#f/f plots

[loveurself]

hi tags! i’m sam! i am in my 30s and looking for some new (hopefully long term) krp and/or bandom writing partners (who are at least 25+) using discord.

i write in 3rd person, past tense and will match my writing partner’s length - however, i do tend to like 2 paragraphs or more, depending on the thread. i do not have many preferences in dynamics. i will write m/m, f/f, or m/f (i usually prefer to write the female role here though). i do not have many triggers, but do my best to always be respectful of others.

my muses can be found here (i will write them canon or as ocs! i might just need some extra time to come up with backstory and what not if you would prefer to write ocs).some plots i may be interested in are here. i love making playlists, pintereste boards and writing threads (or doing headcanons!)

if you are interested, please dm me here, or on discord (lesbianjimin) or like this post and i can come to you!

right now i am especially looking for a firstkhao oc ship, but am flexible and will take just about anything right now!

[mari-lair]

AU where Gon was raised on Greed Island instead of Whale Island.

More info on it here

[blue-armadillo]

your nerd!boyfriend gets horny when you're reading ♡ (18+ mdni)

you're perched up on your bed, reading a novel.

but your nerd!boyfriend is getting way too needy. the poor guy.

is it even his fault, though?

your elbows are unintentionally squishing your tits together. and every time you flip a page, your tits bounce ever so slightly, your nipples peeking through the thin tank top you're wearing.

your thighs are folded up towards your chest, and he can swear he sees a bit of your panties through your loose shorts every time you change your reading position.

and gosh. you're reading. that's the hottest thing he's ever seen you do.

the way your eyes scan each page. the subtle shift in your expression every once in a while.

he's leaking. literally. his cock is so hard that it's almost humiliating how horny he's getting just from watching you read. he can feel the pre-cum drenching his underwear.

you're still reading, oblivious to his predicamental situation, when all of a sudden, you hear a whimper.

your eyes shoot to him. and then you see it.

the giant wet spot on the front of his sweatpants. the silhouette of his fat, hard cock glaring at you through the grey fabric.

the tips of his ears turn a bright pink, colour rapidly spreading to the rest of his face.

'"uh- i- i'm just- i didn't mean to-" he stutters in a fit of embarrassment.

"do you enjoy watching me read?" you question him with a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

his eyes frantically search the room for a way out of this direct interrogation.

"i- no, n-no, it's not that, i-"

your book falls onto the bed with a soft thud as you lean forward to grab a hold of his twitching dick.

he whimpers.

you flash him an evil smile as you tighten your grip on his shaft, squeezing it in your palm.

the whole of his body shudders and a needy moan escapes his flushed lips, his eyelids shut tightly against each other. more pre-cum oozes out of his tip, imprinting itself onto the fabric of his pants.

"are you sure about that, baby?"

he gives in to your torture.

"i- y-yes, i'm sorry, y- you-re just so sexy when you read. so smart. i c-can't help it. it makes me so h-horny."

and the way he looks at you with such innocence. such helplessness.

gosh, you were gonna have so much fun with him.

"what else? go on."

you begin stroking his shaft through his sweatpants, squeezing it in your palm tighter by the second.

"ahn! f-fuuuuuck, i- i just couldn't stop thinking about y-you riding my c-cock and letting me cum in your p-pussy-"

your pace grows more rapid, your own wetness becoming evident to you.

"yeah? you wanna cum in mommy's pussy? wanna see my tits bounce while i fuck this beautiful cock?"

"y-yes. very, i-"

clearly, your dirty talking is enough to make him finish. his cum spurts out of his clothed cock, making the whole of his sweatpants milky and wet. his body convulses sporadically as he lets out a series of high-pitched moans.

you tut dramatically.

"tsk, tsk, tsk... look how much you came. is that how badly you wanna be inside me?"

he nods rapidly, his chest heaving and his heart pounding relentlessly.

"aww... well, here's the issue. you interrupted me right when things were getting interesting in my book." you do a fake pout. "and, well, i need to know what happens next." you whisper hotly into his ear.

"but i don't want to leave you like this. you're just so cute."

you pin your index finger into his still heaving chest, using the minimum force to push him flat onto the bed. and then you slide his pants down just enough for the whole of his lengthy cock to spring free. some of the dripping cum splashes onto your fingers.

"so, here's what's gonna happen." you say as you slip off your own shorts and situate yourself on top of his waist, hovering barely a few centimetres away from his erect dick.

he trembles beneath you, the closeness of literal paradise - your pussy - sending him off the edge.

"you're gonna read to me. loud and clear."

you hand him the book.

"meanwhile, i'll ride your cock. have i made myself clear?"

his timid hand grabs a hold of the novel while he lies there dazed, completely drunk in anticipation.

"page 269." you enunciate slowly.

and then you slide down onto his quivering dick.

a loud gasp escapes his lips. his breathing quickens and he shuts his eyes, desperately trying to stop himself from cumming so soon.

you're sitting smack on his fat cock now, your hands resting on his abs. your pussy juices slowly dribble down his thighs and you roll your head back at the full feeling.

"page 269. read. or i'm not fucking you."

"y-yes mommy, i- i will read."

he shuffles - more like struggles - to find the right page.

he begins reading. slowly.

and just as slowly, you raise yourself on his cock, until just the tip is teasing your clit. then you sit back down on him with a gentle 'smack'.

his eyes shut tight and his words become frenzied until they sound like mere gibberish to you.

you force him out of his breathy stupor by roughly grabbing his balls. you give them a squeeze.

"read. properly. i need to be able to understand it. read loud and clear for me."

he nods in submission and resumes.

he's still having a hard time but at least he's trying. and are you actually paying attention to what he's reading? maybe. maybe not.

you're just getting off on the way his voice keeps shuddering and trembling. his sudden gasps. his incoherent bumbles. his soft moans. the high-pitched noises.

and his cock. his perfect cock that stretched you out oh so well. his tip kisses your cervix, turning your stomach into a knot.

as you grind on him, you lift your thin tank top to reveal your plump breasts bouncing in tandem with your hips. you scrunch up the top there, leaving your tits on full display for him.

his eyes look away from the book - that he was trying to mumble as a prayer - and his whole body tremors. his words turn into voiceless gasps.

you smirk and play with your breasts, squishing them and pressing them together. and then you have the audacity to increase your pace on his cock.

you're now full-on bouncing on him, your tits jumping in the air vigorously before him.

'i am not letting you cum if you don't read for me."

"y-yes! i'm sorry- i- i'm reading, i'm reading. just p-please let me cum. please-"

"good boy. you like what you see? you like it when i squish my boobs like this?"

he nods vigorously, trying to focus on the stupid words of the book at the same time. but lord oh lord, he is miserably failing.

you can feel his cock twitching inside you. he's close. and so are you.

"and you like it when mommy bounces on your cock like this?" you go even faster now. the sounds of skin slapping skin - a rhythmic 'smack, smack, smack' - reverberating through the room along with your boyfriend's incoherent, strangled words.

"y-yes, i love it. i love it when you ride me- ohh fuuuuccckk, please let me cum!"

"not if you stop reading." you gasp frantically.

he's gonna cry. and he almost does. tears prick at the corners of his eyes because you're being so mean to him. making him read that stupid book when you're bouncing on his dick like the goddess that you are.

but he wants to cum so bad. and so he somehow finds it in himself to keep uttering the words he's barely able to comprehend anymore.

you ride him even faster now. your eyes are rolling back into your sockets, your grip on his chest harsher. the bed creaks below the weight of your combined bodies, and you come.

you moan loud and deep. "fuck! cum in me right now. cum in my pussy! oh, fuck!"

and oh he does. thick ropes of cum shoot into your warm cunt, kissing your clenched walls. his whole body quakes and he lets out a series of anguished moans, his fingers digging into your thighs.

some of the white goo oozes out of your hole, onto the base of his cock. and he lies there, spent and grateful.

you raise yourself off of him ever so slightly.

and when you bend forward, pressing your tits into his face, blood rushes to his crotch. again.

you smirk at him devilishly.

"oh, we're not done yet. want you to fill me up even more."

this time, you sit on him reverse cowgirl style so that he can see exactly what's happening. the way your bodies connect. how your hungry pussy engulfs the whole of his length.

before beginning your sweet torture, you look back at him, smilingly.

"oh, and- continue reading where you left off, yeah?"

he is a dead man.

[nevertem]

[progooner123]

Teasing

Winter Soldier x F!Reader

Summary: In the middle of a storm and surrounded by danger, two broken souls find comfort in each other. Still shaken from a mission, they share a moment of deep connection, both emotional and physical. What begins as tension and regret turns into something tender, intimate, and healing. Through passion, vulnerability, and quiet promises, they remind each other that they’re not alone.

Word count: 1.2k

warning(s): 18+ explicit content, smut, slight fluff, mature themes, light swearing, dry humping, unprotected p in v, fingering, afab anatomy, emotional vulnerability, power imbalance undertones, mentions of past violence/combat, sensory detail, emotional dependency, plot? (idk how to write filth so its a bunch of word salad), winter soldier (yes he's a warning!)

The rain thrashed against the cracked window, steady and relentless, a cold rhythm echoing through the dim safe house. The air was thick, not just with the damp scent of concrete and rust, but with something heavier. Something electric.

He leaned against the wall, all quiet strength and coiled tension. His metal fingers flexed unconsciously, his eyes locked on you from across the room stormy, unreadable, but now… softer.

You were curled up on the couch, adrenaline still crackling under your skin from the mission. Gunfire, broken glass, the roar of chaos still lived in your chest. You hadn’t stopped shaking.

Then he moved.

Slow and deliberate. Every step announced his presence without sound. When he sat beside you, the heat of his body brushed yours, a quiet, devastating gravity. You didn’t look at him. You didn’t need to.

“I shouldn’t have let you go in alone,” he said, voice low and rough, like it’d clawed its way out of him.

You turned your head slightly, heart thrumming. “You didn’t let me. I chose.”

His jaw clenched. You saw the flicker in his eyes. His hand hovered near yours, not touching, not yet but radiating heat.

“You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t.” You smirked, weakly. “You gonna punish me for surviving?”

That made him look at you, really look at you. His gaze dropped to your lips. His breath was uneven. “You shouldn’t tease me like that.”

“Then don’t give me a reason to,” you whispered, your voice breaking just slightly.

His hand wrapped around your wrist it was hot, and steady. A spark shot through you, and when his eyes met yours again, the silence between you snapped.

You leaned in first. He didn’t stop you.

His mouth brushed your temple, soft at first, then lower. To your cheek. The corner of your mouth. Your pulse fluttered. Then, finally, he kissed you. deep, hot, and slow.

His kiss tasted like rain and sweat it was raw, earthy, and unmistakably him. His hand slipped behind your neck, holding you there as if you'd disappear if he let go. Your fingers dug into his shirt, anchoring yourself to him.

His metal hand found your waist, gripping tight. Firm, deliberate, almost reverent. He pulled you flush against him, and you felt him, the heat, the hardness, the restraint barely holding him back.

“I shouldn’t,” he breathed against your lips.

“Then don’t,” you murmured, voice thick with need. “Just touch me.”

That broke him.

He surged forward, kissing you harder now, his tongue sliding against yours with a hunger sharpened by months of restraint. His hands roamed your body, mapping every curve like he’d been waiting forever. Your shirt rode up under his touch, and when his fingers grazed bare skin, you shivered violently.

You gasped into his mouth. “More.”

He didn’t ask what you meant. He gave it to you.

You found his belt, fumbling, desperate. He helped, pulling the leather free, shoving his pants down just enough to free his cock, thick, flushed, a bead of precum gleaming at the tip. You moaned softly, unable to look away.

“God,” you breathed.

“You’re gonna take every inch,” he growled. He slid your jeans down in one rough motion, breath ragged, eyes dark with hunger like he’d been starving for you. His hand began sliding beneath your panties, between your legs. His fingers brushed your slick heat. “Already so fucking wet for me.”

You whimpered, hips grinding into his hand. “Then stop teasing.”

He groaned, dark and low. “Say it again.”

“Stop. Fucking. Teasing.”

He growled like a warning, then pulled your panties aside and slid his fingers into you. two, deep, fast. You cried out, back arching. His metal hand gripped your thigh, holding you open.

“You feel that?” he rasped, fucking you with his fingers as your body clenched. “You’re so fucking tight.”

You nodded, incoherent, breathless.

“You want my cock?” he asked.

“Please,” you gasped. “I need it.”

He didn’t hesitate. He lifted you up, laying you back across the couch with one arm, while the other lined himself up between your thighs. You were soaked, desperate, clenching around nothing as you watched him stroke himself once before pushing inside.

Slow. Deep. Stretching you inch by inch.

You moaned, nails clawing into his back. “F-fuck—”

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Take it.”

He moved in you with a rhythm that was maddening and slow enough to make you ache, deep enough to make you tremble. Every thrust lit your nerves on fire. His metal arm anchored you, his mouth finding the softest parts of your neck, collarbone, and shoulder leaving bruises.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, grinding into him. It became too much too quickly. His thrusts turned feral with hunger, each one slamming into the spot that made your vision blur, made you see white, made you fall apart all over again.

“I can’t—” you gasped.

“Yes you can. You’re mine. Let me feel you cum.”

His hand moved to your clit, thumb circling in perfect sync with his thrusts. You broke, a cry tearing from your throat as your body clenched hard around him, legs shaking.

He cursed, hips stuttering. “Fuck—you're so tight—”

You dragged your mouth to his, kissing him hard, swallowing his moans as he fucked you through it. Then he came, hips jerking as he spilled inside you, teeth buried in your neck, groaning your name like a prayer.

You stayed like that, tangled, breathless.

“I’m here,” he whispered, softer now, brushing a hand along your cheek.

You pressed your lips to his metal arm, trembling. “So am I.”

i only write fluff and angst, where the fuck did this come from... AHHHHH anyways i hope you enjoyed ^-^

I also don’t know how tumblr works lol so I hope I’m doing something right

[thepromisedbride]

the fact that the sequel trilogy could have perfectly set up a three v three scenario where the main trio could have each taken down their counterparts (poe against hux, finn against phasma, rey against ren) before they defeated snoke together so you could explore their characters and pasts and show the differences between the dark and light side of the force. and not only did they not do that but they basically screwed over the trio as a concept entirely

[librababe99]

Between Two Flames

cw: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, smut with plot, set during first two X- men movies, Fem!Reader, Logan/F!Reader/Scott, cunnilingus, fingering, threesome, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all!) Word count: 3.8K 

A/N: I decided to have a little “Challengers” moment but besides that I’m a sucker for a love triangle—I hope y’all enjoy this!  As always comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

(marvel masterlist)

In the soft glow of the X-Mansion, you could feel the weight of their gazes, both so intense, yet so different in how they pinned you to the spot. Logan’s dark, smoldering eyes watched you with an animalistic hunger, while Scott’s visor hid his eyes. You could feel the intensity radiating from him, a more controlled but equally desperate need simmering beneath his calm exterior. They had both wanted you for as long as you could remember, and the tension between the three of you had been brewing just beneath the surface, ready to explode. 

It wasn't a secret anymore. The way Logan’s voice would drop an octave when he spoke to you, how his hand lingered on your lower back for a second too long. The way Scott, ever the gentleman, would make excuses to be near you, brushing your hair from your face, his fingers barely grazing your skin, leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched.

You were caught between them, two powerful, extraordinary men who couldn’t be more different, but somehow both managed to make your pulse race with equal intensity. And tonight… you’d decided it was time. Time to take control. Time to stop letting them circle you like predators ready to pounce. You weren’t going to choose because, deep down, you didn’t want to. You wanted them both. And you knew they wanted you too.

