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joelscruff · 1 year

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feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART 8.5 (JOEL'S POV)

previous chapters | so after the last chapter there were SO many people who really wanted to understand joel's actions, and i thought instead of him simply explaining to reader what happened, why don't i just write a chapter entirely from his point of view instead? hopefully this answers some questions, enjoy! and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 chapter summary: you're not the only one who has a busy weekend ahead of them. one text changes the trajectory of joel's relationship with you - for better or worse. (this is essentially chapter seven and eight from joel's pov) rating: 18+ explicit warnings for this chapter: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, discussions of child abandonment, mental health & cheating, alcohol, allusions to past sexual encounters between joel and his ex, brief flashbacks to smut from previous chapters word count: 13k ao3

He thinks about you so much more often than he should.

Your soft skin, your smile, your eyes, your hair, your little giggles, your shy and breathless whimpers.... your body, pliant and sweet beneath his touch, open and willing and waiting.

You're so perfect. You're so young.

He's never been with someone so much younger than him before. He's not sure you realize that. But that day on his doorstep when you'd wandered down the sidewalk looking like a bit of a lost puppy, that little frown line prominent between your eyebrows that he's come to adore, something clicked. You brought out a side of him he'd long since buried; he knew he had to have you. He just knew. Could feel it in the pit of his stomach when those gorgeous eyes had come to rest on him. Wide and innocent and sad. Something he saw there that made him pause.

He'd have had you that day if you'd let him, a fact that he's still grappling with. Long gone are the days where he'd meet a woman and take her home within a twenty four hour span - long gone are the days where he's so much as been interested in a woman he didn't know well enough, someone safe and secure and familiar. But he hoped you'd be back, almost knew you would, could see it in the way you shivered under his gaze, the way your eyes lingered on his face, on his fingers. He hadn't felt like being charming in a long time; he'd genuinely surprised himself with the flirtatious comments, the sly smiles, double meanings. But he couldn't help himself.

He'd wanted you so bad. The moment you'd disappeared down the street he'd gotten in the shower and fucked his fist for only a few minutes before coming all over the tiled wall at the very thought of you. He didn't even know your name but had already memorized the curves of your body, the shape of your lips, the smell of your skin when he'd gotten close enough. He'd practically limped back to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed in a heap, staring up at the ceiling with nothing but shock and confusion. Where the fuck had that come from?

He's such a dirty old man.

Old being the operative word. He turns fifty seven in a few months and the thought makes him feel physically ill. It's not that he necessarily hates the thought of getting older, of being one step closer to knocking on death's door, but more-so the fact that he's almost fifty seven and has almost nothing to show for it. His life is a mess, has been a mess for as long as he can remember.

But now... you.

You... full of life and eagerness and kindness. A soft and gentle angel in his bed, on his couch, in his kitchen. So shy and quiet, telling him what you think about, what you worry about. Letting him whisper the filthiest things in your ear while you whimper and moan, letting him touch you the way you deserve to be touched, the way you've never been touched before.

You bring something out in him he can't explain. He'd invited you inside that first day looking for a quick fuck and he admits it was a moment of weakness, the whole thing. He knows Sarah and Mish would kill him for even considering treating you that way, like an object, something to be conquered. The past version of himself who briefly felt that way about you makes him angry now.

Because now he really wants you. Not just a fuck - he wants you. He thinks about you all the fucking time and it scares the shit out of him. What started as something dirty and frivolous quickly turned into something tender and sweet the moment you told him you were a virgin, and he doesn't know how to handle it. You're so fucking lovely but so fucking sad and unsure, full of apprehension, regrets, insecurities, things he sees in himself. You remind him so much of himself at that age and he just wants to take care of you, be the person for you that he didn't have.

But you're so fucking young.

He tries to push the feelings down. He's purposely distant to you, especially during the week. You send him sweet little messages, tell him about your day, ask him about his. He stares at them for so long without answering them, and when he does answer his replies are short and vague. Because how can he say what he really wants to say? I think about you so much, angel. I want you to be mine. I don't want you to chase after any college boys or have any college boys chasin' after you. I wanna be your first and I wanna be your only.

How can he put you in that position? You're having fun, you're learning things, but there's absolutely no way you see any sort of future with him. The fact that he can already see one with you is the biggest red flag in itself - what the fuck is wrong with him?

But you're just so fucking sweet. So lovely. So gorgeous. He wants you in his bed and he wants you to stay there. He knows he'll be the first person to ever fuck you and that thought is enough to keep him going, yet he can't help but want more. But it's so selfish - you're young and bright-eyed and pretty and perfect, the promise of an incredible future ahead of you. And he's just... him.

He's old. He's grumpy. He's washed up. Became a father in high school. Got married. Got divorced. Has had more failed relationships than successful ones. Has been working the same job since he was twenty years old, a job he fucking hates. Loathes it with his entire being. Still doing the same work for the majority of his life with almost no breaks, no stops. He knows he should retire, should have done it years ago, but he's afraid.

He's always been fucking terrified of change. Earlier this year he'd moved into a new neighborhood. He'd gotten sick of the house he'd once shared with Mish, then Mish and Sarah, then just Sarah - the one she'd lived in sporadically 'til she was twenty six and finally felt financially stable enough to go out on her own. He'd stayed there about ten more years out of convenience, had another failed relationship with a woman who deserved far better than what he could give her, then finally pulled the plug and got something new for himself a few hours away, hoping it'd change his perspective. He'd picked a place with privacy, good acoustics, thought maybe he'd play his guitar more - focus on his music and slowly phase himself out of the contracting business.

But months later, he's still working it. The thought of being unemployed after working this hard his entire life, just ending up sad and alone in this new house, still not even properly furnished or decorated, makes him want to throw up. What the fuck would he do with all that free time? He's always wondered exactly how he'd spend it, how life could be enjoyable without the structure of his livelihood, but then he shakes it off and just keeps going because he knows the alternative has to be worse. But now... you.

You - who if you truly knew what a fucking failure he is, the boring bag of bones he pretends he's not when he's with you - would leave his bed and never come back.

You - who if you found out about his ex wife, his daughter, both of whom live adventurous and exciting lives while he's done nothing but stay still in the comforts of familiarity - would probably find him beyond pathetic.

You - who can do so much better.

He just knows that it can't last.

He gets the text from Sarah on Wednesday morning:

Hey Dad!! Me and Mom are doing our annual road trip, thought we'd stop down there for a bit and have a look at your new house!!

He tries not to notice the excitement of seeing his daughter being slightly dulled by the promise of being accompanied by her mother. In a way it makes him sad, because he loves Mish, has loved her since he was seventeen years old. He cares deeply about her and has always wanted nothing but the best for her, has always enjoyed her visits in the past - for more than one reason. But now...

No. He has to shake the thought away before he freaks himself out.

Kiddo!!!! That's exciting, when were you thinkin?

We'll be there by Friday afternoon!! Sorry for the short notice but we weren't sure if it'd be possible til today. We're actually trying to stick to a schedule this time believe it or not.

That's ok, you know it doesn't matter to me. Wanna see you any time. Miss you a lot.

Aw Dad I miss you too, I can't wait to see you!!! We'll text when we're getting close. Gonna check into a motel that night and we'll be leaving again the next morning, gotta stay on track.

He almost offers his guest room. Almost. But then thinks better of it.

Sounds good kiddo, see you then :)

Mish texts him later that afternoon. He'd been expecting it, knew she would want to double check that the visit was alright, but her name popping up in his notifications sends a jab of anxiety to the pit of his stomach. It's one thing for Sarah to visit on her own, but both of them together always adds a... different layer to the situation. A layer that needs addressing. A layer that he'd usually have more than a little excitement for, some anticipation - but not this time.

Sarah's got me roadtrippin again

She loves to make you suffer.

Don't I know it

He can't help but chuckle to himself, but his smile fades quickly as soon as the next message comes in:

Gonna be stopping by on Friday. You good for our usual?

He stalls.

Thought you were still with Elvis.

ALVIN. And no that's over

Sorry about that.

Like hell you are

He purposely doesn't answer her question, and she doesn't send anything else. The anxiety doesn't go away though - it spreads throughout his body until he's an absolute mess, shaky hands and ringing ears at the job site as he tries to stay focused, but ultimately fails to. His crew flits here and there around him without much direction and they end up going overtime, leading to an angry call from the boss, a call that leaves his hands clenched into fists by the time he gets to the bar with the crew. Fuck. This. Job.

He drinks too much, tries to calm himself, keep his thoughts steady. He pretends he doesn't know why he's feeling like this, pushes down all the reasons he wishes Sarah was traveling by herself this time. But deep down, he knows.

He gets a ride home with one of his buddies, limbs aching in a way that they haven't for a while. He always has days like this, days where the physical labor catches up to his aging body and reminds him that he really shouldn't be doing this job anymore, but somehow it's worse this time; the mental load from Mish's texts are giving him a discomfort he can't really describe.

He remembers only as he crosses the threshold that he promised he'd call you. Shit.

He does, but he can't remember much of what he said the next morning, only that he vented a bit. He hopes with every bone in his body that he didn't mention Mish, that his complaints focused solely on work.

Your texts that afternoon from the church bathroom prove this to be the case, and he breathes a sigh of relief when you agree to come see him that night. He knows he'll feel calm in your company, that the anxiety will ebb away in your presence.

He tries not to think about the implications of that.

God, he's fucked.

You had a horrible day.

You show up on his doorstep with tears shining in your eyes and that soft little line furrowed deep between your brows, the line he adores, wants to smooth with his thumb. He pulls you in close and breathes you in and finds that the anxiety, the worry, the uncertainty, all of it disappears in your embrace. You tell him you don't want to do anything, just want to be with him.

You have no idea how much it means to hear you say that to him.

He lays you in his bed and holds you for a while, listens as you tell him about what happened, confide in him. You tell him more about your upbringing and your family, your school years and friends, the pressure and scrutiny you've felt suffocated by your whole life. And god if you're not describing him. You have no idea how fucking similar the two of you are, how much he wants to wrap you up and protect you from the world and from all the people who threaten to dull the light in your eyes. Don't become like me, he wants to whisper, you deserve so much better.

He could listen to you talk for hours. That soft voice lulls him into a state of nirvana he's never experienced, body practically going numb with how in tune it is with your words, like he's become some kind of plant absorbing all your emotions, thoughts, feelings, as you bare yourself to him. You're so lovely. Please never stop talking.

It all culminates in the removal of your crucifix. He barely even thinks about it, just knows exactly what he has to do to calm you, to make you feel better, to steal back some of those worries from you and lock them away for a little bit where they can't hurt you. It's the least he can do. He wants to do it.

It's a gesture he doesn't fully realize the importance of, the magnitude - not yet, anyway.

He backtracks while you shower. It's just sex. This is not going any further than you showing her how it's done, preparing her for the real world, for the future men who actually stand a chance with her. The thought makes him dig his nails deep into his duvet as he settles under the sheets and takes a deep breath. She's not yours. She doesn't want you the way she thinks she does. She doesn't know the real you.

He can't help but picture you in his shower, standing naked under the hot water, in the exact spot he's gotten himself off to your very image. His dick twitches in his pajama pants and he has to adjust himself, cursing softly at his dirty thoughts and reminding himself that nothing is happening tonight, that you don't want to. He's not even disappointed, doesn't care that the sexting from earlier isn't coming to fruition tonight; just laying with you is enough for him. And he hates himself because he knows exactly what that means.

His phone vibrates while he's waiting and he picks it up from the nightstand - a text from Sarah:

Gettin closer! We should be there tomorrow, probably late afternoon. Do you work Fridays?

Yep, he wants to say, Monday to Friday, every week of my entire life since before you were born, but of course he doesn't. Would never.

I do but I'll be back around 5:30 or so. I'll give you a call when I'm home.

Sounds good!!!

Also:

An image comes in and he taps it, squinting his eyes to figure out exactly what he's looking at. He can make out Sarah and Mish sitting atop some statue of a bull they must have encountered outside a gas station. Sarah's arm is thrown back as she poses with her signature killer smile, while Mish grips the bullhorns and sticks her tongue out, braids peeking out from under a cowboy hat. There's something about it that's familiar, something he can't quite place as his eyes strain without the aid of his glasses - the ones he never wears. He pushes his phone away from his eyes, brings it back and hopes to bring the image into focus a little bit.

Oh. It's his hat.

And fuck, if he doesn't know how that makes him feel.

"You need glasses," he hears you say softly, and he looks up from the image of his daughter and ex wife to see you standing at the edge of the bed, clad in nothing but a towel.

He locks his phone and hopes you weren't standing there too long.

He doesn't know how to tell you that he won't be able to see you tonight.

He spends the morning in complete and utter bliss, waking up to your bashful request to give him a blowjob. You're so fucking sweet, even when asking for something so filthy. Your mouth is soft and warm around his cock and he feels like he's died and gone to heaven, wants desperately to spill inside and watch you swallow but knows it's not the right time, not yet.

He wonders what your face would look like covered in his come.

Dirty. Old. Man.

You burn his breakfast and furiously apologize, cursing under your breath as you soak the freshly burnt pan under the faucet and frown at your failure. But he doesn't view it as a failure; for him it's just another thing to add to the mental list of reasons he thinks you're adorable.

You ride his thigh. He makes you come, the most beautiful little sounds escaping your lips as you ride it out. He loves how that little worry line between your brows always returns when he's making you feel good, like he really is taking some of that worry away and replacing it with pleasure. He only wants to see that line when he's making you come. He never wants to see you sad again like you'd been last night, just wants to hold you in his arms and protect you from the world.

But then it's time to go and he still hasn't told you about tonight. He does not want to lie to you. He refuses to. But what else can he say? Just that he'll be out late? What if you ask him why? And god, it's not like he's gonna do anything. He's not gonna entertain Mish's offer, not this time. He shouldn't. He won't.

You save him the trouble. Your friend from college is visiting, a girl named Tasha - she's taking you out for the first time ever. He supposes that makes things much easier; no explaining or giving excuses, no revealing things he's not ready to reveal. He dodged a bullet.

Right?

So why does he still feel like such a prick?

He gets home from work and calls Sarah, just like he said he would. He only has a short window of time to do a bit of sprucing - fluff the couch pillows a bit, do a quick wipe down of the bathroom - before the doorbell is ringing and he's jogging to the door with excitement coursing through his veins. The anxiety has dulled at the mere promise of seeing his daughter on the other side of that door.

"DAD!" she squeals excitedly as he thrusts it open, and he's immediately enveloped in the warmth of Sarah's embrace, sweet and familiar.

"Kiddo," he breathes into her hair, feeling tears prick in his eyes like they always do, "Missed ya."

"Missed you too," she says into his shoulder, muffled and quiet, "So much, Dad, you have no idea."

They have their moment together, eyes closed as they sway on the spot and smile tearfully - it's been almost a year since her last visit. It didn't used to feel as palpable, those long periods of time between seeing each other, but as he's gotten older he finds that he misses her a lot; his little pal, not so little anymore. Thirty eight now, a full blown woman with a loving husband and a freshly solid career as an author, the life he always wanted for her.

"How're things?" he asks softly, "You doin' okay? Need any money?"

She laughs, "Things are good. I'm good, I promise."

"How's Jude, he good?"

"He's great, and the book's been doin' really well."

"I'm so happy to hear that, kiddo, really. Happy for both of you."

"Thanks, Dad," she murmurs, sniffling a little bit, "Couldn't have done it without you, hope you know that."

And then she's pulling away, wiping the tears from her eyes and waving to the purple convertible behind her, gesturing for Mish to get out of the car.

Here we go.

She steps out and god, she's gorgeous. Age has done nothing but enhance her beauty. She's never not been the most stunning woman in a room, soft skin a glowing deep umber, supple long legs and playful smile and those dark brown - almost black - eyes that practically sparkle when she looks at him. Like the way she's looking at him now... fuck.

"Hey," she says with a sly grin, shutting the car door behind her and making her way up the front steps.

"Hey," he echoes back, "How was the drive?"

"Long," she groans, reaching him and going in for a hug. It's nowhere near as long or as intimate as Sarah's, but the feeling of her body against his feels just as familiar and comforting. It's so easy to fall back into their rhythm. Too easy. "You been good?" she asks as they part.

He nods quickly, "Yeah, you?"

"Can't complain," she replies with a smile.

"Oh please," Sarah scoffs beside her, "All you've done is complain," she looks to Joel with a grimace, "Alvin's out of the picture."

"Sarah," Mish admonishes quickly, brows narrowing.

"Yeah, I heard somethin' about that," he says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, "Uh - that's too bad, Mish. He was, um... he was a good guy."

"No, he wasn't," she sighs, rolling her eyes and giving Sarah another look, "But that's a conversation for another time, right?"

Sarah puts her hands up in defense, "Sorry, sorry, my bad. We've been in the car too fuckin' long," she peeks past him with a curious expression on her face, "Can we come in? I wanna see your new house."

He shows them around, though there's not much to see, something which Mish points out almost immediately.

"Where's the character?" she asks, raising an eyebrow as she assesses the living room, "Like where's your stuff, Joel?"

"There's not even pictures of us anywhere," Sarah adds with a frown, scanning one of the bookshelves, "It's like we don't even exist."

He grimaces, hands on his hips, "I know, I'm sorry. I still have a few boxes up in the guest room but," he sighs, "You know me, I hate gettin' emotional over shit from the past. And half those boxes got your old school stuff, and-"

"Your Dad's a sentimental guy," Mish interjects with a soft smile, giving him those eyes again, "It's okay, we'll unpack 'em for you."

He scoffs, "We ain't got time for that, Mish."

"I always have time to be sentimental," her smile grows wider and she throws him a wink - his heart stutters.

"Well I always have time for a movie marathon," Sarah suddenly says, turning from the shelves with an array of DVDs in her hands, "Whaddaya say, Dad? Curtis and Viper? After the bar?"

He cocks an eyebrow, "The bar?"

"Oh? Didn't you hear? We're takin' you out, cowboy," Mish says with a smirk, "Or - I guess you're takin' us out. Whatever, either way we're goin' for dinner and drinks like the well adjusted wholesome family we are."

"And then we're gonna eat too much junk food and pass out on the couch like the good old days," Sarah adds, tossing the DVDs onto the coffee table, "Miller family fun."

"And do I get any say in this?"

They both turn to him at the same time with almost the same expression on their faces, and he knows he's already lost.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

They have dinner at their favorite chain, practically inhale their burgers and fries as Sarah and Mish catch Joel up on the trip so far, where they've been, what they've seen. He's grateful that the conversation is still on them by the time they get the check and start heading to the bar; he really doesn't want to answer any questions about himself tonight unless he has to.

The bar is louder than usual, much more packed than he's ever seen it. He grumbles this to Sarah and Mish but they just roll their eyes and order their drinks, cozying up together on their barstools and laughing hysterically over things that certainly aren't that funny. They're exhausted from their road trip and he can tell, tries to urge them to head back to the house after about fifteen minutes of being at the bar, but they resist.

"I like this place better than your old joint," Mish calls to him over the chatter, "Smells better too."

"Am I supposed to say thank you?" he calls back with a grin, and she just rolls her eyes and orders him another whiskey.

They don't stay too long, just enough for the girls to get their fill and toss back a few beers, continuing to tell Joel about their trip. Sarah scrolls through the pictures on her phone and shows him the tourist traps, the stops they've made here and there, the food they've eaten. Mish chimes in every so often to add her own anecdotes, bouncing off Sarah's stories naturally like she always has.

He loves how easy it feels to be with them, how comfortable, how safe. He's missed them so much. He wishes things could just stay like this for the rest of the night, simple and light, but every so often he catches Mish looking at him from under her lashes, those dark eyes searching his for something in particular, and he remembers there's still something they haven't addressed.

"Oh my god, Mom," Sarah suddenly says with wide eyes, pointing toward the front of the bar, "Do you see that girl's hat?"

"Where?"

"Those girls over there, look at that purple cowboy hat. Fuuuck, we should be wearing ours!"

Joel rolls his eyes, not bothering to look in the direction Sarah's pointing to and instead focusing on his whiskey, trying to think of ways he can get them out of this bar. Curtis & Viper is suddenly calling his name.

"They're still in the car if you wanna grab 'em," Mish says with a laugh, tossing Sarah the keys, "If you can walk straight."

"Oh please, I've had one beer. We're not all lightweights in this family, ya know," she presses a kiss to her mother's cheek before sliding past to head back to the front of the bar.

"Well, now that we have a moment alone..." she leans forward a bit on her elbow, hand cupping her chin as she tilts her head, "You didn't answer my question the other day, cowboy."

Here it is, the conversation he's been dreading, the one thing he's been putting off talking about the most. And why has he been dreading it? Why has he been filled with so much discomfort and anxiety at the thought of telling Mish that even though he's technically single, he can't be with her this time? It's not like she'd be angry with him, like she'd misunderstand or throw a fit over it. So why can't he just say it?

He knows why. It's because he doesn't want to tell Mish about you. It's because the second he says no, she'll see right through him; she'll know. She'll know immediately that there's somebody else, and she'll clock his feelings - the feelings he's been forcing himself to bury - and then he'll have to confront them, what they really mean.

And as usual, he's terrified.

He plays dumb, "What question?"

She inches the stool forward with a smirk, eyeing him pointedly as he feels her bare leg touch his jeans, slowly drifting up and down along his calf. Fuck. She tilts her head, eyes falling to his lips and then going back up to meet his gaze.

"Playin' coy, are we?" she asks softly, "Need me to say it out loud, huh?"

He feels goosebumps rise all over his arms at the sound of her voice like that, low and sultry; it's the voice she reserves just for these private moments together, fully aware of the effect she has over him.

"You gonna fuck me, cowboy?" she continues, eyes falling to his lips again, "Huh? You been missin' me in your bed?"

Fuck.

He doesn't say anything, just watches as her face moves a little closer to his, the hint of his favorite sly smile puling at the corner of her mouth. She assesses him quietly, gaze raking over his features.

"You're shy tonight, aren't you?" she says, fluttering her lashes, "You need me to take care of you, baby boy? You need your mommy?"

Only Mish could get away with saying something like that to him. He can't help but let a grin cross his own face as he shakes his head at the words, feeling his cheeks flush. He's still unsure what to say, what to think, how to feel. Under any other circumstance they would already be fucking in a bathroom stall at this point, and in a few seconds she's gonna realize that and wonder why the fuck he won't give in.

She kisses him then. Softly.

And it's right. It's so fucking right in all the ways it's always been. Her mouth is warm, lips plump and wet and sweet against his, capturing his bottom lip between hers in that seductive fashion she's oh so good at. Without any thought, as if on instinct, his hand comes up to cup her face, holding her there for a moment as he breathes her in. He realizes how easy it would be to just fall back into this rhythm, this old habit they've been indulging themselves in for years. It just feels so right.

But it's also so fucking wrong.

It's wrong. It's so wrong. This is not the mouth he wants to be kissing. For years, he's always found comfort and safety in Mish's kiss, never once felt like what they were doing was incorrect or some kind of mistake. But now it's like every fiber of his being is telling him to stop. To pull away. To end this as soon as possible.

So he does.

He takes a deep breath as they separate, pulls back from her on his stool a bit and takes another sip of whiskey. No, this can't happen. It's not going to happen. But he's gonna have to tell her that, otherwise she'll take the next step and he's not sure he'll be able to reign it in after that. The thought of her naked body underneath him in his bed is admittedly a tantalizing offer, the thought of being inside her again after so many years apart...

But she won't be the first naked woman in that bed. In that house. Someone else has already staked their claim, regardless of whether what he shares with you is real or not. And that thought is what pulls him out of it.

"Sarah's right," he says with a smile, "You are a lightweight."

She cocks her brow, "You think I'm drunk?"

He chuckles and takes another sip, "I think you're only here for one night and we should be spendin' that one night with our daughter."

She doesn't say anything for a second, just watches him thoughtfully until he finally meets her gaze again.

"Joel Miller, are you gettin' laid?"

He almost chokes on his whiskey, unable to stop himself from snorting as he shakes his head and peers at her with that fond look he's always given her, the one that lets her know that despite everything, he fucking adores her. She leans a bit closer, tilting her head a bit more with intrigue.

"Seriously, you seein' anyone?" she seems genuinely interested, eyes alight with curiosity, "You got someone new?"

Before he can say anything - before he even really knows what to say - Sarah has reappeared at the bar, hats in hand. He looks down at them and raises an eyebrow as Mish grabs hers, or rather his, the ratty old brown one he used to wear sometimes in the eighties. She grins and winks as if to say yeah, I stole it, so what?

"Okay well, purple cowboy hat girl is currently holding her friend's hair while she throws up on the sidewalk," Sarah sighs, placing her own atop her head.

Joel and Mish groan simultaneously, "Been there," they both say at the same time, catching each other's eye before Joel turns his attention back to his drink, almost gone now. She doesn't ask him anything else, but he knows this conversation is far from over.

Sarah drops them off at his place, promising to be back in a bit with the much anticipated junk food - no point in them all going together. Joel almost tells her not to go, his heart in his throat as he and Mish climb out of the car. He can't believe how desperate he suddenly is to not be alone with her. But he can't bring himself to say anything.

Coward.

She walks into the house first, almost like she's leading him into the lion's den. There's no escaping her questions now, no more running away from the inevitable. He has to tell her before it's too late. The front door closes behind them and they stand frozen for a moment, not speaking, not even really looking at each other. He could cut the tension with a knife.

"So how 'bout showin' me those boxes?" she finally asks, turning to give him a smile.

They make their way up the stairs to the guest room, Joel's anxiety reaching new levels when they pass by his bedroom. He not so subtly grabs the knob and pulls the door closed, tries to pretend he doesn't notice Mish eyeing him as he does it.

The guest room is still pretty bare bones, only a bed and dresser occupying the space, along with about half a dozen cardboard boxes. He's been meaning to do it up for when Sarah comes to stay, do some decorating, but he's never been good at that kind of stuff - Mish and Sarah were always the creative ones.

They crouch on the floor together and Joel watches as Mish pops open the first box, digging her hand inside and immediately coming out with a framed photo of Sarah's kindergarten graduation.

"Aw, look," she murmurs, thumbing the glass lightly and turning it toward him, "Little bean."

"She was so excited you came," he says with a smile, "It was all she talked about for months."

Mish smiles back sadly, eyeing the photograph one more time before placing it on the floor. She reaches in again and comes out with another framed photo, this one of an even younger Sarah being pushed on a swing by Joel. She's probably almost two, chubby legs poking out through the holes of the swing as she giggles in wonder, Joel standing behind, squinting against the sun.

"I've always loved this one," she says quietly, showing it to him, "Always wanted a copy to keep."

"We can make that happen," he takes it from her and looks down at it himself, feeling a mixture of emotions flutter in his heart at his much younger self - freshly twenty - pushing his little girl. He'd been on his own for a while at that point; he can see the tiredness in his expression, the loneliness.

"Still mad I missed all that," she murmurs, sitting back on her heels and sighing deeply, "Hate myself so much sometimes."

