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astraystayyh · 2 months

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pieces of you

single dad!chan. x fem!reader

genre : neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. mutual pining. 8.7k wc

summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!

winter falls masterlist.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Shh, daddy smile.”

Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation.

A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.

“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand.

“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you.

“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure.

“Your dad?”

“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth.

“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head.

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh.

She isn't shy because she feels protected.

You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.

He’s beautiful.

Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.

“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.

“I'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips.

“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice.

“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.

“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly.

“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support.

“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”

“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.”

“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display.

“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.

“Yn. And you?”

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within.

Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.”

Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you.

“See I'm not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants.

Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being.

“She gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?”

“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back.

“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers.

“Touché.”

A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed.

“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you.

“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”

“You don’t know how to make them?”

“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you.

“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.”

“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you.

“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move.

Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”

“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”

“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around.

An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen.

One hour later

You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight.

“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back.

“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind.

“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.

“You made them?”

“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief.

“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears.

“I know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before.

“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth.

“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head.

“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two.

“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both.

“I'm a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.”

“I'm sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.

“I…. I'll get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”

“I'll see you around.”

“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it.

ii.

“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you.

You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.

You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention.

“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago.

“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours.

“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.”

“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.”

The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.

“I can text you the address?” you propose.

“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.

“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly.

“She insists on trying her makeup on me.”

“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek.

“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.

“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying.

“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”

“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her.

“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten.

“She can be very scary for such a little girl.”

“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror.

“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door.

“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch?

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.”

“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend.

“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.”

And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.

“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well.

“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.”

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements.

“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair.

“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth.

“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”

“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”

You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.

“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours.

Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest.

Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?

“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.

“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows.

“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.”

“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”

“Will you watch a movie later with me?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue.

“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”

“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him.

“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it?

Your facade cracks. His voice wins.

“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.”

iii.

You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.

“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years.

“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Just with salt?”

“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly.

Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.

It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris.

“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.

“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture.

“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp.

“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours.

He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?”

“We? You were behind my back all the time.”

“I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”

“I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”

“You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”

“I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”

“Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him.

And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night.

“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.

“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”

“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.

It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.

“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter.

“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head.

“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.”

“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not.

“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly.

“The company.”

“I do find Sowon entertaining.”

“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back.

“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”

“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”

“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.”

“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near.

“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly.

He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near.

Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay.

One week later.

You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat.

“What’s wrong?” you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.

“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm.

“Sowon?” you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.

“Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—”He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.

“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”

“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair.

“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.

“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.

“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”

“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing.

“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.

“Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?” you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.

“Sure. Sure,” he repeats, scurrying out of the room.

Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.

“Thank you,” you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Sowon’s knee gently.

“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face.

“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess.

“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm.

The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems.

“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling.

You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.

“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter.

“Will she be okay?”

“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?”

“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks.

"She looks just like you," you softly smile.

"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.

“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up.

“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode.

You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.

A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’s hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.

You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.

The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.

Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak.

"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on.

“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.

“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze.

“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”

“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”

“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps, despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.”

“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears.

“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.”

“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away.

“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”

You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.

“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.”

Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before.

Five days later.

chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?

yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years

chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs

chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ

chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired

yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help?

chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring

You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock.

“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide.

“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”

“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.”

“Can I read what you wrote?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”

May these words be the first to find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best

And I'll do better

Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart.

“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago.

Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?”

“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.”

His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.

“Talk to me?”

“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.”

Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes.

“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.”

Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away?

“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own.

“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”

You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch.

“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.”

He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin.

“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”

“Is that what she told you that movie night?”

“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close.

“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.

You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.

“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?”

“There are smile lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.”

“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.

“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.

“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.

connected.mp3 starts playing.

Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you.

You wished to be the only one Chris liked.

“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out.

So, you put on your best taunting smirk.

“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”

He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.

“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair.

“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”

"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.

“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.

“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.

“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold.

“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper.

“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.

To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it.

You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could.

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.”

Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date.

iv.

You’re avoiding him.

Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks.

Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh.

He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory.

He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.

He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you.

He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.

How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?

“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.

“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question.

“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”

“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.

“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!”

“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?”

“Okay!”

In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.

So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner.

“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.

“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.

“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.

"Look at me, hm?" he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. "Yn, please, I want to look at you."

Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him.

And then you speak.

“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”

“Of course, always.”

“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“

“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.

He’s as scared as you are.

“Chris…”

“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”

“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm.

“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”

He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I'm staying.”

“You are?”

“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile.

“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.

“Thank you for asking me to stay.”

“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly.

“What happened to connected Chris?”

“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”

Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place.

“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, yn.”

You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again.

you win.

“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck.

Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”

He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.

bonus (one year later).

“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face.

“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.

“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly.

“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”

“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.

“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both.

It's her first time calling you mom.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"

“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”

“What happened to being a stylist?”

“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently.

“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.

He’ll propose to you tomorrow.

#skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids angst #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids reactions #skz angst #skz fanfic #chan fluff #chan x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan fluff #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz au

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marigoldenblooms · 1 month

Text

An Important Lesson - One-Shot

Pairing: Professor!Wanda x Fem!Reader (MINORS DNI - 18+)

Prompt: After years of rigorous study, you were nearing the end of your graduate program. Companionship had become a figment of your imagination, until your film professor caught your eye. Taking something from her desk, you hope you could catch hers- and you got more than you bargained for.

MINORS DNI - 18+

Tags: Who is Y/N I don’t know her, Dom!Wanda, Sub!Reader, Porn with plot, teasing, orgasm denial, vibrator use, thigh riding, Mommy kink, Professor kink (sparingly), no aftercare, slight dub-con, dumbification, praise, dom/sub dynamics, power imbalance (professor/student), age gap (Reader is 26 while Wanda is 34), brat taming if you squint.

A/N: Holy balls, I did not realize smut was so hard to write. Major kudos to all who seem to do it so effortlessly! I know I envy ‘em. This is my first foray into writing this kind of fic (my university’s spring break has brought a lot of writing firsts), so if you have any feedback I’d love to hear it! This is also vaguely proofread! Wanted to do some practice before the evental sex in Unica Sempter Avis (Because USA is certainly an Abbreviation of All Time), and other ideas I’ve got cooking up. I'd love to write another part to this, if y'all would be down! Thanks y'all again! Edit: An Important Lesson is getting a second part! Read a teaser here! >:)

Word Count: 2.5k - Read length: 9 minutes, 5 seconds. Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners! ~~~

The pen hadn’t been worth stealing, and yet here you were.

Professor Maximoff’s classroom was overwhelmingly quiet, dark and empty with familiar rows of tables curved in a half arc around her desk, pushed off to the side. She’d always pace within the front few rows where you sat, and you’d have to crane your neck to keep her in view when you weren’t scribbling down paraphrases of what she said. She taught Advanced Film and Media Critique, which generally lended itself to analyzing the shit out of old TV shows. Maximoff was a difficult professor, but you weren’t looking for easy, especially in your graduate program. After a few years of working your ass off to make enough money, you’d wiped the floor with your bachelors and now you were vying for your masters, in your last few weeks of grad school. And you knew Professor Maximoff liked you, which didn’t make it so bad.

You knew other things about her too - for instance, there was no way she wasn’t a lesbian. Whenever you’d raise your hand her eyes would snap to you, and you swear her face would curl into a smile that was beyond professional. You’d catch her staring in your direction during exams on multiple occasions (to be fair you did the same when she wasn’t looking, but that’s besides the point), and you swear up and down that she winked at you during your midterm. She’d hold onto your hand a little too long when you turned in papers, and always offered ‘tutoring’ sessions which you humbly declined in the beginning of the semester, your grade being nigh perfect in her course. Between that, the short nails, tailored suits, and the rings- oh, so many rings- there was no way your professor wasn’t gay, and possibly had the hots for you. Your studies had been your priority over companionship for so long, And now, within a few weeks of your final, why not make a move?

Heist films had been the topic of last week’s lecture, and so nicking something small would be a good segway, right? You’d return it to her tomorrow after class, mention something flirty (perhaps about stealing her heart), and see where it went. If you were lucky, you’d have her number by the end of the course, and perhaps take the older woman to coffee after your final exam. You’d bring her to the movies, but that might turn into more of a lesson than a date.

As you’d pluck a pen from one of her desk drawers, you notice that it was slightly heavier than most. You clicked it once, then a second time- and nothing happened, so it went into your pockets. You’d move to exit the dim room, before a plaque caught your eye- her degree. It was neatly pressed into its frame: Wanda Maximoff, Masters of Arts in Film and Media Studies. You remembered her mentioning she was working on her doctorate, a proud grin sparking at that. Perhaps you’d get to know more about her dissertation and herself shortly. ------------------------------------------

Class went by faster than most, although it didn’t help that you were anxiously awaiting the end of Professor Maximoff’s lecture. She had worn a trim fitted sleeveless blouse and buttoned pants, both beautiful shades of burgundy. A myriad of gold rings decorating her hands as she’d motion with them through her talk. You’d have to keep your eyes off her fingers, nose deep in notebooks as you’d scramble to collect her words before your incoming final exam.

“And what is the significance of I Love Lucy’s laugh tracks?” Wanda would ponder aloud before your hand immediately shot up, the lone attempt out of your fifty or so classmates. She’d grin at you, “Yes, dear?”

You almost forget what you were about to say, holding onto the vestiges of it as you’d sputter, “Oh, uhm- yes, well, I Love Lucy didn’t have laugh tracks, mostly- they were the first sitcom to have a live studio audience.” Her eyes would crinkle with mirth, and you could tell immediately that you had the right answer. You tuned out her words as your mind would swim, thinking back to the weighted pen in your jeans pocket. The pet names were new, settling a joyous fuzz both in your mind and between your legs. It was things like this that had you on the back foot- this was your chance to get her back.

------------------------------------------

“And I’ll see you all in two days,” Wanda would return to her desk, sitting atop it rather than in the chair behind it. One of your classmates had asked why in an icebreaker towards the beginning of the semester, and if you remembered correctly she said ‘Just like the view from up here,’ or the like. If you’d been on the same track mind as now, you probably would have noticed how she stared at you during her spiel, a detail only discovered in hindsight. Now, you had all the pieces.

You pack up slowly, shimmying your belongings into your overly stuffed bag. Hanging back until there were few students left, you flag her gaze with a hand and an upturned smile, “Professor, I was wondering if I could..” Your words would halt in your throat, thoughts thickened and syrupy as she’d look down to you, head tilted a degree off kilter. Would it be embarrassing to admit you’d never been this close to her before? Her lips would be pursed, but would break into a wild grin, and you felt yourself melt right there. You weren’t a teen anymore goddamnit, focus- “Talk-” you’d squeak, clearing your throat hastily to camouflage the blunder, “Talk with you, after class. Professor.”

Her brows would raise, and you could almost see the cogs rotating in there. Her eyes would dart within the now-empty room, adjusting her position on the desk- and it’d become increasingly obvious (you can deny it no longer) that you were standing directly in between her slightly parted legs. This wasn’t how you were expecting it to go, but here you were. She’d start taking off her rings. “Of course, darling,” she’d tease again with a roughened lilt. Those damn pet names. “What do you need?”