The air in your room felt thick, electric with anticipation as you stood between them, your heart hammering against your ribcage. Logan, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, was tense, his jaw clenched as if he was barely holding himself back. His shirt clung to his broad chest, muscles rippling beneath the fabric, his very presence an intoxicating mix of danger and raw masculinity. Scott stood at the opposite side of the room, more controlled, but his hands fidgeted at his sides, betraying his calm façade. The tension between them was palpable, years of rivalry over you culminating in this very moment.

“I’m tired of watching you two dance around each other,” you said, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. You looked between them, feeling the weight of your decision. “I want you both. No more games. No more competition. If you want me, you’re going to have to learn to share.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, a low growl escaping his throat as he pushed himself off the wall. “You serious, sweetheart’? You sure you know what you’re asking for?”

Scott shifted his stance, his gaze flickering between you and Logan. He hadn’t expected this, but the way his lips parted and his chest rose and fell with deeper breaths told you he wasn’t about to object.

“I’ve never been more serious,” you replied, your voice laced with desire. “And if either of you doesn’t want this… you can leave now.”

Neither of them moved.

Logan took a step forward, his hand reaching for you, the heat of his touch sending shivers down your spine. His fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you closer to him until your chest was pressed against his solid frame. “I’m not going anywhere,” he growled into your ear, his breath hot on your skin, sending a wave of heat straight to your core.

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, your lips parting in a soft sigh. “I didn’t think you would.”

Behind you, you could feel Scott approaching, his presence cool and steady. He came up behind you, his breath warm against the back of your neck as his hands settled on your hips. His touch was softer, more hesitant than Logan’s, but the desire that pulsed through his fingertips was just as strong.

“I’ve always wanted you,” Scott whispered, his voice strained with barely contained need. “But this… are you sure?”

You turned your head slightly, catching his gaze from the corner of your eye. “I’m sure, Scott. I want this. I want both of you.”

With that, the dam finally broke. Logan’s lips crashed against yours, demanding and rough, while Scott’s hands roamed your body, his touch igniting a different kind of fire. Logan’s hands tangled in your hair, tugging lightly as he deepened the kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth in a way that was unmistakably possessive. Behind you, Scott’s lips found the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he kissed a trail down to your shoulder, his hands slipping beneath your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your stomach.

The sensations were overwhelming, two sets of hands exploring you, two mouths leaving trails of heat and want in their wake. Your head spun, but you reveled in the feeling, letting the pleasure wash over you in waves.

Logan’s hands slid down your back, gripping your ass with a possessive squeeze before lifting you effortlessly off the ground, carrying you towards the bed. He laid you down gently, his eyes dark with lust as he leaned over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. Scott followed, his hands never leaving your body, his touch grounding you in the midst of the storm that was Logan’s intensity.

They worked in tandem, their rivalry momentarily set aside as they focused entirely on you. Logan stripped away your clothes with an almost feral need, while Scott’s hands caressed every inch of bare skin revealed, his touch softer, more teasing in contrast to Logan’s roughness. You moaned softly, the mix of their attention driving you to the edge.

Logan’s mouth claimed your breasts, his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples while Scott’s lips found the inside of your thigh, his breath warm against your skin as he kissed his way up, his fingers brushing against your most intimate spot. You gasped, your back arching off the bed, your fingers tangling in the sheets as pleasure coursed through you.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Scott murmured, his voice thick with desire as he pressed a kiss just below your navel. His fingers moved against you, slow, deliberate strokes that had your body trembling with need.

Logan growled low in his throat, his lips trailing up your body until his mouth was on yours again, his kiss hard and consuming. “She’s mine, Summers,” he muttered against your lips, though there was no malice in his voice, just the deep, primal need to claim you.

“She’s ours tonight,” Scott corrected, his eyes meeting Logan’s with a silent agreement.

Logan’s lips were fierce, his kiss a burning force that left no room for hesitation. His hands, rough and calloused, ran over your bare skin with an urgency that sent shivers racing down your spine. Every touch from him was primal, raw, as if he was claiming you in every way he could. He growled low in his throat, the deep sound reverberating against your lips as he kissed you with wild intensity, his body pressed firmly against yours.

His mouth trailed from your lips, leaving a hot path down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he nipped at the sensitive spots that made you gasp. The heat of his breath against your throat had your pulse quickening, and you could feel the hard, solid strength of his body pressing into yours, his muscles taut with the need to take what he had wanted for so long.

Logan’s hands roamed lower, fingers gripping your waist, pulling your hips against his as his mouth traveled further down. His lips found your breasts, and he took one hardened nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before he sucked it gently, then harder, pulling soft moans from your lips.

Behind you, Scott was just as relentless, though his touch was more controlled, his need more restrained. His hands explored the curves of your body, his fingers brushing softly over your skin, contrasting Logan’s roughness. His lips found the nape of your neck, and the sensation of his warm breath there made you arch your back, pressing yourself further into Logan's mouth.

Scott kissed his way down your spine, his mouth hot against your skin, his hands trailing down your hips. His fingers traced the inside of your thighs, parting them slowly, teasingly, until his hand found the slick heat between your legs. His touch was soft at first, gentle, as if he was savoring every reaction, every gasp and moan that escaped your lips.

Logan growled again, his mouth leaving your breast with a wet pop as he glanced at Scott. “She’s ready for us,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, laced with barely controlled desire.

Scott didn’t respond, but you felt his fingers move more deliberately, sliding through your wetness with slow, deliberate strokes. He circled your clit with agonizing precision, drawing a moan from deep within you. Your body tensed, hips instinctively bucking against his hand, needing more, and yet he took his time, teasing you, building the pleasure until it was almost unbearable.

“Scott,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as the sensations overwhelmed you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered softly, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers continued their rhythm, rubbing slow circles over your sensitive nub before slipping lower, pressing inside you. The feeling of his fingers stretching you, filling you, was almost too much as he worked you with practiced ease, his touch confident yet gentle, driving you to the edge.

Logan’s hands were on your hips now, lifting them slightly as he positioned himself between your legs. He was watching Scott’s fingers move, his eyes dark with lust. “Fuck, she’s so wet,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for him as he leaned down, his tongue flicking out to join Scott’s fingers.

The sensation was overwhelming, Logan’s mouth hot and demanding as his tongue licked a slow, sensual stripe over your clit, swirling around it with a skill that had you crying out in pleasure. Scott’s fingers moved in tandem with Logan’s mouth, thrusting in and out of you, stretching you as his thumb pressed against your swollen nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

Your hands tangled in the sheets, your hips bucking uncontrollably as they worked together, pushing you higher and higher. Logan’s mouth was relentless, his tongue circling your clit before he sucked it into his mouth, his growls vibrating through your body, the sensation almost too much to bear. Scott’s fingers continued their steady rhythm inside you, the pressure building, coiling tighter and tighter until you felt like you were about to shatter.

“Please,” you gasped, your voice trembling as you begged for release, the pleasure teetering on the brink of being too much.

Logan’s eyes flicked up to meet Scott’s, a silent agreement passing between them. Logan’s mouth left your clit for just a moment, and then he gave you exactly what you needed, his tongue flicking rapidly over your swollen nub while Scott’s fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust.

The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with an intensity that had you crying out, your body trembling violently as pleasure surged through every nerve. Your hips jerked uncontrollably, your legs shaking as Logan’s mouth and Scott’s fingers didn’t stop, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you were panting, breathless, completely undone beneath them.

Logan growled in satisfaction as he finally pulled away, his mouth slick with your wetness, his eyes dark and predatory as he looked down at you. Scott slowly withdrew his fingers, his hand resting on your thigh as he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your back.

“You’re not done yet, sweetheart,” Logan rumbled, his voice low and husky as he moved over you, his body pressing you into the mattress. You could feel the hard length of him against your thigh, and your body responded immediately, desire flaring hot and fast once again.

Scott’s hands moved to your hips, lifting you slightly as he positioned himself behind you, his chest pressed against your back. “Let us take care of you,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he kissed the side of your neck, his fingers intertwining with Logan’s as they both prepared to claim you fully.

The air in the room was thick, humming with tension, the weight of desire almost palpable as both men converged on you. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a shared hunger that had been building for far too long, now unleashed with an intensity that left you trembling beneath their combined focus. The need to possess, to ravage, was clear in every movement, and you could feel it in the way their eyes devoured you, their bodies pressing against you, ready to take what they’d been craving for so long.

Logan hovered above you like a predator, his muscular form caging you in, every inch of him radiating heat and power. His dark eyes burned with lust, flicking over your face as his chest heaved, his body vibrating with restrained energy. His cock, hard and throbbing, pressed insistently against your thigh, the tension in him evident as he growled low in his throat, his voice rough and gravelly with want.

“Goddamn, you’ve no idea what you do to me,” he rasped, his lips curled in a feral smirk as he teased you, letting the head of his cock slide against your slick entrance, not yet entering, only heightening the delicious ache inside you. His gaze, heated and unrelenting, watched your every twitch, every moan, drinking in the sight of your body arching beneath him in anticipation.

Behind you, Scott was a steady presence, his warm breath brushing against the back of your neck as his hands held your hips, steadying you. His body, firm and solid, pressed against your back, his cock, hard and leaking, sliding between the curves of your ass. His control was fragile, his breath coming in uneven gasps as he ground himself against you, savoring the way you writhed under the weight of both their attention.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Scott murmured, his voice low, thick with need as his lips ghosted over your ear, sending shivers racing down your spine. The quiet, desperate confession stirred something deep inside you, his words full of longing as he pressed himself harder against you. His hands tightened on your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as if anchoring himself to the moment.

The tension in the room swelled, and Logan, never one for patience, shot a glance at Scott, a silent challenge that passed between them before he took what he wanted. With one powerful thrust, Logan pushed inside you, his cock sinking deep, stretching you wide. The sensation hit you like a wave, a sharp, intense pleasure mixed with just enough pain to leave you gasping, your body trembling as you cried out.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Logan growled, his voice gravelly, strained as he pulled out slowly, only to slam back into you with a force that made you see stars. He wasn’t gentle—Logan never was—but there was something intoxicating about the way he moved, his cock filling you completely with every brutal thrust, claiming you in a way that was as primal as it was electric.

Scott groaned behind you, his body tense with barely restrained desire as he watched Logan take you. “You’re driving me fucking crazy,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as his cock slid against your slick skin, aching for release. He shifted, positioning himself behind you, his hands steady as he lined himself up, his cock nudging at your tight entrance, teasing the sensitive ring of muscle.

Logan slowed his thrusts, his movements deliberate now as his eyes locked on yours, his expression raw, filled with lust and possessiveness. He reached down, brushing the damp hair from your forehead, his thumb grazing your cheek as he rasped, “You want this, baby’? Tell us. Tell us you need both of us.”

Your breath hitched, the intensity of their combined presence overwhelming, but you couldn’t deny the deep, aching need inside you. “I want it,” you gasped, your voice trembling with desire, your body arching toward them, desperate for more. “I want both of you.”

At your words, Scott pressed forward, his cock slowly stretching you as he pushed deeper, the burn intense but delicious. He was careful, deliberate, giving you time to adjust as he inched his way inside, filling you until you could feel both of them, thick and hard, stretching you to your limits. The sensation of being taken by both of them at once—Logan’s cock buried deep in your pussy while Scott’s filled your ass—was overwhelming, a heady mix of pleasure and pressure that made your head spin.

For a moment, the room was still, the air heavy with the sound of their ragged breathing, both men deep inside you, their bodies taut with the effort of holding back. Then Logan moved, his hips pulling back before slamming forward again, setting a punishing rhythm that had you gasping for air. The force of his thrusts pushed you further into Scott, who matched his pace, both of them moving in perfect sync, driving into you with relentless precision.

The sensation was beyond anything you’d ever felt—Logan’s rough, powerful thrusts combined with Scott’s slower, more controlled movements, both of them working together to push you higher, to drive you to the edge. Every nerve in your body was on fire, your senses overwhelmed as they claimed you, their bodies moving in perfect tandem, the heat between you building with every thrust.

Scott’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fucked you from behind, his cock driving deep, the friction exquisite as Logan continued to pound into you from the front. The feeling of being filled so completely, stretched by both of them, was too much—it was everything. Your body was trembling, overwhelmed with pleasure as they pushed you closer and closer to the brink.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” Scott groaned, his voice thick with need as he thrust into you harder, his pace quickening as his control began to slip. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

Logan growled in response, his movements becoming more erratic, his grip on your thighs tightening as he slammed into you with renewed intensity. “Fuck… you’re gonna come for us, sweet girl’,” he rasped, his voice strained as he pounded into you, driving you toward the release that was quickly spiraling out of control inside you.

Your body was trembling, every muscle tensing as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. You could feel the heat coiling low in your belly, the sensation of both men inside you pushing you to the edge, their combined rhythm relentless, pushing you higher and higher until—

Your orgasm washed over you like a wave, crashing with an intensity that left you gasping for breath, your body shaking violently as pleasure surged through every nerve. You cried out, your body arching between them, completely undone as they continued to thrust into you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were left trembling, utterly spent.

Both Logan and Scott continued their relentless pace, driving you deeper into that overwhelming pleasure. Your body tightened around them, and their groans filled the room, the sound of their need mingling with the thrum of your release. Logan’s pace became erratic, his grip on your hips bruising as he buried himself inside you with a final, powerful thrust.

“Fuck—” he growled, his voice rough as his cock pulsed deep within you, releasing his hot, thick seed. His muscles tensed, his breath ragged as he shuddered above you, his climax leaving him, but still gripping you with an unyielding possessiveness. He lingered, breath warm against your skin, before pulling out slowly, his release still slick between your thighs.

Scott, still buried in you, was close behind. He gripped your waist harder, his thrusts losing rhythm as he chased his own end, his body trembling against yours. His cock twitched inside you, and with a low, desperate groan, he came, his release filling you. His hips stilled, pressed against you as he breathed heavily, his forehead resting against your shoulder.

For a long moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your collective breaths, heavy and uneven as the intensity of what had just happened settled in. Your body was exhausted, thoroughly claimed by both men, and you couldn’t help but smile, your heart still racing from the sheer pleasure of it all.

Scott slipped out of you, his hands gently brushing your waist as he lay beside you, his body warm and spent. Logan followed suit, rolling onto the other side of you, his arm possessively draped over your waist. The two men, who had been rivals moments ago, now lay beside you, their bodies close, their breathing slowing as the intensity ebbed away.

“You okay, baby’?” Logan murmured, his rough voice soft as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his thumb brushing lazily over your hip.

You nodded, too exhausted to speak, but the contentment in your expression said enough. You were more than okay—you were completely satisfied, your body and mind still buzzing from the pleasure they had given you.

Scott leaned in, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered, “That was… incredible.” His voice was filled with wonder, as if he still couldn’t quite believe what had just transpired between the three of you.

You let out a soft laugh, your eyelids heavy as you nestled between them. “It was more than that,” you whispered, your voice sleepy but full of warmth. “It was perfect.”

In the quiet aftermath, with Logan’s steady presence on one side and Scott’s gentle touch on the other, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. You had wanted them both, and now, you’d had them—every inch, every moment, exactly as you had imagined.

Sleep tugged at the edges of your consciousness, but before you drifted off, you felt the two men shift closer, their bodies warm and protective against yours. In that moment, you realized that this was no longer a rivalry. They had both claimed you, yes, but they had also shared something deeper—something that could only exist between the three of you.