He's not sure what to say, just puts the picture back down and reaches in for another one - Sarah's high school graduation this time. It's a backyard photo, one taken at the barbecue they'd had with about thirty people all crammed into one frame. There are smiles all around, beer bottles raised, and Sarah in the center wearing that beautiful purple dress she'd spent almost a year working on. Mish and Joel stand on either side of her, frozen in a moment of laughter.

What the camera didn't catch was that behind that purple dress, they were holding hands.

"What a party that was, huh?" Mish glances up at him from under her lashes, those dark eyes sparkling with nostalgia, "You remember?"

He smiles softly, "I remember."

The arrangement started in '03.

They hadn't seen each other in about three years when she showed up on his doorstep in the summer of '96. She'd been in and out of their lives before then, usually called every other week to check in and talk to Sarah but rarely ever showed her face. Sarah barely knew her but had a love for her that burned so deep that Joel couldn't say half the things he wanted to. Couldn't tell his daughter that her mother was unpredictable and unreliable, that she'd disappeared for almost two years after Sarah had been born, hadn't checked in once, had only begun to show up again in 1988 when Sarah was almost three. And then one day the calls just stopped coming and he had no other choice but to tell her the truth. She was only eight.

Mish showing up again out of the blue when Sarah was eleven was not something they could have ever predicted. He was angry. She was sorry. She'd been to a facility, had been seeing a psychiatrist and a therapist for a solid chunk of time and was on medication. Sarah slapped her across the face and sprinted barefoot down the street until her toes were bloody and she couldn't run anymore. Joel found her and cradled her in his arms like he'd done when she was a baby, promised he'd make Mish go away if that's what Sarah wanted.

It was not what she wanted. She wanted a mom. She wanted her mom. She wanted them to be together.

After that, all they could do was try and heal.

And Mish tried. She did. She was ready. Joel was willing to listen. Sarah forgave, slowly. By Christmas of '97 they were living together again. They'd put their wedding rings back on.

But it couldn't last.

"Maybe this just isn't meant to work," she'd whispered to him tearfully on their back patio on a rainy day in March of '98, head in her hands, "I'm better in some ways but worse in others. I'm not meant for this kinda life, Joel. I just can't stay still anymore."

"Maybe we aren't meant to work," he'd told her firmly, "But Sarah needs you, Michelle. You can't just keep coming back into her life and then disappearing. If you do, you're never gonna see her again."

"I know," she'd whispered, quiet and scared, "I know, Joel. And I won't, I'll never do that to her ever again. But I just..." she'd hung her head, tears streaming down her face, "I just don't know what to do."

He'd suddenly felt a flash of deja vu, a reminder of a moment similar to this one twelve years earlier, when he'd held her just like this while she'd cried in his arms, hopelessness raking through both their trembling forms in the downpour.

"They'll kill me, Joel. They're gonna kill me. How am I supposed to be a mom? This can't be real. This isn't happening. What are we gonna do?"

"I don't know, Mish. But I'm with you, okay? I'm not goin' anywhere. You got me. I don't care what they think, what they wanna do. It's just you and me, you hear me?"

"You and me, Joel. Just you and me."

She left Joel and the life they'd cultivated in the year since she came back, but she didn't leave Sarah, not this time. She kept up with regular visits, called often, tried her best to be a mother in the only ways she knew how. Eventually Joel stopped worrying she'd disappear again, and she didn't. Sarah and Mish's relationship wasn't an easy one, especially during those first few years of being reconnected, but eventually they were mother and daughter again. The way it always should have been. They'd go on adventures together, road trips and concerts and trips to amusement parks, everything they could to make up for lost time.

As for she and Joel, they became friends. For the first time in a long time they talked again, really talked. They got to know each other from scratch without the pressures of trying to be people they weren't; she'd come to stay every so often and she'd be more than welcome in their home, a reassuring presence to Sarah and a comforting one for him. There were times he almost kissed her again, almost embraced her the way they used to embrace, but then he'd remind himself that they didn't work. Couldn't work. He'd push the feelings down and love her from a distance, the only way he could.

She came to stay for Sarah's graduation in '03. They had a big party, invited everyone they knew, got very drunk. The inevitable finally happened, something they'd been skirting around for the past few years every time they saw each other, the attraction and tension building and building the longer they went without admitting that they still wanted one another. They'd been through the ringer together and came out the other side and still looked at each other like they had in high school. It was only a matter of time.

They fucked all night and into the morning.

"Oh my god," he'd groaned into her ear, naked bodies splayed against each other in bed, entwined together for the first time in almost seven years, "I missed that. Jesus fuck, I missed that."

It was only meant to be that one time, a celebration of some sort that happened unexpectedly but never again. That was the case until she came back in '06, still single, still beautiful, and he couldn't help himself. They both couldn't help themselves.

The arrangement was simple: whenever they reunited with each other and they were both single, both wanted it, they'd have sex.

It worked. And it was good, so fucking good. Every time. They were wild with it, felt younger than they'd ever been whenever they were tangled up in Joel's bed, on the couch, in the shower. They tried new things together and had more fun than they'd ever had when they were actually in a relationship. Each time it was like they were playing pretend; pretending for a short while that their everyday problems didn't exist, nothing else existed but them. Just them - just this moment.

The last time he saw Mish was four years ago. He'd been fresh out of his last relationship, the only relationship that had really meant something to him since his marriage. Tess was lovely, beautiful and funny and exactly the person he'd needed after those tumultuous years with Mish; someone calm and collected, stable and secure. They were just friends first, for a while, but eventually developed a sexual relationship that was only ever meant to be casual. After about a year she'd confessed her feelings and he'd thought, what the hell, I might as well try. Unfortunately, his what the hell attitude had been a steady feature of their entire relationship, and he'd never been able to fully be what she'd needed.

It was his fault it ended, but that hadn't stopped him from feeling heartbroken over it. And when Sarah and Mish had visited she'd dressed his wounds in the only way she really knew how - sex. The sex was always good with Mish, regardless of the situation. It was always what they needed. But it could only ever be sex because their personalities were never meant to blend; she was flighty and wild and needed space - he was steady and serious and enjoyed the comforts of home. And those early years were something he'd never get back, something he still blamed her for, and she knew it. It could never work, as much as they may have tried early on.

She'd been on the cusp of a new relationship, this guy Alvin who she'd met in Philadelphia, but nothing was set in stone yet and she wanted Joel to feel good.

"Nothing else matters right now," she'd whispered in the darkness of their old bedroom, the one he'd shared with her countless times over the past twenty years, "It's just you and me, Joel. It's always been you and me."

"You and me, Mish," he'd repeated, hands firm against her bare back as she slowly began to ride him, "Just us, just you and me."

He's still staring at the picture of their younger selves when her hand slowly comes down to touch one of his. He swallows tightly, feels her eyes on him, senses her moving closer.

"Mish," he whispers; an acknowledgement? A warning?

He feels a finger on his chin, tilting his head up to meet her gaze, and then she's kissing him again. It's different than it was at the bar, much less soft, less reserved. She moans into his mouth as the picture falls to the floor, pushes him down so he's laying flat and then throws a leg over his thighs. She situates herself in his lap in the span of about five seconds and he barely has any time to register what's even happening.

But when he does... he's not happy.

"Stop," he mumbles against her mouth, bringing his hands down to grab her hips and carefully pull her off of him. Her brows furrow in confusion as he slides her away and sits back up, kneels and then stands with a groan. His fucking knees.

"Why?" she asks, peering up at him from the floor.

"'Cause... 'cause nothin'," he lies, shaking his head and sitting down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, wincing as his bones crack from being on the floor in such an odd position, "Nothin', I'm just tired."

She follows him up from the floor and onto the bed, seats herself beside him and leans in to mouth gently against his neck, hot and wet, "That's okay, baby. I can do all the work."

"I said no, Mish," he repeats, standing up again and walking away from the bed, "I don't want to."

"Why?" she repeats, adamant now.

He splutters, kicking his feet and not meeting her gaze, "Sarah'll be back soon, there's no time."

"Time has never been an issue before, you know that more than anybody."

"I just don't want you right now, alright?" it comes out much louder and angrier than he'd intended, "Jesus Christ, Mish."

That stops her short, the room plunging into silence as she stares at him from her place on the edge of the bed. Her lips begin to tremble, hands coming to wring together in her lap uncomfortably. She shakes her head slowly, tears welling in her wide eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, voice shaky, "I'm sorry, Joel."

God dammit. He hadn't meant to make her cry.

With a sigh he walks back over to the bed, sitting down beside her again - but not as close this time. She continues to stare forward, still tugging at her hands as tears slowly start to make their way down her cheeks. He feels a familiar pang of pity in his heart, the urge to comfort her like he always has, hold her close and kiss her softly. But he doesn't do that; instead, he places a hand on hers to halt her movements, squeezes them gently.

"You wanna know why it didn't work out with Alvin, Joel?" she asks quietly.

"Why?"

She takes a shaky breath, "He had a wife. A fuckin' wife and three kids. Young kids, still in school, still livin' at home."

"Jesus," he mutters.

"And you wanna know how I found out? Because one night he was sayin' her name when he was fuckin' me; Sharon. Fuckin' Sharon. Repeatin' it over and over without even realizing. And then he had the audacity to act like he didn't know what the hell I was talkin' about." The tears are flowing steadily now, staining her cheeks and dripping down onto their locked hands, "I did some diggin', found out his real name, found his whole other life. I've been a fuckin' mistress for four years and had no clue."

"Michelle..." he breathes.

"Don't call me that," she snaps, turning her face away from him and trying to reign the tears back in but failing miserably, voice coming out in sobs now, "You know how long it's been since someone wanted me, Joel? Actually wanted me? I get that I'm a shitty person. I know I fucked up a lot in my life. I mean, maybe I don't deserve love, 'cause why the hell can't I fuckin' find it? Why does nobody want me?"

"Stop," he says firmly, squeezing her hands tighter, "Don't say shit like that, don't think that way."

"But it's true," she cries, pulling her hands away and bringing them up to her face, "I just needed to be wanted again, Joel. Just for a night, and now you don't even want me."

"That's- that's not true, Mish, come on."

"You literally just said the words two minutes ago," she's suddenly inconsolable, tears streaming down her face as she sobs beside him, "You don't want me, no one wants me."

His arms come up to wrap around her, pull her close to him as she cries harder. He doesn't know what the fuck to do, how to be what she needs without being what she needs. It's an impossible position to be in; how can he just walk out the door and leave her sitting there like this? Leave her so sad, so broken?

"Joel, I need this," she whispers, peering up at him through her wet lashes and leaning her head forward to rest against his shoulder, "Please. I need you."

God. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. What the fuck is he supposed to do? How the fuck can he say no when she's looking at him like that, begging for him?

"Please," she repeats, turning her head and pressing a wet kiss to the skin of his collarbone, "Please, Joel, please," her kisses slowly move up to his neck, warm and safe and familiar. His eyes start to close, lips parting as she keeps going, "It's just us, it's you and me."

Just us, you and me.

"Stay here," he finally breathes, thumbing the skin of her hip reassuringly, "Just - just stay here, okay? I'll be right back."

He finds himself thirty seconds later just standing in his bedroom, unmoving, unsure, thoughts going a mile a minute. He breathes in and out slowly, tries to calm the anxiety threatening to burst through the seams of his very being. What the fuck am I doing? What the actual fuck am I doing right now?

He goes through the motions without really feeling or understanding them. Goes to the bathroom and relieves himself, splashes cold water on his face and stares at his reflection for too long. Heads back to his bedroom and just stands there again, heart pounding. She's waiting for him. Time is passing and he's just standing there.

"Joel?" he hears her call out, voice still thick with tears.

He does not want her to follow him in here. He does not want to have sex in this bed.

With shaky steps he walks over to his nightstand and tugs it open, sees the box of condoms. Stares at them. Stares at them so long that she calls out again.

"Joel? You comin'?"

He feels like he's underwater, ears ringing as his hand trembles on the handle of the drawer, itching to just slam it closed again. What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?

And then he sees it.

He'd completely forgotten it was there, has been doing his best this entire night to not think about you that he's already managed to forget what happened last night. But he remembers now. He reaches down, hand suddenly completely steady, and pulls the gold chain to entwine around his fingers. It's like he's touching you in a way, feeling you, sensing you - your tears, your sadness, your anger, your insecurities - all wrapped up in this one little cross.

He thumbs it carefully, eyes softening, anxiety ebbing away as the seconds pass. He pictures your lovely face this morning, all sleepy and pretty and perfect in the glow of the early sunrise, the way your hair framed your face, the way you bit your lip shyly when you told him what was on your mind.

He hears footsteps in the hall, knows she's coming, but he doesn't care. Just keeps standing there with his hand curled around your crucifix and warmth filling his chest.

He hears the door open, hears her step inside.

"I can't," he says softly, before she can speak.

Silence. Then -

"What's that?"

"It's..." he closes his fist around the crucifix and then shuts the drawer slowly, still looking down at it. When he finally brings his head up he sees Mish standing near the side of the bed, looking at him with confusion in her eyes.

He swallows tightly, "There's someone else, Mish."

He watches the realization dawn on her face, the confusion fading and acceptance flooding her features. She nods slowly, bringing a hand up to wipe the tears still trickling down her cheeks. "You coulda just said that," she breathes, closing her eyes, "Why didn't you just say?"

He doesn't reply, doesn't know what to say. Or rather, knows what to say but can't say it because then it'll make it real. And he's still so fucking scared for it to be real.

Mish slowly walks forward and sits on the edge of the bed, taking a few steadying breaths to calm herself. "Feel like a fuckin' idiot," she mumbles; she seems okay now, nowhere near as hysterical as she'd been before.

"You're not an idiot," he murmurs. God, he should have just fucking told her. He should have said something.

"So, who is she?" she asks quietly.

"She's..." he swallows again, taking a seat on the other side of the bed, facing the opposite direction, "She's a girl I met a little while ago." A few weeks ago, he mentally corrects. Almost a month. Barely any time at all.

She clocks that. "Girl? Or woman?"

"....Girl."

"How old?"

"Twenty one."

"Jesus," he's not sure what she's thinking when he can't see her face, not sure if she's angry or disgusted or just surprised, "I mean, wow. That's... that's young, Joel."

"I know."

"Never known you to go even ten years lower."

"I know."

Silence again. He's waiting for her to ask the question, the one he knows is coming, the one he's been dreading every since he got that text from Sarah on Wednesday. The one that will force him to admit what he's so desperately been trying to bury.

"So... is it just sex? Or is it..." she trails off for a few seconds, "Is it more?"

There it is.

"I don't know," he murmurs, putting his face in his hands and hunching over the side of the bed with a groan, "I don't know what it is but she's... she's in my head, ya know? She's everywhere, can't stop fuckin' thinkin' about her." The crucifix digs into his cheek, probably making an imprint in his skin, "She's so fuckin' young but, God, Mish, she's so fuckin' sweet. I wanna... I wanna take care of her, ya know? But-" he feels the tears flooding his eyes, tries to swallow his feelings as best he can, "I'm just.. I can't..."

"You're in over your head," she acknowledges softly, "You don't know what you're doin'."

"I don't."

"And that scares the fuck outta you, huh?"

"Pretty much."

They don't say anything else for a few moments, both absorbing the revelation in silence and neither really knowing what else to say about it. This night has gone in a direction that neither were prepared for and he's not sure they'll be able to fix it before Sarah gets back. Which reminds him...

"You'd think Sarah woulda been back by now."

Mish snorts, a welcome sound in the middle of so much tension. He turns around to look at her, finds her doing the exact same thing.

"I told her to give us forty five minutes to an hour, tops," she says with a half smile.

Of course she did.

Mish decides to get a cab back to the motel she and Sarah booked. He doesn't argue. He knows it's for the best, knows there will be another, better conversation some time in the future and that despite everything, they'll see each other again.

"She's lucky to have you," she tells him softly at the front door, wrapping her arms around him in a warm embrace. He can hear the sincerity in her words, knows she means it. "You'll take care of her, Joel. Like you take care of everyone."

He just closes his eyes, pulls her in closer and lets the tears fall.

Sarah gets back with the food, doesn't question where Mish is; she must have texted her and told her she wouldn't be here. There's no awkwardness or questions, just the same old familiarity and love as Sarah pops the first DVD into the ancient player they've had forever and settles in beside him on the couch. They only half-watch it, continuously getting distracted by each other's dumb commentary and random anecdotes about the past. This is what he wanted tonight to be. Just this.

He tries his best to be present with Sarah, but by the time they're halfway through the second film he can't stop thinking about you. He'd spent so much of today trying to push thoughts of you away and now your face is suddenly all he can see whenever he blinks, your soft giggles and whimpers echoing in his ears. He wonders what you're doing, if you're having a nice time with your friend, if you're being careful like he'd told you to be. You'd said this was your first time going out and he just hopes you're safe. Your crucifix sits reassuringly in the pocket of his jeans, almost like a part of you is still here with him.

He excuses himself to use the bathroom and sends you a quick text:

Hope you're having a good night, babygirl. You deserve to have some fun. I'll see you tomorrow. Be safe.❤️

He feels the urge to press a kiss to his phone and wonders when the hell he got so damn soft. He can practically hear Mish's voice telling him you've always been soft, dummy. She'd be right.

They both wake up the next morning still snuggled up on the couch, Sarah on one end and him on the other. He yawns and stretches, groans when he feels a searing pain in his lower back; fuck, he shouldn't have slept on the couch.

"Old man," Sarah mocks quietly with a glint in her eye, and he playfully slaps her leg.

He checks his phone when Sarah heads to the bathroom, hopes maybe you'll have replied to him when you got in last night, but there's nothing there. He frowns but lets logic soothe him, reminding himself that you were probably too tired when you got back and fell asleep right away. He sends you another text, just to be sure:

You get home ok? Let me know x

He'll see you soon for your lesson anyway.

After breakfast he walks Sarah out onto the front step, hand holding hers tightly, almost afraid to let go. She smiles up at him sadly and squeezes back, a silent promise.

"I'll visit again real soon, Dad," she says quietly, "Sooner than last time. I'll bring Jude too, y'all can watch football together."

He smiles with watery eyes, "I'm countin' on it, kiddo."

"You're not lonely, are you?" she suddenly asks, expression one of love and concern, "You got people here, right?"

Your face crosses his mind again, your lovely smile, that little line between your brows, "I'm not lonely," he reassures her softly, "Promise."

He means it.

They hug each other tenderly, basking in one last moment together before they inevitably have to pull away. She walks to her car and turns back with one final wave, tears glistening in her eyes. He waves back and then heads back inside the house quickly before she can see what a mess he is, hands coming up to cover his eyes on the other side of the door as he pulls himself together.

And then, just like that, he's alone again.

You don't show up to your lesson.

His first thought is that you're still asleep, probably hungover from last night and desperately in need of some rest. He doesn't blame you, has had more bad hangovers than he can even count. He checks in with you anyway, hoping he'll hear back soon when you wake up.

Another hour passes; he's already cleaned up the kitchen, vacuumed up the popcorn lining the couch and living room floor, rearranged the DVDs, and suddenly the boxes upstairs in the guest room are calling his name. Anything to make the time pass, anything to distract himself from the fact that he still hasn't heard from you.

He texts you again after two hours, after he's finished unpacking two boxes. He just sends some question marks this time. It's around noon now and he keeps trying to convince himself that you're just sleeping, probably still passed out in bed with leftover alcohol buzzing through your veins. The thought makes him wish he was there with you, taking care of you, bringing you glasses of water and cuddling with you until you feel better.

It's mid afternoon when he starts to question whether or not you even got home. He knows you're not home home, that you'd gone to an Airbnb with your friend for the weekend, but he has no idea where it is and if you're even there. What if something happened on the night out? What if you got lost or got too fucked up to figure out how to get back? What if someone you didn't know took you back with them?

He feels sick to his stomach. This time he does the only rational thing he feels he can do - he calls you. He sits on the edge of his bed, toes tapping against the hardwood floor as he waits for you to pick up, but you don't. It goes to voicemail. He hangs up and tries again. Same thing.

He texts you again, but something tells him you won't be reading them any time soon.

He leaves the house to clear his head, anxiously tapping on the wheel as he drives around the neighborhood. He passes by your parents' house a few times, eyeing the property and trying his best to see past the ridiculous fence they have blocking off the place. He makes out a police car in the driveway and almost has a panic attack before he remembers that your father is a cop and that's just the vehicle he drives.

He calls and texts you a few more times as the evening comes around. He pours himself some whiskey and tries to calm himself down, breathes in and out, practices the exercises he's had to depend on throughout most of his life. He's always had an anxiety problem, has been on and off medication for it for years. He briefly considers popping an Ativan before realizing that he probably shouldn't mix it with alcohol.

The alcohol messes with his head a bit as darkness falls. He starts to wonder if maybe you did get back safe, just with someone else, someone new. Maybe you met someone, had a connection, took them home and let them be the one to fuck you for the first time. Maybe the reason you're not reaching out is because you're afraid of what he'll say, afraid he'll be angry.

While the thought makes him feel sick and sad, he's even sicker and sadder about not knowing where the fuck you are. He sends you a text to reiterate this, hoping you'll read it and understand:

Just a text is all I need honey. I promise. If you're not feeling this anymore that's okay. Just wanna know you got home safe last night.

He's already unpacked all the boxes, peppered photographs and music memorabilia all over his house as the day came to a close, and now he has nothing else to do but just sit and wait. So he waits. And waits. And waits.

You still don't reply.

He calls you over and over again, wondering what the fuck he's going to do. He can't in good conscious just let this go on, just stop contacting you and let you come back to him on your own. What if something bad really did happen? What if you're really fucked up somewhere? What if someone took advantage of you? He can't just sit idly by and wait.

He lays in bed and stares at the ceiling, feels tears sting his eyes every time he comes up with a new concept as to where you are, what could have happened. All he wants is to have you here with him, warm and soft in his bed, close in all the ways he needs you.

I don't know what to do angel. Can't stop thinking about you. Wish you were here in my arms. Please be safe.

He's scaring himself the longer he thinks about where you could be, knows he has to take action. He decides that if he still hasn't heard from you by tomorrow morning, he'll tell somebody. Whether it be the police or your parents, it doesn't really matter - they're one and the same.

He sends you one last text before the whiskey puts him to sleep:

Please.

The doorbell wakes him up. At first he thinks maybe he's hearing things, especially when he tiredly unlocks his phone and sees that it's three in the morning, but then it rings again. And again. Over and over like someone is pressing the button repeatedly. He sits up in bed with a jolt and swings his legs over the side, heart racing as he practically sprints down the stairs.

He turns on the light, squinting with tired and bleary eyes through the frosted glass along the side of the door. He can make out something pink and his eyes widen. He grabs the handle and tugs the door open, only for his body to immediately collide with someone else's, a beautiful girl in a pink dress.

It's you. His beautiful girl. His angel. Standing there almost completely unable to hold yourself upright as you lean against him, arms coming up to wrap around his middle. He holds you close, momentarily frozen in shock.

"Are you okay?"

You're so out of it. He takes you to the couch and you can barely open your eyes, can barely get words out as you flop drunkenly against the cushions. He can't tell if you're drunk or high or both, trying his best to get your attention, desperately asking what you took, where you've been. It's terrifying to see you like this, so completely not yourself, loose and uninhibited in the worst way. You tell him you came here with Tasha and he waves her inside, hoping she can help shed some light on what the fuck happened to you.

Tasha is something else. She stands her ground, doesn't back down when he clearly tries to intimidate her, consistently tries to get past him and reach for you despite his attempts to block her. He's angry, so fucking angry that she could let this happen to you. How long have you been like this? How long has this "night out" been going on? Did it turn into a fucking bender?

"She knows what you've been doing, you asshole." The words mean nothing to him, he has no idea what the fuck she's even talking about. They're clearly both wasted - you more than her - and have somehow wound up at his house at three in the morning by some miraculous volition. He's not letting you leave with her, that's for sure.

Then you say the same thing to him and he's beyond confused, waiting to be let in on whatever sick fucking joke is being played on him right now. What do they think he's been doing? What do they think they know? What have their intoxicated brains convinced themselves of?

And then the other shoe drops.

"We saw you kiss someone else."

That feeling he'd had yesterday - that sensation of being underwater - returns in full force. He stares at you; not Tasha, you. Because as soon as she says it your eyes tear away from him to stare at the floor, lips trembling in sadness, hands shaking beneath Tasha's arms. He can see it in your expression, in your body language despite the alcohol - you're fucking heartbroken. You can't even look at him.

He tries to explain but the words aren't coming out right; he's sure he sounds absolutely pathetic as he just stands there in the middle of the living room, stumbling over his words like the absolute fool he is. You still don't look at him. You don't say anything, and it kills him.

That's when he realizes that Tasha is not the one in the wrong here. It's him. He's the one who deserves to be shouted at, intimidated, made to feel small. He's the one who fucked up. It's him.

And then - if the situation hadn't already been bad enough - Tasha informs him that you'd seen Sarah leaving this morning. His eyes go wide, heart racing like a steam engine in his chest as he shakes his head and wonders how the fuck this could be happening right now. The past few days he's been so unsure about letting you know the real him, didn't know if he'd ever be able to tell you - and now he has no choice. No choice but to drop a bomb on you in this sad and drunken state, otherwise leave you believing that he's been doing god knows what with god knows who.

"That was my daughter."

You register the words and finally look at him, and his heart swells three sizes in his chest when your gazes meet. Just for a moment you don't look as sad, don't look as broken. You peer into his eyes and he thinks for a moment that maybe you see him, really see him, for the first time. It's both terrifying and incredible and he doesn't know how he manages to get the words out, but he does.

He knows now what he has to do.

He has to tell you. He has to tell you everything.

Tasha apologizes and helps you back out to the cab. He watches her place you carefully inside, watches as you turn your head to look out the back window, still peering at him with that look on your face that he can't really explain. He stands and waits until you've disappeared down the street before going back inside, where he immediately collapses onto the couch, exhausted.

He reaches inside his pocket and tugs out your crucifix, brings it up to his neck with trembling hands and manages to latch it around his neck. He palms the cross, presses it into the bare skin at his collarbone.

She's safe, he thinks to himself, she's safe and that's all that matters.

In the morning, as soon as he wakes up, he sends you a text:

I'm so sorry. Words can't even describe how fucking ashamed and embarrassed I am. I can't imagine how horrible that must have been for you. I understand if you don't want to see me anymore, but I want to tell you everything, if you'll let me. I hope you're feeling okay today, angel. Drink lots of water, stay with Tasha. Text me whenever you're ready.

He wants to cry, thinking about how much he hurt you. He wouldn't blame you for wanting this to just be over now, to move on and pretend like you never even met him that day on his front step. He feels so fucking ashamed of himself, angry for not telling Mish the truth from the beginning, horrified that you'd seen him in a moment of weakness like that, a moment of cowardice.

