#however if you don’t feel like ignoring - the links to all my fics are just below the cut 👀

[aqpippin]

✨ MASTERLIST ✨

hello!! I’m pip, I’m 25, and I’m from australia!! I’ve been known to churn out a fic from time to time!!

behind the cut is some handy links to specific fics, as well as my tags for writing + recs

(last edited: June 11, 2024 (new fic!! + age change 🥳))

✨ CURRENT WIPS ✨

→ goodecox au (goodecox bakery au)

→ hamptons au (goodecox)

→ teach me, teach me, teach me (how to love) (goodecox professors au)

✨ PUBLISHED FICS ✨

SERIES + MULTICHAPS

→ happenings of happenstance (on someone else’s playground) (goodecox (smut chaps 7 + 9) (complete, 10 chapters))

→ I drive down different roads (but they all lead back to you) (goodecox (smut) (complete, 2 chapters))

→ take my hand, save your soul (jankie (smut))

↳ fics in this series — god is a woman, keep on flourishing, show me divine love

→ I think (crygi (smut))

↳ fics in this series — I think I’ve fallen in love

→ back to you (craquaria (complete, 5 chapters))

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

ONESHOTS

-> what’s in a name? (methydcox) ✨NEW✨

-> I didn't mean to do it (but there's no escaping your love) (grandekofi (smut))

-> give me the first taste (heaven cannot wait forever) (grandekofi (smut))

→ all gilded and golden (I’m your girl) (goodecox (smut))

→ close to you (crygi)

→ now. here. everywhere. (goodecox)

→ sleeping with strangers (goodecox (smut))

→ you know that I’m greedy for love (jankie (smut))

→ I leave the light on for you (jankie)

→ not a house, but a home (jankie)

→ talk me down (jankie)

✨ GENERAL ✨

→ ao3

→ pinterest

→ writing tag (wip wednesdays, six sentence sundays, the occasional prompt, shameless self-reblogs)

→ fic recs (favourite fics written by others)

→ prompts (things that have piqued my interest)

[wroteclassicaly]

She’s Trouble

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader)

Summary: Tired of trailing behind, feeling like you don’t matter much, you decide that 86’ isn’t only going to be your bestfriend’s year.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Word count: 16,185

Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of drug usage, blood, NSFW, smut, drinking, Eddie is angry and sad in this, masturbation, slight voyeurism, breeding kink, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, angry sex, creampie, angst, fighting, rough sex, Dom!Eddie, and MORE!

A/N: I started writing this based off the scene of Eddie smirking at the cheerleaders he lets by after his cafeteria speech. And, well… it’s spawned itself a new life and turned into a whole lot more than I planned. But so is the life of an author, am I right? ;) Eddie is a dick in this, Reader is a lot more vocal than I’ve written before. I wanted to do something a bit different and I hope this accomplishes my mission?

I wanna thank @littledemondani for helping me out of my brain fart on which direction to take this! Also, do check out her masterlist, which is pinned at the top of her blog (it won’t let me link it here). She’s an incredible author and a fellow Eddie Munson slut, and one of my longtime best-friends! ♥️

Side note: I’ve also shifted a few things in the timeline of the show, for obvious reasons. The whole Eddie/Chrissy thing doesn’t happen on the same night as in the series. Chrissy and the reader have a good interaction and Eddie is a dickhead, but his reasoning will be explained. Also, while the reader is wearing a bustier top, this is an all inclusive fic, where the reader can be anything you imagine! I believe anyone can wear anything that they choose to—regardless of their size, so don’t let that bit of the story deter your perception, as I’ve left it open-ended! ;)

Enjoy! I’ve got a lot coming up soon! Part twos of multiple fics, prompts, plus other goodies! <3 - Kristen

~*~

You watch the way that he tries to be cute and coy towards them, attempts to impress with a dramatic wave through of his hand. Short skirts, tight little tops, bouncing ponytails, and a shitload of generic gossip on their painted lips—they pass by, everything included but those damned pom poms. Apparently they are giddy at his little show of calling out every group but your own in the cafeteria. Your eyes roll so hard that you feel a protesting sting, ignoring it to stab your fork into whatever creation is wiggling on your lunch tray. All the guys—freshman to seniors, and you—the only girl since founding, and Hellfire Club’s treasurer/manager to Corroded Coffin—make up the outsider table.

This year, however, you’ve felt so fucking off base with this group and their antics that you’re getting exhausted pretending to care about their shit when they don’t respect you or yours. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike are always the sweetest to you, even with Lucas joining a sport, he’s still quick to always give you a smile and a nod whenever you pass him in the halls. They’re young, unlike Eddie and the older guys. You’re finally a senior this year, but still behind your bestfriend by a year in age. All this used to be okay, Eddie multiplying how much he repeats the grade, you trailing behind him like a lost puppy without any brain of her own, but now—it’s unbearably smothering.

And thus, it’s been building. You’re over bringing chips that are from your personal stash and using your gas to go buy smokes with your small work paycheck, or clean equipment for Eddie’s band, or stay up all night just to design campaign posters for Eddie, only for him to be so fucking stoned that he doesn’t even appreciate it, nor remember it.

“Fucking fake losers,” Jeff mutters.

“So fake,” Gareth agrees, both looking towards Eddie as he settles himself back down, wiggling his brows at you.

It’s an unsettling pressure that boils inside you, crackling, and as soon as you look into your best-friend’s brown doe eyes—it all comes apart. “You wanna talk about fake?” Your chest pumps a rush of adrenaline, helping careen the words off your tongue before you can stop them. Everyone’s attention snaps quicker than you’re prepared for, eyes wide and shocked. Sure, you’re vocal and sassy, but never outwardly angry. “The fact that all of you will condemn the basketball players, but would give up any of your seats at our table for one of the bitches in a skirt that they chase, if they popped their gum or batted an eyelash. You’d all be a bunch of drooling, little horndogs.” You can feel your heart racing with each pronunciation of a word, rising from your seat, knuckles white from gripping the edges of your yellow tray so hard.

You hear Dustin whisper a ‘whoa’, but your vocal vomit doesn’t stop.

“Frankly? I’m fucking sick of all this.” You pick the tray up and slam it down for good measure, unwrapping your messenger bag from around your seat, and you leave the table of gaping young men behind you, not even indulging yourself in Eddie’s bugged out, concerned stare.

You don’t even have time to throw your bag across your chest, when Jason Carver shouts out from behind you, “Damn, look at Munson’s slut go!”

It seems your group aren’t the only ones taking an interest in your outburst. Your breath is engorged in jagged pants of pitiful air, a fire coursing through you faster than you can handle, your skin singing, prickling with goosebumps. Your cheeks redden in humiliation, your feet swiveling and carrying you, fast and quick to their table, you throw your bag off, body like some damned slow motion track. Everyone notices Eddie’s antics, but you’ve never garnered any attention. It’s a surreal high.

Your combat boots click across the cement flooring, your hair like a dead weight across your back. Carver and his entire group are expectant, chairs scraping across to get out of your way. It’s all such a blur that you don’t even know your fist has collided with Jason’s face until you feel the pressure bite into your knuckles, a crunch beneath your force. He shrieks, his friends jumping to his aid, your stance shifting, ready to take anyone on. Your ears are bubbling with a murky static, applause in some direction, shouts in others.

Your name is being shouted from two different directions, the one you see stomping angrily towards you belonging to principal Higgins. He’s calling for help, shoving his finger in your face, motioning to your shirt. “This Hellfire Club does nothing but cause trouble!”

You snort, completely coming off your hinges, shaking the ends of your shirt, before stepping back and flinging it over your head, leaving you clad in your jeans and a leather bustier top no one could ever picture you owning. You’ve always kept your shit to a minimum to draw less attention, but you liked the support it provided your breasts with. You spin around, hands in the air, using the shirt as a lasso, tossing it at your old table. You begin to giggle, honestly wondering if you should visit the school nurse, but uncaring. Higgins is literally sputtering, making you snort, waving a hand. “I’m a slut, I’m trouble. Anyone have anything else to add? No? Yes?”

You bend back over to snatch your nap sack up, motioning to Higgins. “Lead the way to your office, Sir! Please fucking do.”

The pep in your step as your principal is angrily leading you from the masses is such a euphoric feeling, you’re sure you’ll never feel again in your life. You can taste the drama on your tongue’s tip. You don’t even spare your friends a glance, not wanting Eddie to have a morsel of satisfaction. This is your moment. Not as Eddie Munson’s best-friend, not as his groupie. As Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.

~*~

Eddie Munson has been clutching your discarded Hellfire shirt, doused in your perfume that is brimming his nostrils full, damn near trembling for the past twenty minutes that finish up lunch. He can’t move, that swelling between his legs keeping him glued to his seat, all the images of your fist soaring into Jason Carver’s face, ripping off your clothing in front of Higgins and the entire damned school. He went from concerned, angry at how you acted, to so fucking turned on that his stomach knotted up, sucking him to where he’s seated, his cock throbbing in his jeans. He’s never seen you like this.

The guys are silent, unsure what to say, how to even go about comprehending the you they just saw, that even Eddie himself has never heard of. He knows one thing for sure—okay—two. He has to find out if you’re okay and what’s going on.

~*~

You roll your eyes at the lovely note, signature of a three day suspension secured by Higgins at the bottom. Crumbling it up, you slide it into your back pocket, rifling through your pin tattered bag for a cigarette. You already know where you’re gonna go, and it sure as hell isn’t home. No one is there and no one is gonna care about your minor indecency. You can forge your mom’s signature, much like you do every good grade you bring home that she’s never around to see, or every comment from a teacher about how your folks are missing out.

It’s quiet at your house, your space. You parents more or less sleep there when they’re not gone on business. Pinching the filter, you cup Eddie’s stolen Zippo, that ashy hiss helping beckon that sweet bitter taste in past your lips. You don’t desire that home front solace right now, craving different scenery.

Maybe I’ll get lost…

You feel like Hawkins is your oyster, and you’re eager to explore on your own terms, by yourself. You’ve got your smokes, your pocket knife, and a pen and paper. That’s enough for you to make a decision.

Skull Rock it is.

~*~

One thing about Indiana is the ever predictable bite of hot weather that March brings. Spring is automatically Summer in the Midwest, and this is no different. Your leather top had stuck to your skin in an uncomfortable crunching press, making you eventually discard it, leaving you topless, your only accessories a chain with your birthstone pendant and a thicker silver chain, with a cheesy little guitar charm (a present from Eddie) nestled between your breasts. Your form is shaped against the rock behind your bare shoulder blades, a cool sensation that has you tilting your head back, stretching your neck, treetops breezing above you—tall and luscious. You smile softly, undoing the flap on your bag and seeking out your Walkman and sunglasses.

In moments your eyelids are fluttering closed, shielded from sun rays, your Walkman clicking in place, readying Heart’s Barracuda to nick your ears, coasting in welcomed caresses. It’s not thick heavy metal, but it’s you. And in the serenity of these woods, another cigarette you allow yourself—you begin to drift off in a galactic solitude that is solely your own. You’d learnt how to count beats, read sheet music, even sing a few notes from Eddie, so getting into your song’s groove isn’t hard for you, your fingers wrapping around your chain, tapping underneath the swell of your breast along with the chorus. You’re off the precipice and gone, demolished to the point you don’t hear the familiar footsteps, the sound of your name, or leaves and dirt crunching beneath white Reeboks, nor do you hear a throat-deep groan at his discovery.

~*~

Eddie and you always share this in synch kinda shit, which creeps a lot of people in your circle out. Eddie, however, welcomes it today. When he couldn’t find you after abandoning his lunch, spent what was left of the day attempting, only for Henderson to tell him he’d heard you’d been suspended for a few days—he made it his personal goal to find you. Your parents are gone so he knows the times you do and don’t like to be at home by yourself. And with the way you lashed out at everyone, you won’t go anywhere he has easy access to.

That leaves one place. Skull Rock.

~*~

The drive feels shorter to Eddie this time, but the walk longer. He has to shed himself of his denim and leather, tossing it over his shoulder and clambering up the path towards finding you, keeping your club tee in his back pocket. The more he walks, the more he wishes he brought a drink or his smokes, which remain on his dash. If he’s wrong and you’re not here, he isn’t sure if this is reality anymore. This day has been one big mindfuck.

Thankfully, as he hears a loud tone droning over the clearing, a soft hum, his heart patters in his chest, nostrils inhaling sharply. He rounds the corner’s pathway, already calling your name, his eyes widening, jaw unhinged, fists clenching at his sides. You’re reclining against the boulder’s curve, black shades perched over your eyes, hair draped across your neck, your boot clad ankle crossed over the other, a cigarette perched into your puckering pair of lips, your layered chains swaying, slumbering against your skin, and fuck—your tits, Eddie winces, gripping himself to adjust—frozen.

He can’t not notice how your nipples are reacting to the air. He can’t not detail your shape, how your waist is formed, zeroing in on the baby bat you’d gotten to match his larger ones, inked into your ribcage, and he certainly isn’t forgetting your jeans that are settled over your hips. His eyes glaze over, heat prodding his flesh, shrouding him a veil of desire and raw ache. You don’t notice him, calls of your name falling on mainstream rock’s ears. He doesn’t think approaching you is smart, like a cat and mouse, your behavior for once—unpredictable.

Has Eddie just not been paying attention to you that much lately?

Suddenly, when he’s debating a cowardly retreat, baiting his internal monologue for an excuse, your audible gasp is heard, his name crushed between your gritted teeth.

Fuck.

~*~

In all of his glory—stands your best-friend. He’s balling and un-balling his fists, eyes darting rapidly, tongue sucking against his teeth, feet ready to carry him far away. And the more he avoids your stare, the angrier you get. So what, you’re not good enough to look at because your breasts are out? Modesty to a back burner, you take your crossed arms off your chest, scraping your smoke out on the rock, pushing your glasses into a perch upon your head, body facing Eddie as you stand.

I dare you.

Your eyes complicate a challenge—craving him in your proximity, and hating his grunge blanketed sight. Eddie’s neck is a really pretty thing when he tenses, his jugular agitated against a harsh gulp of air. He answers you by meeting you in the clearing, palms sweaty, scrubbing over his back pockets. It’s a cool damned drink of water, as if you’ve been without, making thee Eddie Munson squirm. But he’s still your best-friend, and you are half naked.

Covering yourself back up so he will look you in the eye, you tuck your arms into a push beneath your sternum, forearms shielding your nipples. It’ll have to do.

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing here?” You snap before he can voice a concern or a question.

Tethered to deep breathing techniques, Eddie is insulted, and is biting back in his acidic response. “After your own personal talent show antics at school, I was worried about you. Excuse-the-fuck-outta-me, Y/N.”

A bitter laugh comes from you. “Oh, you’re focused enough on my shit to actually be worried about me? How kind of you, Edward Munson.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be worried about you?” Eddie is raising his voice, sizzling in a cautious rage. He’s usually happy-go-lucky with you, but you’re pushing these fucking buttons he isn’t aware he’s been hiding.

“You really need a list of reasons? Wait,” you say, moving to circle him, pinching your thumb between your teeth, “you’re probably, completely oblivious, because I’m just Y/N. I’m not your club, not your band, not one of your groupies that flounce around for an ounce from you, then leave your ass for their jock boyfriends.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Eddie raises a hand, rings clattering together. “When the fuck did all this start, Y/N?”

Your arms fall back at your sides with a loud ‘thump’. The heating has settled, your high wearing off, truth remaining as to why you’ve been upset in the first place. A caverning hurt carves its place into your chest, igniting an anguish that drowns you. You’re defeated. “It started when my best-friend forgot that I’m my own person and not his servant. Or maybe it began when my person was so stoned that he barely acknowledged a test I fucking flunked to stay up and make his campaign posters—which, may I add—he also gave zero fucks about-“

“So all this is because I didn’t kiss the very ground you walk on for some posters that you practically begged me to make, and wow—your A+ average went to an A. Curse me into the deepest depths of hell, please.” His bracelet slides down his wrist as he palms his heart.

Maybe you’re not the only one who is changing. Eddie hasn’t ever disregarded you in such a crude manner. Your tongue is practically salivating in need to layer on biting and cruel words, things you won’t be able to come back from. You remain silent, mulling over what to say, glaring, docked, stinging prickles of tears. It’s an elating elevation when the words do come. “I’m your best-friend, Eddie. Not your little groupie. I’m tired of you preaching about conformity, when all I do is conform to you. You don’t ever let me pick music, you always take for granted I’ll give you and the guys rides when your van isn’t working, despite if I might have something to do that doesn’t involve an all male ensemble. I spend my money to buy you cigarettes and snacks for the meetings. I manage gigs, I clean your band’s equipment.”

Eddie sniffs, looking pointedly at you, doe eyes dark and growing increasingly fed up. “Didn’t know you were keeping a tally, Y/N.”

“That’s… That’s all you’re taking from everything I just said to you, Eddie?” You can’t keep that hurt out of your tone this time.

Eddie shrugs, crossing his arms, coldly spitting out, “Seems to me like you’re sick of me. And that’s not my problem, that’s yours.”

Your head is swimming in turmoil, all your acting out and emotions swirling into a mindfuck. He doesn’t care. You’re standing here finally pouring your entire soul out in heaps and your person is pouring gasoline on the pieces, dangling a match.

“I’ve never kept a tally, Eddie. I do these things because they make you happy, and that makes me happy, but it fucking sucks when you don’t appreciate them or care about anything in my life, either.”

“That’s what you really think, Y/N?” There’s a flatline in how he’s speaking to you.

“No,” you murmur, “it’s what I know.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches, teeth grinding. He kicks at the ground with the toe of his shoe, brows raising. “Breaking Jason Carver’s nose and my cold, dead heart.” He splays a hand across his chest. Those rings, which are always a comfort to you, reflecting off the sunlight, dripping in judgement.

Your trembling wavers, crackling sentence structure falling apart. “Eddie. Don’t.”

