacrificed in the process.

It changed him, he knows. Every euphoric high that made him talk a mile a minute, overly affectionate, loud and brash and in love with the whole world would inevitably end in a crash. He became irritable and hostile toward the people he loved, thinking they were out to get him. Whenever his friends or Wayne or Steve so much as looked at him the wrong way about his new habit, he would lash out at them.

He became increasingly angry and accused them of trying to control him, of envying him his success and happiness.

That's when he started drinking, too. He drank himself stupid so that he wouldn't have to think about the way Steve was starting to look at him as if he didn't even know him anymore. To forget the sad look in Wayne's eyes or the way his friends had started to avoid him. When he was drunk out of his mind, he could forget the way the Coffin boys had started talking about him behind his back, could ignore the murderous looks Robin kept sending his way.

Thinking back, Eddie felt like everything had spun out of his control so fast.

It's like one day he comes home to Steve, ecstatic about signing their first record deal and celebrating the start of a new chapter with the love of his life by dancing around their living room barefoot, laughing and kissing each other, promising happiness and forever.

Only to throw that love right back in Steve's face the next day by calling him needy, clingy, and full of bullshit.

He claimed that Steve was holding him back and that Steve didn't love him, that he just didn't want to be alone. He also said that Steve still thought he was better than Eddie, better than the town freak, the fuck-up, the trailer trash.

You don't want me to succeed and finally step out of your perfect shadow, because then what would stop me from leaving you, right?

Eddie regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. Secretly, he had always feared that his success would cause a rift in his relationship with Steve. Eddie had no desire to leave Steve, because Steve was still the best goddamn thing that ever happened to him, but he couldn't help but feel that he was losing him anyway. Even more so when he had seen Steve's face crumble, when he had seen the exact moment when his heart had broken into a million pieces.

He had wanted to take Steve in his arms and apologize for saying cruel things he didn't even believe. It had been his own insecurities that had caused him to lash out, and he had hurt Steve before he had a chance to be hurt himself.

Instead, in true Munson fashion, he had run away and hasn't seen or heard from Steve in six long months that have felt like years.

Steve looks almost exactly the same as he did the last time Eddie saw him.

That's not a good thing, though. Because Steve had been driving himself crazy with worry about Eddie for months before Eddie had taken Steve's heart and torn it apart right in front of him.

Back then he had the same dark circles under his eyes that he has now. The usually golden skin is still too pale and Steve's trademark hair looks even more disheveled from how often he's run his hands through it. His well-fitting jeans, which once hugged his ass just right, now sit baggy on his too-slim frame and Eddie hates it.

He hates that Eddie could still hurt Steve even after he left. That even from a distance he managed to ruin the only person who ever really loved him besides Wayne. There should be some kind of warning sign on him: Beware, do not get attached, will hurt you.

"You're awake," are the first words out of Steve's mouth, and despite everything, Eddie can't stop his heart from responding to the sound of his sweet voice. Steve sounds tired, weary, but to Eddie's ears his voice is better than any Metallica song could ever be.

He tries to smile at him, but he feels as tired as Steve sounds, so it lacks the usual spark.

"Sure am. From what I heard, I have you to thank for that," Eddie adds, unable to help himself. He still doesn't know why and especially how Steve knew he needed help. If this were a Nicholas Sparks novel, their love would have created an invisible bond that made Steve feel when Eddie needed help.

But this is real life, and no matter how much he loves Steve, there is no invisible bond holding them together. Just an unbridgeable chasm.

Steve is still hovering at the door and Eddie thinks he is fighting the urge to wring his hands. Eddie knows his tells by now and he figures Steve isn't sure he's welcome here. Which is ridiculous, because even at his worst, Eddie will always want Steve around, no matter what crap Eddie tells him.

It takes a lot of effort, but Eddie manages to sit up and lean out of bed to pat the chair next to his bed, his eyes never leaving Steve.

Eddie sees Steve's shoulders slump, some of the tension visibly draining from his body at the gesture, and Steve walks over to him and sits down tentatively.

"So..." Eddie begins, dragging out the 'o'. "What happened?"

Steve looks up from his hands in his lap, obviously surprised by the question. "You don't remember?"

"No. The last thing I remember is sitting on a leather couch with a bunch of people I don't know and don't care about, fooling myself into thinking I was having fun." Eddie has had plenty of time to think about his life and where he went wrong, so he decides to stick with honesty. Steve deserves as much and more. "Someone handed me a bottle of whiskey and I opened it and started drinking straight from the bottle. That's the last thing I remember. The next thing I know, I wake up in an ugly bathroom that smells like disinfectant, my whole body hurts like I've been hit by a train, and I have no idea where I am."