The crucifix stays on his neck throughout his shower and breakfast. He's never been one to wear jewelry, and god knows he's never been one to wear jewelry with religious imagery, but somehow it calms him to have it on, soothes him. His anxiety feels better despite the circumstances, and he's grateful.

His phone buzzes around eleven and the force at which he picks it up almost sends it flying across the room. His brow furrows when he sees a text from an unknown number:

hey it's tasha. sorry about last night. that was a shitshow. she's awake and feeling better, just wanted you to know.

She didn't have to do that and he knows it.

Thank you. I'm glad she has you. I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you, I was just really worried about her.

that's ok. i know you're a good guy. she knows it too.

Do you, though? Do you really still think of him as being someone you can trust, someone you can talk to? Someone you can give yourself to completely?

i'm gonna send you the address of the airbnb. i think you should come talk to her.

The address follows and he puts it into his maps app; it's not too far, he can make it there in about forty minutes.

Thank you so much Tasha

text when ur here, i'll let you in.

He sits in his truck for a lot longer than he needs to after pulling up to the house. He knows he has to tell you everything now, that you're going to want answers and that he'll give them to you. But he's made a discovery in the past twelve hours that has his head reeling:

He wants to tell you. He wants you to know all about him. Suddenly, he doesn't mind that he's old and washed up and pathetic. He wants you to know that, wants you to see the real him, who he really is. The unpretty, uncharming reality of his mediocre life. He isn't sure that you'll want it, that you'll want him, but what he's sure of is that he's tired of pretending.

What Mish had said on Friday night - "You know how long it's been since someone wanted me, Joel? Actually wanted me?" - it had resonated with him in a way he hadn't been expecting. He knows that feeling, has been feeling it for years without actually saying it aloud because admitting it was too painful, too scary.

He's been putting on a front for his entire life. First, to his parents, then to Mish, then Sarah, then the select few women who'd come in and out of his life, then Tess, and now you. And he's tired. He's so fucking tired of pretending to be someone else. For the first time in a long time, he actually wants to be him.

I'm here.

Tasha opens the door to let him inside. The house is pretty cozy, probably one of the more inexpensive ones you both could find. He notes the leftover snacks littering the table and couch, the empty wine glasses. He hopes you had fun here, at least for a little while. Before he fucking ruined it.

"She's asleep," Tasha says, closing the door behind him and ushering him inside, "I wanna talk to you for a sec, before you go in."

He nods and she gestures toward the couch for him to sit. He takes his place on the edge, knees together as he looks up at her and waits for her to speak.

"I'm her best friend," she says firmly, hands on her hips - she means business, "I've known her for three years now and I know her better than anyone."

He nods slowly.

"She's really coming into herself right now," Tasha continues, "She's making big discoveries, figuring out who she is and what she wants. You know that."

"I do."

"And... well, we both know that what she wants most is you."

He swallows then, feels his heart begin to pound, clenching his fists at his knees.

"This thing with your ex, is it over?"

"Yes," he says immediately, "She'll always be my daughter's mother, she'll always be my friend, but that part of our relationship is over."

"And you mean that?"

"I mean it."

She assesses him and slowly nods, then curls her finger and urges him to stand back up. He does, suddenly towering over her in the small living room.

"First door on the left," she tells him, then walks to the front door, "I'll give you some space."

She's gone before he has the chance to thank her.

He slowly makes his way down the hallway, step by step. He reaches the door, heart pounding in his chest as he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and lets the promises he made to himself flood through his mind. His past, his present, and his future... the future he sees with you.

He touches his pocket, feels for your crucifix.

I can do this, he thinks to himself. For her, I can do this.

#joel miller x reader #fic: feelings on fire #*

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freelancearsonist · 7 months

Text

Parts and Labor

➔ Eddie Munson x fem!Reader - 5k

➔ Eddie’s van is practically falling apart, but he doesn’t have the heart to replace it. Luckily for him, you’re willing to put in the effort to fix it—as long as he helps.

➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (f receiving), heavy petting, creampie, fingering, cumplay, Eddie has scars and lies about where he got them, reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader is a mechanic [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

“SHIT, FUCK!”

Eddie slams down the hood of his van, kicks the front tire as hard as he can, then winces–both at the sudden pain in his foot and at the overreaction.

“Come on baby, please,” he pleads futilely to the unresponsive engine. “I’ll give you anything, just start.”

The engine, apparently, won’t be seduced.

Eddie digs through the pocket of his low-slung jeans, finds a dime somewhere in the pile of gum wrappers and old receipts, and runs to stick the coin into the nearest payphone booth.

The garage answers on the last ring, and Eddie doesn’t even have to identify himself. They’re almost as familiar with his junker van as he is himself. They’ve wrung more money out of him for repairs than the damned thing is worth, and Eddie knows it. He knows the vehicle is on its deathbed–repeatedly resuscitated at this point–and that he should just replace it. But he can’t. Beyond fear of hurting its feelings, he’s become attached to it. He’s made memories in that stupid van. To him, replacing his ride would be like wading a huge portion of his life up and throwing it in the trash. He just won’t do it.

The garage is merciful enough to give him a ride there along with towing his poor, lifeless van. He’s not eager to spend a day in the waiting room sipping lukewarm black coffee, but he needs to be there for her. His lady is dying–waiting for news from her doctors is the least he can do.

He forgets all about his lady when you walk through the door.

You’re the Porche 944 of women. He’s never seen anything or anyone quite as breathtaking as you–with the small grease smudge on your cheek, your hair pulled back so sloppily that half of it is already fallen down, and your denim overalls unclipped on one side to show off the faded Iron Maiden t-shirt you wear underneath. You’re wiping your hands on a grease rag as you approach him and Eddie just stands in dumbfounded silence. Who are you and where have you been his entire life?

“Munson,” you greet with a slight smile.

He almost chokes. You know his name? He knows he’s never seen you before in his life–you’re the kind of girl he could never forget. Especially with how much time he’s had to spend here.

“Having trouble getting her to start?” you continue without missing a beat. Eddie doesn’t miss the way you refer to his van, and it makes him impossibly more hooked. “Seems to be a bad ignition coil. Easy enough to fix, except your crankshaft is rusted to shit and I’m honestly surprised the whole engine hasn’t fallen apart when you hit a bump or something. Seriously, it’s dangerous to drive at this point.”

Eddie hears you, but he doesn’t comprehend a single word you’re saying. He’s hyper-fixated on the way your lips form around your words, on how you’re speaking mechanics and you actually understand what you’re saying. He’s never met anyone like you.

“But you can fix her, right?”

You smile, and he feels his heart skip a beat. “Honestly? My professional advice is to just sell it for scrap and buy a new car.”

It’s like a smack to the face. He has to blink the shock out of his eyes while you stand there so simply, like you didn’t just tell him to kill his darling.

”What’s your unprofessional advice?”

You bite your lip, busy your hands with a grease cloth. “I could fix it. But it’ll take some time, and it’ll be expensive as hell. It would honestly be cheaper to buy new.”

”I’ll pay for the fix,” he says firmly before he can consider what he’s really agreeing to. “I can’t just replace her.”

Your smile is softer when you look back up at him. “I really admire that.”

Those words shouldn’t have as much of an effect on him as they do.

”I can do the job, but not here. There’s no way my boss would let me take up a lift for as long as I need to actually do a good job, and I don’t believe in doing mediocre work. But I’ve got enough equipment at my place if you trust me?”

You’re not only saving his lady, you’re promising not to screw him like so many people have before. He’s thinking about proposing, but he keeps his cool long enough to say, “yeah. Yeah, I trust you.”

”How much do you know about cars?”

He notices a strand of hair that’s fallen down into your face, and it takes all his restraint to keep himself from pushing it behind your ear for you.

”I know enough,” he says with a modest shrug.

Your eyes shine with something that he can’t identify as you gaze up at him. “Well, if you wanna help me, I’ll only charge you for parts.”

Eddie doesn’t even need to consider. A chance to spend more time with you, and a discount on repairs? “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.”

The first night he comes over, it’s the sticky hot of a midsummer Indiana evening. He’s in low-slung faded jeans and a baggy white tank top that shows more of his chest than should be legal. There’s so much lightly tanned skin on display that you can’t decide where to focus—much less consider the engine you’re supposed to be working on. You can’t help asking about each little spot of ink you see on his skin, curious to learn even the smallest nuisances of his personality.

He’s the most interesting person you’ve met in this podunk town since your move to Hawkins from Indianapolis. He’s goofy and aloof, charming yet awkward. He’s so gentle and sweet you can practically smell the saccharine of his words as he speaks. He’s an animated speaker—so passionate about everything he does that he puts his whole body into it. There’s a refreshing energy to him that recharges your social battery as he goes, rather than draining it like everyone else does.

By the second night of working on Eddie’s van with him, you’re close enough to call him a friend. You know what seems like every small detail about him—his favorite color, the story behind the small scar on his left knee.

By the third night, you’re fighting every instinct in your brain to keep from throwing him inside said van and having your way with him.

Especially when you deliver to him a cold glass of iced tea and he drinks it in the sluttiest possible way he can—big gulps that send the condensation on the outside of the glass spilling down his chin to leave little paths of wetness down his neck and chest. It’s like full-on torture.

On the fourth night, you’ve had the engine block completely disassembled and ready for the new crankshaft for a couple days. It’s hard for Eddie to see his baby gutted and torn apart this way, but he knows you’ve got the most capable hands of any mechanic he’s ever known. There’s a delicacy and attention to detail in your craft that he’s never seen before, and he’s enraptured with watching you work. He’s even more enraptured by the sticky glistening of your skin in the red-orange light of sunset every night.

There’s really no reason for him to keep meeting you every single evening—all you’re doing at this point is busywork cleaning various parts because the real work can’t be done until the new parts arrive. Both of you know it, too—but neither of you will admit it. You’ve both come to look forward to these few hours together, comfortable even though you’re both sweaty, sticky, and greasy. Suspending them at this point would be a crime.

There’s just the faintest peek of reddish light left over the horizon when the conversation lulls, but Eddie’s not ready to go quite yet. “You hear Megadeth’s touring in Indy this fall?”

”No shit?”

”No shit. Tickets are probably going fast.”

”We should get some,” you say with a cautious glance over at him. This is it—this is as grand of an invitation as you can work up the courage to make. If he can’t take the bait here, you’ll be forever casting lingering glances and praying he’ll make a more substantial move than just eyeing you up and down like you’re the finest, purest water in a parched desert.

Eddie’s heart rate skyrockets even as he’s willing himself not to read too far into your words. ”Yeah? You’d… wanna go with me?”

”Might be nice. To hang out and do something other than pretend to work on your car.”

”All you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” he says with a look that’s far too smug for his own good on his face.

Even though it’s a little ridiculous, his cockiness flusters you. ”Wasn’t sure you’d want to.”

”How could I not? I’ve got the girl of my dreams five feet away from me, I’d be crazy to not want to spend every second I can get with her.”

”Oh, is there someone else here?” You try to giggle and make it sound like a lighthearted joke, but it comes out far more flustered than you mean for it to.

”No. Just you.” It’s only three words, yet you’ve never heard anything more fraught with tension in your life. It’s in his dark eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands clench into fists at his side to keep from reaching for you.

All your eyes can manage to do is trace up the prominent veins in his forearms from his white-knuckled fists. If you meet his eyes, you know your resolve will disappear faster than a delicate snowflake on warm skin.

But he takes a step closer to you, and it’s too late before you can even consider stopping yourself.

His dark eyes are swirling with lust. There’s no mistaking it, no other label for it. It looks animalistic, almost dangerous. He looks like he wants to devour you whole, and you want nothing more than to find out if he will.

”You, umm… need a refill?” You gesture with your eyes to the now empty glass in his hand, then nod toward the house. It’s all the invitation he needs.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, Eddie’s hands are on you. They start on your waist, effectively pinning you against the closed door and using you as an anchor to press himself as close to you as he can.

It’s eager and rushed, even a little sloppy. He kisses wet, he kisses deep. It’s like he’s trying to suck the air straight from your lungs, and you let him. Nothing has ever felt so good before.

“Christ,” he mumbles as his hot lips work their way down your neck. “Been wanting to do this for days.”

There’s a slight tremble in your hands as your fingers work their way into his curls, already nearly overwhelmed with the sensation of his mouth on your overheated skin. “Why didn’t you?”

”Didn’t wanna scare you off,” he confesses. It’s so endearing it pulls a moan from your lips.

“There’s not a lot you could do to scare me off, Eddie.” You mean it; you try to prove it by tugging him closer and slotting him between your legs. You can feel his pent up desire, hard and thick, as it presses against your core through his jeans. The feeling alone makes you ache with desire. It’s like a wave sweeps through you, cascading from head to toe and making everything in its wake prickle with unbearable want. You are molten flame, and he is the only thing that can douse your heat.

No one’s ever had such an astronomical effect on you from doing so little.

Eddie isn’t faring much better. He walks in a fog, blinded by clouding desire—especially so when your leg hitches up and around his hip to tug him harder against you. It’s like his cruise control is set, speed regulating with every incline or downward tilt—adjusting every little movement and touch to draw more breathless moans and whimpers from your parted lips.

A slight tug to his hair snaps him back into his own body, drawing a sudden clarity on the situation. He’s no longer an outsider looking in, as if an astral projection watching and criticizing his every move. Eddie is fully present and hyper-focused on one thing: making sure no other person can ever properly satisfy you again.

”You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs over and over into your skin as he traces kisses over your exposed neck and shoulders. His fingers hook into the strap of your tank top and slide it out of place, making way for a series of open-mouthed kisses as he ensures that not an inch of your skin is neglected.

You keen at his praise and reward him with a gentle tug to his messy curls. “So are you.”

He prickles with affection at your compliment, his cheeks warming in a way that feels completely foreign to him. No one’s ever called him beautiful before—he’s really never thought it could even be applicable to him—but he feels like he could get used to it.

He asks so nicely to take your top off and you give him permission without hesitation. You can see the flash of want in his eyes as he takes in your mostly naked torso, gaze skirting around the boundary of your bra as if he’s too shy to ask again for permission to remove a garment.

You decide to put on a little show as you give him what he wants; you unhook your bra and slide the straps down your arms so achingly slowly he thinks he might combust. And then finally, gloriously, you let the fabric fall to the floor and Eddie gets his first look at your bare chest.

He gapes, open-mouthed, for longer than is frankly comfortable—to the point you’re almost about to cover yourself up again.

And then he says, “Permission to do something highly inappropriate and maybe even a little degrading?”

”Uhh… sure?”

In a flash he’s buried face first in your sternum, hands coming to cup your breasts and dramatically smother himself in your cleavage. He lets out a pleasured groan as you giggle, deft fingers lightly tugging and pinching the sensitive peaks of your nipples. He prickles with pride at the breathy gasp you emit when his mouth starts working—he turns his head to suck one hard mound between his lips and keeps up the pressure with his fingers on the other.

”Sh-shit…” you sigh and slump into his attention, arms hanging like limp ribbons by your sides. “Eddie…”

”Love the way you say my name,” he practically purrs. “So fucking pretty.”

He switches sides now, firmly dragging the flat of his tongue over your nipple before sealing his lips around it and sucking. The pure pressure of it makes you cry out, fingers tugging harshly at his curls.

”Jesus, that feels amazing,” you whine. It’s so good, but it’s not nearly enough at the same time. And it’s like he can sense it—like he’s got some kind of a psychic connection with your body. He adapts immediately to what you need, dropping to his knees to unbutton your jean shorts and deftly slip them down and off your legs. He smooths his palms against your bare thighs and lets you feel the cold kiss of his metal rings against the burning flesh there, all the while looking up at you with dark eyes that you can’t quite identify. There’s lust, sure, but something else in those chocolate orbs. Something akin to adoration—like he’s on his knees preparing to worship you.

”Can I?” Those long, thick fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear and you’re nodding before he’s even finished asking.

You wish you could put the sound he lets out once he finally has you bare on vinyl to repeat over and over again. It’s somewhere between a growl and a whimper, completely heady with desire and want; need, even. The fact that he needs you like this is so overwhelming and flattering that you can barely process it. You don’t have time to, because in a moment his lips are wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking. He goes straight past gentle and into pure pressure just like he did with your nipples; as above, so below. And it’s bliss—thigh-quaking, breath-hitching, earth-shattering bliss.

All you can manage to do is scrabble for purchase against the wall his hands have you pinned to. You have to sound absolutely pathetic, but you can’t be bothered to care because you’re precariously close to coming and it’s only been a matter of minutes.

He moans, like he’s tasting the finest, most expensive and decadent cuisine he’s ever had. The sound vibrates against your pussy and travels up your spine all the way to your brain—it nests there and makes it’s home, drives you into a fuzzy state of ecstasy. And all the while that luxurious tongue is hard at work, alternating between lapping thirstily at your entrance and fluttering against your clit in a way that causes every muscle in your abdomen to contract.

Nothing should be able to feel this good—it’s so desperately close to overwhelming. Simultaneously, you would rather die than lose this feeling is it crescendos to a fever pitch.

”Let go,” he murmurs against you, and you know he’s not talking about your grip on his hair. “It’s okay. I gotcha, let go f’me.”

You’ve never fancied yourself to be the obedient type per se, but apparently your body is feeling particularly traitorous today. It takes all of three more seconds before you’re doing exactly what he said—legs trembling with the burden of your weight as you crash and burn on his tongue. You whine and beg and plead, all of it meaningless babble as he works you over and through your pleasure with that wonderful, amazing, perfect mouth of his.

You don’t even process you’re collapsing, but thankfully Eddie does and catches you with ease. There’s a cocky chuckle in his throat as he lays you down on the floor, and you would smack him for it if he hadn’t earned it. Instead, you grab him by the collar of his shirt a little rougher than mean to and drag him to your mouth, relishing in the high-pitched whine he admits at your light manhandling.

You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, and Eddie can’t help grinding himself hard against your thigh in an attempt to relieve the pressure of his untouched arousal. This kiss is nasty—wet, gnashing, desperate. There’s no control to it on either end.

”That good, huh?” He mutters into your mouth. His voice is barely more than a whisper—you can’t expect much more when you’re kissing him the way you are, grinding your thigh against his aching cock all the while. And even still, despite his obvious desperation, he manages to be cocky about how hard he made you come.

If you weren’t head over heels for this man before, you certainly are now.

You start tugging at his belt and he chuckles, only growing more sure of himself by the second.

”Wait, baby, lemme take you to bed,” he huffs over the feeling of your hand finally sliding into his jeans where he needs you most.

It makes you gasp when you finally have him in the palm of your hand. As big as he felt through his jeans, nothing could’ve prepared you for this. He’s heavy, achingly thick, and you can feel the way he positively throbs in your grip.

And just as you’re about to agree and show him to your bedroom, you shake your head firmly; because as uncomfortable as this floor is going to feel and as much as your back is going to hate you for it later, you need him now. There’s no time for relocating; if he doesn’t give it to you right now, here in the middle of your living room floor, you think you might perish.

”Right here?” He hums as if he’s not affected at all while he slots himself between your legs. “On the floor? Can’t even wait thirty seconds to let me have you the right way? Dirty girl.”

It’s such a shift in dynamic; not an unwelcome one at all, certainly. But he’s been so shy and timid up until this point—always following your lead, blushing when his hand brushes against yours. You wonder if he’s like this with everyone—if he feels some pressure to perform an act or role, to hide his true personality.

The thought makes your chest ache a little bit, but you don’t have time to dwell on it because he’s breaking you in half. He’s so slow about it, too; barely pressing his tip into you, giving you time to adjust to every millimeter he gives you. Even still it punches the breath out of your lungs and makes your eyelids flutter at the intrusion.

”Shit.” It’s not spoken so much as whined, and suddenly you’re starkly aware of just how much you’re affecting him. You bite your lip to steady yourself so you can look up at him, and the sight alone is almost enough to unravel you. Unruly curls spill down over his shoulder and dangle in the air over you. His mouth hangs open—fast, shallow breaths make his bottom lip quiver. His pupils are so blown with desire you can barely see the warm chocolatey color of his irises.

You’re suddenly aware that in your desperation, you forgot a very important step. He’s still fully clothed—your legs rub against his t-shirt as his hands hook under your knees to spread you wider for him. You almost feel bad about it; in your haze of arousal his attention to your body has brought on, you’ve forgotten to be attentive to his. It pulls a whine from your lips as your hands unconsciously come to tug at the fabric.

He chuckles but acquiesces—not before you see a flicker of hesitation pass over his face.

It takes a moment to process what you’re looking at as he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side… and then your jaw drops. ”Shit, Eddie!”

He’s quick to quiet your exclamation with a heated kiss, unintentionally shoving himself that little bit deeper into your cunt. It distracts you, but only for a moment. Then you’re pushing yourself up onto your elbows, trying to wrap your mind around the myriad of deep, whitish-pink scars that litter his torso.

“Eddie, what—“

“Car accident,” he lies before he can think better of it. It’s a story he’s told so many times that he’s almost starting to believe it himself. “Couple years back.”

“Jesus,” you whisper as your fingers trace over the poorly healed lines.

“I know. They’re not pretty.”

That one sentence tells you everything you need to know. “It’s not that,” he assure him. “Just… a miracle you survived something that bad.”

“Yeah,” he hums. “I got lucky.”

He’s deflating a little bit, and the last thing you want him to do is lose that confidence he’s been exuding. You wrap your arms around your neck and pulls him flush against you, feeling every warm inch of his torso against yours as your tongue tangles with his.

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him again. And you mean it.

He draws a gasp from your lips when he presses even closer, every inch of his body covering yours and his length shoved all the way into your needy cunt. It’s almost too much for him—the combination of your tight, wet heat around him; the adoration in your eyes as you look up at him like he’s some kind of god; your hands pulling him closer like you might evaporate if you can’t feel every inch of his body at all times. It’s a heady feeling he’s never experienced before, being wanted this badly. It nearly unravels him—especially when you start bucking your hips up to him in search of the friction you so desperately need.

He sees your need, and it pulls him back into his dutiful role. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He starts with deep, slow thrusts that nearly make you drool—you feel the drag of every single inch against your walls, every vein and ridge and contour. It’s like you’re memorizing the shape of him from the inside out.

One ringed hand slides down your hip and along the length of your thigh to hook beneath your knee, hitching your leg up as high as he comfortably can to spread you wide open for the taking.

You get barely a moment's notice as he draws himself almost all the way out. And then he slams himself back into place—deep, hard, unrelenting. He revels in the sound it draws from you, something between a cry and a plea for more; he silently vows to himself that those little pleasures sounds are going to be all you’re capable of making by the time he’s done with you.

It’s borderline violent, the way he fucks you. His thrusts are relentless and expert in a way you didn’t expect him to be. His lips hardly leave your skin, muffling his moans into hickies and bruises on your neck and chest. His hands grip hard to your body, marks blossoming beneath his fingertips.

You’ve never fallen apart so easily.

“That’s it,” he purrs into your ear as he feels your walls fluttering around him. “Don’t hold back, lemme have it. Please, baby.”

And really, it would be rude to deny him after he’s asked so nicely.

Your orgasm comes like shattered glass. The sound is the first thing you process—your moans drowning out his steady grunts. And then it’s sharp. It drives its shards into your and makes you flinch away from the sensation, so pleasurable it’s almost painful.

You’ve never come just from being fucked before. Sweet, wonderful Eddie carries on working towards his own release like he doesn’t deserve a goddamned award.

“Can I…”

But you’re already nodding, wrapping your legs around his waist and coaxing him deeper—urging him to make a home in the deepest part of you.

He’s not a man who needs to be told twice. He rocks his hips as deep as he can and then presses even closer, the head of him bruising your cervix as he falls apart. And maybe it shouldn’t feel as good as it does, the sensation of him painting your walls with rope after rope or warm, sticky release; but you’re not in the mind to psychoanalyze yourself right now. Instead you do your best to help him through it, lightly ghosting the tips of your fingers in soothing patterns on his back as he pants and shudders.

“Holy…”

“Yeah,” you giggle.

It takes him a few minutes to summon the courage he needs to pull his softening length from your warmth, and he bites down on his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood when he sees the absolute mess that slides down the curve of your ass.

”Jesus H. Christ,” he murmurs. His fingers come to swipe up some of the combined cum before he can stop himself, pushing it back into where he’d spilled it to begin with and relishing in the moan you afford him at the feeling of his thick fingers pressing into your over-sensitive entrance.

He’s so thoroughly enraptured with the sight before him. Your cunt squeezing so tightly around his fingers, cum dripping, desperate to reject due to the overstimulation. And yet you take it without flinching, chest heaving, head falling back against the hardwood floor.

He swipes his thumb over your clit so lightly and yet it still makes you squeeze like a vice around him, and so he does it again. He curls his fingers in search of that spot that made you fall apart so prettily on his cock, and once he finds it he doesn’t relent. That, combined with the light pressure on your clit, is more than enough.

Your thighs tremble, caught indecisively between spreading further open for him and clamping shut on his cum-slicked hand. He watches in awe as your lips part in a silent scream, ass arching up off the floor; and then, as you come down, you have to push him away because it’s finally too much.

”Fuck,” you whimper—he coos so reassuringly as he leans down to gently kiss your lips, errant curls brushing and tickling against your cheeks.

”I know, baby,” he whispers. “God, you’re incredible. Did so good f’me.”

You have to stay still for a moment—let his sweet, gentle kisses bring you back down from the clouds. And then you’re aware of the ache in your back and the absolute puddle forming under your ass, and you push yourself up with a weak groan.

”M’sorry,” he winces in sympathy. “Bed next time, I promise.”

And really, the promise of there being a next time shouldn’t make your heart skip a beat the way it does.

You’re worried things’ll be awkward now, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Working with him now is so much more effortless. The tension isn’t as palpable—it’s a fluid thing that you move through confidently now that your feelings and his are known. He isn’t afraid to watch you anymore, awe and adoration in his eyes as you show him how to reassemble the engine block. He observes your skilled fingers at work, and he’s not afraid to tell you how fucking sexy it is to him. He’s not afraid to rest a hand on the small of your back as he stands beside you, even occasionally getting brave enough to let it slip down and cup your ass. He’s not afraid to be his goofy, adorable, manic self—it’s the best metamorphosis you’ve ever seen.

You finish working on his van finally, and he almost tears up at how well she runs now—although he definitely doesn’t let you see that.

And as worried as you were that finishing this job would feel like the end of whatever this is with Eddie, it doesn’t. You feel secure, somehow, that he’ll keep coming back—for more than just parts and labor.

THE END

➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 ily lots

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

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#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson one shot #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things smut #stranger things one shot #cece writes

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bitchiswild · 3 months

Text

Lookingforadom.com

G!P Huh Yunjin x F!Reader

Words Count: 6k

Warnings: soft dom yunjin I think… yea it should be

A/n: haiii Sorry 😓 been busy and having writers block😫

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Kazuha asks, a note of concern in her voice.

You sigh, your eyes fixed on the laptop screen where the search bar reads, Lookingforadom.com. "At this point, Kazuha, I need some action in my life," you admit.