“No. Fuck you, Y/N. Seriously, fuck you!” He shouts, snapping a finger in your direction.

Your hands rub up and down your goosebump soaked skin, finalizing what you need to do. Heaving in a deep breath, a sentence escapes your lips. And you pray, pray Eddie will heed this warning and value what you have enough to understand, to work it out. “Maybe it’s time to fess up to the fact that 86’ needs to be a bigger year for us both.”

Mind reader. A power you’ve never wanted more than in this moment as you claw at the cusp of your best-friend’s reaction. Outwardly, Eddie shifts, Adam’s apple bobbing, thumb swiping underneath his nose. Your mouth waters, throat reflexes threatening a fountain of vomit. And Eddie takes your warning, slaying through it, every bit of ground beneath your boots threatening to cave in.

“You’re right. Hell, Carver is right. You do act like my slut. And you have every right to change it, because it’s only holding us both back. And it probably has been for a long time.”

Kicking you would’ve hurt less. You’re unable to see Eddie’s form longer, muddled to a watery silhouette, your brave bravado dissipating. You won’t beg him. You’re nothing to him anymore, he’s just confirmed. You try not to think about the first time he taught you how to dance before your first snowball, or how you both snuck Jim Hopper’s cigarettes when you’d get in trouble at school and be sent to see him for minor misdemeanors, or Eddie’s pride when he managed to get you on stage to sing one song with the band, rubbing circles on your back the whole time you both sang to a trio of drunks, or splitting beers on his van’s roof and nearly breaking limbs when it started raining and you had to climb down, how he taught you to drive in the fancy neighborhood and you knocked over the mayor’s mailbox, when you watched him buy his ‘sweetheart’, tears in his eyes at a possession so gorgeous and all his own, his hands gentle as they held you the nights you cried from one stupid thing that felt massive to you, when he was your person and you were his.

Your wet, quivering breaths are what you hear. Birds chirping, wind rustling, even Eddie’s heavy breathing drowned out. It takes what feels like eternity, before Eddie is slashing the quiet, guarded and stoic. “You need to put a fucking shirt on.”

Your jeans are covered in tear drops from a bowed head, fingers shaking hard enough that your knuckles roll into a crack at the motions. You wipe your tears in time to see Eddie hold out your Hellfire shirt—second edition—his being the first. His reverie breaks briefly, and you think… maybe. It’s gone in those brown eyes that you can no longer read or recognize. Filled with loathing and disgust at you, his last words imprinting on your psyche, a physical recoil.

“On second thought. You won’t be needing this anymore.” Eddie makes his way around you and finds his lighter atop your bag, flicking a flame to life and nudging it at the end of your shirt. It catches quick, burns fast, like every fiber of friendship with Eddie Munson.

Eddie tosses the tattered, charred remains to the forrest floor, pocketing his lighter, walking away from you and out of your life.

~*~

He can’t stay any longer and watch you fall apart, not when he’s running away from his cowardice. And he does, run. He moves and clambers, stumbles until he’s from you and the cries that he hears pour off your lips. His chest is thumping sporadically, pulse in his blurry vision. His five fingers catch a tree, slamming, splintering, a sob breaking free of his tear soaked lips.

Eddie Munson forces himself to remember how unsure you looked in your dress when he held you around your waist, never feeling more himself in his entire life than he did with you— at thirteen—during some cheesy school dance, how you entertained his tunes so he could teach you the counting method he uses for his music to move your feet to the beat, all your encouragement every time he hit a new note, or your midnight phone calls to ask what he’d like on his posters, your body trusting him to keep you safe on those nights when everything became too much for you in your life, but you had tried to hide it, or when you both snuck in to see Carrie when you were pre-teens and you couldn’t sleep without him, so he made a makeshift mattress next to your bed for a month, about that time you were so tired from an all nighter that he had walked into his room and found you curled up in his bed, using his vest as a makeshift pillow, your nagging him to study more, because he’s always capable of anything he sets his mind to, and those cookies—the only thing you can bake without having to call for Hawkins fire department—a container you’d brought for him and his Uncle, still sitting on his kitchen counter.

He was your person and you were his. And now? You’re gone. Eddie runs away. He keeps running, leaving you to your own miserable anguish, drowning in his own, getting himself in his rust bucket and going back to his trailer to get completely fucked outta his not-so-right mind.

~*~

By the time your suspension is over and you can no longer barricade yourself into your room and finish off another bottle from your dad’s liquor cabinet—it’s sheer dread. You’re not only the freak who broke Hawkins Highschool’s Prom King’s nose, but you’re the freak without anyone by your side—a true and thorough outsider. As you stand outside your school, nails pinching into already weakened threads dedicated to your bag’s strap, you’re really regretting those couple of drinks this morning and how you’d poured more vodka into a flask to take your Tylenol with. Hell, it’s not like you can get a fix from the school dealer anymore, is it?

Those damned double doors are louder, a jolt to your already throbbing headache, fluorescent lights sparkling in your retinas through your shades that cover a nursing hangover and distraught, red and puffy eyes from a three day sob fest. Each step your boots make sounds like you’re walking to your death, your outfit—sans any Hellfire related attire—is all yours. Your two chains limited to one, Eddie’s gift waiting in a cardboard box you’d half-assed assembled, and tossed in random shit he’d given you. The deeper you get into every hallway, making simple turns you know like the back of your hand, your nausea grows as to what might be awaiting around each corner. Or who. It’s a short lived relief upon arrival at your locker.

You pinch your shades off, raw eyes protesting the moment fresh tears staple your skin in brushes. In red letters, diagonally capitalized across your door contains what you haven’t wanted to face since it happened.

The freak got dumped

You choke on your salvia, throat wet and enduring a suffocation strong enough to have you gagging on the piece of toast and water you’d forced your famished form to consume this morning. You barely make it into the toilets before double over and expelling everything, diaphragm on fire, bones vibrating through tosses. Hair dangling in your face, plastered to your mouth, you sniffle and tremble, vision blurring. You ponder getting yourself fucking expelled, but you made this whole ordeal about it being your year. If you retreat now, what will that do? Mustering all your strength, your courage, you flush your bile, clean off your mouth and face, pop a mint, take a swig out of your flask, and make your way to your first class.

~*~

By the ever popular lunch time, you have managed to clean your locker and pinpoint the culprit (an ashamed that a girl broke his nose, Jason Carver), but neither of you speak on it. You keep your head down, you focus on your school work, you take your Tylenol, and you sip on your vodka. Enough to keep an edge off, but not enough to send you down a despairing hole filled with regret and torment. You know you’re being stared at as soon as you hit the line to get your tray. It’s fake smiles and refusal to acknowledge it that gets you in search of an aisle, and hopefully out of sight. You aren’t so lucky…

“Hey, Y/N! Over here!” You hear an all too cheery voice belonging to Dustin Henderson. It halts you in your tracks, a wince causing a physical recoil.

It’s not his fault you and Eddie no longer have anything resembling a relationship, and he apparently has not told them, and they’ve not seen Jason Carver’s masterpiece.

Good.

What isn’t good is that Eddie is very much at your old table and you know it’s unavoidable. You wished you had borrowed some concealer for your under eyes, but it’s too late. There’s a grand staircase cloaked in invisibility beneath your feet, your stomach knotting in crushing vices, your cheeks stained with red. You walk to your former friend group, trying like hell not to side eye Eddie Munson. Keeping a steady focal point without blinking against your scratchy lower lids is damn near impossible. And guys are going to be guys—much to your chagrin. Gareth is drawing further attention where nothing needs to be, popping off with a, “Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”

“A week long bender,” Jeff chimes in.

Biting the inside of your cheek between your teeth, you shrug a shoulder. Better them having knowledge of your binge drinking celebration than knowing about how messed up you are.

Don’t look at Eddie. Is your mantra for today.

He, on the other two hands, is not prioritizing that same aspect.

“So what if I did? I know of about ten girls who can drink your asses under the table, myself included.” You smirk, gripping your tray’s edge.

“Been holding back on us?” Gareth is grinning from ear to ear. It eases your shouldered weight tremendously, breaking tension in your table’s ranks.

“You gonna have a seat or what?” Mike Wheeler interrupts, his hands flipping towards a desired target, one that you wish you could keep pretending you never knew.

Fuck it.

You really crave for some divine intervention to help you, because meeting those chocolate brown eyes that are distraught, angry, and rimmed red—your heart constricts to painful blows, windpipes crushed beyond speaking capabilities. Eddie’s been somewhere off planet earth with that kinda high, you remember seeing his demeanor that way only a handful of times, including this one. Maybe he does care? No, doesn’t matter, don’t go there. It’s over and done.

Still, that idiotic, massively moronic part that Eddie owns of you—it’s billowing hope. Eddie Munson dashes it in seconds flat.

“No.”

You glance away, jaw twitching to control an automatic quiver. Dustin is laughing it off as a joke, someone else asking why. Eddie reclines his legs in your empty chair, loud enough to get your attention back. He wants me to see.

“No traitors.” It’s a simplistic answer, aggressive, no room to argue.

Ever-the-curious-freshmen, Dustin and Mike peg their leader for questions. You halt it, tone breaking apart, fingers tucking into your shirtsleeve as you balance your lunch on one hand and wipe across raw flesh to clean fresh tears from your eyeline. That’s when Eddie does look away.

Coward.

“It’s okay, guys.” Is what you say.

“What’s going on?” Gareth asks.

“I won’t be around meetings or practices anymore, but I’m still here if anyone needs anything, okay? You know where my locker is, and where I live.” You pat yourself on the back for that robotic but truthful statement.

“Unless you’re sick of everyone else too…” His deep voice rumbles.

Like a deer in headlights— you’re frozen, a blinding rage of hurt and red hot anger pouring over you in a storm. You explode. Picking up the first thing in your sight, which happens to be on your plate—a glob of some chocolate goop (possibly a brownie)—it’s slung directly at your former best-friend’s crisp white Hellfire shirt. Your second cafeteria incident that, yet again, everyone notices. Eddie yelps, shouting out your name in brisk spits.

You further it, abandoning your food in a repeat of days ago, floating to his side and shoving him back two steps. Eddie stops his rapid shirt swipes and immediately presses his form into yours, chests smashed, food squishing through your top. His hair is frazzled from the humidity, his toffee colored irises slowly polishing into a thick black gloss of dilated pupils. He sucks his tongue against his teeth, swaying into you, not touching you with those hands, an air about him that is beginning to swarm your initial reaction and bend it over, fucking it into the next decade. He’s taller than you remember, but you latch onto your own, tasting that cigarette soaked breath, lips hovering over his, hot tears matting your lashes.

Whether it’s regarding his inability to respond to your reasoning for this whole situation, his lack of expression, your self-disappointment for something roused inside you at his huffing proximity, you crown him with a title off a jagged voice box, damp in her sorrows, just as Dustin steps between you two, gently prying. “You’re a fucking coward, Eddie Munson.”

Teachers are starting to flock in, and you shake your head, hand over your eyes briefly, before sprinting in strides from the room in search of a place to collapse.

~*~

If you had told yourself at the beginning of the school year that you’d be in a camaraderie with the girl’s bathroom—you would have laughed. And if your mind had convinced you otherwise, you’d have expected Eddie to be right beside you, arm around your shoulders, sharing his lunch, making stupid jokes, coming up with lame ideas to make you feel better, but in that endearing Eddie Munson kinda way. You let out a soft cry, giving up on that stinging beneath your lids. You’re a hot mess and the whole building probably knows how alone you really are now. When the outcasts cast you out, where else can you go?

Clenching onto the sides of the ceramic sink, bag slipping off your shoulder and onto the floor, you keep your head bowed between your shoulder blades, not noticing someone come in and approach you, a gentle set of fingers laying upon your shoulder. Through foggy vision you can make out the green colors of her uniform and her perfectly straight ponytail, her face seemingly concerned. Your laugh is exhaustion on steroids, expression bombarded with emotion. “Okay, what the fuck is next? A girl craves some independence and the whole school turns against her. Let me guess, your boyfriend sent you to get even? Why don’t I make it easy for you and you can call your friends in here, and… and—“

Great.

Your lungs start to burn, your ribcage pounding with an erratic heartbeat, throat feeling like it’s been dusted with a thick blanket of ash. You’re panicking in front of Chrissy Cunningham. That alone has you feeling more pathetic than ever before in your life, and it worsens your heaving sobs—broken and unguarded. Chrissy’s eyes are drinking you in, irises glossing over with tears of her own. She grasps your other shoulder and squeezes, not releasing her hold on you, her soft voice strong when she speaks, but gentle enough between the expanse of your shared airspace.

“One, two, three, four. Okay, now deep breath in, and release it for me, Y/N.” She’s actually calming you, keeping you steady on your feet, which feel as if they’re sinking into the flooring below like led weights.

“Chrissy…” You aren’t sure how to articulate, still alarmed and attempting to breathe with her.

“I’m right here. Just keep breathing and counting with me.” And you do. And that’s when it hits you.

She has experience with this mind numbing panic too. That otherworldly anxiety. You feel a connective pull towards the cheerleader—seeing—not this persona you’d imagined, but her calming features, her easy going manner towards you, how she lets you find your lifeline, but also lends you her own in case you need it. When your breathing slows, she gives you a look, a silent communication of question. You may be able to breathe a little easier now, but it doesn’t stop the weight of your situation from crashing down and demolishing what’s left of you.

“Can I… I’m gonna hug you, is that okay?” At this point, if she’s going to put a sign on your back you don’t care. You need the human connection, the comfort. You agree and your schoolmate takes you into a light grip, but folds her arms around you and lets you bury your cheek against her perfumed sweater.

You both stand in the embrace, no trace of awkwardness, a sense of kinship and knowing. It’s when you pull back that hint of a questionable concern with her, wiping your sore eyes with a hiss. She notices.

“Are you here because of Jason? I just need to know.”

“Jason was a dick, Y/N.” Her language shocks you, having only heard her be proper before.

You laugh, your first genuine giggle in days. It’s contagious, as she joins in, hip jutting against the sink. “No, I’m here on my own terms. I promise. I saw what happened with your friends…”

“Yeah, I can imagine how everyone must be amused right now.” You bite your lip, facing away.

Chrissy gives you a saddened smile, but attempts to reassure. “I know this is gonna sound incredibly lame coming from me, but you’re stronger than all this, Y/N. The way you’ve stood up for yourself these past several days… I admire it.”

You frown deeply, wondering if this is a trick, because no way is Chrissy Cunningham admiring someone like you.

“You admire a loser that can’t even manage her own newfound independence?”

“No,” she says with a pause, looking down at her French tip manicure, before facing your curious gaze once more. “I admire your ability to stand up for yourself, despite what everyone is saying or doing to you. It’s a good quality to have, one that many of us are afraid of, you know?”

There’s this hollow pain in her eyes and your continued recognition has you pulling her in for another hug—this time for her benefit, rather than yours.

“Looks like we’ve fallen into the cliché trap, Cunningham.” You grin, pulling back.

Chrissy tilts her head, curious. “What do you mean?”

“A freak and a cheerleader thinking the same as what their peers think, and getting each other totally wrong.”

Her sweet eyes light up, her head nodding. “That’s exactly it.”

You share a knowing smile, a newfound bond forming. Chrissy situates her small shoulder bag, pulling out a compact and tugging you by your sleeve. “C’mhere. Let me fix that.”

She takes a gentle hand, not rushing as she speckles your sore under eyes with her own stash of makeup. After she blends it with soft fingertips, she snaps the lid closed and places it back in her bag, turning you to the bathroom mirror, brushing some of your hair through, giving your back a rub. “Is that any better, Y/N?”

Your circles are mostly covered, puffiness disguised enough where you won’t be embarrassed. You look and feel much better, and you’re overwhelmed with gratitude for the blonde at your side. You incline yourself into a swivel, leaning in her direction. “Chrissy Cunningham, I think you’re one of the sweetest people I now kinda, sort of know.”

Her giggle is infectious, and she gives you another squeeze. You drop down to swoop your messenger bag into your arms, grabbing out a your notebook and a pen, scribbling your home phone on it, hesitating, before handing it over. “If you ever need to talk to someone about all the bullshit, whatever it is, consider me your new confidant.”

She holds the simple sheet paper as if it’s another lifeline and you’ve just given her a treasure. Going back into her own bag, she has a cute little pink embroidered stationary paper that she jots her number on, and uses a smiley face to dot the i in Chrissy. Seconds later, her friends and a group of other girls burst into the bathroom, gossip on their lips. You and Chrissy flash each other a secret smile, and you make another hasty retreat.

~*~

Eddie had to hear a bunch of shit from the guys, overly bearing questions sounded off by Henderson and Wheeler. The eventual revealing by a passerby group of cheerleaders about your specially decorated locker, had surprised him too. As if there’s not already a weighted dagger wedged into his ribcage, one interlocking into his heart muscle—he lost control with his bitter mouth again, and it fueled your temper. But deep down, deeper into those subconscious recesses, you both felt that ignition start, a kind of coercing heat that is waging an internal war in Eddie’s head. His sole reason for blocking you out and refusing to talk about anything with you in the woods.

Eddie Munson is in love with you. Eddie Munson needs to fuck you.

It’s something he’s always done—built walls, got high, stayed drunk, coped with humor, hid behind his guitar or his campaigns. And without his right hand woman, he feels naked, too vulnerable to all the bullshit he’s tried to keep out. And your absence has become a set course for his weakening concentration on anything that isn’t you. His ultimate warrior princess is also his Achilles heel. Your feelings in wanting to branch out, they scare Eddie.

His brain is flipping logic into thinking you are seeing what everyone else sees in him: freak, failure, piece of shit, a nobody, a criminal. He pushed you out before he could pull you back in—easy, abrupt. And it’s not just changing him—no—he could smell your vodka soaked breath across the table, see your eyes swollen and glazed—absent. For the first time in years you weren’t wearing your limited edition shirt (thanks to him), and Eddie isn’t sure why he expected you to still have his chain around your neck. It fucking hurts.

