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teamatsumu · 8 months

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kinktober 2023 -> day 22

knot - miya osamu x reader

word count: 1988

warnings: alpha!osamu and omega!reader, a/b/o dynamics, swearing, knotting, mentions of heat and rut

kinktober masterlist

You knew you would regret this. God, the amount of stupidity that was going into your decision right now would make you hurl later. But right now, you could give less of a shit.

It was with teary eyes and choppy, difficult breaths that you messaged Osamu. SOS. Come over ASAP. Your fingers trembled as you typed, and your vision was a mess, swimming, things going in and out of focus. Once you had sent the message, you dropped your phone somewhere out of sight, flopping back onto the bed, your sheets damp with sweat.

It was Day 6 of your heat, and even though normally things would start calming down by now, you were nowhere close to that. Instead of slowly cleaning up, like you often did during this time, you were still motionless on your bed, breathing hard and heavy, sweaty all over, and core clenching so painfully it made you cry fresh tears every few minutes. You had finally accepted that no amount of warm water bottles or silicone dildos could get you through this. Your body was craving an Alpha’s knot. And your heat was too stubborn to go down without it.

Hence the text to Osamu.

Osamu had been your friend for a few years now, ever since he opened his first ever branch of Onigiri Miya. Your personalities had gelled extremely well, so it was no wonder that you both made room for each other in your lives. Osamu was someone you trusted completely. He was kind, very caring, very perceptive, and very protective. He was the perfect Alpha, and of course, your little Omega heart had fallen head over heels for him. You were convinced however, that he didn’t feel the same for you. Osamu didn’t seem interested in courting at all, with anyone. He had briefly mentioned to you how focused he was on expanding his business, so you were sure he had no desire to be tied down with a mate at the moment. And so, your feelings remained boxed up, grateful to be part of his life in any way, even if it was platonic.

But biology could not be ignored. Even if you had gaslit yourself into believing you were fine being his friend, the Omega in you craved him. Desperately. Ardently. So no wonder you were still here, still in the very depth of your heat, with no signs of it stopping anytime soon. No wonder your Omega had taken over, mind blanking as you texted Osamu to come to you. You had lost to your Omega in your vulnerable condition, and you had beckoned the Alpha to you. Now you lay there, anxious, not knowing what you would do. All you knew was that you wanted him so bad you would do anything to get him.

The banging on your door startled you, and you heard Osamu’s muffled voice call out your name. With the last remnants of your strength, you stumbled out of your room and to the front door, clad in nothing but your tiniest shorts and skimpy crop top. The banging continued, even as your shaky hands unlocked and unchained the door. When you pulled it open, you nearly crumbled.

Your bloodshot eyes met Osamu’s calm, gray ones, his hand held up mid-knock. You saw the exact moment your scent hit him, his face scrunching and entire body stiffening, eyes widening in realization.

“You’re- you… Y/N, you-” His hand shot up to cover his nose, taking a step back. You abruptly shot forward, hand fisting the front of his shirt so he wouldn’t go any farther, tugging so hard that he stumbled towards you. You took advantage of that and pulled him further inside, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

Osamu groaned behind you, and you turned in time to see his eyes wandering over your almost bare body, your clothes leaving nothing to the imagination. His chest heaved, and a faint sheen of sweat was already forming around his hairline.

“Y-ya need to let me leave.” His voice was low, words muffled behind his hand. You almost moaned at the sound.

“Can’t.” You choked out, eyelids fluttering as you took in great big breaths of air, reveling in his wonderful scent, which was heightened by your sensitive nose. You stepped closer to him, knees buckling. He immediately stepped back. You whined in protest.

“Ya don’t want this.” He continued to reason. “Yer in heat. Yer not thinking straight.”

You shook your head furiously. “Always- always wanted you, Alpha.” You breathed. “Wanted you for so long. But you,” your lower lip wobbled. “You didn’t want me.”

Osamu’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening in shock. He remained frozen in place as you moved closer to him, until you were right before him, standing on your tiptoes to nose at his neck, right on top of his scent gland. You heard him release a shaky exhale, hand dropping from his mouth as he finally breathed in your scent.

“Fuck.” His voice was strained, not protesting or stopping you as you moved forward, body pressing to his. Your tongue lapped over his neck, scenting him with fervor now that he wasn’t stopping you, and the Omega in you purred in satisfaction when your scent started mixing with his. And he was letting you.

“Omega…” His protest was weak, hands already brushing over your bare sides, fingers flexing as if he was holding himself back. So you decided to give him one final push.

“Why do you think my heat won’t go down?” You mumbled into his neck. “My Omega needs you, ‘Samu. Needs your knot. Give it to me, Alpha. Need it so bad.”

That’s all it took.

Osamu bent his head until his lips met yours, hard and rough. You keened into his mouth, one hand reaching up to tangle tightly in his hair while the other fisted his shirt to pull him even closer. Osamu’s hands were running wild over you, your waist, your hips, running down your back until they squeezed your ass. You arched into him, sighing when his fingers brushed over your clothed slit, groaning low.

“Yer soaking.” He whispered, voice low and thick with want. He pushed the crotch of your shorts aside, immediately shoving two long, thick fingers inside you. You cried out at the feeling, clenching desperately around him.

“What’d ya use?” He asked, his other hand gripping so tight at your waist it almost hurt. “Dildo? Vibrator? Tell me. What’d ya stuff this weepin’ cunt of yers with?”

You moaned at how filthy he sounded, at how prominent his accent got when he was turned on. You mumbled your answer into his neck, clinging to him as you ground your hips down on his fingers, trying to prolong the relief his fingers brought. He chuckled.

“Dirty little ‘Mega. Ya want me this bad? Look at ya, yer drippin’ down my whole hand.”

Your knees buckled again, and this time Osamu didn’t stop you. Instead, he lowered himself along with you, until you were sprawled right there, on the floor of your living room, legs spread and welcoming Osamu as he fit snugly there, his tongue running wildly over your entire neck, nosing at your scent gland. His throbbing erection pushed into your thigh, his fingers still working into you at a leisurely pace. You whined.

“Alpha, please.” You choked out, pleading with him through teary eyes. “Please.”

Osamu pulled away from your neck to look down at you, and you noticed how flushed he was. His hair was a mess, face red and eyes wild. His lips were swollen and bruised, and through his open mouth, you could see the faint beginnings of his canines. They were elongating. Your eyes widened.

Was your heat triggering Osamu’s rut?

You didn’t have it in you to think about it further because Osamu was sitting up, undressing quickly and doing the same to you until you were both bare before each other. You moaned at the sight of his cock, hard and throbbing, flushed to an angry maroon shade. The base was already a little swollen and your mouth watered at the sight. Your Omega keened. There it was. His knot. And you needed it inside you now.

Osamu seemed to be on the same page, because moments later he was pushing into you, taking advantage of the copious amounts of slick you were producing to slide straight in, groaning loud when his hips met yours, buried into you to the hilt. Your jaw went slack, immediately feeling your body temperature go down and the pain in your core settle slightly. Your Omega preened and settled, finally getting what it so desperately craved. Your Alpha on top of you, stuffing you full of his cock, the promise of getting his knot soon.

(Of course, he wasn’t your Alpha. You were pointedly ignoring that fact.)

Osamu was quick to set a punishing, fast pace, ramming his cock into your wet hole with all his might. You gasped and shook under him, eyes rolling up in your head at the feeling. It felt divine, after days and days of wanting exactly this, finally having it felt like an out of body experience. Your cunt was fluttering in delight, so happy to get what you wanted, and you felt your whole body sing at the feeling. You watched as Osamu smirked a little, smelling the shift in your scent.

“Feel good?” The question was rhetorical. How you were feeling was written all over your face, evident in the way your scent sweetened. Yet you still furiously nodded.

“So good, Alpha.” You whined, arching up off the floor, your breasts bouncing with each harsh thrust. “Fuck. Wanted this so bad. Wanted your cock in me for so long. God, need your knot. Please. Please.”

Osamu groaned, broken and shaky, cursing under his breath as he lifted your legs up to your chest, pressing down until you were folded into a mating press, his pace becoming even more rough and sloppy. You cried out at the feeling, eyes widening at how suddenly his demeanor had changed. You eyed Osamu curiously through your wet eyes, watched the gold specks appear in his eyes, watched his canines elongate until they were reaching below his bottom lip.

Osamu had just started his rut.

Your back arched up as your orgasm hit you full force, legs kicking and flailing as much as they could in Osamu’s bruising grip, feeling wave after wave of electricity zip through you. Osamu’s cock was swelling rapidly at the base, indicating how close he was to finishing too, the size of it catching on your abused hole with every thrust until he was moaning loud, pressing forward with force to make sure he could bully the knot into you. You cried out at the stretch, gasping when Osamu stilled and his cum started pouring into your cunt. He twitched and shook above you, riding out his orgasm as you ran a hand over his back, coaxing him through it.

All was silent except your heaving breaths. Osamu slowly lowered your legs until they were wrapped around his waist, knot still snug inside you. You sighed and wrapped your arms over his broad shoulders, eyelids fluttering shut. He carefully nosed at your neck.

“Feel better?” He asked, voice hoarse. You hummed and nodded in reply.

“What about you? I think I triggered your rut.” You looked down at him sheepishly, eyeing the sharp canines now prominent against his lips, and Osamu sighed, mouth twitching up into a smile.

“Ya did.” He relaxed into you even more, cock shifting inside you slightly. “Can’t say I’m mad about that. It was totally worth it.”

You giggled, leaning your cheek against Osamu’s hair as you both waited for his knot to go down.

“For what it’s worth, Y/N, I’ve always wanted ya too.”

Taglist:

@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi @dohwaesu @leothesquishy @n0tmykays @tsukiran @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel l @vintagevict0ria @smithieandy @moonlit-mizukage @snazzyturtles @argwein

A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!

#miya osamu x reader #miya osamu smut #miya osamu x you #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu fanfiction #miya osamu imagines #miya osamu fic #alpha miya osamu #omega reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu a/b/o #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu smut #haikyu smut #a/b/o #haikyuu omegaverse

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userlando · 1 year

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Okay but imagine, Lando coming home after a triple header expecting you to be at your own home. He's tired and honestly wants to cry a little because you're not there. So, when he walks into his room to see you in his bed, deep asleep, wearing only his shirt and nothing else, he can't help but curl up close to you and hold you

oh I was saving this in my ask box to write on a day when I felt a little gloomy, just a little something for you as a thanks for dropping this fluffy thing in my lap 🤍

homecoming (748 words) lando norris/fem!reader fluff

The house is dark when Lando steps over the threshold, his chest feels a little heavy and his throat tight like he’s two seconds away from crying and he doesn’t really know why.

He assumes it’s an array of different things. He’s been away for three weeks, performance average as he fights to keep his composure on the race tracks and he knows it’s finally time for a break when he drops to P10 on Sunday. Usually, he’d sleep it off at the hotel and then catch a flight to his next destination, but he finds himself too antsy and anxious to spend another second away from home, so he books a flight the same evening and gets his ass home.

His shoulders are drawn tight in tension, fingers itching to grab his keys to his McLaren and drive straight to your place but he holds himself back. He knows you’ve had it equally as rough as him, struggling with your work and his absence only adds onto the stress you’re carrying on your shoulders.

Lando feels like shit, mood dropping even lower when he thinks of you. He kicks his shoes off to the side, knowing that Max would yell at him in the morning for not storing them away like a normal person but he can’t bring himself to care. His body yearns for his bed, with freshly washed sheets because you always do that. Tidy up his room and wash his shit, knowing that he likes the scent of freshly washed cotton to come home to.

He smiles fondly, chest tight when he spots the empty grocery bags in the kitchen; recalling Max’s text earlier in the day where he’d reassured Lando that you were okay, telling him that he was out shopping for groceries with you because you’d insisted on Lando coming home to a stocked fridge.

The Brit feels his eyes well up, walking quietly across the hallway and pushing his door open. The bedside lamp is on, and it gives Lando pause as his eyes adjusts to the dim lights in the room. His eyes sweep across the unusually clean space, frown deepening on his face until he spots the lump under his covers, on his bed.

At first, he thinks it’s Max playing a prank on him and he almost walks over to punch a fist into whoever is laying there just for the sake of it. But then he spots the back of your head, sleeping face coming into view, the closer he walks.

Your soft breaths makes his throat close up, and he sniffles quietly because the rush of relief coursing through him is so overpowering that he cups his lower face with his shaking hand; taking a deep breath to steady himself.

He quickly sheds his clothes, abandoning his plans to shower in favour of crawling into bed. You don’t even twitch, even as he inches closer and lays on his side, face to face with you. You’re warm, clad in nothing but one of his Quadrant shirts and his heart wells over with love at the sight.

Your eyebrow moves, and Lando sucks his lower lip into his mouth because it’s starting to wobble in the massive rush of affection he feels for you. He doesn’t even care that he might potentially wake you up, scooting closer until he can wrap his arms and legs around you, pushing his face into the warm space of your throat where it’s connected to the shoulder and notching his head under your chin.

Lando can feel when you stir in your interrupted sleep, making a sleepy sound and exhaling through your nose that ruffles his hair but you don’t say anything as you wrap yourself around him in a similar fashion almost immediately. He’s thankful that you don’t even question his sudden need to be held, nor do you say anything when he sniffles quietly, only offering your comfort by bringing your hands up to play with his hair.

“Missed you.” You said quietly, voice a little thick with sleep and Lando wants to wrap the sound of it around him like a blanket.

He scoots closer, like if he tries enough, he can crawl into your skin and it makes you hide a smile in his curls.

“I missed you too.” He mumbles, words muffled in your neck and it tickles a little bit. “Never leaving you again.”

You both know it’s not possible, but you nod gently.

“Never.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

whew, I need a touch depraved lando asap 🥺 I hope you liked this lil thing 🤍 lmk what you thought!!

#zee’s asks 💌#lando brainrot #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #lando norris #lando norris blurb #lando norris x female reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader

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gojomerchbox · 2 months

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Y'all, look at the plushie!!! It is the absolute cutest thing in the jujutsu universe. Clad in the legendary three piece shinjuku showdown fit. Our Gojushie brings all the simps to the yard-- okay, I stop now.

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#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen zine #gojo #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo merch box #jjk zine #merch #satoru gojo #gojo sensei #jujutsu gojo

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sunkendreams · 4 months

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can i please request paul from lost boys and stockings, this has been ingrained in my mind, anything else is up to you

➾ pairing ; paul (the lost boys) x fem!reader.

FORMAT: drabble — requested.

WORD COUNT: 3.7K.

WARNINGS: SMUT! (mdni), paul wears a choker in this fic, groping, making out, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cumplay, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), face-sitting, stocking/hosiery kink, scent kink, marking, biting, hair-pulling, paul is a boob guy for sure, dirty talk, fingering (f!receiving), tiddy sucking, body worship

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this request was ridiculously sexy and changed the trajectory of my life ngl :’) so thank you for this because I had a ton of fun writing it !!! as always, thank you all so much for your love and support! I’m still trucking on with requests!

Vibrant strands of ribbon held a sizable black box together as it sat directly in front of you, poised along the edge of your makeshift vanity. It was intended to be a surprise — if you could even call it that.

Paul made some offhand comment about wanting to see you in something sultry, dolled up in lace and frilly garters — you wanted to fulfill that for him. You couldn’t tell if it was serious or simply a colorful joke intended to make you flustered.

Out of sheer impulse and the desire to shock Paul, you’d bought lingerie at a shoddy boutique down at the boardwalk, complete with sheer, black stockings. You wondered if he’d care about it when he saw you — it was going to come off, anyway. What was the use?

Candlelight danced across the cavernous alcove of your nest, casting flickering shadows across the tapestry-covered walls. The box seemed to call to you like a siren’s song, tempting you — you hadn’t even tried it on yet, either.

A gilded mirror sat soundly amongst your belongings, as if coaxing you closer. Curiosity and the desire to see how you looked in such risqué garments got the better of you, prompting you to push yourself up from your mattress.

You had time — Paul was out hunting, and you could do a little twirl in the mirror and take it off.

You clamored toward your vanity, hastily plucking the box from its perch as you unraveled the spool of ribbon that held it all together. It fluttered toward the foot of your bed, preparing to be long forgotten as you unveiled the sheet lace and black fabric.

Satin and lace glided between your fingers as you caressed the material, holding up the set toward the glower of orange light. You promptly undressed, not that there was much to begin with aside from an oversized shirt. It smelled of stale hairspray — Paul, no doubt.

It felt strange, putting on a getup that you never envisioned yourself in to begin with. Admittedly, your confidence had blossomed since being with Paul — he was unapologetically himself, and that had some effect on you, too.

Once you shed your shirt and undergarments, you reached for the lingerie, tugging it on with a bit of brute force. It was tight — unnaturally snug, but you assumed that it was intentional. You sat down on the edge of your bed, tugging the stockings on until they perched around the middle of your thighs.

Your reflection was nothing short of stunning — a goddess incarnate. You stepped closer, twisting and turning every which way, occasionally plucking at the placement of the fabric. Some of it felt itchy and uncomfortable, as if it’d strangle you.