[random-cockroach]

My brain malfunctioned and I was digging in MTMTE the whole day, forgot to blink, kicked pillow 8 times and was talking with my reflection 6 times

Ended up with 60+ screenshots of nerds being socially awkward/abnormal/straightforward because we use books to talk, not people, silly, cool or sweet, or just facts ahah

[etherealily]

𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽 // 𝙉𝙁𝙅!

My other Nate fics. If you have the time.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Warnings : Dark. SFW, but discretion advised. Drugs.

I don't know if this is milder or darker than the previous parts, but I do know that it is LONG.

Part 1 : Whiplash Part 2 : 9 Lives Part 3 : Blessed Part 4 : Shards Bonus Chapter : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You're fun and you're wild, but you don't know the half of the shit that you put me through

═════════════════════ 🧿 ════════════════════

TUESDAY, LIBRARY, 4 PM.

"We need to talk."

Suddenly, Carl Jung had never been more interesting, your eyes unable to rip away from the words on the paper in front of them, ignoring Nate as much as possible.

Your shoulder suddenly jerked, and a soft whisper followed. "Hey. We need to talk."

Frowning, your eyes darted between the two Jacobs brothers, the looks on their faces not strict, but the most infuriatingly stoic gazes mankind had ever known.

"You had quite a weekend, right? Anything crazy happen?"

The real question Aaron was asking was whether you were going to talk about it.

"Nope, just lots of psych homework."

"See, this is why I'm telling you to drop Psych. Unnecessary stress.", remarked Nate, his fingers rapping on the table in an almost musical pattern. Almost, because music is art, and there was nothing artistic about the false smile he was giving you.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"How are the rest of classes going?" Small talk?

"Great. Chem is pissing me off, though."

"Eh, well, only nerds are good at Chem, and I don't fuck with nerds. So you're lucky."

Oh, thanks, man. Such an honour.

"Are you good at Chem?"

"I pass."

"Where'd you get time to study? What with all the vapes and parties and quote-unquote 'dozens of bitches'?"

He let out a breathy laugh. "I got good work-life balance.", he replied, leaning on his arms closer to you. His head tilted and you knew something psychotic was about to happen. Well, it was Nate. You knew something psychotic was about to happen the second he walked in.

"I'll bet."

He smiled at that. "Are you my friend, Y/N? Are we friends?"

"I don't think so."

"Good. We're on the same page.", he hissed, moving in closer, glaring at you with the same eyes that had been acting as a dam to his true emotions two nights ago. "You can't tell anyone." His fingers deftly twirled your hair around before tucking it behind your ear.

"About?"

"Saturday."

"How you threw a lamp at me?"

"What you heard about my Dad. What he wanted to... what he said. What you learnt about our family."

"I won't."

"No, seriously, Y/N, don't fucking play with me right now. You'll regret it if you do."

"I'm not playing around, either. I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Good.", sniped Aaron. "'Cause we'll fucking ruin your life if you do."

"Aaron.", whispered Nate, shaking his head. "She already said she wouldn't."

"And you trust her?! She walked in with this polite girl attitude and then when shit got tough, she yelled at you with Mom just a room away. And you told me she wanted to fuck Da-"

"Aaron, shut the FUCK up, okay? She said she isn't going to, so she won't." The glares were back on you, an unwelcome blanket in the heat of tension.

"Yeah, we wouldn't want to have to say stuff about you , too."

"Aaron, I said fuckin' drop it."

"No, she gotta know what's at stake, or she's going to take this shit lightly."

You could almost see the vein pop in Nate's head.

"Nate, what... what stuff?"

"It's nothing. Just... we needed incentive.", he muttered, shrugging.

"What incentive?"

"You're buddy-buddy with a drug dealer, Y/N.", he continued, although, to his credit, it seemed with a little reluctance. "And he has access to a lot of shit, right? Who knows if he's ever slipped something into your drink and... y'know."

"What the FUCK? What the FUCK, NATE?"

His idea of incentive was making you a rape victim?!

Being shushed by the librarian solidified your thirst for homicide.

"I mean, you fucked Shane voluntarily, so you're already a fuckin' whore.", he declared, shrugging again as if he was just stating that the sky would be lit up by fireworks on the Fourth of July. "Maybe he just thought it would be easier, without all the playing-hard-to-get-shit. You're close enough that he trusts you to watch over his store."

"You can't FUCKING be serious! FEZCO WOULD NEVER FUCKING-"

"How sad, you're in denial.", tutted Aaron, pouting. "How would you know? He could have used shit stronger than Rohypnol, ya know? Shit that could knock you out cold for hours, and maybe he even called a couple of his trapper buddies-"

Aaron shut up quite quickly when your knuckles met his jaw, but started cussing you out when Nate pulled you off of him. "We're just saying, Y/N, you don't tell anyone the truth of that night, we won't tell them the lies about Fezco."

You pointed your finger at Nate's chest, hoping to god that that would distract him from the rage-induced tears pooling in your eyes.

"You're a fucking coward, Jacobs. With a pervert dad. A fucking coward who can't admit that he has no idea what the fuck he's doing."

"Big words coming from a girl that was raped by her dealer."

OH, someone needs to euthanize this motherfucker.

FUCK. NATE. JACOBS.

TUESDAY, 9PM

Nate had no fucking clue why he was doing this.

He was just drunk, he supposed. Drunk and horny. Average teenage experience.

But it's like.. he could've done anything. ANYTHING else. He could've actually gone to the party, picked up some girl, screwed her into the bed.

But no.

He sat there, scrolling through the fucking SlutPages. For who?Shane's sister, maybe, because of the inexplicable hatred he'd been feeling for him for about a month that he couldn't really think of a reason for? You would think, wouldn't you?

He looked for you.

There was no way you were a virgin. But he should've known there was also no way you were a slut. Or at least, that you were smart enough not to end up there.

He almost fucking threw the phone onto the wall. Fuck.

And you'd blocked him. That was the problem. He couldn't even text you. And he didn't have your fucking phone number, Jesus fucking Christ, he should've gotten it! Relying on something as flimsy as social fucking media was stupid. Idiot.

Wait. Social media.

He quickly slid his chair over to his computer, his hands moving with a pace and mind of their own.

No fucking way would he admit this, but his brother... had some good ideas, once in a while.

When he was fourteen, he'd been wide-eyed, watching through the crack through a door as his older brother -17 at the time- created an account, some random username, some girly bullshit, and then gone Incognito, finding a picture to add.

And then he watched as his brother spent hours poring through pictures of girls - at the time, Nate's seniors- and then suddenly sigh.

"You know, you breathe like fucking Darth Vader?" "What's that?", he'd asked, ignoring that comment and padding over to sit next to him. "This account? I'll tell you, but it- it's like... private brother shit, ok?"

"Shit". What a novel word that was at the time.

"Okay." "Spit-swear it, runt."

He spit-swore. A thing he never fucking did again.

"You can use it. Whenever you're down bad for a chick but you're blocked." "Why would a chick I'm down bad for block me?" "You're so obviously fourteen."

And god fucking damnit, was he.

Not that he was down bad for you. But all he'd say is if this wasn't love, it was pretty fucking close. Why you enthralled him, no clue. You were so easy to rile up, but hard to push too far. You always seemed to be limitless.

He logged in.

Good, the loser, Crestin, posted a story.

Good, you were there in the background.

Great, you were hot.

Bad, you were drinking. Tequila. Wasn't that you and Nate's thing?

Of course, he wouldn't presume to have taken your tequila-V-Card, but he most definitely would have assumed that you'd associate tequila with him. With that night. He'd assumed you'd stay away from it, metaphorically forsaking him in the process.

But no.

Shane's tequila was non-traumatic, and apparently delicious. Ugh.

This simply would not do.

TUESDAY, SHANE'S PARTY, 11PM

"No, NO, GET the FUCK away from me!", you warned, pointing a finger at him. You should've taken his advice and learnt to shoot. "I'm warning you, Jacobs!"

Shane's party was meant to be the one place you could be to avoid Nate, seeing as the host was some sort of Nate-repellent, but NO, you'd just apparently underestimated Nate Jacobs once again.

And here he was, his hand gripping your wrist - just like the rope you wanted to grip his neck - and glaring down at you as if you'd just killed his entire family but he was mildly turned on by it.

"Y/N, just fucking listen! Just- stop causing a scene! Fuckin' LISTEN!", he ordered, grabbing your shoulder with one palm and pointing at you with the other hand, to stop you from writhing away from him.

"You can't just do what you did last week and then expec-"

He kissed you. What did he think this was, fucking Disney Channel?

"NO! NO!", you shouted, shoving him away and secretly hoping for a car to hit him as he stumbled back.

No such luck.

It really was the world according to Nate, wasn't it?

"You know it's okay, right? It's alright."

"What?"

"It's okay to want me.", he informed you, as if he was telling you it was okay to sing in the shower.

Everyone does it. It's like, a thing, relax.

"It's okay.", he continued, "People want what's bad for them all the time.", he murmured, his thumb tracing your lip like he was tracing out a line he wanted so desperately to cross. "It's human nature."

"You think I'm bad for you?"

He took a deep breath, as if he was about to tell you you were terminal. "I think you're good for my soul. Like a baptism without the water." His thumb moved further into your mouth, just barely grazing your teeth.

"Even you have no clue what that meant, admit it."

"It's called effect, Y/N. Drama. Intrigue. Doesn't have to make sense."

You stared up at him, waiting for elaboration, and that earned a huff from him as he looked around at the other people in the front yard - doing lines, making out, throwing up - before turning back to you. "No, honey, I don't think you're bad for me. In fact, I think you're unnecessarily good for me."

"Unnecessarily?"

"As in, I don't need your energy."

"Then why are you so insistent on being around it? 'Cause you want to fuck me?"

"No! Jesus. It's in the name, Y/N. GOOD luck charm. You help me do GOOD in my games. You're good energy."

"What's next? You gonna tell me my birthstone?"

"Oh, shut up.", he chuckled, shaking his head as he moved your jaw from side-to-side in what seemed to be a playful gesture, but at this point, could very well have been him trying to ascertain which cheek to shoot into or something. "You got your licks in. We good?"

"Good? No. NO. We're not good! You threatened someone I love, so no fuckin' way are we good!"

"I know, I know. Aaron wanted me to-"

"BULLSHIT!"

He sighed, as if you were his deranged relative who was climbing up some telephone pole.

"YOU just can't handle the fact that I saw you almost fucking cry! I caught you weak, and that's a power shift, and you don't FUCKING like it, do you?!"

His jaw ticked for a moment, but he managed to let out a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. And then, as if what you said wasn't quite literally exactly what he was feeling, he asked, "Are you done?"

"NO, I'm not fucking done! I still haven't got to the part where you threatened to accuse him of rape, which is a fucking terrible thing to joke about in the first pla-"

"Look, man, I don't have time for this shit, okay? I'm not hurting Fezco! I came here so I could tell you something."

"My GOD, Nate, you made your point! I won't tell anyone!", you groaned, snatching a drink from some already-tipsy guy's hand and downing it.

"That's totally hygienic.", he remarked, eyes finally tearing away from you as you both watched the drunkard stumble over a girl who was getting rid of her lunch and breakfast in the bushes.

"I got new incentive.", he murmured, his forehead against yours, and his thumb rubbing your cheek as if it owned land there.

"What, now you're going make Shane out to be a rapist, too?"

Not a bad idea, actually. The corners of his mouth curled down, and he scanned your face as if he were actually thinking about it, eliciting a tsk from you.

He hid a chortle as he continued. "I'm offering you a deal. You were right, back at the bleachers about the control thing."

He was about to ask you to sell your soul, you could fucking feel it.

"So... you get to control me. For however long you need. Like, a month, a week, whatever. Just don't tell anyone about my family."

Whoa. Plot twist. You did not expect him to sell his soul.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure. So if I asked you to show up to school naked?"

"Yes, I'd show up to school naked for you. But it's funny seeing me naked is your first instinct."

His trust issues were suddenly working out in your favour- he was essentially offering himself up as collateral.

"If I ask you to announce a formal apology to me on a bullhorn before your game?"

"I just want you to leave my family alone, Y/N."

So that's where Nate Jacobs' humanity began. At his family. Noted.

"I promise. I'll do anything." The urge to say 'then die' was strong, but not invincible.

You wracked your brain looking for something you could make this psychopath do that would not cause him immense pleasure.

"Ah, see? Being the one in control isn't all it's cracked up to be. Too much power, and you don't even know what to do with it.", he taunted, pouting as he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead harder against yours. "Think. What is it you want from me?"

What the fuck did you want him to do?

"Do you want an apology? No, 'cause I've already given you plenty and you don't want meaningless things, do you?" His lips lightly touched yours and you could swear he smirked when you flinched on reflex.

But no. That wasn't what you wanted. He was spot-on.

"You want... do you want money? I'm a trust fund baby, essentially, right? My father basically owns the town. Sure, I could hook you up. Royal Enfield, BMW. Or, if you want, Chanel? But that won't cost me anything, at least not emotionally, yeah? So no. That's not it, either."

Why did you suddenly feel like your thoughts were transferring into his head?

"You want me? You want to cut me up, just like I forced you to watch me do to myself? You want to hold a gun to my throat like I did to you? No, because I'd low-key like it."

Yes, he would. So no, you didn't want it.

"C'mon, think. I'm at your mercy, I'm all yours. There's definitely one thing you want and you're just too much of a pussy to say it."

Why were you letting him do this? Why did you just accept that it was the world according to Nate?

"You wanna know what I think, huh? Huh? I'll tell you what I think.", he murmured. "I think you want me to care."

That got your attention. "Care?"

"I think you actually want me to give a shit about you, so you can justify to yourself why you keep lettin' this happen, don'tcha?", he asked, thumb rubbing your jawline. "You want me to stop acting like this whole thing between us is a game. You want me to acknowledge what I'm doing to you."

You hated this. You hated when men were right - it was ridiculous. And you absolutely despised when Nate was right, because it was dangerous.

"Look, I just want you out of my life, Nate.", you lied.

That had come out way too fast. That was the easiest thing he could do. That was the kindest thing you could have ordered him to do. That was mercy.

So why was he acting like you'd just asked him to jump into a fire?

"That's it?"

He didn't buy it. And neither did you. Because yes, you'd technically be very reasonable to want him out of your life. But no, the danger, the unnecessarily sexy amount of mortal peril you'd be in every second that you were around him- it was your fucked up version of heroin.

"I don't think you understand just what you're asking. You're going to miss me."

You scoffed and he shrugged, in a gesture that only seemed pitiful, as though he were allowing you to believe that for the time being.

'Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, baby', you could almost hear him snark.

"What if I miss you?"

You shrugged, downing another shot - one you'd stolen from a drunk girl this time. "I dunno. Just don't."

"You'll still come to games? Fist-bump me?"

"Still come to games? I guess, maybe? I'll high-five you, or something."

"I'll think it over." Wait, wasn't he the one who was making an offer?

═════════════════════ 🧿 ════════════════════

He found you almost fifteen minutes later, probably after mulling it over with a drink.

"I accept your terms. I'll go out of your life, starting Monday. However, I've got a little som'n som'n to show you.".

An AK-47? An atom-bomb? A grave he dug specially for you?

"It's a surprise. Only an hour. That's all I'm asking."

Only your sanity. That's all he was asking.

You'd promised yourself you'd never take anything from Nate Jacobs again, and you'd stuck to it.

I mean.

That was until he'd offered you molly.

Molly made you happy.

Molly made you forget stuff, like college apps, the loss of your internship and the fact that you'd basically been lying to your family the entirety of last week about the scar on your forehead.

But how he'd found that out was a question for the ages. And he seemed to know exactly what molly did to you.