As the room slowly falls back into their daily routine, Eddie loses his appetite and leaves his herd behind, urgent to get the fuck outta this building, out of Hawkins. Hell, maybe even the country. Like you, however, Eddie Munson’s retreat isn’t one that is unscathed. In his urgency, he smacks straight into you, stumbling over his own clumsy ass feet, gripping your forearms to keep you both steady. He’s processed your scent before he even takes in your beautiful features.

Fuck…

You look less like you’ve been partying all weekend, but Eddie knows better. Your pupils are dilated to the bright overhead lights of the hallways, making your sclera more visible. It’s bloodshot red, lower lids swollen and tinged a rough crimson beneath the fresh makeup that Eddie now sees. He swallows and looks away, but he doesn’t let you go. His grip isn’t harsh, it’s simply what it’s always been with you two. Easy and sturdy, safe.

You’re the first to downcast your gaze, focusing more on your shoe wear than on Eddie. It kills him. Even through these notions, this fear, whatever anger you’re both harboring, it’s as if this whole damned school and everyone passing you two are mere bodies, Eddie Munson and Y/N Y/L/N floating, tethered. His stomach churns its lunch contents, teeth clenching tightly. You make a brisk dart off, but Eddie attempts to catch you, instead tugging too hard on your shoulder strap, causing your bag to dump and spread out its contents at his sneaker clad feet.

Eddie’s eyes are quick to see it before you realize. Shining underneath hallway lights, scattered amongst notebooks and pens, is a small flask. His brows perch, he crouches first, scooping it away from your jutting hands. Gareth’s words rewind and play on repeat in his head.

“Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”

The way his heart rate spikes, hostilely spitting that acid all over his lungs, battering his throat muscles with a pummeling storm. He’s already sure what he’ll smell if he presses the lid to his nostrils, but Eddie has to feed his anxious curiosity, unscrewing the cap with nervous hands, sniffing, shrugging off your grabs. It burns his mouth from its strength, his distraction giving you enough leeway to wrap your hands over his fingers and pull. Eddie locks your digits within his own, second thoughts gone. Against everything inside him he is getting angrier by the second, the anger masking itself, easier than being petrified and scared in front of you.

And Eddie is scared. Is he really so fucking stupid to think you weren’t at all affected by any of this?

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Your fingers sliding through his own, flood him, prickling every vein running beneath his skin, cutting off his blood flow—scorching.

~*~

Having Eddie’s hands on you again, his body so close, despite your shame at his discovery, it’s a feeling that comes more natural than breathing. You avoid his question, feeble grasping docked.

“Why do you have a flask full of fucking vodka?”

“Will you keep your voice down!” You hiss the words, finally breaking off him and retrieving the rest of your items on the scuffed up floor, and securing them back into your bag, Eddie holding back your liquor.

“Did you drive to school drinking this crap? Tell me you didn’t, Y/N, cause’ I swear to god—“

You chortle, a humorless boom smacking across your chest.

“Eddie, this faux best-friend act is getting old. Your on and off switch is enough to drive anyone to drastic measures. But don’t flatter yourself into thinking I’d be an idiot and drive drunk. Not even for you.”

His irises that are glossy with concern, they cave to dilating pupils, an animalistic rage priming them. “Oh, you have got to be the most clueless bitch alive, Y/N.” He steps towards you, frame towering slightly. You’re not afraid, never fearing if he’ll do something, because that is not Eddie, no matter what. But, you are very much dripping with rage at his words.

He pockets your flask in his left back pocket, rings clinking against it as he pats it for good measure. You try to dive around him, beneath his arm, but he swoops in on his own, using that strength for his slender frame, literally scooping you into a half bring-away, only discarding you back onto your feet once you’re both outside. You try to shove at him, palms resting on his stained club shirt. The bell has rang to signal your free period, but you don’t give two fucks, giving up and being the one to leave.

“Who’s the coward now, huh? You’re gonna walk away from me when I call you on your shit, Y/N?”

You spin on your heel, dirt and gravel specks crunched beneath your step. “I thought I was a clueless bitch, Eddie? A traitor? Or, your slut.” You scoff, crossing your arms.

Guilt briefly flickers across his features, but he shuts it down tenfold. “Just because we’re fighting doesn’t mean I want you to destroy your fucking liver or your life. Jesus Christ, you really think I’m that big of an asshole?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore!” You fling your hands into the air. “One minute we’re at each other’s throats, the next you’re up my ass. I don’t know what to do here, Eddie.”

“Thought you craved some individuality and independence.” Though there’s meant to be flare behind the words, Eddie’s tone has splintered across each word, voice breaking apart. Your guts sink into your ass, as does a particularly pointed swallow that stabs at your jugular.

“Didn’t say I wanted to be completely independent from my best-friend.” Your own response is gentle, voice soaked with impending emotion.

Fuck. Stupid fucking tears burning again. Not right now.

Eddie’s attention snaps back on you, proximity closing in. His jaw clenches, he moves it from side to side with a closed mouth, sniffing, whistling air through a wet breath. “Feels like you’re leavin’ me and I can’t do anything to stop it…”

It makes sense suddenly. A catapult of truth slamming right into your chest, spreading throughout your body.

He thinks I’m leaving him. That I want to leave him.

As if the last seventy two hours haven’t happened, better yet, as if they haven’t mattered in the grand scheme of things—you’re the one that meets Eddie, reaching to push that curly hair from his eyes, his head downcast and posture sullen. His brown eyes are brimmed with tears that spill over his lash line, a permanent frown creased between his brows, mouth red and spit slick. Those freckles on his nose are suddenly very prominent to you. You’ve never seen Eddie Munson this vulnerable. Your heart shatters, the ache so physically strong that you have to remain close to him to hold on and find that strength again.

How could you have gotten this so monumentally wrong? Maybe if you’d have expressed what you meant more instead of feeding off Eddie’s anger. His communication and yours both need nurturing, but your sudden shift in mood must’ve made him feel like you wanted to abandon him, not just do things for yourself. He may not realize that yet, but you do. And it fucking sucks.

“Eddie. I’m sorry.” It’s all you can say in the seconds that your heart heaves into your throat.

He shakes that shaggy mane. “Don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me, especially you.” He backs away from you and you see his entire expression crumble, tears spilling onto his cheeks.

That pain drowns your throat, seeing him cry because of your lack of explanation and mutual avoidance. You chase after him, running around to block his view, unable to let him go, gripping onto his waist beneath his jacket to keep him planted. Another familiarity. He tenses beneath your touch before relaxing.

“Eddie, will you please listen to me? I think I know what’s going on now.”

“And look who is the one flipping her emotions this time.”

“Because, I… Eddie, I—“

“What lame ass line do you want me to buy, Y/N? You think I’m not used to worthless promises or idiotic reassurances? Yeah, good.” His sentence is fragmented, voice rough and breaking apart on each word. “You know I still care about you, but I don’t need you to lie to me, you don’t owe me a damn thing, I promise you—“

You press a finger to his quivering lips, halting him. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, a pause in the universe, your legs heavy, fingertip stroking along the plumpness of your best-friend’s full, lower lip. Eddie’s chest is moving up and down swiftly, tongue against his teeth, that warning look. You fail to heed it and Eddie’s hands tremble at his sides before he gives up and cups the sides of your face, bringing your foreheads together. His lips part to speak, your finger still on them. “Think we’re in trouble here.”

You can do nothing but nod as his declaring statement, inclining your head further, nose nudging his own. It doesn’t feel as if you’re standing any longer, every mean thing that Eddie has said, every disproportionate attempt of yours to communicate—obliterate, shrouding you both in the process. His breath is hot as his mouth opens and he sucks your finger inside, tongue licking its tip, biting the digit between those milky white teeth. It sends that throbbing nudge, snapping between your thighs, making you arch into your best-friend. You whisper his name and his fingers move along your jaw, across your ear, sliding through your hair and rubbing a pathway to your necks’ nape, sending an army of goosebumps across your flesh, the coolness of his rings stimulating your skin.

“Yeah, you feelin’ it too?” Your lids flutter closed, Eddie using his thumb pad to brush the corners of your lashes, signally for you to open them. “Didn’t say you could stop looking at me, did I, sweetheart?”

You grind against him, unable to stop. Your last several days, everything between you both is on hold, these buried urges able to finally win out. This dominant side of Eddie Munson has you an inward and outwardly quickening pile of mush and hormones, of fucking need. Eddie about loses his cool when you obey him, pupils blown, mouth looking parched and in need of his kisses. He leans, walls starting to slip, resolve crumbling, his pouting mood long gone.

Years of built up tension and confusion, being rightfully by one another’s sides, it all comes apart, the seams, begging to be repaired into what it has to be now.

You envelop his hold on you, hands sliding into slips beneath his jacket, around his waist, tracing over his back, before dipping under his armpits and grasping his shoulders, knuckles pushed down by his leather jacket. One more step and he’ll kiss you. He’s closing a gap, no more breaches, you tapping his shoulders right down to the blades in encouragement. It’s parted mouths hovering over one another, cigarettes and vodka, school lunch and weed, it’s—

“Hey, guys! Higgins is so pissed off right now… After that shit went down in the caf, he’s ready to expel you, Y/N! Pretty fuckin’ sure.” You hear Gareth approach, and just like, Eddie releases you.

You have to steady yourself, want simmering into a slumber in your belly, not yet gone, but still reminding you where it lives. Your glare is directed at your mutual friend. Eddie, feeling as if he’s been doused with ice cold water, and the moment is shattered, you see those walls rebuilding rapidly, and she shrugs off your hand, leaving you and Gareth, and that slickness that has collected in your panties.

~*~

You aren’t sure just exactly what Eddie is feeling, but you’re very aware of what you are. So driving to his place once you know Wayne has left for the night shift—it’s a no brainer. You’d debated bringing Eddie your box of treasures, even your necklace, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Maybe, maybe your best-friend doesn’t want you to…?

Want.

A dynamic shift in your relationship, or what it used to be. You can barely sit still as you wrack your brain through all the levels of hazy blurs. So much has happened in three days, but… today, with Eddie nearly kissing you on the mouth, and you nearly grinding against him in the Hawkins High parking lot—yeah, you two have to talk about all of this. As you squirm in your seat, hands tightening around the wheel, that approaching trailer park sign signals your arrival to his residence. You can’t stop the way your heartbeat feels as if it’s ping ponging around in your throat, or that anxious twitch of your mouth’s corner—forget even attempting to deny your cascading memories of the way his chocolate irises wore an expression unlike anything you’ve ever seen on Eddie Munson.

His trailer comes into your sights, that tickle swooping your guts and holding them hostage. You swallow a thick ball of anxiety, parking next to his van, cutting your engine. The lights are all on and you’ve got no excuse to chicken out. It’s your year too, right? Fucking fuck it.

With your keys clutched in your palm, you make your way to Eddie’s trailer, rasping on his door lightly. You don’t hear his music blaring, so he might be reading, planning a campaign, writing some music he’d mentioned wanting to practice with the guys soon, get a feel for its sound—just last week. You have given about three octaves of knocks and are about to give up, head pressed the door, thinking he was just lost in lust earlier, and maybe you’d fucked up on your end beyond repair. Exhausted by the stampeding pain that brings your insides, you flip the Munson’s spare key off your key ring and unlock the door. A bold move—albeit—a very stupid one.

That familiar scent of Eddie and Wayne’s shared carton of cigarettes hits your nose, along with the leftovers from dinner you see sitting out on the stove. Your cookies, which have been devoured, are missing their note. You panic, briefly thinking Eddie probably trashed it, only to come back from that brink seconds later. It’s not what you’re here for. You glance at the couch and it’s empty, not even Eddie’s usual indent on the cushion is there.

Swinging your keys from your pointer finger, you peek down the small hallway to Eddie’s closed door, light spilling out underneath. He could be sleeping, possibly ignoring you, or he snuck out the back door…

Your feet make an echoing squeak across the trailer’s flooring structure, your fingers twisting the knob and pushing, pausing, deciding to go ahead. If he wants you to leave then you’ll go, if he’s asleep, you’ll go, if he left… You can’t fathom that thought, another ignorance that you partake in. You aren’t sure exactly what you expected, but seeing your best-friend’s tallish frame, with his back facing you, lean leg propped atop his mattress, right arm bent at a very clear angle, his left propped on one of his many amps he’d apparently moved since you’d been here last—is sure as hell NOT it. Eddie’s curly hair ruffles and is jostled across his shoulders with each movement his arm makes, his delicious ass clenching as his body thrusts into his rhythm, the outline of his chain on his perspired neck and damp strands of dark hair—clear. You don’t have to hear the thick, slick and wet stroking to know what he’s doing to himself.

You cross an ankle over the other, squeezing your legs together tightly, trying to bounce on the balls of your heels to get relief. Your fingers white knuckle his banged up door handle, your mouth parting. Whether it’s that bond you two share, or your very visible labored breathing, Eddie’s shoulder blades pinch together, his motions abruptly cut. He turns as if caught doing something he shouldn’t be—definitely something you aren’t prepared to handle. It’s like your mouth is speaking for you, eyes in a trance, enslaved to your lustful abiding.

Fucked out, blown up pupils shave off the color of your irises, your tongue gliding across your teeth, that take a turn to sink into your bottom lip, your toes curling in your shoes. You feel hot, body battered in melting flames that won’t cease, won’t let you get in a normal burst of air flow. You know without having to fix your posture that you’ve made a mess between your legs, panties soaked to hell—completely ruined. You’re honest to fuck not sure if you can make it out of here in an upright position, that painfully strong ache tackling your cunt, breaking off your common sense, leaving you Eddie-drunk. Helping yourself to a swiping look between his legs, he’s still got a ring clad hand wrapped around a very generous girth—shiny—a length that leaves saliva pooling on your tongue’s tip.

His chest is slick with sweat, tattoos glossed beneath, nipples hard from the cool air let into his bedroom. Which, you note, is really fucking hot, and the window is steamed up. Your eyelids flutter in rapid blinks to help you reign yourself in, but all you see are glimpses of Eddie’s fist around himself, that creamy and swollen head, full balls on either side, trimmed curls at the base of his shaft. You want to die. And oh, what a sweet and sinful death that would be.

“Mhm… fuck.” You say through the gap between your panting mouth, words take the opportunity to bust free, joining a high pitched whimper.

Eddie’s chocolate eyes are completely black, leaving no room for anything else but purely raw desire. They widen, a sharp heave in his inhaling chest, abdomen flexing as he holds himself tightly. When you don’t move Eddie takes the initiative, slowly approaching, a softness there beneath the want and knowing. He reaches your space, still giving you enough, but you’re able to still feel that radiating body heat. Neither of you speak, because what is there to say right now?

You’d be a pleading mess of profanities, apologizes, and begging to be taken and used.

Thankfully, Eddie makes another move before you. His spare hand joins your own on the door knob, fingers brushing your knuckles, encouraging, giving you one more opportunity if you’re in distress or uncomfortable. You hook onto his offer and you surprise you both by finding something to say after all, throat parched, yet still damp with wanton rasp. “Start touching yourself again, Eddie. Please?” Fuck, well there’s a beg.

Eddie, assuming you want a show, nerves being dipped in lava and left to forever sizzle and smoke—gives in, both of you shutting his door and closing the two of you off from the outside world. He doesn’t wait for you to back away, pushing his hips to a rise, his cock gliding through his closed fist. You let him lean over you, frame against his door, watching his legs spread to widen his stance, obeying your plea. He almost asks, but assumes it would be too hopeful if you would want to touch yourself in front of him too. You’re out of your mind, common sense obliterated for all eternity, watching your bestfriend practically pin you to the door and fuck himself in front of you.

Those sounds you’ve imagined, pictured, they’re even more pronounced in person. Some low enough that it’s a stifling whimper, a needy sobbing. If you don’t do something about the gnawing throbbing between your thighs, it’ll be total combustion. There’s an empowerment that winds itself around a pulsating set of nerves in one’s decision to masturbate in front of their best-friend. That coolness works itself in your palms, your fingers tossing your keys over and onto Eddie’s dresser, toeing off your shoes, his eyes steamy in their grasp on your every move.

You’d wished you had brought your camera to photograph his expression when you walk over to where he stood in front of his bed, turning to face him, your fingers undoing your jeans and the zipper, a resounding echo in the room, Eddie’s tongue poking out on his upper lip, he holds himself around the base, the urgency to fuck his hand as you take your seat on his mattress and scoot with your back to the wall, hips lifting to help you pull off your jeans and panties. You struggle momentarily, but neither of you are saying a word, gazes steady and unwavering.

Discarding your clothing with a soft thump onto his floor, you’re heartbeat thumps in your throat, ribcage taking an unsteady hammering of its resounding drumming. You heed Eddie’s silent command to continue, agreeing to this turning point between you two. Your thighs fall open and that sticky want strings to your swollen folds, glistening in the creases of your thighs, your cunt sopping wet. You’re dripping, and Eddie isn’t missing it when your arousal finally does drizzle from your neglected pussy and onto his bedsheets. You shift to get comfortable, hand cupping yourself, immediately smothered in your own juices, legs falling into a drop, toes finally able to curl without the barrier of your shoes, bunching Eddie’s sheets.

Eddie watches you from where he can see, still eager to be closer, but unable to stop himself from stroking along his length, teasing that vein that runs alongside his cock. You do it again, rubbing your palm up and down your lips, a crude squelch causing Eddie to almost black out, and you shiver. He releases himself, heavy and hot between slim thighs, and he’s moving. He puffs out a gravelly hiss from pursed lips, stalking towards you and giving a cat like crawl across his own bed, planting himself shoulder to shoulder with you to your left. He must be feeling the overwhelming change that is occurring, as he reaches for your hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

You gravitate towards your hand, fingers slipping through your slickness, your head bowing in embarrassment. Eddie grips your chin and tilts you his way, shaking his head, that same hand dropping to your thigh and lifting to pull up and to the side. And he looks. He fucking memorizes you between your legs with these little mewling coos of appreciation that cement themselves into your subconscious. You do the same, helping yourself to an up close and personal view of what he’s been hiding.