Kazuha tilts her head thoughtfully. "I mean, at least find a soft dom. I feel like that's more up your alley."

You click on the first search result, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and apprehension. The website's homepage is sleek and inviting, filled with profiles of people seeking all sorts of dynamics. You glance at Kazuha, who is watching you with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Okay, let's see," you murmur, scrolling through the profiles. Some of them are intimidating, with bold statements and intense photographs. You feel a bit overwhelmed but continue your search, determined to find someone who matches Kazuha's suggestion.

After a few minutes, you find a profile that catches your eye. The username is "GentleMistress," and the description reads: "Soft dom seeking a respectful and eager sub. Let's explore boundaries with care and mutual respect."

"This one looks promising," you say, turning the laptop towards Kazuha. She leans in, reading the profile over your shoulder.

"She seems nice," she agrees. "Why don't you send her a message?"

Taking a deep breath, you click on the message button and start typing:

"Hi, GentleMistress. I'm new to this and looking for someone who can guide me gently. Your profile stood out to me because it seems like you value respect and care. I'd love to chat and see if we connect."

You hover over the send button for a moment, then click it before you can second-guess yourself. The message sends, and you lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly.

Kazuha smiles reassuringly. "I think you made a good choice. Now we wait."

As you wait for a response, you chat about other things, trying to distract yourself from the anticipation. Your mind keeps drifting back to the message, wondering what kind of person GentleMistress is and what this new adventure will bring into your life.

Hours have passed, and doubts begin to creep into your mind. What if GentleMistress doesn't like you? What if this whole thing is a mistake? The "what ifs" swirl around your head, making you second-guess your decision.

Kazuha had left a while ago, reassuring you with a hug before she went. Now, alone in your room, the silence is deafening. You keep glancing at your phone, willing a notification to appear.

Just as you’re about to give up hope, a ping echoes from your phone. Your heart races as you pick it up, the screen illuminating with a new message notification. You hold your breath and open it.

It's from GentleMistress.

"Hi there! Thank you for reaching out. I appreciate your honesty and courage in taking this step. I'd love to chat and get to know you better. When would you be available for a video call?"

A mix of relief and excitement washes over you. You quickly type back a response, your fingers trembling slightly.

"Hi, GentleMistress. Thank you for replying! I'm free tomorrow evening if that works for you."

You hit send and stare at the screen, waiting for a reply. Within minutes, another ping sounds.

"Tomorrow evening sounds perfect. Looking forward to it. Have a great night!"

You can't help but smile. The doubts that had plagued you earlier start to fade, replaced by a sense of anticipation. Tomorrow is going to be interesting, and you feel a flicker of hope for this new adventure.

As you put your phone down, you take a deep breath and decide to relax for the rest of the night. Tomorrow will come soon enough, and with it, the potential for something new and exciting.

The next day feels like it drags on forever. You go about your usual routine, but your mind keeps drifting back to the upcoming video call. What will GentleMistress be like? What will you talk about? A mix of excitement and nerves buzzes in your stomach.

Finally, evening arrives. You sit down at your desk, making sure your laptop camera is positioned correctly. Taking a deep breath, you open your laptop and log in to the website, finding the message from GentleMistress. Right on time, a notification pops up: "GentleMistress is calling."

You click accept, and the screen fills with GentleMistress's image. She has kind eyes and a warm smile that instantly puts you at ease.

"Hi there," she greets, her voice calm and reassuring. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Hi," you respond, trying to steady your voice. "It's nice to meet you too."

You spend the first few minutes exchanging pleasantries, talking about your day and getting comfortable with each other. GentleMistress is patient and attentive, asking questions about your interests and making you feel heard.

"So," she says, leaning in a little closer to the camera, "what made you decide to look for this kind of relationship?"

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. "I've been feeling like I need more excitement in my life, something different. I want to explore this side of myself, but I also want to do it with someone who respects boundaries and is caring."

GentleMistress nods thoughtfully. "That's a very mature and honest reason. I appreciate you sharing that with me. It's important to have a foundation of trust and communication in any relationship, especially in this dynamic."

As the conversation continues, you find yourself relaxing more and more. GentleMistress's approach is gentle and respectful, exactly what you were hoping for. She shares her own experiences and reassures you that it's okay to take things at your own pace.

After about an hour, the conversation winds down. "This has been really great," GentleMistress says. "I think we have a good connection, and I'd like to continue getting to know you better. How do you feel about that?"

You smile, feeling a sense of relief and excitement. "I feel the same way. I'd like to continue as well."

"Excellent," she replies, her smile widening. "Let's set up another call soon. In the meantime, if you have any questions or just want to chat, feel free to message me anytime."

You end the call with a sense of accomplishment and a newfound sense of excitement for what lies ahead. This new adventure is starting to feel like the right choice, and you can't wait to see where it leads.

As you close your laptop, you realize that sometimes taking a leap of faith can lead to the most rewarding experiences. You feel a renewed sense of hope and anticipation for the future.

Over the next few days, you exchange messages with GentleMistress. Each conversation reveals more about her, and you feel increasingly comfortable and excited about this new connection. She shares her thoughts on boundaries, trust, and the importance of communication in a dynamic like the one you're exploring.

One evening, as you're scrolling through her latest message, a new notification pops up. It's a message from Kazuha.

"Hey, how's it going with GentleMistress? Have you guys talked more?"

You smile and quickly type back, "Yeah, we've been messaging a lot. She's really kind and respectful. I think this could be something good."

Almost immediately, Kazuha replies, "I'm glad to hear that! Do you have another call scheduled?"

"Not yet," you type back. "But I think I'll suggest one soon."

Later that night, you muster up the courage to ask GentleMistress for another video call. Her response is prompt and positive, agreeing to chat the next evening. You feel a flutter of anticipation as you prepare for the call.

The next evening, you log in a few minutes early, eager to see GentleMistress again. When the call connects, her warm smile greets you once more.

"Hello again," she says, her voice smooth and welcoming. "How have you been?"

"I've been good," you reply. "I've been looking forward to this."

"Me too," she responds, her eyes twinkling. "I thought tonight we could talk a bit more about what you're looking for and how we can explore that together."

You nod, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. "That sounds great. I think I'd like to start slowly, really get to know each other and build that trust."

"Absolutely," GentleMistress agrees. "Trust is the foundation of everything we do. It's important that you feel safe and respected at all times."

The conversation flows naturally from there. You discuss your boundaries, your interests, and what excites you about this journey. GentleMistress listens intently, offering her own insights and reassurances.

As the call continues, you feel a growing sense of connection and confidence. GentleMistress's thoughtful approach and genuine care make you feel valued and understood.

"Thank you for being so open with me," GentleMistress says as the call comes to an end. "I think we're building a really good foundation here. Let's plan another call soon, and in the meantime, keep communicating through messages."

"Thank you," you reply, feeling a deep sense of gratitude. "I really appreciate how patient and understanding you've been."

After the call, you sit back and reflect on the evening. This journey is just beginning, but already it feels like you're on the right path. With GentleMistress guiding you, you feel a sense of anticipation building inside you, longing for the moment when her gentle touch becomes a reality.

You imagine the future chats, the moments of exploration, and the trust growing between you. The thought of GentleMistress by your side fills you with a warmth you hadn't felt in a long time.

Closing your eyes, you can almost sense her presence, her calming influence. You realize you're eagerly awaiting the next time you'll see her, the next opportunity to deepen this connection.

The following weekend, you decide to take a break from your usual routine and head to a cozy cafe downtown. As you enter, you scan the room for an empty table, and that's when you spot her—GentleMistress, sitting by the window, lost in thought as she sips her coffee.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of her, and you can't resist the urge to walk over.

"Hi," you say with a smile as you approach her table. "Fancy meeting you here."

GentleMistress looks up, surprise flickering in her eyes before a smile spreads across her face. "Well, hello there," she responds, setting her cup down. "What a pleasant surprise indeed."

You pull out the chair opposite her. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," she says, gesturing for you to sit. "Please, have a seat."

You settle into the chair, feeling a rush of excitement at being so close to her. The atmosphere is charged with possibility, and you can't help but let a playful grin tug at your lips.

"So, what brings you here today?" you ask, trying to sound casual.

"Just taking a break from work," GentleMistress replies. "And enjoying some coffee. What about you?"

"Same here," you say. "Needed a change of scenery. And I'm glad I stumbled upon you."

GentleMistress chuckles softly. "Well, I'm glad you did too."

The conversation flows easily between you, filled with laughter and shared stories. You find yourself flirting subtly, enjoying the playful banter with GentleMistress.

As the conversation continues, you muster up the courage to take it a step further. Leaning in slightly, you shoot her a teasing smile. "You know, I must say, you have the most captivating eyes."

GentleMistress's cheeks tint with a hint of pink, but she meets your gaze with a sparkle in her eyes. "Why, thank you," she replies, her tone playful. "Yours aren't too bad either."

You both share a moment of lingering eye contact, and the air between you crackles with tension. It's exhilarating, knowing that the attraction is mutual.

Before things can escalate further, GentleMistress glances at her watch. "Oh, look at the time. I should probably get going soon."

You feel a pang of disappointment but quickly recover. "Of course. I'll see you soon."

"Looking forward to it," she says with a smile, gathering her things.

As GentleMistress walks away, you watch her go, already counting down the moments until your next encounter.

You barely have time to settle back into your routine after leaving the cafe when your phone buzzes with a new message. Glancing at the screen, you see it's from GentleMistress.

"Hey there," the message reads, "I couldn't stop thinking about how lovely you looked today. Would you like to go out tonight? Dinner, perhaps?"

A rush of excitement floods through you at her message. It hasn't even been two hours since you saw her, and she's already texting you. You can't help but smile at her directness and enthusiasm.

Quickly typing a reply, you say, "Hi! That sounds wonderful. I'd love to go out with you tonight."

Almost immediately, another message comes through. "Great! I'll pick you up at 7. Wear something nice ;) Looking forward to it!"

Your heart races at the thought of spending more time with her so soon. You quickly agree and spend the rest of the afternoon eagerly anticipating the evening ahead.

As the clock ticks closer to 7, you find yourself getting ready with a mix of nerves and excitement. You choose your outfit carefully, wanting to make a good impression.

At exactly 7, there's a knock on your door, and when you open it, GentleMistress stands there, looking even more stunning than you remembered.

"Hi," she says, her smile lighting up her face. "You look amazing."

"Thank you," you reply, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "You look fantastic too."

With a smile, she offers you her arm, and together you head out for a night filled with good food, laughter, and the promise of something more between you.

As you step out with GentleMistress, now knowing her name is Yunjin, you feel a magnetic pull between you. The air crackles with anticipation as you walk side by side, the distance between you charged with unspoken desire.

The restaurant Yunjin has chosen is cozy and dimly lit, the perfect setting for an intimate evening. You're seated at a private corner table, and as you settle in, you can't help but notice the way Yunjin's gaze lingers on you.

"You look stunning tonight," she says, her voice low and filled with warmth.

"Thank you," you reply, feeling a shiver run down your spine at the intensity of her gaze. "You look absolutely gorgeous too."

A smirk plays on Yunjin's lips as she leans in slightly. "I couldn't take my eyes off you earlier. You have this... captivating presence."

Heat rises to your cheeks at her words, and you find yourself drawn to her, unable to look away. The chemistry between you is undeniable, the tension thick in the air.

As the evening progresses, conversation flows easily between you, but underneath it all, there's an undercurrent of something more. Every touch, every glance is charged with electricity, sending tingles down your spine.

At one point, Yunjin's foot brushes against yours under the table, and you feel a jolt of excitement shoot through you. She meets your eyes with a knowing smile, her gaze smoldering with desire.

"You know," she says, her voice husky, "there's something about you that I find incredibly alluring."

Your breath catches in your throat at her words, your heart pounding in your chest. "Is that so?" you manage to reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yunjin leans in closer, her lips inches from yours. "Absolutely," she murmurs, her breath warm against your skin. "I can't seem to get you out of my mind."

The tension between you is palpable, the desire hanging heavy in the air. You're both on the edge of something exhilarating, something you both crave.

Before things can escalate further, the waiter interrupts, bringing your food and breaking the spell between you. But the intensity of the moment lingers, and you know this is only the beginning of something electrifying between you and Yunjin.

As you finish your meal, the tension between you and Yunjin remains palpable, simmering just beneath the surface. You both step out of the restaurant, and the cool evening air does little to cool the heat between you.

"Would you like to take a walk?" Yunjin suggests, her voice soft yet filled with a hint of anticipation.

"Sure," you reply, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of being alone with her, even just for a little while longer.

You stroll side by side along the quiet streets, the city lights casting a warm glow around you. The silence between you is comfortable, charged with unspoken desires.

After a while, Yunjin breaks the silence. "You know," she says, her voice low, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since we met."

The admission sends a thrill through you, and you turn to face her. "I've been thinking about you too," you confess, your heart racing.

Yunjin's gaze softens as she looks at you. "There's something about you that draws me in," she admits. "I feel like we have a connection, something special."

You nod, feeling the intensity of the moment. "I feel it too."

Without warning, Yunjin reaches out and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, her touch sending shivers down your spine. The intimacy of the gesture leaves you breathless.

"I want to kiss you," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you meet her gaze, desire burning in her eyes. Without hesitation, you lean in, closing the distance between you. Your lips meet in a soft, electrifying kiss, and in that moment, the world around you fades away.

The kiss deepens, igniting a fire between you that feels impossible to extinguish. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in each other, the passion and longing consuming you both.

When you finally pull away, breathless and exhilarated, Yunjin smiles, her eyes sparkling with affection.

"We should do this again," she says, her voice filled with promise.

You nod, feeling a sense of excitement for what the future holds. "Definitely," you agree, knowing that this is only the beginning of something extraordinary between you.

As you walk hand in hand with Yunjin, the connection between you feels stronger than ever. You find yourselves drawn to a quiet park nearby, the soft glow of the streetlights casting a romantic ambiance around you.

Finding a secluded bench, you sit down together, the atmosphere heavy with the electricity of the moment.

Yunjin turns to you, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. "You know," she begins, her voice filled with sincerity, "there's something about you that I haven't felt in a long time."

Curious, you meet her gaze. "What is it?"

"It's like you awaken something inside me," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. "A desire to explore, to connect on a deeper level."

You feel a warmth spread through you at her words, knowing that you feel the same way. "I feel it too," you admit, reaching out to gently caress her hand.

Yunjin leans in closer, her breath mingling with yours. "I want to get to know you more," she says softly, her lips almost brushing against yours. "Every part of you, every inch of you."

The intensity of her gaze sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a hunger within you that you can't ignore.

"I want that too," you reply, your voice filled with longing.

Without another word, Yunjin closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. It's as if the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you and the intensity of your desire.

Lost in the moment, you let yourselves be consumed by the fire that burns between you, exploring each other with a hunger that can't be quenched.

When you finally break apart, breathless and exhilarated, Yunjin smiles at you, her eyes filled with tenderness.

"I'm so glad I met you," she whispers, her voice filled with sincerity.

"I'm glad I met you too," you reply, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you.

Yunjin's gaze holds yours, filled with a mixture of desire and affection.

"Would you like to go back to my house?" she asks softly, her voice laced with anticipation.

The question hangs in the air between you, and you feel a surge of excitement at the thought of being alone with her, of exploring this connection further.

A million thoughts race through your mind, but ultimately, you know what you want.

"Yes," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper but filled with determination. "I would like that."

Yunjin's smile deepens, and she stands up, offering you her hand. "Come on," she says, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Let's go."

As you arrive at Yunjin's house, anticipation hangs thick in the air between you. She leads you inside, the warmth of the house enveloping you as you step through the door.

The soft glow of the lights creates an intimate atmosphere as Yunjin turns to face you, her eyes filled with desire. Without a word, she reaches out and pulls you into her arms, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

The kiss is electric, sending sparks flying through you as you melt into each other. Yunjin's lips are soft yet demanding, her hands trailing down your back, pulling you closer.

You respond eagerly, your hands tangling in her hair as you deepen the kiss. It's like you can't get close enough, your bodies pressing together as if trying to merge into one.

Lost in the moment, you stumble backward until your back meets the wall, Yunjin pressing against you, her body molded to yours. Every touch, every caress sends waves of pleasure through you, igniting a fire that burns hot between you.

Yunjin's lips trail down your neck, sending shivers down your spine as she nibbles and kisses along your skin. Your breath hitches with every touch, desire pooling low in your belly.

With a soft moan, you tilt your head back, giving her better access as she explores every inch of your neck with her lips and tongue.

The sensation is overwhelming, and you find yourself completely lost in the moment, consumed by the passion and desire that courses between you.

Yunjin's hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and contour, setting your skin ablaze with need. You reciprocate, trailing your own hands along her back, reveling in the feeling of her pressed against you.

Time seems to stand still as you lose yourselves in each other, the world outside fading away until there's nothing but the two of you and the fire that burns between you.

Yunjin breaks the intense silence, her voice husky with desire. "Let me take you to my room," she murmurs, her breath warm against your ear, "so I can show you why we met on that website."

Her words send a thrill through you, and you nod eagerly, unable to resist the pull of her invitation.

"Lead the way," you reply, your voice filled with anticipation.

Yunjin takes your hand and leads you down the hall to her bedroom, the air charged with excitement and longing.

As Yunjin guides you to her bedroom, the air crackles with anticipation. Once inside, she turns to face you, her eyes dark with desire and a soft, reassuring smile on her lips. Without a word, she steps closer, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, igniting the passion between you once more.

With practiced movements, Yunjin begins to undress you, her touch sending shivers down your spine as each piece of clothing falls away, leaving you bare before her.

"You're so beautiful," she whispers, her voice filled with reverence as she traces her fingers along your jawline.

Your heart flutters at her words, feeling completely at ease under her gentle gaze.

Yunjin's touch is tender yet purposeful as she begins to undress you, each movement filled with care and affection. As your clothes fall away, you stand before her, exposed and vulnerable yet entirely safe.

With a soft sigh, Yunjin leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. It's like every touch, every caress is carefully calculated to make you feel cherished and desired.

As the kiss deepens, Yunjin's hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and contour. Her touch ignites a fire within you, a hunger that only she can satisfy.

"I want to take care of you," she murmurs against your lips, her voice sending shivers down your spine. "To make you feel good."

You nod, unable to find words as desire pools low in your belly.

With a gentle push, Yunjin guides you onto the bed, her eyes never leaving yours. She leans over you, her body hovering just inches above yours, radiating warmth and tenderness.

"I want you to feel every touch," she says softly, her breath warm against your skin.

With that, Yunjin's hands begin to explore your body, tracing every curve and dip with reverence. Her touch is electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

As she moves lower, her lips trail kisses along your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Every touch, every caress is like a promise of ecstasy, building the anticipation to unbearable heights.

When she finally reaches between your legs, her touch is gentle yet firm, sending sparks of pleasure dancing along your skin. You gasp at the sensation, arching into her touch as she brings you to the edge of bliss.

"Yunjin," you whimper, your voice filled with need.

She meets your gaze, her eyes filled with love and desire. "I've got you," she whispers, her voice a soothing melody.

With slow, deliberate movements, Yunjin spreads your legs wider, exposing you completely to her gaze. Her fingers dance lightly over your skin, sending shivers of pleasure up your spine.

Then, with a teasing touch, Yunjin's tongue darts out, tracing a slow path along your folds, collecting your arousal as she goes. You gasp at the sensation, your breath hitching as she explores you.

Yunjin's tongue works magic, swirling and flicking against your clit, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through your body. Her fingers join in, slipping inside you with ease, filling you up and driving you wild with need.

You arch your back, pressing yourself closer to her, desperate for more of her touch. Yunjin responds eagerly, her movements becoming more intense, more insistent as she brings you closer to the edge.

With every flick of her tongue and every thrust of her fingers, you feel yourself unraveling, pleasure building to an exquisite peak.

"Oh, Yunjin," you moan, your voice filled with longing.

She looks up at you, her eyes dark with desire as she continues to pleasure you, her touch relentless and intoxicating.

And then, with one final, mind-shattering wave of pleasure, you come undone in her arms, crying out her name as ecstasy washes over you.

Yunjin holds you close as you ride out the waves of pleasure, her touch soft yet messy, her fingers and lips leaving you utterly wrecked but completely satisfied in the best possible way.

Feeling you quivering with pleasure beneath her touch, Yunjin can't ignore the ache between her own legs. The desire to be inside you, to feel you wrapped around her, becomes almost unbearable.

With a soft groan, Yunjin positions herself above you, her hardness straining against her, aching to be buried deep inside you.

Hovering over you, she locks eyes with you, her gaze dark with need as she guides herself to your entrance. The anticipation sends a shiver down her spine as she presses forward, the tip of her hardness teasing your slick folds.

"I need to be inside you," she breathes, her voice thick with desire, her hips moving slowly forward, inch by inch.

You gaze up at her with longing, your own desire mirroring hers, and you nod eagerly, craving the feeling of her inside you just as much.

With a slow, deliberate pace, Yunjin pushes forward, her hardness sliding into you, filling you up until she's buried deep within your warmth. She pauses, savoring the feeling of being joined with you so intimately, the sensation almost overwhelming in its intensity.

"Oh fuck, you feel amazing," Yunjin groans, her voice husky with pleasure, her hips rolling against yours.

You gasp at the fullness of her, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through you. Wrapping your arms around her, you pull her closer, urging her to move.

Yunjin complies, starting to move with a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust is deliberate, calculated to drive you both closer to the edge of ecstasy.

"Fuck, you're so tight," she moans, her voice filled with admiration, her hips rocking against yours with increasing urgency.

Your body responds eagerly to her praise, your own arousal building with each movement. You meet her thrusts eagerly, your bodies moving together in perfect synchronization.

With every thrust, you feel the delicious pressure building inside you, pleasure mounting with each movement. Your bodies meld together, becoming one in the throes of passion.

Yunjin's pace quickens, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she chases her own release, her hips rocking against yours with increasing urgency.

"You're so fucking beautiful," she groans, her voice filled with reverence, her movements becoming more frantic as she approaches climax.

You arch into her, meeting her thrusts with equal fervor, your own need driving you both towards climax.

You arch into her, meeting her thrusts with equal fervor, your own need driving you both towards climax. Sensing your desire, Yunjin shifts position, pulling out of you gently before guiding you onto your hands and knees.

"Let's try something different," she whispers, her voice thick with arousal, her hands gripping your hips as she positions herself behind you.

You eagerly comply, feeling a surge of anticipation as Yunjin lines herself up behind you, her hardness pressing against your slick folds.

With a low growl of need, Yunjin enters you again, this time from behind, and you gasp at the sensation of being filled in a new way.

"Fuck," you moan, the new angle sending bolts of pleasure through you.

Yunjin's hands roam over your body, gripping your hips firmly as she sets a rhythm, each thrust driving you both closer to the edge.

"Oh god, yes," she groans, her voice thick with desire as she pounds into you from behind.

"You're doing so well," Yunjin praises, her voice soft yet commanding, her hips moving with purpose as she takes you.

You push back against her, meeting her thrusts with equal fervor, lost in the pleasure of being taken so completely by her.

With each movement, the intensity builds, pleasure mounting with each deep thrust. Your bodies move together in perfect harmony, driving each other towards ecstasy.

Yunjin's pace quickens, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she chases her own release, her hips rocking against yours with increasing urgency.

"You feel so fucking good," she moans, her voice filled with lust and admiration.

You're on the edge, the pleasure building to an exquisite peak, and with one final, powerful thrust, you both cry out in ecstasy as you find release together.

In the throes of orgasm, Yunjin spills her seed inside you, the warmth of her release adding to your pleasure as you clench around her, riding out the waves of ecstasy together.

Collapsed in a heap of pleasure, you both catch your breath, feeling utterly spent but completely satisfied.

After the intense release, you collapse together, breathing heavily, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction. Yunjin, still holding you close, gently guides you to lie on your back, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Let me take care of you," she murmurs, her voice filled with tenderness.

You nod, feeling a shiver of anticipation as Yunjin settles between your legs, her fingers trailing down your body until they reach your sensitive core.

With a gentle touch, she begins to play with your clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. Her touch is skilled, knowing exactly how to make you squirm and moan with delight.

"Oh, Yunjin," you whimper, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

She smiles up at you, her eyes filled with adoration. "You're so responsive," she praises, her voice sending a thrill down your spine.

Yunjin continues her ministrations, her fingers working magic on your sensitive flesh. Each stroke, each caress brings you closer to the edge once again.

You arch into her touch, craving more of her, feeling her seed spilling out of your cunt, mixing with your arousal.

"You're so beautiful like this," Yunjin whispers, her breath warm against your skin, her fingers never ceasing their delicious torture.

The pleasure builds and builds, until you're teetering on the brink once again, your whole body humming with need.

And then, with one final flick of her fingers, you tumble over the edge, crying out her name as pleasure washes over you in waves.

Yunjin holds you through your climax, her touch gentle and comforting as you ride out the aftershocks, feeling completely blissful in her embrace.

Yunjin holds you close, her touch gentle and reassuring as you both catch your breath. She presses soft kisses against your skin, her lips trailing along your neck and collarbone with tenderness.

"You're amazing," she murmurs, her voice filled with genuine affection, "thank you for trusting me."

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at her words. "Thank you for everything," you reply, your voice soft with contentment.

Yunjin pulls you into a loving embrace, holding you as if she never wants to let go. The room is filled with a sense of peace and intimacy, a sanctuary where you can be completely yourselves.

"I want to take care of you," Yunjin says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

And she does just that, tending to you with gentle touches and sweet words. Whether it's wiping away stray tears, cuddling you close, or simply whispering words of comfort, she's there for you every step of the way.

You bask in her affection, feeling safe and cherished in her arms. There's nowhere else you'd rather be than here, wrapped up in this moment of love and intimacy.

As you lay together, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you in your own little bubble of happiness.

"I'm so glad I met you," Yunjin says, her voice filled with sincerity.

"Me too," you reply, snuggling closer to her, feeling completely at peace.

Yunjin pulls the covers over you both, tucking them snugly around you as if she's shielding you from the world. She presses a tender kiss to your forehead before snuggling close to you, her warmth comforting against your skin.

For a while, you simply lay there in comfortable silence, the only sound the quiet rhythm of your breathing. It's a moment of peace and closeness that you wouldn't trade for anything.

Yunjin reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face, her touch gentle and loving. "You're welcome here anytime," she says, her eyes locking with yours.

You feel a rush of gratitude for her hospitality and her genuine kindness. With Yunjin, you feel accepted and cared for in a way you've never experienced before.

Snuggled together in the quiet of the night, you feel a sense of belonging, as if you've found a piece of home in each other's arms.

As sleep begins to claim you both, you drift off feeling grateful for this moment, and excited for the future that lies ahead with Yunjin by your side.