Smoothing your hands across your stocking-clad legs, you continued to twirl, catching glimpses of yourself in the glittering glass. You contemplated keeping it on, maybe throwing a robe over it, but it seemed a little too tacky for your taste.

“Woah,” You nearly jumped out of your own flesh at the sound of Paul’s voice. You couldn’t see his reflection — he ceased to exist in the mirror, standing at the entrance to your nest with a dumbfounded expression. “What’s all that you got on, babe?”

Heat crawled over your flesh, causing you to burn with embarrassment. You bit at your lower lip, deliberately swiveling around until you faced him. “It’s nothing.” You mumbled, reaching for the corner of your blanket in an attempt to cover yourself up.

Paul was swift, as fast as a bolt of lightning as he flicked the blanket aside, circling around you like a wolf would a lamb. He let out a whistle of approval, clearly reveling in the sight of you. “Nothing? C’mon, you’re not serious, are you? You look gorgeous.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” You confessed, twisting your hands together as you rocked up and down upon the balls of your feet. “I know you said something about wanting to see me in lingerie. I wasn’t sure how you’d like it.” With a soft exhale, you felt his hand brush against your waist.

His mouth curled into a lopsided grin, eyes bright with obsession and adoration. There was something mildly crazed about his expression, but he was beyond thrilled with the visual feast he was being treated to. “How I’d like it?” Paul inquired, seemingly bewildered.

There was a sudden softness to his tone, as if he cared little for what he thought. To Paul, you were nothing short of delectably gorgeous — it didn’t matter what you wore.

You nodded, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “I suppose so. I mean, it’s just lingerie. I figured you’d rip all of it off anyway.” You mused, watching with intrigue as his countenance contorted into a look of shock.

“Might rip some of it,” Paul smirked, digits hooking themselves into the front of your panties. “But these?” He gestured toward your stockings, which rose up to the middle of your thighs. “These are gonna stay on.”

With a sense of finality, Paul grabbed your hips, sitting down on the bed with you planted firmly in his lap. He ran his hands over the sheer material covering your thighs, feeling his cock twitch inside of his jeans. You were elated, draping your arms around the back of his neck.

Your fingers dove into his stiff, coarse mane of blonde tresses, raking through until you’d grabbed at the roots. Paul kissed you hard, open-mouthed and deliciously sloppy as he grabbed at the swell of your ass. Your breasts looked perfect in that brassiere, but he preferred to see them unclad.

“Shit, baby, you smell so good,” Paul groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck, littering every inch of flesh with sloppy kisses and bites. “You look so fuckin’ hot like this.” He murmured, and that made you shiver in delight, attempting to press your thighs together.

A swirling, molten heat sank into the pit of your stomach, causing your back to arch into his embrace. Your mouth clamored for his, your lips colliding with one another’s as he groped at your thighs. Paul thoroughly enjoyed the way you looked in stockings — mesmerizing, really.

The gesture was thoughtful — as much as Paul found some sentiment in it, he cared more for fucking you within an inch of your life in those stupid stockings. His mind veered off with lascivious thoughts, all of them purely unholy as he swept his tongue across your lower lip.

Those wandering hands of his immediately reached for the clasps of your brassiere, but instead of trying to properly remove it, he simply tore it apart. You gasped, watching as he discarded the material somewhere on the ground, absentmindedly licking at his lips.

“Paul,” You huffed, able to feel his erection grinding into your core. Goosebumps coalesced along your spine as his hand danced from your back to your hips, digits skirting underneath the waistband of your panties. A soft moan escaped you when he made contact with your aching cunt. “Please.”

A thin sheen of slick coated his eager digits, and Paul wasted no time in touching you. He was grinning, appraising you with a look of passion. “Wet for me already, babe?” He crooned, pressing his mouth against the column of your throat.

Your head bobbed up and down in a lackadaisical nod, lips agape as a simpering moan escaped you. “Feels so good,” Without missing a beat, his thumb grinded into your clit, dragging around the bundle of nerves in agonizingly-slow circles. “I need you so bad.”

“Yeah?” His voice emerged as a tantalizing purr, tongue sweeping across your jaw. Your flesh tasted velveteen, saccharine upon his tongue. There was nothing sweeter than you — his human, his mate. “Need you more.” Paul teased, nipping at your earlobe.

The ghoulish choker adorning his neck served as the perfect anchor as you hooked two fingers beneath it, dragging his mouth back to yours. The enthralled look within his eyes made your breath hitch, cunt clenching pathetically around nothing at all.

Heat and pure tension bled between the both of you, and Paul’s eyes became dilated with lust, glistening with a golden sheen. He kissed you hard, fingers burying themselves between your thighs as he pushed two digits inside of you.

A pleasured gasp escaped you as you rocked atop his hand, savoring the sensation of his fingers pumping in and out of you. The heady, honey-thick scent of your arousal was a delectable smell to him — and Paul wanted so much more.

His attention with kissing was notoriously short-lived as he kissed his way down to your chest — his favorite. Paul licked his lips as if he were preparing to have the most delicious meal, pursing his pouty mouth around one of your nipples.

A calloused palm encircled your other breast, groping and kneading into the soft, pliant flesh. He pinched and tugged at your nipple, mouth suckling at the other. His hand was gingerly rocking back and forth between your legs, pistoning in and out of your tight cunt.

“P—Paul!” A whine tore past your lips, hips jolting and surging into the rhythmic ministrations of his hand. Whatever had gotten into him, you loved it — you wanted him to destroy you. Your hands tugged on his mane of sandy-blonde tresses, head rolling backwards.

“You’ve got the prettiest tits, sweet thing,” Paul groaned against your flesh, mouth hotly returning to your chest. He sucked and nibbled until you were squirming, deciding to switch sides and shower the rest of you in attention. “Wish I could stay here forever.” He mumbled.

Another wave of heat rolled through you, your expression a concoction of pleasure and embarrassment. His compliments were delightful, but sometimes you didn’t believe them. One of your hands fell into his lap, palming at his jean-clad erection.

“Can if you want.” You uttered, feeling his lips curl into a devious grin around your breast. You kept one hand curled into a tight fist, grabbing at his hair as the other wrangled his belt off. It felt unfair that Paul was doing everything.

Paul thoroughly enjoyed listening to your thoughts whenever the two of you fucked — and he didn’t feel like he was doing everything. He wanted to, anyway. “Lookin’ so gorgeous in these,” He huffed, hand dropping to your thigh as he hooked it behind your knee. “Could you wear them all the time? Just for me?”

It was hard not to giggle at Paul’s subtle demand, though the noise quickly tapered off into a moan when his teeth grazed your nipple. His digits slowed, sluggishly rutting in and out of your cunt, thumb focused on playing with your clit. You whimpered, unable to keep from writhing atop his lap.

When he tore his mouth away from your breast, he continued his path of bites and hickeys, leaving behind a trail from your collarbone to sternum. Paul knew what he wanted, shedding his jacket as he tugged his hand away. You groaned, grabbing at his wrist in an attempt to redirect him.

“Please don’t stop,” You whined, feeling his body vibrate with soft chuckles. Paul wasn’t one to edge you like this, but he seemed to have something in-mind. You watched as he moved back on the bed, laying down all the way. “What are you doing?”

Paul grinned, wolfish as could be as he wrapped his fingers around the waistband of your panties, and pulled — the sound of fabric being torn asunder reverberated throughout the alcove. He bumped you up towards his chest, hands hooked behind your knees, digits caressing the material of your stockings.

“Lettin’ you sit,” He mused, and when you were close enough, he kissed your inner thighs. “Unless you don’t want to.” Paul’s nose wrinkled in amusement when you immediately shook your head, knowing exactly what he had intended for you.

“Please,” You bucked forward, desperate to sit on his face. “Paul, please!” You begged, shamelessly pleading with your boyfriend to let you ride his mouth. He hadn’t done something like this before — the opportunity was far too tantalizing.

Through thick lashes and a cheshire smirk, Paul deliberately moved you forward, handling you as if you weighed nothing at all. He bit and kissed at your thighs until he sat you down on his face, wasting no time in lapping at your aching cunt.

If it were up to him, he would’ve stayed here, glued to you for the rest of the night. He was notoriously sloppy and messy, tongue greedily lapping along your slit, hands caging you in behind your knees. You moaned, fingers twisting into his hair, hips rocking forward just slightly.

His cock throbbed within his jeans, feeling confined and uncomfortably snug. Paul was unabashedly passionate, lips sliding from your cunt to your clit, stubbled jaw grinding against your inner thighs. He could feel your nylon-clad knees squeeze toward his head.

Your stomach felt like mush, a pit of heat and swirling warmth as you nearly collapsed altogether. His lips pursed around your clit, suckling and teasing that sensitive clutch of nerves before he returned to lapping at your core, interchanging the two.

“Paul,” You moaned, knowing that you wouldn’t last in this state. Every fiber of your being burned with something incredible, a sense of ecstasy that made you shudder in delight. Paul urged you forward, mouth relentlessly assaulting your cunt until your legs quivered. “Paul!”

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, as if it were the only word you knew how to say. It was a chant, burned into the recesses of your mind as you rocked forward, feeling his hands relocate to the swell of your hips.

In one movement, he had you pinned down on your back, face buried between your thighs. Your legs involuntarily locked him in, threatening to suffocate him — not that he cared in the slightest. Paul’s palms clapped into the pliant flesh of your thighs, fingers slipping against your stockings.

He ate you out like a man starved, tongue raking hot embers across your aching core, hips haplessly rutting themselves against the mattress for a shred of friction. He was painfully hard, getting off on the feeling of nylon pressing into his face and the taste of your cunt.

Your back arched, hands clawing at his unruly tresses as he sucked at your clit again, a low groan stuck within the back of his throat. “M’close,” You slurred, dizzy and drunk with desire as you pushed your hips forward, feeling him drag you onto his tongue. “Fuck!”

Paul loved it when you had a mouth on you — the expletives meant that he was doing a good job. It was all the encouragement and spurring-on that he needed to help you finish, tongue dipping toward your entrance before returning to toy with your clit.

“That’s it, baby,” Paul crooned, licking his lips like a dog as he raked his nails over your leg, letting them snag on the nylon. He was enthralled by the way that you looked — naked save for those stockings of yours. “You taste so good.” He sighed, unbuckling his jeans with a sudden haste.

Between the white-hot explosion of your orgasm and Paul’s manic undressing, you composed yourself just enough to get your hands in his mesh shirt. You wanted it off, tugging at it with a sense of urgency as he stooped down to kiss you — it was hot and messy, accompanied by a barrage of tongue.

His cock was pretty, just like the rest of him.

“You really like these, don’t you?” You mumbled, hooking a leg around his hips. There was a visible spark within his eyes when you did that, chest rising and falling with a flurry of excitement.

Paul nodded, mouth tilting into a dazed, lopsided grin. “Yeah,” He confessed, shamelessly grabbing your other leg in order to hitch it up around his hips. “Fuck, you just look so good in them. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He murmured, hand falling to knead at your swollen breast.

The orange glow of candlelight bathed him in a series of softer hues, igniting his hair with a peculiar shade. You kept your legs locked around him, hands moving toward the column of his throat as he pushed his cock into you, being deliberately gentle, to start.

He looked perfect — that choker he wore around only made him prettier.

You coaxed him close for a kiss, open-mouthed and full of an unrestrained need as he began to fuck you at a steady pace. Paul could get rough and wild if he wanted to, but this time, he seemed fixated on slow and steady — that was more than enough for you.

Your nails raked across the nape of his neck, twining one fist into the roots of his coarse, stiff tresses, the other applying pressure against his neck. The groan he released into your kiss made your cunt clench around his cock, body simmering with another pleasant wave of heat.

Paul bit at your lower lip, sharp enough to withdraw a pearl of blood. He lapped at it before you could say anything, grinning like a wolf, eyes lascivious and stirring with lust as he moved forward. His pace increased into a steady rhythm, fucking you with an incendiary passion.

“Don’t stop.” You whispered, voice hoarse and strung-out with desire. Your chest blossomed with adoration, meeting his cerulean-eyed gaze as your hand trailed from his neck to his jaw. Paul appeared mesmerized and transfixed, hues glistening with a golden sheen.

With another roll of his hips, you lifted your body just slightly, colliding with him. A soft moan escaped you, heat crawling across your flesh, stomach turning to liquid. Your legs tightened around his hips, feeling his lips kiss their way down to your chest once more.

Paul shamelessly took one of your breasts into his mouth again, lips pursed around your nipple as he sucked and bit at the sensitive bud. The steady roll of his thrusts soon increased in pace, cock rutting into you as he reached every perfect spot imaginable.

You whimpered, back arching off of the wrinkled, tousled sheets and into his ministrations, eyes fluttering shut. He showered your swollen chest in constant attention, alternating between suckling and kissing as he hungrily bit at your collarbone. The crescent-shaped indents were merely extensions of his affection.

“So perfect for me, baby,” Paul mumbled against your silken flesh, fucking into you with a noticeable fervor as you squeezed his his hips again. The scratch of your nylon stockings against his skin made him shiver, bucking into you as he kissed at your tits. “Fuck, you’re all mine.” He groaned.

His noises were like music to your ears, breathy grunts and sighs, shameless praises that made your entire body tingle with bliss. You tugged on his tresses again, whimpering when he dragged his cock out nearly all the way before pounding right back into you.

Inch by perfect inch, he filled you up, littering your body in countless marks as if you were a canvas, made just for him. His hands grabbed at your thighs, kneading and groping at the pliant flesh there as he rocked forward, huffing and grunting as he picked up speed.

A dizzying sensation washed over you, ecstasy intermingled with love. He was all over you, consuming you like a fever that you couldn’t sweat out — and you didn’t want to.

Between the flurry, rushed clamor of lips, tongue, bodies, and heat, your scent was emblazoned within Paul’s mind, burned there for days to come. His senses swam with only you, something so overwhelmingly intoxicating for him. The excitable thrumming of your heart made him exhale, fucking into you again and again.

A moan tore past your parted lips, feeling Paul’s rutting slow to a crawl as he pushed into you one last time. A soft grunt escaped him as a few ropes of hot seed filled you, but he pulled out halfway through, painting your stomach and tits in a sticky sheen.

He was aiming for your chest — mostly.

You came in-tandem with him, cunt clenching around nothing at all as you dropped one leg from around his hips, regaining your composure. You caught your breath, letting out a soft huff as you watched him roll away from you.

“You should clean up your mess.” You giggled, grabbing at the corner of one of the blankets strewn across the ground. Before you could clean yourself up, Paul returned with a cloth — wherever he’d gotten it from, you had no idea. He perched himself in front of you, wiping away his cum from your body.

“M’not sorry, babe. You look pretty like that,” Paul smirked, hair a disheveled, crazed mane of flaxen-gold as he tossed the rag elsewhere. He unceremoniously fell onto the mattress in a heap. “You’re keepin’ these on — permanently.” He flicked a finger against your stockings to make his point.

An amused chuckle escaped you as you shrugged your shoulders, settling down beside him. Paul sluggishly crawled over to snuggle, resting his head atop your chest as he’d done several times before. “I don’t know, I like surprising you.” You mused.

Paul snickered, tracing idle, sweet patterns into your leg, other arm hitched around your hips. “Oh yeah? You got any other surprises?” It was an open-ended invoking of a challenge — and you had some ideas.

“A few. You’ll have to be patient.” A gasp left you when Paul playfully bit at your jaw, unable to keep his hands and his mouth off of you. The nest smelled like you — and the scent of sex. Those were his favorites.

“I don’t know about that, sweet thing,” He uttered, squeezing into your hips with a lascivious expression. “I’ve got a few surprises of my own.”

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x you #paul tlb x reader #paul tlb x you #tlb paul x reader #the lost boys fanfiction #the lost boys #paul tlb #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #slasher x y/n

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lovelettersfromluna · 1 year

Text

You mystify me {Ellie Williams X Reader}

Summary: A new family moves in down the street from Joel, and Ellie just so happens to be home for the holidays. What better way to welcome the newbies than to drag his daughter to their house with a half burnt pie?

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, drug use (marijuana), afab reader, Ellie is horrible with feelings, slight angst if you squint?, Ellie is in college, fingering (r! receiving), scissoring, let me know if I missed anything pleaseee.

an: Hello angels! Welcome to my very first post, it's so nice to have you here. I will admit, I've been going back and forth with my first fic for quite a while now, but I think this may be the one. I don't mention any specific body types/skin tones/eye colors/hair colors/hair types, just to ensure that its inclusive for everyone to insert themselves into. I truly hope you all enjoy, and please feel free to give any tips or pointers for things you'd like to see change for the future. Love, Luna. p.s Happy Pride Month!!!

Word count: 6.7 k

Ellie hated the holidays.

She didn't want to sound miserable, or ungrateful, but she hated everything that came with it. She preferred times like summer or spring, where she could just go home for the break without having anything she needed to be there for. Those times meant she could just lounge around in her childhood home until her dad got home, and they could watch football and drink beers until they both passed out on the couch. No stupid holiday events to attend, no painstakingly long dinners to go to, it could just be them, with no distractions.