Eddie leans forward and cups the nap of your neck, his other hand taking your wrist and removing it from your self-touches, shushing your protesting whine. He brings it up to his mouth, which is hovering close to yours, your own fingers pressed against your lips, and he licks a straight stripe up your creamy covered palm, humming underneath his breath as he does so. You want to slap him and ride him on every available surface in this trailer. You’re the one to speak, having to.

“Eddie…” It’s a meek little trail-off.

Eddie lets go of your wrist and uses that hand to pull his cock off his stomach, a wet patch left behind in his happy trail. He still doesn’t let your neck go, his fingertips tapping an invisible beat, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He’s laughing, tufts of air settling across your mouth. You narrow your gaze, moving to shut your legs, Eddie’s hand quickly preventing the action, stroking the meat of your inner thigh. “Only fair if I’m exposed, sweetheart.”

“But… you’re laughing.” And it hits you then, why he’s really chuckling in that Eddie Munson way. It’s an incredulous and mind boggling turn of events. Best-friends that broke up when they were never together, now side by side and in a very compromising situation.

You grin and falter into his embrace, your hand working its way into a wind around his neck, taking sweaty strands in scoops between your fingers, his pick chain draped across your knuckles. Eddie licks across his bottom lip, tapping your hips as he moves, your hands falling, and sprawls his legs into a propped spread, cock neglected and flushed, much like the rest of his skin, that you’ll die if you don’t put your marks on. He’s motioning for you to turn in a slow facing position in front of him, and that’s how you end up—vulnerable, so fucking vulnerable. He’s muttering words, huddled and unintelligible, reaching out and tugging you to him by your ankles, stopping, resting, eyes dark as they do a once over to gauge your mental stability. When you don’t protest, palms splaying out to keep yourself upright behind you, Eddie lets his legs flatten against his sheets, a smirk pattering his lips, indenting its knowing presses beside his mouth.

His exhale catches on a ragged breath, a passionate declaration signing off on what’s about to occur, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he pulls you close, your ass resting on his hairy thighs, waiting, held, his arm wrapping around your lower back and lifting you completely into that ink splattered, silk-slick chest, his skin sticking to your long sleeved t-shirt, ruining it with sex-soaked perspiration. You think that there’s nothing—no—you know that in this entire world, no matter what, that whatever will happen to you is never going to compare to the moment when Eddie’s maneuvering hands glide your wet cunt over his cock, using your drenching heat as his own personal lubricant. Your ankles lock around his waist, no choice from the close band that your best-friend has re-tethered you to him with, leaving no room or space where you’re not touching or breathing in the other. Your arms curl around Eddie’s neck, hands draped down his back as you help yourself to pinching and clawing the flesh beneath, relishing every little grumble and groan off his pretty lips. Your face takes solace in his neck, nosing your way through his curly hair, nose bumping his chain to lift so that your mouth can claim him.

“Fuck.” His throat constricts around a swallow, your teeth sinking into a piece of Eddie’s flesh and biting, releasing, lips closing over that angry spot to soothe, tongue tasting salt, licking it off, indulging.

He lets your have your way with his neck, a particularly harsh slap landing on your ass in following of your mouth on his jugular, letting your tongue following that curvature into his jawline. You don’t stop his wandering hands, you don’t dare fight off his vice grip on the globes of your ass, his kneading, using as them leverage to place you right where he wants you. You let him take control, an unspoken agreement, a having to have. Your head falls back as Eddie rolls his hips beneath, rocking his lap, solid presses that drag his fat cock over your embarrassingly wet pussy, scattering your thick arousal and smearing it across his happy trail, getting caught in that patch of curls at the base of his shaft. You’re dripping all over him, quite literally. Caught on a trapped hum, hung in its hisses between your clenched teeth, you croon into Eddie’s neck, your stomach tightening, that velvety drag of his dick through your swollen folds making your lids flutter closed, colors dotting in their dances—translucent.

You aren’t sure where to move your hands, comfortable with having them shred Eddie’s back and empty out the past few days of frustration and desperation. Eddie encourages, palming handfuls of your ass, creating a cresting twist, a thigh trembling rub of sopping wet desire. He’s merely whimpering, appreciating, not overly vocal until his swollen head catches your neglected clit, and his head drops back, fingers pinching so tightly into your skin that it burns.

“Oh, shit. Dammit, baby.”

You’re simpering on a series of whimpers, agreeable and speechless. Eddie is feeding off it. “Yeah? You needing this too? Little clit feels so good rubbing on my dick, sweetheart. You want me to do it again?”

When you’re not immediately able to be vocal, Eddie pulls back a little, shoving his hand between your thighs and drags his rings directly through your arousal, coating them in a glittering shine. His first real touch where you need him the most. You both inhale sharply. It’s the pain from the cool metal of his jewelry that makes it feel so fucking good. He curses, telling you how messy you’re being, flinging his hand in your sights, dragging you in a pry off of his neck, holding your jaw and flashing his knuckles.

“See what you did, messy little angel. You gotta clean em’ now for me.”

His eyes are so fucking demolished, brown crushed beneath a midnight sea of black and insatiable attraction. You’re mewling, tongue lolling out, licking that metallic onto your tongue, sloppily sloping around his knuckles, lips suckling what your tongue can’t catch, your own taste fresh off your mouth. That’s when Eddie brushes a calloused thumb across your bottom lip, tugging it down to expose your teeth, and he brings your lips to his, a feral groan stealing your breath, sharing your juices in your first kiss. It’s a shift in the energy you share, a no going back, no running away, a fate sealed. Eddie loses all control and flips you off his lap, pinning you beneath him, kissing you with such feverish vigor that your hand tangles into his messy curls, and you pull, hard.

His tongue licks your lips open, greedily removing what’s left of your taste that remains. It’s noisy and nasty in the expanse of his small bedroom—diabolically sinful. One hand caresses your throat’s expanse, the other dropping down with a snapped wrist between your thighs, palm smacking your cunt, a guttural groan vibrating from his mouth into your own. Saliva strings on the break away, Eddie’s gaze switching to watch the hand on your cunt, out of it.

“Your pussy always this wet, baby? Or is it just for your best-friend?”

“Only for you, Eddie. Always you.”

Fallen into the depths of satisfaction, Eddie permits a slender digit to drag down your slit, taking that thick honey with it, a squelch echoing in the room when his finger wiggles its way inside of you. You clamp around him, chest heaving with shaky breaths.

“Jesus Christ. You’re gonna drown my dick when you let me fuck you, aren’t you?”

You’re incoherently babbling, tapping the hand that’s on your throat, hungry for it. “Tighter.”

Eddie’s brow raise is comical, a surprise coating his features. “So miss Y/N likes it rough? Never woulda guessed.”

You gulp a pump of air that vibrates across his hold, trying to gain more depth from his finger. It’s moving in exploration of your softly wet walls, an excess of arousal being pressed out upon that squish. Eddie tightens his hold on your throat, before he taps his fingers to your jugular and releases, hand toppling down your side and caressing, bringing. “Fuck, my best-friend’s got such a perfect little pussy. S’ made to be destroyed and used.”

You’re nodding so hard that the motion causes a cracking pop in your neck, Eddie laughing that noise under a cute breath. He’s thick with it, wiggling in a second finger and causing you drop your hands back behind you and push into the sensation, chasing, hunting it.

“Desperate to get away from me all week, now look at you. What a whore.”

Eddie has a mouth on him, something you’d always wondered about in your daily daydreams and nightly fantasies. As vocal as when he’s singing with his band. He’s saying words to you, snapping your attention, you’re whining as his fingers leave your cunt, and he’s pulling you into him so hard your lips split apart, cushioning his cock, cradling him in that overwhelming slick. He must not have meant for that action to cause it, as he jumps when you do, this feral look flickering behind those heated orbs. You know… it’s time.

Eddie is barely able to stand, clumsily bringing you with him by a laced grip in your hands. He gets you upright and you’re dizzy, his hands taking purchase on your shirt (the only remaining piece of clothing on you), and rips it with gritting teeth and anger, as if he’s pissed it’s not the club shirt, or sickened with himself for destroying yours—you’re not sure. Spit pools at the corners of your mouth as you let him tear off your tattered tee and yank your bra down, impatiently yanking the clasp apart and discarding it, helping himself to your tits, closing those plush lips over a nipple. Your hand wraps around his throbbing cock, fingers barely touching around the width, squeezing him—tugging. His hips stutter and he whines against your breast, teeth biting the flesh with a harsh precision.

Your other hand works its way through his wet curls and massages his scalp, tenderly altering in beckoning strokes, ones that switch off into root tugging pulls. Eddie’s hands keep your breast cupped, switching off to the other, whilst you dip lower and fondle his balls, letting your pinky drop off and scratch into his inner thigh. He’s doing that humming thing underneath his fucked out tone again, and you’re focusing your attention on his cock, thumb pad stroking that weeping slit, spreading it around and over that vein, enchanted with how it causes a thin bright shine over him, your own cream matted into the curls at the base of him, pathed up his stomach. His mouth leaves your chest and those big hands grip your cheeks, both of you watching as you jack him with a sticky tug.

Fuck me.

“Who’s the whore for his bestfriend now, Eds? You gonna admit that half the shit I’ve done this week has gotten your dick so hard you can’t decide what you’ve hated me for more,” You say, pausing to twist your grip, making him fold into your holding hand, “my smart mouth or how much you need this.”

Your powering dominance is short lived, hand falling off his erection, with Eddie kneeing you into a shove until your back collides with his desk, his arm reaching around to push most of its contents off and onto the floor, not caring where any of it goes. He nudges your thighs apart and slots his lean frame between, thumb catching the corner of your mouth, his instruction clear, yet awaiting your consent to cross this no back-stepping boundary. “M’ gonna fuck you right here, and you’re goin’ to watch me take you, Y/N.”

You’re pretty sure you’re gonna pass out at any given moment.

“I’m gonna watch you, Eddie.” You agree, zoning out and sprinting after your pleasure.

“Good girl.” Eddie breaks briefly, mouth on your shoulder, hand winding your hair around his fist and tugging it back so hard that the ache inside of you becomes an inferno. He finds the underside of your chin, voice honey-hot. “Because you’re not leaving this room until there’s a puddle of me running back out of your cunt.”

You launch forward so fast that Eddie falls into you, chest smashing against your breasts, your lips crashing into his for a brutally intimate kiss. You sink your teeth into his bottom lip and tug, biting down so hard you taste copper—licking it up and making Eddie’s cock jump. His ring covered hand attaches itself to your throat and he drags you off your prop against the desk, spinning you around and securing you to it, those hairy thighs pressing into you, wet cock so close to where you need him the most. His hand wraps around your hair again and lifts your gaze to that small opening in the mirror where posters and his most prized possession hangs. You’re flushed and soaked with sweat, mouth swollen and streaked with red from biting into Eddie’s plump lip, your pussy dripping thick strings of your creamy essence, slowly slithering in dangles from your pussy and onto the floor.

“You’re so fucking messy, Y/N. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, baby?” Eddie is like the devil on your shoulder, and you, you’re his angel of eternal damnation.

You’re about to beg, but Eddie saves you the trouble, his fingers tapping in tips down your spine, caressing, stroking, before they spread your lips apart and dip inside, palm flat. “Should fuckin’ split you open, do it raw. Cum so deep inside that you end up pregnant with my baby and have no choice but to always think of me, be around me.”

Though there’s a tease behind his passionate words, there’s this primal exclamation that overtakes you and you clamp down on his fingers. A series of fast paced images are vivid in your mind. Your tummy swollen and breasts heavy, Eddie having you bent over like this—one hand on your belly, the other on your throat, feeling your pulse galavant beneath his touch.

“Y/N… Fuck, sweetheart.” He’s so fucked in his descending tone that the depth is gruff and tipping off his diaphragm, you imagine. He presses his cheek against your own, chin resting on your shoulder as you drink each other in, in the mirror’s expanse, Eddie’s tone weak. “You really willing to carry my kid?”

You meet his eyes in the cluttered mirror, nodding, a softness carving out permanent residence in your features. It’s a topic you’d never shared with anyone else, never banked too much on thinking about, but beyond the idea of how hot this all is, you can’t imagine a scenario like this that doesn’t involve Eddie Munson. Vulnerable and barely above a brisk whisper, you’re answering him with, “Yeah, Eds. Want a family with you.”

At your admission, he lets his hand go in languid thrusts. You groan and let your head shift, but Eddie is jerking you back to stare into the glass, both of you panting and on the cusp of an out of body experience. It causes you to grin, licking your lips as your best-friend pumps those experienced digits to cause a purposeful squelch, his rings clinking together. His hard cock is pressed between his own stomach and your back, that pre-cum pooling onto your lower back and smearing in streaks down your ass. You’ve had more than enough teasing and you’re well aware that Eddie has too.

His look briefly falters, turning to mouth at your chin, a silent question. It’s you who uses your words, or rather, trembles in your feeble attempt. “Eddie, just put your cock inside me, or I swear I’ll—“

He’s smirking wildly at your slack-jawed expression when his fingers slide out of you and stick together with your cum, to which he helps himself to and coats his cock, then lines himself up and presses the thick head into your opening, leaning down to bite at your shoulder and leave an exposed imprint. Your legs feel like jello and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. He’s going to ask you to beg, and you’re an all in willing participant. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t. He inhales sharply, you hold your breath, and both of you watch him sink into your slick and soft cunt, inch by inch, until his balls rest against the globes of your cheeks.

You’re still holding your breath, releasing it when you feel him sigh, grip on your hair loosening a little, too caught up in the fact that he’s where he belongs, after so much time doing without this. Your legs are about to buckle, jerking, toes curling against the carpeted floor, overwhelmed by everything that’s happened, and by your best-friend’s cock throbbing in your aching pussy. “E-Eds…?” It’s a pathetic cry of a question.

Eddie’s brows pinch together, sweat beaded between. He grips your jaw and his fingertips tap you back to meet his mouth, hovering over your lips. “S’ okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” He briefly drops the playful gimmick, reassuring you that he’s right here with you.

It’s more than enough to have you arching back into him, a brash pummeling of his hips that sends you into the dresser, having to reach out and catch yourself. Eddie is quick witted, gripping your wrists with one hand and pinning them behind your back, stepping with you in toe, elongating his arm to snatch those handcuffs on his wall, that cold metal biting into your wrist, that dull noise presenting itself as the cuffs lock you into place, Eddie gripping onto the chains’ excess expanse, using it as a leverage. A sliver of a chalky moan trickles off your kiss-swollen lips, appreciative. The way Eddie is manhandling you has you so fucking euphoric that you’re sure you’ll be in a comatose state before either of you can cum. Your best-friend’s large hand finds purchase in your hair again, drawing his hips back, the other on the chain of the cuffs—steadying himself into a rhythm, riding you like all that matters is your destruction and his ultimate ownership.

Eddie Munson has owned you since the very moment that you two met.

The way he’s executing such precise and rough thrusts, making sure you’re high on the bring up, toes pressing into the carpet, that you’re stuffed full of his fat cock until it hurts, twitching in overstimulation, sore and fluttering walls eager to be soaked in everything he has to give you, that you are taking in every inch, catching every ridge, leaving you a shambled, panting mess, in pieces only being put back together again when Eddie will allow your release. His hair is tickling your shoulder blades, his fingers leaving the cuffs to press into your mouth and curl over your tongue, relishing in how you gag around the digits. You’re weak, so fucking weak for him, and he knows it.

“Can’t wait to hear you gag on my cock, Y/N. If you have trouble with these bad boys?” He puts an emphasis, wiggling his fingers against your tongue, giving them a secondary push to over extend your gag reflexes, his dick twitching inside you.

You bite down on his fingers, sucking them in, accepting his challenge, willing it to happen. His balls slap into your ass, heavy and hot, every movement causing the metal to rut into the skin of your wrists. He’s got a steady tempo going, alternating it by dipping his hips to bring you with him, letting you nearly collide with your chest flush to his desk. He reaches up and shoves that poster back by peeling tape, revealing more of your fucked out forms. Your eyes widen at your disheveled and unrecognizable appearance, Eddie using your cuffed hands as reigns. Riding you so hard that you can’t breathe anything but his hot air curling around the shell of your ear.

“Dammit, you are such a good girl for me, Y/N. Always pictured you takin’ my cock, but you’re not even crying yet, just taking what I give you.”

Yet… Fuck me running.

Your scalp is tingling with a prickling crowd of flames from his harsh grip, his other hand reaching to smack your ass, using some mechanism on the cuffs—albeit—struggling with his spit soaked fingers that were just in your mouth, to unlatch them and discard them at your feet, and he watches the flesh of your ass cheek redden and jiggle beneath his biting palm. You fist your fingers into a strewn pair of his blue denim jeans left on the desk top, dipping your forehead down and arching your back, trying to look between your own legs from this new angle to see Eddie’s cock cradled in your puffy lips. He tuts at your unsuccessful action, forcing you back into watching him doing his hard work—the hardest he’s worked at anything (sans his band or the campaigns, if he’s being honest with himself)—to make this unforgettable for you. He hits that spot located inside, the one you have to strain an arm to barely graze, and you lose all coherent capabilities.

“Eddie… that’s, oh my god, oh FUCK. Right there!”

Eddie’s throat crumbles under a weak pant, which ends up coming out as a whimper. He remains firm, however, still using your hair to keep you right where he wants you, his other hand reaching around to pet his own shaft as he slides out just enough to make you wetter.

“Yeah, baby? That spot gonna make somethin’ happen for you?”

You don’t answer, mumbles and babbling gibberish. He shakes that precious head of his, curls tickling your back and shoulders, a sigh breaking free. “Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t believe we’re doin’ this in front of you. Both my girls right here with me, one of them at my fuckin’ mercy.” Your attentions snap over your shoulder and you see Eddie looking at his fucking guitar, that is one of the only things remaining on the mirror. You gape, but aren’t surprised in the slightest.