And you best believe he was milking it.

"I want to get a tattoo."

"Okay...?"

"Correction : I want us to get a tattoo.", he whispered, before tsk-ing at your derisive snort. "C'mon, you get to draw whatever you want on me and I'll get it tattooed, I promise!"

"Tattoos are permanent, Nate."

"And you know what? So am I. In your life. In your head. On your lips.", he reminded, grinning mischievously, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

You barely fought against him - the ecstasy sprinting through your blood vessels - and you found yourself lying back on the grass, his hands bracketing your hair.

"Just fucking draw something on me, Y/N. Come on. And I'll draw something on you. Yeah? Sound good?", he asked, his hand creeping up your shirt with surprising reverence.

He chuckled breathily against your lips, shaking his head as he rolled off you, lying next to you.

"I'll draw something nice and meaningful. And you get to, as well. Nothing cheesy, though. Like a fucking arrow-heart or an anchor or some shit."

"How about a star?"

"What, a star is not cheesy? That's the cheesiest thing ever. That's the pussy tattoo.", he muttered, before looking up at your eyes, sighing magnanimously. "What kind of star?"

"The ones that are hard to draw. With all the lines."

"Really, Y/N? I give you the chance to mark my body up and you want the hardest thing to draw from second grade?"

"Where'd you want it?"

"Where will you be willing to touch me?"

That was a million dollar question. Willing is a very subjective term.

"Neck. Under my ear."

You nodded, taking the pen he'd brought and gently tracing out a couple stars under his neck. He played with some of your hair that had fallen in front of his face, with terrifying dedication, as you did so. "Yeah. Done. You actually getting this tattooed?"

"Now you.", he ordered, grabbing your wrist, not answering the question. Red flag number eleven thousand. The pen lid in his mouth and a focused furrow to his brow, he began drawing.

"Infinity symbol.", he informed you, before you could even ask.

"Why?"

"I dunno. It's meaningful. 'To infinity and beyond'. Favourite Disney Movie, right?"

"That is not my favourite-"

"Yeah, well, it's mine. Buzz Lightyear is like, my hero.", he muttered, rubbing his thumb over the drawing and then kissing it softly, all while looking at you.

"Really? You seem like a Big Hero 6 guy to me."

He laughed deeper. "You always take me so seriously."

"Fuuuck, I know I'm not supposed to say this..."

He lolled his head over to you. "You could tell me you're Ted Bundy reincarnate and I'd still smash."

You decided to ignore that comment. "I'm not supposed to say this, but... but I get why Rue did it. Like Jesus fucking Christ."

He nodded in understanding, looking at the tiny packet that still had a couple pills in it. "She was just too weak to limit herself. But we got no limits. You got infinity on your wrist."

"Look, Nate, I can't tattoo that shit. My family would kill themselves."

"Same."

"Then why did you-"

"We're gonna do something that could go either way. It could either freak you out or turn you on. On the off chance that it's both, then we're more similar than you realize.", he slurred, lazily brushing hair behind your ear. "'Kay?"

"What are we gonna do?", you asked, trying your hardest to pull away, but the ecstasy made you genuinely defenceless against human touch. And it didn't help that Nate was holding your arms tightly down on the ground, as if he were trying to plant roots.

"We're going to carve the tattoos."

He said it so conspiratorially. As though this was your secret to surviving the zombie apocalypse. And his fucking eyes. Glowing like fireworks. Glowing like a child finally being told he could get what he wanted for Christmas.

"WHAT?!"

He licked his lips with an almost roll of his eyes as he looked up at you, because you were so clearly overreacting, right? Slitting your own skin in the shape of an infinity on it was a perfectly normal teenage activity. Of course. Drinking, smoking, fucking, slicing.

"I'll do it. I'm experienced, as you know.", he scoffed, his lips at your shoulder now. "We only have about fifteen minutes left of your curfew, Y/N, please. Please? Play nice."

The molly was clouding your senses, clearly. You could tell because a) you were still having this conversation and b) you didn't even question how he knew what time your curfew was, and c) you hadn't punched him yet.

"Think about it, it's less permanent than a tattoo, baby, please."

And then he placed another one of those little pink pills on your tongue, pressing down and forcing you to swallow.

MONDAY.

The scream came too late to your liking.

You'd tried to scream faster, but everything had come rushing back to you. The fever dream was not a dream. It's always relieving when terrible 'realities' end up only being dreams. It's a different kind of terror when you realize that the nightmare was real.

The number eighteen was etched on your wrist like a pathetic mark, like... like a brand.

You couldn't even begin to figure out just what the fuck that was supposed to be. Eighteen? How was that meaningful? The year it becomes legal to have sex? Freedom, maybe? Joy?

He wanted this aneurysm in your head. He'd placed it there.

FUCK !

FRIDAY.

"What? What is it you want?!"

He frowned, his face softening out of genuine confusion, making him look almost comically harmless in the harsh stadium lighting. "You said you'd still fist-bump me."

"What does 18 mean?"

He shrugged, holding out his fist. You rolled your eyes, bumping it with your own. And then, after telling yourself you were imagining the ghost of a smirk on his lips, you froze. Because he'd turned, running off to the middle of the field. You saw his back.

His jersey. 18. FUCK. He blew you a kiss about two seconds before the ball was passed to him. 18. FUCK.

"Did you just fist-bump Nate?"

"Yeah."

"Why?", asked Maddy, scoffing softly.

"He was talking to me about the project and then he said he had to go, so I wished him luck and... I guess I fist-bumped him."

"Oh, yeah, ew, the project. How's that going?"

"I scrapped it."

"Why?", she questioned, after shaking her pom-poms and screaming out some over-enthusiastic cheer.

"I don't fucking like him. At all. He's a DICK."

"What? No way. I had no idea.", she muttered sardonically, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "But was it, like, really bad?"

You nodded.

"After the game, you wanna do molly?"

"No." The reply was almost immediate.

"You don't wanna do molly? Don't bullshit me. Shut up. You're doing it with me."

You'd have hugged Maddy for knowing you so well if you weren't so focused on the big, blue, number 18 running on the field, matching the big, red one staying still on your wrist.

FRIDAY, 9PM

Staying over at Maddy's was an offer you shouldn't have declined, because it was getting genuinely infuriating how Nate found out things.

You were still extremely lacking in sobriety when he'd crawled into your bed that night, covering your mouth to make sure you didn't scream. How? Million dollar question.

"You want me to tell you a secret?"

"A secret? Wait, not some bullshit about my lips that you came up with?"

"I listened to Queen."

You sat up. "WHAT?"

He chuckled, sitting up as well and tilting his head while resting it on his knees. "What? Elvis, too. I even watched Blue Hawaii. I low-key liked it. Why? Would it have changed your mind?"

You frowned for a moment, before shaking your head. "Still would've been nice to know."

"Okay, how about you just kiss me now, Rue 2.0?", he asked, tracing out the number eighteen on your wrist before looking up at you through slightly furrowed brows. That was a challenge, of sorts, that gaze.

"You have something to ask me." Didn't take a genius to figure it out. Insinuation was painted all over his face. He had an accusation and he needed you to defend it.

"When Shane fucked you, where'd he come?"

You frowned, staring at him for a moment. "Yo, I- what? Where is this coming from?"

"At practice he was saying he fucked you."

"He's a dickwad, of course he did."

"It doesn't bother you that he's spreading that shit?"

"If I paid attention to every rumour some butthurt, fragile-ego jock spread about me, I wouldn't have time to fucking study."

"Your reputation's gone, though. That's fine for you?"

You sucked on your teeth for a moment before exhaling. "You're here to find out if I'm easy?"

He looked at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"If I did this, Y/N, would you stop me?", he asked, shifting to his knees at the foot of the bed. "Hm? If I just...", he trailed off, kissing up your knee to your thigh.

"Nate. Stop."

"That's not stopping me.", he murmured, gripping your back and yanking you closer.

You kicked him away, grimacing. "Get out."

He gazed up at you, and for a moment there, it seemed like he was rooting for you, for the rumours to just be cruel rumours and not true.

"Get OUT!"

"You can't let me kiss you and then just... it doesn't work like that."

The world looked glittery and he looked godly kneeling down there.

His tongue licked slowly up your inner thigh. "C'mon. Take it off. It's just me."

"Get out."

He rolled his eyes, yanking your shorts down himself. "I fucking...", he murmured, voice muffled against your skin. "Love you."

"You don't fucking love me!" You were struggling but it was fruitless.

"I could."

"Get out, I'm not bullshitting."

"C'mon.", he murmured, reaching up to unhook your bra before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "C'mon."

"No! Get off!" His hand held you down.

"Just let me-", he muttered, his fingers finally removing your underwear as he pressed a chaste kiss higher up your thigh. Your breath hitched and his smirk widened, albeit, with a bit of disappointment. "There we go."

Kicking him away, you finally snapped. Maybe it was the molly. Maybe it was his tongue. Maybe it was the fact that he'd somehow found out that molly made you make extremely bad decisions. Maybe it was the fact that he knew you wanted nothing more than to fuck him that night.

"GET THE FUCK OUT, NATE! YOU SAID YOU'D LEAVE ME ALONE MONDAY, IT'S FRIDAY! GET THE FUCK OUT, PLEASE!" He took every kick and every punch like a total champ, you'd give him that.

The disappointment left, and he smiled, softly, caringly, like a mother hanging up her child's drawing on the fridge, as he wiped your tears away.

Standing up, he grabbed your hair, staring into your eyes so deeply you were half-wondering if they'd changed colour, before patting your shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

Proud for disproving a rumour?

You watched his shadow on your wall as it climbed down the window behind you.

Look, one thing could be said. Nate Jacobs was a man of his word. He did not speak to you. He did not text you. He did not acknowledge you.

You'd blocked him online and he'd blocked you in real life.

However, his other account still kept tabs on you.

Average social media interaction.

Shane Crestin ended up in the ER later that night.

Average Nate Jacobs interaction.

[amaltheas-garden]

AND ANOTHER THING

this episode, despite not having the laughable plot points from 2x03, has run into some irreconcilable issues with the source material, but not in the typical "this event didn't happen in the text" way, but in the "these themes are in direct conflict with everything asoiaf stands for" way.

asoiaf sets itself apart from most fantasy because, in a genre chalk full of stories with divine, predetermined heroes destined to save the world, kings-to-be whose causes were always righteous and whose wars were always glorious, decided to flip the script. grrm wanted a story where no one's actions could be excused by vague notions of serving the "greater good", where divine purpose and prophecy held little weight compared to the very real damage done to actual people, because at the end of the day, nothing can justify the violence inflicted onto innocents in these endless quests for power.

the dance of dragons is a very easy story to comprehend when the rose-tinted glasses this fandom insists on seeing the Targaryens through are removed. it's about two siblings growing up in a time of peace and prosperity, going to war over daddy's throne, and everyone either dying or becoming a hollow husk of who they used to be. thats it. thats what war does. it kills you, or strips your humanity away bit by bit till you're hardly recognizable as a human and might as well be dead anyways. if there is one theme grrm wants readers to walk away with, it is that the price of war is NEVER one worth paying. I'm sure Rhaenyra thought that, sitting on the throne, haunted by the ghosts of her dead sons, and I'm sure Aegon II thought that, to broken to even climb the stairs of the IT, wishing only for his brothers, and sister, and children back.

while having Rhaenyra only willing to go to war over something "more than a crown" certainly paints her in a noble light, introducing a catch all justification for anything she does going forward to place herself on the IT is ridiculous. hotd essentially saying Rhaenyra actually HAD to go to war to save the realm from certain destruction years down the line because she was gifted special knowledge of her ancestor Aegon the Conqueror's prophecy (the Song of Ice and Fire *eye roll*) is a level of propaganda the "biased maesters" of f&b could only dream of.

[httpvomitello]

Could you do a George x Reader where he gets jealous over her spending time with someone else and he gets over protective? I would love that!!

Helloooooo! We love a over protective boyfriend, don't we? Hope you like it ~ ♡

Mr. Jealous *⁠.⁠✧

Summary: George Weasley has never been the jealous type—until he sees you laughing a little too much with Dean Thomas. Convinced that he’s losing his chance with you, George goes full overprotective boyfriend (despite not technically being your boyfriend… yet).

george weasley x f!reader

George Weasley was not jealous.

At least, that’s what he kept been telling himself as he sat in the corner of the Three Broomsticks, arms crossed, jaw clenched, watching you laugh at something Dean Thomas had just said.

Dean bloody Thomas.

And you—his best friend, the girl he’d been half in love with since fourth year—were sitting there, giggling, twirling your hair around your finger, looking at Dean like he was the most interesting person in the world.

George was about to combust.

"Alright, mate, you’re staring," Fred muttered beside him, amusement clear in his voice. "You look like you’re two seconds away from cursing Dean into next week."

"I’m not staring," George grumbled, still watching you. "I’m observing."

Fred snorted. "Right. Observing. Because glaring at him like you’re about to duel for her honor is completely rational."

George ignored him. He was too busy watching Dean lean in way too close, whisper something to you that made you throw your head back in laughter.

That was it. He’d had enough.

Slamming his drink down, George shot up from his seat.

Fred sighed dramatically. "Oh, this should be good."

George marched across the pub, weaving through the crowd until he reached your table. He didn’t even hesitate before dropping into the seat next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that was not subtle.

Dean blinked. "Uh—hey, George?"

"Hey, Dean," George said, voice a little too bright, a little too sharp. He turned to you with a grin, squeezing your shoulder. "Fancy seeing you here, love."

You frowned at him. "You knew I was here."

"Did I?" he mused. "Must’ve slipped my mind. So, what are we talking about?"

Dean hesitated, looking between you and George, clearly sensing the tension. "Uh… just telling Y/N about this guy I’m seeing."

George faltered. "Wait. What?"

Dean looked at him, unimpressed. "Yeah... Like, my boyfriend?"

George blinked. "What?"

You smacked a hand against your forehead. "Oh my God, George. He’s literally been dating Seamus for months."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I thought everyone knew."

Fred, who had somehow appeared out of nowhere, clapped a hand on George’s shoulder, howling with laughter. "Merlin’s beard, mate. You got jealous over Dean?!"

George’s ears burned red. "I—I didn’t know!"

You sighed, shaking your head. "George Weasley, you absolute idiot."

Dean snorted. "You’re so in love with her, it’s embarrassing."

"Shut up, Dean," George muttered.

You turned to George, a smirk playing on your lips. "So… jealous, were you?"

George groaned. "Can we not talk about this?"

"Absolutely not," Fred said gleefully. "This is the best thing that’s happened all week."

"Alright, alright, laugh it up," George grumbled. Then, clearing his throat, he turned back to you, rubbing the back of his neck. "Er—so, since I made an absolute fool of myself just now… any chance you’d be willing to, uh, go on a date with me?"

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Hmm… let me check my schedule."

"Y/N," George whined.

You laughed before leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Of course, you idiot. Took you long enough."

Fred groaned. "You mean we could’ve avoided all of this if he’d just asked sooner?"

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Heterosexuals, man. So dramatic."

[thepaleunicorn]

Artwork 1 - Holding hands

Ah, yes, another one

I'm so normal about those dorks, chat

Sooooooooooo, hi-hello, currently making series of works for sampard otp challenge, yay, and that's a first one - was thinking about one of their first(?) meetings

I finally have some more time in my life and feeling a bit better, so I'm writing a second chapter of the fic, hehe, gotta also illustrate it a bit

(also from now on I'm gonna glaze everything on my pics since I have no trust in the internet these days :\, sorry for that)

[deantfwinchester]

Neighborhood Walgreens

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader like always

This one takes place before the other two timeline-wise, I guess - just a few months into knowing each other. No established relationship, and some ridiculous flirting.