“I think I have something of yours, Professor-” Your mouth would open a few seconds before you’d speak, and you swear she’d smirk at how she had you, devoid of any thought. Something about her had you smiling and kicking your feet, and boy did she know it. Without any further bravado, you’d pull out the pen, “I hate to say it, but I think you’ve stolen-”

“Oh,” She’d breathe, Wanda’s face tinting with a pinkish hue, yet her smile only grew larger. Her gaze would narrow, voice dripping with a sultry air that almost knocked you off balance, “I didn’t let you borrow that, did I?”

“No Professor,” you admit, beginning to launch into your story, before she’d shush you- shush you, words piling up into a lump in your throat.

“And do you know what it does, darling?” She asks, her tone a breathy whisper now. You swallow, shaking your head no. She fucking giggles. She takes the pen from your hand, clicking it three times, and it’d start to buzz. Oh, my god. It was a fucking vibrator.

“Too dumb to even recognize what this is? And I thought you were so smart..” She’d tease, a flush forming on your face in tandem with a shiver down your body. You open your mouth to speak, and yet her warm, calloused fingers would clasp your jaw shut. “Shhh, don’t want your pretty little head to even think, darling. How about Mommy show you how it works, hm?”

You’d nod immediately. She’d abandon the toy, clicking it off as her hands would slip beneath your shirt, and it felt like time had frozen. She was so soft, and your mind glazed over. Your breath hitched as she’d trail upward, palming your skin before running her fingers over your bare breasts. You’d watch as Wanda’s pupils would blow in seconds, a devious smile bubbling into view, “No bra?” She’d murmur lowly shaking her head as she’d start to knead your flesh, “Just couldn’t remember it, hm? My precious student, too busy thinking of me to get dressed, were you?” You nod again, a pitiful mewl escaping your throat.

“Yes- Yes, Professor..” You arch into her touch, although that bliss was short-lived as you feel her dig her hands further into your tits, sharper than you’d like. She’d tsk at your reply, and you look up to meet her eyes- oh, that was the wrong answer.

“Did you already forget my title, baby?” She’d ask almost tauntingly, her gaze sharpening as she’d shift her hands from your skin. You’d chase her warmth, dazed as your skin would flush and tremble, slotting yourself up against her. She’d run her thumb over your lips, crooning at your immediate submission. She could use that.

“It seems Mommy has a lot to teach you, dear..” Her touch would ghost across your exposed forearms, her feather-light touches only stuttering your breath further. “And I think you’re ready for your first lesson. Think you can handle that, darling? Keep your eyes on me,” Her hands would dig into your jeans, rougher against the hem’s fabric, “Think you can take this off for Mommy?”

“Please..” You beg, raising your hips to strip yourself bare, your glance trained on her. You don’t miss how her eyes darted down to your bare cunt, having slid off your panties too, or how she licked her lips at the sight of your slick. Her hands would hold your legs open, the cold lecture hall’s air chilling your exposed skin. Still staring at Wanda, you’d discard your shirt in the same breath, her jaw clenching as all of you felt the cool air. Feeling exposed, the urge to flee ebbed away some of your arousal. Were you really about to fuck your professor in her own classroom? Your focus was immediately drawn again as she’d capture your chin in her hand, pulling it harshly to meet her gaze. Her eyes were dilated, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow as she’d pant, both from your disobedience and your thighs rubbing against hers. “Look at me,” she’d hiss, taking your lips into a searing kiss. Your answer? Fuck. Yes.

Your cunt would grind against her leg as Wanda would pull your hips up and onto her thigh, grip bruising as your lips would crash together. You could smell her vanilla perfume as she’d tug at your bottom lip with her teeth, a familiar buzzing sound heard but not registered before you felt it on your clit. “Mommy- yes, Fuckin’ christ, there-” You’d keen, lurching back as Wanda’s hand would rest on your hip, keeping you from escaping her touch.

Wanda would groan at your words, voice a little breathier as her hips would stutter against yours, “There’s my good girl..” Teasingly, she’d circle your clit with the pen-shaped toy, gasping herself as she’d feel the aftershocks of its pulse on her clothed cunt. “Taking Mommy’s toy so well..such a sweet girl for your Professor-”

You’d rock your hips against her, the friction from her dress slacks and the vibrator’s pulse bringing you to the edge embarrassingly quick. Wanda wouldn’t notice your frenzied breathing or how you lost your rhythm, but she would hear your words; drawn between husky whines, “Mommy, please, I’m so close, fuck-” Your face would flush, legs beginning to tremble before the whole feeling was ripped away from you, Wanda’s grip leaving as the buzz would click off. With shaky breaths, your eyes would rise to meet hers- only to see a teasing grin. She’d pat your arms, gently coaxing you off of her thigh, the few sparks of friction from that not enough to bring you anywhere close to your release. You’d blink, thoughts thickened and reeling, brow furrowed ever so slightly for her- and Wanda loved it.

“You did so well for your first lesson, dear..” She’d croon, brushing herself off as she’d rise to her feet, leaving you on her cluttered desk. “But, Professor, I didn’t-” You’d begin and she’d silence you right there, hand rising to close your jaw shut again.

“And you won’t come unless you call me by my title, darling. You’ve received your correction for your first mistake- and for stealing from me,” You nodded slowly, absorbing her words as though they were molasses, and her smile only widened at how dazed she’d made you. “And if you disobey again when you’re with me, alone- then I’ll lower your grade by five points. Understand?”

If you were in any kind of fog before, you cleared it from your thoughts immediately. “Yes, very clear- uhm,” You pause, noticing the stain on her pant leg where your pussy had ground into the fabric, and you feel your face warm. Wanda would shift her stance and you’d look up- she leaned above you, a single brow raised. You’d swallow, keeping your eyes on her completely, “Yes, Mommy- I understand.”

“Good girl.” That was the right answer. She’d smile at you, her praise going straight to your cunt. Could she not have given you a few more seconds? Maybe you could’ve gotten off without her noticing. She’d interrupt your mind with a quick peck on the lips, and you felt your wits slow, swimming with thoughts of her mouth. Oh, that was why- couldn’t get away with anything if you didn’t think anything at all. Wanda’s grin would only intensify as she’d watch you dress, clothing rumpled from the haste it had been taken off. After a few minutes, you were back to prim and proper..besides your racing heart and flush whenever Wanda so much as moved. “This was great..” You’d murmur, pressing the wrinkles from your shirt, gaze flicking back up to Wanda’s- your professor still watching you with a smooth, secretive smirk.

“Of course it was, dear..but it’s still nice to hear you say that. Anything for my best student,” She’d wink at you and you’d fold, feeling your palms clam up. Since when were you this weak in the knees? She’d settle at her desk again, her hands clasped together on its wooden grain. You’d be taller than her now, with her sitting down- and yet there was an aura she commanded that you couldn’t outdo. You turn to leave without any further fanfare but her voice would seize you again, just as warm as her touch. “I’ll be expecting you after tomorrow’s classes, then? I think some…after-hours remedial work for my course would do you well.”

Were you really about to fuck your professor in her own classroom, again? You’d leave her hall with a bright smile, a reply, and a secret. Your answer? The same as before - Fuck. Yes.

And your secret?

You’d stolen the ‘pen’ again.

#bearrrwrites #minors dni #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda smut #dom!wanda #sub!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #college au #one shot #smut fic #wlw ns/fw #god why was this so hard #once again #fuck it we ball

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scoutswritingcorner · 2 months

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Hey sugar~

I want a full fluff no angst request of alastor in the woods finding a lost reader

Monster In The Woods

Alastor x GN!Reader

Song: Like Real People Do by Hozier

TW: Talks about Murder, flashback to Human Alastor

A/N: Hihi Love! Added a teensy bit of angst. Who doesn't love angst?

You grumbled and looked around Alastor’s familiar bayou that was in his room. Your curiosity got the best of you, it was just seemingly endless with moths and fireflies, mud that sticks to your shoes and vines that hang from the trees that look like snakes waiting for you to let your guard down. Figments of alligators hissing and watching as you struggle to make your way further into the bayou, an old house sitting and waiting..inviting you into its warmth with bright light and smoke billowing from the chimney.

A sense of dread filled your body, one that you were too familiar with and hated with a fiery passion. The same feeling that made the golden ring on your finger feel heavier than normal allowing doubt to creep into your mind and anxiety wrap around your heart. Why weren’t you running towards the house? Towards the feeling of safety wrapped in the comfort of an old home..why were you standing in the middle of an open field? You were an unsuspecting doe about to get shot down…why was this so familiar?

Hands cupped your face, warm and sticky with blood as you sobbed out, whispers of words you couldn’t hear truthfully. You watched as his face- your husband's face twisted in fear and concern but his eyes told a different story, he was angry. Not at you, never at you. His hands brought you to his chest as your senses finally caught up to you. Ringing in your ears, chest heaving from the lack of oxygen in your lungs, your leg and stomach hurt. The same substance that was coating your hands had coated your leg and stomach. You were bleeding. There was so much blood. His words had fallen on deaf ears as a man laid face first into the mud and dirt not too far away, blood mixing into the earth.

Oh right, you were running from the man and a trap snagged your leg good, ripping tendons in your leg. Then a shot rang out as you tried to get your leg out of the trap, distant slurs as the drunken man held a gun up aimed for your head. All you wanted to do was check up on your husband, you made this journey many times before why was this the outcome of it? As you began praying to a god you possibly never believed in, you never really visited the churches when you were younger. But you always did with your husband under the guise you were just going to work with him after. Yet here you were sobbing and panicking, whispering out how you wanted to absolve all your sins to God.

But it never came, the gun was dropped and subsequently caused the gun to go off. Bullet shooting out into the Louisiana swamps, the sun casting its last dying light upon your form as the moon was rising from behind the old shack. Blood spurted out from the neck of the unknown man as your husband stood behind him, clothes drenched in blood as the knife in his was dropped to the muddy ground. You sobbed out in his arms..bleeding out, was this how you were going to die?

A familiar clawed hand squeezed your shoulder as familiar static nipped at your skin, another reaching over to wipe the fresh tears from your eyes. “Come come, let’s not dwell on the past, Darling.” He whispered out as you looked up at him. His crimson eyes that were always watching and moving waiting for the wrong movement, softened as he watched tears stain your cheeks. “I’m sorry..I got curious…” You whispered out watching him wave it off as he grabbed your hand, lifting it to kiss the golden band.

Guiding you out of the bayou easily, he tapped his cane on the ground beside him, “No need to apologize, Darling. Let me go run you a warm bath, yes” He asked, watching as you nodded from the corner of his eye a soft smile graced your lips at the thought. “...Stay with me?” You asked, glancing up at your husband. He let out a soft chuckle and kissed the side of your head, arm wrapping around your waist.

“Of course, Dear.” He whispered out, finally putting those worries in your head to rest. He hated seeing that look in your eyes..the same look you gave him all those years ago in the bayou as he held you during your last moments. You looked so afraid then..but he wouldn’t make that same mistake again, he would make sure of it. Not even death could pull you both apart.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x gn!reader #gn reader

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icarusignite · 2 months

Text

i don't want your sympathy (i just want myself back)

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Child of Hypnos! GN! Reader

Summary: Terribly injured after returning from his quest to the Garden of Hesperides, Luke Castellan turns to the only person who can help him sleep. Basically a hurt/comfort shortfic for Luke cuz he needs comforting lol

Word count: 1.7k

The infirmary was a sterile space, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptic and tonics. It was mercifully silent, devoid of the Apollo campers who often sporadically visited to check in on whoever occupied the space.