He continues on, pretending he doesn’t see your partial seethe. “Makin’ a mess all over me, but I bet you like to see it too, don’t you?” He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, still talking to the inanimate object. “Both my sweethearts are such sluts for their owner.”

You can’t help that rattle that clamps around your bones and slices through your spinal cord, seizing your abdomen, right down into your cunt. Owner? You have zero time to warn him, ask if you can, alarms unprepared, skin slapping on skin, his taste on your mouth, his breath on your flesh, that slippery glide that has cum running down your thighs, and it’s a sudden wave crashing over your insides and drowning them in your painfully interstellar-esque orgasm. Your eyes burn with tears as you watch your best-friend feel what’s happening, realizing. He’s covered in your release, and instead of being mad, he is influencing you like the little devil that he can be, plump lip pressing to your ear lobe with one continuous command. “That’s it. C’mon, Y/N. Drench my dick.”

You wish you could bottle the feeling of your first orgasm with Eddie Munson, your best-friend—forever. Finding yourself growing into that vulnerability that comes with the high, you seek to find solace in Eddie’s arms, whimpering at the overstimulation of his thick cock. With that connection still in tact, Eddie is spinning you around, dick sliding out with a messy mixture of arousals covering you both—his member completely doused in your cream, painting the trimmed curls at the base of his shaft with even more of you, slicking back some more of that happy trail. You want to be embarrassed, but as he’s red faced and struggling to breathe, you know that there’s no need to be. He steers you back onto the bed, falling easily between your spread thighs, drawing them up and around his waist.

He presses his forehead into your own, kissing each corner of your mouth, rings circling in dusting sweeps on the apex of your thighs. His voice is a shivered whisper. “Fuck, baby. You okay?”

There’s words on your tongue, Eddie’s taste on your mouth, things you’ve known for years, but are unsure if Eddie has, or if this is something he needs because he’s afraid you’ll abandon him, but that he doesn’t feel what you do. Your head is spinning and Eddie brushes sweaty strands of hair off your forehead, taking his cock through your swollen folds, pressing that spongey head into your clit—both of you crying out. “Y/N, m’ right here. Care to join me?”

And god help you, the way that you look at him. Really allow yourself to see him this way—unabashed—it stirs all those feelings Eddie has bottled down since forever. You press your thumb into his mouth, your other hand sliding down to grip onto him, gliding your hand back and forth, relishing in how his abdomen tenses, muscles flexing, body gravitating towards whatever you’re willing to bestow. He doesn’t let you touch him much longer, taking what your hand isn’t around and guiding it back into your cunt, that scrumptious burn brimming you, making your thighs drop open, back arch, only to tighten your ankles around him, digging your heels into his ass. He suckles your fingertip into his mouth, licking the digit in until it’s down to the knuckle.

Your head presses sideways, cheek on his pillow, inhaling his shaving cream and that spicy scent. He pauses his movements, making you frown in displeasure. He lets go of your spit tainted finger, gripping your chin, a possessive fire overcoming him. His irises remain completely black, putting you deeper into that comatose trance of agonizing sin. “I want you to fucking say it, Y/N.”

You start a beginning questionnaire, Eddie shaking his head and pressing in harder on your chin, fingers splaying across your jaw, rings pinching your chin in the most delightfully painful of ways. “Say you want me, tell me you fucking need me. That you’re not tired of me, and that you’re proud to be the freak’s slut.”

Your hands wind around his back and you sink your nails in as hard as you can, bearing down on him, sucking him in deeper, both of you in a state of no return. His hand tickles down from your face and grips your neck. “Still sick of me, baby?” He situates your gaze, lifting his hips to a raise so that you can see where you’re connected. You’re inconsolable, that fire already blazing your gut, turning every sense into nothingness.

When Eddie starts back up again, he slams himself into you so hard that your vision goes dark and you shred your own bottom lip open, body moving closer to his wall due to the force. He’s licking beneath your jugular, words sensual and filthy, making your entire body spike in a sudden electricity. “Gonna cum in every hole you’ve got, so you remember that they’re mine.”

This time you’re more than ready to give him a warning, body beginning to shake beyond your control, breaths stuttering in your chest. Eddie reaches down between you, calloused thumb flicking your clit. Everything is so fucking wet and the way it sounds in the expanse of Eddie’s small room, it has you opening your mouth, out of control and greedily begging for more.

“Eds, harder. Please? Almost…”

He’s grinning in that special way that weakens you—heart and soul, body and mind. “So much more than a slut.” His thrusts become choppy, his own babbling tone turning into Eddie-speak. “You are way more than you know, Y/N.”

You fondle his pick chain and bring him into your immediate airspace, mouths hovering. He’s nearing his end, cock getting fuller inside you. “Need you to tell me how much you love me.”

You both completely go slack. Eddie stops himself all together, body trembling, head bowing. Your heart rate increases, feeling as if you’ve skipped a staircase thousands of feet in the air and you’re now free falling.

Love… You don’t have to think twice.

Your hands move to cup his face, holding on, your eyes shining with tears at all overloaded emotions and senses. “I love you so fucking much, Eddie.”

At your admission, those beautiful eyes—dark with remains of passion—they fill, and he gives you his all, driving his cock into you in calculated presses, trying like hell to get you to cum first. When he speaks, his voice cracks apart. “Let me know that you’re right here with me, Y/N.”

“I’ve always been here, Eddie.” Is what you manage, thumping your hand against his wrist and helping him bring his fingers back to your clit.

He doesn’t let you look away, noses smashed together, sticky foreheads pressing, hair curtaining the apples of pink, sex stained cheeks. Your eyes widen as that knot begins to tighten in your stomach, unraveling so violently that Eddie has to grip your quivering thigh in one hand, the other keeping steady on your clit. You dig into his back, other hand tugging on his hair, and Eddie is giving a throaty seduction. “That’s it, be my good girl and cum again for me.”

And you’re coming apart at your very core, every cell exploding and rebuilding, gluing yourself to Eddie to seize the ache that scrambles your insides and leaves you breathless. He’s cursing, keeping his finger on your clit to help you coast over the high, immediately following you with the lowest, sweetest, whimpering moan that you’ve ever heard. Both of your eyes still drinking in the other’s pleasure, tears spilling over your lash line as Eddie’s hips cease and he holds, his cock swelling and that soft, creamy warmth coating your sore walls in spurts. He collapses onto your chest and you hold him there in a vice hug, his hand still trapped between your exhausted bodies. He gently eases it out, groaning around the wetness that he’s all too eager to sample until the layer of shine is off his fingers.

Holy shit and fuck me…

Your legs fall to the side, unable to stay upright any longer, Eddie keeping a hovering hand to soothe your shaking. He kisses your neck with a plush mouth, his chain dangling between your breasts. You’re petting his hair—which is so soaked it’s as if he’s been in the rain or come from the shower—off his forehead, wincing as he slides out and keeps himself by your side. You gasp and he joins, fascinated by your cum and his own seed pouring from your cunt. He raises up a little. “Mhm. Let me see?”

He props your thigh, sliding his fingers back and forth, zoned in on his bedsheets being ruined from the literal puddle of your shared cum that runs from you. Seconds pass and he grins widely, plopping onto his back, his fingertips caressing your shoulder, down to your arm. It’s a comfortable quiet, even with the intense meaning of the words that were spoken, until Eddie starts with a, “So..?”

And you cut him off, trying to get your uncomfortably hot body closer. “So I love you. And I have never stopped needing you, or wanting you, Eddie. I just hope all this wasn’t because we were fighting and you got scared I would leave, and —“

He doesn’t let you finish this time, that chocolate-ly brown ring swinging back around his pupil in a brisk develop, showcasing the moisture in his eyes. “I was scared because I love you so damn much that I would charge headfirst into Mordor, or some alternate dimension without any weapon or any shield, just for you. You gotta know that, Y/N.”

His softness, that glittering fragility, it makes you seal your mouth to his, kissing him full of your feelings. He cups the nape of your neck, drawing in closer, thumb coaxing a shiver from you as it passes over a certain spot behind your ear. On a wet break away, you’re nodding your head. “Guess we spent all week fighting when we should’ve been fucking and talking about our feelings.”

Eddie smirks, then is serious. “Be that as it may, I’m sorry I’ve been shit at showing you I appreciate all that you do for the guys and me. And for forgetting that you are your own person too. S’ not like I meant to, I swear. I just get so fucking caught up and I shouldn’t take for granted anything that has to do with you or with us.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re my best-friend, Eddie Munson?”

While it’s still true, you’re wondering when the words leave your lips. Eddie just fucked you so hard you probably won’t be able to sit down for a week or walk upright for hours, so friendship isn’t exactly the most appropriate term anymore, is it?

Eddie taps his fingertips to your temple, drawing your dazed expression, clinging to the cosmic connection once more. “M’ yours, Y/N.”

“Oh yeah, Munson?” You’re so high that you could fly out of here right now and make rounds around the whole globe. Your chest is aching with a tempo that promises new hope and ease.

Eddie is giddy too, that wide set smile, cheesing. “Just gotta get you a new shirt.”

The memory of your old club attire being one with the forest floor seems like so long ago. Eddie knuckle grazes your cheek, apologetic. You shush him. “I ruined yours, so we’re even.”

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes and he’s tackling you beneath him, pinning your hands in a lace above your head. “Nah, we are just getting started on bein’ even, baby.”

~*~

Tagging: @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @gothbitchshit @thisishellfire @ethereal27cereal @likedovesinthewnd

-I really need to form a bigger tag list! I’m sorry :/-

Lemme know if you want on my general tag list, please! :)

[luvrxbunny]

churn

pairing: knight!Miguel O’Hara x princess!reader

summary: Your royal knight helps you in a way your fiancé never could.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader has hair that can be pushed over her shoulder, reader has visible collarbones, infidelity, miguel seems to have a little thing for readers collarbones.. Idk,  f! masturbation, IMPORTANT LINK (ill be refering to this throughout the fic)

wc: 4.9k

a/n: i don't even think this is good guys cry i just needed to post something but i tried ilya 🫶🏾 (not proofread one bit)

He hated this part of the day. 

Miguel isn’t allowed to feel many things, he is even more limited in who he can feel them for, but he hates this part of the day. When you finally finish your chores and duties. You always tell him that you’re not going to get excited this time, that you know he’s busy but he always sees the excitement build in your face as you search tirelessly for your fiancé. 

Ser Isaac was one of the more well-known lords of the land. He’s known for his outstanding looks and entertaining charm. Everyone has heard of his endless generosity, empathy, and care for others. But in Miguel’s experience. He’s a selfish dick. 

He doesn’t hate Ser Isaac, of course not, that’d be treason. He is allowed to hate his actions, however; the way he neglects you. He hates how Ser Isaac is using you for your position, stature, and admiration throughout the kingdom. He spends all his time sucking up to your father, thanking him for his daughter's hand in marriage rather than worshipping the daughter for tolerating his artificiality. 

You round the corner to find your father and fiancé at the bar, once again. This is where they’ve been for the past few weeks. You’d asked them to try to spend less time together, to make some room for you, but they both laughed you off and continued their boisterous chatter. 

Miguel watches your smile melt off your face as you take in their inebriated state. You turn to him for a moment with a small smile, knowing he’ll give you the same pitying look you get every time this happens. It’s a small comfort; knowing that at least one person in your life cares about you, even if that person is your assigned guard.

You approach the pair of drunks with a brave smile. “Have you saved any for me, my love?” The two men pause to look at you before slowly turning back to one another and breaking out into a fit of laughter. Miguel can see your expression flush into one of embarrassment and anger. You open your mouth to speak again but their laughter raises in volume, drowning out anything you would’ve said. 

Miguel sees a heartbreaking sadness flash over your face before you compose yourself. 

In his mind though, it’s the same as you begging him for help, so he steps in. He moves from his corner by the doorway to stand at your side. His presence gives you a small boost of confidence and commands the men to give you more than 3% of their attention. 

Your fiancé is the first one to quit his laughter and sober up a bit. He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes at Miguel’s presence. “Is he necessary?” He doesn’t even look at Miguel, his eyes don’t flicker in his direction once. Miguel does the same, keeping his eyes forward and surveying his surroundings. He can’t help the slight smirk that worms its way onto his face, however. 

You stand up straighter at the acknowledgment of your muscle. “Miguel is mine, therefore he stays by my side.” Miguel’s eyelids flutter and flicker to you for a moment. He tries his best to ignore the swirling in his stomach but his breathing stutters. “I’d like to confer with you about your schedule, dear.”

Your fiancé smirks maliciously at you before changing it into a faux kind smile. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll make so much time for you.” He stands up, looming over you but not taller than Miguel. “When I’m finished organizing all of our affairs, paying all your maids.” His voice gains more and more venom as he stalks closer to you. 

Your confident gaze is gone, now looking at the wall rather than your soon-to-be husband. “Yes, dear. I’ll spend time with you when I’m done with cleaning your messes.” His voice raises to a shout, screaming right in your face as your eyes stay on the ground. Miguel’s hand goes to rest on the hilt of his sword, just as a reminder of what could happen if Ser Isaac decides to do more than yell. But that negatively catches his attention. 

He scoffs loudly and turns to Miguel, who still isn't meeting his threatening eyes. “You think to strike me? You?” Miguel hears you take a breath, like you’re preparing to speak up for him but he can’t allow that. “I only mean to protect the Princess, Ser.” Miguel keeps his smirk from crawling onto his face this time, he keeps his expression stoic and straight ahead. 

“Oh? OH? I’ll I have you know that I shall do whatever-” He raises his hand. “I’d like-” 

It comes down toward you “with MY wife.” Miguel grabs his wrist, stopping all movement. You watch his grip tighten before your eyes, so tightly you swear you can hear Isaac’s bones cracking. 

“You will not. Not in my presence, or ever, if I can help it.” You’ll never forget the look on his face. The pure shock on his face, the look of disgust and disdain. You don’t even want to think of Miguel’s face. The anger, and unwavering confidence. He exudes this certain dominance over Isaac that you can’t help but admire.

Isaac’s face shows a look of embarrassment once he sees how easily Miguel can hold him back, so he scoffs and goes back to his seat, grumbling about your ‘big oaf of a guard.’ He complains about the both of you to your father as if you aren’t even in the room. You’re not too sad about it, you’ve grown a bit used to his rejection, and it doesn't sting as bad. 

A clock in the corner of the room catches your eye and excitement runs through you with a soft gasp. Miguel looks over to you and follows your gaze to see the time, 3:00 PM. The swirling in his stomach returns as you clear your throat and begin to leave the room. Although you know Mguel will follow, you keep pace with him once you both exit the room, choosing to walk by his side. 

You’re always different for the next two hours. You linger by him more, find more excuses to touch him and talk with him. He knows why, he knows how princesses like to play their games, how they love all their suitors. But sometimes he slips up, sometimes he believes your advances are genuine, that you honestly wish for him to whisk you away from your castle life, your perfect, royal life. Then he comes back to reality. 

You enter your chambers and stand by the foot of your bed, Miguel by the door. His heart is racing because he knows what comes next. It’s- unfortunately, his favorite time of the day. You stand by your wardrobe, just looking into the mirror before catching his gaze in the reflection. “Mig?” Your soft tone sends a suppressed shiver through his body. “Do you think you could help me?”

He’s walking towards you without hesitation. “I- I’d ask one of the maids but they’re all busy and-” He doesn’t need a justification, you don’t need an excuse. “Of course, Princess. I understand.” You do this every time. Your maids are always ‘too busy’. You both know it's a ruse, but neither of you wants it to stop. 

He lets his hands rest on your side for a moment, relishing the way he can feel you expand with the deep breath you take. He slides them back to where you’re laced into your dress and takes his time untying the strings. You wish you could see his hands, the way they’d thread through the strings, how careful and gentle they’d be. Or how small the strings would look between his thick fingers. 

Once he finishes loosening your corset he opens it for you, reliving the extreme pressure it puts on you and you thank him with a soft sigh. He’s in a trance though, he slowly removes the fabric from your body. Your spine seems to compress itself, making you seem even shorter than usual now that you don’t have this brace forcing you upright. You’re just watching him in the mirror as his hands come up to your shoulders and slowly turn you around. He’s not looking you in the eyes yet, he’s just looking at you. He looks at your collarbones and slowly pushes your hair over your shoulder to reveal more of you to him. But something snaps him out of his trance and he puts distance between the two of you before you even take a breath. “S- I’m so sorry, Princess.I—” You cut him off before he can say more. 

“There's no need for an apology! I didn’t say anything, did I?” There’s a shy flirtiness in your tone that causes Miguel’s face to sink into a dark red color, bringing a giggle to your lips that only worsens his condition. He turns and walks back to the door while you finish undressing. 

He keeps his eyes dutifully out the window. Pretending he can't hear the fabric sliding against your naked skin. How he yearns to look, it's like you have your own gravitational pull. It’s a constant struggle to hear you undressing and redressing yourself into something he knows is going to screw with him. You’ll probably change into your favorite nightgown. It’s an adorable sleeved gown with feathers at the top. You always mention you don’t like how long it is, and that it’s “unflattering” but in truth, everything you wear is flattering. You make it so. 

Miguel suddenly becomes aware of the silence in the room. No rustling, no sliding fabrics. He risks looking over at you and his heart almost beats out of his chest. It’s new. You must’ve gotten it tailored because he’s never seen anything fit you so well. It’s a night dress, flowy but short, very short. It barely reaches the halfway point of your thigh. It has no sleeves, your neck, collarbones, and shoulders on full display, and the top hugs your breasts in a way he’s never witnessed. 