Summary: A busy, sick Joel gets a little care from the people in his life - including the neighbor and friend he's been crushing on for the past few months.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff-fluffity-fluff. Bout to get a standing root canal appointment, tbh.

A/N: The bulleted fics are piling up in the notes app, but boy are the well-crafted girlies a bit of a trek. More to come, if the functioning part of my brain has anything to say about it.

Word Count: 5.9k. absolute unit.

——————————————————————————————

Joel wakes up feeling like shit. He’d felt a bit of a scratch in his throat the night before, but tried to write it off as allergies or something - until he woke himself up coughing before his alarm could even go off. He knows he has a cold the second he tries to breathe through his nose - no dice. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and it’s pounding before he can open his eyes. He shivers when he moves the blankets aside to get up, and each muscle in his body begs him to crawl back into bed.

Ever the trooper, he rises anyway, heading to the bathroom and checking the medicine cabinet to find what he’d feared - no cold medicine. Awesome. Resigning himself to trucking through the day, he blows his nose, pops a couple tylenol, and gets ready. His respiratory system isn’t too fond of the assault, however, and he’s coughing up a lung before he can finish. Today should be fun. He’ll need to stop by the drugstore on his way home. 

Once he’s dressed for the day (trying his best to look alive), Joel trudges down the stairs to see Sarah at the kitchen table, half-eaten bowl of cereal in one hand and a pencil in the other as she finishes the last of her homework. She hears him shuffle in and looks up just as he sniffles, locking eyes right before he can still his features into a facade of rested wellness. The  look on her face tells him he’s not getting away without worrying her, and he hates that. She doesn’t say a word as he makes his way to the coffee pot, she just watches him, only speaking up when he shivers at the mug’s warmth in his hands. The weather’s typical for an early autumn morning, but nowhere near chilly. Though the temperature should drop today with rain in the forecast, Sarah knows her dad and he’s never cold. 

“You know, I could just head next door. I guarantee she’d be happy to drive me,” she says smiling into her textbook, trying to be nonchalant with her concern. She was referring to you, their neighbor of a few months now, who’d given Sarah rides, helped her with homework, or checked in on her when Joel needed. You’d been around since the day you moved in, and neither of them could complain — certainly not Joel. Maybe she was hoping to fluster him a bit as well, suspecting his feelings for you were a bit more than the friendship he insists they are. 

He chokes on his coffee and coughs a little, shaking his head as she closes her book and begins leafing through her notes. Joel’s been worried enough lately that he’s taking advantage of your kindness too much — afraid he’s inconveniencing you and you’re too nice to say no, despite your insistence to help on more than one occasion. Besides, he already feels crappy, the last thing he wants today is for you to see him like this, hardly able to keep himself together. Or worse, to get you sick as well. Absolutely not. He opens his mouth to respond, but she speaks first. “It’s not like she hasn’t before. Maybe just one day? You need…,” she trails off, losing the battle with her expression as her eyebrows knit together and she notes the pallor and exhaustion on his own.

He takes a swig of his coffee hoping it will soothe the growing soreness in his throat before responding, “That’s alright kiddo, I-,” but the words catch in his throat before he can finish, and he cuts himself off coughing harshly into his elbow. Sarah grabs a glass and fills it with water while he coughs, longer than he has all morning, and hands it to him when he catches his breath. The look on her face is challenging now — she knows she won’t win this game, but she’ll still put up a fight. Predictably, Joel continues his previous thought as though unfazed by the fit, though his voice tells another story. “It’s just a cold, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to be worryin’ about me, babygirl,” he says hoarsely, waving her off with a sniffle. “You got a science test today, worry about that. You feelin’ ready?,” he asks, subverting talk of both his illness and mentions of you.

Sarah relents with a sigh, “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she says, gesturing to the textbook and notes on the table. He’s more confident than she is, and he smiles brightly at her.

“You’ve got it down, not a doubt in my mind. Now finish getting your stuff together before we’re late. I’ll get the car runnin’,” he says, moving his coffee to a travel thermos before grabbing her lunch from the refrigerator and getting it packed up. She looks back at him hesitantly before leaving the room to gather the last of her school stuff. 

Joel’s got his coffee in hand and Sarah’s lunch in the seat next to him as he waits in the truck. It’s nice enough outside, but he’s still chilly, and wonders if he should run back in and grab a jacket. He forgoes this idea when he realizes Sarah’d put up more of a fight if he did, knowing he’s warm-blooded as all hell, and vocally hot until at least November. Not to mention Tommy’d see right through him the second he shows up to work. No, it’s just early in the morning. The day will warm as the sun climbs to its apex for sure. He’ll be alright. 

While he’s thinking too hard through the fog in his head, Sarah climbs into the car with her backpack on, pulling it off to throw into the seat next to her. But not before she’s placed two additions in the seat between them - a box of tissues and a water bottle. She doesn’t say anything to him, just gives him a knowing look before loading her lunch into her backpack. Joel stills a moment — he’s not surprised by her care, but softens at the gesture. As Sarah shuts the passenger door, Joel wonders how the hell she turned out so sweet, and kisses the top of her head in silent thanks before pushing the truck into drive.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Joel gets to work, his headache has bloomed into pain behind his eyes, leaving him squinting hard in the bright morning sun. He’s also used quite a few tissues since he dropped Sarah off at school. He’s definitely grateful she thought to grab them, but unfortunately, his congestion won’t budge. He’s not naive enough to think he can hide from Tommy, but hopeful that his brother might at least leave him be today. He can muscle through if he’s just working and not being nagged by his brother for hours. He’s sure of it.

—--------------------

Tommy’s not an idiot, but he lets him slide for the first few hours. It’s clear he knows something’s wrong. Joel’s a quiet enough guy, but never this silent, only speaking up when the work demands. He noticed when Joel got out of the truck this morning looking particularly drained - both in face and demeanor - and had checked in as casually as possible, hoping to avoid his brother’s evident and exceptional irritability. Joel, of course, had promptly brushed him off and clammed up for the remainder of the morning. Speaking only when spoken to hadn’t stopped Joel from making noise, though, much to his brother’s dismay. Tommy had seen him all morning, breaking into intermittent fits of coughing he’d attempt to mask beneath the racket of power tools. Tommy’s just about as good at hiding his concern, and Joel catches him looking in his direction in the thick of it on more than one occasion. After which Joel would rip his eyes from his brother’s fretful gaze, hoping to deter him from moving forward to give him a once-over. 

Despite his many efforts otherwise, Tommy knows Joel’s sick - too sick to be working like he is today. It’s when the guys break for lunch around noon and Joel just quietly nurses a bottle of water (which he only has because Sarah made sure of it, no less), that Tommy decides he’s got all the evidence he needs. Tommy sidles up next to his brother who’s leaning against his truck bed, and by the looks of it, allowing it to hold most of his weight, too weary to do so himself. Tommy sighs next to him, and Joel braces for what’s coming.

“You know, we’ve pretty much got it covered over here today, not a lot left to do before we pour anyhow. Probably a good thing, bottom looks like it’s gonna fall out before long,” he says, gesturing to the darkening sky above them. “We can manage for the day if you wanna head on home, maybe take a nap? Hate to tell ya, but you look like hell.” Tommy nudges his brother’s shoulder with his own playfully, attempting to lighten the mood. Joel rolls his eyes at Tommy, sniffing and clearing his throat to talk.

“Nah. ‘S just a cold. I’ll be alright,” Joel says, hoping to end the discussion with his curt response, but failing when his throat catches on the last word. Tommy’s face is etched in worry at the sound of the cough tearing up his brother’s throat. 

While Joel attempts to catch his breath, Tommy takes in the reddened flush on Joel’s otherwise pale face, and the distant glassiness in his eyes. Taking advantage of his distracted state, Tommy places the back of his hand against Joel’s forehead. He’s barely there long enough to get a read on his temp before Joel swats his hand away, but it’s enough. No wonder he’s caught Joel shivering more than once today. 

“Dammit Joel, you know better. We’ve sent guys home for less and you know it,” says Tommy, face twisting in frustration and concern. 

“Tommy it’s fine I-“ Joel attempts to reply, but Tommy cuts him off. 

“Did you even bother to check it before ya left? You know this is a fuckin’ hazard on the job. Damn accident waitin’ to happen,” his tone is grave, but his expression is worried and achingly sincere. Joel pushes the thought from his mind and shapes up - not his little brother’s job, he can take care of himself. 

“No. I’m fine to keep workin. That’s it. We got stuff to do,” Joel says with finality, turning on his heel and promptly returning to his tasks. Tommy’s not happy about it, but he could spend all day arguing with his bullheaded brother, tiring him out more without making any headway. No, he’ll just keep a closer eye on him while they work. That’ll have to do.

—--------------------

It’s when the rain starts coming down a little after two that Tommy hits his limit. Once he notices a couple drops beginning to fall, he looks to Joel, just in time to see his brother shivering when the drops make contact with his overheated skin. That’s enough of that. Tommy stalks over to his brother, whose reaction time is significantly slowed, and Joel turns to look at him a bit dazed. 

“Alright, that’s it. Rain’s coming down, you’re shaking like a fuckin’ leaf. Go home.” It’s Tommy’s turn to remain steadfast in his convictions. Joel looks over at him with tired eyes and Tommy can’t help but soften. 

Only when a few chilled drops hit Joel’s face and neck making him colder than he’s felt all day that he concedes. “Yeah, alright.” It’s clear he doesn’t have the energy to put up a fight, especially when Tommy pats his shoulder comfortingly and he slumps a bit. Joel’s shivering again as Tommy ushers him back toward his truck. 

“We’re heading out soon as we get cleaned up anyway. How ‘bout I pick up Sarah? Just go home and get some sleep?” Tommy asks, hopeful now that his brother’s folding. 

“Okay,” he breathes out, running a hand down his face before trying in vain to rub out the pain behind his eyes. Joel stops just outside the driver’s side door and looks to Tommy to thank him. 

“‘Course. Now head home. I’ll see you in a little bit,” Tommy responds, to which Joel nods, then climbs into the truck. Tommy takes another look back to find his brother sitting in the driver’s seat gathering himself, mildly satisfied with this result 

_____________________________________________________________

For once you actually make your way to the parking lot right after school on a Friday. You're notorious for staying too late, grading, planning, or straight up yapping, but today you’d made a rookie mistake. You’d showed up to work on Day 2 of your period without checking your advil stash. Fuck. 

After a day of cramping, crabbiness, and guilty apologies after being kind of a bitch to your students a couple of times, you head to your car as soon as the bell rings. You’ll stop in the Walgreens around the corner from your neighborhood for a quick supply run, then head home to be comfortably horizontal for the remainder of this fine Friday afternoon.

—--------------------

Truth be told, Joel is relieved to be done for the day by the time Tommy makes him leave. The last of his resolve had crumbled and fallen with the first raindrops and the chill they set in his bones. He turns the heat on in his truck and settles in, letting the air warm him up and willing the pounding in his head to subside just long enough to focus on the road. A few minutes and a bout of coughing later, he finally works up the strength to drive home, only to realize he’s still horrifically unmedicated. Shit. Guess he’s stopping at the drugstore on his way home if he wants even a little relief.

—--------------------

Joel’s standing in the cold and flu aisle of his neighborhood Walgreens, sniffling miserably and squinting heavy-lidded at different cold medicine boxes in each of his hands. He remembers one particular medicine helping at least a bit more than others last time he was sick, but for the life of him he can’t remember which one it was. Dammit, he really just wants to get out of here. He’d much rather keep this cold to himself than be hacking in public, but he needs something if he’s ever gonna stop coughing long enough to get the sleep he desperately needs. 

The tiny white letters on the back of these orange and green boxes are starting to run together, and the pain behind his eyes digs its heels into his frontal lobe. He squeezes his eyes shut and curses a little louder than he realizes, triggering a coughing fit in the middle of the store. Great. Now everyone in the store knows he’s carrying a respiratory plague. He’s sniffling and feeling like a walking germ when he hears his name called.

“Joel?” you call from the end of the aisle, having heard his voice from a few lanes over. Joel turns his head to see - oh no. Jesus. Boy did he wish you weren’t the one seeing him look so gross right now. As you come closer to find him squinting under the clinical brightness of the drugstore, you get a good look at him. He looks… rough. His hair’s a bit damp, and more disheveled than usual - not the fresh, styled damp you see when he leaves the house after a shower, but a clammier mix of sweat and rain. His posture is far from the typical confidence and swagger he typically wields with each step, and is more evidently haggard. You notice his eyes first though, with dark circles and brows creased in confused exhaustion. They’re half-closed too, like he’s fighting to keep them open. 

He tries to open them wider and stand up straighter as you approach, clearing his throat to speak, but he’s coughing again before he can get a word out. He’s shaking with the force of it and you notice his shirt is damp in places as well - must have gotten caught in the rain. Just minutes ago, he’d have been uncomfortable under your scrutiny, but he’s too wrapped up in catching his breath to be embarrassed at this point. You draw nearer with pure concern in your eyes as his coughing subsides, and his resolve melts a bit more.

“Whoa, hey, you okay over there? That sounded painful,” you say, finally meeting his eyes. He notices the fretful tone in your voice — it’s gentler than his brother’s but carries the same intention. 

“Yeah, can’t say it feels great,” Joel says hoarsely before attempting to clear his throat once again, hoping his lungs will cooperate this time. “Can’t seem to remember which of these damn pills will give me a hand though.”

“Didn’t I just see you on Wednesday? When did you start feeling bad?” you ask, leaning against his side to take a closer look at one of the boxes from his hands. Maybe with some details you can help figure something out to get him feeling better, or at least let him rest.

“Last night, I guess. Came on pretty quick. Was workin’ okay this morning, but once the rain started, Tommy sent me packin’.”

“You went to work like this, Joel?! Isn’t that like, dangerous? You could really hurt yourself,” you chastise, rubbing his upper arm comfortingly while staring up at him looking utterly devastated. Christ he may melt into a puddle right here. He’s seen this look before, and though he doesn’t want you close enough to catch this, he doesn’t have the heart to shove you away like he did Tommy. He bothers to look at least a little guilty, and you sigh before continuing: “Bad idea. And you know it. Now, let’s figure this out. You’ve got the cough down for sure - what are your other symptoms?”

Before Joel can respond, he looks down into the small basket hanging over your arm and notices its contents: a box of pads, tampons, a bag of peanut M&Ms, a resealable bag of bite-sized chocolates, sour gummy worms, two different pain medications, and a box of peppermint tea. Pain relief, pads, and candy salad. Caught. This is not a conversation you want to have with Joel — men get weird about periods for some childish reason, and you’re really not in the mood. You glance down and move the basket behind you a bit, ready to brush him off and keep the conversation on him, but when you meet his eyes they’re wider and his brows are furrowed above you, drinking you in.

“You sure you’re feeling alright?,” he asks, gesturing to the contents of your little black basket. His tone mirrors the worry you’ve been bleeding since you turned onto the aisle. You’re taken aback by the question at all, given the obvious nature of today’s dilemma — one most men you know wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. His voice doesn’t waver, and his expression doesn’t falter, or express an ounce of discomfort. It’s interesting, but you’d rather not dwell on it, and laugh him off anyway.

“Oh, yeah. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before of course,” you smile and wave your hand in the air to brush off his concern, but his eyebrows inch closer to one another, and his head tilts slightly to the side. You’re the one growing warm under his perusal now, so you turn the subject back to him. “Anyway, talk to me. What’s the matter?”