Luke Castellan was the only patient there today, his features twisted in discomfort as he slowly regained consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, squinting against the sunlight streaming in and the room swam into focus, though his thoughts remained muddled, fragmented memories clawing at the edges of his consciousness. He struggled to separate reality from illusion, unsure of which memories were true and which were twisted figments of his nightmares.

Immediately, he became acutely aware of a throbbing ache pulsating through his face. It felt as though his skin had been stretched to its limit, pulled taut over the wound that marred his features. With each breath he took, the pain intensified, a sharp reminder of the injury he had sustained.

The injury he had sustained on the quest he had failed.

His hand instinctively moved to touch the bandages that covered the wound, fingers gingerly tracing the contours of the thick gauze. Beneath the sterile fabric, he could feel the heat radiating from the angry gash, the skin around it tender and inflamed. The cut itself was a jagged slash, stretching from the bottom of his eye to his jawline, and seemed to throb with a life of its own.

The pain made him angry. He was always angry these days, and he had only just returned.

The voices from his dreams still echoed in his head, sinister whispers that promised power and vengeance, their dark allure tempting him to succumb. They spoke to his deepest desires and stoked the flames of his fury in ways that were becoming impossible to ignore.

And then, amidst the chaos of his thoughts, he saw the figure seated by his bedside, their head resting on folded arms, form rising and falling in a steady rhythm of breath. A life, a beacon of familiarity and solace in the midst of his confusion.

It was you. Of course, it was. You had not left his side since he was carried in, broken and bleeding from the camp's border. Your face, though serene in sleep, bore traces of worry and exhaustion, and Luke's heart clenched at the sight, a rush of emotion flooding his senses—gratitude, guilt, longing.

You should not have to worry about him like this, forgoing your own wellbeing to look after him.

You had been there the whole time, a steadfast presence in the chaos that followed his return. He remembered, faintly, the fleeting moments of clarity when his eyes had briefly met yours, finding comfort and reassurance in your gaze before he slipped into unconsciousness once again as his injury was stitched up.

He did not want to disturb you, but he couldn't help himself, his hand reaching out almost as if it had a mind of his own, fingers trembling as he brushed them against your cheek. There was something about you that brought him comfort, something he could not put a name to, but it was instinctual, almost magnetic.

You were peace. You were his peace.

You stirred when made contact, eyelids snapping open instantaneously, filled with concern and affection as you bolted upright in your seat.

"Luke," you breathed, your voice soft and gentle, like a soothing melody amidst the chaos of his mind. "You're awake."

A fragile smile tugged at Luke's lips, and although the gesture hurt, it was worth it to see the brief flash of relief that flooded your features.

"Luke, are you alright?" you asked hurriedly, scrambling from your perch to inspect him. You were no medic but you spent long enough in the infirmary, easing injuries and sending campers off into a peaceful slumber that you had become accustomed to looking for signs of concern.

"I...I'm fine," his voice was hoarse from lack of use, his throat parched, which had you rushing to pour him a cup of water.

"Should I call someone from the Apollo cabin to take a look at your injury?"

Your words washed over him, but your concern was both comforting and frustrating in equal measure. He appreciated your kindness, your willingness to help, but at the same time, he couldn't shake the bitterness that rose in his throat at the thought of being pitied.

If even your gaze was heavy with it, he could not imagine what the rest of camp half-blood would think of him. A failure. A demigod who could not complete a quest that had already been completed once before by another.

"I'm fine," Luke muttered, his voice tinged with irritation. "I don't need anyone fussing over me."

He tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it faltered, crumbling under the weight of his conflicting emotions. He didn't want your sympathy, didn't want to be seen as weak or vulnerable. He was Luke Castellan, a fighter, a survivor—he refused to be reduced to a mere object of pity.

Silently he cursed the gods for reducing him to this. His stupid father and his stupid quest.

Still, even as he pushed you away, a part of him longed for your presence, your touch. He couldn't deny the warmth that flooded his heart whenever you were near, the way your smile could chase away the darkness that threatened to consume him.

He had become quite accustomed to being around you over the years, because even though you had been claimed, being the child of a minor god was as good as being the child of nothing, thus cementing your place in the Hermes cabin with him. Another thing to curse the gods for, because if anyone deserved a place to truly belong, it was you, with your kind eyes, and careful hands so eager to help.

He supposed it didn't matter in the end. You had wormed your way into his heart, unbeknownst to him, and if there was one place you surely belonged, it was there.

As you paused in your fussing, your eyes caught the subtle signs of exhaustion etched into Luke's features—the faint shadows beneath his eyes, a telltale sign of restless nights and troubled dreams. Despite the fact that he had been asleep for the better part of the past three days, the toll of his ordeal still lingered, casting a shadow over his weary frame.

"Would you like some help...you know...falling asleep?" you asked gently.

The offer caught Luke off guard, his pride momentarily forgotten in the face of his overwhelming fatigue. A wave of relief washed over him at the thought of finding solace in sleep, of escaping the turmoil of his thoughts if only for a little while longer. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he acquiesced.

"Please," he murmured, the word slipping past his lips with a mixture of gratitude and pain. He shifted slightly on the bed, wincing as he made room for you to join him.

Your cheeks flushed a slight crimson as you took your place, precariously perched at the edge, careful not to jostle and cause him further pain, your gaze meeting his with a clarity that made his heart skip a beat. Then, when you reached out, your hand finding his own with a reassuring touch, it sent a shiver down his spine.

He found his eyes start to grow heavy.

Your touch was warm and comforting, a balm to his weary soul as you ran a hand over his closed eyes, fingers tracing soothing patterns against his skin. The tension in his muscles began to ebb away, replaced by a sense of peace and calm that he hadn't felt in days. He wasn't quite sure if it was the effect of your powers, or just your presence that put him at such ease, but it was magic all the same.

With each stroke of your hand, Luke felt himself drifting further into the embrace of sleep, his mind growing hazy and light. It was a different sort of slumber, one unburdened by the shadows and voices that awaited him in the darkness with dark promise.

When your hand moved through his hair, a sense of familiarity washed over him like a warm tide. The soft melody you hummed resonated deep within him, stirring memories long buried beneath the weight of his pain.

It was a popular tune, one he might have heard before but he couldn't quite place it. Then it came to him, a sharp ache in his chest, not so different from the physical pain in his flesh. His mother used to sing to him like this, during her brief bouts of lucidity, when she wasn't chasing him around the house spouting prophecies of doom and destruction.

He remembered her, her face a blur in the recesses of his mind, her voice a distant echo that whispered of warmth and safety. In those rare moments, she had held him close, her hands running through his hair in much the same way yours did now.

Unbidden, tears slipped from behind Luke's closed eyes, a silent testament to the grief and longing that filled his heart.

"Everything will be alright, Luke," you whispered, wiping his tears before they had a chance to seep into his bandage. "You'll see."

It's a lie. He knew it was a lie. Nothing would ever be alright again, and he would never go back to being the person he used to be, but there was a part of him that wanted to believe her, if only for a fleeting moment.

After all, he was the son of the god of tricksters—a master of deception and illusion. And as he lay there, cradled in your embrace, he couldn't help but succumb to the illusion of peace and comfort that you offered.

For now, with you by his side, he could trick himself into believing that everything would be alright—that the pain and suffering he had endured would soon be nothing more than a distant memory. And as sleep claimed him once more, he clung to that belief, finding solace in the presence of the one person who had never stopped believing in him.

A/N: feel free to send in requests for Luke lol, I'm currently in my brainrot era. Also reblogs/comments are much appreciated as I'd love to know what yall think <3

#icarusignite writes #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan #pjo tv show #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #pjo x reader #pjo x you #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell x reader #charlie bushnell x you

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instant-delusions · 2 months

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hii omg may i request xavier smut where he comes home from a hunter mission and catches reader humping his pillow while wearing his hoodie? and it ends with him making reader ride his thigh/dick (or both! i can take him 🤗)

OOOOHHHH MY GOOOD! I LOVE THIS ONE SM 💗💗 I haven't proofread this much cuz it's exam season for me 😭

ɢᴏᴏᴅ ɢɪʀʟ ɢᴏɴᴇ ʙᴀᴅ!

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

xavier x afab! reader

cw: thigh riding, pillow humping, cursing

you were trashing in xavier's comfy bed, checking your phone every ten seconds to see if your boyfriend finally messaged you. though, unfortunately - nothing. pressing your power button to shut your phone, you see your pouting reflection.

obviously, you knew you were being melodramatic, xavier was off on a mission, and it is hardly realistic that he'll put up his hand, saying something like "hold on, wanderer. my gf texted me." it was impossible to deny you were craving his attention astronomically, though - seriously, look at you. you were in one of his white hoodies, breathing in his fragrance and cuddling his pillows with furrowed brows. it was almost pathetic.

groaning, you opened the messenger.

₊ ⊹

y/n: xavier when r u gonna be back??

₊ ⊹

nothing once again. sighing, you closed your eyes and laid back, his scent becoming more intense with every second of his absence. it reminded you of the times he leaned down to whisper things in your ear or when he nuzzled into your nape, like a golden retriever. breathing in deeply, your lungs filled with his green tea laundry detergent. you can't get enough of him, missing the feel of his weight against you, his lips on your skin, his voice, his hands, him, him, him - even if it's just hours he's gone.

it's almost surprising how quickly your neediness melted your brain, your warm body almost uncomfortable on the bed. figments of memories filled your mind, xavier in his hunter uniform, focused look and swinging his sword - confident in his strength. xavier carrying you to your apartment after one too many tequila shots. xavier kissing your shoulder with his hand on your naked waist. xavier squeezed between your legs, pupils blown wide with lust, his pale skin with a peachy blush. whining, you squeezed your legs together, feeling a familiar pang of pleasure in your lower stomach.

god, you feel dizzy with want, the line between appropriateness and shamefulness blurred. turning around, you got on your knees and grabbed the headboard with a hand and one of his starprint pillows to bring in between your legs. quickly, you got rid of your 'shorts' (one of xavier's boxers).

testing the waters, you roll your hips slowly, feeling how the pillow softly stimulated your clit. a soft gasp escaped your lips, thinking about how xavier has his head on this every day, sleeping innocently. another whine fills the room, and you bite down on your lip, smearing your pussy sloppily on the fabric. "fuck", you drag yourself up and down with a harsh arch of your hips, feeling the knot in your tummy tightening - the imagination of xavier beneath you painting your thoughts. a soft 'ping' comes from your phone, but you didn't hear it at all.