But no, the holidays made it painfully aware that those dreams were but a far off memory that she couldn't have for the next five months.

She was home for Thanksgiving break, back pressed up against the soft sheets of her childhood bed as she faced the ceiling, her eyes closed as she inhaled deeply. If she wasn't so miserable over the fact that she was in fact home for the holidays, the scent of warm apples and cinnamon would have caught her attention.

Wait...apples? Cinnamon?

She frowned as she sat up, her soft brown locks brushing against her forehead and cheek bones as she shifted a bit. The kitchen at her dads place went pretty much untouched, seeing that neither of them were great in the kitchen at all. Ellie was raised off of cheap takeout and boxed Mac and cheese, and truthfully she wouldn't have it any other way.

Ellie got up with a low sigh, adjusting the grey hoodie that hung on her skinny frame before she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. The old floorboards creaked underneath her sock clad feet, reminding her of all the times she'd slipped and fallen on the godforsaken floor before.

When she got downstairs, the image of Joel in an apron made her furrow her eyebrows in confusion. He was mixing something in a bowl, his narrowed eyes darting back and forth between the oven and a small timer he had placed next to him on the counter. The sound of the floor creaking caught his attention, and his head shot over towards the direction of his daughter.

"Was just about t'call you down here...need your help with this..uh..." He groaned softly as he motioned towards the cook book he had propped up against another spare bowl he had.

Ellie snorted softly as she pushed herself off of the wall she was leaned up against, watching her father struggle in amusement before she hummed, bringing her attention to the cook book. She squinted a bit as she leaned in, eyebrows furrowing, looking far too similar to her farther before she nodded.

"Apple pie?....Since when do you bake old man?" She teased gently, looking down into the bowl he was mixing. She had to admit, whatever he was working on didn't look half bad. She wasn't exactly an expert, but she had gotten stuck on the cooking channel far too many times when she was too high out of her mind to switch it to something else, and whatever her dad was working on looked....like he was doing something right.

"I don't....not usually at least..." He grumbled out softly, giving the contents in the bowl one last good mix before he squinted at the cook book once again, sighing before he placed the bowl down. He gave the timer one last look before he walked over to the oven, opening it and pulling out the golden pie crust.

"Need you to go and get dressed, you and I are going out" His eyes are focused on pouring the contents into the pie crust, which Ellie had figured out was in deed the pie filling. Ellie frowned as she watched her father work on the pastry, her arms crossed over her chest as her eyes darted up to look at him.

"What? I thought...I thought we didn't have anything to do this week. We were supposed to watch the game tonight, remember?" She practically whined out, sounding far too much like a small child who was not getting their way. This made Joel chuckle softly, because for a moment it reminded him of Ellie when she was much younger, his little soldier.

"Didn't say we weren't watchin' the game kid...just not watchin' it here" He hummed out before he finished filling the pie, and pushed it back into the oven. He took his apron off, hanging it on the handle of the pantry door as he began cleaning up the monstrosity in the kitchen that had came about through his adventures with baking.

Ellie on the other hand, was fuming.

She had a strict 24 hour warning policy before she had to go anywhere, and it was especially important for this policy to be withheld during the holidays. She needed time to prepare, to put herself in the headspace of socializing for the night before actually doing so. It was like she had to charge up her social battery longer than usual for things like this, and it sort of hurt her feelings to think that her dad would disregard that.

Especially when she was under the impression that he felt the exact same way that she did in instances like this.

But instead, he was happily baking a pie for god knows what, with his silly little apron as if he were Martha Stewart herself, and to be quite honest, Ellie was a little pissed off.

She let out an annoyed huff as she circled around Joel, who was leaned up against the sink washing the last set of mixing bowls and measuring cups. She stared at him with pleading eyes, as if begging him to cancel on the ominous force that was pushing them out of their home for the night.

"But you never even said anything about leaving tonight...I...Im not going to Shirley's house again. Her kids look like they fucking bite and her food sucks" She breathed out, causing Joel to laugh softly.

'No. no...I know you're not too fond of her El...." He hummed softly as he turned off the sink, grabbing a nearby towel and drying his hands. He began walking off to his bedroom, to which Ellie promptly followed behind, clearly not done with her whining.

"Then where are we going?" Ellie asked once again, the tall girl leaned up against the entrance door to her fathers bedroom as he disappeared in his closet, most likely changing into a suitable flannel shirt for whoever it was that they so desperately needed to visit for the night. "We've got new neighbors down the street...caught em' movin in when I was comin' home from work last week"

Joel's words made Ellie frown even further, and her eyes trained on him as he moved around the room, grabbing different things from his dresser before moving to the bathroom to continue getting ready. "And? What does that have to do with us"

A low sigh could be heard from the bathroom, the tone in Ellie's voice already letting Joel know that she would not be letting this go without a fight. "It's nice to be neighborly, kid. Plus, it's the holidays....least we can do is bring them somethin' nice". His words were a bit muffled by the towel he pushed up against his face, most likely freshening up a bit. Ellie rolled her eyes, pushing herself off of his door. She was annoyed, she wanted to spend time with her dad, and not some strangers. She knew that moments with him during the fall and winter months were sparse, so she looked forward to them more than she did usually.

She knew there was nothing she could do to convince him to cancel, or to even avoid all of the formalities and let her deliver the pie. And by deliver, she would most definitely drop it at their door step with a sticky note that read "From Joel and Ellie down the street", a sorry excuse of a welcome, but enough so to get the message through to them.

So, she simply turned around and shrugged her hoodie off, stomping her feet against the wooden stairs a bit too loud for comfort to change into something a bit more sensible.

"Your pie is burning by the way" She called out before she slammed her door and promptly began rummaging through her messy closet for clothes.

And thats how they ended up here, at your doorstep with a half burnt pie held between Joel's old, scarred hands. They didn't leave without a small argument, Joel scolding Ellie for giving him a hard time, complaining that she was the one that made him screw up his timer. Ellie would never admit it, but she secretly hoped it would push her dad to cancel last minute.

But it didn't, and she was standing next to him with her fists shoved in her pockets. The fall air had been growing colder and colder with each passing day, and her mouth was already opening to let out another string of complaints to her father about how "fucking cold" it was and that this was "really stupid".

But before she could, you were opening the door. A bright smile splayed across your plush lips that were painted the prettiest deep berry shade. You're shirt was the exact same color, a corset style top that hugged your mid section perfectly, black lace peaking out at the edge of it near your hips and at the top of your cleavage, a simple pair of blue jeans that hugged your hips and ass deliciously, and a tiny blood red heart hung on a thin chain that was around your neck, falling right between your soft tits.

Ellie blinked a few times as she stared down at you, her throat practically closing up, any slick complaints she had ready to fire at her father had died down the second she laid eyes on you. She couldn't stop her eyes from shamelessly traveling down your body, taking in every aspect of your outfit, which caused her cheeks to burn red.

A soft gasp from your lips cut right through her racing thoughts, and you were looking down at the pie that Joel held. "Mr. Miller, I didn't know you baked. This looks amazing!". Despite the state of the pie, you words were genuine, quickly taking the pie from the man and stepping aside so the both of them could step in.

"Your dad mentioned you liked apples...had a few I needed to get rid of....where is he by the way?" Joel mentioned casually, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he thought about the fact that he did in fact make a specific grocery trip just for all of the ingredients for the pie in the first place. He shrugged his coat off, to which you quickly put the pie down in the kitchen before rushing back to the both of them.

You took Joel's coat from him before having it up on the rack. "He's trying to fix a light in the living room, he might actually need your help" You sighed out, watching as Joel nodded before giving Ellie a look, silently urging the girl to introduce herself before he set off to find your father.

You gave her a sweet smile, extending your hand for hers as you gave her your name. "You must be Ellie, my dad said Joel mentioned you when they met the other day. Im really glad you came"

Ellie froze as she looked down at your manicured hand. Your nails were black, and short, painted almost perfectly, a few rings perched on some of your fingers. She swallowed nervously, nodding slowly before she brought a cold hand up to shake yours. "Yeah...yeah im Ellie..." She mumbled out, hating how fucking good your warm hand felt wrapped around your smaller one.

You furrowed your eyebrows a bit at her strange behavior before you nodded slowly, letting go of your hand as she began shrugging off her brown leather jacket. You smiled sweetly, stepping closer to her as you held your hands out for it "Here, I can take that".

Ellie looked down at your hands before looking back into your eyes, her breath hitching in her throat before she nodded slowly, shrugging off her jacket and handing it to you. You gave her a reassuring smile as you hung it up, her eyes following you the entire time shamelessly.

"I don't know about yours, but my dad hasn't stopped talking about you guys coming over all week. I was really happy when he told me Mr. Miller had a daughter, I'd be miserable if I had to listen to them talk about building a deck or mowing the lawn" You huffed out, smoothing down the leather of Ellie's jacket as you hung it up. You turned around, giving her a smile before you nodded your head towards the kitchen, "Well, we might as well head in there, not that they notice us being gone, they were outside for almost an hour when we were moving in" You giggled softly at the memory, trying to ease some of the tension in the air.

Ellie on the other hand, didn't want you to stop talking. The sweet melody of your voice was making her forget all about the irritating rage that was screaming for attention in the back of her head, counting down the minutes until she could leave your house. Now, it was like she couldn't get enough of being in your warm home.

"Tell me about it, he spent the entire afternoon on that damn pie" She sighed out, her hands taking their usual spot in her pockets. You giggled softly, making Ellie's chest burn with pride.

"Is it just you and your dad by the way?" Ellie asked softly as she looked around in your home, looking for any trace of information that revealed any other family members that you may have. You nodded your head as you began walking to the kitchen slowly, leading her behind you.

"Yep. My mom left when I was a baby, so it's been him and I for as long as I can remember" You nodded to yourself, thinking back to your childhood growing up with a single dad. Ellie couldn't ignore the wave of panic wash over her when it began settling in. You were living there now, right down the street from her. You weren't just a hot girl that she could embarrass herself in front of one time and then never have to see again, you were permanent.

Your conversation was cut short once both Joel and your dad caught sight of the both of you walking into the dim kitchen. "There you are, thought you two got lost", your fathers words made you giggle, and you shook your head as you made your way into the kitchen. "Just getting to know Ellie, dad. You had your turn getting to know Mr. Miller, remember?" You teased playfully as you pulled out various dishes from the oven that you had been keeping warm.

Ellie watched as you moved everything to the table, her eyes going wide at just how much you were putting out for them. "Did you make all of this?" She asked quietly in disbelief, to which you nodded with a shy smile on your lips.

Your dad and Joel moved to stand in the kitchen near Ellie, "She takes care of all the cooking, no matter how much I try and help" Your dad chuckled softly, causing you to roll your eyes a bit. "You're just no good at it dad...plus, I don't mind it" You hummed softly as you set the table, stepping back and making sure the placements were enough before you nodded to yourself. "if you two are done talking light bulbs, we can eat".

Ellie couldn't believe she was admitting it, but dinner went well.

She spent the entire night quietly munching on your delicious food, and watching you. Her heart would beat a little bit faster every time you noticed, and gave her a sweet smile, which made her brain short circuit for a few minutes before she smiled back. Both her dad and your dad went back and forth all night about work, their latest projects, and bragging about the both of you.

"Ellie does great in school, she's just started her second year over at UEC" Joel casually bragged, causing Ellie to groan softly. She hated when he did it, regardless of the fact that she knew it came from a place of love. He was always eager to gloat about how smart his daughter is, how much she had achieved and how proud of her he was for it.

Your father raised his eyebrows at Joel's words, the excited expression written all over your pretty face too clear to go unnoticed. "No way, I start my first year in the spring" You smiled excitedly, to which Joel gave Ellie a gentle nudge.

"Would'a look at that, you'll have to show her around, won't you Ellie?". Ellie licked her lips, cracking a half smile as she gave a slight nod, allowing the rest of you to fall into friendly conversation. The familiar sense of panic settling in on her again. Not only would she have to see you every time she was at her dads house, but you would also be fluttering your way around campus. She could only hope she would be able to fly under your radar at least a little bit.

Once you were all finished with dinner, both your dad and Joel had made their way onto the back porch after you had shooed them out of the kitchen, insisting that you and Ellie had everything handled. That's how you found yourself in your current situation, which was Ellie drying the washed dishes, and handing them to you so you could put them away to their correct spots.

"So, how do you like UEC?" You hummed softly as you pushed the last plate into the cupboard. Ellie raised her eyebrows at your question, drying her hands with the towel she had before she hung it on a nearby rack. "UEC is good....pretty chill if you ask me....although im not the greatest person to ask. I only really go to and from class before going back to my apartment and crashing" She mumbled out all too truthfully, which caused you to giggle. "I feel you...im honestly not looking forward to picking up after the break and moving into my apartment."

Your words set off a lightbulb in Ellies head, and before she could even stop herself, she was speaking again. "I could help you move in if you want...Im pretty good with...boxes" She mentally kicked herself for how fucking awkward she sounded, but the excited twinkle in your eye made up for it.

"Really? I mean...you seriously don't have to but...it would mean the world if you did". The soft tone of your voice had her practically swooning, her tongue darting out to lick her lips before she gave you a firm nod. "Yeah, yeah...it's no problem at all. It'll problem even get me out of holiday stuff anyways so...more than happy to" She breathed out.

You smiled excitedly, nodding quickly before you were pulling your phone out of your back pocket, and pushing it towards her. "Here, put your number in. We could hang out or something before break is over". You gave her a reassuring nod before gently pushing your phone towards her once more. Ellie didn't hesitate to type her number in and save it for you.

And no more than a week later, you two were texting every day. Ellie truly could not remember the last time she had been so obsessive with texting someone, the girl always leaving her phone on her bed for hours and ignoring almost every notification that came through to it, either too lazy or too tired to give it any attention.

But now, now she couldn't go ten minutes without rushing to her phone to see if you were messaging her back. Either replying to the stupid TikTok you sent her, or asking her opinion on what outfit you were wearing that day, her phone was glued to her hand. Joel picked up on it rather quickly, the usual whining and huffing that emitted from his daughter every time they had to go somewhere had come to an end, her phone pacifying her completely. He had asked about it one day, curious as to what it was exactly that had her so enamored practically overnight. He received a small mumble of your name, to which her simply smirked and never asked again.

It was another boring Tuesday morning at home, Ellie lounging around her house while her dad was at work, texting you of course. She whistled to herself as she finished making her coffee, until the familiar ding of her phone caught her attention.

ellieeeeee

hm?

whatcha doin today loser

She caught herself smiling softly at your messages far too often

nothin, dad's at work. wbu?

hmmm mine too

wanna come over nd smoke?

Ellie felt herself freeze once she read over your message. In fact, she found herself reading it once, twice, three times, just to make sure she was reading it correctly. It had already been a week since she had been at your house for dinner, and not a day had gone by where she didn't think about you, but she was ashamed to admit that she had been avoiding seeing you in person. She had done a great job so far, finding easy ways to circle around your attempts at bringing it up, but this had been the first time that you outright asked, and she was freaking the fuck out.

And fuck, it wasn't even because she didn't want to, of course she wanted you. She had bee texting you every day since she met you, it was just that...Ellie became so fucking stupid around pretty girls, she always did. She preferred to avoid it if it wasn't in a party setting where it was easy to pretend she was someone she wasn't. But she would be with you, in your home, in your room, and it was pretty damn hard to pretend when it was that....close.

um or not

if ur busy its okay dont worry :P

The next string of messages that came from your end had her panicking, and she knew if she was going to make a decision, she had to make it quick. She inhaled deeply, her thumbs still hovering over the screen of her phone, before she began typing.

nah sorry

not busy today

I can come over now?

plsssss

come come

Ellie let out the breath she had been holding, the air coming out as a loud exhale once she read your responses. She sighed, looking at the time on her phone before she groaned, peeling her body off of the counter and making her way upstairs to get dressed.

Before she knew it, Ellie was at your door.

Her tattooed hand rapped at your door, inhaling the cold air deeply as she promptly brought her hand back to the warm pocket of her jacket. She sighed out, looking down at the little 'welcome' mat that she stood on. She was positive any homey touches were of your doing, and something about that made the corner of her lips tug into a small smile.

When you opened the door, the warmth of your home was wafting onto her freckled face, causing her to audibly sigh in relief. You smiled excitedly up at her, face far too happy and fresh to belong to someone who had been texting Ellie up into the wee hours of the night prior. You quickly grabbed her arm, tugging her inside and out of the cold before you closed the door behind her.

You exchanged little words, eagerly pulling her jacket off and putting it on the same rack that you had the last time she was there. She chuckled softly, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow. "Woah, slow down...your practically bouncing off the walls" She chuckled out, which prompted you to huff softly.

"Are you kidding me? You're the first person im hanging out with that isn't my father, you're lucky im not jumping your bones right now" You giggled softly.

Ellie was secretly hoping that you would.

You gave her a moment to gather herself before your hand was wrapping around her wrist and dragging her up to your bedroom, your lips going a mile a minute about all the things you wanted to do with the day that you would be spending with her.

Your room looks exactly like Ellie imagined it would.