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mechaknight-98 · 8 months

Text

Celebrations (NSFW) Ft: Jihyo

Authors note: A little something for the birthday girl

You arrive at the restaurant where we agreed to meet. I’m as usual several minutes early as I wait for you to come in. After you get in Max is the next to arrive then Vlad. You and I notice Vlad is being dropped off by a very pretty girl with dark hair. She kisses his cheek before leaving and says, “Text me when you’re done, sweetie.” Vlad smiles at her adorably and nods.

He runs up to you and me and says “Sorry I’m late guys Natty’s practice went on a little longer than usual. You look at me and I look at you.

“Who’s Natty?” You ask

“Oh, a girl I met on Tinder a while back. We have been dating for a while now.” We look at each other again but let the subject go.

“Well you’re not too late because we’re waiting on…oh there he is,” you say as Max comes rushing in. He looks stressed but he’s here.

“Sorry I’m late…” he starts but you hold up your hand dismissing his words

“Look boss it’s fine, but let’s get started because my girlfriend’s birthday is today and I promised her a major portion of my time.” Max Nods

“Wait I thought Sana’s birthday just happened?” Vlad asked. I nodded in agreement.

“Guys I'm dating Sana and Jihyo remember,” you answer I squint at You and shrug.

“ Look I know it sounds wrong but they chose this, and have made it very clear they are only willing to share me.” you defend. I relent and. We talk about the dig we are about to go on It is nothing too important: just locations and objects, artifacts we are looking for. Normal paleontologist stuff. After that, we all go our separate ways. You get a text from Jihyo saying she’s ready to go. You smile and go to your car to pick her up. She hops in the car and instantly grabs your free hand.

“Where to honey it’s all about you tonight?” You ask Jihyo. She looks at you with her big soft brown eyes and ponders the choices.

“That burger place in the hills, but shower first.” She replies authoritatively. You nod and drive her to your apartment so she can shower, then use your sky-warp powers to take you to the burger spot. You paid for lunch and walked with her to a nearby park overlooking all of Whittier and much of Socal.

“This is so nice and quiet.” jihyo says as she eats. A little piece of lettuce drips down her cheek and you wipe it off with a napkin.

“Oh what a gentleman.” jihyo teases

You smile then reply, “Anything for my birthday girl.” jihyo smiles and then looks into the distance.

“I could retire out here,” Jiyho says happily.

“Oh you retire but you royalty why would you give that up,” you tease

“Well I wanna live my life and maybe I wanna start a family with you.” Jihyo teases. “You ever consider that Gally?” she adds looking at you with a teasing grin. You're flustered speechless. Jihyo nestles in, “Okay ten more minutes then we go back okay.” Jihyo says. You nod and stay with her as you watch the sunset. After night fully takes hold you skywarp Jihyo back to your apartment.

“Oh, that's so helpful. Why can't we just do that everywhere?” jihyo whines

“Because it's super tiring for me,” you respond with your hands on your hips setting buckets. Jihyo laughs and then tells you to shower. After you finish you walk back into the living room of your apartment. Jihyo eyes you hungrily but recomposes herself you chuckle as she gets herself ready for her “surprise party” Dahyun is the one who messed up but to her credit, She does double-check to make sure Jihyo isn't there. She just walked in when she specifically mentioned the party. It was a huge laugh but what can you do?

You smile and drive her back to her apartment where Sana is waiting along with the rest of the members of Twice. They bought her a cake and quite a few of her favorite things. Sejeong was also there eager to support her closest friend. Jihyo was overwhelmed with joy and appreciation.

“Ah, you guys. She says the sniffles and almost tears. Dahyun who was the one physically closest to her began to ball her eyes out seeing her crying.

“Unnie I’m so happy to have you in my life. She said as she hugged your girlfriend. You watched happily to see Jihyo getting so much love. After the little mini-party, only you Sana, and Sejeong remained. You had already given Jihyo her the necklace you picked up a while ago with Vlad and as predicted she loved it despite you strategically avoiding the topic of price. You only told her that she was a priceless girl and the cost was irrelevant.

Jihyo sat in your lap while you ran your fingers through her hair. She nestled into your chest relaxed and content. Sejeong watched pouting, “Ugh sky two are too cute.” Sejeong lamented.

“You don't have anyone interested in you unnie?” Jihyo said looking up confused.

“No apparently I'm intimidating,” Sejeong answered you laughed because those are the exact words you heard me say a while back when you asked me the same question. Sejeong unaware you weren't laughing at her left in an annoyed huff. Leaving Jihyo and you. Sana got a “call” and had to leave the apartment for a couple of hours.

As soon as the door closed Jihyo heard the lock click. The switch in her flipped. She looked up at your blue eyes and kissed you. As she did she unbuckled your belt.

“Mommy needs your cock.” she whispered as she got up and led you to her bedroom. She slides her pants down low enough that you get a view of her pussy. You reach a finger out to stroke her but she sees it and smacks your finger away. “Don't make mommy repeat herself.” jihyo says. You nod and take your cock out. You give your cock a few preparation strokes before thrusting into her drenched pussy. You slide in easily but as you pull out her pussy grips you so tight it's almost as if she's trying to tear your dick off. You groan which fuels your girlfriend's arousal, “yes moan for mommy.” she demands as her pussy gets tighter and wetter causing more noises and breaths to escape your lips. Jihyo is elated. Since not having sex for almost two months Jihyo is not long away from her orgasm and you are not far off as well.

“Harder. Smack Mommy’s ass.” Jihyo growls. Jihyo must need it tonight. She is never this demanding of you, but is her birthday and you oblige slapping her ass harder and harder until

“Ahhh I'm cumming.” Jihyo moans as she explodes all over your cock. She begins to squirt a deluge, with such intensity it forces you out. You watch amused as Jihyo rides her orgasm for as long as she can. After she's done she pushes you back onto the chair and starts riding you.

“Now mommy needs your cum.” Jihyo states matter of a fact as she begins to bounce on your cock. Despite her previous orgasm, she's somehow tighter than before.

“Oh god yes.” jihyo says as you begin your slow and deliberate thrusts. In and out you go as her pussy grips you like an oil but ungodly tight vice. Jihyo is obscenely tight tonight. “Fucking bred me,” she says, and due to a lack of time together, you give in at that exact moment. You explode inside Jihyo and she looks back at you stunned. Before laughing.

“It's okay Mommy didn't give you any prep so she's unsurprised you would make a mess.” she looks at her watch and when she realizes the time she says “shit we'll have to continue this later.

#kpop fanfic #fanfic #male reader #twice smut #twice jihyo #jihyo smut #jihyo male reader

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jokeringcutio · 11 months

Text

Art the Clown x Reader (WARNINGS) Halloween smut.

AN: Follow me for more Halloween Reader Inserts. More stories will follow this month.

Drabble. Please read ALL warnings. Pairing: Art the Clown x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: It is Halloween when you bump into a clown and, embarrassed, apologize. Later that evening, your roommate Meri seems to have invited that very same clown into your house for a bit of fun. But that fun turns quickly into a nightmare.

Warnings: Mention of Murder, Cannibalism, death of a friend, Sexual content, dub-con. Reader is scared of clowns. Implied Virginity/First Time. Mention of Blood. Coulrophobia.

The streetlights cast eerie shadows as you hurried home on Halloween evening, arms laden with bags of candy. It was the right atmosphere for it, you thought. All the shadows seemed longer, and in the dark, the ornaments of the houses seemed to come to life. Pumpkins, fake skeletons… Your heart pounded in your chest, the brisk autumn air chilling you to the bone.

As you turned the corner, you collided with a man dressed as a clown, gasping in shock. His attire immediately sent shivers down your spine; black and white suit divided vertically down the middle, large ruffles at his collar and cuffs. A tiny black hat perched atop a white bald cap, while his face was painted with stark contrasts of black and white makeup. The pointy nose bore a black dot, and his eyes were as dark as the abyss.

"Sorry, I didn't see you," you stammered, feeling your pulse race. As if it wasn’t bad enough that you accidentally walked into someone, he had to be dressed as a clown. And you had an irrational fear of clowns. You could not help but tremble and blush in embarrassment. Come on, you thought to yourself, it’s just a grown-up man wearing a costume. Clowns are supposed to be funny. Don’t be so scared.

Art the Clown stared at you silently, unblinking. It was unnerving, but you thought he took offense to the way you had reacted to his outfit. He probably had spent a lot of time getting dressed up, you thought, when you saw all the makeup he wore. And when people put a lot of effort into their costumes and looks, they want to be complimented. Not for some stranger to freak out and insult all of their hard work.

"I-I have coulrophobia,” you stammered, trying to explain your weird reaction to him. God, this was all so embarrassing. You wished you could just fade away. “I'm scared of clowns."

He tilted his head, a cruel smile forming on his painted lips. Nope, that definitely freaked you out again. You had to force a smile on your own, praying he did not see how much effort it took you to be kind and polite to him.

"Nice costume, though," you whispered while you let your eyes rove over his form shortly, just enough to note once again how oddly this man was dressed. Most clowns you met were colorful. But this one, he was grim. A true horror clown, you realized. He fits the theme of Halloween excellently.

“You’re going to enjoy yourself tonight,” you shyly mumbled, embarrassed by the entire encounter. You couldn’t wait to get away. Clutching the candy closer to your chest, you quickly bid him a good evening before stepping away from him and resuming your hurried pace toward home.

You felt the man’s eyes stare at your back until you rounded the corner.

A few hours had passed and children from all over the neighborhood came trick-or-treating at the door. Their laughter and excited chatter filled the air. You glanced at the clock. Just one more hour before the party started. Meri, your roommate, was already wearing a nice blue dress with a very short skirt. Deliberately. You knew she wanted to score tonight. Meri was like that, always eager for a nice time with a willing man.

You glanced down at yourself. You hadn’t really had the time to come up with something nice, but you knew that Meri had more than enough dresses in her closet. You’d borrowed some of her before.

“Yeah, you can borrow one of mine again,” you heard Meri say, and when you looked up you caught her looking at you with a grin.

“As if you can read thoughts,” you whispered, earning a chuckle from your friend.

“I can and I am damn good at it,” Meri said. “I have a pretty red one that would fit you well. Show a bit of cleavage,” she winked at you. “Can’t do no harm.” She turned around and beckoned you to follow her to her room. Once inside, she took the dress out of her closet and showed it to you. You chewed your lip worriedly.

“I don’t know,” you said, earnestly concerned about how revealing that dress actually was. Then your eye fell upon a dress you had borrowed from her before. “Can’t I just take the green one?”

Meri rolled her eyes. “God, no. You definitely need some action, babe. This dress will give you that. I guarantee it.” She thrust the dress into your hands and started to push you towards the door. “Go on, get changed.”

You were about to protest when the doorbell rang and you could hear kids shouting "trick or treat!" from beyond the door.

“I’ll get that,” Meri said with a wink. She smiled warmly at you while she made her way to the door. “Now go get changed, princess. I can’t go to the party with you dressed like that.”

You glanced down at yourself to see what she meant by that. Comfy pants, a baggy shirt, wintery socks. All right, you did not look like any of those women in the magazines. She had a point. With a sigh of defeat, you turned around to head to your own room.

But that was when an idea hit you.

Meri was answering the door. You could quickly slip into her room and pick up the green dress. It would only take a second.

Seizing the opportunity, you slipped into her bedroom, rummaging through her closet where you’d seen the dress you wanted to wear. With a bright smile, you found it. But just as your hand landed on the desired green dress, the sound of Meri's voice reached your ears. “Come in, thing. We can have a bit of fun in my room.”

You froze. The sound of footsteps heading your way made your heart leap into your throat. Had she invited someone in? By the sound of it, she was not alone.

Panicking, you dove into her wardrobe, the scent of her perfume enveloping you as you hid among her clothes.

Your breath hitched as Meri entered the room, the wardrobe door cracked open just enough for you to peek out. “Come on in, sweetheart,” Meri playfully said. You saw her beckon someone who was still on the other side of the threshold. Meri was horny, there was no doubt. You knew she had been so for a while now, hence why she insisted on going to the party tonight. But apparently, someone had come and offered himself willingly at your door. A friend? Someone you knew? Steve again? He would sometimes come around. Or Will?

But when Meri turned around, that excited smile still on her lips, you could finally see the man who wished to follow her into the bedroom. An oversized shoe appeared over the threshold, followed by a suit that was half black and half white.

The evening's events played like a twisted nightmare in your head, the clown’s haunting smile refused to leave your thoughts. It was him though. He was dressed exactly as before: black and white suit, pointy nose, black eyes that held a malicious glint. Fear gripped you, but curiosity kept you from fleeing. Was Meri actually going to have sex with this stranger?

Peeking through the crack in the wardrobe, you saw Meri lead Art the Clown into her bedroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Quite the costume," Meri purred, running her fingers over his ruffled collar. "I like a man who knows how to stand out."

She didn't seem to care about his silence, only growing bolder in her advances. The stranger sat himself on the edge of her bed and Meri purred again. You wanted to roll your eyes at the show she made. Slowly, she began to undress, exposing more and more of her flawless skin. Meri was beautiful like that. It had often irked you how easily some things came to her, simply because of her looks.

Meri moved her hips alluringly from side to side, unhooking her bra like a stripper before she let it drop to the floor. Her fingers pressed against her breasts, pushing them closer together while she let out a moan. Art's gaze never wavered, locked onto her every movement. Then she shimmied her panties down her hips, slowly stepping out of them.

"Want a taste?" Meri asked, lying back on the bed and spreading her legs. Your breath caught in your throat as Art moved closer, kneeling between her thighs. One bandaged hand was placed on her naked thigh. You could have questioned why the man remained in his costume, but you didn’t. Instead, you felt your breath hitch in your throat at the sight. Sensual, you thought. You felt your own body respond, slick gathering between your folds unbiddenly. And yet, you could not tear your gaze away.

The clown’s tongue darted out. You could see the pink coming from between the black of his lips. A slurping wet noise. "Y-yeah, just like that," Meri moaned, arching her back as he went down on her. Another slurp, another moan, another spark of arousal down your core. You pressed your legs shut, a hand firmly against your lower abdomen. You shouldn’t respond to this. You shouldn’t. "God, you're so good with your mouth," Meri gasped.

The clown gave no reaction. He continued to lick and slurp, his fingers folding Meri’s pussy lips aside so his mouth could easily reach her pearl. He was sipping, slurping, licking, and nipping and you could not tear your eyes away. It was a mesmerizing sight. Meri’s hand found his scalp, pressing him even deeper between her legs. He licked her now. Long, languid licks.

Meri shuddered in ecstasy, but after a few moments of the same, she started to catch her breath again. "Too bad my roommate isn't like this," Meri murmured, but you could hear it. "She's such a wallflower, probably never even had sex. Scared of it, I'd bet." You felt your face flush with shame, wondering if she knew you were hiding there, listening to her words.

“That’s it, baby,” Meri panted, the hand between her legs bobbing up and down faster now. “That’s it, make me cum.” The clown was working his magic apparently, because Meri threw her head back, lost in pleasure.

You bit your lip and clutched the green dress closer against your chest. You didn’t want to watch, knew it was supposed to be a private moment. But curiosity got the better of you, for Meri was right. You weren’t like her. You weren’t-

Suddenly, Meri screamed, her hands started clawing at the sheets. Her eyes turned wide, bulging, the screeching sounds of her screams were painful to your ears. It took you a moment to realize what you saw. The clown’s head kept bobbing up and down between Meri’s legs, but something was wrong now.

Those dreadful black-painted lips no longer glistened with fluids of passion, you realized with a shock. Instead, a darker liquid streamed down the man’s chin, and something large and chunky was caught between his teeth. Your eyes widened in horror as you realized Art was no longer merely pleasuring her. He was literally devouring her, tearing into her flesh with his teeth. Panic surged through you, but you couldn't look away. Your hands itched for your phone, to call 911, but you had left it in your room.

All you could do was watch. Watch and listen and pray.

Darkness surrounded the place. All you heard was your own heavy breathing, like a drum announcing a war. Your ears hurt, your throat was dry, your body felt numb. A horrible stench reached your nostrils.

It was over, had been so for possibly hours. You could not tell. You had not dared to move in case the clown had not left the house yet. But you had heard the door ages ago. Yet fear had kept you frozen.

An eerie silence filled the room. You stayed hidden in the wardrobe, paralyzed by terror until you were sure the clown must have left. Logic told you that you could not stay here forever. Shaking and weak-kneed, you slipped out of your hiding place.

Moving as silently as possible, you tiptoed through the dimly lit apartment, avoiding the gruesome scene in Meri's room. Whatever was left of her - and it wasn’t much – had dripped all over the bedroom walls and floor. Her bed was drenched in blood. All you wanted was to get your phone and call for help – you couldn't bear to look at whatever was left of your friend.

The door to your bedroom creaked open, and you stepped inside, the scent of lavender from your bedsheets a faint comfort in the midst of chaos. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for your phone. Hadn’t you left it on your nightstand? You felt around in the dark but found nothing. And so, with trembling fingers, you flicked on the light switch.

You looked at the nightstand first, but your phone was nowhere to be seen. Strange, you thought, and with a frown, you turned around. You’d closed the door upon entering, and it still was. But there was something odd about the shape of the shadow you saw that fell on it. Almost as if you had grown larger all of a sudden.

With eyes wide, you very slowly turned back to your nightstand. It was just as you had feared. There he stood, Art the Clown, grinning maliciously as he waved your phone in the air. Fear clawed at your throat, leaving you unable to scream or move. His black eyes bore into you, holding you captive.

"Please," you whispered, voice barely audible, "don't hurt me."

He didn't respond, his silence more chilling than any words could be. In one fluid motion, he lunged forward, overpowering you with ease. He threw you onto the bed, his bony fingers digging into your flesh, betraying his inhuman strength.

"Stop," you choked out, but he continued, undeterred. His fingers ran down your body nimbly as he tore off your clothes. Piece by piece. You heard the fabric rip and tear and had to squeeze your eyes shut. The sound reminded you too much of earlier. Of her. Your friend.

You hardly noticed how swiftly he had you exposed and vulnerable beneath him. Not until a cold puff of air made your nipples peak and you finally looked.

Pitch-black eyes bore into yours and you had to bite back a cry of fear. His face was very close to your own, hovering over yours. From this close, you could see the black paint around his eyes and lips, how there wasn’t a single crack in the white surrounding it. With a shock, you realized his teeth were a rotten color. Black, brown. But they weren’t ordinary teeth. As he grinned at you, you saw that something about his mouth was wrong.

Scary thoughts clouded your mind. Would he tear his teeth into your flesh like he had done with Meri? Would he torture you too? You forced yourself not to think back to any of it. Not to the pleasure you had felt at first, or the fear after, or the helplessness.

You became aware of the sound of fabric rustling and followed his movements with your eyes. His arm moved, his hand was doing something down below. Your eyes came to rest just below his abdomen. You had not thought his suit could open there, but it could. Something large and pale popped out of its confines. Flesh, you thought alarmed. Hard and large. Veins throbbed, purple and black. The head spilled a droplet of something white. Pre-cum.

This was his cock? This monstrously large cock was to fit inside of you?

Your mouth had been dry before, but it became impossible to swallow as you watched the clown position himself between your legs. You wanted to protest, say no, push him away. Your hands were upon his chest without thinking, but he was stronger than you. You stood no chance.

“No, please,” you gasped while he fumbled with his cock at your entrance. He looked down at himself as he tried to position himself and seemed annoyed when he couldn’t find your entrance. You felt the leaky head brush past your folds a few times and panicked. Your heart beat faster and your chest heaved rapidly.

“Please,” you begged again, your hands still pushing against his shoulders – to no avail. Then, you felt it. The head nudged against your entrance, parting your walls ever so slightly. But he had noticed it as well. Art’s sour expression made room for a smile as if he was relieved. His eyes darted up to meet yours again, silently telling you that this was going to be fun.

“It won’t fit,” you pleaded weakly, but your whispered words ended in a silent gasp when Art thrust forth, burying his large cock inside your deep warmth in one go. Too much. Your back arched, pressing your body up against his. Your naked breasts brushed past the coarse fabric of his suit. You didn’t care at this point that his clothes were riddled with spots of blood. Everything was focused on the feel of his shaft deep inside of you, hitting the depth of you mercilessly with a blunt thrust.

You gasped silently - as if the clown had ripped your voice away and had rendered you mute. Blood covered his shaft as he pulled out, making him smile even wider. Was that yours? You were pleading silently for this nightmare to end. But as he thrust inside of you, a shameful warmth began to spread through your body. Despite the terror, you found yourself responding to his touch, your heart racing for reasons other than fear. With your hands you tried to claw at him while his hands circled your hips, getting a good grip on your flesh before he started pounding into you in a steady rhythm.

That awful grin of his never seemed to leave his face. Not while he was treating you like a nice piece of meat, slapping your ass while he thrust inside of you. You could see his wicked teeth - black and brown and yellow - and had to force yourself not to think of what his mouth could do. His hips slapped against yours, hipbones prodding against your softer flesh. He was lean and nimble, but the grip he had on you with his hands was fierce and unyielding, certain to leave bruises.

A low moan threatened to spill from your lips and you rolled your head from side to side. What was he doing to you? The clown’s pointy chin brushed past your clavicle as he dipped his head forward, and then you felt his teeth brush past your skin. Scared that he would take a bite and tear out your flesh, you tried to arch your back away from him, but felt him respond by intensifying his grip and pushing you back down. As a response, you had earned a deep harsh thrust with his hips, feeling the head of his cock batter your cervix cruelly.

With each stroke deep inside, you felt your pussy lubricate the way for him. You felt your body respond to his wicked touch. Each slap against your ass had your walls squeeze down on him hard. Each thrust deep inside your core seemed to hit a delicious spot that made you see stars.

Breathlessly, you allowed him to rut inside of you, unable to stop him and unable to so much as make a sound while he pounded you into oblivion. You were helpless against the pleasure that threatened to consume you. He moved relentlessly, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

It didn't make sense – how could you enjoy this? Was there something wrong with you?

A few times you tried to close your eyes, but a slap to your cheek had you open them again to gaze up into the black depths of hell. His devilish smile was above you at all times, grinning down, reminding you of the pleasure he derived from your body. And the pleasure he gave you in turn. Sickening as it was, the demonic man above you managed to bring forth feelings that made your body tremble in agonizing pleasure.

When you came, your walls clamped down hard upon his shaft, milking him in a silent plea for more. You bit your lip from crying out. No way you’d show him that you enjoyed this. You wouldn’t give him the pleasure of your moans.

The silence made the wet sounds only seem louder. Wet thrusts of his cock as he slammed it inside of you hard, despite your walls milking him for all you were worth. Noises of sin, of pleasure, of lust. And then, as he finished inside of you, a shudder ran through your body, your climax tearing through you like a wildfire.

You were still biting your lip, aware it must be bleeding by now, but you’d be damned if you so much as would let him hear your passion. You glanced up at him. The wicked clown’s smile had disappeared. In its stead, you now saw a pensive, almost endearing look in his eyes, as he cocked his head and seemed to study you.

A calloused finger tilted your head back, revealing your throat to him while you looked back at him through half-lidded eyes. He tilted his head to the other side again, dick still twitching inside of your tight cunt, and seemed to study the tears in your eyes. You hadn’t noticed they had formed there. Would have wanted to say they were out of fear or sadness, rather than the harsh truth that they were out of pleasure.

With bated breath, you waited for what he was to do next. Would he kill you now, you wondered? The clown moved, his cock slipping from your core limply, leaving behind a trail of dark blood and yellowish cum.

He surprised you by moving forward, leaning on his elbows, as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead in a twisted mockery of tenderness. The contrast between his sadistic actions and this tender gesture only served to confuse you further.

You squeezed your eyes shut, thinking that surely this would be it. But the rustle of fabric against the bed indicated that he moved away. You waited and listened, heart beating wildly in your chest. But there was only the sound of another rustle. Plastic?

Curious, you opened your eyes to find Art standing several feet away. Picking up a garbage bag you hadn't noticed before, Art slung it over his shoulder and made his way to the window. Not the door, you noted. But the window. How odd?

He opened it. The sound of the window sent a shiver down your spine as you lay on the bed, watching the clown swing one leg over the edge and step outside. He turned around to face you. His black eyes glinted demonically in the darkness of the night – like little coals of fire. And then his smile returned once more. Seeing it, seeing him like that, made something twist deep inside of you.

And still, no sound could come forth from between your lips. The only thing you noticed was how warm your pussy felt at the sight of him, how your nipples peeked, and how your walls clamped down around his phantom cock, craving the real thing to be returned to you.

With a final, silent laugh, he blew you a kiss before disappearing into the night, leaving you alone in the aftermath of your orgasm, mind racing with a thousand unanswerable questions. ~ Fin ~

AN: Hope you enjoyed it :) ♡ Support me on Ko-Fi ♡ Love you all

#art x reader #art the clown x reader #terrifier #terrifier 2 #art the clown #art the clown x you

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blingblong55 · 7 months

Text

Nothing- König

Based on a request:

Hey kasper!! >__< i hope this request finds you in good health, i'm that anon who asked earlier if your reqs are open and dont worry! Im willing to wait <33 just take your time and no rush.. Anyways- May I request a fluff fic on konig (or ghost) where they come home from a very long mission to see that their darling is baking something delicious? (Can be any pastry dish you want WAAHH) Maybe a pastry chef reader and shes on her day off and used the time to bake something! The house smelled definitely like heaven and I bet that Konig (or ghost 😭) was immediately the taste tester for the day!! TEEEHEEEE >3< jus some domestic fluff cause i've been reading way too much angst lately BAAAHHHHAHSHAHAH -🍰 anon :3 ---- F!Reader, fluff, domestic, established!relationship, baker!reader ----

A/N: If you came for the Ghost version of this, click here

It was a tough mission. His body was sore, and scars and bruises adorned him. "Home," he whispers once his body is near to giving up. Home is you, he thinks. His pretty darling is home and all he can do is drive faster. How much can a man last when he isn't in the arms of their lover?

Once he steps wearily through the threshold of his home, his boots fall heavy by the entrance. The weight of the mission on his shoulders but as soon as he caught the aroma wafting through the air, his fatigue seemed to dissipate. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he followed the scent. The mask he dreads to wear home is tossed to the side.

There you are, his pretty girl, standing amidst a flurry of flour a sugar. You didn't notice him as you stook your tongue out and tried to clean the corners of the spoon. Flour from the past minutes is still on your blouse and cheek.

He clears his throat, your eyes light up with delight when you notice him. As you rushed to his side, he felt himself grow those everloving butterflies. "Welcome home," you whisper, your voice soothes his weary soul.

König returns the embrace, savouring the familiar scent of your hair. "It's good to be home, Liebling," he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

Home.

What a funny word, no? At least to him, it is. If you would've told him years ago he'd be calling you his wife or that he'd even have a person to go to, he'd laugh at your nonsense. A man like him isn't worthy of a home–

"I missed you Bär," you say as you cup his face. It's beautiful really, how he lets you love him this much. It's poetic how good he feels when he sees you even more when you hold him like this. Are you truly an angel?