₊ ⊹

xav♡: almost there

xav♡: sry for not txting

₊ ⊹

you slowed your hips a little to drag out the pleasure, soaking the light blue pillow in your creamy liquid. humming a low "mmh" at the intense feeling, you barely even made out the clinking of keys, or the steps.

xavier just got into the apartment - noticing your shoes at the entrance, he smiled to himself, excited to see you. the mission was insanely exhausting, and he couldn't wait to feel you ease his mind. lazily, he took off his dusty, slightly blood-stained uniform and threw it somewhere on the ground, stepping through his apartment in boxers. suddenly, his ears quirked up, hearing whining from his bedroom. confused, he raised an eyebrow and quickly made his way over, opening the door without a second thought.

the sight he was greeted with got his jaw slacked - you in his hoodie, his pillow between your thighs and your beautiful face contorted in pleasure. for a few seconds, he just stood there with the doorknob still in his hand, drinking in the way your hips moved and then stilled with realization, you looked back at him with your mouth open.

"xavier?!" you exclaimed, face red and eyes wide with shock. said man got over his initial confusion quickly, his body tensing with the need to please you - it's like what he was born to do. with a few strides, he crawls onto the bed, grabbing the pillow and throwing it onto the floor. "Sorry, you seem to have missed me a lot. I'm here now, I'll make it up to you."

Your eyes fixed on him. You were barely able to comprehend what was happening, everything went by so fast. "Xav...?" he grabbed you by the waist, guiding you onto his naked thigh. Feeling his muscles flex under your soaked, panty-clad pussy had you moaning out, pathetically grabbing his arms in an attempt to ground yourself. "There you go. I'll take care of you." The hunter guided your hips up and down his thigh, feeling every crevice and bump of your cunt through your underwear. "What..." You started, eyes rolling back in pleasure. "What bout you?" you babbled on. "Don't worry." eyeing his growing bulge, seeing his cock needily strain against his boxers, you questioned his response. Though you definitely were not in enough control of your mind to do anything about it, but weakly grind against his thigh. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Xavier looks at you, thinking about how nothing is hotter than your face right now, mouth open, eyes scrunched in pleasure, your blush. Everything because of him, everything for him - with a smile, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand tightening on your waist. "That's it, cum for me, baby." he almost pleaded, leaning in closer to hover his lips over yours.

Instinctively, you caught them, kissing him feverishly while grinding on his thigh harder. With a few more chopped strokes of your hips, you started shaking with your orgasm, feeling like your soul fell down from the cosmos, right back into Xavier's bedroom. He pressed his lips to yours once more, smiling cutely at you. "Better?" he asks, rubbing circles on your back comfortingly. Weakly, you nod, letting your head fall onto his chest, your arms snaking around his middle.

"I missed you. Let's cuddle."

#love and deepspace #lads xavier #lads #lads xavier x reader #xavier x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lads smut #love and deepspace smut #xavier x reader smut #lads xavier x reader smut #love and deepspace x reader smut #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace xavier x reader #love and deepspace xavier x reader smut

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meownotgood · 6 months

Text

WEEK THREE — smoking + aki hayakawa, 18+, fem bodied reader, riding, shotgunning, semi-public sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampies, cockwarming, a touch of angst, aki indulges in his two favorite vices: you and his cigarettes

kinktober masterlist

C'mon, Aki. Make me yours.

Aki hasn't been able to focus on anything but those words since he heard them.

First came your hands on his shoulders. You'd squeezed behind his chair as he was lighting his cigarette, his palm cupped around the flame to shield it from the wind. Aki closed his eyes, stiff muscles relaxing from the way you rolled them under your palms; you leaned in, you kissed him softly on the cheek, tilted his head up by his chin to kiss him on the lips.

Your voice is a whisper right next to his ear. They went to bed already. It's just us. You're so tense, you've been stressed all day, haven't you? Do you want to relax now?

Aki swallows. He reaches over and sets his lighter aside. Your fingertips dance across his neck, tapping his skin, feeling out his hurried pulse. He doesn't take long to figure out his answer.

Come here.

You're quick then to make your way in front of him. Climbing into his lap, he watches you, pliant. Your hands find his shoulders and grip tight for leverage, feeling the muscle underneath. The small balcony chair now occupying the two of you creaks slightly from the extra weight. Cool night air flicks sharply against your skin and the back of his neck, it rustles Aki's hair and whispers promises in his ears. The same promises you're affectionately cooing to him.

I'll make you feel good. That's what you want, yeah?

And even though it's late, you shouldn't do this here — Your lips press in warm kisses onto his neck, and Aki is tilting his head to make everything easier. He exhales, his skin tingling. A plane passes overhead like a shooting star's figment. You're sighing already even though he hasn't done anything, he feels your hands blindly fumble with the hem of his sweatpants and he lifts his hips, he doesn't try to stop you.

Aki's heart thuds heavy in his chest, in his ears, a rhythmic drum. Smoke wisps steadily from his unattended cigarette. He holds the small of your back with his free hand, his touch reassuring. You prop yourself up on your knees after you've discarded your shorts, and Aki wraps his thumb around your underwear. His gaze doesn't leave yours as he tugs them down to your thighs.

He pulls you closer, his arm holding your back again. Your entire body tremors when the head of his cock nudges your entrance. Palm moving to your hip, he doesn't let you hesitate; Aki pulls you down, sinking you onto him. His hand clenches, gripping you tight, he mumbles a swear under his breath. His chest begins to heave once he's all the way inside, he savors the familiarity of your warm cunt while his thumb rubs your skin in soothing circles. He pants between soft exhales of pleasure: So good, oh- you feel so good.

Neither of you can breathe for a couple of moments. Aki's brows twitch the way they do when there's something more he wants to say but can't manage it. His eyes dart from you pressed up on his lap to your face, his expression softening instantly.

The cigarette he's holding has been burning for a while now; he hangs his arm down, he fiddles with it and ash scatters onto the concrete below. The starry night sky glimmers in his gaze, shadows and lights from the city blanket his features. He's all of your vision, and when he's inside you, he becomes all that matters.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders in something like a hug, and Aki's got the ghost of a smile on his face even though you can't tell, he's closing his eyes once your voice fans out warmly over the shell of his ear.

I've missed you, you know.

Aki blinks. He knows, he definitely knows. He rubs your back as his way of answering.

Slowly, he brings his cigarette to his parted lips, the end flares to life as he takes a long drag in. The rich taste of smoke in his lungs is even better than he remembers. You lean backward, his gaze catches yours and he holds his exhale. Sitting up, he closes the distance, he cups your cheek, his head tilting. Warm lips brush yours and he meets you open-mouthed, breathing a steady puff of smoke that lingers in between you once you both pull away.

Your senses spark alight, the taste of his cigarettes is a reminder of all the nights you've shared puffs of smoke with him in the exact same way. It reminds you of the excuses you'd make to kiss him, when everything was indirect and left with more questions. The moments where you'd light one up when you're all alone in hopes of pretending he was still there beside you.

Thought you were dead for a while, you're mumbling, like it's simple, like it isn't a big deal, You worry me sick sometimes.

A pained look grows in intensity on Aki's face, yet you still feel you have no idea what he's thinking. Before you have the chance to speak again, he's desperately pressing his lips to yours. A kiss with no smoke in between is just a kiss. He cradles the back of your neck ever-so gently and you indulge, allowing your fingers tangle in his hair.

One kiss turns into two, and then three, and then you've lost count. Your hips shift impatiently, grinding, and he pulls away to toss his head back with a groan; he pulses hard inside you and you're reeling, dizzy. You can't keep from moving any longer, but he's already coaxing you, grabbing your side and following along with your movement.

Aki shudders. It's like his skin's been set on fire, enveloping warmth spreading onto his back and over his spine. He's already sweating — he can feel the moisture on the side of his face — in spite of the cold temperature outside. His slight grunts of pleasure mix with every echo of skin hitting skin, the sounds quiet and secretive, enough for only the two of you to hear.

That's where you say it.

Aki kisses your jaw, flicking his cigarette over the ashtray. Your soft bounces on his lap have you out of breath already. He can hear the wobble in your voice, overtaken by arousal once you've leaned in close to him.

I want you to make me forget about all of it, Aki. Make me yours.

He freezes, he's shaking, not from the cold but from something different. Aki brings his cigarette back to his mouth with hesitant fingers. He takes a deep breath in, and his hand slips underneath your shirt to find your bare side. You're surrounded by smoke as he breathes out, it clings to the edges of your form in his vision, makes them fuzzy. His gaze connects with yours and he passes the cigarette to you wordlessly. The pace of your hips slows to a halt, you close your eyes to take a drag, exhaling quickly, reaching over to stamp out the spent cigarette.

Perhaps he's thinking about this too much. Maybe it was nothing, just a bit of talking to get him going, no meaning behind it. His stupid heart can't help but tell him differently.

You've always been more to him than he's had the courage to let on. He tells others at the division you're his friend, tells you this is nothing serious, and you might think the same. Might think he's just using you as another vice to get by. Something to forget and stamp out once he's done. God, he's an idiot.

None of that could be any further from the truth, he never meant to push you away, never wanted to be apart from you for as long as he has. You're precious to him, you're infinitely precious and for once, he wants you to know that.

"Yeah," Aki starts in response. Voice all husky, his eyes half-lidded, he's made up his mind, "I'll make you mine."

He's cupping your cheek and pulling you in for a kiss immediately. Teeth nip gently at your lower lip, and he groans in the space between you, he kisses you hard and lets his tongue crash into yours. His taste is like smoke, ashy and familiar. He grips you hard, he begins to guide your movement until you're taking the hint, arms wrapping around him while you bounce to a faster, needier pace.

His hot breath on your lips, he praises before he kisses you, "There, just like that. Just like that."

Your moans into his mouth grow louder, your eyebrows knit together from the pressure. The sound echoing each time you move is getting wetter. Aki kisses your lips over and over again to keep your noises muffled, allowing no-one else to hear. His thumb caresses your cheek as a form of encouragement, too tender for how dirty this is, for how wildly you're riding him.

And between your perfect noises and the squeeze of your slick pussy around him, he can't help himself — He rocks his hips up into you, the fat tip of his cock nudges right where you wanted it and your cunt is pulsing. He separates from you with one last kiss, he strokes your shoulders gently because you're suddenly panting so hard it sounds like it hurts.

Aki gives you a moment. Then, he's taking in a shaky breath. "Did you-"

"Can't help it," You answer, and Aki's gulping, his throat dryer the more you go on, "I haven't since the last time you were here. I didn't even touch myself."

"Shit," He rubs his temple with his fingers, trying not to stutter, "You were waiting for me?"

You wrap your arms around him innocently, you hum an mhmm into his ears. Aki feels heavy, your lips press to the side of his neck and scatter kisses onto his skin, and he finds your hips, grinding you close. Already, you're quickly working your way back up, humping against him messily with trembling thighs, chasing as much pleasure as you are willing to take.

Aki mutters a Careful, into your ear, slowing you a bit. His hold on your hip keeps you going at a lax pace, getting yourself used to it again, gentle arcs of your hips still more than enough to make you moan.

He won't make you wait. Not now, not ever. Aki's going to have you come undone for him over and over again, until you can't take anymore. Until pleads of his name are stuck in your throat, until there's no doubt in your mind that he's yours.

This time, he thrusts up into you without any hesitance, gasps and whines leave his lips in tandem with your own, just as loud. Your movements are ragged, you're sensitive since you've already came and Aki takes full advantage — Rutting his dick nice and deep, he's got you falling towards the edge already. It's completely different to have him in control, to have him fuck you how he knows you like, to feel him stuttering because he doesn't want to come undone yet and to hear his focused breathing in your ear, heavy and all for you.