She figures that deep, maroon, berry shade might be your favorite, because it's everywhere. It's the color of your sheets, and your curtains, and you managed to only choose band posters that matched with that dark aesthetic as well. Your room smells like you, like vanilla and violets, mixed with the strawberry candle that you had burning. Its warm, and inviting, and it feels like you.

Ellie finds that it's her new favorite scent.

You hummed softly as you crawled onto your bed, turning around so you were laying with your back against your pretty pillows. Ellie thinks she's died and gone to heaven at that point, because your hair looks so pretty splayed underneath you, and your eyes look so dreamy looking up at her, and your cotton shorts are hugging your thighs so well, and-

She realizes you're talking to her, and she hasn't heard a word you've said, because she is gawking at you.

"Huh?"

You giggled softly as you sat up, crawling over to the edge of your bed and grabbing a black box with dark red roses and tiny stars painted all over it. You pull out a neatly rolled blunt, which is of course rolled with none other than rose petals. She laughs, watching in awe as you bring it to your lips, perching it between them before cupping your hand around it, and lighting the end.

Ellie doesn't think she's ever been more jealous of a fucking blunt before.

You sighed softly, crawling over to your window and opening it up before you blew the smoke out, passing the blunt to her before you moved back to your spot on the bed.

"I said, come sit with me. You look like you're gonna cry" You giggled softly, smiling once she took the blunt from your fingers.

She stared down at the girly looking joint, sighing as she shook her head.

She brought it to her lips, taking a deep inhale before she moved to lay next to you on the bed. The heat filling her lungs cleared her head, and in an instant she was already feeling more comfortable around you, less scared of the fact that you'd think she was a fucking pervert or something.

"Girliest fucking blunt I've ever seen man..." She breathe out, smoke clouding her features as she blew out. You scrunched her nose at her words, taking it back and bringing it to your lips. "S'not girly...just..tastes better than regular papers...plus, its way better for you" You nodded to yourself, moving up the pillow and getting in a comfortable spot next to Ellie.

Ellie rolled her eyes, taking it back from you as you both feel into a comfortable conversation.

Ellie isn't totally sure when it happens, but within an hour, you're both high out of your minds.

You were a giggling mess, finding anything that left Ellies lips to be comedic gold. Your legs were splayed over hers, and she had her hand on your thigh, massaging and squeezing the skin ever so often. You'd be lying if you said it didn't feel good, her hands were so warm, and so big, you wanted them all over you.

Once your laughter died down, you hummed softly. Your hazy eyes traced her features, heart fluttering at how fucking pretty Ellie was. It was clear to you that she was pretty when you first saw her, but her hands on your thighs, and the fact that she was sitting on your bed, looking good enough to fucking eat, it was smacking you right in the face.

Your hands traced her tattoo gently, fingertips leaving feathery touches on her skin. “This is pretty…when d’you get it done?” You hummed out, scooting a bit closer to her.

Ellie hummed softly, welcoming your new position closer to her as she let you position your legs closer on her own. “My ex did it for me like a year or two ago..”. The squeeze on your thigh had your heart fluttering, a soft hum leaving your lips as you continued tracing along the intricate patterns of her tattoo.

"You still talk to them?" Your words were breathy, sounding desperate and needy in your head. To Ellie, you sounded dreamy. Your words were light an airy, and she found herself counting down the seconds until you'd speak again, wanting so badly to hear those pretty words fall from your pretty lips.

She shook her head, her eyes focused on the way your lips were swelling up from how often you bit them. "Not anymore...not talking to anyone right now.." she hummed out, giving your thigh another squeeze.

She felt like she had to let you know that there was no one on her mind right now, not when she was in your room, with your legs splayed over hers, squeezing your thighs with every word that she spoke.

Your eyes twinkled a bit as you stared up a her, swallowing down the whine that was stuck in your throat. Your thighs were on fire underneath her long fingers, your mind clouded with a thick fog that made it hard to see past any better judgment. Ellie was in your bed, touching you and making you feel so nice, and she was telling you that she wasn't talking to anyone.

The cloud fogging your brain wasn't thick enough to distract you from how badly you wanted Ellie, your teeth nearly broke the skin of your lips with how much you were biting down into them, the overwhelming need for the girl nagging at your brain with every passing second.

You decided you didn't want to ignore it anymore.

Without another thought, you were crawling onto Ellies lap, your thighs straddling her waist as you pressed your chest against hers. Ellie let out a shaky breath once she noticed that you were moving, fully expecting you to get up and go to the bathroom or something, and not at all to settle your ass against her lap. Despite her surprise, her hands immediately went to rest on your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze as she stared into your eyes.

"Fuck..." She breathed out your name, her words coming out mumbled as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. You let out a soft sigh, your fingers going to her neck to toy with the soft ends of her hair as you stared at her lips.

"Is this...okay?" Your words were so soft, barely above a whisper. Ellie felt her core throb at your tone, wanting nothing more than to wreck you completely, turning you into a babbling mess underneath her. Her nod was eager, probably too eager but she didn't have enough in her to even care at that point. Her hands were pulling you closer to her body, desperate to feel more of you. "Fuck...yeah...yeah this is more than okay...Jesus..." She mumbled out quietly, causing you to giggle.

You nodded, humming softly as you studied her face. It was nice to see her this close, taking in all of her little freckles, the little wrinkle in her forehead, you were close enough to even hear the way her breath quickened with you perched on her lap. "Can I kiss you Ellie?..." Once again, your words were soft, and gentle.

Ellie felt like she was going to lose her fucking mind.

She let out a low groan before her lips were pressing against yours, a soft moan leaving your mouth once you finally felt her against you. The kiss was needy, and heavy, and messy and breathy, and it was everything Ellie wanted from you. You simply let her in, letting her kiss you however she wanted, touch you however she wanted, and that stirred something deep inside of Ellie.

Your little whines and whimpers egged her on to do more, touch you more, feel you more. Her long fingers were slipping underneath your t shirt, massaging the skin of your hips as she pulled you in closer. The sounds that bounced off the walls of your bedroom were filthy, low groans and moans and Ellie, breathy little whines from you, and the wet sound of you tongues rubbing together all came together to make the sweetest symphony that was strictly for the two of you.

Your thin shirt did a terrible job at keep your hard nipples discreet. Ellie moaned at the way your tits felt pressed up against hers, and it made her want more.

She broke the kiss, her breath heavy as she pulled your t shirt over your head, and tossed it somewhere else within your room. She sucked in a harsh breath once she caught sight of your pebbled nipples. She immediately pushed you back to lay down, slotting herself between your legs before her wet mouth was wrapped around one of your nipples, and her other hand was rolling the other between her fingers.

Your mind was fuzzy, and she was making you feel so fucking warm. The feeling of her skilled mouth flicking your nipple back and forth with her tongue made all of the blood in your body rush to your core, your pussy throbbing underneath the constraints of your shorts. You whined, your hips moving against her body, desperately searching for some form of friction as your hands came up to thread in her soft hair.

"F-fuck...Ellie..mmpph..ah...need you Ellie...please" You sounded so desperate, so needy, so fucking sweet. It made Ellie smirk against your soft skin, letting go of your nipple with a pop before she looked back up at you. In no time, her lips were pressed against yours again, swallowing your whines as she hummed softly. "Yeah? Need me to play with you baby? Where do you need me, hm? Go on..." She smirked teasingly, her words muffled with her lips smooshed against yours.

Your eyebrows furrowed with frustration as you huffed out, one of your hands coming down to slip underneath her t shirt, tugging at the waist band of her jeans.

"You're so...mmm..fuck...annoying...please fuck me Ellie..." You struggled to speak, especially when Ellie began rocking her hips against you, teasing you with the attention you needed most. You let out a soft moan, giving her shirt one more tug before she chuckled, pulling away so she could pull off her t shirt, followed by her jeans. "So needy...looks like ill have to sort you out then, won't I" She smirked softly as she grabbed you by your hips, pulling you closer as she tugged off your shorts and your panties.

You whined softly as you watched her strip in front of you, feeling the wet spot between your legs grow more and more with every new piece of her that was revealed to you. It was pathetic, how vocal you were being without even being touched, but you couldn't even care, not when she was giving you everything you wanted without so much of a fight.

She hissed softly against your lips, her fingers swiping back and forth between your glossy folds. "Fuck...lil pussy is just weeping for me, huh? Been long since you've been fucked baby?" Her words were taunting, filthy, and they made you huff as your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"Just...come on El....need to feel you.." You whined, tugging her hand gently to pull her back to her spot in between your legs. She smirked softly as she watched you, her hand cupping your cheek gently before she pressed one more kiss to your lips. "I'll take care of you angel..dont you worry" She hummed out before she slotted herself between your legs.

She gripped your thigh in her hands, positioning herself so that her pussy was pressed up against yours. The feeling had you moaning before she could even move, her wet folds pressed up against yours made your eyes roll back, made your back arch, and if Ellie didn't know any better, she'd think you came just from that alone.

"Fuck...feel that baby? Feel how wet you've got me? thats it...thats a good fucking girl.." She moaned out, her words caged behind her gritted teeth as she began rolling her hips back and forth, her pussy gliding across yours, clit bumping against your own in a way that you had never felt before. It was almost as if she was designed for you, and you her, and it had you like putty in her hands.

"Ah!...y-yeah! Right there Ellie, oh my god" Your moans were breathy and needy, and Ellie couldn't help by smirk down at you, enjoying the show you were putting on for her a little too much. It was like a work of art, the way you just let the pleasure take you, the way you let her take you, it had her wanting to do more, go further, bring you the most pleasure you'd ever felt in your entire fucking life.

And you felt it. In the way she began speeding up, your moans egging her on to keep going. Her hand gripped your thigh tighter, giving her a better grip on your body to allow her to go faster. Your moans mixed together, and the wetness of your cores created a pornographic sound that you would most definitely feel embarrassed about tomorrow, but not now, not when you felt this fucking good.

Ellie moaned loudly, her head falling back as she went faster, feeling her stomach coil in that delicious way that she loved so much. And yours did too, you stared up at her in awe as she fucked her pussy down onto yours, and you whined, eyebrows furrowed with utter pleasure.

"Gonna cum...p-please cum with me Ellie..fuck...please" You didn't even have to ask, because Ellie was nodding her head the second she heard the pleas leave your swollen lips. "Yeah...fuck...yeah baby...gonna cum with you...gonna fucking...oh my god!" And as if timed perfectly, she felt white hot pleasure wash over her, and you felt the exact same.

Your back arched almost painfully, hands fisting the sheets beneath you as you came hard, the wet noises of your pussy's amplifying as Ellie slowed down, riding both yours and her orgasm out.

The sensitivity made you whimper, and Ellie breathed hard as she looked down at your worn out body. Your eyes were heavy, and she knew exactly what it meant. She placed her hands on your hips, pushing herself off of your wobbly legs before she walked off to the bathroom, grabbing a wet rag and cleaning herself up before grabbing another and coming back to do the same for you.

When she returned, you had rolled over onto your side, and your heavy eyes were fighting the drowsy, post sex nap that you so desperately needed. She smiled softly as she watched you, spreading your legs despite the soft, sleepy whine you let out. "I know baby...just gonna clean you up, then we can sleep, yeah?". She took the small noise you made as a response before she carried on cleaning you, taking the dirty rags after and putting them in your hamper before she returned to the bed.

She sighed out softly, gently pulling your sleepy form to lay with her underneath the covers, and almost immediately you were hiking your thigh over her leg and cuddling into her body. A soft, sleepy sound left your lips once again, and before she could even blink, soft snores were leaving your parted lips.

Ellie sighed softly as she stared down at you for a moment before she looked up at the ceiling, a familiar sinking feeling settling in on her stomach as she held you close. She decided shed ignore it, and instead focus on the warm feeling that you brought instead.

She would cross that bridge when she got to it.

#ellie x y/n #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x you #the last of us #ellie williams x female reader #tlou #ellie williams x y/n #the last of us 2 #ellie williams #tlou 2 #the last of us part ii

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phonydiaries · 8 months

Text

a Dance in The Dark - P x Reader

It’s late when you reach the puppet’s quarters. Long shadows loom along the walls of the hotel and a draft rustles past you, pajama-clad and disheveled from a night of restlessness. You hadn’t bothered to switch your clothes, knowing your dear puppet wouldn’t pay it any mind. You had half expected to find P dormant at this hour, but instead he’s laid out on the floor with his legs kicked over the side of his bed. A book -which he seems thoroughly engrossed in- is held up above his head, its pages illuminated by the yellow-green light of Monad’s lamp, which casts a soft halo about the edges of his face. You rap your knuckles against the doorframe and his eyes jump to you, startled out of their careful concentration.

“Can’t sleep.” You sigh, gesturing down the hall with a tilt of your head. “Walk with me?”

With a twitch of a smile, Pinocchio tosses his book to the side and rolls haphazardly out of his place on the floor, clumsy with excitement.

Knowing the hotel well enough, the two of you make your rounds of its many chambers in the dark, ever so often bumping elbows to each other’s ribs. Your barefoot steps cast dull echoes through the halls as you dip in and out of doorways, poke behind desks and rummage carelessly through shelves. In the deep blue foreignness of nighttime, you feel exploratory; curious like children let loose in an enormous garden just brimming with unrealized discoveries.

Passing through the entrance hall, you seize the coveted opportunity to act a fool behind the front desk. “Hello, you’ve reached Hotel Krat.” You say, picking up the receiver of the hotel’s long-dead rotary phone. You’re sat on top of the desk now, your legs swinging over the side. Pinocchio glances up at you, his hands preoccupied diligently petting the hotel’s beloved orange tabby. You feign listening to the nonexistent voice on the other end of the phone. “Oh I’m sorry, Mr. Spring is busy at the moment. I’m afraid he’s in a very important meeting.”

After thoroughly nosing about, you find yourselves settling in the piano room, you and Pino curiously flipping through pages and pages of sheet music. P’s interest is especially piqued by one booklet and he takes a seat at the piano, attempting to make sense of its pages. An admirable attempt is made as he plinks slowly and diligently away at the piece, tugging at your sleeve when he gets stuck. You barely know more than he does, and as you sit together at the bench your fingers tangle and trip over each other. The resulting notes are dissonant and clangy and you both fall into ripples of laughter at your duet's messy melody.

The night wears on calmly, P fingering through a box of cobwebbed records, most of which are scratched beyond recognition. He retrieves one with some care and blows a layer of dust from the cover, his nose scrunching as it flutters across his face.

You’re lying on the floor, limbs outstretched like a lazy snow angel as P futzes with the gramophone. There’s a few moments of anticipatory static before the record crackles to life; a somber piano score reverberates through the dim and intimate space. You close your eyes as a woman’s wispy voice floats through the room, cool and calm. Something about the melody, the echo, the timbre of her voice makes your ribs fall heavy around your heart like a slowly but surely shrinking birdcage.

Close your eyes,

Come to me,

Feel alright,

Just dance with me all through the night

“I can’t stand it.” You start, “It’s beautiful… but it makes me so sad.”

You wonder if P is affected differently, maybe even more than you are by the emotional quality of the music. He certainly seems to have a fascination with it. “What about you?” You ask, your head turning to glance at the puppet.

P’s eyes flicker towards the ceiling and his mouth twitches to the side in thoughtful consideration. He lifts a finger at you -hold on- while he rises from his place at the piano stool and arranges himself with precision beside the grand. He stands up tall, shoulders back, one arm held out just-so at hip level, the other outstretched as if resting on the shoulder of a ghost. You beam at the fine mimic work in front of you.

“Really?” you ask, your brows knitting with intrigue. “Makes you want to dance, huh?”

He nods enthusiastically and motions for you to join him. Your mouth hangs open for a moment.

“Oh- no really I don’t know the first thing about it.” You stammer. Before your days at the hotel as Pinocchio’s companion, you had never known such affluent people and knew very little of high society or of their practices. Any formal knowledge of dance was utterly foreign to you.

P assumes a swordsman’s stance and shrugs at you, nonchalant, as if combat training and dance were the most naturally drawn parallels in the world.

“Sparring with you isn’t the same.” You say flatly, but P’s already made up his mind, and before you know it his hand is closing around yours and he’s tugging you up off the floor. You laugh nervously as you rise to your feet. “No, I’m serious! I don’t-” You begin to protest, but you catch a glimpse of his face, wide pleading eyes and creased brows. He smiles with all the calculated charm of a fox, handsome and cunning. You exhale deeply, steeling yourself before meeting his gaze.

“Oh fine.” You relent, much to his chagrin. “Just watch your feet, I mean it.”

P’s smile is annoyingly triumphant as he holds his hands palm-up out to you, seeking your guidance. Always so much concern for your comfort, you feel your cheeks warm just barely and hope the low light of the piano room masks it.

“Right. Um. Let’s see, you’ll put your hands…here.” You say, taking his hands in yours and leading them to the crook between your waist and hips. He steals curious glances at you as you do.