As you both pull away, he can't help but admire the sight before him. Flour dust on that pretty face of yours and your hair pulled back into that clipped messy bun, yet you are still the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. The warmth of your smile is chased by shadows that linger in his mind, and he feels a surge of gratitude for your presence in his life.

I mean look at you, what good must he have done to have you here?

"What are you baking?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. Your eyes sparkle with mischief as you gesture to the countertop. "I'm experimenting with a new recipe. Chocolate chip cookies."

König's stomach rumbled in anticipation, and he couldn't resist stealing a taste of the dough. You laugh at his eagerness, swatting his hand away. "Patience, Bär," you smile. "They'll be ready soon enough."

Maybe all is well and he doesn't have to run or hide. He can just be here, with you.

As you two wait for the cookies to bake, he finds himself drawn to your side, appreciating the simple pleasure of being in your company. You two exchange stories of your week. Laugh and playful pushes followed along.

What if this is what he is meant for? Maybe life isn't so bad for a man like him. Not with you, at least.

Finally, the timer dinged, signalling the cookies were done. As you pull the tray out of the oven, he finds himself dreaming of more. Maybe next time around, when all is peaceful, there will be a kid, maybe two eagerly waiting for a taste of a new family recipe.

"These are incredible," König declares as he takes another bite and savours the sweetness with his tongue.

You beam with pride, your cheeks flush with pleasure from this compliment. "I'm glad you think so. There's plenty more where that came from," your voice softer now.

As you two indulge in this impromptu midnight snack, König can't shake the feeling of contentment that settles over him. In this moment, surrounded by warmth and love, he knows that there is nowhere else in the world he rather be.

And as he and you lean on the counters, he realises that sometimes, the greatest adventures were found not in the battlefield, but in the quiet moments of domestic blissed with the one he holds dear.

F!Reader, fluff, domestic, established!relationship, baker!reader

König returns the embrace, savouring the familiar scent of your hair. "It's good to be home, Liebling," he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

Home.

I mean look at you, what good must he have done to have you here?

"What are you baking?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. Your eyes sparkle with mischief as you gesture to the countertop. "I'm experimenting with a new recipe. Chocolate chip cookies."

Maybe all is well and he doesn't have to run or hide. He can just be here, with you.

What if this is what he is meant for? Maybe life isn't so bad for a man like him. Not with you, at least.

"These are incredible," König declares as he takes another bite and savours the sweetness with his tongue.

You beam with pride, your cheeks flush with pleasure from this compliment. "I'm glad you think so. There's plenty more where that came from," your voice softer now.

And as he and you lean on the counters, he realises that sometimes, the greatest adventures were found not in the battlefield, but in the quiet moments of domestic blissed with the one he holds dear.

A/N: I want to hold him.....

Tags:

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doomhands-jr · 4 months

Text

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 3

Noah Sebastian X Reader

Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Masterlist

Banner by @flowerynerds

Wheeeeeeee!

________

“Heavenly father,” Isaac began. “We ask that you bless this practice session. Allow us to spread your love and light through our music and give us the opportunity to reach the souls that need to hear it. Amen.”

“Amen,” the rest of you repeated.

“Alright, friends. What songs do we want to play this week?”

“I’ve been leaning towards How He Loves Us,” said Darian.

“Okay. I’ll need to refresh myself on the chords,” said Isaac. “Everyone on board?”

You nodded along with the others, but as they talked over the song list, you found yourself losing focus. Your eyes drifted over to the front of the stage, where you and Noah had sat on Saturday.

You were always so sure that if presented with temptation, you would be able to resist. It had never once entered your mind that there would be a situation in which your resolve would be tested.

But there on those steps, with Noah looking down over you, you knew you would have let your body take over and do whatever it wanted. For the first time in your life, you weren’t sure you could trust yourself with someone—and yet, you weren’t convinced it was a bad thing.

Okay, were you ready to lose your virginity to him? No. That was a big step to take, considering you’d only ever had one kiss in your life, but you couldn’t deny that you were eager to explore your sexuality more, and that had never been something you were willing to do outside of marriage.

Noah’s logic had you questioning the rules that had been instilled in you. He seemed to think that the rules, particularly those surrounding sex, were not worth following. He had such a confidence about it that you were dying to question where he got it from and what his reasoning behind it was.

Something tugged in the back of your mind, though. Isaac had cautioned you about spending time with him, and how he could lead you down a bad path. You felt yourself straying from what you had always believed, but were they right? Were you being led into a life of sin?

Or was it more complicated than that?

“Okay, everyone clear on the set list for this week?”

You nodded, even though you weren’t clear, but you’d pick it up easily enough. You could always ask Ava if you needed help.

“Hey, can I talk to you a minute?”

It was Isaac. He was closer than you remembered him being. “Sure, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if I could get your help with something?”

“Okay?” you said, waiting for him to continue.

“So I want to put together a Christmas concert. I could use your voice. And your help with setting it up if you’re down for it.”

“Halloween isn’t even over,” you said.

“These things take time to arrange. It’s better if we get a head start.” He flashed a smile at you and rocked back on his heels, visibly eager for you to agree.

“What all would I need to do?” you asked.

“Really, I just need you to sing the soprano harmonies. And to spread the word about it. Maybe hang some fliers or something. See if any of the women in your dorm want to come. I’m thinking this could be a great outreach project if we maybe add an alter call or something at the end.”

You didn’t want to. You knew you didn’t want to, but you needed something to focus on that wasn’t Noah and the way he had you questioning everything about yourself.

“I’ll think about it,” you said.

“Yess,” he hissed, already taking it as a begrudging agreement, instead of a consideration. “Promise you won’t regret it.”

“Uh-huh.”

The rest of the session was spent practicing the songs for the upcoming service. You wished you had the ability to stay focused, but all you could think about was the softness behind Noah’s eyes when he looked at you, and how eager you were for Saturday to arrive.

______

“Noah can’t come,” Nick said, walking up the concrete pathway that led to the church ground. “He got roped into working overtime at the factory. Won’t be off until 3.”

“Oh,” you said, trying not to let your disappointment show. “Sucks for him.”

“Not really. At least he’s getting paid,” he said. “Otherwise he’d have to be here, doing work for free.”

“Right,” you agreed. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“So what’s on the menu for today?” he asked, sounding much more chipper than last week.

“Sorting donations. Our church is holding a drive to help families in need. We’re sorting clothes by size and gender—,”

“Gender is a construct,” he cut in.

“Okay, so by size and masculine vs. feminine then.”

"And what if it's gender-neutral?" he asked.

You sighed. "Use your judgement."

“Got it,” he said and punctuated it with a nod.

“And then if we get done with that, we’ll sort toys by age, and then food by type and expiration date.”

“That sounds like a lot.”

“You shrugged. We’ll just do as much as we have time for.”

You led him down into the basement of the worship center, where all the donation boxes were stored.

“Start with that box. We’ll start sorting it based on gen—er, feminine verses masculine first. Then we’ll do children’s versus adults, and after that, go by size. Feminine clothes go there, masculine over there, you said, pointing to piles on two different tables.

“Sounds good,” he said, picking up a box and getting to work. You got back to work sifting through the box you’d been working on before he had arrived, picking up the clothes, judging which pile they belonged in and whether they were in good enough condition to rehome.

“Make sure you check for things like stains and tears. We don’t want to be sending people damaged things.”

“Got it,” he said.

Nick paused to remove his black hoodie, and you allowed yourself to sneak a glance over at him while he worked. He wore a black shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing tattoos on his arms, though not nearly as many as Noah. He was more muscular than you realized, biceps flexing and relaxing as he folded the clothes.

“I see you staring,” he said and you looked up at him to find him smirking at you.

“I was looking at your tattoos.”

“Sure you were,” he said. “Go ahead and stare. I don’t mind.”

“I wasn’t staring,” you said, looking away from him and back down to the pile of clothes you were sorting.

“And here I was thinking I’d finally caught the Virgin Mary in an act of lust.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

He slid out from behind the table he was working at and stood next to you, picking up a shirt from the pile in front of you and checking the tag.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Just thought you looked like you could use some help over here.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine.”

The pair of you worked together in tense silence. You had to admit, the work did go much faster when he was helping. Nick worked hard and rhythmically, settling into a pace that easily bested yours. Every so often, his arm would brush up against yours, and you couldn’t figure out if it was on purpose.

“My god, who donated this?!” he exclaimed after a while. You looked over and he was holding a pair of bright yellow children’s pants with a brown stain across the back, his face scandalized.

You snorted loudly. Nick caught it and his face lit up with his own laughter, and the two of you devolved into a fit of giggles.

“We should probably toss that one,” you said after regaining your composure and pointed to the trash can in the corner. He agreed, balling the garment up and tossing it into the trash, easily sinking it into the basket even though it was across the room.

“Do you think the rest are contaminated?” he asked.

You shook your head. “The organizers washed all of these in big industrial washers. It’s just a stain. Still gross though.”

“Still gross,” he agreed.

“Alright, since we’re almost done with this box, I’m gonna grab the next one,” you said, but before you could even try to lift it, Nick had stepped in front of you, hoisting it easily up onto the table with no effort. Impressive, considering you’d been struggling to even lift the boxes of clothing yourself.

“Thanks,” you said.

“No problem. Hey, so you know how I always say you could use more fun.”

You paused folding the shirt in your hands and raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look. You know it’s true.”

You maintained your cool expression.

“Well, we’re doing a Halloween gig tonight at Jolly’s. You should come.”

You considered it. If the band was playing, that meant Noah would be there, and you’d get to see what he’s like outside of community service. It sounded tempting, but—

“I already committed to handing out candy to trick-or-treaters with the worship team.”

Nick let out a sound of annoyance. “Are you always doing church stuff?”

You laughed. “Kind of.”

“Well, what time does it go until?” he asked.

“I think trick-or-treat ends at 8:30.”

“Perfect,” he said. “The party doesn’t even start until after 9:00.”

You considered for a moment, not sure if it would be a good idea.

“I can practically hear you talking yourself out of it.”

“It’s just…,” you began.

“You’re worried you’ll get pulled into a life of sin?” he finished. “Come on. It’s one party. You don’t even have to drink.”

You thought about it. It could be interesting to see the band perform. Get an idea of the kind of music Noah’s into.

“Can I bring a friend?” you asked.

He chuckled, “sure, if it’ll get you to come.”

“Okay. Where should I go?”

Nick smiled. “Where’s your dorm? I can pick you and your friend up there at 9:00 and we’ll head over together.”

“Sounds good.”

“Oh, and wear a costume.”

_______

“No way! Really?!” Ava half-shouted.

“Don’t go crazy. I’m bringing you to be my accountability partner,” you said. “Make sure I don’t make any bad decisions while I’m there.”

“What bad decisions would you even make?” she said, “You’re the most responsible out of all of us.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I’ve never been to this kind of party before, so I don’t know what to expect.”

“We’ll be fine,” she said. “Don’t be such a worrier.”

She had a point. You doubted you were going to do anything. But then again, you had experienced your first real temptation only a week ago, and had Nick not walked in, you weren’t one hundred percent positive you would have resisted.

Only time would tell.

_________

Trick-or-treating went smoothly. You and the rest of the worship band got dressed up in your costumes and handed out candy from the steps leading up to the church. Other organizers in your congregation had set up a mini obstacle course for the children, and a table full of apple cider and glazed donuts stood beside it, with many members of the church gathered around it.

These were the kinds of events you loved helping out at. There was such a sense of community that made you feel like you were part of something greater than yourself. Seeing the joy on everyone’s faces made putting up with the more annoying tasks well worth it.

Ava dressed as a medieval princess in a flowing white and pink gown. Isaac went as a pirate. Darian and Josh wore matching “Thing 1” and “Thing 2” costumes. You were dressed as your favorite historical president, but with a twist. The kids loved your costumes, but their own costumes were just as creative.

Part of the event that the church put on involved a costume contest, where the winner would receive a gift certificate for free pizza, soda, and dessert at the local pizza restaurant. It wasn’t much, but the kids had gone all out for it.

You and the worship band were in charge of judging the costumes, and after much deliberation between the robot (your choice) and the wolverine (Isaac’s choice), the robot eventually won out.

“It had blinking LEDs and functioning buttons with sound effects!” you said, when Isaac was salty about the outcome.

“The kid had home-made retractable claws! Do you know how much engineering that takes?”

“Sorry. The results were fair.”

“Whatever. What are you guys doing after this? Want to go bowling?”

“Actually, we already have plans,” Ava said.

“Oh? Where are you going?”

“We were invited to watch a local band.”

“Oh nice. Where is it? I might want to stop by.”

“Oh, uh. I actually don’t know. Our friend is going to pick us up,” you said, growing nervous.

Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “Which friend?”

You shifted, not knowing how to answer him.

“It’s the delinquents,” said Ava, unconcerned with the tension that had grown. “Calm down, we’ll be fine.”

Isaac looked at you as if you had told him you were going to a strip club. “That sounds like a really bad idea,” he said. “Are you sure about this? Do you want me to escort you?”

“Yes I’m sure. And no, we don’t need a chaperone. It’s just listening to a band.”

“Yeah,” said Isaac. “A secular band.”

“Isaac chill. She asked me to be her accountability partner. She’s covered. Now if you’ll excuse me, we have to get going.”

Ava grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you away. Isaac looked like he wanted to follow, but thought better of it and turned away.

“You’re welcome for that, by the way,” she said when the two of you were out of earshot.

“Thanks. I owe you,” you said. “What’s his problem?”

“He doesn’t like them. He’s been talking to me about it. He believes they’re bad news, but I think he’s just jealous, to be honest. You’re no longer paying attention to him the way you used to and he knows it.”

“What a crybaby,” you said.

“I mean, can you blame him? You spent the last several years at his beck and call, and now suddenly you dip.”

“That’s not exactly fair,” you said. “You were the same way with him.”

“Yeah, well, maybe both of us are to blame.”

“You might be right.”

You and Ava reached your dorm, where Ava stripped off the overskirt of her dress, revealing a much shorter version of her costume, complete with knee socks and heels.

“Whoa!” you exclaimed.

“I told you I wanted to experience life on the other side,” she said. “This is my chance. Don’t judge me.”

“Honestly, I’m more impressed than anything. But I don’t know. Maybe it’s a little much for your first party? Like, should you scope it out first before taking a risk like that?”

Ava shrugged. “I’m tired of the same boring things every day. I could use a little risk-taking.”

You bit back your comments, knowing that you weren’t going to change her mind. She was headstrong, which you loved about her, but it also worried you at times.

“Just don’t get too carried away, okay?” you said.

“I’m going to have at least one drink while I’m there.”

“You’re supposed to be my accountability partner!”

“I can still hold you accountable. It’s just one drink.”

You sighed and rubbed your forehead, acknowledging to yourself that it may have been a mistake to bring her.

“Please just don’t make me babysit you the whole time. I want to enjoy myself.”

“I promise. I’ll keep my wits about me. I’ll have one drink. We’ll listen to the music, maybe do a little dancing. Maybe I’ll have my first kiss, and then we’ll be home by midnight.”

You groaned. “Drinking and kissing? That’s a lot to pack into one night.”

“It’ll be fine,” she insisted. “Don’t worry about me. You just focus on enjoying yourself, okay? This is your first real party. You should be excited for you! Not worried for me.”

As if on cue, there was a knock on your door. You looked at the clock on your phone and it read 8:57.

“He’s early for once.”

You opened the door to reveal Nick’s bare chest with the image of an eagle holding a fish inked onto it. A tiny purple vest barely covered his shoulders. “Aladdin?” you asked.

“At your service,” he said, lifting the fez he wore up in salute.

“Nice,” you commented. “Nick, this is Ava.”

“Princess Ava,” he said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “I like your costume.”

Ava burst into a fit of giggles at the flattery. “Yours too.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” you said to Nick, already knowing what he was thinking. You saw his eyes scan up and down Ava’s legs.

“What are you supposed to be?” he asked. “A sexy founding father?”

“Baberaham Lincoln,” you clarified, fiddling with the fake beard to ensure its placement.

He scanned you up and down. “I guess I see it,” he said slowly. “But to truly pass as a babe-ified version of Lincoln, I think you need to be a little sexier.”

“I wore red lipstick,” you defended.

“You could stand to undo a few buttons on your shirt. Or tie it up to make a crop top,” Ava suggested.

“I’m good,” you said.

Nick shrugged. “Suit yourself. Come on.”

You and Ava followed him out the door and began your walk towards town. Jolly’s house was supposedly a mile or so away from campus. The wind carried a chill, but Ava and Nick seemed to not notice, too enraptured in conversation. They were obviously flirting, and you’d have to remember to warn Ava about him. And threaten Nick.

The walk was quicker than you expected, and you vaguely recognized the part of town Jolly lived in. The house was light blue with black shutters. It spanned two floors, but wasn’t in great shape. Partygoers spilled out onto the front porch and lawn, all dressed in a variety of costumes. You noticed most were homemade, and you appreciated that, but they also showed much more skin than you were used to seeing and you felt overdressed. You unbuttoned one button at the top of your blouse.

“So ladies,” Nick said, gesturing to the crowd. “This is a party. Can I get either of you something to drink?”

“I’m fine,” you said. “I’ll take a drink,” said Ava.

Nick grinned. “Excellent. What would you like?”

“What do they have?” she asked.

“Follow me to the kitchen and I’ll show you.” Nick and Ava made their way into the crowd, while you hung back a few paces, wanting to get your bearings before immersing yourself into the sea of people. You scanned the strangers, looking for Noah, but came up empty.

So this was a party. It looked like people were having fun. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves, but it was very crowded and noisy. You wondered if alcohol was the key to enjoying this. Or perhaps knowing more people. Maybe you just didn’t know anyone so it was hard for you to keep from feeling out of place.

You walked up the steps and across the porch, weaving in and out among partygoers and noticing the various costumes. Superheroes, characters from popular movies and comic book series. A lot of people dressed as celebrities, and then more generic costumes like firefighter and nurse. Several girls walked around in black bodysuits with cat ears and whiskers painted on their faces. You wondered if they all knew each other.

Stepping into the house, you were met with a big cloud of cigarette smoke. It wafted into the air and permeated throughout the entire house. There was another smell too that you didn’t recognize, but you guessed was marijuana.

The tile floor was sticky, you noticed. Your shoes peeled away from the ground with each step and you could almost feel the film they were collecting. It was also hot and humid inside the house, with all the bodies that were crammed in.

Electric neon lights flashed all around in the living room, where several people gathered. It looked like that was where people went to dance. In the kitchen, Ava and Nick leaned up against the counter while Nick poured some red liquid from a large Hawaiian Punch container labeled “jungle juice.” He handed it to Ava and she smiled up at him. His hand went to rest around her waist and she blushed. You’d have to intervene eventually, but for now, you wanted to let Ava have her fun.

You took a swig of water out of the bottle you’d tucked into the inside pocket of your blazer, which was quickly growing too warm. You couldn’t abandon it though, or else nobody would know what you were dressed as—not that it mattered much. Everyone was focused on their own thing, and nobody was paying attention to you.

You found yourself a corner of the living room to stand in and you leaned against the walls, watching the guests as they danced. Some were dancing on each other. Some were making out, while others danced with abandon, twirling their arms above their heads and jumping up and down. It reminded you of summer camp, when you’d do the same thing. Dance with reckless abandon to the worship music—although the context of this dancing was wildly different.

You missed being a kid and getting to participate in all the different activities in the church. Now that you were an adult, you’d taken on more of an organizer and leadership role, overseeing all of these activities. You liked the work, but had much more fun when you were a kid, before all the responsibility kicked in.

A tall figure coming down the stairs caught your eye and you recognized him immediately. He hadn’t seen you yet, and you were perfectly content to watch him from afar.

Noah was dressed in all black. He had switched out his hoodie for a tank top, which displayed the full scope of his tattoos. He wore his hair tied back, but on his head sat a pair of shiny, dark black horns. He held a glass beer bottle in one hand and sipped casually from it.

As he made his way through the crowd, it soon became clear he was one of the more popular guests. Several people went out of their way to greet him by offering high-fives, fist bumps, or by tapping their drinks to his. A couple women were more affectionate—they greeted him by throwing their arms around his neck and wrapping him in a hug, and it was hard to admit your own jealousy to yourself. Noah could have female friends, and it wasn’t a betrayal of whatever small connection the two of you had established. Even still, it was uncomfortable to watch.

You could see the moment he spotted Nick, as he immediately made his way over to them. You were relieved to see he greeted him with more enthusiasm than anyone else. Nick introduced Ava, who shook Noah’s hand. You could see on her face that while she was just as taken aback by the abundance of tattoos as you were originally, she was visibly interested in learning who this newcomer was.

Ava said something else to Noah, who smiled and laughed, and then Nick chimed in, but you couldn’t hear any specifics. In response, Noah perked up and turned to scan the room. Nick leaned toward his friend to mention something else, pointing in your direction, and when Noah finally spotted you, he nodded and started in your direction.

That was your cue to come out of your little secluded corner. Locking eyes with him, you noticed he wore a pair of contacts that completely blacked out his eyes and made him look like a demon, which you supposed was the intent. Despite that, you were warmed by his smile.

When he reached you, he greeted you with a gentle hand on your shoulder and you found yourself wishing you had worn something sleeveless so you could feel the full effect of his touch.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” Noah asked, curious but pleased. “And what are you supposed to be?”

“I’m Baberaham Lincoln!” you said. “I thought more people would get that.”

Noah paused, scanned you up and down, and then doubled over in laughter.

“Thank you,” he said, and surprised you by wrapping you up in a warm hug and pressing you into his chest. “You made my night.”

Noah was very sweaty, and you could smell the slight sourness of body odor on him beneath the patchouli scent, but that didn’t detract from how much you enjoyed the embrace.

“Are you dressed as a demon?” you asked when he finally pulled away.

“Something like that. I didn’t put much thought into it. Just wanted to look scary.”

“Well, it did the trick,” you said. “Your eyes are kind of freaking me out.”

He smiled down at you in response and despite the unsettling costume, you felt your affection for him grow.

“You don’t mind if I drink, do you?” he asked.

“I’m not here to stop you from having any fun. I’m on your turf now.” You had to lean towards him to be heard over the sound of the music and the crowd.

“I’m really surprised you came,” he confessed. “It doesn’t seem like your normal scene, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” you said. Shrouded in his presence, you began to understand the appeal of these parties.

“Fair warning though,” he said, leaning down next to your face so you could hear him. “You probably aren’t going to like our music. It’s not exactly your style.” You were met with the slight pressure of his palm on your lower back, and you wondered if the alcohol had lowered his inhibitions.

“Yeah, I know,” you said, reaching into your pockets and pulling out two foam pieces. “I brought earplugs just in case.”

He grinned, dark contacts not taking away from his genuine delight. “That’s my girl.” Something erupted in your stomach at the nickname. “Hey, come here. I want to introduce you to the band.” He led you by the hand through the party and back out onto the front porch.

“This is Ruffilo and Jolly,” he said, introducing you to two other heavily-tattooed and long-haired men. “You already met Folio, our drummer. Ruffilo plays bass and Jolly pays guitar. His real name is Joakim, but we all call him Jolly.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said, extending your hand to each of them to shake.

“This is that girl I was talking about who oversees the community service.”

“Virgin Mary!” Jolly exclaimed in recognition.

Your face fell and you looked up at Noah sourly.

“Shit,” he said. “That probably wasn’t cool, was it?” he asked.

“No, not really,” you said, stepping away from him.

“Sorry, okay guys. Just Mary. Not Virgin Mary.”

“Man, come on,” you whined, and Noah giggled to himself at his own joke. You realized you were stuck with the nickname, probably for as long as you and Noah would know each other.

“So people keep requesting we play Dethrone,” said Jolly. “I think we should.”

Noah’s eyes glanced over at you and his demeanor turned to hesitant. “No Dethrone,” he said. “I’m not feeling it tonight.”

“Okay, but you don’t get to make decisions for the whole band,” reasoned Ruffilo.

“I don’t know if my voice is up to it,” Noah said. “It’s a hard one to perform.”

Ruffilo sighed. “They’re not going to be happy about it.”

“Maybe next time,” said Noah. “When I remember to bring the Throat Coat.”

Jolly fixed Noah with a look of displeasure, but sighed and relented. “Fine, but don’t neglect your vocal exercises in the future. It’s our biggest crowd-pleaser.”

“Got it,” said Noah. “I won’t.”

Ruffilo pulled out what looked like a hand-wrapped cigarette which you recognized as a joint and lit it up. He took a deep inhale before passing it to Noah, who accepted and sucked back a long drag.

“You don’t mind if I do this, do you?” he intoned, keeping the air trapped in his lungs as he spoke before exhaling a few moments later.

“Not at all,” you said, though something was telling you it was time to take some space.

“Hey, I’m gonna go find Ava,” you said. “You guys have fun.”

“You good?” asked Noah, looking at you with sincerity.

You nodded. “Promise. I just want to check on her.”

“Okay,” he said, taking another drag. “We go on in a few minutes, but I’ll meet up with you after our set. Wait for me?”

“Of course,” you said, softening despite your discomfort.

You didn’t want to leave his side, but if you stayed, you knew you’d be uncomfortable with the situation and you’d already exposed yourself to enough unfamiliarity that night.

You made your way back into the kitchen, noting that Nick and Ava had moved. You scanned around the house and finally spotted them on the dance floor. He had his arm wrapped around her waist and they were pressed up close to each other. He whispered something into her ear and she threw her head back in laughter.

It was innocent enough, but you’d step in if you felt like you had to.

Wandering through the house, you searched for a quiet spot and a breath of fresh air. You spotted a back door down a short hallway and made a beeline for it, opening to find it a small back yard with a firepit and only a few people standing around it.

You made your way through the yard, past the fire pit and to the back edge where an old shed sat. You leaned against it, closing your eyes and breathing deep. The cool night air filled your lungs, along with the scent of burning wood from the fire.

You were reminded of nights like these spent at church camp during Vespers. Gathering around the campfire and signing along with whoever played the acoustic guitar. Some of the most transformative times of your life happened around those fires. You felt so connected to God. The Holy Spirit permeated through the air, vibrating with intensity and everyone there could feel it. In that moment, you knew that everyone around that fire, no matter where they came from, felt the exact same way you did.

Now, you felt disconnected from your surroundings in an all-consuming way. It was as if everyone else was riding an energetic frequency you couldn’t seem to find and didn’t know if you wanted to. Even Ava, your best friend, assimilated seamlessly into the party atmosphere.

You breathed deeply in and out through your nose and ran your fingertips along the paint that was flaking off the siding of the shed, which served to ground you in the way you needed. You knew you’d have to rejoin the party soon, but you were grateful for this private moment of solace.

As if on cue, the sound of guitars blasted through the back door, demanding your presence. You took out the ear plugs and stuffed them into your ears, the foam muffling the sound and softening the world around you, which had grown abrasive in the last hour or so. _____

The basement floor was damp and even stickier than the kitchen. It was also much more crowded than the upper floor had been now that the entire party was gathered into a single space.