He melts at your earnest little noises, he kisses your cheek, kisses you like he loves you. You ask him for more and he nods, he gives you everything. More of his cock, more of his devotion.

"Aki-" You drop your forehead to his shoulder and oh, you sound perfect, "I'm gonna cum-"

Aki tremors with the weight of how close he is, his heart pounds fiercely in his chest. He holds you as close as he can get you and rocks you on his cock, giving you just enough.

"I've got you," He pants, palm working up to hold your back, his words are syrupy and warm, "I'm gonna cum inside you- Let go for me."

A few more moments and you're finishing in unison; Aki spills inside, thick and dripping, his chest heaves, his arms are trembling. Your core fills with warmth, he mutters a quiet shhh into your ear because you're getting loud. You fall limp against him and Aki keeps you close. He opens his eyes slowly, his vision a blur, coming into focus after a couple of blinks.

Your hips lift to allow him to slip out. Aki's lips purse, his palm caresses your side. He brings you up more and he presses the tip of his still hard cock to your entrance, easing in just barely at first, and then sighing along with you as he easily slides all the way back inside.

"Don't stop," Aki chokes, you can't tell if it's a plea or a command, "Not yet."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "Someone's gonna see us."

"Let them." He strokes your sides, speaks right up against your nape, "Just... stay still. Don't push yourself. But don't move. I'm begging you."

Your legs are beginning to hurt. Your head is spinning, he holds you and murmurs under his breath a weak apology, one you don't even know what for. Aki isn't a selfish man, he isn't greedy. Everything he does, he does for you, and you're sure of it. You have no idea if you can cum anymore but you're willing to try, you're going to try, because you know that's exactly what he's after.

You catch your breath for a few moments longer. Every fiber of yourself sears in the shape of his name, you start to rock your hips shallowly — The smallest movements, and yet they're still so goddamn overwhelming. Aki reminds you that you can take more with his lips on your jaw, his kind touch on your spine.

Your whole body aches with pleasure. It's hard to move, so wet and slippery from his cum. His shaft is a creamy, sticky white when you lift up nearly all the way only to sink back down. The faint kisses he gives to your neck make Aki's lips quiver, he sneaks a glance at the sight of you taking him and thinks his heart might beat right out of his chest.

You're both so fucking messy. Your thighs are soaked, his cum is leaking everywhere each time you move; you've got his chair filthy, his lap even filthier. He was supposed to pull out and he'd planned on it until he got those thoughts in his head about you being his, and despite how risky it is, all he can think of now is how badly he wants to give you some more.

He thinks he's straight-laced, yet he gives in to your temptation all too easily. He can't stop. Though, neither can you.

You can feel him in your stomach, and it's too fucking good, too perfect. Aki makes the prettiest face when he's inside you, you stare at him the moment before your foreheads touch and he looks like he might cry, but you wouldn't mind that. You'd wipe the shiny droplets from his pretty face and tell him to promise to fuck you like this for the rest of his days, never holding back, love-filled and burning with longing.

He's got you bouncing on him faster now, one hand in yours, the other resting on your ass. His bangs form a sweaty mess around his face. He keeps his forehead to your own, laces his fingers with yours and holds on like you're his only tether. He feels you slow down, listens to your feeble gasps for breath. You steady, and he takes the reigns away from you, rolling his hips, fucking you deeply with no chance to rest.

You give him one more grind into his lap with the last of your energy.

"Oh, f-fuuuck, that's it-" He's breathless, just as overwhelmed as you are, "Fuck, fuck… Say my name. Please."

You whine, shaky hand grabbing onto his tightly as he thrusts into you over and over: never rough, just heady and intense, more than you've ever been used to, but everything you need. You pant his name between heavy gasps of pleasure. Aki, Aki, Aki…

"God…" Aki can't take this, he shuts his eyes to keep them from rolling into the back of his head, "I'll never leave you, I won't leave you again I swear. Look at me."

You know he's telling the truth, you'd never doubt his words but when he holds your cheek in his hand and guides you to meet his eyes you're sure he isn't lying. Pupils blown wide, but eyes still so blue, the night sky's reflection on the ocean. His breath hitches the instant you're looking at him, his face is so hot he can't stand it. He's gonna lose it, he thinks he'll lose everything right here and now and he wouldn't even care, as long as you're with him, as long as you're happy. He needs to make you happy. Nothing else matters, nothing.

"Please, I- I'm sorry," He can hardly speak, talking through clumsy bucks of his hips, "I r-really am, 'm sorry, you're so important to me, you're everything."

You whine something inaudible, Aki kisses your lips and tastes the smoke on your breath — He wants to say more, wants desperately to mumble some nonsense about how he's gonna fix it, he won't make you miss him anymore, you can run away together or something stupid, and you're gonna be his and it'll be perfect. But once he's close, he can hardly manage anything near that, so he just says the best happy medium.

"Love you," Aki gulps, his whole body feels warm, so warm. "I really do."

You moan loud for him, you reach for his shoulders and hold onto him tight. "Love you more than anything, Aki-"

That's it. That's all he needed to hear.

Aki whimpers hard, you feel him promptly throb inside you; he freezes up and needs another second to start hastily fucking into you again. He pulls you into a hug way too tender for this, he thrusts into you as best he can with clumsy movements and weak knees, his hand gently holding the back of your head.

"I- I love you," He's crying now, he's definitely crying, "I'm so- I love you, I'm gonna- Are... are you close?"

As if on queue, you nod your head quickly and you manage to gasp, "Cumming again, I'm gonna cum-"

Aki kisses the side of your face, he curls into you, he chants your name like it's all he knows.

With a few final rocks of his hips, he brings you to the edge, you're louder than you've ever been and he says a silent prayer that none of your neighbors are out tonight. He was already close, but the feeling of you pulsing around him, tight and warm, has him cumming again right after you, filling you up for the second time. He slows gradually, he takes you to a gentle peak. You come down nice and easy, while Aki holds your chin and kisses every inch of your face.

You breathe one final huff, and then you collapse right into his chest.

"You alright?" Aki rubs your back, he lifts you off of him and briefly stumbles from the sudden lack of sensation. "Think you can keep going?"

You laugh, your voice all raspy. He smiles to himself, finding it pretty. You bury your face in his shoulder. "Dunno. Maybe."

"I'll help you clean up first. And go get condoms. The corner store a few blocks down is still open this late, I think."

"Not necessary. The second thing you said, not the first."

"I still miss you." Aki admits, honest, "I know that doesn't make any sense because you're right here, but…"

Your breathing's grown deep. You lean back, and you've got a grin tugging at your cheeks as you reach to brush stray strands of hair away from his face and behind his ears.

"We can keep going, I'd like to. If you give me a little bit to relax."

From here on out, he'll give you all that he has.

Aki wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. He gestures for you to go inside.

"My room. We've got all night."

#I keep writing ktober posts that are 3x longer than I intended them to be #aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki x you #aki hayakawa smut #aki smut

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crybaby-bkg · 1 year

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I loveee the concept of reincarnation bc it’s just so comforting!!!

oh to be reincarnated lovers with Bakugou where you find each other every life time and leave a memory of the other to find in the next lifetime. You see each other in a new lifetime, drawn to each other, swearing familiarity even though your minds disagree. But it’s something deeper within you that knows each other, misses the others embrace, and you can’t figure out why.

There’s a famous painting of someone who looks suspiciously like you made in the 1600s by some tortured artist, the muse a lover he had lost years before. There’s a statue that looks just like Bakugou from the 1800s, who everyone thought to be created after Apollo, but you beg to differ. There are letters found between two lovers, one gone off to war and the other at home, their exchange of love something poets discuss in contemporary times. Theres even skeletons found embracing each other, with one’s head tucked into the others neck.

And for some reason, every time, these figments of love appeal to you deeper than anyone else around you. They’re so familiar, and you think you might be going crazy when flashes of memories start to plague you.

Sitting in a darkly lit room, a slate of white marble in front of you, a point chisel in hand. There’s a blond man sitting behind the marble, with a sly grin, as your hands raise to start chipping away at its flawless perfection.

Sitting at home, writing away with a quilled pen to a lover you miss. Kissing the edge of the paper and pulling away to find it stained with red from your lips.

Laying in the soft grass, your face hidden in a strong neck as heavy winds start to take over you. Your arms entangled in another’s, tilting your face up to kiss a blond, stubbled jaw.

When Bakugou tells you he remembers the same things, you wonder if you’re both just on a bad trip from a drug you don’t remember taking. But you carve your names in tree trunks and wonder if you’ll find find it again hundreds of years later, if you’ll see him again, if you’ll create another piece of your unyielding love on every crevice of the earth.

#this was what t*mblr deleted last night -_-#ofc the first idea was better and I couldn’t remember what I said but WHATEVER #anyway I love reincarnation as a concept so much #so so beautiful and comforting #I lowkey wanna make this a full fic and just talk about every lifetime you’ve lived with him #…….ykw fuck it ima put it on my list bc WHY NOT #the semester is over anyway so I can write as much as I want now 😌#okay lemme go brainstorm different lives you live with him 🏃🏽‍♂️#bakugou treats! 🍬#—new treat in the streets! 🍫#I yam also open to someone suggesting different lives if you wanna !!!!

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forlix · 8 months

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𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・908 / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・hyunjin x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲(𝘀)・domestic fluff, established relationship, being hopelessly whipped for one another hehe

Hwang Hyunjin is no stranger to compliments.

How couldn’t he be, when his grip on every stadium is one of titanium, when he looks and sounds like a figment of a sweet dream, when he is all that he is? And he loves the flattery. He’ll bow graciously and utter his thanks, his head lowered just far enough to conceal the smirk on his lips that says: oh, I know.

But it’s different with you. Maybe it’s because he’s clung to everything you’ve said to him since the day you met, curating a mental archive of the greatest love he'll ever know. Maybe it’s because he feels the urge to smile just looking at your face. Maybe he's that much of an enamored idiot that your praise makes him feel like he’s touching the sky.

Whatever the reason, your compliments destroy him, and tonight is no exception.

Hyunjin’s head is hovering over the sink, headband holding back his hair, hands slathering cleanser over his skin, when his phone goes off. It’s unusual for him to receive emails so late, and he rinses and dries himself with a touch of irritation. Surely it can wait until tomorrow. But the annoyance subsides when Hyunjin starts to read: photos came out early . . . congratulations again . . . will be in touch with next steps.

Behind him, the bathroom door opens, and in walks a figure with tired eyes and a matching headband over their hairline. Hyunjin feels arms circle around his waist and a familiar warmth press up against his back. “I ran out of face soap,” you mumble.

Without looking up from his screen, Hyunjin picks up his cleanser and holds it by his hip, so that you only need extend your fingers to snatch it away. You place a kiss on his cheek as a quick way of thanks, bringing a small, helpless smile to his face.

The next few minutes are spent in silence, save for the sounds of your washing. It isn’t until you glance in the mirror and see your boyfriend’s fascination with his phone that you notice something’s up.

“What’re you looking at?” You hum, curious.

Hyunjin’s reply is casual. Too casual. “The photos from the Versace shoot came out early.”