Before he can bring himself to say the next part, it's Eddie who has to look away, his eyes focused on his hands playing with the edge of the blanket.

"They told me it was you who called 911 and helped them find me. They said without you I would have died lying in my own vomit." He swallows audibly, tears burning in his eyes, wondering how he could have cried more in the last ten hours than in the last ten years. "They also said you were the only one who came to see me."

Eddie forces himself to look up and into Steve's eyes as he says, "Thank you, Steve. You didn't... I don't deserve you doing this. Not after..." The words die in his throat and he feels like he's choking on them.

He can't do this. He's a fucking coward, not worth saving. Not even worth looking at someone as good and beautiful as Steve.

There's a crease between Steve's eyebrows that Eddie used to smooth with his thumb and lips every time he saw it, and his fingers itch to do it again.

"You called me," Steve tells him, his own hands playing with the edge of Eddie's blanket. "At the party. You called me from the bathroom. I thought it was a butt call or maybe drunk dialing, I hadn't heard from you in months, Eddie."

Eddie winces at his words, but Steve chooses to ignore it.

"But then you sounded so small on the phone. You called me 'Stevie' and 'sweetheart' and then you started to cry." Steve looks like he's about to cry, too. His eyes are glassy and Eddie gets lost in the way the light breaks in them, gold and brown and green all mixed together.

"You told me you weren't feeling so good, that your stomach hurt and the room was spinning so you had to lie down. Your voice -" And here Steve's own voice breaks, after it had already started to shake badly, and without thinking Eddie grabs Steve's hand and holds it tight.

"I'm here, Stevie. You saved me. I'm okay."

"But you almost weren't!" Steve insists, his voice rising, and Eddie finally understands the depth of Steve's feelings. After all these months, after everything Eddie had said and done, Steve still cared deeply for him.

"You talked like you were dying, Eddie. You weren't drunk dialing, you were calling to say goodbye, asshole. You were telling me all these things that I needed to hear you say for months. But I wanted to hear them with you in the room so I could punch you in the face and then kiss it better. Not like this. Not as your last words over a fucking phone call."

That's when Steve breaks down, the tears finally overflowing and he buries his face on the bed at Eddie's hip, their joined hands pressed against his wet cheek.

"Baby," Eddie whispers, shocked, his own heart aching worse than ever as he begins to run his fingers through Steve's messy hair. "Shhh, it's okay. I'm so, so sorry, Stevie. I never meant to hurt you, but it seems like that's all I did."

Taking a deep breath, Eddie continues. "I don't know what I told you on the phone, but since I woke up I've had time to think about it all. I don't know if I can ever make it up to you. Or to Wayne and the kids, Gareth and Jeff and Grant. If I will ever deserve your forgiveness, but I want to try. I want to deserve it one day. I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but... I will go to rehab. I will quit drugs and alcohol, I will clean up my act. And then, if you let me, I will try to make it up to you every single day for the rest of our lives."

Steve slowly lifts his head from the bed and looks at him, searching Eddie's eyes for something.

"Why?" Steve asks, his hand gripping Eddie's even tighter.

There are so many reasons, so many things Eddie wants to say, but in the end there is only one simple answer.

"Because I love you."

The smile on Steve's face tells him it's the right answer, even more so when Steve presses a kiss into his palm. But then he turns serious once more.

"I haven't forgiven you yet, Eddie. You hurt me too much and I need time. But I need you to stop trying to run away from me. I don't want you to go to rehab and clean yourself up before you come back to me. I want to be with you every step of the way. Do it together. Because if you love me, you have to let me take care of you. You have to let me in, Eddie. Let me carry you for once, like Sam carried Frodo when he couldn't go on. Trust me not to let you fall. Please."

"Did you really just make a reference to Lord of the Rings?" Eddie demands and Steve rolls his eyes.

"Is that what you get from everything I just said?"

Eddie sobers up immediately. "No, it just made me fall a little bit more in love with you, and I didn't think that was possible."

"So what do you say?" Steve asks, chewing his lip between his teeth, and Eddie suspects he's not even breathing.

"It's going to suck, Stevie," Eddie says in a quiet voice, stroking Steve's knuckles with his thumb."Are you sure?"