“And then I guess I’ll just…” You trail off, as your hands fold neatly together at the nape of his neck. You stand still for a moment, just looking at each other in the dark, the features of your faces obscured and foreign. This isn’t the way these things are normally done, you think, in pajamas, in the dark, but you can’t imagine it gets any better. If not for the undercurrent of music, you may have forgotten your purpose here entirely. P takes the first step, and you follow his lead with a dull anxiousness. Strangely enough, your movements feel still and mechanical compared to his. You try to loosen up, rolling your shoulders back, allowing yourself to be disarmed. P’s presence has a funny way of setting you at ease.

The two of you move slowly in circles through the room, swaying gently like awkward young lovers. You draw into him as the music carries. Your cheek settles against his shoulder and his arms wrap around the small of your back and you breathe easy. It’s a lovely feeling, the way your bodies fit together like this, like they were made to. As you continue to step and sway, you close your eyes and listen to the gentle whirs and clicks of your companion’s heart…although…

You maneuver slightly and press your ear to his chest. With some surprise you notice a skipping in its usual rhythm, bolder than you’ve ever heard it. You pull your head away and look up at P’s face in awe, a glinting smirk crossing your lips.

“Pino, are you nervous?” You ask, cocking your head to the side. His face contorts and he opens his mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes of it. He actually looks flustered and you almost don’t believe it. “It’s just me.” You say simply. At this, Pinocchio’s face softens, his brows turning up as if he’d taken offense.

“Just you?” He asks, and the timbre of his voice surprises you. You spend so much time together, and yet hardly do you hear him speak. Your smile fades slowly, replaced with an expression of curiosity. You nod hesitantly and hum in reply. P shakes his head at you, deliberate and slow.

“Not just.” He murmurs, his gaze holding yours intently. “Never just you.” You realize you’re holding your breath. A ghost of a whisper slips past your lips.

“Oh.”

Your fingers itch for something you can’t quite name and you find yourself pulling the puppet closer. His head dips to meet you and you feel a stray lock of his hair brush your cheek. His breath is warm.

The song ends.

The needle of the gramophone lifts and the air is stretched thin with a cutting silence. You’re left in the dark together again, frozen in place. It feels terribly long, like you’re both waiting for something.

“The music’s stopped.” You say, shattering the stillness of the moment, and as P moves to retrieve the record you immediately wish you hadn't. Your hand extends to stop him, fingers closing around his wrist. “But- we don’t have to, you know.”

In the dark, you think you see him smile. He holds you like glass, delicate, and picks up again, moving leisurely to the music playing only in his head. He hums the tune softly and you follow suit, the two of you meeting in a duet of somber sounds. You wonder if your chests swell the same, if your breaths and heartbeats synchronize, following each other blindly the way you do now. The motion feels like crashing waves, steady and rhythmic, comfortingly repetitive. You fall into the flow of it all over again, leaning against P, sturdy and secure. You wouldn’t mind doing this all night.

Feels alright, indeed.

#shalalalala KISS THE FUCKING. BOY.#P talks more than usual meaning a total of 7 words #piano and gramophone are not in the same room but I realized that too late so you're gonna have to be okay with that #lies of p #lop #lies of p fanfic #my writing #lies of p x reader #pinocchio x reader

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rustedhearts · 6 months

Text

severed lamb: part v: sunday mourning (pastor!steve x fem!reader)

summary: your encounter with pastor steve leaves you feeling ill. he pays you a visit to make you feel better, and in doing so damns you a little further down to hell.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♰ severed lamb ♰ ♰ the library ♰

tags: religious imagery/trauma; age gap (steve is 35, reader is 19); manipulation; coercion; abuse of power; more god guilt; smut; depictions of vomiting; perversion of religion; this is literally so gross and i am ashamed.

a/n: merry christmas, ya filthy animals :)

♰ wydgate, georgia, august 1981 ♰

The night after rainfall was always scorching hot.

You clicked the ceiling fan on high and put the box fan in your window to cool down the carpeted room, but nothing could soothe the itching fire in your veins. You frantically kicked at your sheets and twisted around, pounding your clenched fists on the mattress at midnight.

When you closed your eyes, all you saw was Pastor Steve in the darkness. Touching you, kissing you, making noises, and pulling pleasure. The way his fingers prodded inside you and had your stomach quivering. Parts of you thrummed with desire for more of his attention. Other parts shuddered in disgust. The parts where you clung to God, you supposed.

And God always prevailed.

Sprung from your bed, you scrambled for your bedroom door in the inky darkness. Feet padding over bare, sticky flooring in the emptiness of night on your way to the bathroom. Your knees thumped to the floor before the toilet, and into the bowl you spewed a day’s worth of sustenance.

Burning your throat raw, leaving a sticky film over your lips and teeth, splattering into the porcelain bowl—you didn't stop until you were heaving nothing but drool and air. You collapsed back against the tub, knees pressed to your chest. How was it that you were still aching between your thighs? Pastor Steve's Godless infiltration into your thoughts seemed to have no bounds.

You pushed to shaky knees and flushed the mess down. The wobble back to your bedroom came with bumps and bruises against the walls, and you barely remembered slipping back under the sheets and laying down your head.

♰ ♰

In the morning, the heaviness of your head and stiffness of your neck were immediate cause for alarm. Was it possible to genuinely make yourself sick with worry? Blinking your eyes open came with a dull, pulsing pain that made you wince.

“Delilah? Delilah Anne, what are you still doin’ in bed?”

Your mother came rushing into the room, shrilling as she went. The curtains were drawn and the sun came blaring in, causing you to slither under the covers and whine.

“Feel sick, Mama.”

“It’s Sunday, Delilah, we’ve got church. Get your sorry ass outta this bed.”

Her hand yanked at the end of your covers, and you fought against her pull with clawing hands. She huffed and snatched at the top this time, successfully uncovering your head.

Though a scowl played on her mouth, she paused at the sight of you in disarray. Your clammy skin had lost its color, eyes swollen and bloodshot. Your mother's hands found her hips, clad in a bright yellow dress for church.

"Well, good Lord, child."

You swallowed down a sore and aching throat. "I threw up, Mama."

"I can see that," she replied plainly, lips pursed in dismay. An irritated sigh shot from her mouth. "Fine, you'll stay here. But you better pray long and hard that you're feelin' better for mass later on."

Flicking her hair out of her face, your mother spun around and clicked out of the room on uneven heels. You brought the covers back around your shoulders, curling up under your chin. Tinkling and rustling emerged from beyond the bedroom door, and soon the front screen yawned with your mother's exit.

In her absence, the house sagged with relief. The open window cast a beam of soft morning light across your feet. Birds twittered their hellos, cicadas shook out their wings and readied them for a day of screaming, and the wind was butter soft. You let your eyes sink shut and listened to it brush over the grass outside your window. Rustle the cherry tree leaves. Shutter the arms of the windmill in the backyard.

The thought of missing church for the first Sunday in ages left you waning with unease—but the relief of not having to see Pastor Steve soothed the sting. You could not sit in a pew and watch him spew Godly utterings knowing what he had done to you. Knowing how he made you feel. A pleasure so boundless, so infinitely blood-rushing that it made you ill.

It was wrong. It was a sin.

But here, right now, it was quiet. Finally, you didn't have to think...

♰ ♰

You woke sometime near the afternoon, the sun in a full blazing mood. The room was blinding with an almost white hue, stifling with an increase of heat. You stirred under the covers with a disapproving squeak, and it was as you shifted that you heard a noise in the living room.

"It's so kind a' you to do this, Pastor Steve. Lilah's gonna be so relieved she didn't have t' miss out."

Slumber swept from your body in like cool breeze, leaving you in a fully aware consciousness that snapped painfully. The floorboards creaked with their padding feet, approaching the knob of your door. You wished you knew how to disappear on command.

"Lilah? Lilah, you got a visitor," your mother called through the wood of the door, her voice much sweeter than you ever knew it to be.

The door chittered on old hinges, swinging open to reveal two bodies you had enough of. You kept your eyes on the ceiling, suddenly regretful for not feigning sleep. In your periphery, a flash of black accompanied a blob of yellow. Pastor Steve abandoned his cloak back at the chapel, stripped down to the tight button up and clean slacks of casual worship. The white plastic collar of his uniform fit snugly against his throat.

"Hello, Delilah," Pastor Steve cooed.

You curled your fingers into fists beneath the blankets. Turned your head an inch, caught sight of his crisp sleeve. "Hello."

"Forgive her, she's feelin' real poorly. D' you want some sweet tea, Pastor Steve?"

Pastor Steve flashed a smile at your mother. "No, thank you, Lorraine, that's real kind. I think Delilah and I should have some privacy for her mass."

"Of course." Your mother fluffed the ends of her hair and fixed her posture. She hated being snubbed of a man's attention, let alone Pastor Steve's. She looked at him like a hound looks at a pork chop.

She made slow work of exiting the room, and you turned to follow her movements through the door. Your lips parted to speak, to beg her to return and exclaim your sudden wellness—but your tongue would not move. She pulled the door shut with a resounding click.

Now alone, Pastor Steve turned to face you in the bed, cradling a black bag to his chest. He inhaled deeply, chest ballooning with breath, and let his eyes rummage the sight of you. You squirmed against the sheets, fingers pulling at threads under the blankets.

"Couldn't have you missin' your chance to worship," he declared, and the bag against his chest clinked with vials and other accessories.

You shifted again. He stepped closer, a smile hemming his mouth gracefully. You glanced at his fingers gripping around the bag—those long, slender digits browned by the sun. You squeezed your legs together at the memory of what those appendages could do. The sort of pleasure they could bring.

The bag added weight to the end of your bed near your feet, which dipped a little sideways when Steve placed himself on the edge beside you. The warmth of his palm encompassed your head, and you winced under his touch like it scorched you.

"How're you feelin'? Hmm?"

He held a softness in his face with the ease of breathing air. Hazel eyes rounded with care, plump pink lips holding the slightest of pouts. It was always difficult to decipher just what he was thinking. Just when he would strike with more mind-jumbling, confusing affections.

"N-not good," you whispered hoarsely.

Steve's other hand approached your cheek, the back of two fingers gently sweeping down to clear away moistness. He stroked them up and down in small languid motions, like caressing a kitten. He felt the heat of your flesh under his touch, how it flared with every breath taken under his attention. His lip quirked just barely—a soft boyish grin without teeth.

"Hope this don't have nothin' to do with me," Pastor Steve gasped, and that grin slipped into a frown. "Does it, Delilah?"

The blankets draped over your body, the weight of his bag at the end of the bed, the pressure of his body pinning down the edge of the blankets—it suddenly felt immeasurably stifling. Inescapable. You curled your toes and tightened your arms.

Always the good Southern girl. Always the docile lamb—the girl bred to say 'please' and 'thank you' under the blade of a knife.

"N-no," you breathed, head shaking against the pillow.

That soft little grin again, curling the corner of his mouth and pricking your nerves. Steve pulled back a little, hands loosening to limp touches against your face. He nodded slowly, approvingly.

"Oh," he whispered, tone akin to relief. "Good."

Your eyes were drawn to the surface of his mouth when his lips quivered between a smile and a sneer. You pressed further back into the pillow, throat bobbing with a noisy swallow. His fingers slipped down your cheek and into your hair to tuck it behind your ear. You tipped your head opposite his touch when the pads of his fingers traced a firm tendon down the side of your throat. You gasped in small, hitched breaths.

Pastor Steve's touch stopped at the delicate gold chain of your necklace. His fingers glided over the metal, following its path across your collarbones. You watched the door for the handle turning. It never came.

"Shall we pray?" he murmured.

"Yes," you gasped, foolishly falling for the guise of God's salvation under Pastor Steve's sinful implications.

But Steve pulled his touch away and stood to his feet. You fixed your head back in place and watched him cross his hands before his stomach. He tipped his head toward you, indicating recital. Your arms whooshed from under the covers to sit atop your stomach, fingers interwoven like his.

Pastor Steve nodded once, firmly, and closed his eyes. His chin tipped a little higher, shoulders squared straightly.

"Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name," he began, snapped from the syrupy coo he reserved only for you. It was unnerving how easily he slipped into a display of good standing.

Your mouth mimicked his words with habitual softness.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

The prayer fell from your mouth without thought—but your thoughts, at this moment, were consumed with Steve. The way his throat moved when he spoke, how the thick veins squirmed and bulged under soft, freckled flesh. How his lashes fluttered between words, how his eyes moved behind their lids with discovery. The way his lips curled around vowels, how his tongue peeked through every so often to enunciate.

How you wanted him to touch you again, and how you hated yourself for it.

"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."

"Amen," you murmured, fingers sore from their tight squeezing when they came undone.

Pastor Steve opened his eyes and directed them toward you. Your feet fluttered under the sheets, fingers fidgeting with loose threads over your stomach. He had to have mercy on you.

He was silent as he sank back down onto the bed, resuming his wrinkled divot beside your hip. His hand smoothed over yours, scaling your arm to curl his fingers around your elbow. He took small glory in the way your eyes expanded; the acuteness of your tiny breaths.

"Feelin' any better?" he inquired.

You licked over your lips and his eyes darted toward the flash of your tongue. Oh, now you were teasing, were you? His fingers pressed a little firmer into your flesh, body inching closer. His hip pressed against yours, padded by the covers.

"A-a little," you murmured. At this point, you couldn't quite decide if that were true.

Every part of you felt aflame, sweat gathering under your head against the pillow and behind your knees beneath the sheets. A certain, gnawing need flared behind your navel. The need you paired with Pastor Steve's handsome face.

Steve brought his hand to your cheek again and tsked sharply. "Hmm, think you have a fever, sweetheart. We can't have that, can we?"

His fingers reached into the folded hem of the quilt tucked against your chest and began to pull. Peeled gently off your body, knocking your arms aside where they laid limply at your sides. You trembled with every struggled breath, eyes locked on his pleasing face as he bared you to the open air.

His eyes fell to your chest immediately, forgoing the peaked tautness of your nipples to admire the crucifix attached to your neck. It spurred him with a sickening excitement as he pulled the thin cotton sheet down to your feet.

"There's an old fashioned way of breakin' a fever," he whispered, sliding a little closer until you had to tip your head back to see his eyes. "Ever try it, Delilah?"

The shake of your head came at no surprise, and Steve just smiled down at your flushing face. "Figures."

The hand lingering near your feet over the sheet came skittering up your bare leg. Softly, merely grazing with every inch it traveled toward the end of your satin nightgown. All the while, Pastor Steve watched you with careful consideration; with a gentle, coaxing gaze.

"How 'bout we try it. Hmm?"

The gentle parting of your legs had his eyes downturning toward your soft skin. You bobbed your head at him, fisting the sheets at your sides.

"Okay..."

He twisted then, facing you with staunch yet soft determination. His hand swept between your thighs, curling into the elastic band of your panties to pull them down the length of your legs. When they sat around your ankles, his fingers resumed their ghosting touches. Climbing up your calf, your thigh, reaching into the pulsing warmth pooling under your nightgown.

Your softness had him inhaling, greedily dipping the pad of two fingers into the gooey heat of your hole. You shot up toward the headboard with a gasp, muscles tightening with electric shock. Pastor Steve shushed you softly, free hand coming to cup the top of your sweaty head.

"Shh, you just relax," he fawned, thumb rubbing into your temple. "That's a good girl."

He watched his own hand under your nightgown, twisting and pumping, pulling bated breaths and writhing need from your body. He felt the softness of you around him, the slickness congregating between his digits and slipping down his palm. Your cheeks were swelling with such an intense heat that he felt required to kiss them both. Your hand curled into the buttons of his shirt, wrinkling the perfect smoothness of the starched fabric.

"P-pastor," you gasped, thighs quaking around his fingers. "W-what are you d-doin' to me?"

Steve reared back an inch, lapping in your dazed frenzy with wild eyes. "The Lord wants this to happen. He wants me to love you."

A whimper balled up in your throat, coming out as a breathless cry exhaled into his shirt. He watched you slide halfway into his lap like a poor little cat in heat, rubbing your cheek into his stomach with anguished breaths. He could feel the flutter of your approaching peak constricting around his fingers. He pressed his thumb against your swollen clit and watched you silence a sharp cry with your teeth against his thigh. He huffed a chuckle, free hand petting your hair soothingly.

"That's it, that's it," he whispered.

"A-ain't it wrong?" you huffed, pulling your teeth off his thigh and gripping tight onto his arm. "To love me like this?"

Steve gently rubbed his thumb back and forth and pressed his hand to your head to keep you from twisting. He held you against him with a sudden iron force. Sweat beaded at his hairline and under his collar. His arm began to vibrate between your legs. He took a quick glance over toward the door and prayed it didn't open any time soon.

"Not if God wants me to."

And like the astounding proclamation held some sort of power, you turned and buried your mouth into his lap as you gushed over his hand. Pitiful cries wept into his pants, mouth pushing hot air into his crotch and making him twist his fingers in your hair despite himself. He kept his fingers pumping until you kicked your feet in protest.

Steve slipped his fingers from your legs and brought them to the light. Slickness slightly pinked with irritation drenched his fingers and clung to the crevices he happily licked clean. Popping them into his mouth, he sucked himself free of you and let you catch your breath against his thigh. He relaxed his hand into another gentle, taming caress.

"Better hope your mama's asleep," he whispered, gently turning your head to reveal your wet cheeks.