At this, you whip around to look at him. Your face is illuminated with a smile that stretches from ear to ear, the fatigue in your eyes replaced with pure anticipation. A mysterious warmth begins to spread through Hyunjin, starting in his chest and traveling as far as his cheeks, dusting them pink with embarrassment. (And so Hyunjin’s destruction begins.)

“Show me,” you demand.

Hyunjin tilts his screen in your direction, finally unable to quell the proud grin that he’s been biting back for so long. You nestle into his side and wrap your hands around his tricep, as if looking to hang onto something for emotional support, but nothing could've prepared you for what you see: silky dark hair pinned back by a pair of white sunglasses, facial features so ethereal that they rival the sculptures of Michelangelo himself, jewelry and suit jacket dull in comparison to his golden complexion, all rearranged into poses and expressions so confident and effortless that one would think he’s been doing this for years.

It is too much for you.

The noise that comes out of your mouth is terrifying—a mixture of a moan and a gasp except you’re being mauled by a mountain lion, or something—and Hyunjin starts to laugh, the forceful, involuntary kind that seizes his entire being.

“Are you kidding me?" You let go of his arm to grab hold of his phone with both hands, bringing it within inches of your face. "Is this real life?”

“What sound did you just make—?" Hyunjin is now sliding down the wall, barely able to get his words out. "Wait, I can’t breathe, stop—”

You ignore him, and Hyunjin genuinely thinks he’s going to dissolve when he sees that you’ve zoomed in far enough for his face, just his face, to take up the entire screen. “This can’t be real,” you mutter. “You can’t be real.”

“Shut up, you idiot—”

Hyunjin suddenly feels a pair of hands on his cheeks, and you start littering kisses all over his face, first on his forehead, then his temple, then his nose, his jaw, weaving words in between to form a sentence: you are the most beautiful man in the whole world, Hwang Hyunjin. He disappears into a new fit of laughter, his cheeks sore from how hard he’s beaming, his ears burning crimson. He feels like he might burst, he’s so happy, so in love.

You then pull away for a breather, and whatever plea for mercy Hyunjin has prepared goes forgotten when it occurs to him how close the two of you are, with you basically straddling him and wisps of your hair tickling his face. And you look stunning right now, barefaced and blushing and radiant. His laughter dissipates at last, leaving behind only a helplessly fond smile that turns his eyes to crescents.

“My prince,” you whisper, bumping your nose lightly against his. “Mine.”

He physically cannot go a second longer without kissing you, leaning in and sealing his grin against yours with the intensity of an oath. Yours. Forever.

“Thank you, baby."

(The truth is that Hyunjin destroys you first. It is only natural that you return the favor.)

𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

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myarmcanfly · 1 year

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I’ve made so many new Figments that having to choose which ones to show off feels unfair! I’ve now made over 500 of these little dudes, and I love them all. There’s actually a full archive of them with a tag cloud for easier browsing over on my website: https://myarmcanfly.net/figment-familiars

#needle felting #fiber art #art doll #sculpture #soft sculpture #figment familiars #playing ketchup

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cryptidcasanova · 2 years

Text

Move Me, Baby

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Cheer tryouts are right around the corner. A wrench in his plans makes Eddie see you in a new light. He just hopes others haven’t noticed too.

Words: 6.7k

Warnings: Jealous!Eddie, Eddie is a horn-dog, Smut, Recreational Drugs.

Eddie didn't like cheerleaders.

They were nice to look at, sure. Who didn't like to look at long legs and tight skirts? And their jumps and twirls were fine, but there was no substance.

The girls were cut-out cookies of their mother's dreams. They represented Barbies and white picket fences.

It was a far stretch from his reality.

So, no, Eddie didn't like cheerleaders.

At least, not until Chrissy convinced you to try out for the team.

The Tiger Cheer Squad.

It's not like he really expected you to make it. You were a senior, so why were you trying out now? You never showed any interest in it before.

When you mentioned the tryout dates at lunch one day, they didn't think anything of it.

Eddie was too busy focusing on the campaign. In hindsight, he should have been paying more attention.

And then, on one remarkably average Friday night, you stormed into the Hellfire Club classroom with a shit-eating grin.

You were wearing a Hawkins cheer uniform.

The green skirt swayed against the top of your thighs, detailed in orange and white frills. It was distracting.

You were sporting the school colors, and there was even an oversized cardigan draped over your shoulders.

"Look out, boys," You smirked. "There's a new sheriff in town."

They finally understood why you needed a Hellfire replacement for the night.

You could hear the wires in their head sizzling, and Gareth's mouth was wide open like a fish out of water. Jeff wasn't much better. You laughed at their antics.

But you never wore shorts around them, let alone something girly. A skirt was entirely out of the question. And yet, there you were, a different version of the girl they all knew.

Somehow, you transformed from one of the freaks into a forbidden fruit. You were stunning.

And Eddie. Oh, Eddie couldn't get the image of you in that skirt out of his head.

It was engraved in his mind, and then something unnatural happened. Eddie Munson was stunned into silence. It was good that he was sitting down because his knees were weak.

Fuck.

There were no sharp remarks or familiar terms of endearment from the ruthless DM. No taunting or making jabs about turning to the dark side.

His thoughts had turned to mush, and he didn't like it. Not one bit.

You heard giggling at the door and turned your head with a gasp. You forgot you left Chrissy there.

"I've got to go tell Robin! And Nancy! Bye guys," And then you were gone, just as quickly as you appeared.

Eddie was convinced you were a figment of his imagination.

"Was that –"

"Is she –"

Eddie leaned back in his chair, realization hitting him like a ton of bricks.

He was fucked.

He thought he had more time. Eddie built a wall around you and didn't even realize it.

You were friends. You had classes with him, sat with them for almost every lunch, and were even a member of Hellfire. A daunting thought plagued him.

Maybe there was a reason why he overlooked you as anything other than a friend of the freaks - the other option was far scarier.

And he'd never live it down if he admitted that he liked you. Not now. Not now that you were a cheerleader.

The reactions around the table were all the same. They'd never admit it, but they were all looking at you with new eyes.

And if they were looking, the whole goddamned school would be looking.

"Does this mean we have to go to basketball games now?" Gareth's asked at last. Lucas scoffed.

"You guys said you'd never go to my games."

As Eddie stood up, he brushed the freshman's shoulder. "Shut it, Sinclair."

But his threat lacked bite. Eddie needed to get a hold of himself.

"Careful, Eddie," Dustin teased, noticing their DM's uncanny silence. "You're drooling."

Eddie's icy glare was enough to silence the group. They all knew how he felt about you, even if he couldn't admit it.

But even as the night crawled on and he made it home, Eddie couldn't get a grip.

You were there, intruding on his thoughts. He was used to teasing you, to getting you flustered. But now the roles were reversed, and you didn't even know what you were doing to him.

Those soft, vulnerable thighs plagued his thoughts all night long.

He tossed in his bed.

What if, just what if he could do something about it?

What if you needed help after a brutal practice? What if you stepped wrong and pulled a muscle?

He could soothe that ache. He could rub out the taut muscles; he could help you relax. His hands were strong and capable, and he could massage up the curve of your knee and over your thighs.

He could pull them up, high, over his shoulders. That would give you a nice stretch.

He groaned into his pillow. It was embarrassing how quickly he had his pants pulled down.

And it didn't stop.

Days passed, and it was almost more tormenting to see you in your regular clothes, knowing what he had seen.

He was fixated, acting like a total creep. But you didn't notice or seem to treat him any differently.

Eddie started staying late on other weeknights, and you waved him down if you noticed his van after practices.

He knew it was selfish.

He'd focus on how you walked in those white cheer shoes and how you were out of breath and flushed after practice.

Sometimes he'd offer to drive you home. Other nights you helped him with history homework when he groaned about his grade.

But really, he was looking for an excuse to see you in your uniform. It was starting to get worse.

Eddie's other friends kept a wide berth until he cut out the chicken shit and talked to you about it, but it never happened. He was as annoying and charming as ever, but he never took the next step.

One night, you two went to Benny’s after practice to work on new character ideas for the campaign.

You were drawing character designs, and he was working on backstories, but Benny’s was so damn cold. Their furnace was busted, and they were waiting for parts to fix it.

You didn’t have your cardigan. Eddie watched on as you braved the cool air. But you couldn’t hide your goosebumps with your arms sprawled across the table. You were in the zone, drawing a distorted goblin king, when you felt a jacket being placed over your shoulders.

You jumped up. It took a moment, but you relaxed when you realized it was just Eddie. You didn’t even hear him get up.

“It’s just me, Princess.” He teased, smoothing his jean jacket down the top of your spine.

You were used to the nicknames, but you weren't used to the low timber in his voice or Eddie's eyes lingering. As he sat back down, there was the quip of a smirk on his lips.

He’d never given you his jacket before.

Usually, if anyone complained, usually about how cold the Hellfire room was, he’d snap at them to ‘toughen up, buttercup.’

It smelled like him, like wood smoke and stolen aftershave from his uncle. Not to mention, it was warm. You pulled your arms through the sleeves, pulling the jacket tight before looking back at him.

"Thanks, Eds," You grinned.

But his actions weren't entirely chivalrous.

You two were sitting in a booth. You were facing the wall, but Eddie had a view of everything. You weren't the only Hawkins High kids hanging out at Benny's.

He spotted a couple of band kids in the corner and basketball players across the restaurant. Eddie noticed that you were unaware of their stares lingering on your legs, but he saw everything.

Giving you his jacket was the least he could do.

It kept you warm, and it let the rest of the vultures know that he was staking his claim. And it looked good on you too.

“You know, sometimes I feel bad about trying out for the cheer squad,” You admitted in between sips of stale soda. “I missed this: Making characters, building up heroes.”

You regretted the time you missed with Hellfire.

“You mean it?” Eddie asked, looking up from his character sheet. “You seem to like it.”

“The girls are nice, but,” You paused, looking out the window. “It’s not the same.”

The girls were nice, at least, most of the time.

You weren’t clumsy, but they weren't kind whenever you stepped on their shoes, or your hands were in the wrong place. There wasn’t a lot of forgiveness. Chrissy was the exception, but she wasn’t a replacement for Hellfire.

She wasn’t a replacement for Eddie. You thought about it with a sheepish grin.

“Well, it sounds like you need a cheerleader.”

You looked up, and Eddie’s hands were folded in front of him.

“And while I am severely underqualified,” His voice was low, leaning in so that no one else could overhear, “I will do my best.”

The smile on your face was rare.

He had seen it once, maybe twice, when you rolled a natural twenty on game nights. It was like sunshine. You were like sunshine.

Eddie offered you his hand at the end of the night, pulling you up from the booth with a squeal. That would surely get the attention of everyone else in the diner. He grinned. His heart swelled with an affection he couldn't articulate.

He opened the car door for you when you got home, bowing like a court jester. Even when you offered his jacket back at the end of the night, he shook his head.

"I think it's a good look. Denim and polyester, I mean." Eddie teased, and you bumped his shoulder.

He didn't plan for you to get so close that his hand grazed the side of your leg. But you were soft, so soft. He had to stop himself from reaching out, from holding you right there. His rings were cold, and if you didn't have goosebumps before, he could feel them now.

But you didn't mention it as you stepped back.