"Yes." No hesitation, no wavering in his voice. It's the same tone, the same determined look on his face as when he told Eddie "Fuck'em," when Eddie told him people in their small-minded town would talk if Steve held his hand in public.

"There's a bunch of brochures of places to check out. Wanna help me pick the least horrible one?" Eddie says, pointing to the table in the corner of the room.

Without another word, Steve gets up to grab them, and for the first time in a long time, Eddie allows himself to hope.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fic #rockstar eddie munson #cw drugs #steddielovemonth #day 1 #love is letting someone take care of you #my writing

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shitouttabuck · 4 months

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i'm a thigh girlie but i'm also a squishy kind of guy so if either 18 or 52 take your fancy for the prompts 👉👈

some sleepy stuff <3

touch prompts: 18 squishing the others cheek + 52 gripping thigh

might as well be drunk in love

Buck might be the most responsible Maid of Honour to have ever existed in the history of Maids of Honour. He told himself that half an hour ago when Ravi crowed FOMO, motherfucker at him post-Chim and Maddie’s rehearsal dinner, after Buck had sensibly and maturely taken his leave from the wedding party’s continued celebrations to get in a solid seven hours of shuteye—he’s the only one who has to be up at basically the crack of dawn to start getting things in order for the actual wedding at noon.

He tells himself that now as he pulls the thick comforter up to his neck, stretching his toes against the footboard and sighing. The empty double bed across from his own just seems to mock him, though, a reminder that Eddie’s probably knocking back the white wine Karen’s got him enjoying lately, almost certainly pink-cheeked and loose-hipped and laughing prettier than any music, only three floors below Buck right this very minute. FOMO, motherfucker indeed.

It's fine, Buck reasons, only somewhat grumpily. He’d be much more upset with himself for being too tired to be on top of things for Maddie’s big day tomorrow than he is for missing out on drinking with his friends and staring moonily at his best friend as covertly as alcohol will allow. Besides, he’s going to do just that tomorrow night anyway, with the added bonus of no pre-wedding stress. This was a good decision, the right decision, Buck is rational and correct and will have no sympathy for anyone nursing hangovers and sleep deprivation when they’re supposed to be setting out chairs and place cards at the reception tomorrow.

Somewhere between one grumbled thought and the next, he must fall asleep. It’s only a while later that the creak of the hotel room door cuts through his fuzzy dreamscape. He stays half-submerged, but Eddie trips over something and swears under his breath, and Buck swims groggily to the surface of consciousness.

He doesn’t bother cracking open an eye, listening instead to the gentle thumps and bumps of Eddie getting undressed and ready for bed. He’s almost lulled back to sleep by the sounds of it: the quiet snick of the toothpaste cap opened and shut, the whoosh of the tap running, the click as Eddie switches off the bathroom light, the rustle of sheets as he climbs into—Buck’s bed?

Buck forces one eye open then, but it’s moot since yes, Eddie does seem to be getting into Buck’s bed, except from behind Buck, so all that Buck is aware of is the sudden gust of cool air against the backs of his calves as Eddie lifts the duvet, and then the mattress is dipping and Buck’s warm again, because—because Eddie’s plastered along his back.

It’s not an accidental mix-up of beds either, because Eddie wastes no time slinging an arm around Buck’s waist, his hold loose but—there. Very much there.

“Uh. Eddie?” Buck whispers, voice rough from sleep. He clears his throat gently, pausing and straining to listen when Eddie mumbles something unintelligible. How drunk is he? Does he think Buck’s someone else? That’s—if that’s true… He broke up with Ana nearly two years ago, and there hasn’t been anyone serious since, not the scattered dates here and there, so—if it’s any of them Eddie thinks he’s getting into bed with? That would… suck.

But then Eddie says, “What, Buck,” muffled and sleepy into Buck’s shoulder.

The warmth that instantly blooms in his chest takes Buck by surprise, a little, and he feels his body automatically relax against Eddie, unaware he’d been holding it tight in the first place. Still, the confusion lingers.

“Oh. You’re—uh.” Should he—say something? Why would he say something, though. Just because this isn’t something they do… Eddie’s clearly fine with this, initiating this, and Buck—there’s never a time Buck doesn’t want this, want this bad. So why would he say you have a bed right there and come off as a dick when they’re both perfectly fine with this.

Or, worse in ways that are both hysterical and heartbreaking, come off as vaguely homophobic or make Eddie uncomfortable about the way he’s currently spooning Buck like he’s been doing it all his life.