Joel stares a moment longer, but begins to rattle off a list of fairly standard cold symptoms. You’re glad it isn’t anything too serious, he’ll probably just feel crappy for a couple of days while his immune system does the heavy lifting. Now to figure out what can be done to make him more comfortable in the meantime. One thing you know for certain after hearing the growing congestion in his voice and the rasp in his throat — he’s gonna need the stronger stuff. You take the boxes from his hands and return them to the shelf. He looks at you perplexed, struggling to sniffle against the congestion that — according to the pained squinting he’s still doing beneath the fluorescent lights — is giving him a hell of a sinus headache, and keeping him from breathing through his nose. Fine as he may be in a few days, at the moment he looks devastatingly uncomfortable. 

“Yeah, this crap on the shelf isn’t gonna work. Let’s get ya some of the stronger stuff,” you say, patting his shoulder before tugging him along to the pharmacy. He doesn’t ask any questions, just quietly follows your lead. Along the way, you explain the useless nature of the phenylephrine in the easy stuff, and how the good stuff requires you to show your ID. You tell him why the drugs with the pseudoephedrine are more helpful, and he nods and snuffles in understanding. Sounds good to him, he’ll let you take the lead on that one. As smart as he knows you are, he more than trusts your judgment.

You approach the counter and begin perusing the options, talking with the pharmacist about what you need, when Joel starts coughing again. You can’t help but rub his back and whisper soft words in comfort when his face twists in pain from the fit wreaking havoc in his chest. As your hand moves in soothing circles across his back, you can feel the heat of his skin through his t-shirt. Shit, he didn’t say anything about a fever. You need to get him home as soon as possible. 

When he’s composed a bit, you wrap up with the pharmacist, and she asks for your ID. You pull yours from your bag and hand it to her, but pause. Should you show her your own? Does she need to see Joel’s too?

“Oh, for sure. Uhm, do you need to see his too, since he’s the patient?” you ask, wanting to get done with this as quickly and smoothly as possible so you can get him out of here. She’s looking at the card in her hand intently and entering your information into the computer, busy with the transaction.

“No ma’am. We don’t need your husband’s ID since you’re the one purchasing,” she responds, not lifting her eyes from the computer. You blush at this, but she doesn’t seem to notice until Joel’s eyes go wide and he chokes, forcing him into another bout of harsh coughing. Jesus, his throat must be torn up. You reach for him with one hand and place your own basket and a few other sick day supplies on the counter with the other before she finalizes the transaction. 

“Thanks for all your help!,” you say a bit frantically as you begin to usher him toward the exit. You walk out of the store in silence, neither one of you looking at the other, each of you trying to keep a nervous smirk at bay. Only when the automatic doors shut behind you do you turn to look at each other and laugh heartily, extremely entertained by the pharmacist’s assumption. The laughter only ceases when it sends Joel coughing again — you need a read on that fever he’s sporting. Once he’s mostly caught his breath, you move closer and place a gentle hand on his forehead, then move it down toward his cheek. Joel closes his eyes and without realizing, leans forward into your soft touch. When your hand leaves his face, his eyes open to find that look again, and he muses that you may make him sweat before the fever gets the chance. 

“You didn’t mention this earlier. Did you know you’re running a fever, Joel?” you ask him, and he looks guilty toward the asphalt. 

“Tommy mighta mentioned somethin’ about it earlier, but I’ll be alright,” he responds, but fails to suppress a shiver when the breeze kicks up. Your heart breaks a little seeing him shaking — how did you miss that earlier? You sigh deeply before telling him you’re hesitant to let him drive home. He insists it’ll be fine, and you understand it’d be more of a hassle to come get his truck later on. You concede since it’s such a short trip back, but you’ll follow him back to your adjacent homes. 

—--------------------

After parking your car in the driveway next to his own, you meet Joel at his truck. You bat his hand away when he attempts to grab the bags from yours, and tell him to go unlock the door. Ever the gentleman, he’s a little perturbed, but follows your instructions anyway. Once you’re both inside the house, you set the items on the table and sit him down next to it before heading for the cabinet and filling a glass with water. After passing him the glass and watching as he slowly sips, you unload the bags, and begin reading the back of the box from the pharmacy. 

“Have you eaten anything today? It’s probably not a great idea to take this on an empty stomach,” you say. He goes a little green at the thought of eating anything before swallowing and huffing a response.

“No, haven’t really felt like it. Don’t think it’d sit well right now, to be honest. I’ll be alright with just the medicine, I bet.” You sigh in response, a little anxious it’ll make him feel worse, but either option could do that at this point. At least the thought of the medicine isn’t nauseating for him at the moment. You’ll let it slide, for now. 

“Fine. But you’ll definitely need to eat something substantial later,” you tell him, giving him a once-over, taking advantage of the single instance he’s below you to get a good look at him. You’re already thinking through take-out options that might help tonight. Another day, you’d make some soup for him — get him full and warm him up. Hell, tomorrow you might. But today you’re exhausted, with the period fatigue and the cramps that won’t let up, you’re definitely ready to get into some more comfy Friday Afternoon Clothes. 

“Alright, you get changed and get comfy on the couch. I’m just gonna run home and get outta these work clothes, then I’ll be right back.” 

“You’ve done plenty already today, darlin’, really. Helped me out more than you know. And I’d hate for you to catch this too,” he explains, looking guiltier than you’d like. You’re plenty aware of the risk here but at the moment you couldn’t care less. You don’t really feel like sitting by yourself in your house right now anyway. No reason both of you should feel crappy alone. 

“Uh, Joel, did you forget that we’re ‘married’ now? I’ll be back in just a minute to check on you,” you insist, smiling at him. He looks at you admonishingly and smiles back, shaking his head. You have no idea how happy that makes him — his stomach flutters at the joke, and it isn’t from his illness. You hesitate on the way out the door, and turn to check with him once again. “If having me hovering is gonna keep you up though, I can totally leave you be. I don’t want to keep you from getting the rest you need.” Your voice and expression are apprehensive, afraid to be a bother. 

He probably doesn’t still his face well enough, and he’s certain you can see desperation in his eyes when he shakes his head. He can’t tell you quite yet, but he’s over the moon you want to stick around. All semblance of nobility is dropped - having you near him could never be unwelcome. “You don’t hover, sweetheart. Nothing about you is bothersome. I’d love the company, actually,” he tells you in earnest.

Your expression settles at the reassurance, and you smile back at him. “Good. I’ll just be a few minutes,” you begin, but your smile turns to a grimace with the last few words as you feel a sharp twisting in your stomach and lower back. Your hand instinctively grips your stomach, hoping to ease the pain. There’s definitely no escaping that one. Joel’s eyes widen, but you cut him off before he can ask if you’re okay. “Yep, I'm gonna get out of these pants and into something loose before my uterus tries to kill me,” you joke, reaching for the knob. 

Joel chuckles in response but he’s frowning a bit. The look from the drugstore is back, and you don’t know what to do with his sympathy. You can’t look long before heading out. 

He hates seeing the pain you’re in, but what upsets him most is the way you brush it off. Like your pain is smaller, or insignificant by comparison — one he wouldn’t draw anyway. It sticks with him more than it probably should, but he can’t seem to shake it. He needs to act, somehow. Once he’s changed, he grabs a few blankets from the closet and the heating pad they keep around for his back and for Sarah’s own cycles. He knows how much it can help her, so he figures it couldn’t hurt to offer, at least. 

He sets up a spot on the couch for you both — a little nest for staring at the tv and, (he hopes), cozying up just a bit for extra comfort. He’s still not hungry, but he microwaves a bag of popcorn and grabs some other assorted salty snacks to join the candy you’d picked up. He’s seen how snacky you can get after school sometimes, and wants to make sure you have an array of options, prepped for any craving. 

You return as he’s placing the last of these items down on the coffee table — he’s rather proud of his little presentation — and sees your hair up and a comfy set of sweats that are just a little too long in the arms and legs. Lord help him, you look fucking adorable. He can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face when you walk toward him. 

“Well don’t you look cozy,” he says with eyes shining at your improved expression. You give him an exaggerated little twirl to show off the baggy outfit you’ve adorned yourself in for this evening’s activities. 

“Damn right! I’m ready for anything now,” you say, stuffing your hands in the pocket of your hoodie. He’s laughing in response before it catches in his throat again and he starts coughing. 

“That makes one of us,” he jokes once he’s caught his breath. 

“Yep, I want you on the couch. Right now. Go ahead and get comfy and I’ll get the medicine. We gotta get you drugged up enough if you’re gonna get any sleep.” You’re ushering him to the couch when you stop in your tracks. When you catch sight of the coffee table snacks and the heating pad set up on one side of the couch, already plugged in and waiting, you nearly tear up. You’re speechless for a moment — no one’s ever done anything like this for you before. This little thoughtful gesture means the world, and you’re not sure what to say. 

“Joel! You didn’t need to do all this. You’re sick, I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you insist, nudging his arm with your own, leaning lightly into his side. 

“Wasn’t hardly anything, darlin’, just some stuff I know helps Sarah when she gets to feelin’ like you do. She likes her snacks salty, and always feels better with this little fire hazard next to ‘er,” he says, gesturing to the heating pad on the couch. His grin turns mischievous before he starts again: “Besides, you said it yourself, we’re ‘married’ now, huh? I oughta know what my wife needs just as well,” he finishes, voice too satisfied, and eyebrows raised in jest. 

You’re giggling when you grab his hand and squeeze it, thanking him. “This goofy little bit we’re doin’ ends the second Sarah and your brother walk through the door, by the way. Not looking to scare her, that’s the last thing I wanna do,” you instruct.

“‘Course, but fuckin’ with Tommy sure woulda been fun,” he says to you, and you laugh in agreement. Once you see he’s settled, you make tea for the both of you, hoping it’ll work magic with the medicine to get him resting comfortably and — with any luck — napping before long. He’ll probably protest, but with a little coaxing, you’ll get it into him. 

When you return with the tea, he takes it from you with both hands, before using one to pull you down on the couch next to him. He’s pulled you a little closer than you may have sat yourself, and he’s pleased when you don’t pull away or readjust. You just grab the heating pad, crank it up, and stick it behind your lower back while leaning forward to grab the medicine. You check his temperature again with the back of your hand while he’s preoccupied taking the medicine you’d doled out to him. He’s a little warmer than he was outside the drug store. 

“Maybe we should get a number on that. Where do you keep your thermometer?” you ask, worry written on your face all over again. You attempt to rise from the couch to go hunting, but he grips your hand again, keeping you in place.

“Nope, nope, it’s fine sweetheart, I promise. You need to get some rest too. Sit,” he directs, his tone leaving no room for discussion. You roll your eyes, but wriggle back against the couch again before pulling a blanket into your lap. Joel fiddles with the cord of the heating pad and readjusts it behind your back, making sure it isn’t folded or sitting uncomfortably against you. You sigh in relief and fall a bit toward him as you settle in, and he inches you way as well. You arbitrarily turn on a movie you’ve both seen, fully aware neither of you will be making it to the end, and snuggle closer. The fevered heat humming beneath his skin is pleasantly warm against you as he settles deeper, and he’s slipping in and out of conversation within minutes. 

_____________________________________________________________

Sarah walks through the door with Tommy in tow while end credits roll across the tv. They head into the den to check on Joel, but conversation falls silent and they stop in their tracks at the sight they discover. You’re sleeping peacefully, legs tucked up under you and head lolled against the back of the couch. Joel’s head has somehow found its way into your lap, and he’s resting warmly on your stomach, no doubt alleviating some of the pain with his warmth and weight. Your hand rests on his shoulder, holding him securely.

Tommy’s face goes slack, but Sarah’s smiling ear to ear, and turns to her uncle, trying to quiet her laughter. He looks at her wide-eyed, but says nothing, and she holds her hand out between them, fingers curling toward her palm.

“Pay up,” she says, way too satisfied for Tommy’s liking, and far too much like her father. He rolls his eyes, and digs his wallet out of his pocket. He really thought his brother would be too chicken to do anything about this — at least for a little while longer.

[aninipanin1]

omg omg lavinho and adult manager reader where theyve previously met at a club/party outside of blue lock where lavinho tried to hit on one of reader's friends lol

IT'S YOU!

Notes: Ya'll are cooking with the ideas lmaoooo, (F/n) stands for friend name.

"C'mon, Y/n! You'll be back in that prison/asylum in like two days! Live a little and have fun!" (F/n) cheered, hands attached to her wrist as she dragged you inside the establishment she had been raving about to you, both in texts and conversations.

Garbed in a (f/c) sequined cocktail dress and a two-inch pair of heels, you can say you dressed up pretty well tonight. Although, you wish that you were on your bed instead under the flashing lights and banging music of the bar.

Your job in the Blue Lock facility was nothing less than stressful, and since everyone, including you, was given a 2 week break after Blue Lock's win against the U-20 National players, you wasted no time in spending the days just catching up on your naps and tv shows.

If you weren't doing normal household chores or watching on your phone, you were dozing off to sleep. But whatever you did in the past week and a half was inside the premises of your house only.

That is why you were here now. Dragged by your friend who insisted that there were other ways to destress than just sleeping like a sloth or watch anime.

"Ugh, a drink is the farthest thing in my mind right now, (F/n). I want to nap when I still have the chance to. You know how busy I get in the Blue Lock facility. I legit, sleep at like 4 AM only to wake up at 6 AM at times."

She sighed before patting your back and running her hand up and down your arm.

"I know. But, you need a bit of socialization. C'mon!"

(F/n) cheered, giving you a glass of whatever drink she ordered for the both of you as she chugged 3 glasses straight, which impressed you. She has always been quite outgoing and friendly, a little opposite to your quiet and almost shy nature. So, you always found yourself dragged by her in things you normally would be too shy to do.

And that included dancing in the middle of the damn dancefloor in which she was doing now, and even dragging you with her.

"Woah, woah, woah! Hey! You know I don't dance, especially not infront of-" you protested, but she only laughed and held your arms, dancing with you, her platform heels clacking against the tiled floor.

"Loosen up, girl! No one is watching you anyways, theyre all having too much of a good time to notice!"

And there she went again, moving her hips and arms to the music as you just smiled at her. Even if you didn't feel that comfortable with some of her shenanigans, you know she always means well. And besides, she makes the shameless in you jump out of the curtains at times.

You wished those moments came now, but the crowdedness and strong smell of alcohol from the many people made you quite restricted and stuck, so you just stood there, moving your feet a bit, but not dancing too hard. You stayed there mainly because you wanted to make sure that (F/n) was safe and won't get hurt or taken advantage of any ill-willed people in the crowded space.

Were you too protective of her at times? Yes, but you cared about (F/n), and wished that no peril will ever come her way, so you always make sure you were there in times where her immature and guillable nature strikes.

You both were on that dance floor for who knows how long. Songs came and went, and (F/n) was still jamming to whatever Western pop song was playing, and the crowd wasn't thinning either. In fact, it felt more cramped than before, and you were starting to feel a little sick due to how crowded it was.

The heavy smell of alcohol did not help either, as the assorment of the heavy drinks the people on the dancefloor drank mixed within the air. Not finding the strength to tolerate it anymore, you softly tapped your friend's shoulder.

She turned to you, cheeks a bit flushed now due to who knows how many drinks she had. But, you knew she wasn't a lightweight and only had a few drinks, meaning her cognitive is still probably in tact.

"I'm just going to sit in one of the lounges! I'm feeling a bit dizzy. Dance in where I can see you, I don't want us to be separated!"