"Goodnight, Eddie the Brave." You grinned, bowing at him valiantly. You kept the jacket, and he didn't walk back to his side of the car until you made it up to the doorstep.

"Goodnight, princess."

"So, are you gonna tell her?" Dustin dropped his library books down with a thud, making Eddie jump up from the lunch table.

"Jesus H Christ," Eddie scowled, putting a hand on his chest. "Henderson, what the hell are you going on about?"

Eddie wasn’t nearly as put together as usual. His curls were frizzy, and his eyes were tired. Dustin was convinced his shirt was inside out, but he didn’t say anything. Eddie looked like shit.

He lost track of time that morning.

His wet dream bled into his first-period class, but he couldn’t find it in him to get up. Not when his dreams were tormented by you. God, the things he saw, the sounds you made.

He had it bad. Even then, with his leg shaking under the lunchroom table, he had to distract himself from thinking of you.

“Eddie, snap out of it,” Dustin called out with the snap of his fingers. Big brown eyes stared up at him, but he was far away. “Oh, shit, man. You’ve got it bad.”

“I preferred it when you were revved about new Judas Priest records,” Gareth added, sitting down next to Eddie.

“Listen, you little weasels,” Eddie warned, “I don’t know what the hell you’re going on about.”

His denial made the rest of the table groan.

He was busy pointing his finger around the table, only to be interrupted by the intercom. They were calling all of the cheerleaders to the gym after lunch.

The first basketball game of the season was on tomorrow, and the pep rally was first thing in the morning.

“If you don’t tell her, she’ll move on. You’re squandering it,” Dustin emphasized. “Squandering it!”

“Squandering what?” You asked, walking up and sitting down on the other side of the table.

“He’s –” Gareth choked on his drink, making Dustin roll his eyes.

“Dusty here thinks that I,” Eddie put his hands on his chest innocently, “am acting like a fool.”

The dramatics made your eyebrows raise before looking around the table.

“What else is new?”

Your joke was so dry that it took a moment for the guys to catch on.

It was with an overextended laugh that Dustin let out a breath of relief. Eddie hit him on the shoulder to get him to quiet down.

Lunch was quiet, painfully quiet, and as you pushed your lunchroom spaghetti around the plate, you looked over at the group of cheerleaders. Chrissy caught your eye, offering a small wave. You couldn’t help but smile back.

“So,” You started gently, “I’m excited about the game.”

You watched as the guys poked their heads up from their plates. Eddie was looking intently at his lunchbox.

“No pressure, but do you guys, maybe, want to come?” Your voice was meek. You knew how they felt about the kinds of kids that went to the school games. But you thought it couldn’t hurt to ask. “And we could pick up a pizza after and go throw rocks at –“

“Of course we’ll be there.” Eddie finally looked up from his lunchbox.

He let loose a tight-lipped smile, but it didn’t make it up to those big brown eyes.

“It’s a big day. It’s a big day for you and Sinclair, right?” Eddie added.

“R-Right,” Lucas agreed, looking from Eddie to you with a nod.

You couldn’t help but give the group an incredulous grin. You knew they hated it. You knew it, and they were supporting you anyway.

“But there better be pizza, sweetheart,” Eddie added.

“Oh, of course. Naturally.” You said, shaking your head at the contingency.

Dustin thought he was going to be sick. It was painfully obvious that you two were ogling over each other. He shared a similar expression with Mike and Lucas.

It was gross.

They needed to find a solution, and fast.

After lunch, you changed and headed to pep rally practice, meaning that Eddie was left to fend for himself in Mrs. Click’s class.

The lesson was incredibly dull, and Eddie was twirling a pencil in his hand, letting his mind wander.

He knew you were about a hundred feet away in the gym, changing into your cheer uniform. He was so close, and yet, so far.

Maybe he could take the long way around if he asked to go to the bathroom. He could walk past the gym and catch a glance –

“Mr. Munson,” Mrs. Click chided, snapping him out of his daze. “Are you even listening?”

The old woman’s expression was grim, and the kids around his chair were snickering.

“Oh, absolutely,” He assured. “I was listening to your sweet, sweet recounts of the square root or the hypothesis of the triangle.”

“Hypotenuse.”

“Gesundheit.” He replied. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

With a reluctant nod, she gave Eddie the hall pass.

And he was off, creeping towards the gym with quiet steps. But what Eddie didn’t expect was that he wasn’t the only one with the same idea.

Jason Carver and one of his friends were leaning against the door, peeking into the gym window. Eddie thought of making a detour but stopped when he heard them say your name.

“She’s not bad,”

“She’s not Chrissy,” Jason corrected, tilting his head. “But you’re right,” He paused. “She’s flexible. Nice ass.”

The other basketball player agreed.

For a moment, Eddie couldn’t think straight.

They never looked twice at you, but now, they were hound dogs. Not that he was any better, but that didn’t help the jealousy riddling his veins.

“But she is still hanging out with that freak. Not the kind of girl to bring home to your parents,” Jason said.

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“That’s the perfect kind of girl,” His friend argued. “You don’t have to take her home to your parents.”

The basketball players laughed, and Eddie wanted to call out and tell them to fuck off.

“Besides,” The basketball player added, “I talked to her before she ran into the gym. She said she was gonna come to your party this weekend with Chrissy. And between you and me,” He whispered to Jason. “She was laying it on thick. I don’t think she’ll be at the freak table much longer.”

Eddie frowned, backing up until he was out of sight.

He wasn’t good at expressing his emotions, but his jealousy dissolved into fear. As hard as he tried to fight it, he had tunnel vision.

Maybe Henderson was right. Maybe you were done waiting for him.

You didn’t see Eddie after school.

You didn’t have practice and ended up walking home with the Sinclair kids.

Erica was excited to be a sub for Mike at Hellfire Club. You were the one who gave her an honorary Hellfire shirt the week before, and she had been stuck at your side when she made it to game nights.

Lucas was excited about the basketball game. You nodded in mutual excitement, stepping into the grass when the sidewalk was too narrow.

“Alex Johnson tried to talk to me today,” you told him, and Lucas made a face. It was one that clearly told you how he felt about his teammate.

“He’s a meathead.”

You laughed. “Oh, absolutely.” You agreed. “There’s not a lot going on upstairs.”

“I’d stay away from him,” Lucas added.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. But he cornered me, Chrissy, and a few other girls on the cheer squad. He wanted to make sure we will go to Jason Carver’s party this weekend.” You explained, rolling your eyes.

“He’s deluded,” Erica said. Her face was unimpressed.

“And desperate.” You added, making the younger girl grin. “Besides, Hellfire is that night. No way I’m missing that.”

“So you lied to the biggest meathead in Hawkins.” Lucas realized, shaking his head. You shrugged innocently.

“Oops.”

The pep rally was too early, but you were up before your alarm clock. Call it nerves. You were nervous but excited. It was a big day for you.

The parking lot was crowded, and even though you waited for the familiar van in the parking lot, eventually you had to go in and get ready.

You spotted Dustin and Mike sitting next to Max and Gareth. It was like the gang was all there – begrudgingly – but they were there. Well, all except for one person.

Eddie wasn’t there.

You kept turning around, hoping to catch him sneaking in. Even in-between your cheer sets, you stole glances at your friends. But he never showed.

You even waved at Lucas as he came out and stood with the basketball team.

After the grand victory speeches and the marching band playing, you watched as people filtered out of the gym.

You weren’t going to take it personally; Eddie was never a morning person.

You followed the girls back into the locker room. Chrissy was putting on Jason’s school jacket, and you watched as the other girls put their cardigans on top of their uniforms. You never wore your uniform outside of practice before. And you were going to make a splash of it.

The day crawled on until lunch rolled around, and the Hellfire Club table was still missing the most dignified member of their club. Their infamous DM wasn’t there.

Jeff, Gareth, and Tony were quiet. Even Mike and Dustin were confused. It was a big day. Where was Eddie?

It wasn’t until Dustin was nudged on the shoulder that he looked away from the table.

You were walking towards them, all dolled up in your cheer uniform.

Green scrunchie, white socks, flowing skirt. It looked perfect. If anything looked out of place, it was the stained denim jacket over your shoulders.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Mike asked before he could stop himself.

But everyone was thinking about it.

You were a cheerleader wearing Eddie the freak Munson’s jacket. Publicly. In front of the entire student population.

And you were pretty damn proud of it, too, aside from the small fact that you couldn’t find the one person you wanted to show it off to.

“I was gonna surprise him, but,” You faded off, looking at the rest of the table. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Have you guys seen Eddie?”

Everyone shook their heads. You heard a couple of the basketball players scoff behind you as they walked over to their table.

“Eddie gave you his jacket?” Gareth asked, genuinely confused.

Gareth and Eddie went way back, and there’s no way in hell that Eddie would have done that. He loved that jacket.

“He let me borrow it.”

“So he talked to you then?” Dustin was confused but let out a sigh of relief. “Because it’s about damn time. I knew he had it in him-ouch!” He glared at Jeff, who definitely kicked him under the table.

You were quiet for a moment, looking between them.

By the looks on their faces, Dustin definitely overstepped. The guys looked mortified. But the thing about Henderson was that he was smarter than the rest of them put together.

And there was only one person you wanted to talk to.

“Dustin,” You turned towards the freshman that was reluctant to meet your stare. “I need your bike.”

You couldn’t have known that Eddie spent the night hotboxing in his van to try and numb all of the feelings coming at him.

He felt sorry for himself and angry at the vultures that made up the basketball team. He was mad at himself for being a coward and not owning up to his fucked up affection for you.

And then, on top of everything else, he was so horny. He couldn’t get you out of his head, and the only way he could bear it was to imagine that he had done everything right.

He should have asked you out before you decided to try out for the cheer team. He would have showered you in kisses. He would have bought you all the prettiest skirts, and then he could show you off in front of the basketball team.

He would have ripped them off of you. Eddie would make you feel so good; he was convinced of it. He would have ravished you, licking, biting, and loving on those thighs that tormented him. He would have treasured you and made you scream his name for all Hawkins to hear.

So when he heard a banging on the front door, Eddie jumped up.

He was disoriented.

Wayne wouldn’t have done that. He poked his head up to the window and cursed, seeing you on the front porch. He looked over to the clock.

Shit. It was the middle of the day. He groaned, throwing his head back.

He hurried to stand, throwing on a pair of jeans and tripping on his way to the door. His jean jacket was the only shirt close by, but he rolled it over his shoulders before reaching for the lock.

The sunlight was too bright when he opened the door, so he had to take a step back before looking at you.

He called your name gently.

“What are you doing here?”

Eddie tried to be calm, but his heart was still frantic.

“I could ask you the same,” You were equally out of breath.

Only then did he see Dustin’s bike thrown to the ground outside. He cursed under his breath. You rode a bike all the way from school to his house. It was almost five miles of riding. And in a skirt, nonetheless.

“You gonna let me in, Munson?” You pulled his attention back to you, and it took a moment for his brain to catch up.

He jumped into action, stepping aside. You were careful walking in, looking around with a frown.

“You okay?” You asked.

Eddie’s hair was messy, his bangs were out of place, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked tired, troubled even.

He was breathing heavily, and as you looked down, you caught sight of the jean vest…and nothing else. His guitar pick necklace was in place, but your eyes went lower to the soft chest hair and his belly button, leading to a patch of hair that disappeared at the tops of his jeans.