The crowd looked on eagerly as the band set up and did their sound checks. The excitement was tangible and you had no idea Noah’s band had such a following.

“Check. Check,” Noah shouted into the microphone. “I need more in my monitor.” You looked to the back of the room where a small table was set up and someone was running sound.

The sound check took several minutes, but once all the levels were steady, Noah opened his mouth and let out one of the loudest and most demonic sounds you’d ever heard come from a person. You jumped out of your skin, feeling your arm hair stand on end.

Four clicks from Nick’s drumsticks and the entire band joined in, producing a volume even your ear plugs couldn’t compete with.

“Alright you motherfuckers,” Noah shouted. “We’re Bad Omens and we’ve come to steal your souls on this beautiful Hallow-fucking-ween.”

The crowd cheered. Many began jumping up and down in time with the music. The lights flashed from bright green to a deep red, and Noah began to sing.

“Dead on the inside!”

You never knew live music could be this loud or a crowd this energetic. You’d gone to a few Christian rock concerts, but they were nothing compared to what was happening in front of you.

As the band played through the first few verses of the opening song, the energy of the crowd steadily grew. By the time they hit the crescendo, it looked like a fight had broken out in the audience.

You were immediately put on guard, not sure why nobody else was reacting to it, including the band, when you overserved a few minutes longer and realized that the audience seemed to be…enjoying themselves. It wasn’t a fist fight, you noted. It looked like a bunch of people pushing each other around and flailing their bodies into each other.

Moshing. They were moshing. You remember hearing about it from Isaac, who was into more of the heavier music like The Devil Wears Prada. He said they headlined a Christian music festival he went to over the summer and mentioned that he’d been in a mosh pit, describing what it had been like in vivid detail.

Looking at the audience now, you couldn’t ever imagine someone like Isaac holding their own in a crowd like this.

The next several songs went on like that. The energy of the crowd never died down, and Noah alternated between screaming and singing. You had no idea how his throat could even handle making those noises without bleeding halfway through the first song. You’d have to ask him about that later.

All-in-all, he was right. It definitely wasn’t your preferred style of music, but you could appreciate the passion behind it. Noah’s singing voice was actually beautiful. He hit high notes you’d never heard a man hit before, and he did it with ease. You wished he would stick to that type of singing, but you supposed there had to be an appeal to the screaming, or else the crowd wouldn’t be so lively.

Despite it not being your style, you had fun watching the band perform. Noah’s passion was obvious. He threw his entire body into his performance, letting the music reverberate from deep inside him, and you were content to watch him in his natural habitat.

The juxtaposition was wild. He was normally so closed off and reserved. Here, he was uninhibited. It was like he belonged on a stage and in front of a microphone, and you found yourself feeling happy that he found this outlet for himself.

When the band played their final note, Noah thanked the crowd for coming out and told them all where they could purchase merch and download music.

“Dethrone!” someone shouted from the audience.

“Not tonight, guys. That one’s hard on my throat,” he said.

“Dethrone!” more people shouted. The crowd began to chant over and over again.

“I mean, it’s Halloween. We kind of have to play it,” the man you’d met earlier—Ruffilo—said into the mic.

“Dethrone! Dethrone! Dethrone!” the crowd chanted, and you wondered what kind of song it must be to cause the crowd to react so strongly.

Noah hesitated, looking very torn. He scanned the crowd for a few moments before locking eyes with you and his face held a look of what you could only describe as apology. He held eye contact with you for several minutes, and then he sighed and turned back to the crowd.

“Alright all you fucking cowards, this one’s called Dethrone, and I want to see you tear this fucking place to the ground.”

The guitar came in with a fast and heavy riff for a few bars before the bass and drum joined them. The lights flashed on and off and Noah let out a deep, guttural growl that lasted several bars.

The crowd went absolutely feral. The entire audience began thrashing around and pushing up against one another. Even at the back of the room, you got shoved left and right.

Throughout the noise of the crowd and the screaming you could only make out bits and pieces of the lyrics.

“…when I was killed and born again.”

“If he’s home I’ve got a message from below. Fuck you.”

“…Take me to the pearly gates, so I can look you in the eye when I spit in your face.”

The moment you realized what the song was about, you reached your breaking point. You had to get out of there. You did your best to navigate your way over to the stairs through the sea of thrashing people. You were almost to the steps when someone slammed an elbow hard into the side of your face.

“Ow!” you shouted, but nobody paid attention. You reached the railing and pulled yourself up from the crowd, rushing up the stairs as fast as you could and outside the back door of the house.

You could still hear the song from the outside, but it was muffled enough for you to take a few deep breaths. Your face stung where it had been hit, and you had to shake your hands vigorously to steady yourself.

It was too much. It was all too much. Not just the party and the drinking and the drug use, but the anger of it all. The violence. The deliberate threats made towards the God you’ve known and loved your entire life. The hatred towards Him. And it felt personal. It felt like an attack on everything you’ve built your life around.

You let out a choked sound, no longer able to hold the tears back. You covered your mouth with your hand, trying hard not to make noises in case anyone was around, and stumbled your way to the back of the shed, where hopefully nobody could witness your state.

Inside, you heard the song come to an end and the crowd give one final cheer for the band.

You knew the crowd would be dispersing soon and there was a chance someone would stumble upon you. The yard was completely fenced in and in order to get out, you’d have to go through the house.

You sank to your knees, clutching at the frigid blades of grass, which helped steady you a little. Tears still pouring down, you tried to steady your breathing as best as you can, when you heard your name being called.

It was Noah. You didn’t want to answer him. Didn’t want him to see you like this. In your head, you prayed a silent prayer he would go back into the house and let you compose yourself in peace.

God, however, had other plans.

“Shit,” Noah said as he turned the corner of the shed and found you. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.” He knelt down in front of you, trying to get a look at your face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you choked out.

“Shit,” he said again, noticing your tears. “Come on, let me walk you home.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to go back through there.” You hid your face, feeling ashamed at your own reaction.

“Come on, let’s talk,” he said, grabbing your hand and trying to pull you to your feet.

“I said I’m fine,” you protested. This time it came out sharper. You didn’t want to take your feelings out on him, but you found it impossible to control your tone in the moment.

“Let’s at least get you into a quiet room. Come on, my studio is in this shed. Nobody will bother you. Promise.”

At the promise of a quiet space with nobody to see you, you relented and allowed him to lead you around the side of the shed. He unclipped a set of keys from a carabiner on his belt loop and used one of them to unlock the door, ushering you inside. He relocked it behind him and plugged in a set of string lights that cast the room in a warm, dim glow.

“Have a seat,” he said and gestured to the couch that lined the wall on one side. You obeyed, sitting on the couch and doubling over, arms crossed over your legs and head buried in them. You continued to work to steady yourself.

Noah set a box of tissues beside you, and then rolled his desk chair in front of where you were sitting. He sat facing you, long legs on either side of your knees. Then he placed his hands firmly on your shoulders.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

You nodded into your arms.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You nodded again.

“What happened?” he asked, voice softer now.

“I had a panic attack.” Your voice came out muffled.

“Because of the song?” he said.

You nodded again.

“Shit,” he said for the third time.

“And I got elbowed in the face.”

“Shit.” A fourth. “Can I see?”

You shook your head no.

“Please? I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Reluctantly, you lifted your head to show him.

He let out a compressed breath. “Oof. Yeah, it looks like you’ve got yourself a bit of a shiner,” he said, cupping your face gently.

You refused to meet his eyes, instead opting for a tissue so you could blow your nose. An embarrassing amount of mucus shot into the tissue. Then you pulled a second one to wipe off any makeup that may have smeared.

“Does it hurt?”

You sniffled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“Is that your favorite word or something?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have warned you about the crowd. I’m so used to that stuff now. I forget what it’s like for someone who’s never been to a show like that before.”

“It’s fine,” you said.

“It’s not though. I’d been drinking. I didn’t have my wits about me, and because of that you got hurt.”

You sighed. “It wasn’t the elbow,” you said, finally meeting his eyes. His brows furrowed with concern and he let his hands slide down to rest on your knees, thumbs rubbing gentle circles over them. You could only handle eye contact for a second before you had to look away again. “Is that how you really feel?”

Noah puffed out a breath. “I didn’t want you to have to see that.”

“I knew you had a lot of anger. But not that much.”

He dropped his head, staring at where his hands rested on your knees. “It must have been pretty jarring.”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I think it was just a lot for me. I was out of my comfort zone all night, and then that happened. I’ve never seen so many people with such…disdain for God.”

Noah dug his thumbnail into your thigh softly and bit his lip.

“I know.”

“Why though? Why all the anger? Why the hate? And why do you hang out with those people?”

“I’m one of them,” he said. “I know it might be hard to digest, especially since you’ve been protected from it for so long, but there are a lot of people out there who feel that way. It doesn’t necessarily make them bad people.”

“But that wasn’t just anger. That was hate.”

“Yeah,” he said, cupping the backs of your thighs. He still wasn’t explaining anything and you were growing frustrated.

“What am I not getting?” you finally asked.

Noah hesitated, fingers drawing patterns over your pants.

“Not everyone has the best upbringing,” he explained, voice tender. “There are people born into shitty situations and they never receive the help or support they need. Life doesn’t provide opportunities to them the way it does for some others, and after a while, the injustice of it all gets to be too much.”

He gave you an opportunity to respond, but you stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

“My parents were addicts. I think I already mentioned it. And I was born in a town where half the people don’t make it to 18 without an addiction of some sort. Ruffilo and I were lucky to escape, but I’ve seen friends and families torn apart by drugs and crime. I’ve seen pregnant 14-year-old girls turn to prostitution to afford their drug habits. Do you know how hard that is to watch?”

You shook your head.

“If God exists, how can I not be angry with him for allowing shit like that to happen?”

You were at a loss for words, humbled even in your hurt.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, squeezing your thighs with his hands. “I don’t judge you for how you feel about God. But I do need you to accept that this part of me exists. And it’s not going anywhere. At least, not for a while.”

A couple more tears dripped from your lashes and landed on Noah’s hands. He didn’t flinch away. Instead, he brought a thumb up to your cheekbones and wiped off the remaining wetness that clung to your lashes.

“Look. I don’t know if I believe in God. But if he does exist, and he’s as loving as you say he is, I have to believe he’ll forgive me for how I act in my anger. I think he’ll understand why that anger is necessary for me to feel, and I don’t think he’d punish me for it. If anything, I think he’d allow me to move through it for as long as I need. Or want me to, even, so that I can process it and eventually move on.”

As Noah spoke, something washed over you like a wave. A tension that had been growing inside of you for as long as you could remember began to release, and with it came a brand new understanding.

“Noah,” you whispered. “Have you ever thought about being a pastor?”

Noah’s face broke into a smile and he huffed out a breath of air that fanned out over your face. He smelled like stale beer and smoke, but there was another layer underneath that smelled vaguely sweet.

“That is the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“No, I’m serious,” you said with a sniffle, and wiped away another tear. “You know more about God than any church leader I’ve met.”

“I think sometimes it’s hard to see the bigger picture when you’re too close,” he whispered, face now much closer to yours. “I have the benefit of having stepped away.”

You were silent for a moment, digesting the conversation. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore, but you weren’t ready to go back and rejoin the party.

“Can I show you something I’ve been working on?” asked Noah.

“Sure,” you said.

He kicked his feet into the floor and pushed back from where you were sitting, rolling across the floor and over to his desk. He fiddled with a few wires and switches before opening his laptop and pulling up a program.

“I’ve had this melody in my head for a while,” he said, messing with some of the controls before hitting play. “I don’t have any words yet, but I wanted to show you.”

A soft melody began playing through the speakers. Somber. Completely different from any of the songs you’d heard during their set.

“How long have you been working on this?” you asked as the music played.

“A couple of weeks,” he said, not offering much more explanation.

He wouldn’t meet your eye. Rather, he fidgeted with an auxiliary cable, twisting it around in his hands while simultaneously bouncing his legs up and down softly in time with the drums on the track.

The slow melody held out through the song, but the music grew in intensity, settling into a low-fi R&B vibe.

Seemingly growing restless, Noah spun back around in his chair to face you. He muttered something but you were unable to decipher it over the music.

“What?” you asked.

“I’ve been experimenting with different styles,” he said, a little louder. “Hoping to expand my skills.”

“I like this,” you said. “Definitely more to my tastes.”

He smiled out of the corner of his mouth. “Metal isn’t for everyone.”

“I see the appeal of it,” you said. “I’m sure it resonates with a lot of people, even if I’m not one of them. Your band has a lot of…uh…passionate fans.”

The smile reached both sides of his mouth and he inched closer to you.

“What made you decide to come tonight?” he asked, and you knew it was important for you to be honest in that moment.

“I wanted to see you.”

Like a magnet to metal, Noah gravitated toward you again. There were no false pretenses for why. He wanted to be near you.

Resuming his position from earlier, he sat across from you, legs stretched out on either side of yours. He leaned back in his fancy office chair, and you mirrored him, sinking deeper into the couch.

You watched him watching you, scanning his features for any signals as to what was going on inside his head at that moment. The music played out through the speakers and neither of you made any efforts to fill space or silence. When the song reached its conclusion, it stopped automatically, and it was a while before anyone spoke.

“Does it have a name?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“Not yet,” he said.

“It’s good. I don’t have much music knowledge to say exactly what it is that I like about it, but I can tell I like it. I’d be interested in seeing how it progresses.”

“Good,” he said, arms folded over his torso. He swiveled slightly from left to right, knees knocking into yours as he did.

You looked from your legs back up to his face and he met your gaze. Normally, you’d be the first one to break a silence like this, finding discomfort in the tension, but that night, you waited, wanting to see what Noah would do.

It took a long time for him to crack, but when he finally did, it was to ask you a question.

“Did you do what we talked about?”

You raised an eyebrow, challenging him to be more direct with his question.

“Masturbate?” The word held a slight choked sound, as if there’d been an obstacle in his throat trying to get it out.

You nodded.

“How was it?”

“It…was.”

And that was the truth. You’d made an attempt, but experienced a few difficulties. While you went into it with the intention of showing love to yourself without shame, getting rid of that shame was easier said than done.

For one, you couldn’t imagine yourself agreeing to have sex without feeling guilty, which forced you to jump through several mental hoops involving being restrained and forced in order to feel like you had any sort of plausible deniability you could use should God choose that moment to judge you.

However, in doing that, you felt extremely guilty for engaging in that fantasy, because any real victim of sexual assault would not be thinking about it that way, and should you really be romanticizing that kind of thing? You ended up heavily judging yourself before God even had a chance to judge you.

“I ran into some…difficulties.”

“Mentally or physically?” he asked, left thigh pressed up against your right.

“I think mental.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sighed. “Yeah, kind of. But don’t judge me, okay?”

“If you pictured Isaac, I’m going to have to judge you.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t picture Isaac.”

“Good. Who did you picture?”

“Nobody,” you lied. “Just some nameless, faceless person.”

Up until that point, the conversation had flowed quickly like a game of table tennis, but the lie threw off the rhythm. Noah wasn’t satisfied. He allowed you to get away with it and didn’t press you on it, but now it was his turn for something.

He leaned forward, hands resuming their place on your knees, and looked at you as if he dared you to protest.

You didn’t.

“What difficulties did you have?”

You hesitated. He dug his thumbnail into your thigh.

“I had to imagine myself being forced.”

“Forced?” His hands stilled.

“Like tied up.”

His eyebrow quirked upward. His gaze dropped to where your hands rested in your lap. Sliding his hands up your legs, he encircled your wrists in his long fingers and turned them so they faced upwards, palms open to the sky as if in praise. He kept a tight hold while his eyes flicked briefly back up to meet yours.

Noah was playing a game of chicken. Seeing how far he could push you until you cracked.

“It’s a common fantasy,” he said, voice low and breathy. “Makes sense.”

“You don’t think it’s messed up?”

Noah rubbed his thumbs along the inside of your wrists, stopping every once in a while to apply pressure to different points. He stared at them while he spoke.

“I try not to judge myself for my fantasies. As long as there’s consent, there’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

“You don’t think that it’s disrespectful to people who have been forced in real life?”

He sucked on the inside of his cheek and released it with a clicking sound before taking a deep breath. “Many survivors actually find healing through engaging in that kink.”

“It’s hard to imagine myself consenting without the guilt creeping in.”

Noah nodded. “Understandable. You’ll give it when you’re ready.”

You closed your eyes and indulged in the pressure he put on your wrists. Your skin ignited under his touch, the same way it had when his fingers had brushed the back of your neck all those weeks ago. He trailed his fingers along your palms and your hands closed reflexively around them.

“Is that something you think you’d be into in real life?” he asked. You could hear the shuffling of movement, but didn’t open your eyes. Your fingers continued to dance together with his.

“Hard to say,” you said. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“What’s this?” he asked, finding the silver ring on your left ring finger.

“Promise ring,” you answered.

“Like an engagement ring?” he asked.

“A symbol of a promise to God to stay pure until marriage.” His hands stilled. “We all got one in school.”

Noah pinched the ring between his two fingers.

“Is that something you’re still committed to?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

You opened your eyes to look at Noah, who had vacated his chair and was now kneeling on the floor in front of you.

Holding eye contact, he began to slide the ring up your finger.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Just let me try something.” He removed the ring, sticking it in his back pocket for safe keeping. “How does that feel?”

“Light.”

The ring was soldi metal. It weighed heavy on your hand and the absence of it wasn’t unwelcome. This was the first time you’d taken it off since first receiving it. It was both taboo and invigorating.

“When did you make that promise?”

“When I was thirteen.”

“Before you even knew what sexuality was?”

You nodded.

“How cruel,” he said, dropping his hands back to your knees and prying them open so he could wedge his body between them. “Binding yourself to a promise you made before you even knew what you were promising.”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” you said, trying not to blush. Noah’s body between your legs was a brand new sensation that left you feeling like your entire lower half was engulfed flames.

His greedy hands migrated to the backs of your knees and he tugged you forward on the couch so your faces were mere inches apart. His breath ghosted across your neck.

Your composure began to crack, breath speeding up, and you hoped he couldn’t tell. Saliva pooled on your tongue. You found yourself unable to look anywhere but his bottom lip, wondering how it would taste. How it would feel between your teeth.

Noah had grown bolder with every move you let him get away with. Any moment, he’d move in for the kill.

“You don’t owe your body to anyone,” he said. “Not even to God.”

“God gave me this body,” you countered.

“Yeah. He did. It’s yours to take care of. Bodies have needs.”

“And you think you’re the one to meet those needs, Noah?”

His fingers clutched hungrily at your thighs. “I could be.”

His tongue poked out to wet his lips. He’d been building towards this conclusion the whole evening, and now it was time for him to make his move. Noah was going to kiss you.

Two things happened simultaneously. Noah tugged you closer, and in his movement, the shiny black horns on the top of his head caught the light and drew your eye to them.

Your gut clenched.

Not yet.

“I should—,” you began a second too late. Noah’s mouth collided with your jaw, and as soon as it registered in his mind, he jumped back as if he’d been burned. “I should, um,” you cleared your throat, “go check on Ava. She’s never drank before. Wouldn’t want her doing anything she’d regret.”

He sat back on his heels, hand coming up to wipe at something on the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said. “Of course.” His dejection was evident in his voice and the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“See you Saturday?” you asked, standing up.

“Sure,” he said, blinking up at the ceiling. The defeated slump of his shoulders was what fully broke you. With one last look of apology, you unlocked the door and slipped out. Halfway across the yard, you heard a banging sound from the shed, as if something had been kicked.

You rushed inside to find Ava.

_________________ Taglist: @sundamariis

Click here to be added to the taglist! Also please leave a comment if you've enjoyed this and want me to continue this story. I'd love to hear your feedback.

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fic #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #Noah Sebastian #noah sebastian smut #sorry Noah Sebastian

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

Text

College Student Yan + Slasher Neighbor brain rot smut edition- (legal age gap, breaking and entering kinda, somo, knife play, gross behavior) [Sfw here]

• Bullied college guy who gets taken in by his recluse neighbor. Like everyone else, Teddi cropped you as some crazy person - something he regretted as you turned out to be the nicest person he'd ever met. Too kind - even for someone like him. He calls you late at night, mutting his end of the call as he moans, drinking up your words of encouragement and praise - fisting his dick to your still image behind your curtains. A few more crocodile tears and he could probably be other their in your arms; guising his desperate whimpers as he rubs up against you for pitiful cries as you comfort him - cumming as you pat his head and tells you everything will be alright.

• Your harmless neighbor who you give a key too your place after the fifth time he shows up at your house at 2am. He skips class for a chance to hide in your closet while you're away, waiting for you to return home and peal off those uncomfortable work clothes he'll snatch up while you're sleeping. He'll get out any stains left during the next load of clothes he washes to be helpful around your house - watching from next door as you search for the pair of underwear you lost with them pressed to his face.

Teddi used sleep over nights, and the times you fall for his pitiful act enough to let him sleep in your bed with you to fuck your thighs or use your hands to help him finish, but there was something special about doing it after you gave him willing access to your home. You cared him for him, trusted him. It felt wrong to use the faith you had in him like this - but seeing your gorgeous body marked with his spend clouded his judgment everytime

• Already infatuated with the macabre and gore, absolutely loses his mind when he finds out the sweet, caring neighbor of his turns out to be a killer. Steals the knife you used to kill his former bully and jerks off every night pressing it to his throat or heart - drawing fresh lines over the scar you gave him the night you spared and gave it to him to further prove his innocent. He drools- imagining his shaky hand as your own as he carved love hearts and your initials into his skin

• Gentle, awkward Teddi who, after finding out you murdered your own bully in the past and shut yourself off because of it assumes you must be a virgin like him if not more oblivious to social life as guys his age knew. Gets hammered at parties and drunkingly begs let him practice kissing with you because he'd hate to disappoint the cutie he saw at the party. His eagerness to shove his tongue down your throat makes up for his lack of experience in the field. Hides beneath the influence of alcohol to smush his face between your thighs and leave hickies where everyone can see. Acts as innocent as any angel come morning and offers to make you breakfast like a good hubby would.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere smut #male yandere

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stargirlfics · 2 months

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”making a movie” 😏 with Alfred

Whew the thoughts this immediately gave me! The thought of creating a private little video for the two of you, between the two of you, yeah that’s hot!

Here’s a quick moodboard I made to set the mood 🎥

Just thinking about warming him up to the idea, I feel like it’s probably not something Alfred has done before in his sex life but the idea is intriguing—he’s willing to try anything if you’re down and wanting so he figures why not?!

Maybe he already has a lewd photo of you tucked in his wallet or in a private file folder on his phone from the occasional spontaneous moment but something about this; taking the time to set up the camera, discussing it together, the obvious anticipation starting to build as you do, it really would be like foreplay

You decide to keep it pretty candid and natural, not wanting to perform for the camera necessarily but rather it be something authentic and intimate for you both so you’re eagerly waiting on the bed while Alfred props up your phone or one of his camera’s and though you almost forget it’s recording the second he cups your chin to kiss you, there is something erotic about knowing it’s there

Knowing you’re being watched in a way, that you’ll play the video back later watching it with him just to see all the passion in the way you fuck each other, how you look at each other, the dew that will stick to your skin the more you intertwine your bodies. It’s everything!

Oh…don’t think about Alfred positioning you so the camera will have all the perfect angles and goddd the way his hands would be all over you like he’s showing off his favorite parts of your body, taking his sweet time to loosen you up and turn you on even more

“There you are.” he would coo next to your ear, “I love how much you want this. Fuck, I could watch those legs fall open for me all day.”

You’re already reaching for him, body buzzing and eager for more when it does something else to you entirely to watch him touch you where you need him most, the slick sounds of two fingers sliding over your pussy just for his head to dip and his mouth takes their place

He’s a lot more feral in how he devours you, something about making a movie in the back of his mind as he draws out every expert flick of his tongue, unapologetic about the mess, just content to hear you enjoying yourself

“Oh, I know I know darling. Let me have it and I’ll fill up your pretty cunt just like you’ve been asking.” The growl is so deep it gives you chills and your eyes flick towards the camera for a moment before rolling shut, coming around thick fingers pressed so deliciously against that spot that has you seeing stars

Even when you’re trying to catch your breath, limp against the sheets Alfred doesn’t relent, his mouth trailing over your skin, across the curve or your hip and down your tummy, up to your shoulder and eventually settling on your lips in a shattering kiss

You’re hungry for it, for him, swallowing his groans, his oxygen and your own whimpers while your bodies find each other easily. Legs parting to wrap around his waist so you can feel him too and it has you crying out when he rocks into you, any sense of self restraint fully done away with now

Please wtf I need him so bad!!!

And when he’s finally sinking that thick cock of his inside you I just know he would talk you through the entire moment, gently turning your head to face the camera and telling you to keep your eyes on him. Our beloved knows exactly what kind of visual and auditory porn you’d want, period!

“Such a good girl, taking it like this. You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” While he’s stretching you out, hips pressing you into the bed can you imagine…bye I am passing away

Then you’re losing your mind a bit later when you ride him and he’s so generous with his praise and encouragement that you’re bouncing on his cock just a little harder, just a bit faster and you can tell he likes that you’re just as feral and wanton for it as he is, it’s all about matching each others freak, babyyy

You almost forget you were filming any of this when you’re finally spent and sleepy, whining when he moves from your embrace to turn off the video but he’s slipping back into bed as quickly as he’d left, bringing the camera with him so you could look at what you’d just made

Barely five minutes in and you’re squirming against him, a fading ache of what just transpired still pulsing in your core and once again your heartbeat quickens when you glance at Alfred and see him already looking at you with that expression in his eyes again

Till the paint peels off the walls I say

—

Ugh I wanna be his little movie star! 🌟 Thank you for the thirsty thought, anon. Hope you enjoyed!

#alfred pennyworth smut #alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth x black reader #alfred pennyworth headcanons #the batman!alfred pennyworth #alfred pennyworth x f!reader #alfred pennyworth x woc

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matchingbatbites · 9 months

Text

break the ice (i can't take anymore)

Explicit | 2.2k | Read on Ao3

This is a gift for darling Emily @judasofsuburbia as part of the STuad server gift exchange! Emily, I hope you like this, because I know nothing about hockey. <3

Prompts included are A Really Good Kiss, Hockey, and The Pet Name "Princess". CW includes semi-public sex, D/s undertones. Full tag list over on Ao3

This isn’t the first time they’ve been pitted against each other, not by a long shot.

It’s something that comes with the territory of being athletes, especially when you’re as good at the game as Steve and Eddie are. They haven’t been on the same teams in years, and it’s something they’ve learned to navigate - balancing their professional careers and their personal life.

This is their first time facing each other down during the fucking Stanley Cup, though.

It’s been a surreal experience. They’ve spent the entire game having so much fun with each other, just taunting and teasing back and forth whenever they have the chance, playing up the rivalry their fans love to see. Skating circles around each other while trying to keep their heads in the game, both wanting to win but needing to have fun with it, for their own sanity - and for the sake of their relationship.