It was kind of annoying that you had to shout over the music, but you pulled through and she nodded her head before returning her attention to the next song that popped up, especially since you know its a favourite of hers.

"Are you sure you'll be fine, alone? I can join you." She managed to ask before you leave.

"Yeah, I'll be okay. Continue having fun! I don't wanna ruin the night for you!" You gave her a reassuring smile that at first, she did not seem to buy, but after a few looks, she returned to dancing and jamming to the song again as you found yourself walking out of the crowded space into one of the lounges where you see a few people also hanging out on, drinking or busy on their phones.

Sitting on an empty spot with a not-too heavy drink in hand, you always made sure to peek through the dancing crowd to make sure (F/n) didn't wander off or get too out of hand (she can become a bit crazy when drunk), but a message from your mother caught your attention for a few minutes.

By the time you said your goodbye to your mother in the messaging app, you didn't see your friend anymore, which made you blink in a bit of a panic. Mainly because you were worried for her and also, a bit anxious about being alone in the said bar.

After all, you can definitely feel stares boring to your figure, a lot of them from men, of course, and you legit don't know how you will get out in a situation where one of them tries to approach and flirt with you.

Geez, you really need to learn how to reject people you don't want around you, especially guys in these situations.

Craining your neck up, you tried to find where the hell (F/n) went. After a few minutes of copying a giraffe, extending your neck and body posture higher to look, you found your eyes looking at the bar where she was.

She probably got tired from the dancing and ordered a drink to refresh, but she wasn't alone. She was talking to a guy who was quite tall, even if he was sitting down. He had tanned skin, a few tattos across his arms, his blonde hair in some type of mullet, and he looked to be the same age range as you and (F/n).

He seemed almost familiar. His face, his build, his many features...it felt like deja vu, really. You felt like you've seen him somewhere, somehow before. You tried to remind yourself where, but it just won't come up to mind. Like the answer was under a blanket, sillhouette shown to give a clue, yet what's under still a mystery and the only way to know is to look under the fabric.

But you just shrugged it off, chalking it up to be just some sort of resemblance to someone you saw before. By just the look in (F/n)'s eyes, you can tell that they seem to be hitting it off pretty well. (F/n) had that slanted, dreamy eyes as she listened to whatever the blonde was saying. And the man looked more than happy to talk to her. Well, hopefully it was genuine? Besides, he wouldn't approach her if he wasn't interested in her, right?

You didn't really want to interrupt them. Sure, you were protective, but you were also more than supportive of your friends, and you knew that even if she was clumsy, (F/n) was an adult who can handle herself well. And besides, what if there was indeed a romance brewing between them? You didn't want to intrude or destroy what was slowly forming.

Opening your phone, you opted to send her a small message.

'Hey, (F/n)! Just wanted to tell you that I'll be heading home. Don't wanna interrupt you and your possible Mister Right. Enjoy your time with him, but don't be too trusting and remember to put your guard up when you feel in danger, okay? Stay safe, love yaaa.'

You gave the two one last look and see her laughing at whatever the guy was saying. You rolled your eyes yet a fond smile on your face, knowing that the guy will probably be one of her newest fixations that month that she won't shut up about.

"And! AND! He was just so good with his words! Like, I know he's not Japanese, can't even speak our language. But when he speaks English, oh god! It's too attractive. Oh my god, I am so glad I paid attention to English class!"

You let out a laugh at her squeals, although being mindful not to let out a loud one. You were, after all, in the bus headed to the Blue Lock facility to finally start your job again.

Just as you predicted, (F/n) as absolutely taken by whoever that blonde guy was. As she usually does, she likes people quite easily, either romantic or platonic as long as they fit the so-called 'vibe' for her.

Turns out, the guy was actually Brazillian and lives in Spain, but he was just here in Japan for some sort of 'work,' that he had.

"I remember asking him about what he do and he answered, but geez...the hangover took over my brain more than his answer. I feel so disappointed! I didn't even get to ask him for his number!!"

"Well, that sucks. But, hey, if it's meant to be, then it's meant to be, right? I'm sure fate will make you two meet again, one way or another."

Oh, if only you knew how you were both so right yet so wrong at that moment.

"I got it, Ego-san! Have a nice day!"

You smiled before exiting Ego's office, stacks of paper in hand. It was all full of information about each stratum's players. Such as health concerns and history for the clinic, stats for the editors to edit on the episodes of Blue Lock TV, hell, even some preferences they might like for you to cater to them! (You didn't have to do that, but you still did since you are a people pleaser, shush)

Looking down at the newer schedules around the place, you knew you had to make a new timetable for yourself and the players to allow the Neo-Egoist League matches to shine and be given time in certain days while still taking to account the usual things done around the facility.

Too focused on brainstorming ideas, you did not see someone walking past you in time and accidentally nidged your shoulders against theirs. The papers fell to the ground due to the pack of support, the flicking noises of the material panicking you a bit since there were so many of them, and now they're all scattered on the floor.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking!"

"Está bien, yo también lo siento, bonita." The man let out an amused yet deep chuckle.

Blinking at the unfamilliar language, you suddenly remembered the earpiece Anri gave you, given by the Mikage Corps to help with the language barrier between the foreign players and the Japanese ones.

Taking them from your pocket before putting them on in your ear, you finally turned your head to face the person you bumped into, and the familiarity of him couldn't make you stop the visceral reaction to speak.

"It's you...from the bar!"

You gasped before covering your mouth, now feeling a huge wave of embarrassment. The blonde hair, the tanned skin with tattoos, the grin, it was familiar. That was why he seemed so familiar.

The man your friend was with that night was Lavinho, the so-called 'Dancer' due to his creative dribbling on the field, like he was dancing, with the ball as his dancing prop.

You felt so stupid. Why did you not recognise him so easily when you have watched some of his games online before? Meanwhile, Lavinho seemed confused by what your outburst meant.

"Oh uh, sorry...I just...I saw you in a bar, like 2 days ago..."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, you were talking to my friend..."

"Oh, her? (F/n), right? Yeah, I remember her. Heh, she was really pretty. But, I didn't know she had a fine friend as well." He said, a mischievous grin on his face as he helped you pick up the paperworks on the ground.

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, eyes slanted in suspicion.

'This guy...I'm glad (F/n) didn't get his number, he seems like a loose guy.'

"Thank you...? Um, thank you for helping me."

"No problem. Glad to help a beautiful woman."

'Yeah, okay...he is THAT type of guy.'

You gave a smile, one that is not so genuine yet you did not want to be rude to him, since he was visitor from a foreign country and who knows if there was a camera in the halls watching you both.

"How else may I help you, Lavinho-san?"

"Oh, maybe you can help me with this!"

He turned a bit more serious as he showed whatever training schedule the Blue Lockers themselves created for themselves (since Lavinho was a master who preferred the players make it since they know their own strength and individuality), reading the tables and messy handwriting of what the players thought they wanted or needed in their training, you just nodded at some of them.

"Hmm, these are really good! I'll recommend some things though to make it better."

You were recommending different suggestions, pointing things out with a softer and kinder tone, and entertaining any ideas or questions from him. Smiling wider as more questions pass, enjoying the challenge and widening your knowledge on the sports.

Meanwhile, Lavinho found himself enjoying his time with you. Throwing ideas back and forth, hell, he was even a little bit closer to your body now, wanting to make sure he heard you better. His movement towards your figure unintentional, like a magnetic force was dragging him to you.

But why? He didn't know. All he knew was that you were an interesting person to talk to, especially when it came to the sport he was very passionate about.

'She's not just fine, but smart and individualistic too, huh?'

ADDITIONAL TIME!

Otoya: Which type do you want-

Lavinho: Preferably a woman who is (height), has (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes, likes (color), is smart, responsible, beautiful, and is a manager of the Blue Lock Facility.

Hayate: That's just Y/n-san.

Lavinho: Exactly.

Bachira: *Already prepared to pounce*

Otoya: I meant what type of workout we should do today, old man.

This was longer than it should be lol

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[lightgamble]

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN | 1.09

Hey, this is it.

[thepinkpanther83]

I had this idea for Eddie because his hair looks so fun to play with- you’re just chilling, watching tv on his couch and his head is in your lap. Without thinking, you start petting his hair, twisting the curls in your fingers and scritching at his scalp. Eddie would be torn between the soothing brain tingles and how good the contact feels and turns into a puddle of goo, with or without spice. If not your speed, no worries! I just love how you write Eddie and reader and this idea had me swinging and kicking my feet. 😅

-🌻🦡

Cover image by: Hellfire_Mvnson

Curl Me Up, Stroke Me Slow

One-Shot Request: “Curl Me Up, Stroke Me Slow”

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

💌 Author’s Note: Thank you to my sweet Anony 🌻🦡 for this irresistibly tactile prompt, your idea had me swinging and kicking my feet, too. 😘 I had way too much fun bringing this one to life. Hope it gives you all the warm fuzzies and the brain-melting heat you were craving! 💋

~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

🎸 Summary: It starts innocently, just you, Eddie, and a lazy afternoon on the couch. But when your fingers find their way into his thick curls, what was sweet and soothing turns sinfully indulgent fast. Turns out, Eddie Munson isn’t all that great at staying still.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

“Curl Me Up, Stroke Me Slow”

The couch creaked as Eddie flopped down onto it like a man dramatically dying of exhaustion. He stretched his legs out with a groan, one sock slipping halfway off his heel, the remote barely making it onto the coffee table before his hand gave up and let gravity win.

You were right behind him, dropping into your usual spot with a half-full bag of chips and a can of soda sweating condensation onto your palm. It had been a long day, errands, band practice, Hellfire drama, Dustin again, obviously, and the two of you were spent. And not in the good way.

Outside, the sun was starting to set. Inside, the TV was humming with the low growl of some B-grade horror flick that neither of you were really paying attention to. The light from the screen flickered over the room in irregular flashes, cool blue, blood red, flickers of shadow across the wall. But it wasn’t scary. It was quiet. Safe.

Eddie sighed, loud and unapologetic, then shifted so his head landed, plop, right in your lap.

“Comfiest pillow in Hawkins,” he mumbled, eyes closing with immediate dramatic flourish. “Might need to keep you here forever.”

You snorted. “That’s bold, considering I’m charging rent now.”

One of his eyes cracked open. “Is it by the hour?”

“Per groan.”

He groaned again, louder this time, just to be an ass.

“Cool. I’m already in debt.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hand drifted automatically to his curls, just brushing over them as you got comfortable. You didn’t even think about it, just the natural pull of your fingers to him, like magnets drawn to soft static.

Eddie didn’t react right away. But then he exhaled… and it lingered. Like he’d been holding it in all day, and now that he was here, now that it was just the two of you on this beaten-up couch with popcorn salt in the cushions and holes in his socks, he could finally breathe.

The movie droned on, all grainy violence and terrible dialogue.

You weren’t watching. Not really.

Your fingers started moving again.

Slow. Absentminded.

Tracing a lazy path through his curls, just above the nape of his neck.

He made a noise, so soft you almost missed it.

Not quite a purr. Not quite a sigh.

Just a sleepy, involuntary sound of something in him unwinding.

You didn’t stop.

Why would you?

His hair was a dream. Thick and tangled curls and soft in places you didn’t expect. There were tighter curls at the base of his neck, little frizzed coils that wrapped around your fingertips. And when you started gently scratching at his scalp, just idly, lovingly, like you were reading braille, or petting a cat, he let out another one of those sleepy sounds.

“Hmm,” he mumbled, eyes still closed. “That should be illegal.”

You smirked. “The scalp scritching?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You’d report me?”

“No. I’d let it ruin my life.”

You giggled under your breath, but kept going, twisting a lock around your finger, then untangling it just to feel the slip. His hair glowed a little in the TV light, strands catching that deep brown-cherry warmth that was usually hidden in daylight. You could’ve sworn you felt him sink heavier into your lap.

Eddie Munson, going boneless. Loaf Mode: Activated.

That alone was a victory.

But you didn’t notice the little tension sneaking into the line of his jaw. Or the way his breathing had started to slow, not from sleep, but from something deeper… warmer… stirring just under the surface.

And he didn’t tell you.

Because right now? This was heaven.

And Eddie Munson would happily let it ruin him.

You didn’t even notice when your fingers started getting more deliberate.

One minute, you were absentmindedly stroking his hair, watching some half-forgotten horror villain stumble through a foggy graveyard. The next, your fingertips had started combing deeper, scratching gently at Eddie’s scalp, brushing behind his ears, twisting his curls around your knuckles like you were testing something. Tension? Texture? His restraint?

Whatever it was, he was failing. Spectacularly.

At first, it was subtle. A twitch of his jaw. The way his eyes fluttered a little longer with every stroke. Then came the sighs, barely-there, but felt. Felt in the way his shoulder tensed on top of your thigh, in the way he pressed his head a little harder into your lap, like he couldn’t get close enough. Couldn’t sink deep enough into the cushions… or you.

And then…

He made a sound.

Low. Raspy. Almost a groan, but it ended with a stretch, as if he could blame the noise on something innocent. Something platonic.

You looked down at him.

He didn’t meet your eyes. Just kept his lids half-lowered, lips parted, a lazy smirk ghosting across his mouth like he wasn’t coming apart at the seams.

But you felt it.

The shift.

His body wasn’t loose anymore. It was too still. Like he was bracing for something. Like he was hyper-aware of every place your hand touched… and didn’t.

You traced the curve of his scalp behind his ear and he shuddered.

This is fine.

Totally normal. Just friends. Friends watching movies. Friends who sit close. Friends who play with each other’s hair and scratch their nails just right and… fuck. What is my dick doing. What is my dick doing. Calm down, man. Be cool. BE COOL-

“Y’know…” Eddie’s voice came out low, thick, and full of grit. “Keep that up, and I might start purring.”

You raised a brow, but your fingers didn’t stop. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.” His eyes finally met yours. They were darker. “Unironically.”

You grinned, letting your fingernails lightly trace his temple. “Should I be flattered?”

Eddie didn’t answer at first. He just watched you. Lips parted. Pulse visible in his neck. His chest was rising and falling a little faster now, but so was yours.

His eyes flicked down.

Dangerous territory.

You twirled one of his curls tighter, tugging at the root, and it pulled the tiniest gasp out of him… barely audible, but there.

Your legs shifted beneath him. You didn’t think about it.

The TV droned on in the background, mostly forgotten to Eddie. The space between you and him shrunk and thickened at the same time. The air felt heavier. The couch felt smaller.

Eddie swallowed hard. Shifted his hips slightly.

His arm brushed your thigh, and for a second, your hand stilled.

That second was electric.

And then it passed, and your fingers resumed their rhythm.

Slower now.

Teasing.

Torturous.

Eddie Munson was not going to survive this.

You weren’t trying to tease him.

Not really.

But the second you brushed your nails just beneath the edge of his jaw, scratching softly behind his ear and dragging down the side of his neck, you felt it.

That subtle jerk of his thigh.

The way his whole body stiffened just a little. How his chest hitched on the inhale.

Your hand stilled, ever so slightly.

Wait a minute…

You glanced down, just a flick of your eyes, and that’s when you saw it: the faint but unmistakable shape of his cock tenting the front of his gray sweatpants.

Oh.

You froze.

Eddie didn’t.

He cleared his throat, the sound hoarse, barely biting back a curse as he shifted again, an attempt to adjust himself without it being obvious. A fail, honestly. He was pink in the ears now. His face looked calm, but that calm was cracked. His fingers twitched on his stomach like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore.

Then his eyes flicked up and locked with yours.

Wrecked was the only word for it.

Dark, heavy-lidded, and full of an aching kind of heat that made your stomach flip. Your fingers were still curled just shy of his collarbone, the ghost of that caress still hanging in the air between you.