He swept his clean palm over them to clear away the tears. You sniffled and quivered, caught somewhere between bliss and anguish. And Steve just scooped you up, adjusting your body to lie back in its place against the pillow like a prop. He tucked your hair behind your ear again and stroked your cheek. His head cocked aside to inspect your swollen mouth.

"Hmm," he mused softly. "You feelin' better?"

You nodded, fingers pulled over your mouth shakily. Steve pulled your hand down by the wrist, bringing it to sit under your cheek. He took your panties by the waistband and rolled them back up, adjusting your nightgown to sit prettily. He smoothed out the wrinkles and fixed the curled lace. The blankets brought a gust of cool air when he draped them over your body again.

"Now," Steve stood to his feet, eyes trailing the state of you and the mess he made. "You come by the church tomorrow when you're feelin' better. Got somethin' special for you."

Your nose jumped with a tiny sniffle. You hadn't moved from the position he placed you in. The smile on his face suddenly sickened you.

"Okay."

Steve gathered the bag, unused, from the end of the bed. He tucked it under his arm and smoothed the divot in the quilt. As he passed near your head, he stroked two fingers across your cheek again. You pinched your eyes shut. He hummed and swept his thumb across your cheek.

"Sleep tight, little lamb."

His footsteps receded, and the door clicked shut a moment later. The house creaked and groaned under his weight moving through it. You held your breath in your throat as you waited for your mother's voice.

But it never came. And when the screen door slammed shut, and the sun began to fade, you realized you were alone.

But God always prevailed, right?

♰ ♰

#rolly!#pastor!steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #dark!steve harrington

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3sgroups · 4 months

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wroteclassicaly · 2 years

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The Show

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader)

Summary: You really love putting on a good show for Eddie.

Warnings: Language, Eddie with a slight breeding and daddy kink, NSFW, and masturbation.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

A/N: I just came up with this on a whim and I’ve been working on it for a few days. It’s not my best, but I hope some of y’all like it, at least? I have more stuff coming soon! Love y’all, and enjoy!? ;)

~*~

Everything he does has you on the edge of a jagged precipice, body taking hits from all sides, completely engulfed. Today is another normal Indiana day in your supernatural town, but it’s a quiet one. Well, for others anyways… Your brain is loud, screaming on behalf of your body to be satiated. You and your boyfriend Eddie Munson are usually attached at the hip, sans individual activities (whether it be for yourselves or with friends), and today he happens to have band practice.

It doesn’t matter to you, as he’s been prone to having surprise sessions with his gang. After he gave you his half for a shared dinner celebration for getting through another week (thank fuck for pizza), you’d agreed to go straight to his place and chill. Wayne was already gone for the night and you liked to go through Eddie’s things and have fun, so it was a no brainer. With a quick trip to the grocery to grab some beer and sodas, followed by a pizza pick up—you trekked your way to the Munson household with a pep in your step. Eddie had told you to go ahead and eat, but you settled on putting the box into the fridge for later, sliding in a few sodas for you and two beers for your guy.

~*~

The journey down the trailer’s hallway is a short one, amusement lacing your tone as you push open Eddie’s door and are immediately greeted with the wafting scent of this morning’s joint, his old spice, and the musty baseboard heater packing its rickety punch.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you purr, stepping towards that delicious guitar hanging from his cluttered mirror. “It’s not your daddy, but I’m here.”

Closing the door behind you, you toss your tattered bag on the bean bag chair you’d bought for the room a few weeks ago, already making a beeline for Eddie’s skull littered bandana on his nightstand. Lifting the object, you tie it around your forehead and sidestep to the full length he’d also recently hung on the wall (per your request). You spin around a few times and purse your lips, blowing the cheesiest kiss in history. “Ah, yes.” You giggle and head to the stereo and mess of tapes shrouding its entirety. You know what’s been putting Eddie in a good mood lately, and what you feed off of as well.

It’s another no-brainer that you select Metallica’s newest release, enjoying it as it floods your eardrums and settles. You remove your coat and shoes, sliding over Eddie’s sheets and onto your tummy, rolling over on your back and sighing in relaxation once your weight feels lighter. You hum along with each guitar riff, thinking back to Eddie’s attempts at each song, how his fingers mimic the movements late at night in his bedroom to get a feel, before he tries to play a chord— it weighs heavily in the recesses of your memory. And it’s just you there with him, watching from your side of the bed, sheets curled around your waist, Eddie in his checkered boxers and tattoos prominent in the low lamp light, snatching the pick from his neck to strum gently over the body of his beloved. Your toes curl in your socks, the visual an embodiment of the purest sin known to mankind.

With Eddie’s smell surrounding you into a familiar housing, an array of dizzying memories pausing your presence, you’re already aware of the throb that tickles your tummy and tags your cunt in a downward spiral. Another easy decision comes in you quickly shedding your bra and jeans, leaving you clad in your t-shirt, socks, and panties. You relax into the bed, fingers reaching to adjust the bandana on your head, eyelids fluttering closed, hands splayed across your stomach, fingers toying with the elastic of your panties. You need to, but you won’t. Not yet…

~*~

10:22 PM stares back at you in bold red letters, shining from the alarm clock stationed on the scuffed nightstand. Indiana winds are rough, scattering Autumn’s first real storm against the entirety of the trailer. You wonder if it’ll still be raining when he comes in, because Eddie’s band soirées can go on until one or two in the morning, so upon hearing the front door creak open (surprisingly) and slam shut seconds later, locks sliding into place and Eddie’s less than graceful footfalls approaching—you set your plan in motion. Flipping onto your side with your back facing his eyeline, you cling to his pillow and stuff the other between your thighs, feigning slumber, a delicious thrumming starting to gallop in your pulse point. His bedroom door rattles on rusted hinges and you hear his breathing hitch, a quiet clicking of his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

You smile to yourself, that high causing your pride to soar at how you can affect him like this. You’re not speaking, residing in your placing, his bandana secured on your head, something you know he’s seen by now. It takes a few more bated breaths and the sounds of his boots and leather jacket hitting the floor, keys being tossed over onto the dresser, and you feel the bed dip beneath his weight. His rings, made cool from outside temperatures, stain against your skin as he stumbles a light brushing touch over your tailbone, fingertips hovering atop the elastic of your panties. His voice is wind bitten, a throaty rasp on the rise. “Hey, sweetheart. Did you miss me?”

You can’t take his cologne or the perspiration of his practice lingering—any longer, flipping onto your back, pillow between your thighs forgotten, nuzzling into his hold. He rests a palm on your belly, smirking, knowing you’ve been awake this whole time. His elbow props above your head, fingers dangling to stroke across your forehead, tapping his bandana, noticing his favorite tape playing. “You goin’ through my shit again?” There’s not a trace of malice or irritation, but a fond amusement.

You shrug and let your hand drift to his jugular, knuckles scrubbing over the stubble you find there. When you drink in his face it takes the breath right out of your lungs, sucker socking your guts. He’s gorgeous. His chocolate irises are a thin ring against the contrast of inky pupils, his lips red from the cold, chapped from his last cigarette. Those shaggy locks are windswept, yet soft, and all that remains on his body is the long sleeved ivory sweater, a few holes here and there, and his white wash jeans—your favorite pair he owns, in addition to the black denim.

“Your hands are cold. You’re cold.” Is your response, ignoring his accusation that is always true.

“Guess I need someone to warm me up then, don’t I?” He doesn’t fight off your touches, knees knocking with your own, socked feet poking at your own, using his toes to tickle yours. You giggle like an idiot and kiss the side of his neck, inhaling without shame.

He groans his appreciation, leaning in to kiss you softly, one that conveys his missing you, despite the short hours of separation. You reciprocate, taking his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking, releasing. He’s starting to rock into your side, that bulge quickly becoming visible in his tight jeans. On the spit-slit break away, he thumbs your jawline with a fresh calloused thumb from his practice tonight, nose nudging yours. You’re shaking, already prepared to agree with him. “Does my little princess need something?”

“Eddie…” You spread your legs, fucked out enough as it is, forget vocal communication. Taking his wrist, you slide it between your legs, arching, rubbing the sopping wet fabric of your underwear over his palm. “M’ fucking wet, baby.”

Eddie turns onto his side and squeezes over your cunt, licking his way into your mouth for another sloppy kiss. As you part, he tugs on your underwear and you lift your hips. “Let’s take these off, sweetheart?”

Always a question, but never an assumption. Your gentleman. Once your panties hit the foot of the bed and Eddie can really see your soaked pussy, that primal shift slides into place, locking his insides. He stares at you as you watch him. “Yeah? You gonna play with yourself? Touch that pretty little pussy in front of me?”

Your metal head will never pass up the chance to see you pleasuring yourself, letting you set the pace, using him for whatever you have to have at the moment. He kisses your cheek and lingers. “What do you need me to do, baby?”

“Just… watch?” Your pupils have doused your irises of their remaining color, and you’re fading away in the haze of something only Eddie Munson can provide.

“Fuck yes, sweetheart.” Eddie’s sweater goes next and he unbuckles his belt to help alleviate a little pressure, taking you into his arms and curling his ankle over one of yours, helping you keep your legs spread wide open.

He slides his smokes and lighter from his front pocket and lights a stick, a cloud swirling above your head as you lean back and watch it dissipate, fingers greedily taking some of your slick and rubbing it around your swollen clit. You jolt into the friction, whining. Eddie moans in unison. “How does that feel, my princess? Shit, you’re so unbelievably fuckin’ wet. It’s takin’ everything in me not to pull my dick out and pound you into this bed.”

Your fingers immediately slide down and press into your awaiting cunt, that squelch causing an embarrassing sound to pass your lips. Eddie mouths your neck in appreciation, inspiring a continuation. “That’s a good girl. Take those fingers in my cunt.”

His cunt? The hair on your arms stands at attention, goosebumps splattering your flesh. Eddie nods into your skin. “S’ right, little girl. It’s where I cum, where I’m gonna put my baby in you—“ He breaks briefly, lips by the shell of your ear. “And that means it’s mine.”

He leans over momentarily and stubs the cigarette out.

He stops himself after, wanting for you to engage in your solo performance, both of you high off his cue cards. You start fucking yourself faster, thighs tensing, toes curling, your back arching, one hand finding your breast over your t-shirt. Eddie raises you into a slight lift, yanking at the collar until it’s sliding off. “You wanna show daddy how you touch your tits, hmm? What you did to yourself before I touched them?”

The second that your fingers touch your nipple, you bury your face into the curvature of Eddie’s neck and shoulder, crying out. Your fingers curl inside you, nudging that spot that Eddie can find with better ease, but it’s enough to stimulate your oncoming orgasm. You’re drenched in your own arousal, every press in squishing a fresh wave of the translucent cream back out, captivating Eddie. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip and pulls hard enough that he tastes copper, resisting his urges to fuck his hand. This is about you right at this moment—hell, for being witness to this private show, it’s about him too.

You cup your breast and roll the globe, twisting, pinching your nipple and scraping your nails over your areola. Eddie lays kisses to your temple and forehead, finally finding it in himself to speak. He knows what you need to get there, that extra push. And he’s more than happy to oblige. “Princess?”

You remove your sweat slick face from your Eddie scented cocoon, barely conscious. “What, Eds?”

He’s smiling proudly, kissing above your top lip. “Can I offer you some service? Perhaps a thumb?”

When you’re frowning, he holds the digit up and you whine so loudly he could cum in his pants from the sound alone. He presses his thumbpad against your clit and circles the swollen flesh with gained expertise, his mouth finding solace by your earlobe. “Atta girl. You gonna cum for me?”

“Jesus, Eddie. Want to.”

“Oh yeah? Come on then, show me how you cum. Remind me.” He presses down harder, bracelet jostled on his arm as the tendons in his wrist flex with his movements. That has you clenching around your fingers, shivering into a climax that has your eyes rolling back in your head and a scream tearing its way free of your diaphragm, battering your lungs on the way up and out.

Eddie’s cock twitches, an ache dragging him by his throat and not relinquishing its powered grip. There’s a wet spot pooling over his crotch and he’s about to burst. He noses you into a devilish kiss full of a sinful nights’ promise, and you’re flooded with an orgasm that leaves you feeling featherlight, soaking into your every pore and blocking off every sense. You can’t speak, unable to even say your boyfriend’s name. It’s a sight to behold, one that Eddie kisses you right through, his palm bumping your wrist bone as you thrust your fingers into your heat, riding out the last part of your steep ride.

Only when you start panting for breath and trembling, fingers sliding out, a mess, does Eddie calm you with his honey-hot tone. “Good girl. You’re so fucking hot, sweetheart.”

You’re shaking and curling close to him, hot breath on his neck. He pets down the expanse of your back, his other hand lifting your fingers to his mouth to admire the webbed shine, his tongue licking the digits clean, moaning around them with an, “Mhm.”

You laugh softly, coming back to yourself, doe eyed and simping for your guy. He grins that familiar grin, placing your hand to rest on his navel, where you scratch at that fluffy happy trail.

“An eternal goddess that uses the sun and moon to do her bidding. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing her cum.”

“You’re cheesy as fuck, baby.” You murmur, hand lifting to take off the bandana.

Eddie halts you. “Leave it? I wanna fuck you while you wear it.”

~*~

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spiderrrling · 2 years

Text

Little traces of you - Eddie Munson x reader

concept - you've just moved to college and you're really missing your boyfriend, and it doesn't help the shirt he gave you doesn't smell like him anymore

a/n - just a soft little drabble done on my phone because im in a fluff mood

"Pumpkin? Did you fall asleep?" his voice was soft into his end of the phone, spoken into a soft hushed whisper into cold staticy plastic, and it echoed in your end.

He heard your breathing slow into long deep breaths, if you had fallen asleep he'd stay on the phone with you all night just to hear you breathe. Close his eyes and imagine the weight of you pressed into the mattress next to him. If he concentrated really hard he swore to himself he could smell the trace remnants of you in the fabric of his sheets.

But you weren't in Hawkins, you were two hours away in Indiana, tucked away in a tiny and cramped worn down dorm instead of being tucked into bed resting against his chest like you used to.

"No- I'm here," you finally answered him, your voice muffled as your face pressed into the shirt you was adamant about keeping among your pillows. Eddies shirt.

And not just any one of his shirt, his and subsequently your favorite shirt of his that he had given you so he wouldn't feel so far away.

You felt ridiculous, like a child clinging to a safety blanket or their favorite stuffed animal. But instead it was a well worn and loved concert shirt sympathetically donated by your metalhead boyfriend who in that moment felt impossibly far away.

Only two weeks away from him, and yet you had still called him almost every night. Blowing off parties and get togethers just to hear his voice through the statics tones of the phone.

Never in your life had you been homesick, but now it was an overwhelming feeling that shook your whole body.

"What happened sweet thing?" Of course he was able to tell something was wrong, even without having to see your face, being miles away in a completely different town, he knew something was wrong.

"Nothing..." you muttered back to him, shifting around in your bed hopelessly, the bed which never seemed to be able to get completely comfortable in.

"You're gonna have to do better than that of you want to convince me." Eddies ring clad finger was endlessly twirled in the curl of the phone chord, desperately wishing it was your hair he was playing with instead.

"It doesn't-" you felt ridiculous admitting it and you had to fight the words to come out, "it doesn't smell like you anymore."

Even when pressing the soft fabric against your nose you could barely smell the hints of his heavy cologne and bitter cigarette smoke. The smell of Eddie, the smell of home.

It felt as if he was slowly drifting away from you, dwindling with every passing second and you had to fight to keep tears from spilling from your eyes

The pang that echoed through Eddies chest was overwhelming. He could practically hear your lip quivering through the phone, and all he wanted to do was to be there for you, with you.

"Wanna hear something silly?" Eddie shifted in his bed, laying flat on his back with the phone pressed to his ear, he didn't wait for your answer. "I have one of your shirts."

"You have one of my shirts?" you hiccuped into the phone, giving up on trying to hide it anymore, you heard Eddie's laugh on the other side, and it only made you want to cry harder.

"Yeah... I kinda took it from one of your boxes before you left," his admission soothed you a little bit, it was the most Eddie thing to do, "it doesn't smell like you anymore either."

"Eddie?" you asked carefully, biting at your anxiously, you didn't want to seem clingy or needy, even though that might have been exactly what you were.

"Yes Pumpkin?"

"I really miss you"

"I miss you more"

"Tell me I'll see you soon... Please?"

"Say the word sweetheart and I'll pack the car and leave right now, be there in two hours, an hour and a half if I'm speedy,"

"No- no you don't need to do that just soon?"

He was your everything, just as you were his. And being away from someone who inhabited every part of your life was more difficult than you ever imagined it would be.

"How about next weekend?"

Nine days.

"Yeah- yeah next weekend."

"Do you think you can get some rest?" His voice was seeped heavy in sleep, and you could feel the desperation nipping at your eyelids as they grew heavy, and you hummed softly back to him.

"I love you," when he said it, it felt like a promise.

"I love you too,"

"I'll see you soon," Eddie said after a few moments of silence, but you were already long asleep.