You watch him admire you for a moment before speaking up with a soft “Hmm?” and his eyes fly to yours. “I think it’s quite cute!” You smile at him brightly, waiting for his opinion. He doesn’t give you one though, he just stares at you for a little longer. You grow conscious under his stare and anxiety begins to eat away at you. “W- What do you th—” 

His face twitches before he blurts out. “Yes. Yes, you look-- It’s very- You look very cute. It’s beautiful. You- You look amazing, Princess.” His sentence ends with a sharp inhale that's followed by a calm exhale as Migusl straightens out. He’s been slowly leaning down, subconsciously trying to get closer to you. “You look incredible, Princess.” He tries to place his eyes forward again, trying to turn the environment back to professional, he can’t help but look at you one last time as you thank him. 

Your eyes are on the ground and your hand sliding up your arm, uncomfortable with all the skin you’re showing. “You do.” Your eyes snap up to his upon his third confirmation. You seem to be searching his eyes for something, looking deep into him in a way he’ll never get used to. 

Your brows furrow and you chew on your lip for a few seconds before declaring that he follow you and starting a rapid pace. He follows behind you urgently before realizing where the two of you are headed.

The castle has a lot of tunnels and hidden passageways, these passageways sometimes lead to other rooms in the castle or secret rooms in the castle. One of your handmaidens was kind enough to show you a passageway right by your washroom that leads to a secret chamber. You’d instantly fallen in love with what you found. 

Miguel was there the first time you saw it, you laughed so loud it echoed off the walls. You thought it was a novelty. He was there when he saw it pique your interest for the first time. It had been late at night, and Miguel hadn’t retired to his quarters yet so he was guardian of your door. Inside your room, he could hear you giggling with a drunk Ser Isaac. Your giggle soon turned to breathy whines but they were interrupted with a dull ‘thump’ before a very disappointed sigh from you. It was a matter of seconds before you opened your chamber doors and told him to follow you with about the same amount of urgency that you just did. 

You told him to guard the door and quickly shut it before you could see any opinion on his face. He was almost hyperventilating at his post. First of all, he was uncomfortable being out here, staring at your drunk, passed-out, fiancé, while you’re in that room doing god knows what. The other thing that bothered him was how he could not stop thinking about how he’d be so much better for you than that machine. 

You opened the door again far too quickly with an even more frustrated expression on your face. “I cannot figure it out. It- It doesn’t work.” Your words come out as an exasperated whine that tugs at his heartstrings. “Show me.” 

You chew on your lip for a second before opening the door to let him in and shutting it behind the two of you. There’s a single, yellow light overhead, shining down on where you would be sitting, where the heavy, metal rod protrudes from the seat. “This thing? It will not move, no matter how hard I try!” He examines the churning lever, immediately spots the problem, and starts removing his gloves. 

“It’s rusted over, Princess. I can fix it.” You watch as his thick fingers curl around the lever and his biceps tense as he pushes, trying to break it free of the rust. There’s an awful screeching sound and Miguel grunts roughly as the lever begins to move. You try to hide your smile of excitement as Miguel rotates the handle a few more times before letting go. “There.” 

You rush over to test for yourself and make sure you can operate it on your own. You smile and turn to Miguel after moving it around with ease. He smirks back at you while he brushes his hands together to remove the rust, and something about the whole scene does something to you. His hands are dirty, his knuckles hairy, his hands huge and thick as he stares at you with something you haven't seen before. You still have one more problem. 

“It also…” You trail off before clearing your throat and starting again. “It doesn’t seem to fit.”

Miguel has to shut his eyes for a moment as arousal floods his veins. He takes a deep breath before looking up at you with the softest expression he could muster, hoping it would hide his lust. “You need to start with your fingers, Princess.”

Your eyes widen at his answer and you quickly nod despite him being able to see the confusion written all over your face. He smiles fondly before explaining further. “That.” He gestures to the machine. “Is too big for most girls.” He looks you directly in your eyes as he speaks, slowly bending to your height. “So you have to start with your fingers.” Your eyes dart to his dirty hands for a moment. “You put them inside you, however many you can take.” 

You start blinking rapidly like your innocent little brain is having trouble processing what he’s telling you. All you respond with is, “Oh.” Miguel chuckles quietly before standing upright and putting his gloves back on. “Yes. I hope that helps.” You walk up to the door with him, to open it for him or accompany him out but you both pause when you hear a bit of commotion on the other side of the door. 

You watch him as he identifies the noise, and breathe out a soft sigh of relief when you see his tense expression relax. “They’re cleaning up Ser Isaac.” He states with a certain disdain that makes you smile softly. You stare at him.

“Okay, then you stay here.” You walk over to the seat and churn the lever a few times to ensure you could do it yourself before sitting on the edge, not quite on the metal penis but close. Miguel is watching from the corner with wide eyes, unable to rationalize what’s going on. You simply tell him “Don’t look.” And he whips his head back around. 

He stares at the dark wall, unknowing what he’s waiting for until he hears it. A soft sigh leaves your lips. He waits. He receives more. You grow in volume as you become wetter, he can hear it, the little squelching sounds getting louder, and faster as you get more desperate. Miguel is using all his willpower to not turn around and take in what he has no doubt is a beautiful sight. 

He hears your whines muffle as you bite your lip and he wishes you could tell you not to, that he wants to hear them all and more. He heard you let out a ragged breath as you added another finger and he couldn’t help his desire to do it for you, but he happily settled with only hearing your beautiful sounds and movements. 

He thanks the Gods every day for letting him stay in that room, for giving him the saccharine memories of you pleasuring yourself for the first time. 

This time feels different though. You’re all dressed up and giving him that look. The one that swirls fantasies into his head and makes his hands clam up. 

He follows you to the room and assumes his position in the corner, but never hears the metallic clink of you situating yourself in the seat. He waits and waits but hears nothing, no movement from you. So he turns around. He has to see what you’re doing, even if it's only for a second, just to make sure you’re safe. 

He finds you standing directly behind him, staring right at him so you guys make eye contact the moment he looks over his shoulder. He instantly turns back around, embarrassed that you found him looking, and worried you might get the wrong idea.

Miguel tries to explain himself, stumbling and stuttering over the start of his sentence before you cut him off. “How come you never look?”

The question silences him. 

“Do you have no desire to?” He turns around again. You seem genuine in your questioning, he feels like he detects a bit of hurt in your voice as well, but that’s most likely in his head. 

“You know I cannot desire.” He states softly. He, as a knight, cannot desire any woman, and most definitely not a princess. Yet he sees anger flash through your eyes at his statement. 

“Just because someone tells you you’re not allowed, does not mean you can’t.” Miguel stays silent, not knowing what you want him to say in response. He can see you scanning his face, examining his features to try and find any crack in his exterior. You must find whatever you’re looking for because you suddenly nod and take a step back. 

“Who are you more loyal to, your oath, or me?” The question baffles him. “If I, your princess, were to tell you to disobey your oath… Would you?” 

His eyes widen and you can see the gears turning in his head, trying to understand where his loyalties should lie. His mouth opens and closes with unsaid words and you decide to give him a break. 

“Come here.” You demand, pointing next to the machine, by the churning lever. You take a deep breath, seat yourself by the metal phallus, and slip a finger under your gown before you can give it a second thought. 

You slide your fingers over your panties for a moment, teasing yourself. Through a lot of trial and error, you’ve found that this is your favorite part; exploring your body, what makes you feel good, and feeling yourself soak your panties throughout the process. 

You hear Miguel take a sharp breath of air, reminding you of his presence and sending a jolt to your core. You’ve never been like this in front of someone, aside from what Miguel could hear and the few times your fiancé was sober enough to attempt to get you off. But even then, it didn't feel like it does now. 

You can’t help but imagine what it would be like if Miguel was the one touching you. If it were his thick fingers sliding under the satin fabric of your underwear to finally slide into you. There’s a burning stretch due to you using two fingers instead of one but it only furthers your fantasies of Miguel’s large hands. You peek your eyes open for a moment, your gaze still on the ground but you can see his feet, a small (or rather large) reminder that he’s right there. 

You can’t help the whimper that slips out, louder than usual. You’re more desperate. You can’t think of any other reason aside from him. You’re soaking your fingers in a way you haven’t since your first time and it’s driving you wild. “Miguel” His name comes out with a small whine, pitching your voice up and scrambling his brain. 

He has to take a deep breath before answering you out of fear that his voice will shake. “Princess?” His voice is rough and gravelly. He hears you take a sharp breath at the sound of it before clearing your throat in hopes of composing yourself. 

“You will churn the lever for me today.” His heart stops. “Understood, Ser?” His eyelids flutter as his eyes burn holes in the wall he’s facing. He goes over your sentence in his head, assuming he must’ve misheard you. His brows furrow and twitch along with his face before accepting that he heard you correctly. “Un-” He takes a shaking breath. “Understood, Princess.”

His hand comes up to wrap around the lever without him even looking in your direction. 

You stare up at him as you pull your panties aside and slide down the cold metal, your teeth digging into your lip to try and keep any noises inside. You only let out a satisfied sigh once you’ve sunk to the bottom before pushing yourself to the tip again. 

You can’t help but focus on him. He’s right there. You can see the curve of his nose and the plush of his lips, the way they purse before his tongue comes out to wet them and pull one into his mouth to bite. He doesn’t have his helmet on so you can see his rich brown curls, the way they frame his face and dance over his neck. You can see his thick, bushy brows, and behind his beautiful lashes are his warm, chocolate-brown eyes looking down at you. 

You gasp once your eyes meet and Miguel goes red. He just wanted to see you for a moment. You’re right there, practically whining in his ear as you impale yourself on what should be his cock. 

He can’t take it anymore, he can’t hold his feelings back as he feels a ripple flow through him and blood rush to his dick. His head decides to conjure every arousing, heart-warming, lovable memory he has of you. He hears you whine again at the loss of eye contact, even if it was only for a moment. Another ripple flows through him, settling in his lower stomach, and creating a painful pressure as your whimpers grow. He tries to redirect his thoughts and focus ahead as he keeps churning for you, cranking the lever again, and again. Your moans pick up as he regains his steady pace.

He tries not to imagine that it’s him. He tries not to think about the fact that your moaning aligns with the throbbing of his cock. He definitely doesn't think about the way his dick is pressing into the metal plate covering his cock. He doesn’t note the way his free hand twitches behind his back, wishing to provide any sense of relief to himself. He doesn’t get distracted by the thought of him touching himself with you sitting right there. 

You feel your orgasm building before Miguel starts to slow down again, his timing uneven again and you look up at him in confusion. He’s staring at the wall, his chest heaving and that same expression on his face. You don’t care to decipher what it means in your impatience. Miguel just feels your delicate hand on his, pushing his hand, forcing him to churn the lever.

You moan as your seat becomes functional. Your chin collides with your chest as you release all the moans and whimpers you’ve been trying to quiet. It almost feels like he’s been toying with you, with all his starting and stopping. You’ve been pushed to the edge of your sanity. 

You can’t comprehend how embarrassing this might be for you, a princess burying this rod inside you again and again, wishing it was someone other than who you’re set to marry. 

You shake the thought of Isaac from your head and replace it with Miguel. Just thinking about the life you could have with him has you tensing over the metal. Your fingers lace with his before you can even think about what you’re doing.

Miguel’s gaze is now on the ceiling, his eyes already slipping shut as your nails dig into his hand. His dick is leaking behind his crotch plate now, begging for your attention, a feeling he isn’t used to regulating. He feels himself pulse painfully and his free hand twitches again. 

Just for a moment. He thinks. Just one second. 

His hand comes from behind his back to crush itself against his crotch, trying to relieve any pressure before he loses his mind, but you hear the clink of the metal hitting and open your eyes instantly. You spot his hand over his dick before slowly looking up to meet his eyes. Miguel lets a moan slip out as he massages himself more thoroughly, squeezing more precum from his tip before pulling away and forcing himself to break your stare. 

“Please.” Is all he hears from you. It’s weak, pathetic, and punches him in the gut, taking all the breath from his lungs. His eyes wander back to you before he can think better of it and he’s instantly stuck, locked into your eyes. 

He watches your body catch alight. You tremble over the steel cock, holding eye contact with Miguel and pushing his hand, forcing him to churn, fuck you over and over as you cum. He can’t do anything but watch. He doesn’t even think about touching himself, not wanting anything to take his attention away from this moment. 

He watches you come down, your body melting into a puddle before him. You drape yourself over the front of the machine as you huff. Even out of breath and covered in sweat, your hair a mess and your dress surely mussed, he thinks you look like an angel, and it breaks his heart that he’ll never be able to keep you. 

He takes a deep breath before releasing the lever, relishing in the whine that leaves your throat as the rod slides out of you one final time. Despite better thinking, Miguel pats your head fondly, almost petting you before speaking as softly as he can. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you to bed.”

You only hum and bury yourself in his neck as he lifts you from your seat. He takes his time getting back to your room, letting you rest in his arms for as long as he can allow. 

He lays you on your bed gently, propping your head up on the pillow and even going to cover you before you stop him. “Mmm Mig..” You begin sitting up again and stretch before opening your eyes to look at him.

Your eyebrows twitch, furrowing for a moment before he sees recognition in your eyes, quickly accompanied by mischief. “Sit down.” Your voice slurs adorably with your fatigue. He doesn’t get to hear this often. Normally, he’d do anything to stay with you, talk with you just a little more. 

But Miguel is still harder than steel in his suit, so pairing that with the hard metal of his armor, and sitting down? It sounds like the most painful thing he could do right now. “Princess… You should get some res-”

“ Sit down, Miguel.” He stares at you, debating his options again in the face of your stubbornness. You, however, take this as more defiance. “Please?” You beg him. 

You should know you never have to beg him for anything. 

He’s seated before your mouth even shuts. Your mouth is shaped into a smirk before he can take a breath, and you’re in his lap before he can blink. 

“Wha-?” Is all he can breathe out before your mouth is on his. His hands find your hips on instinct, grabbing all that he can and pulling it against him. You pull away. “Thank you.” And dive for him again. 

He places one hand behind your head to ensure you don’t do it again. 

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist or send me some motivation here!!

[melinoelliones]

You were on your first official “dream first date”, cuddled up watching cheesy romance movies. However Micah Yujin, the cocky little hacker you met 5 days ago, wasn’t being so cocky anymore.....

MINORS DNI/ AGELESS BLOGS DNI/ ANTI DC DNI/ 18+

Warnings: neck kisses, oral, dry humping, hickies, teasing, early ejaculation, grinding, cursing, slight face fucking, slight choking, whimpering

1.9K words

SECOND PIECE OF WRITING LESS GOOOOOOOO!! Again I am still new at this so please don't jump me LOL. I know there are many mistakes, weird wordings/story so on and so forth but oh well. I played Error143 a while ago with my friend group, and since then this man has been on my mind 24/7. Seeing him get flustered in game reminded me of this idea I had stored away for a fic which I felt would actually suit him nicely so here we are. Hope all the Micah lovers enjoy. On a serious note I have never written for a gender neutral reader so please let me know if I should change anything! Also I’ve used the nickname Angel as one of the names since that is what he uses in game!

The image of Micah was drawn by @kamuyagi​ on tumblr and twitter so check em out! I was given the green light to use their art so thank you again, it was lovely speaking to you :)

"You... actually like this stuff?", you could almost hear the smirk creeping up on Micahs face while pointing at the screen. "Some of us like to bake, others like to lie in bed and watch romance movies, problem?", you questioned while glancing over at him with a stern look, "no no, I have no issues here, was just curious is all Angel". He chuckled away while watching you turn back to face the TV, his chest now pressed against bare back as he was pulling you closer into him.

THE Micah Yujin was in your bed, cuddling up behind you, watching one of your favourite movies, it was almost unreal to you. Who would've known this would be the outcome of deciding to hack someone 5 days prior due to jealousy.

You could feel every ridge from his toned stomach as you both followed along with the movie, you both were down to just your underwear as he had suggested you guys "stay comfortable" since you were spending the day binge watching cheesy romance movies.

You couldn't help but think there was an ulterior motive but he was adamant that there was "no funny business in his agenda today", even though you had to pretend to ignore the figure which began to press against your lower back every so lightly.

"Uh uh uh, what is THIS my love"? Before you could even respond Micah had covered your eyes with his hands so you could no longer see the screen, "this is FAR too PG for you don't ya think Angel?", his sniggering getting louder as you attempted to swat him away. "THIS is too PG? Micah they're only kissing, I don't even think they go all the way in this one", you couldn't help but laugh a little, he was so immature.

You rolled over to face him, inching closer to his newly flustered face, "How about I show you PG hmm?", your seductive tone causing his eyes to widen, your own flittered between his and his lips. The sexual tension in the air rising as you let your lips linger by his teasing him while moving to lay on his chest.

"You're such a tea~", you cut him off by crashing your lips into his, gliding them over one another. His hand slid up to your neck, gently applying pressure while lightly tugging you even closer, the kiss getting heated ever so quickly. Micah caught your bottom lip between his, gently easing his tongue into your mouth as you followed, you let him take charge just this once.

The sexual tension quickly turned into frustration, as he deepened the kiss you knew he wanted more, the soft moans leaving his lips told you more than enough but you wouldn't give it up that easily. You could also feel how needy he was yet he didn't dare to try anything further.

You slowly pulled away, a string of saliva linking you together as you sat up, he watched as your eyes moved from his lower stomach to his eyes. "It's pretty convenient that at your request we are both only in our underwear. It's almost like.... This is what you wanted to happen hmm? Don't get all shy on me now". The grin forming on your face causing the usually cocky man under you to squirm trying to cover his heated cheeks.

"Nothing to say for yourself hmm?" you frowned smugly while watching Micah struggle to get any words out, "a~actually I~". You felt him choke back on his words as you leant forward letting you fingers coiled around his already hard nipples. "Sensitive here are we Micah?", your words ringing through while snaking your fingers around them.

You could feel Micah swallowing down his moans on your lips as you placed small kisses down the side of his neck, sucking lightly on each left kiss while nibbling down. Whilst trailing them down to his chest you blew gently against the newly placed hickies, you felt his body quiver due to how tender the marks were.

Micah's eyes widened as he heard your breath hitch while jolting up. "Ah, and you told me to shield my eyes from a kiss in a movie?", the confused look on his face dropping as he followed your eyes to his newly grown piece that was now pressing up on your lower half, you took your bottom lip in your teeth as you cheekily began to grind down against it.