They use the fights that break out to their advantage, flying into each other’s arms and holding on tight, whispering while they wait for whatever brawl to finish. Eddie proves that he isn’t afraid to play dirty, that he’s willing to get under Steve’s skin to try to throw him off his game.

Steve had to recover quickly from Eddie’s muttered “Can’t wait to jack you off when I get my shiny new Stanley ring, princess,” just the thought of getting cum all over a twenty thousand dollar piece of jewelry making Steve reel.

The last few minutes of the game are tense. Eddie and another player get sent to the penalty box, and Steve barely has the chance to mourn the loss of his boyfriend’s presence because there’s two fucking minutes left to bring the score out of a tie. And somehow, some fucking way, Steve’s team does it.

He doesn’t even realize they’ve won until the buzzer sounds and his teammates are swarming the ice, helmets and padding and sticks flying everywhere as they converge into a mass of euphoria.

The arena is filled with the sounds of cheering and yelling, cries of joy and outrage, all of it so loud that Steve barely hears his own name being called through it all. He turns just before Eddie slams into him, sending them both gliding a few feet across the ice and into a fit of laughter.

“You did it! You fucking won, baby!” he yells, and Steve feels so fucking giddy because they did.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to respond before Eddie is hauling him into a kiss, something electric and ravenous thanks to the adrenaline pumping through their systems. Steve responds so easily, ever eager to let Eddie take and take whatever he wants, to let the man devour him in any way he seems fit.

One of Eddie’s hands settles on the back of his neck, pulling him ever closer, and it’s all Steve can do to clutch at his boyfriend’s jersey, just hanging on and hoping that his knees don’t give out. The cheers around them get even louder, and that’s what makes Eddie pull away, a beaming smile on his face. “Guess the secret’s out, sweetheart.”

Steve just laughs. “It’s only eighteen-thousand people plus the other thousands of fans watching the broadcast.”

“So just a few people, then.”

That sends them into a fit of giggles until one of Steve’s alternate captains grabs him, pulling him back to reality and his duties. “Time to face the media. See you after?” he asks, and Eddie nods, pulls him into one more brief kiss.

“See you soon, baby.”

As captain of the team, Steve spends the next God knows how long dealing with the media. Most of the reporters do a good job with sticking strictly to the game, to the win his team managed to eke out, but that doesn’t stop a few of them from trying to drag his and Eddie’s kiss into the story.

He shuts them down immediately, not wanting to say anything until he and Eddie actually have a chance to talk about it, and eventually he’s able to leave.

The locker room is basically empty when he gets there except for a few stragglers still packing up the rest of their stuff. Steve feels exhausted as he makes his way through the room, he accepts the congratulations from the few people still there and gives his own in return, but otherwise keeps to himself.

He doesn’t expect to see Eddie sitting on the bench in front of Steve’s stuff, still in uniform and his own duffel at his feet.

“There’s my winner,” he says, grinning at Steve’s approach. “How was the circus?”

Steve hums and moves to stand between Eddie’s legs. Hands settle on his waist, resting just under the hem of his jersey, and Steve’s own hands find a home on Eddie’s shoulders, just in the crook of his neck. “Could have been worse. I managed to keep the us stuff at bay until we can talk about it.”

“God, you’re so good at that Captain shit, baby. I love watching you command a room of reporters.” Eddie’s hands slip higher, moving under the edge of Steve’s undershirt until he can feel skin, and the younger shivers. The locker door slams shut nearby and the room goes silent, a sign that it’s finally just the two of them alone.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Steve says as he leans into Eddie’s creeping touch, the little bit of contact more of a tease than anything. “Thought you’d be back at the hotel by now.”

Eddie grins up at Steve and tugs him closer. “And miss the chance to congratulate you properly? To show you how proud I am of you?”

Steve full on shudders at that, his mouth drops in a soft gasp and his hands push up into Eddie’s hair. “Eddie…”

“I am, Stevie. So proud of you, my baby.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Steve’s jersey-covered sternum. “Tell me what you want, princess. Anything, and it’s yours.”

When Eddie says anything, he means it. The possibilities are endless and Steve knows that, is almost overwhelmed by the sudden thoughts that flash through his head. In this moment though, as exhausted and worn out as he is, there’s really only one thing he wants.

“I want a shower, and I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? That's all, honey?”

“Yeah, please Eddie.”

Eddie nods and says “Of course. Let’s get out of these clothes, then.”

They work together to strip down, pulling and tugging at each other’s clothes, but not with any rush, any urgency. They simply move in tandem as two people familiar with this specific dance, until they’re both bare and heading to the showers. Steve has the brief thought that he’s glad they’re separate from the rest of the locker room, that Eddie will be able to give him what he wants without anyone surprising them.

The water is blissfully hot. Steve basks in it as Eddie’s hands work magic in his hair, as he scrubs Steve’s skin clean, every touch tender and adoring. Steve would start drifting, if they were doing this at home, or even in a hotel. As it is, he just leans into the touch, silently showing Eddie just how much he enjoys it.

At some point, Eddie tugs Steve back into his chest and slides soapy hands down his torso, and Steve can feel the shift in the air as he goes from cleaning to touching.

It’s nice, the way Eddie’s hands feel as they make their way down, slipping lower and lower until they find their prize. Steve is already half-hard when Eddie takes him in his slick grip, and he moans as his hips buck into the touch.

“Fuck, Eddie…”

It’s slow, almost torturous, the way Eddie strokes him. Steve honestly enjoys it; he loves when Eddie takes his time, when he makes Steve savor every touch, like they have all the time in the world. Right now, they’re technically on a time crunch, and Eddie’s hand leaves him far sooner than Steve would like.

“Hands on the wall, princess. Gotta get you open for me.”

Steve just nods and steps out of the water, sets his hands on the white tile while Eddie rummages around in his shower bag. They started carrying lube for moments just like this, these little slices of time that they can spend together during the regular hockey season. Steve is incredibly grateful for it now as Eddie rubs a slick finger over his hole before pushing in.

It’s euphoric. They haven’t had the chance to do this recently, and Steve’s own fingers pale in comparison to the way Eddie stretches him open, careful but eager. He swiftly goes from one to two, to three, until he’s fucking Steve with four fingers and the younger is shaking with desire.

“Eddie, please, I’m ready. Need you to fuck me.”

“I know, baby, I’ve got you.”

The fingers vanish and Eddie crowds up behind Steve until they’re pressed front-to-back. One hand grabs hold of Steve’s hip, holding him steady as Eddie lines up and finally pushes in.

If Eddie’s fingers were euphoria, then his cock is fucking heaven. The stretch of it sends tingles up and down Steve’s spine, and he can’t help but push back onto it, needing more faster.

Eddie must be as needy as Steve is at this moment because he doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t slow him down. He just wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and tugs, burying the rest of his cock in one swift motion.

Steve keens at the sudden fullness, and he barely gets a chance to adjust before Eddie is fucking him properly, hips snapping at a steady but eager pace. It’s such a contrast from how Eddie has been touching him, that gentle touch all but gone, like he isn’t able to hold back any more.

It’s so fucking perfect, and Steve’s cheek presses into the tile wall as Eddie just uses him.

“Fuck, Eddie. Missed this,” he says, and Eddie groans.

“I’ve missed this too, baby. Missed touching you and fucking you, just like this. Wish I had time to spread you out and take you apart, treat you like the princess you are.”

A high whine escapes Steve as he nods. It’s been so long since they’ve had more than a few hours together and he misses it, he needs some down time with his boyfriend.

He tries to remind himself that the end of today’s game marks the end of the season, and they should actually have some time together if all of the post-season shit wraps up like it’s supposed to.

Steve is ripped from his thoughts by Eddie’s cock nailing his prostate dead on, and the man hums at Steve’s surprised moan.

“Stay with me, Stevie. Want you to feel everything I do to you, yeah?”

All Steve can do is nod and sink further against the wall, basically along for the ride as Eddie fucks him so so good. His orgasm creeps up on him; he can feel it building with every thrust, every smack of Eddie’s hips against his ass, until he’s right there, close enough to taste it.

“Ed, gonna come!”

It only encourages Eddie, who groans and slides a hand down to wrap around Steve’s dick. “Come on, then. Wanna see you come on my cock, baby, wanna feel you. Let me have it, Stevie.”

Steve gasps; the hand on his dick is almost too much but he bucks into it nonetheless, and that’s all he needs. He knows he’s being loud; his moans echo off the tiles as he spills over Eddie’s hand, but neither of them care too much right now. Eddie just fucks him through it, then chases his own orgasm once Steve is sated and sagging against the shower wall.

It doesn’t take long. Eddie’s teeth sink into his shoulder as he comes, marking Steve both inside and out as he rides out his high. It takes them both a moment to catch their breath, and even then Steve doesn’t dare to move, worried his legs might give out if he tries.

Lips brush over the bite on his shoulder - a quiet apology - before traveling upwards, dotting kisses along the column of his neck and ending just below his ear.

“We need to get out of here before you pass out on me, okay sweetheart?”

Steve hums in response, still hesitant to move from his spot, but does after another moment. They rinse off again and Eddie helps him clean the cum out of his ass before they finally turn off the water and dry off. He watches Eddie get dressed, watches as his athletic body is covered by comfy sweatpants and a shirt that absolutely used to belong to steve.

The thought of not sharing a bed with Eddie, of not being able to just hold him and feel him for a while, is almost nauseating. He needs to be close to his boyfriend tonight, and he can’t help his soft “Will you stay with me tonight? Wanna sleep next to you.”

Eddie’s form sags in relief, like he was waiting for the question. “I was hoping you’d ask. I’ve been dying to cuddle you for weeks.”

That makes Steve chuckle, and he reaches out to grab Eddie’s shirt and tug him closer. “I call little spoon,” he says, and Eddie just beams and leans in for a quick kiss.

“Deal! Let’s get out of here, little spoon.”

#i did do a bunch of research and learned a lot about hockey #my knowledge is still minimal tho #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #joey writes

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cream0fwheat1998 · 1 year

Text

Of Mean & Mice (Dark! Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Summary: College student y/n is invited to a girls' night by classman Sarah Cameron. All is not what it seems when she assaulted by Sarah older brother, who just happens to be staying at their parents house at the same time.

AU. Everyone is College-aged or older. 18+ thank you.

Warning: NONCON, assault and dark Rafe.

Rafe Cameron threw his empty beer can into the sand; the typically humid air has chilled as winter nears in the Outer Banks.

"Fuck you Sarah; you owe me." He tossed the "adult" photos of his sister into the bonfire. He didn't like her too much, regardless, he never wanted to see naked photos that her scorned ex had taken without her knowledge.

"I know, you asshole. I'm thinking." Sarah crossed her arms and sat into the sand with a defeated sigh.

"You could think faster; it wasnt easy to get Topper to give up those pics. My current supply of Coke - fucking gone." He said, pulling a pack of cigarettes & a lighter out of his pocket.

Sarah thought back to the moment the photos were taken. She had been waiting for that moment with John B. It was suppose to be special; and it was, until Topper had gotten sloppy with the flash of his camera. The heat of her and John B's skin, the longing in each others' eyes was replaced by panic and aggression for the pervert that ran from the bushes he had been hiding in.

Rafe noticed the single tear fall down Sarah's cheek. He didn't feel bad for her; but he was frustrated at the situation Topper had put all of them in. Kelce's poor taste in humor made the situation even more aggravating. The glance at the photos had him flustered but not because of his sister, that'd be disgusting. He could tell Sarah was distraught more than usual and felt that this was finally the time where he'd be owed something from someone else.

It had been a lifetime since he felt this powerful. Yeah, Rafe had money, drugs and Women whenever and wherever he wanted but as he has gown older; nearing 30, he knew he felt a loss for something that had never existed in his heart.

Real Love.

Rafe scoffed at the stupidest, fucking idea he ever had. It'd never be possible for him to find someone that would love him. But he could force someone; but who? Some of these whores were too willing & eager to share Rafe's bed. Only because of the weight of his families name and the weight of his bank account.

He shook his head; realistically, he knew he was no saint himself but he knew how to use his resources and powers to his favor. Above all, he loved to dangle it above others' heads.

"Find me a girl Sarah. Anyone. Not ugly, please. But someone who looks like shed be easy to tell what to do and say." He said, looking into the deep, dark sky.

Sarah shook her head and chuckled slightly, "You're fucking messed up but fine. I don't where to start though...." She glanced at her brother who was lighting a cigarette.

"Just fucking do it. Thats what you'll owe me. You have a week or I let Topper release the backup photos he probably has somewhere." Rafe looked back at his sister while taking a long inhale of his smoke.

Rafe felt good as the rush of nicotine hit him. He desired change.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/n sat at the instructor droned on about the class issue. Today she wasn't particularly attentive with the health of her father in mind. She and him didn't start off with a great relationship but since he's come back into her and her mothers life; both of them have made and effort to be civil.

When the past started to dissolve into nothing and the future seemed possible, all was lost when her dad went to the doctors for some stomach issues that have turned out to be a large problem than once believed.

On top of all that, she had noticed some stares from a girl in class. Sarah; Y/n thought. She was rather pretty but seemed kinda bitchy through her disinterested & entitled tone she typically spoke in. But the stares weren't mean; her eyes were bright and teeth as white as the moon shone at her from time to time. It was odd because this never happened before.

At the chime of the clock, the instructor put down his pointer and dismissed all of them. (Y/n) gathered her papers and stuffed them into an already full backpack.

The shame from falling behind her assignments felt heavy but Y/n couldnt bring herself to lift a pencil to a paper with the rest of the world on her shoulders.

A tap on her shoulder made her heart speed up as she twirled around to see 'Sarah' standing behind her with a wide smile.

Y/n glanced around the nearly empty classroom but it seemed she really was the one Sarah was waiting on.

When y/n didn't say anything Sarah rolled her eyes, "Hey i'm Sarah. Listen I'm having a girl only bonfire friday and I'm inviting alot of girls in my classes. I thought I might as well ask you so.....do you wanna go?" Sarah handed her flyer with an address and clip art on it.

Before y/n could answer as the Un-comfortability of being singled out dawned upon her; Sarah dismissed any possibility of a 'no'.

"Please come. It'll be fun and much better than whatever you already had planned. Think about it and text me by midnight." Sarah asked and hurried out of the room.

Multiple thoughts crossed y/n's mind as she head to her car in the parking lot. There were still 2 classes left but the overwhelming social possibilities along with the stuff that already had her mind in a headlock weighed against her. She had no mental capacity for anything new.

While her home was silent and dark; Y/n thought about the uncertainty of it all. Her parents were at the hospital for another check up and she offered to join but they wanted her to focus in school and asked her to stay away.

As the numbers on her phone changed and the sky got darker; y/n decided to take a once in a lifetime chance before she fully decided society was not worth participating in all-together.

Slowly, y/n practiced her text message before forcing herself to hit send. A rapid heartbeat cause the girl to down a bottle of water and look to the deep blue evening sky as she hoped that she'd get to feel better for atleast one night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sarah was painting her last toenail when her phone screen lit up. On the surface was a speech bubble by an unsaved number that read, "This is Y/n L/n from school. I'd like to go to your party."

Sarah felt giddy by the politeness of the message; she felt deeply that this goody-goody mouse that always sat in the back of the class and away from everyone would be perfect to fulfill the end of her bargain that she owed to her horny brother.

Sarah texted Rafe not a second later with the picture she snuck of Y/n in class. "This is her. Tomorrow night." Sarah typed. A sigh of relief as she plopped down the phone but still a bundle of nervous in her stomach as she waited her brothers approval.

Three dots appeared under her own speech bubble. Sarahs eyes tried to see into her brothers mind for some peace but was elated at his response.

"Okay".

He liked Y/n (rather the potential that she held) and Sarah had felt she had done something right for once.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/n was in a car with several other women she'd seen on campus a few times. Sarah had called her in the morning with an offer to have Y/n picked up by some other girls that were coming.

Y/n wasnt totally comfortable with idea but Sarah insisted.

When they reached Sarah's home; the large mansion was a beautiful sight to behold. And y/n had never felt smaller than she had now; but little did she know that the mysterious face in the upper window would force her to feel the smallest she's ever been in just a few hours.

Y/n had been instructed to carry in some of the girls bags; she agreed to be nice but not without noticing the mocking chuckles from the women slapping their flip flops into the house.

As she entered into the front room alone; y/n stopped to admire the beauty of the house. It was an elegance she had never seen in modern homes, realizing that the house was probably historic.

One of the bag feel from her overwhelmed arms and fell to the ground.

"Shit." Y/n said while trying to grab it but a hand reached out of nowhere and grabbed it from the ground.

She followed the hand to it's owner; a handsome young man with beautiful blue eyes and a strong jaw line greeted her with a half smile.

Y/n stared, not knowing what to say.

"You're welcome. Sarah's room is upstairs and I'll show you the way." The male said already heading up the stairs, silently expecting her to follow.

Y/n followed, unsure of what the next move should actually be.

The bags were thrown inside of Sarah's bedroom and the pair stood in silence.

"Are you special needs or what?" The male asked with impatient eyes.

Y/n shook her head, "No. Sorry I just....What's your name?" Y/n asked, still taken aback by the subtle beauty of the man before her.

The guy scoffed, "Rafe. Sarah's brother. I have my own apartment but I'm staying here for the holiday break." he said as he sounded offended Y/n didn't already know that.

"I'm Y/n....y/n" She said with a slight stutter; embarrassed that she, as a 22 year old woman was still nervous when talking to men, alone.

Rafe nodded and yawned. Without a word, he walked away and disappeared down the long corridor.

Y/n felt disappointed that she couldn't keep the conversation going but figured that it was all just a fluke. There was a big fire, food and loud music to have fun with and she'd try her best to blend in.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1am, everyone was in Sarah's room. It'd been so long since Y/n had been surrounded by girls her age that she was willing to go with almost anything to feel good and wanted just this one night.

Sarah challenged this saying that Y/n's modest pajamas wouldn't do and that she needed something "Sexier" which y/n thought was weird (to be honest) but she wanted to fit in so Sarah handed her a pile of clothing and had Y/n change.

It was bittersweet. Not what she expected in either direction. It was a large t-shirt that went to her mid thighs (nothing but pebbled nipples and her underwear underneath) and a pair of long, shin length white socks. Uncomfortably, it reminded her of the socks her father would wear to work years ago.

When she emerged out of the bathroom, the women smiled. "You look adorable!" Sarah said while grabbing Y/n's shoulder.

Y/n had noticed just how cat-like Sarah was up-close. Suspicious eyes and lithe reflexes. "I was wondering could you go get us something? Sofia spilled her chips on the ground and I need a cloth to get it out of the carpet?"

Without thinking, Y/n nodded. All eyes in the room were on her. Sarah squeezed the womans' shoulders and said thank you.

"Turn left, down the hallway and a few doors. The last one at the end is the linen closet." Sarah said, turning her back to Y/n.

Y/n tip toed into the dark hallway; thinking about how embarrassing if any of Sarah's family saw a girl with no pants or bra on, rummaging through their personal property.

Y/n opened the door she thought was the closet but instead opened to Rafe, the young man from earlier, sitting at his desk, typing at the computer.

He glanced up from his work and saw Y/n standing there in the exact outfit he told Sarah to make her wear. God. He never imagined such a fantasy actually get to play out.

Go time.

Y/n face felt white hot as she and the eldest Cameron stared at each-other. "I'm sorry!" Y/n said, not knowing where to look or how to act.

"I thought this was the linen closet." Y/n said, about to close the door before Rafe answered.

He chuckled and stood from his desk, "It's alright. You're exactly where you need to be." He said closing in on the innocent woman.

Before she could comprehend what was happening, Rafe pulled Y/n in by the wrist and shut the door with a slam. Turning the lock in place.

In her head, Y/n asked what was going on but for whatever reason she stayed silent. But her mind screamed for her to run.

Rafe shook his head and walked toward the girl; like a lion stalking his next food. "You really don't think Sarah Cameron just invited you, a nobody, to hang out with her. Did you?" His eyes narrowed as his body glistened in the bit of moonlight showing through the window.

It didnt take a rocket scientist to put 2 + 2 together. More than ever, Y/n felt stupid. The realization that this may have been a prank dawned upon her.

"Now listen. This is gonna go one two ways. You either lay on your back and let me do whatever I want or I hold you down while I do what I want. You should feel grateful you're getting a choice at all." Rafe said, proudly but soft. His eyes were soft but his demeanor held an aura of temptation and daring. It was obvious that he liked 100% control regardless of his mates' feelings.

Y/n weighed her options. She knew she couldn't over power that tall, slender but muscular man before her. However she did have a voice and opened her mouth to scream.

Rafe slapped his hand against the girls mouth with a rough pat. "You can scream but they're not gonna help you. They know why you'll be screaming have been instructed to mind their fucking business. I'd save your voice anyway. Youll be screaming my name plenty soon enough." He said, a stern and scary look on his face.

Y/n backed up with Rafe forcefully pushing her forward until she fell on her back; she reached down to make sure her shirt was covering her intimate parts.

"Awww, look at you. You do know that's my shirt right? Its obviously too big for Sarah but I guess you were too stupid to figure that out before now." He said, looking ready to consume her whole at any given second.

As more things made sense, so did Y/n's fears. She rarely had courage so how she managed to say, "Please, don't do this...." In a choppy, emotion sentence was a step farther than she ever had taken.

Rafe thought how pitiful she looked with a line of tears ready to spill and that small voice that squeaked out delicate pleas. Something about her meekness made him feel powerful. He was in charge and he'd decide what happens to her. Though, for the first time in a long time, he felt his heart beat differently. Deeper.

Not a second later, he dove down, planting kisses on any visible surface of skin. From her neck to her thighs; she'd be marked in love bites. His marks. Y/n made a valiant effort to push Rafe off her person but he was much stronger than her. As is she didnt already know that.

"You're amusing but you're no match for me, cutie. Why don't you just lay there and take what I have to give you, hmm?" He said, tilting his chin up like a king looking down at a peasant.

A tear slid down y/n's cheek as Rafe abused her body. He roughly grabbed everywhere he could; he bit, kissed and chewed on anything he wanted. Y/n thought back to her parents and what they'd say if they saw her on her back, letting a strange man use her this way. They had instilled certain morals in her and to some degree she felt guilty not following those morals.

In a feat of conjured strength, Y/n bit down hard on the skin of Rafe's cheek. Her moment of people a defensive lioness what cut short with a hard slap, nearly punch, to the face by her assailant.

He was livid at the audacity she had to reject his love-making and slapped even harder the second time. She had wanted to bruise him so he was make sure he left his mark on her skin.

"You stupid fucking bitch!" He slapped a third time at the girl streamed tears down her face.

"I'm sorry! Please stop!" Y/n tried to squeak out but her soft voice drowned in the violence Rafe forcing on her.

"No no no, it's too late for that. I gave you the option for this to be gentle both ways but you had to fucking ruin it. You get no say now." Rafe pointed down at her before sucking on her neck twice as hard, like a vampire trying to draw blood.

Rafe grabbed y/n and spun her around ,onto her stomach and lifted the shirt over her ass. He took his time caressing and smoothing his hands over every acre of skin and over every curve like she was a piece of pottery. He moan and voiced awe while feeling her.

Still wanting to be let out, Y/n pleaded once more. "I'm sorry! I really am!! I promise I won't tell anyone about this and I'll never bother you or your sister again!" She cried.

Rafe shushed the girl, "You were chosen for me and I'm gonna take the opportunity to see if you're a good fit princess. Sarah doesn't matter in this coupling. It's about me and you. And you're going to let me, your master, figure you out." He said, sliding his finger around her folds like he'd touch a garden flower.

Sounds of despair came from Y/n in an effort to mask the little pleasure she was receiving from this violation.

Rafe was transfixed on her pink, plump skin. Every freckle, piece of hair and patch of discoloration made this artwork special. The tight feeling in his crotch telling him to hurry his admiration up. The lion wanted out of his cage; he's hungry.

Rafe smacked the girls bottom before unzipping and shedding his pants and boxers. Rafe felt the inside of y/n's shirt, enjoying the curve of her breast and plumpness of her nipples while his penis stood at attention.

"You're fucking beautiful. I hope it's alright that tonights mostly about me. We'll have a night for you soon but this first date is all about my dick getting to know the inside of you." Rafe said while using the tip to touch the delicate folds and skin.

He purposely spread the small bits of pre-cum on her intimate area as the first sign of marking before handling his shaft before the tip entered her cunt.

Rafe was struck with the feeling of heaven, not all the way in and yet his insides were purring away. He didn't want to wait anymore. He shoved forward without consideration for the girl underneath him. Fully sheathed inside, it was a five star stay at an exotic hotel where he'd be the only customer for the rest of his life.

"God, you feel so fucking good. Where have you been hiding princess?" Rafe asked, his large hand holding her down but his thumb gently rubbed her cheek before switching his movement to fully on.

In an aggressive thrust, Rafe began to move like a panther after his meal. There was no mercy in any movement. His heat, her slickness; his size, her submissiveness felt like they were one with human nature. For the first time, Rafe carnal desire was met with a romantic twist. The desire for a connection that meets both ways. He didn't know this woman; maybe she wasn't worth the effort.

But the way her pussy clenched around his dick made him think she was really meant to be him and he'd have to give Sarah props. This would be his girl, and if she behaved properly; a wife and mother.

But for right now, Rafe focused on fucking the shit out of her. He purposefully banged and hit as hard as he could. He wanted to see pain and pleasure. He grabbed her waist and brought her down to the base of his dick with little to no mercy. He wanted her fully with no space left unexplored by him.

The girls meek voice brought him back to reality, "Are you wearing a condom?" She asked, as if not wanting to upset him.

His eyes softened on the creature below him. She already had a small bruise forming under her eye where he'd harmed her. There was a sick pleasure in knowing that is his mark on her but he wasnt entirely a demon and felt some guilt.

Back on topic, no he wasnt wearing a condom; he didn't want to wear one with her. Rafe never had to deal with consequences because Ward would throw money at it, and it disappear.

Rafe didn't answer her; the panic added to feeling. He didn't owe her an answer. He decided he practically owned her now. Women in the past were just bodies; pleasure givers, holes at best. He always saw them as something to be conquered but with Y/n he wanted to own her; mind, body and soul.

Rafe sped up causing her to scream in both pleasure and pain. It only made Rafe feel hotter. Once he knew he had reached his limit, he bottomed out hard as he could; staying attached to the woman as long as he could before his size fell limp once more.

Looking down was a tearful girl trying to pick herself up after being violated. Before Rafe could do anything, she pushed him aside and fled the scene. Rafe looked after her but didnt follow, still feeling the blissful aftermath the coupling. No matter where she went, what she said or who she hid behind; Rafe would be there to claim her again.

This was a new game to him and he just casted the first dice.

*Note from author: sorry for this abomination. A mix of alcohol, horny and an actual desire to write something for the first time in almost a year hit and I didn't want to waste it*

#dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron #rafe obx #outer banks #dark rafe cameron #rafe x reader #sarah cameron

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