“…Did I do something?” you asked, voice quiet but firm. Genuinely curious. A little amused.

Eddie huffed a breath through his nose. “Not unless you’re deliberately trying to make me lose my fucking mind.”

You blinked.

He smiled, crooked, shy, and so turned on you could feel it radiating from him.

You tilted your head. “I was just playing with your hair.”

He laughed, but it came out breathy, like he couldn’t quite catch it. “Yeah. And I was just watching the movie.”

You looked at the TV.

There was a man being eaten alive by possessed vines. Neither of you had truly looked at the screen in twenty minutes.

“…So,” you said slowly, your fingers brushing his curls again, lighter this time. “You’re hard because I touched your scalp?”

His face crumpled like that physically pained him.

“Jesus Christ, woman, don’t say it like that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry… should I’ve said ‘aroused due to cranial stimulation’?”

“I will leave this couch.”

“No you won’t.”

You dragged your nails gently behind his ear again, and stroked down his neck just to prove it.

Eddie moaned.

Soft and mortified.

“Oh, fuck me,” he whispered, eyes squeezing shut.

Your smile turned sharp, hungry. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He opened one eye.

You were grinning.

And you were still touching him.

And he was about to absolutely explode.

The movie played on like none of this was happening, some poor final girl screaming on screen while the living room turned into a pressure cooker of heat and hunger.

You hadn’t moved your hand from his curls.

And Eddie…

Eddie looked wrecked.

He stayed frozen in your lap for a second too long, breath shallow, pupils blown, mouth parted like he couldn’t remember how to speak. You could see him weighing his next move, jaw flexing like he was fighting himself.

Then, he shifted.

Turned onto his stomach in your lap with a groan so low and drawn out it felt filthy just to hear. His cheek pressed against your abdomen, lips brushing the fabric of your shirt, and his hands, those big, ringed hands, slid down the outsides of your thighs, then crept slowly, slowly between them.

“Eddie,” you whispered, heart thundering.

He looked up.

And fuck.

That look.

There was nothing sheepish in it now. Just hunger. Raw, reverent, starving.

“You can’t stroke me like that,” he murmured, voice rough and ruined, “and expect me not to do something about it, sweetheart.”

Your breath caught.

His fingers ghosted over the seam of your leggings, teasing the dip between your thighs.

You squirmed.

He smirked.

Then he pushed your legs apart, slow but deliberate, his hands curling under your knees as he sat up on his own, kneeling now between your thighs, still staring up at you like you were made of fucking magic.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, pressing a single, reverent kiss to your belly. “If you want me to. I will.”

Your hand threaded into his hair again… this time not for soothing.

For leverage.

You tugged.

His groan vibrated into your stomach.

“Don’t you dare,” you said.

The grin that spread across his face was filthy.

“Fuckin’ love when you boss me around.”

He moved like a man on a mission, mouth trailing kisses down your abdomen, fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings. He looked up one last time for confirmation, and you nodded.

That was all it took.

He dragged your leggings down slow, savoring it, kissing each new inch of exposed skin like it was holy. When he reached your panties, he growled.

“Pink?” he asked, cocking a brow.

“They were clean,” you muttered, flushed.

“They’re adorable. Gonna ruin ‘em.”

And then he did.

It started soft.

Lips brushing, barely touching, like you were testing the waters, seeing if this would break the spell or deepen it.

It deepened.

One soft kiss became two. Then three. Then a greedy, gasping fourth that had you both tipping sideways on the couch. Eddie’s hand cupped the back of your head, guiding your mouth against his like he’d needed this, craved it in the dark corners of his mind long before you ever put your fingers in his hair.

When you climbed into his lap, straddling him, his hands went everywhere. Palming your ass, dragging up your spine, clutching your hips like he could mold you to him if he held tight enough.

And God, the way you moved.

That first slow grind of your hips against his crotch made him whimper.

Yes, whimper.

Low and broken and real, like the friction was almost too much, his cock trapped against his thigh in his sweats, painfully hard now, aching for more.

“Jesus,” he hissed, bucking up just a little. “Fuck, baby, you’re… God. You’re soaked.”

Your shirt was bunched up under your arms now, his rough palms exploring every inch of your torso, your stomach, under your bra, feeling and memorizing like he’d never get the chance again.

“So fuckin’ sexy when you touch me like that,” he groaned, rolling his hips under yours again. “Can’t think straight.”

You smirked against his jaw, tongue darting out to taste the sweat beading along his throat. “Then shut up and let me do it again.”

And you did.

You rocked down, slow and delicious, grinding your clothed pussy against the thick line of his cock in his pants. He swore, head tipping back, eyes fluttering.

“Fuuuck… yeah, yeah, just like that, don’t stop, don’t stop-”

You didn’t.

Your mouths met again, messy and open, teeth clacking and tongues tangling as you chased the pressure. His ringed hand slid down the back of your panties, grabbing a handful of your ass, fingers dipping dangerously close to where you were dripping.

“I wanna taste you,” he rasped against your lips, voice wrecked. “Wanna fuckin’ drown in it.”

“You will,” you whispered, grinding harder. “Later.”

Eddie groaned like he’d just been denied heaven itself.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“And you’ll die happy.”

You were still in just your panties and a shirt, straddling Eddie’s lap like he was your throne, like he belonged underneath you. His hands were everywhere, gripping your ass, dragging you down to grind against the thick heat straining his sweatpants.

The way you moved? Languid, deliberate, sinful. A slow, teasing grind that had the head of his cock brushing right against your soaked panties through the soft cotton of his pants.

It drove him insane.

His breath hitched every time your hips rolled just right, dragging slick heat over his aching cock.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, fingers flexing hard into the curve of your ass. “You’re so fucking wet.”

You hummed against his lips, not bothering to hide the way your hips bucked a little harder in response. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he growled, voice low and ruined. “That from me? Just from my hair through your fingers?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just smiled and did it again, grinding slow and firm, right where he needed it most.

Eddie choked on a curse.

“Shit… don’t do that. I’ll fucking cum like this. I swear to God- can’t get enough of you.”

You grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it up, before quickly removing your bra, and Eddie barely got out a strangled sound before your tits were in his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, already leaning in, mouth hot and open as it latched to your nipple. He sucked hard, tongue laving over the sensitive bud until it peaked, then moved to the other like he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t decide which one to worship harder.

His palms squeezed your tits roughly, thumbs flicking the tips while he bit, just enough to make you gasp.

Your fingers tugged at the waistband of your panties, but Eddie stopped you, growling against your skin.

“Let me,” he said, voice dark and dripping with hunger.

He slid them down with both hands, and when he got them off, saw how wet they were, saw how soaked you were underneath, he laughed.

Low.

Filthy.

Wrecked.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, eyes wide with disbelief and lust. “You’re dripping for me. That’s so fucking hot I might actually pass out.”

You bit your lip and sank down just enough to slide your slick folds along the line of his cock again.

“Then maybe I better sit on your face after this,” you teased.

Eddie whined, whined, and grabbed your hips like his life depended on it.

“Deal,” he breathed. “But if you ride me first, I swear to God, I might cum.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “That’s the idea.”

Eddie’s hands were greedy. One gripped your hip, keeping you pressed against him, the other slid between your thighs like he had every right to be there, and honestly? After the way you were grinding on him, he did.

His fingers found your clit with practiced ease, the pad of his middle finger rubbing slow, maddening circles that made your whole body tighten.

“Yeah,” he whispered, watching your face like it was the only thing he’d ever believe in. “There it is. That’s what I wanted. Let me make you feel so good, baby.”

You gasped when he slid two fingers inside, the stretch perfect, the pace unhurried, just slow pumps, curling just right, stroking a spot that had your mouth falling open and your thighs starting to shake.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, already rocking your hips in rhythm, riding his fingers like you needed it to breathe. “Eddie…”

He leaned in, lips brushing your collarbone as he spoke, voice thick with heat.

“Bet you’d let me taste you right now,” he murmured, filthy and reverent. “Throw your legs over my shoulders, let me tongue-fuck you until you forget your name.”

Your breath caught. You clenched around his fingers, and he felt it, grinned like a man possessed.

“Ohhh, you like that idea,” he chuckled, voice smug and adoring. “Say the word, baby, and I’ll have you crying on my tongue in five minutes flat.”

You bit your lip, nervous but so fucking tempted.

He pulled his fingers free slowly, trailing them through your slick folds one more time just to watch your eyes flutter, then sucked them into his mouth with a groan that made your toes curl.

“Jesus Christ, you taste unreal.”

Your thighs tightened instinctively, and he clocked it immediately, pupils blown wide.

“C’mon,” he whispered, guiding you gently down onto the couch with him until he was flat on his back. “Sit on my face. Let me have you.”

You hovered above him, breath shaking, heart hammering.

“Eddie-”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Your eyes met his, raw, tender, hungry.

You nodded.

“Then ride my fucking face, sweetheart.”

You climbed over him, straddled his chest, then inched up slowly, trembling and bashful… until your thighs framed his face, and he got his first full look at your soaked, swollen pussy.

“Holy fuck,” he moaned, hands gripping your thighs like he was about to pray to them.

The second your folds brushed his mouth, you lost your breath.

Eddie went feral.

His tongue licked a thick, wet stripe right up your slit, then circled your clit with dizzying precision. He sucked it between his lips, moaned into you like he was devouring the world’s sweetest sin.

Your hands shot to the back of the couch, hips stuttering as you began to grind against his face, the nerves and shyness melting away with every flick of his tongue.

He loved it.

Groaned like he was high on your taste. His tongue fucked into you, messy and hot, while his nose nudged your clit just enough to keep you right on the edge.

You were panting. Babbling. Shaking.

Eddie’s voice rasped from below you between licks, “That’s it, baby. Use me. Fuckin’ take what you need. God, I could die like this.”

And if the way you were riding his mouth was anything to go by?

You might just let him.

You didn’t even realize how tangled up you’d gotten until you were both breathless, your thighs shaking from the come-down, Eddie’s curls sticking to his forehead, his lips slick and red from absolutely worshipping you.

But you weren’t done.

Not even close.

“C’mere,” he rasped, voice wrecked as he pulled himself up, back resting against the arm of the couch. His chest heaved, the rise and fall of it downright hypnotic. His sweats were still clinging to his thighs, stretched over the hard, throbbing outline of his cock. “Wanna feel you around me.”

Your hands slipped beneath the waistband and tugged them down, revealing him fully, thick, flushed dark at the tip, leaking steadily with how long he’d been aching for you. His breath hitched when you touched him, fingers wrapping around the base.

“Jesus fuck,” he groaned, head thudding back, hips twitching. “You’re gonna ruin me for anyone else.” he murmured as he slipped off his shirt.

You didn’t answer. You just climbed over him, straddling his lap once more. The head of his cock caught at your entrance, and you both stilled, holding your breath like the next second would snap the world in two.

Then you sank down.

Slow. Deep. All the way.

Eddie let out a choked moan, his fingers digging bruises into your hips. His eyes rolled back, mouth open in stunned, desperate pleasure.

“Oh my God, sweetheart,” he gasped. “You’re so… shit- tight, fuckin’ squeezing me like you were made for it.”

Your head fell forward as you rocked your hips, adjusting to the stretch, the pressure of him filling you up so perfectly you swore it was science fiction. The couch groaned beneath you as you started to move, grinding, then lifting just enough to drop back down with a wet clap of skin on skin.

It was primal.

Unfiltered.

The kind of ride that wasn’t just sex… it was need.

Eddie was losing his mind beneath you, hips bucking up to meet each bounce, your name falling from his lips like a prayer, or a curse.

“That’s it, baby,” he panted. “Take what you need. Take every inch. Fuck… look at you.”

You met his eyes as you rode him, hair falling around your face, your breasts bouncing with every thrust. He looked up at you like you’d hung the fucking moon.

And even though his jaw was clenched and his breath was ragged, you knew, he was holding on by a thread. Every nerve in his body was coiled tight, but he wasn’t letting go. Not yet. Not until you did.

Your head dropped to his shoulder, forehead slick against his neck, and your nails dug into the meat of his upper back. “Eddie,” you whimpered, over and over again like a chant, like he was holy and you were on your knees in front of a shrine. “Eddie, Eddie, fuck, don’t stop-”

You kissed him hard, sloppy and deep, and you moaned into his mouth when you tasted yourself on his lips. His tongue tangled with yours, hands everywhere, your ass, your waist, gripping your back like he was trying to leave fingerprints behind.

The heat was unbearable. The sweat. The friction. The gasping, wet sounds filling the trailer with every bounce.

And the couch squeaked like it was trying to keep up.

He groaned, hips stuttering for a second as you clenched around him. “Say it again,” he begged, barely audible. “Please, baby, tell me again, tell me how good it feels, tell me how much you need me-”

“You feel so fucking good, Eddie… don’t stop, don’t stop… please, I need you-” You were practically sobbing now, every muscle shaking as the heat coiled tight behind your ribs.

You met his eyes as you rode him, hair falling around your face, your breasts bouncing with every thrust. He looked up at you like you’d hung the fucking moon.

“I won’t,” he gasped, voice breaking. “I won’t, baby, you’ve got me… fuck… I’m yours.”

Those last words shattered you.

“I’m gonna-” you whimpered, voice trembling, thighs shaking as you ground down harder.

Eddie’s voice dropped low, rough and reverent. “Cum for me. Do it while I’m still inside you. Wanna feel you fall apart, sweetheart. Wanna fuckin’ feel it.”

You cried out, clutching his shoulders as the orgasm ripped through you, white-hot, mind-melting and overwhelming. Your hips ground down hard, helpless, riding the high as your entire body convulsed around him.

That’s when Eddie broke.

He came with a strangled sound, groaning your name, moaning into your neck as he spilled inside you, hips jerking and breath coming in broken gasps, cock twitching inside you. His grip on your hips went vice-tight, keeping you flush to him as he rode out every last pulse, his hips jerking helplessly with every pulse of heat he spilled into you.

It was messy.

It was perfect.

You collapsed against him, chest to chest, both of you breathing like you’d run a marathon, sweat and sex sticking you together in the best way.

He kissed your temple, then your cheek, then your lips, gentle now. Soft. Still trembling with aftershocks.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You really shouldn’t have touched my hair like that.”

He was still buried deep inside you, hands gripping your hips like they were the only thing tethering him to the planet.

Your chest heaved, breasts brushing his forehead as he slumped forward, completely spent. His curls clung to his flushed face, damp with sweat, and his lips moved softly against your sternum as he groaned your name like it was the only word he remembered.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. Just panting. Heartbeats thudding in time. Skin sticky and slick where it pressed together. The couch beneath you was wrecked, smeared with sweat and sex and too much affection to clean up any time soon.

Finally, you exhaled a shaky laugh, fingers sliding into his curls again.

“Jesus,” you murmured, boneless and dumb with pleasure. “We’re a mess.”

Eddie didn’t lift his head. Just let out a choked little laugh into your cleavage. “I think you just rewired my fucking brain.”

You giggled, nudging your nose into his hair as he continued to stroke lazy circles over your bare thigh with a reverent kind of slowness.

“All this just from petting your hair?” you teased, smirking.

He finally looked up at you, eyes heavy-lidded and wrecked, and gave you that crooked grin that usually meant trouble.

“Yeah…” he said, voice rough. “You should pet my dick next.”

You snorted, smacked the back of his head gently, but you didn’t disagree.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! @justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust, @meankenna, @kellsck, @chronicles-of-koystee, @micheledawn1975, @fckyeahlames, @cantstandya2000

Masterlist