Three days afterwards a package waited for you on your doorstep which was... strange? You weren't expecting anything and your mother surre wouldn't be sending you care packages this soon.

But as soon as the package was within the grasp of your fingers and you could read the name of the sender you practically ripped the box apart.

The letter tucked inside hard you on the verge of tears and you read it as you pressed the new shirt to your nose.

This time, a black and white long sleeve hellfire shirt was carefully packed away, and the smell was almost overwhelming.

"You're welcome," was the first thing he was when he picked up the phone that night.

"Thank you," you whispered back, the heavy feeling in your chest was still there but it had eased.

"I'll bring you another one when I come up and visit,"

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x read #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x henderson!reader

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ominoose · 3 months

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𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

Pairing: Android!Nathan Bateman x GN!Depressed!Reader Summary: Your therapist advises you buy an android as a companion. He's a pain. Warnings: None, just fluff. WC: 1.5k Thank you @jinjersnapz for beta reading :*

The moment he stepped out of the box you wanted a refund. Thinly veiled disappointed creased his eyebrow and tugged down his lips as the android, Nathan, took in the cabin. It wasn't much, that you'd concede, wooden floors, walls and roof with a bathroom, office, kitchenette, living room and bedroom. The basic rooms filled with what one needed to live, or as your therapist called it “bare essentials” and “not willing to take up your own space”. Bullshit, essentially.

And now the result of not listening to said bullshit was taking in your abode like it was a one star Air BnB that posted fake five star reviews. He probably wanted a refund as much as you. That was an accurate description of life since he was shipped into it, ‘I want a refund.’

“You're wasting time.” Said the most annoying alarm clock since the creation of alarm clocks.

You only responded by turning over and pulling the covers over your head before they were ripped off the bed and cold air attacked your now exposed and cold skin.

“Stop spending all your time in bed just to go bitch to your therapist about how you're worthless and your life has no meaning. Either get your ass up or I'll dismantle the bed and hide the screws.”

The petty, blunt asshole would. Last week he messed with the dryer's wiring, leaving your bed sheets wet until you finished your book (that he'd recommended, ordered on your Amazon and held you at laundry point to read), citing “intellectual enrichment” as the reason.

Getting out of bed was rewarded with him asking for a cup of coffee while he worked out (apparently the extra use of his metal tendons strengthened them over time), knowing full well he'd only complain about it being cheap. It was a hellish routine, but a routine nonetheless, as your therapist annoyingly felt the need to point out every session. Begrudgingly, you'd also be forced to admit it was the truth. He got you out of bed, engaging with the house, energizing yourself and having some sort of start for the day.

“Why don't we go out for a hike?” Nathan rounded you to grab the steaming cup of coffee, grimacing at the taste.

Broad shoulders rolled openly, clad in simple grey tank top and black joggers. Despite knowing he had no skin, no actual flesh underneath the tanned synthetic layers stretched over his biceps looked soft enough to bite. Not that you'd let the android know.

“A hike? Outside? Today?” The spontaneous request caught you off guard, already openly reluctant.

The deadpan stare he gave you behind the silver frames wasn't fond.

“You live in Butt-Fuck Nowhere and want to just sit in this shitehole. Wasting your innate opportunity to explore nature's beauty.”

“Yeah, I do. Have a fun hike Nathan.” That statement was meant to be closed by you swiftly turning and walking back to your room, but a warm, calloused hand gripped your arm sternly and rooted you to the spot.

“How am I meant to have fun if you aren't there to bug? A walk in nature is an easy hack to ease your disease riddled brain and you don't take advantage of it. It's a wonder androids haven't taken over yet.”

The way he refused to handle you and your depression like a porcelain doll was something you loathed to love about him. How odd that an arrogant android treated you with the most humanity.

“I'll upload a virus into your cloud if you don't let me go, see who has a ‘disease riddled organ then.”

“An STD threat, how cute. Try successfully updating your Sims mod folder and I'll personally walk you through the virus myself.” Logically, there shouldn’t be a lively spark in his eyes, but it was there all the same, goading you into spats with him, time and time again.

“I bought you, the least you could do is fix my Sims!” Another thing you hated needing from him was the way he fed and stoked your fire, turning you from dying embers to a roaring bonfire. It always happened before you were aware of it, always when he got that cocky smirk as if this was exactly what he wanted.

And following routine he simply walked away, rolling those ridiculously handsome shoulders to add salt to the wound and leaving you to seeth.

“Hurry up and get ready.”

When you finally crested the hill, sun shining down through dark pine trees, birds chirping around you, part of you conceded it was worth it. The other part was whining over the stitch aching at your side.

“God I feel like death.” The panting breaths came out as a fog in the cold forest, but Nathan paid no mind to the temperature or your whining.

You never once questioned his ability to enjoy the cold whistle of the wind, whether or not he could feel the numbing chill in his finger tips. Why did it matter why his favourite spot was the waterfall, always cold no matter the season, a hint of a smile plucking at synthetic lips when the mist tickled his beard. It didn’t occur that it should matter, but it was noticed by him the way your mouse didn’t entertain the news articles discussing the ethics of how closely androids now resembled a human, drawing comparisons to fictional history of Dune.

Nathan knew more than anyone that you weren’t the academic, whizzkid genius he was. Your mind physically could not scramble through numbers and piece together advanced mathematic equations. You weren’t book smart, but it wasn’t something he considered lacking.

You dismissed stupid opinions (like the aforementioned article) as if they didn’t exist to you as easily as you stood toe to toe with him to defend other stupid opinions (Aristotle was just some annoying old guy). You were acutely aware of your depression, the way your mind functioned against you and plodded on, taking it in your stride your own way.

As you keeled over, huffing out cold whisps, his dark brown eyes scanned every inch of you. There was no part of you he hadn’t cataloged and stored carefully in his memory banks, no quirk or habit was unfamiliar to him. Yet it always felt like a small surprise to see them unfold in the intimate privacy of the small bubble you both shared.

“Why’re you staring? You better not say I told you so, I’ll ship you back and enjoy going back to my solitude inside.”

“You wouldn’t have to be alone. You’re pretty enough to coax someone into your little hovel.” Said like a passing comment on the gathering clouds.

“Pretty?” Said as a reaction, completely caught off guard.

“Yeah? How many times do we need to go over how your mind will distort how you perceive reality before you finally listen to me, sweetheart?” How was he managing to still be so condescending while arguing about how beautiful you were, how the softly filtered sunlight through the trees settled against your hair like the sun was made to do just that

No wonder humans had wasted so much time on artsy poetic bullshit since the BC’s, beauty really could be all you had the capacity to think about.

“Based on what? I thought you didn’t abide by societal constructs Mr Bateman?” It was a shoddy attempt at acting normal, but the supercomputer android would’ve already noticed the quiver in your voice and the red dusting your face. Maybe if you pretended you didn’t know he could do that, he just wouldn’t.

“I’m abiding by my standards.” His eyes stared right into you. The words words hit you right in the stomach, no time to brace.

And he takes advantage of the hesitation.

“We both know I’m capable of noticing when you ogle me when I work out. We both know I'm equipt to sense when your heart rate picks up, which it does every time I lean over your shoulder to correct your shitty work. We both know I can literally measure the heat in your cheeks right now, want me to?”

The speed at which your head shook had your hair lashing your face, something that only grew his smirk.

“You sure?”

“Fuck yo-”

His lips were warm when they cut you off, subtly soft in contrast to the calloused hands cupping your face. Your mind instantly jumps to satisfaction that you’d been right in your assumption about the feel of his lips until the actual realisation that he was kissing you kicked in, and by that point he was already pulling away. You didnt even have time to savour how the cold metal of his glasses pressed against your nose.

“Lets go, it’s gonna start pissing down and I hate fogged up glasses.”

Nathan was already walking back home, back turned until he realised you weren’t already trailing after him. He turned. You were still staring, lips slightly parted and wide eyed, not yet finished processing what had happened. His smirk turned soft.

“C’mon sweetheart, I need my shitty cup of coffee.”

#nathan bateman x reader #oscar isaac #omiwrites

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keysorsomething · 7 months

Text

Into the Hyena's Den

Part three !! I hope you enjoy it :) 1 | 2 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 Cross-posted on ao3

You knock softly on Nikto’s door, checking the halls like you check the roads before crossing them. You're sure someone is hiding in some dark corner of the hall. Damn, you're really going to get in trouble for this, aren't you? You already had three of the snoopiest bitches on your tail. This visit was going to be the hot gossip for the next few weeks. And that was not going to go well for you in the slightest.

You can already imagine it, being called into König’s office and being scolded about fraternizing. Like he isn't guilty of that.

There's a thought that flickers in your mind for a moment, that you two will be the talk of the site and then Nikto will get distant one more. Something in you does not want that to happen. Perhaps you'll have to bribe Horangi. And Roze, but most importantly Klaus. Or blackmail. What are they gonna do? You work in a PMC, are they really going to go after you for blackmail and not any of your war crimes?

You think not.

The door creeks open, cautiously. He's worried about this too, you think, but the thought process is quickly shut down by his hand on the back of your head pulling you into the room. You make no noise of complaint. Partly because who would complain, and also because you don't want to draw any attention to the situation.

The door slammed once you were inside the dim room. You look around. The room is dark, there's a faint light from somewhere but you can't locate it. And it's not messy—there aren't any clothes or dirty dishes or anything out of place and the bed is made—but it's not clean either. It's crowded, piles of stuff neatly sorted all over everywhere.

His guns are neatly lined up against the wall, biggest to smallest. With the exclusion of his handguns and side arms, which are in boxes stacked in the opposite corner. At least that's what you're guessing is in them.

His arm extends, guiding you to sit on the bed. An instruction you follow.

“Sooo..” You're incredibly nervous, and he doesn't like small talk, but you're trying to small talk him. You just need to figure out what to small-talk about. God damn small talk standards and social norms. You're not good at it when you're hands aren't shaking and you're not sitting on the bed of a man that is very physically capable of snapping your neck all the way around like it's the fucking Exorcist.

“Нет,” He replies firmly. He’s in more comfortable clothes, something you’ve never seen before. He’s wearing a tight-fitting black t-shirt, short-sleeved. His pants don’t match it at all, being loose-fitting sweats. His mask is still on, though. Honestly, you’d bet his mask is always on. Even in the shower.

“N-nyet?” You reply, confused.

“Shush. You are not with us to talk,” He instructs, coming to the side of the bed. He moves his hand to instruct you to scoot over, which you do. Your eyes stay on him intensely as he lays down in the bed, sliding under the covers. “You are here to help us sleep,” Part of you is sad that he boils it down to that. You can never be sure if that is what Nikto means, this is just because you make him sleep better, or if this means more to him and he just can’t put it into words. You imagine it’s hard for him sometimes, to admit weakness like that. To admit he has a soft spot, a hole in the impenetrable fortress that is his off-putting demeanor and aggressive disposition. Or maybe you’re just assigning him that, like when you feel guilty for having to choose between two inanimate objects, even though you can’t actually make one of them feel bad for not being chosen.

So you let out a soft sound of agreement and nod, instead of trying to talk anymore. He stares at you expectantly for a moment longer, so you clamber under the sheets and let him wrap his arms around you, laying his head on your chest. It’s a firm grip around your waist, like he’s never held another person like this before, or the iron-clad grip of a child holding their favorite plushie. Your hands very gently meet his back and the top of his head. You’re trying to get comfortable like this, the way that the hard metal of the blast plate pushes into your skin from through your shirt, the way your chest can’t fully rise due to the pressure of holding him, the miserable heat of being in an already warmer than you expected room with another being on top of you, and his death grip keeping you from adjusting your position even an inch. It’s not the worst thing to happen to you since you’ve come to KorTac, but that doesn’t make it any more comfortable.

Your hand on his back starts that slow stroking motion that you always had with him. You close your eyes, trying to get comfortable with the weight of a fully grown man on your ribcage. He rolls his head into your chest, and you fight the urge to wheeze or let out any sounds of discomfort. It wasn’t that you weren’t enjoying the moment, it was just the metal being pressed into the skin hurt. More than just a little bit. He stops moving his head after a moment, letting out a breath he must have been holding. His whole form melts into you. The lack of tenseness, of distrust, it was out of character for him. But it was wholesome. A moment of surrender, of peace, in a life that was doomed to be full of fighting. And the fact that you were giving it almost made up for the metal digging into you.

You let out a soft, reassuring sound, telling him you’re still there. And there’s no way you’re leaving. Not anyway at all. The downward strokes turn to gentle circles into the back of his shoulders as you whisper nonsense to him. A mix of his name, shushing, “I’m here”s and “you’re okay”s leave your lips as you mumble. It makes him relax even further if that is possible. You’re not even sure if that is possible.

You look down at him, and he seems at peace. You’d like to imagine that he was smiling under all that fabric, so you will. You aren’t sure how comfortable it is to sleep with that on your face, or if he could even breathe right like that, but you don’t question him. There’s no reason to poke the bear lying on your chest. Especially since you’re trying to tame it.

But, as you study his face, you notice something new. Normally, when he closes his eyes, his face is a flat void. You can’t even tell he’s human, or he’s wearing a mask. It’s all a single, 2-D shape that he calls a body. And when his eyes are open, the blue pierces through a still darkness, one that melts into the rest. He looks more like a living shadow, in all dark and clinging to the walls. His face always seemed to be a flat, pitch-black surface when he closed his eyes because he was always wearing eyeblack. He had neatly painted on every surface of skin that was exposed by the eye holes of his mask, with no streaks, marks, splotches, or fingerprints. Though it would fade over time, you often noted. Over the weeks he would leave it until he had to repaint it. But now, as you look down at him on your chest, you notice another thing you had never seen before. There is no void. He’s not some faceless being in your arms. You see the faint, deep-brown shaping of his brows, his long eyelashes, the scar that covers the right side, but most importantly, the pale gleam of his skin in the little light.

He had washed the eyeblack off. And he had done it just for you.

#nikto cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #nikto x reader

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gretavanlace · 1 year

Text

Poppins (part 1)

Josh and Jake x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: language, kissing, adult themes, pretty tame…for now.

A tiny hand tugs at the hem of your dress before an even smaller voice floats up “He’s late.”

“Uncle Jake is always late, Lil.” You run your fingers over a dish towel before ruffling her curls soothingly. “He’ll be here.”

“What if he forgot?” Her voice wavers with threatening tears, and you abandon the tray of finger sandwiches you’ve been fussing over in order to focus solely on her welling eyes.

“Your fourth birthday?” You lend an incredulous gasp to your tone. “Uncle Jake? Forget his best girl? Never!”

Karen appears in the kitchen with Josh hot on her heels. “I said the cake should say ‘Happy Birthday Lily-bit.” He complains, shaking his head with great frustration while nervously tugging at the pearlescent beads around his neck…a habit reserved for when he is tromping along the edge of panic.

Lily-bit has been her nickname ever since she bestowed it upon herself unknowingly. Unable to pronounce Elizabeth correctly, it had stumbled out ‘Lily-bit’…and stuck, it had.

“Well, you should’ve picked it up yourself then, Joshua.” Karen snarks right back, sliding the cardboard box housing a sheet cake onto the counter. “It says Elizabeth. That’s still her name. And stop fidgeting. If you’re that concerned, drive it back to the store and cause an enormous scene like an idiot. We’ll wait.”

She bends down and nuzzles her only granddaughter’s nose. “Won’t we, baby? We’ll wait right here while Daddy goes and acts like a dumb shit at the grocery store.”

“Daddy’s a dumb shit!”

You suppress a laugh at her squeaky-mouse voice cursing as Josh grows visibly perturbed, yet calmer, all at once.

“Jesus, ma!” He searches over her shoulder and raises his voice. “Veronica, come and get your mother!”

Ronnie’s voice floats in from the family room, relaxed and unconcerned. “I’m not in this!”

Lily begins to giggle only to stop dead in her tracks when a familiar voice booms through the house. “Where’s my birthday girl?”

She’s gone in a flash. Racing from the room with an ecstatic gasp, as fast as her tiny legs can carry her. Everything else forgotten, in an effort to get to her Uncle Jake.

The three of you are drawn like magnets into the hall, unwilling to miss the spectacle of a jake-lily reunion.

“Look at this.” Josh frowns, with a smile tugging at his lips as he watches his twin scoop his niece up with a flourish. “Even my own daughter loves him best.”

“Stop.” Your elbow nudges into his side lovingly. “He’s the fun uncle, is all.”

His eyes slide in your direction as his voice drops to a whisper “All the girls I adore love him best.”

Reaching out for a lock of your hair, he gives it a gentle yank and moves in to greet his brother just as Lily relays the important news.

“Uncle Jakey,” she conspires, running her chubby hands through the hair hanging in his face. “Daddy’s a dumb shit. Gramma said.”

Jake throws his head back with a hearty belly laugh, hugging her close. “He is, girly…you’re absolutely right.”

She laughs along with him, pink-cheeked and enamored, hiding her face in his hair.

“I know it is, Lily bit.” He nods. She must’ve whispered to remind him of her big day. “That’s why I brought you this.”