He settles for a lighthearted, “Are you drunk?”

Eddie sighs sleepily, breath tickling Buck’s neck. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Okay. That’s fine. Their friendship is no stranger to physical touch, casual shoulder bumps and easy hip checks and full-body hugs. Eddie doesn’t need a reason to be looser with his affection, obviously, especially not where Buck is concerned, but if he did? What better combination than too many drinks and being at a wedding for their friends and family? Buck’s all too familiar with the love having to go somewhere, and if this is where Eddie wants to put it tonight? Buck’ll take it gladly and be a little moonier about it than planned tomorrow.

Eddie worms a hand under Buck’s sleep shirt, tracing his abdomen with his fingertips. Buck shivers. Okay, so not entirely platonic, but Eddie’s drunk. That blurs the lines of a good cuddle. Buck will resign his sorry ass to a night of his best friend being lovingly handsy in the spirit of friendship and lovesickness.

Eddie’s palm moves higher, ghosting across Buck’s sternum. His thumb catches against Buck’s nipple, and they both still for a second, Buck holding his breath. Then Eddie does it again, a lazy rub against it that has Buck swallowing and shifting his hips. Entirely not platonic, actually, any way you look at it.

Then, as sudden as his treacle-slow movements can be, Eddie’s hand ceases its exploratory tracing and taps once, twice, over Buck’s heart as he presses himself more firmly against Buck’s back, a lazy, languid stretch.

“Eddie,” Buck says. “What’s—are you—I’m—”

There’s a pause, and then Eddie relaxes his body away from Buck. “Hey,” he mumbles. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Buck replies without thinking, immediately reaching back for Eddie, hand stretched to pull him back close. “But—what’s—why right now?”

“Why not right now,” Eddie grumbles, sinking back into his place along Buck’s body with an ease that makes Buck screw his eyes shut tight again for a second. “Should’ve been right now many nows ago.”

“What?” Buck asks, genuinely a little lost as he throttles the rising bubble of hope inside him, squeezing just enough to still it without popping.

Eddie exhales heavily and with feeling, making sure Buck hears the exact amount of put out he is to be having this conversation when they could be sleeping, and Buck loves every disgruntled cell in his body.

“Your maid-of-honour speech,” Eddie yawns. “You said—you said you once had a conversation wi’ Maddie about—about love. About how it should be—you’re at your worst and they are too and still—you don’t give up. On each other. On… what you have. You try again.”

Buck hums. “Think they’ve had more worsts than a lot of people. Love that you fight for in the face of all that—or helps you through the face of all that? That’s. Yeah.”

“Chim showed me his vows. About—how he wishes there wasn’t hurt behind th’ reason f’r it, but he loved getting t’ be Maddie’s friend first, you know?” Eddie’s voice is a sleepy slur, murmured almost directly into Buck’s ear with the way he’s holding him. “Even when he wasn’t sure they were ever gonna be anything but. Someth’n—something about trust like that—I dunno. It’s easier when you’re friends.”

“Eddie—”

“My worst, Buck. And you walk right through the door and stay. And, and friends do that, but—I’m not imaginin’ this. Karen told me I’m not and she’s wise. She’s a lesbian. And a rocket scientist. In that order.”

The hope-bubble slips out of the grasp he has on it with a cheerful blown-raspberry sound, rising and rising inside him. Eddie’s hand is hot against his bare chest, and Eddie is comparing Chimney’s wedding vows to how he sees Buck in his own life, and Eddie’s drunk but Buck doesn’t think there’s much room for misinterpretation.

Buck’s not said anything, and before he can speak to assuage any presumably already-minimal doubts Eddie has, Eddie sighs loudly.

“Okay, this is not working. Turn over.” He tugs on Buck’s arm as he rolls over himself.

Buck shifts onto his other side slowly, carefully, a crescent around Eddie’s curled body. Close, but not touching.

“Buck,” Eddie huffs, flailing a hand back to grab his thigh, fingers digging into the meat of it. He yanks it forward, hitching it over his own hip so Buck’s flush against him from the ass-upwards.

When Buck doesn’t automatically hold him, Eddie twists his head to glare blearily over his shoulder. It’s the first time they’ve made eye contact since he entered the room, and his eyes are glassy when they meet Buck’s.

“Hello,” he says. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some cuddling around here.”