“Is this a bad time?” You joked when he didn’t say anything.

But Eddie couldn’t believe you were there, in his house, in the middle of the day.

He was thrown off guard, tumbling to say the right thing. Fuck.

“Eddie, talk to me,” You urged. “What’s the matter?”

He mustered up a sobering breath before running a hand over his face.

“I’m preparing for the end,” He admitted. “You’re going to leave us for the jocks and the cheerleaders.” His words were low, his voice deep and steady.

He was biting back a new wave of unrequited emotions, feeling ridiculous for saying it out loud.

“You’re going to leave us. You’re gonna leave me.”

He took a step back towards the safety of his room.

“You’re going to leave because I’m no hero. I’ve been nothing but a coward.”

And in an instant, all of the pieces came together. Eddie was hiding. He wasn’t hiding from you but from himself.

You took a half step closer.

“Eddie-”

“You don’t want a coward, sweetheart.” He cut you off; those cynical eyes were looking at you in a warning. “You don’t want someone who can’t get the guts to ask you to dinner or take you on nice dates. You don’t want to be with a creep that can’t keep his mind out of the gutter for two seconds when you’re around.

“Especially not like this. You can’t just strut in here wearing that the way you do. Christ, what were you thinking?” He cursed lightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your ass must have been on display for the entire town riding over here.”

You paused, letting his words settle between you.

You looked at him again with fresh eyes. Eddie was flushed, his hair plastered to his forehead. His mouth was parted, and those dark eyes were blown wide with lust. Your own eyes must have widened in realization.

Oh, Eddie.

“Why are you wearing that?” He asked suddenly.

He was thrown off by seeing you at his house that he didn’t even register that you were wearing his jacket over your cheer uniform.

You looked down for a moment, resting a hand across your forehead with a sheepish grin.

“I thought,” You laughed anxiously, looking away from him. “Most girls wear their boyfriend’s lettermen jackets on game days…and I wore your jacket. All day.”

He listened, but you could tell the words weren’t fully registering. He took a couple of weak steps towards you.

“At school?” He asked, more confused than ever. “On purpose?”

You rolled your eyes.

“On purpose.”

“Don’t torment me, princess.” His voice wavered. “Why did you do that?”

You couldn’t take it anymore, dancing around him.

“Well, I thought we kind of were something.” You explained, stepping up to him. “I thought you’d like it.”

His stare was heavy, holding you to the spot.

You could see him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing before he licked his lips. Being so close to him never felt so charged.

Eddie didn’t say anything; he couldn’t. Not with this new information. It was too much to be under his wilting stare.

“Do you want your jacket back?”

“No.”

His reply was instant. His hands moved, bravely now, to your hips. But his eyes were locked on your own, dipping once down to your lips before back up.

“Eddie –”

“You gotta tell me to stop, sweetheart.” His eyes were half-lidded, watching you with a dark gaze. “I can’t take it, watching you walk around like that. Tell me to stop, or I’ll-”

You stopped him with a kiss. And it was long overdue.

Slow and poisonous, you pulled yourself into his hold as you let your eyes close.

It was tender, feeling the way his lips parted with yours. He was, wow. He was captivating.

Eddie tasted like toothpaste and lingering notes of weed, but you didn’t mind. He was eager but bewitched, watching your expression for a moment. But it wasn’t long until his eyes were closed, letting it consume him wholly.

You broke apart but went back for another, and then another until your hands were tangled in his hair. You weren’t about to let him go.

And Eddie’s hands tugged you closer until your hips were flush against his own. In a wild moment of courage, he grabbed your ass with both hands. Your breath hitched, and he smirked against your lips.

It was his turn to torment you.

His hands were kneading and groping, and he couldn’t get enough.

None of his daydreams were this good, and he needed to have more. He was greedy, his hands wandering lower. He was kneading and threading his fingers against the back of your thighs, grinding you into his body.

You were flush against his skin, his bare chest digging into your cheer uniform. All you could feel was the heat radiating off him. And when he moved away and back again, your focus changed.

His jeans were no match for the aching need between his legs. He was hot and bothered long before you showed up, and now his body was thrumming. He needed it, needed you.

Eddie’s attention was brutal, and when his lips moved from your lips down to the column of your throat, you made a noise you had never heard before. He cursed against your skin.

Slow and low and needy, you were moaning at his touch.

It was unapologetic. You were so easy to let him take control. His mouth was hot, his tongue and teeth drawing a pattern on your skin.

“Come on, Eddie,” You finally gathered the words to say. “It’s always been you.”

You were melting into him. And then he was moving, pulling you through the trailer back to his room.

The air was heavier in there, smelling like sweat and cologne and Eddie. It was heady, being so close to his sanctuary. You were an invader, urging your way in.

You tugged at his scalp and pulled him back into a searing kiss. Eddie hissed. It was all tongue and teeth, and you were pulled down on top of him in a rush.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, bringing you down to straddle him.

Seeing you there with your skirt splayed out around you was filthy. Your thighs were flattened against his, and his eyes rolled back.

His hands were still at the back of your thighs, pulling you closer and closer. You felt all of him. Your eyes were wide as he ground your body against his until your pubic bones collided. Your panties were a laughable barrier, dragging across the denim as he kneaded your skin. But your eyes rolled back, following his lead.

And when you started to move on your own, in tandem with his grinding, he stopped.

“Fuck, princess.” Eddie’s groan was wicked. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. It’s too much, it too-“ But he stopped when you reached for his jean vest, pulling it down his arms and throwing it to the floor.

“You’re so goddamned pretty,” You praised, your fingers dancing along his collar and down his chest. “Just let me have this, Eds. Please.”

Even in the confines of his pants, you could feel just how eager he was. He was jumping up at each new discovery of your hands.

Your hands lingered on his face and neck but wandered lower. At last, you stopped, looking down at where your skirt covered the top of his jeans.

You called his name.

He didn’t even realize he was thrusting up against your body until you cradled his cheek in your hand.

“I need you so bad. It’s killing me. Please, sweetheart,” he begged. “I just want to make you feel good. Let me make you feel good.”

He was in delirium, and he had hardly touched you.

“I want to show you how crazy you make me.” He groaned as you palmed over the bulge in his pants. “Holy sh – I’ve got to show you. I’ve got to show you.

“Eddie, baby,” You urged him to look at you.

His eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open. You had never called him that before.

“I want it. I want you.”

But before you could say anything else, his hand moved, brushing dangerously between your legs. You were trembling in anticipation as his fingers swept over the weeping cut of your body. He groaned.

You were soaked through your panties, and his fingers tormented you until you couldn’t help but buck up into his hand.

“Oh, that’s it, sweetheart.”

The endearment rang through your chest, and you were a goner when his fingers finally slid under your panties. Your slick coated his fingers, his thumb pressing against your clit as he explored. His fingers swept through the cut of your body, eagerly testing the waters before slipping a finger inside you.

He looked at you with a boyish grin before kissing you again. It was easy to get swallowed up in Eddie.

He could have come at the idea alone of how wet he made you, of how responsive you were. But he needed more.

In a moment of brute strength, he pulled you up with him so that he could pull his pants down over his hips. When he sat back down, you were giving him your own lusty gaze. He could eat you up.

If you thought you could feel him before, you were wrong.

He was hard and waiting, so close to where you needed him to be but only saved by the cotton between your legs. The friction was heavier now, and you were practically dripping down against him. Eddie was a menace.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, but you knew what he was really asking.

Are you sure you want me?

You’d never been more sure in your life.

“I want all of you, Eds,” You ruffled his hair with a grin. You could have sworn there were stars in his eyes.

But while you were enamored, you didn’t register that Eddie was lifting up your hips.

The movement was slight, pinning you close to him when you felt him bare against the cut of your body. He was heavy and hot, and in your tantric bliss, your panties had been pulled to the side. He was letting you sink down onto him, his eyes locked as you held on to his arms. He was all-encompassing.

The stretch of him taking refuge in your body burned all around you, and for the first time in his life, Eddie felt a kind of security he had never known. It knocked the air out of his lungs.

He needed to hold you. He needed to kiss you. But in another frightening surprise, you sank down onto his cock like you belonged there.

He didn’t deserve you.

“I need you to move,” He begged. “I’ve been dreaming of this for so long, princess, and now I need you to move.”

He wanted to show you all the things he wanted to do to you, all the nasty things he fantasized about, but you wouldn’t move. You were a queen, sitting on your throne, and we was going to combust if he looked at you for too long.

He held on to your hips, urging you to move, begging you to, but you pulled him in for another kiss. This was different; showing him all the waiting was worth it. You were trying to show him that he was worth it.

At last, you gave him the reprieve he was looking for.

You held onto him, pulling yourself up before sinking back down again. The sound was sinful. Your breathy moan was heavenly.

Eddie watched you take what you needed, dressed up in your cheer uniform and with his jacket still surrounding you. He thought he had died and made it to heaven.

But he wasn’t going to let you do it alone. His hand snaked around to the front of your body, sneaking underneath the frills of your skirt. His thumb took refuge there, brushing against your clit.

You were enamored, lost in the feeling of his hands and the thickness of his cock. It felt like a fever dream.

You don’t know when he started thrusting up, moving your hip with his free hand, but before you knew it, you felt a warm, familiar buzzing low in your stomach.

It was too soon.

You gasped when Eddie pulled you down on him, hard. You couldn’t adjust fast enough as he watched your reaction, doing it repeatedly until you were grabbing onto his shoulders. You needed a lifeline, a break. You needed –

“You’re fighting it, sweetheart.” Eddie groaned, giving you an open-mouthed kiss. “What are you waiting for?”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and the intensity of his gaze was overwhelming.

“I’ll catch you.” He promised. “Let go.”

And you believed him. You cursed into his mouth as you bounced on his length. Eddie’s chant was repeated in your head until you were crying out around him. You hit your peak. It didn’t crash like waves but was a steady, beaming feeling that left you warm inside.

There were butterflies in your stomach.

Eddie was looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. It was so fucking pretty to watch you come undone around him. And as he watched you come down, he was finally able to crest, groaning as his hips chased his pleasure.

You were holding and kissing him, sucking him in with everything you had. He didn’t want it to end.

It was better than any high he had.

And when he was finally lucid enough to form a coherent thought, he tackled you down to the bed with a mighty roar. Your shriek of terror was replaced by your own laugh.

The two of you were beaming.

The mood had shifted. Your Eddie was back.

"I guess this makes you a freak, huh?" He joked, brushing his thumb over your cheek. His hand moved, reaching out to grab onto his jacket. "You were probably quite the spectacle today."

You scoffed, pulling your leg between his.

"Oh, absolutely," You exaggerated, thinking about the whispers in the halls and the snarky remarks from the jocks. "Which is why I could use a cheerleader tonight."

Eddie gave you a long, endearing look before giving you a wink.

"I think I can manage."

That night, it was no surprise that everyone came to the first basketball game of the season.

Hellfire Club was loud - booing for both basketball teams but cheering on the cheerleaders. They were high on Eddie’s high. Anytime you caught Eddie's stare, he would hoot and holler like a maniac - much to the coaches' frustration.

But Eddie the freak Munson loved to show off. And oh boy, he was ready to show you off.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #eddie x reader

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