Was Micah really that turnt on by a few neck kisses? This was the same egotistical man that would boast about how you would definitely fold first when it comes to being in the same room.

You couldn't help but giggle to yourself quietly while watching him squirm under you trying to take any extra friction he could from your lower half to his, desperation looked good on him.

You crawled off him, you could almost hear him internally sighing thinking you were done teasing him but he couldn't be further from correct. You placed yourself between his legs, hands running down his torso to the band of his boxers, your eyes half lidded with desire as you rolled your tongue against your top teeth, a coy grin plastered on your face.

Sliding the fabric down under his hips you took his length in your hand, the sheer size of it took you by surprise, no wonder the rare times when he was modest were only when you would joke about it being small without having seen it, "So this is what you've been hiding, I think I can handle it" you bit your lip while perking up.

"What do you mean by tha~ oh fuck", Micah hissed through his teeth as you timidly rubbed his ever growing member. With each stroke you could hear his needy moans get louder, his eyes showing a pure yearning for more."Look at you, is this the smug and overconfident hacker I met 5 days ago? 2 minutes in and you're already this turnt on", you teased as he averted his eyes from you.

"Look at me pretty boy", your stern tone followed by you meticulously moulding your fingers around his member massaging it in your hand, you could hear Micah curse through his moans. He turnt to look at you, eyebrows tilted upwards in bliss.

You weren't sure how much more he could take as you didn't know his cues yet, however you did know you weren't going to let it end here, having a cheeky man in submission was too perfect to give up this fast.

You slowly stopped your hand movements, "w~why'd you stop?" Micah whined trying to conduct himself, he wasn't used to being this vulnerable but with you he didn't mind but he wasn't expecting all this.

"Okay Micah, would you rather I finish you off with my hand, or mouth? Hackers choice.", your cheeky tone confusing him as to if that was a real question. Before he had a chance to formulate a response you placed your fingertips on the cusp on his cock, as you pressed them onto it you stuck out your tongue to let a drop of saliva hit his tip, your grip tightening as his body squirmed.

While kneading the tip in your fingertips you asked again, "You gotta pick one Micah, if not I guess we can leave it here and go back to the mov~", "mouth". "What was that? I couldn't hear you?", you pouted jokingly as if to mock him. You had full control and you were going to get the most out of it.

"P~Please, please finish me off with your mouth Angel", Micahs head rolling back in pure sexual frustration, "good boy Micah, i'm all yours". Without another word you skimmed your tongue across his shaft before taking it in your mouth, your warm breath adding to the burning in his stomach.

You bobbed your head up and down taking him all in, your saliva mixing with his precum engulfing his cock in a wet heat. "Fuuuck baby, don't stop", his hand slid to your cheek, caressing it before bringing it to the back of your head, you felt a slight pressure.

Was he really trying to fuck your face? You weren't expecting him to get a burst of confidence, or was his body just moving on its own? Either way it was turning you on little by little. You placed your free hand on his balls, palming them as he began to grind his hips forwards, the crown of his cock hitting the back of your throat each stroke.

Micah's moans became sloppy and incoherent as your tongue slid across the slit in his piece before taking it all back in, humming to allow it to slip back down your throat, the vibrations adding to the overwhelming closeness he was feeling.

You could feel him twitching slightly in your mouth, "oh my g~god i'm so close baby", his whining getting louder as you gave his balls in your palm some more attention. "Just keep going baby" he mewled out in desperation.

Before you could have another thought you felt him shudder, as if on cue he let go, you could feel it cascade down your throat coating it completely, his breath hitching as you continued to deepthroat him, swallowing whatever remained in your mouth. "W~What are you d~oing I can't take much mo~", you could hear him whimpering as the overstim started to consume him, the delirium swirling inside him as the suction intensified.

"F~Fuuuck Angel", he was drowning in pain and pleasure, you started to slow down using your tongue to take in the elixir of cum and saliva encasing his cock cleaning him up. You could almost feel his member throbbing as you pulled back. You gazed at him alluringly as he covered his deep red cheeks with his forearm, "welllll, did I do good Mr Micah?".

Another cheeky smirk emerging on your lips as you slid your hand on last time up his length to take off anything remaining, licking it clean while remaining eye contact with him, he breathlessly mumbled "you~you did more than good I can tell ya that much" whilst you placed him back in his boxers carefully.

Micah grabbed your jaw with his hand pulling you into a quick heated kiss as you went to lay by his side, the taste of him and your saliva slightly re-turning him on. "You outdone anything I expected you to do, that's for sure, i'm still kinda in a haze", he chuckled letting you go, you winked at him before sliding back to face the television, back against his chest once again.

You could feel his heartbeat calming down behind you, you had definitely shocked him with your actions. Who knew you could make a cocky man whimper n writhe with just your mouth? God knows what he would be like if you guys actually fucked, you were definitely intrigued though.

You felt his arm wrap around your waist before moving up to your chin, turning your head so your ear was beside his lips, his breath sending shivers down your spine, "Once i've managed to collect myself, how about I repay you for your little display hmm? How does that sound?". His husky tone taking you aback.

He placed a kiss on the nape of your neck before sliding his arm back to your waist, your mind running through all possible scenarios that could pan out due to his cryptic words. All you knew was that the date was just beginning.

[syndxlla]

best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high reward and self-indulgent Zelink fan fiction. Canon-compliant. Takes place between BOTW and TOTK

Chapter Five: My North Star

Read chapter four here

My masterlist

Song: August by Taylor Swift

Summary: Link and Zelda get a visitor from an old friend, and start to remember how to live for the hope of it all.

Warnings: brief and non graphic mentions of death and dead bodies, canon-typical violence and horror, PTSD (always for this fan fic)

Word Count: 3.3k words

Authors Note: finally some happy moments lol. Also this is unedited!! ALSO I KNOW I HAVE SO MANY UNANSWERED ASKS RN I PROMISE I AM NOT IGNORING YOU IM JUST BUSY AND LAZY kloveyoubye

It takes only three more days for Impa to arrive at their door, angrily pounding her staff on the wooden plank. It’s early, she beats the rooster, and Link is rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he stumbles to the door from his makeshift bed he’s made adjacent to the kitchen.

He’s shocked to see the old woman staring up at him, as far as he knows, she hasn’t left Kakariko village in decades.

“You completed the mission and your first instinct was NOT to come and tell me?” She asks, her wrinkled lips pressed firmly into a frown. Link looks up to see Cado, apologetic. His hair is down, shirt is off, and he’s barely wearing trousers. He yawns.

“Good morning, Master Impa.” He bows deeply to her and she just whacks his skull with her cane in the same manner she did the door. Link yelps and rubs the top of his head. “What was that for?” He asks.

“Where’s the princess?”

“She’s sleeping still, it’s barely sunrise.” Link rubs some more sleep from his lashes, his hand in a tight fist. “You know, most people say good morning when you see them first thing…”

Impa then lets herself into the house, pushing past him like the angry ball of spunk she is. “I’ll have tea.” She states, “And I’d like to see my friend.” Link and Cado look at each other, the Sheikah man staring at him apologetically.

Link nods, walking to the furnace and kneeling in front of it. He blows on the dying embers from the night before, placing a small log on them. Flames catch, and he’s setting the kettle over them, still full of water from yesterday. Cado closes the door and sits across from Impa at the table. Link eyes his bed roll in the corner of the room, kicking some blankets around in an attempt to make it look less disheveled, but the elderly woman just squints at the state of the house. If only she had seen it a week ago. Link was starting to feel proud of he and Zelda’s progress, wildflowers being placed in a vase on the table, and their plates polished and put away neatly for the first time. After Impa’s scrutinizing gaze, however, he was feeling all sorts of insecure again.

The air is stagnant.

“She's still sleeping…still.” Link clears his throat, his voice hushed. “She needs to rest because-“

“Link, two bodies were found just outside of the castle two days ago, the man who found them also reports seeing a Shadowy Figure, covered in what he suspects is malice.” Impa interrupts him.

“What?” He asks, startled.

“I didn’t want to lead with that, but it cannot be ignored.” She spoke in the same hushed tone. They didn’t want to wake the Princess, and they especially didn’t want to scare her.

“Treasure hunters? I mean it's still a war zone there, it wasn’t anything else… right? He was lying, surely. All the Malice disappeared…” Link asks, feeling the blood go from his face.

“The man was Me.” Cado frowns. He would never lie. “After we got your message from Purah, I traveled to the castle to confirm that the Calamity was destroyed. The bodies were hylian, two young people. A boy and a girl… I thought it was..”

Cado’s voice became too loud, and Link hushed him.

“We want to think it was leftover spells, but we don’t know. We don’t know who else to ask to investigate.” Impa says.

“Now that Hyrule is safe, it's time we start reestablishing civility, democracy.” Cado steps in.

“It’s been eleven days since I defeated him.” Link crosses his arms, “I’m still not sleeping through the nights, Zelda doesn’t have her full strength back yet. You promised me I would get to rest when it was all over.” He looks at the Sheikah Chief.

“Don’t lie to me, Link.” Impa shakes her head, “I know you can’t stay in one place for too long. No matter how hard you try.” She states. She wasn’t wrong, but recently Link has started to feel different.

The kettle starts to whistle. Link swallows his frustration and takes it off the heat, preparing three cups of green bell tea. Everyone feels discomfort. “Did the figure do anything?” Link asks as he pours the hot water into the cups, his back turned to the Sheikah.

“It just stared at me, it was tall, hunched over.” Cado describes, one could easily hear the fear in his voice. “We stared at each other, I couldn’t tell if it was from this world or not.”

“Tall like a Zora or tall like a Gerudo?” Link asks, still turned away.

“Gerudo.” Cado struggled to say it. “I drew my sword, and as soon as I did, it turned away from me and walked into the mist to the south. I never saw it again.”

Link swallows and then turns around finally, carrying the cups to the table. “And the bodies?”

“Cause of death was unknown, I checked for a pulse multiple times but they were both long gone. They were dressed in traveler's garb. Their dress seemed to be from the north.”

“If they have families they need to know.” Link sits, holding the mug of tea in his hands.

“You’re the only one who could inform them about such a thing.” Impa says. “Tabantha is a long way, but you could be there and back in an hour if you warp. We’ll stay here until you-“

“The sheikah slate is utterly destroyed.” Link admits. “I left it with Purah but she essentially told me it's beyond repair.”

“You’d have to go on foot like the rest of us.” Cado smirks.

“Why would I?” Link asks, perhaps too forcefully. “I did my quest.”

Impa stares at him, silent for a moment, “You don’t really feel that way.” She shakes her head, “And if you do, then you are not the same man who woke up three years ago.”

“I’m not!” Link almost shouts, and they all bite their tongues, listening for any sound from upstairs. “Impa… you know I care. You know I want to go find whatever that figure was, but I am tired.” His voice cracks. “I can’t just sleep this one off.” He can’t look at her, if he does, he’ll break. “This is much deeper than exhaustion. It’s… it’s traumatic.

I still see him. His eyes, the way His heat radiated and burned my skin, the sound of His laughter. He Haunts me at night, I swear He finds ways into my dreams and taunts me there. Like it was all just a game to Him. Because it was. It always was. He’ll do it again a hundred times, and we can’t ever stop Him. There will be countless more Links who lose their hearing and can’t sleep and won't even look themselves in a mirror because as long as the triforce exists, He will mock us all with His deviance.”

Link stares into his tea.

“Impa…” A quiet voice says from the stairs, and all three of them are turning to see her. Long, blonde hair draped over her shoulder, eyes sleepy and confused, hands at her sides.

She nearly trips down the stairs as she runs to the woman, wrapping her hands around her neck and crying. Impa immediately holds her back, laughing, taking an old, bony hand and stroking the top of her friend's head with it.

“Good Morning, my dear.”

Link and Cado share one more glance.

The day is spent with hugs and laughter and Zelda looking into Impa’s eyes and crying every time she sees that they’re still the same eyes. Link cooks for them, and gets as quiet as he was at the start of this war. It’s all he can think about. Did it return for other Links? Did it return this early?

Zelda must have noticed his distance because while Impa is telling Zelda all about the man she married, the Princess is glancing at Link. His shoulders tense, his head down, his voice silent. She frowns, deciding to ask him about it later.

Cado was delighted to meet the woman, bowing deeply for her. He eventually got on a tangent about his children while they ate the omelets Link prepared, but Link stayed silent. He glances over at the Master Sword, leaning against the corner of the room, staring back at him.

He distracts himself the rest of the day with Epona, tending to her constantly while Zelda tells Impa every single detail about her time sealed away. The two prayed over each other a few times. The sun gets low in the sky, Link stays silent.

They come back inside, and before Impa and Cado enter from the outside to begin their next hour of catching up, Zelda places a gentle hand on Link’s shoulder. “Link,”

He turns to look at her, everything about him immediately softening as her green eyes stare at him.

“You’re upset?” She says, her voice soothing.

“No I’m not.” He denies. She raises an eyebrow.

“I know you.” Link becomes acutely aware of her thumb that starts rubbing circles into his muscle and he has to remind himself how to stand. ”Talk to me.”

He knows he can’t tell her about this, not yet. “Later?” He asks. She smiles and nods.

“I’m here for you.”

Link begins dinner, and Zelda washes up, leaving the three alone for the first time since early morning.

Impa stares, Cado uncomfortably clears his throat. Link looks at them, frowning, knowing what they want.

He sighs deeply.

“I will return to the castle. Zelda and I briefly discussed returning the Champion’s weapons to their people, and can do it then.” He finally says. “Tell every leader to warn their people to avoid the castle at all costs.”

“Good.” Impa nods.

“But-“ Link holds his hand up, “I’m not going until both she and I are ready.” He says.

“What do you mean by ready?” That old woman was always so pushy.

“When Zel and I both feel ready to return to those places without it absolutely crushing our spirits, we will go. Together.”

“Hylia knows when that will be.” Cado scoffs.

“Exactly.” Link says. “Unless more deaths are reported or this shadow is seen again, it can wait. Everyone has been avoiding the castle for a century, what’s a little while longer?” Link states, silently proud of himself for sticking up for himself and not just being the obedient soldier he was trained to be. “Besides, no one should be there anyways, it’s not safe.”

“You’re in love with the Princess.” Impa states with a chuckle and Link sputters, the wind knocking out of him.

“What? Why would you say that?” He asks.

“I saw you two. The way you look at her.” Impa smirks. Link feels his ears heat up, Cado stifles a laugh.

“You are so rude.” Link replies.

“I think you two need each other.” Impa shrugs, “But do not let any worldly affection keep you in the way of what really matters here: Hyrule and its people.”

Impa always knew exactly how to remind Link that he is just a soldier.

“We will leave before we eat. At this rate we will not return home until late into the night.” Impa states, standing back up.

They say their goodbyes. Zelda promises to visit, Impa gives her a kiss on the forehead, Cado bows again. And just as the sun begins to set, the pair is headed through the bridge.

Both Link and Zelda stand in the doorway as they watch them leave. Zelda starts to sniffle, wiping a tear.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Link says in a comforting tone when he sees her cry, turning to face her. “It’s okay, we’re gonna see her again real soon.” He reassures. Zelda sighs.

“She got so old, without me.” She tries to swallow her sob but fails. She presses her tear-stained face into the crook of Link’s neck, and he just holds her for as long she needs. Zelda is the one to pull away after a moment of comfort. “I’m sorry… I know there's something troubling you, too. I shouldn’t be so selfish.” Zelda sighs.

Link swallows, “It’s nothing. Not for tonight.”

“You're sure?”

“Positive.” Link nods. “Can I show you something?” He asks, and Zelda is nodding as he takes her hand and leads her up stairs. He pushes open a hatch on the ceiling in the corner, and a rickety ladder slides down. Some dust and cobwebs fly down, but when the air clears, Link is climbing up onto the roof of their house. He helps Zelda up next, and she’s looking up at the night sky with bright eyes. It’s still not totally dark yet, but the first few stars are starting to shine.

The roof is slightly slanted, but not enough to cause either of them concern. They both comfortably find a position on the tiles, facing south, noses pointed at the heavens. There’s about a foot of space between them, and Link wants to scoot closer into her, but chooses not to. He closes the hatch from the outside, so the warm light of the house doesn’t pollute their view.

“I like to come up here to clear my head.” He says. “It doesn’t hold a candle to the night sky in Hebra or out in the desert, but it's still pretty spectacular.”

Zelda hums, “You’ll have to take me someday.” She stays looking at the sky but Link looks at her. Her profile is beautiful, hair long and cascading, ears pointed and blushed. Surely she knew he was staring, but neither of them did anything to stop.

“One day.” He nods before looking away and laying on his back. He rests his arms behind his head, crossing an ankle over his bended knee. “That one is called Haru.” He points to an especially bright star, “It’s part of the constellation Nabooru.” He then traces the warrior constellation with his finger.

“I remember, yes.” Zelda scoots into him, and he tries to stifle his smile. She doesn’t lay next to him, but now they’re a mere inches apart.

“And this is the North Star.” Link cranes his neck back to see it. “It moves though, did you know that? True north changes over time, so that one was the North Star when we were born, but over time the celestial bodies shifted and now it's that one. They didn’t even know that until I came back, because I was following the original one and ended up in Lanayru instead of Eldin. I talked with Purah and Robbie and they agreed, isn’t that fascinating?” He asks with a smile.

Zelda smiles so wide she thinks her cheeks will burst. “I never heard you speak like that before. With so much passion and eloquence.”

Link looks at her and just chuckles, “Now everyone follows the new star, but it didn’t have a name yet….”

“We should name it!” She gasps.

“Oh…I already did.” Link frowns, “I named it after I got my first memory back.” He shrugs. “I”m sorry. But there are plenty of stars without names anymore. A lot of the scientific research got destroyed with the…” He stops himself, “Well you know why. No one these days even knows the constellations anymore. I’m the only one.”