Buck laughs, surprised, and Eddie smiles, smug as he turns away and settles in again, like that was his only intention. And Buck gets it, he desperately wants this to just be—to just be it, you know, to have this be the way it happens, to wrap his arms around Eddie and wake up tangled together, to not second guess anymore, but it’s late and Eddie’s been drinking and they’re at a wedding with all the wedding emotions in the air—

His leg hiked over Eddie’s means his crotch is mashed into Eddie’s ass, and Eddie’s wriggling back in an attempt to snuggle into him and—

“Eddie,” he says. “Maybe this isn’t—”

“Ugh,” Eddie says. He turns around to grab Buck’s cheek, squeezing gently. Buck winces, all for show, before his face goes completely slack because Eddie’s planting a sloppy kiss that really only lands on forty percent of Buck’s mouth, hot and minty and lifechanging.

“Right,” Buck says, strained. He takes a deep breath, eyes squeezed shut, before opening them and placing a soft kiss on Eddie’s forehead, brushing his hairline. “It’s just—you’re drunk—I don’t want you to—”

He’s cut off by Eddie rolling his eyes and flipping back around into little spoon position.

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of the thing, Buck,” he sighs, grunting as he shifts to get comfortable. He manoeuvres Buck’s arm around his waist, pulls it up against his own chest, grip firm but still with a relaxed certainty to it. “I loved you this morning when I was undercaffeinated and being bullied into redoing flower arrangements, and I loved you this evening when I thought I had indigestion from those cheese puffs, and I love you right now when I’m drunk, and I’ll love you tomorrow when I’m hungover and miserable about it. I’m in the prime of my life, I shouldn’t be facing these kinda drinkin’ consequences at thirty-three, Jesus.”

Buck shelves the kneejerk comment about Jesus probably being the biggest advocate for getting wine-drunk in your early thirties even though focusing on any of the other words Eddie’s just said might result in his own spontaneous combustion and instead says, “Oh.”

“’Oh’,” Eddie mimics, half-asleep but no less bitchy for it. “Yeah, oh. I’ll do the—the sobriety test for you in the morning if you still want, but can we go to sleep now?”

They can, and they do, and when Buck’s alarm goes off at six am, they blink awake with Eddie curled against Buck’s chest, hand once again stuck up his shirt.

“Mmmh,” he insists, bearing down when he feels Buck try to get up.

“Eddie, I gotta go set up.”

“Gotta—no, thanks,” Eddie replies, clinging harder.

Buck huffs a laugh, any trepidation he had about Eddie’s wants upon waking easing away. “Maid-of-honour duties wait for no one.”

“Maid-of-honour, schmaid-of-honour,” Eddie tells him, muffled into his chest. “What about your loving me duties. It’s a full-time job, you know.”

“Can do that with my eyes closed,” Buck says, “and I’m great at multi-tasking this maid-of-honour stuff, but I need my eyes open for the rest of it.”

Eddie ducks his head, as if to hide his smile, but Buck feels it where it’s pressed into his chest anyway. “Fine.”

There’s a beat, and then he’s propping his chin up to peer at Buck. “Also—for sobriety test’s sake. Hi. Also, I didn’t really let you get a word in last night…”

He doesn’t look nervous or unsure, just kind of sheepish. His hair is sticking up in fluffy clumps and there’s a crease along his right cheek and Buck can love him with his eyes closed but he’s so very glad they’re open, because this is a million times better.

“You really didn’t, huh. How the tables turn—ow, Eddie,” he breaks off as Eddie digs his fingers into his ribs. “For sobriety’s sake—” He hauls Eddie up, and Eddie goes with an oof that’s sighed right into Buck’s mouth. His lips are soft and chapped against Buck’s, much more coordinated but just as purposeful as they were last night when they move against him.

The kissing is lazy, early morning stuff, gentle and easy. When Eddie yawns into it, Buck pulls away, running his hands down Eddie’s sides.

“I really gotta go,” Buck tells him, trying to extricate himself. “Go back to sleep.”

“Yes boss,” Eddie finally allows, rolling over to mash his face into a pillow.

He finds Buck setting out the flower arrangements only an hour later, though, and he’s got with him a kiss and a coffee and, true to his word, a love that persists through hangovers and weddings and drunkenness that’s not his own. Through every wildly outrageous and terribly boring moment of the rest of their lives, actually; the best and the worst and everything in between. A love that stays, and stays, and stays.

(read on ao3)

#sami i hope u like this <3 #911 fic #buddie fic #911 #buddie #writing tag #mine

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