She slides down, holding fast to his barely buttoned shirt as he deposits her on her Mary Jane clad feet. Her tiny palms clap with unbridled excitement as he pulls a glittering tiara out of his back pocket.

“There.” He places it carefully, tucking it into her wispy baby hair until it sits just right. “Birthday princess.”

Her eyes are flashing with devotion, as she makes grabby hands at the gift bag stuffed messily with tissue paper in his grip. “What else?”

“Later, girly.” He sneaks it behind his back with a kiss on her flushed forehead.

“He’s not that great.” Ronnie quips, feigning boredom from the other room. “Come see auntie…I’ll tell you about the time he crashed a car and broke uncle Sammy’s head.”

Lily’s eyes grow wide with concern. “You broke his head?”

“Ah, hell,” Jake waves her off with a smile. “His head’s empty anyway.”

“Jacob,” Karen scolds as if she can’t fathom the audacity. “Watch your mouth around the baby.”

You collectively watch the birthday girl scamper off to soak in the tale her aunt has to tell.

“Dumb shit?” Jake tilts his head. “Is that not what you taught the baby, on this, the day of her birth?”

She swats at him, then softens the loving blow with a peck on his lips, before wandering off with a clipped “Shut it.”

“Hey, prick.” You watch on, feeling slightly out of place as Jake pulls Josh in for an aggressive, brotherly hug. Both twins smack at each other’s backs in pats that seem as though they should sting.

They begin chatting in that strange, half-spoken, unfinished sentence, twin language of theirs, and you, feeling even more intrusive than before, move to slink off.

Jake stops you with a hand coiled loosely around your wrist, eyes still honed in on his brother while they catch up. He doesn’t dare slip his hand down to link fingers with yours, though he wants to…you can feel it.

At last, Karen’s voice sounds out, and rescues you from this awkward limbo. “Can someone go collect your father and his son from the house?” ‘Your’ father and ‘his’ son, is all the explanation needed. She refuses to stake claim over any of them when they’re stretching the limbs of their Kiszka lineage.

“Took an Uber in from the airport!” Jake shirks responsibility with a lie - you can see his car swiveled crookedly in the gravel out front clearly through the bay window.

“I’ll go.” Josh sighs, turning to you. “Keep them civil, warden?”

“Of course.” You grin, smoothing a curl down atop his head with your freehand so that he looks less maniacal. It does little to help.

You’ve been alone in the entryway for less than thirty seconds before Jake is pulling you into the quiet of the hall. “How’s my Mary Poppins?” He taunts quietly. “I’ve missed you. Look at this smart little dress. You’re killin’ me.”

In reality, you’ve opted for a modestly festive dress whose skirt skims over your knees. It’s Lily's birthday, after all, not a night out.

“Jake,” you can feel the warmth of your blush, and duck your face to conceal it. “Go be with your family, you shameless flirt.”

“Do you think you’re not family?” He bends at the knees to catch your eye and counter your shy methods of hiding away. “Can’t you see the way we all love you? Me most of all.”

“Not one of your groupies,” you giggle like a schoolgirl, to your dismay, pushing a little more distance between the two of you. “Get outta here.”

He steps in even closer, and you can smell him. The warm, inexplicably comforting scent that follows him around like a delectable cloud. He’s like the woods after a campfire has smoldered itself out, mixed in with something vaguely christmas-like. “I have no groupies. I play dive bars filled with sad old men who stare into their drinks and dream about pretty girls like you.”

His fingers drift against your cheek and then curl a turf of hair behind your ear with a hushed, “I’ll find you later, poppins, yeah?”

Poppins. Yes, you’re the nanny. Yes, it’s a terrible idea. Yes, Josh has also been known to wear his heart on his sleeve for you. And yes, all those things seem to matter…that is until Jake steps into your space and fixes that warm, chocolate truffle gaze upon you. Until he lowers his voice so that only you can hear. Until his touch skates over your skin, confident and sure.

You’ve never gone too far with Jake, no matter how badly you’d like to.

There was a night, Lily conked out on her toddler bed, you off for the remainder of the night, but lingering on in the kitchen sipping Dos Equis with your charge’s favorite uncle. Gazes had locked a little too long, lips had met, until the warm, wet, grace of his tongue against your own had caused you to pull away.

“Yeah.” You nod. Leaning back against the wall when he slips away. He makes you want to run for the hills and into his arms all at once.

The party commences as Josh returns with a slightly inebriated Kelly and Samuel in tow, and everyone falls in love with Lily-bit all over again as she opens presents and charms her way through the hearts of her most beloved.

Before the candles have even been lit, she has crawled into her uncle Jake’s lap. Falling asleep like a worn out kitten, tiara askew on her head, glitter lipgloss Ronnie applied to her rosebud mouth smeared and smudged against Jake’s torn up jeans.

“Her cake.” Josh sounds both defeated and relieved…exhausted from trying to make sure her day was perfect.

“Goddamn thing said Elizabeth, anyway.” Jake huffs lazily before throwing a wink at his twin that seems to relax Josh’s shoulders in a way no one else has been able to manage all day.

“Mom’s fault.” Josh smirks.

“Isn’t it always?” Jake smiles back, as if the answer is obvious.

“Oh, to hell with both of you.” Karen sighs, with absolute love in her insult. “You have miss girl FaceTime gramma first thing in the morning.” She points at Josh to get her point across and then nudges at Kelly, who has trotted off to dreamland along with his granddaughter. “You and Sam in the car within five or you both can walk.”

You’re tidying up the kitchen by the warm, shadowy light of an accent lamp when Josh’s voice comes softly in the silence.

“Thought you and ma already cleaned up?”

“Just little details,” you shrug. “You know.”

“You staying tonight? It’s late.”

You have a cozy little place across town. No more than a studio, but you’ve furnished it beautifully, and eclectically, via thrift stores and yard sales. It’s you, and it’s home. Sort of. Really, the guest room here that has evolved into your room, is more home than home.

“Probably.” You swipe the sponge over a perfectly clean spot of butcher’s block “She still sleeping?”

“Out like a light.” The love dances in his eyes like it always does when he speaks of his baby girl. “Put her in jammies and all, she slept right through.”

“Well…” you offer softly, at a loss for words as you so often are when you find yourself sinking into these domestic moments with him.

“Yes, well…” he nods, tilting his head down to look at you through his lashes with the smallest of grins.

“Oh!” Your face lights up as you turn toward the fridge to pull two bottles of water out for him. His nightly routine. “Here. You almost forgot.”

He catches them one after another as you toss the bottles his way and then points with one, cap wiggling in your direction. “I wish you’d let me take care of you the way you take care of me, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t mean it in any way other than gentle…he’d like to coddle you. That’s all. Somehow, that makes your heart hurt worse.

“Don’t get too comfy with my brother tonight.” He adds, padding off down the hall before you can grow defensive.

You slump against the counter, embarrassed and sad. You wish you could chase down that spark of something that plays about in your heart for Josh now and again, but Jake always moves in…all soft smiles and whispered words. Nicknames and airy brushes of calloused hands that make you shiver and keep you awake at night…

…the memory of his tongue slipping, slick and hungry, against yours, that blurs your mind when your hand finds itself between your legs in the dark.

Shaking off the thoughts before they have a chance to drag you down too deeply, you finish up in the kitchen, double check the locks, and start down the hall to the room that serves as your own.

You’re moving quietly, and you know why…but you also feel a little silly for it. Aren’t you just little miss hot shit to assume Jake would be listening for you?

I mean, sure, he likes to flirt, and you kissed once for like, twenty seconds, but why would you really believe that —

“Hey, poppins.” His voice comes, smooth as warm silk, a split second after his fingers close tight around your waist. “Come here often?”

“Hello, Jacob.” You smile into the dark, covering his hands with your own.

“Oooh,” he moans softly against the nape of your neck. “Jacob? Put me in time out, nanny. Do your worst.”

“Stop it!” You laugh quietly, wrenching around in his grip to face him.

“Hi.” He grins once you’re nose to nose. “Are you staying tonight?”

His question, mirroring his twin’s, comes hushed as he walks you back against the wall.

Your reply is an inelegant swallow, paired with a nod.

“That’s good.” He trails the back of his knuckle along the curve of your jaw. “It’s so dark out there. And chilly. Best you stay here where you’re safe.”

The sincerity stuns you. He means it. He worries for you.

But are you safe?

This isn’t good. Isn’t it easier if one wants to love you and one wants to fuck you?

There you go again, running ahead of whatever this is. He doesn’t want to love you, he’s simply glad to see you snug and warm for the night.

“You know,” his fingers card slowly through your hair, lips impossibly near, breathing softly in your ear. “It would make it so much easier to kiss you if you didn’t look like a deer caught in headlights.”

A sound, foreign and high-pitched, escapes you before you have a chance to quiet yourself, and his body tenses against yours in response. “So pretty, poppins. You’re a song, aren’t you? Sweet and soft. If I played you, it’d be acoustic.”

You’re a song…if I played you…fuck…

“Jake, I…” you’re scrabbling for excuses on why this shouldn’t happen when you hear it. The faint whimper of Lily. She’s still asleep, you can tell that much, but not for long.

A bad dream, perhaps, brought on by too much excitement and sugar.

“Let me check on her.” You whisper, pushing him away gently.

“What?” He’s confused. He isn’t a parent, or her caregiver, and he’s missed the early quiet muffled rumblings before the wailing storm.

But Josh hasn’t…

And when he steps into the hall to rescue his little girl, he is greeted with the sight of Jake pressing you up against the wall, hands in places they shouldn’t be.

“M’sorry.” He murmurs, hurrying by as you break away from Jake, rushing to explain.

Your words of justification land against deaf ears and Lily’s bedroom door as Josh quietly shuts you out.

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#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #fanfic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet smut #greta van smut #gvf fic #greta van fic #josh kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka #jake gvf #jake kiszka smut #gvf jake #smut #gvf x reader #gvf smut

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ltash · 23 days

Text

Bullied by Ghost when you break into his room without permission.

We danced on the edge of destruction, our words sharp as daggers, yet beneath the surface, there was a fire burning, a passion that refused to be extinguished."

As I stood before Ghost's closed door, a sense of apprehension coiled in the pit of my stomach like a restless serpent.

I knocked twice and with each knock, my heart quickened its pace, the echo of my own uncertainty reverberating in the silence that greeted me.

The strains of music, faint yet unmistakable, seeped through the cracks in the door, a discordant melody that added to the disquiet swirling within me.

God, what do I do now?" I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper as I weighed my options.

With trembling fingers, I reached for the handle, my hand hovering uncertainly as I grappled with the magnitude of what I was about to do.

Breaking into Ghost's room was a breach of privacy I hadn't dared contemplate before, yet the urgency of Laswell's request left me with little choice. It was the last thing I would have done if I had a chance.

With a deep breath, I turned the handle, the door swinging open with a soft click that seemed to reverberate through the room.

Why would he left his door unlocked like that? But again I never knew because I haven't tried breaking into his room before.

The darkness enveloped me like a suffocating embrace, broken only by the dim glow of the window and the soft hum of the music player.

"What if he was inside? What if he catches me breaking into his room?"

Thoughts racing my mind because that was the stupidiest shit I was going to do.

He was surely inside. I knew It was such a bad idea entering into his personal space like that but it was compulsory at that moment as it was Laswell's order.

Ghost?" I called out tentatively, my voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. But there was no response, only the eerie silence that hung heavy in the air.

Ghost! You there?" I called him again but to no avail.

Taking a hesitant step forward, I scanned the room, my eyes adjusting to the darkness as they swept over the familiar surroundings. The faint scent of cigarette smoke and musky cologne lingered in the air, a telltale sign of Ghost's presence.

My gaze landed on the coffee table, where a cigarette box and lighter lay abandoned amidst the remnants of smoked cigarettes.

It was a revelation that caught me off guard, a glimpse into a side of Ghost that I had never known.

Ghost like smoking. I didn't know that. Me and my father never smoked. Infact I hated smoking.

The door closed on its on and I lightly jump on the sound. I turned around and there was no pne there.

Before I could dwell on the discovery, the rustling of sheets beside me startled me, my heart leaping into my throat as I spun around to confront the source of the disturbance.

There, on the bed, he layed, his form shrouded in darkness as he slept soundly, oblivious to my presence.

The sight of him, clad in his signature black hoodie and skull balaclava, sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins, my mind racing with a thousand questions.

Oh Jesus! I was stuck in such an odd situation.

I had to try to wake him up. How will he react seeing me in his room like this.

I was feeling like burying myself alive in the ground right now.

My heart hammered in my chest as I stood there, frozen in place, the weight of the tension bearing down on me like a suffocating cloak.

With trembling hands, I reached out, the only option left to me a desperate attempt to rouse him from his slumber.

"Ghost!" I called out, my voice a mere whisper as I gently shook his shoulder, my nerves coiled tight like a spring.

But before I could register what was happening, his arm moved, his grip tightening around my wrist with a force that took my breath away. With a gasp, I found myself yanked towards him, his strong hand pinning me down to the bed with a strength that left me powerless to resist.

"What are you doing in my room?" His voice, laced with anger and confusion, reverberated through the air, sending a shiver down my spine.

Panic surged through me as I struggled against his hold, my attempts to free myself met with only more resistance. "Let me go, please," I pleaded, my voice muffled by his hand as he pressed it against my mouth, silencing me with a single gesture.

"Shut your mouth. Stop making noise," he commanded, his words cutting through the silence with a steely authority that left no room for argument.

As he loomed over me, his breath hot against my skin, a surge of heat coursed through me, igniting a fire that burned brighter with each passing moment. Despite the fear and uncertainty that gripped me, I couldn't deny the magnetic pull of his presence, drawing me inexorably closer with each beat of my racing heart.

As Ghost's grip tightened around my wrists, a wave of pain shot through me, my skin bruising under the pressure of his hold. His hand radiated heat that I could feel going into my cold wrists.

Despite my futile attempts to free myself, his grasp only grew stronger, his fingers digging into my flesh with a relentless determination.

A low moan escaped my lips, the agony of his grip overwhelming my senses as tears welled up in my eyes. With each desperate plea, I silently begged for release, the ache in my wrists a stark reminder of my vulnerability in the face of his overpowering strength.

But as I looked up at him, my tear-filled eyes meeting his steely gaze, I saw no mercy in his expression, only a cold resolve that sent a chill down my spine.

Trapped beneath him, I felt the weight of his dominance pressing down on me, a silent reminder of the power he held over me in that moment of vulnerability.

In that moment, I realized the extent of my helplessness, the realization sinking in like a heavy stone in the pit of my stomach.

Ghost could do anything to me in that moment, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, the fear of the unknown looming large in my mind.

With a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins, I reacted instinctively, wrapping my legs around his waist in a desperate attempt to dislodge him from his position atop me. But before I could execute my plan, his voice cut through the air, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement that sent a chill down my spine.

"Don't you even think about that," he warned, his words laced with an authority.

Caught off guard by his unexpected response, I froze, my mind racing as I weighed my options. Trapped beneath him, my attempts to fight back had only served to further entangle me in his grasp, leaving me with no recourse but to confront the reality of my vulnerability.

With a resigned sigh, I released my hold on him. I knew I couldn't fight him back.

Ghost's words washed over me like a cold wave, leaving me trembling in their wake. "That's like a good girl." He said while his hand released my mouth.

The weight of his gaze bore down on me, his eyes piercing through the darkness with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

"Now tell me what are you doing in my room." He asked. His voice raspy.

"I-I..." I stammered, my voice faltering as fear clenched my throat like a vice. Every fiber of my being screamed for escape, for release from the suffocating grip of his presence.

But as I searched for words, for some semblance of explanation to offer, I found myself coming up empty.

"Use your words." Ghost's booming voice echoed through the room, I flinched, feeling a surge of fear grip me as he roared at me.

"I-I was sent by Kate to tell you about the meeting," I stammered, my voice trembling with anxiety.

With a sudden jolt, Ghost released his grip on me, causing me to roll off the bed and crash to the floor below. Pain shot through me as I landed with a thud, my breath knocked from my lungs.

As I struggled to regain my bearings, I looked up to find Ghost still seated on the bed, his eyes fixed on me with a steely intensity that sent a chill down my spine. Tears welled up in my eyes as I met his gaze, the betrayal of his actions cutting deep into my soul.

With trembling hands, I rose to my feet, my wrists throbbing with pain as I glared at him, a mixture of anger and hurt boiling beneath the surface. How could he have treated me like this, I thought, the weight of his betrayal heavy in my heart as I struggled to make sense of what had just transpired.

I stood before him, trembling with a mixture of fear and indignation, I knew that things would never be the same between us.

"I am afraid," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the pounding of my heart.

"Afraid of who?" he demanded, his tone sharp and cutting.

"You," I replied, my voice trembling with raw emotion.

With a surge of adrenaline, I propelled myself towards the door, desperation lending strength to my limbs. With trembling hands, I yanked the door open and fled into the hallway, my vision blurred by tears.

Running as if my life depended on it, I sprinted towards my room, each step a desperate attempt to escape the turmoil and confusion that threatened to consume me.

The sound of my own ragged breaths echoed in my ears, a stark reminder of the fear that gripped me.

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