“What did you name it?” Zelda smiles.

Link looks at her again, “Zelda.”

She just about passes out from flattery, smiling down at her knees which are bent into her chest, blushing a little. “That’s very nice.”

“It was my true north.” He says. “I’d have been lost without it.”

It was fully dark now, and the sky lit up with the twinkling lights, the moon was a small sliver of a crescent and hung low in the sky near the sea.

“When did you remember the constellations?” She asked.

“They come to me slowly. It was required for all knights to know them, as I’m sure you remember.” Link described, looking to the heavens again. “I still can’t think of half of them.”

“Well isn’t that one Navi?” She points to another star.

“No, that one is Navi.” Link scoots up to her level, closing the gap further between them, and takes his hand to move her arm to the right star, his calloused and scarred flesh rough against her soft skin. “That one is the top of the constellation Hylia-“

“-Hylia”

They say it together. Perfectly in tune.

Their faces turn towards one another, locking eyes. The air freezes, time itself seems to hold.

Their hearts simultaneously skip a beat, and a soft blow of warm wind passes by, brushing through their hair.

Link makes the mistake of looking at her lips and for a split second he swears she leans in, but before anything goes any further, she’s moving away and laying down next to him.

He supposes this is alright, too.

“I wonder what she thinks of all this.” Link says.

Zelda is quiet ....“I sometimes wonder if the God’s regret making man.”

“What do you mean?” Link asks, looking at her.

“Well… man is what caused the curse of the loop anyways. If it weren’t for us, Hyrule wouldn’t have to be rebuilt every ten thousand years.” She frowns. “Maybe they wish they had left their creation to rest without our feeble beings.”

“I don’t think that.” Link shakes his head. “I think they put us here because we are flawed, not in spite of it.

I think our mistakes, our sins, our curses are what makes us special. Life would be futile if we were perfect. There would be no motivation. No growth. No passion.

You cannot have good without evil, or light without dark, or joy without pain.

That’s what’s so beautiful about life. I think the God’s know that. I think they love us because of it. That is a luxury they don’t have. I see it as a gift. To live for the hope of it all.”

Link rambles, and Zelda is stunned for a moment. She turns her head to look at him, this time he’s the one with wonder-filled eyes staring up, ignoring the gaze of the other.

“I really think you should wield the triforce of wisdom.” Zelda teases.

Link looks at her, their noses almost touching. “Oh no, I’m only profound when I’m around you.” He shakes his head, giggling. “You should see me try to talk my way through Gerudo town, there's nothing wise about it.” His tone is playful, and they both laugh over it. “I accidentally told a woman she looked pregnant instead of ordering a drink at the bar.” Link explains and then says the two phrases in Gerudo, Zelda can admit they have very similar pronunciations and the both of them are full-belly laughing at the situation. Zelda asks how he managed to get out of that situation, and Link had to describe further that he was in disguise, which made everything harder to get through. Zelda couldn’t get the image of Link in a woman’s clothing out of her mind, and Link only sets her off further when he finishes the story with him getting slapped by an elderly Gerudo Woman. It isn’t much longer until she has tears welling down her face, but this time they are finally tears of laughter and joy.

When they both finally pull themselves together, Zelda smiles at him, wiping a tear from the corner of her eyes. “Thank you.” She sighs, her stomach aching from laughter.

Zelda then takes a risk, and snakes her hand in between them before wrapping it around Link’s. They don’t lock fingers, and it isn’t even necessarily classified as a romantic gesture, but she just squeezes his hand, thankful for cheering her up, thankful for reminding her that there is still hope.

There is hope in balance.

She tries to pull it away, not wanting to overstep, but Link is holding her hand tighter, keeping it in his grip. Zelda happily obliges, and they keep their hands clasped at their sides the whole night.

—

Chapter Six

[star-wrote]

hello❤️i just saw your blog! im irish so i was wondering can you do whatever fic you write with an irish reader? i think the accent and the slang difference would be fun to read! you don’t have to specify the fic on r being irish just a fic wheres r is irish hope i could explain that!😅

Leannán

ao3 link

Characters: Farm Era Daryl Dixon x Irish!Reader

A/N: so excited for this request !! thank you love! i have irish heritage so this was so fun to write(and also incredibly self-indulgent). i decided on daryl since it would be the most difference in accents:) also feel like i totally didn’t do this justice, it feels kinda short and rushed…but i had fun so slay!!

Warnings: fluff, love confession, bad accent writing, cursing, reader is sort-of mentioned to have green eyes(very self indulgent), reader knows irish gaelic (yes i know the language is practically dead, it’s just so pretty)

Word Count: 605

not my character | images from pinterest

Making fun of your accent is one of Daryl’s favorite activities.

You know he likes to see your face get all red, cartoon steam coming out of your ears. It reminds you of the little boys on the playground who would push you to the dirt as a way of flirting.

Not that he would ever admit that it was flirting.

Luckily, you could take the teasing… and dish it right back.

“You sure are one ta talk; what with your grunts and yee haws.” You shove his shoulder as he eats his breakfast with you by the fire.

“Ain’t say yee haw,” he pouts, “and ya jus’ say weird words fer things. Like tha’ one fer kiss.”

You smirk at him. “What, póg? Why, ya want one?”

“Stop.” He rolls his eyes.

That’s how your usual conversations with the arm-swinging grump went.

Days on the Greene farm were usually quite relaxed after the chores for the day got done. You’ve found yourself drawn to Daryl more and more after every conversation, his soft spot for you becoming apparent to everyone. Maybe it’s because you both felt like outsiders in the group. In a weird way, you felt like he understood you… even if he quite literally couldn’t sometimes.

“Shite.” You curse under your breath. Lugging water to the house from the well was tough work, but work you’d rather be doing compared to washing clothes or making food. Curse you and your feminist ambition.

“Need some help, Irish?”

You blush at the nickname that has become common from the mouth of Daryl Dixon. “I do, please.” You sigh as you hand a bucket of water to him. “Why are you back so early? The sun’s only mid-sky.”

“Was hopin’ you’d wanna go on a hunt with me. Could use the help.” He grabs the other bucket from your hand as well, carrying them both with no difficulty.

“I doubt that you, mister hunter man, king of the wild, actually need help with hunting. But, I’ll gladly join.” You smile while stretching out your sore back.

He finishes your chore for you, Lori tossing a “thanks” over her shoulder on your way out of the farmhouse.

Hunting with Daryl feels like one of the most peaceful things in the world, obviously ignoring the occasional walker.

You trail quietly behind him, soaking up the nature around you while he does all of the work.

However, you know he wouldn’t have it any other way. He just likes your company.

“Ya know… yer eyes remind me of the woods. My favorite place.”

You’re sure your eyebrows raise to your hairline after hearing his statement. You’ve never heard him speak so directly before.

He stops abruptly, causing you to walk into his back.

When he turns around, you can see the blush that reaches his ears. He was nervous.

“Daryl, what are you trying to tell me?”

He kicks at a clump of grass. “Nevermind.”

“Don’t, it’s okay, you can tell us.”

He smiles a little at you using “us” instead of “me.”

“I think I like ya, Irish. Nah, I know I do.”

“I like you too ya eejit.” You punch his shoulder.

It’s his turn for his eyebrows to raise to his hairline. “Really? Ya don’t have to jus’ say that.”

Instead of responding with words that you know would fall short in reassuring him, you pulled him into a hug.

“Leannán.” You whisper into his chest.

“What does tha’ one mean?”

“Darling.” You answer while smiling up at him.

He tucks your hair behind your ear and gently kisses your lips.

“I like tha’ one.”

[agathaandbrienneslesbian]

Heart of Gold - Part 2

Miranda Hilmarson x Mounted!Police!Fem!Reader

HELLO EVERYONE <3 I finally managed to finish Part 2 of my Miranda Hilmarson Fic. I'm sorry it took so long but it's finally here. I hope you enjoy this little addition to the first part. I'm not yet sure if I should make a 3rd part but if you guys want one, I'll look into it <3

Huge thanks to @weemssapphic for proofreading this part <3

Disclaimer: English is not my first language!

Warnings: Talk of bullying, talk of death and dying, descriptions of blood, death and being shot (I'm sorry... this is an angsty one)

Authors Note: Hurt/Comfort with a shit ton of Angst. I hope you guys enjoy <3

Words: 2'400+

AO3 Link

Taglist

-------

“Why do you care so much about me?”

You look at her, unable to answer the question. Should you tell her? Should you take the risk and risk the friendship you’ve built? Miranda looked at you intensely, chest heaving from being dragged around. You tried to collect your thoughts but just as you were about to answer, Miranda dropped her head, looking down at her feet. A sigh of defeat left her lips.

“It’s a joke to you as well isn’t it?” she asked through clenched teeth, tears threatened to spill from her eyes any second. You looked at her in shock.

“No! No Mir that's not the case!!! That's not the case at all-”

“Save it!” Miranda looked up at you, eyes red, tears wetting her face as she furiously wiped the back of her hand over her cheeks. 

“I should have known… you’re like everyone else… I- I should have never trusted you…” and with that, Miranda stormed out before you could say anything else. 

The defeat on her face, the betrayal, the way she looked so full of hope only for it to be replaced by pain, a pain you felt right in this moment with her. How could you have fucked up this bad… you should have just told her… you should have just SHOWN her. You had to catch up to her. Without further hesitation your feet carried you through the stables towards the parking lot only to see her drive off in a hurry.

“Shit… SHIT'' Defeated, you return to the stables to gather your things and leave. You’d see her tomorrow! You’d get your chance to talk to her again… hopefully.

—

However, luck wasn’t on your side. Miranda had started avoiding you, leaving the room when you entered, walking the other direction when you walked towards her. And this had been going on for a few weeks now.

It hurt. 

You knew better than to follow her but… it hurt. After a particularly busy day, you went to get some drinks with your colleagues, wishing you were with Miranda. A heavy sigh left your lips as you absentmindedly picked at the label of your beer. You felt sick…

“Hey guys… I’m gonna go home… I don’t feel too well…”

You stood, handing your beer to your friend, and gathered your things. Of course you were met with protest but you just ignored it, and soon enough they figured that it might be best to just let you leave. So that is what you did. 

Exiting the pub you felt the cold breeze on your skin. The air was a bit chilly and it smelled like rain. Cool darkness enveloped you and you stood there for a minute, just feeling the breeze on your skin and the smell of rain. When you opened your eyes again, that’s when you saw her. 

Miranda anxiously stepped on a cigarette she’d just finished. It looked as if she were considering coming into the pub or not. She hadn’t seen you yet. Should you approach her? Go back inside? Before a choice could be made, she looked up, making eye contact. You were expecting her to run away, to flee from your loving and pained gaze once again but…. She didn’t. She held your gaze, waiting. 

“Miranda-“

“Can we walk?”

She interrupted. You looked at her, surprise painted all over your face as she just waited for you to reply. Quickly, you nodded, walking over to her and following.

“Miranda… I am so sorry. If I have done something that hurt you please just let me know I-“

“Don’t apologise… I should-“

The blonde took a deep breath, shoving her hands in her vest pockets and looking down at her feet, kicking some stones around as she walked with you. She had missed you… but she needed time to think.

“I should have let you answer that night… I am sorry…”

Suddenly, Miranda stopped, looking out over the beach and the dark ocean. You stood beside her, your eyes trained on her face. You had to tell her how you feel. You had to let her know that she is worthy of love and affection. That she is beautiful, wonderful, perfect. In your eyes, Miranda was perfect. 

“I care because you’re worth it.”

Miranda was avoiding your gaze, but you saw her eyebrows furrow. This just spurred you on more.

“I care because you are worth the time and energy. I care because you are the sweetest and most adorable and kind person on this planet. I care because you lit up my world when I met you the very first time. You make my days better and I cannot fall asleep or wake up without thinking of you.”

Miranda looked down at you, her eyes, usually so blue and bright now seemed grey, and were welling up with tears. Carefully, you took her hand into yours, giving her a reassuring squeeze with your hands.

“I care because I fell in love with you…. Miranda… I love you”

You said it, admitted your feelings, and it sent a rush of anxiety down your spine, leaving its sticky tingling feeling behind. You were expecting her to leave again, to get upset at you… what you didn’t expect were her lips suddenly pressed against yours, a big hand with long, slim fingers, gently cupping your cheek and pulling you closer.

Miranda had hoped you would say that. It took her a while to realise… several weeks. She simply wasn’t used to it. No one had ever shown her the care and affection you had. And she found herself falling for you. Afraid you would hate her if she admitted it, she kept quiet.

But that night…. She had to know. 

However, as soon as the question left her lips, she felt herself getting anxious. She was terrified. What if you said you pitied her and that’s why you ‘acted’ like you cared so much? So, before you could answer, she pulled away. She ran away. To protect herself, not noticing how much her actions had hurt you. Until she saw how your smile faded, how your eyes stopped shining, how you seemed to have lost your joy. And she hated herself for hurting you so much. 

“I am sorry Y/N… I… love you too. I was just anxious and-“

Now it was your turn to interrupt her with a kiss. Your arms wrapping around her shoulders, holding her close. You didn’t need to hear more. It was no secret that Miranda was oftentimes anxious. Who could blame her… she’s been through a lot. 

“I’ve heard everything I needed to hear Mir… you don’t have to apologise. You’re okay. I am not mad at you. I’m glad you told me…”

Your whispers and words of affirmation and understanding caused Miranda to completely dissolve. Her tears flowing freely as she held onto you, finding comfort in your embrace. She did not know how she deserved you, but she would be an idiot if she’d ever let go of you. You loved her… and she loved you. 

—

And so it happened that the two of you became the cutest couple at the police station (at least according to you two. Who cares what the others think).

More often than not, you brought Miranda a coffee, some treats or even flowers. You started spending almost every waking moment together, only separating to go home and sleep. 

Both of you wanted to take it slow. There was no hurry. You weren’t going anywhere and neither was Miranda. The love you experienced in each other's embrace and kisses was enough to keep you two glued together. No force could ever part you… not even a routine patrol that ended more dangerous for you than expected. 

—

It was like every Wednesday afternoon.

You were patrolling the promenades before going back to the stables and calling it a day. Already excited to spend time with Miranda after work, you did not realise that the altercation you rode towards, would end up being almost fatal for you. 

Of course it had to happen.

You knew you shouldn’t have split up with your colleague. But there was no harm in thinking that if he took the lower road, you could take the higher one and still be close enough to hear each other. 

The second you realised that there was a gun pointed at you, you started calling for your colleague. Reaching for your own gun, you suddenly felt a piercing pain in your shoulder. A BANG was heard and then your ears were ringing. The pain in your shoulder increased, dragging its disgusting talons over your neck to the back of your head, digging deep into your skin. You started feeling faint, head pounding and everything started looking fuzzy and far away. At first you hadn’t even noticed that your horse was galloping towards the stables. Your hand just instinctively grabbed onto the horn of the saddle and your grip tightened. 

Artemis was huffing, whining and neighing the closer she got to the stables. A place she knew was safe. She felt your shift in energy, understanding the severity of the situation more than you. The smart horse she was, she stopped in front of the station, making a ruckus to get the other officers’ attention.

Miranda looked out the window, expecting to see you waving at her but what she saw, sent her into a panic. She rushed out to you and Artemis, gently pulling you from your mare and asking you questions. What exactly she asked, you didn’t know… you didn’t hear. All you knew was that you were in Miranda’s arms and it soothed the pain you were experiencing. 

Meanwhile Miranda tried to stay calm. She had called the ambulance, staying with you and holding you close, trying to stop the bleeding. Her hands, your shirt and her sleeves were covered in thick, dark red, warm blood. Your blood. 

Miranda tried really hard to keep it together, to stay strong for you, but she couldn’t keep the sobs in. Tears coated her soft pale skin, huffs and sobs escaped her lips, frantic breathing accompanied by the fear that she could lose you. She couldn't lose you… Miranda wouldn’t survive without you, she knew that. She needed you. She loved you. 

The next few hours were a blur for Miranda. You were unconscious, the medics doing everything they could to keep you alive as she accompanied you, holding your hand throughout the entire drive to the hospital. There, you were separated. 

But Miranda didn’t let up. 

She waited, and waited, and waited. Minutes turned to hours, hours filled with anxiety, fear and pain. She did not even wash up, her hands, shirt and trousers still soaked in your blood. Now cold, sticking to her skin, as if death itself latched onto her. 

It wasn’t until 4 hours later that the nurse finally went to fetch Miranda. She did ask her to at least wash her arms before bringing her to your room. There you laid, unconscious, but breathing. You were breathing. Miranda immediately went to your side, gently brushing some hair from your face, caressing your cheek, and holding your warm, soft hand. 

“I need you… please don’t leave me just yet…” She whispered.

“I love you. Come back to me…” She begged.

“I can’t lose you..”

She breathed. 

Miranda hoped you would hear her. She would tell you about all the things she wanted to experience with you, places she wanted to show you and future plans she had dreamed about. For more than 48 hours, Miranda sat by your side. The nurses had to force her to at least eat and drink something if she wasn’t going to sleep or go home to get changed. She sat by your side and wouldn’t leave. It was as if Miranda was in a frozen state. Holding your hand and pressing kisses to your cheek and forehead. She was only ripped from her trance as the heart monitor flatlined. She shot up, calling out for help, screaming, begging, sobbing, but no one heard. She was alone… and you were gone… —

“Miranda?”

Suddenly, Miranda felt a soft hand on her arm, another on her cheek, wiping away tears that escaped her eyelids once more. She opened her eyes, finding herself in her bedroom. Her breathing ragged, panic evident on her face, she started looking around. Where were you? “Miranda… darling… It’s okay. It was just a bad dream…” Her eyes shot to the direction of the voice, and she started sobbing. You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close and kissing her head. Miranda’s arms immediately wrapping around your middle, so as not to hurt your healing shoulder. She pulled you close and that's when she realised where she was. Miranda was at home, in her bed, with you holding her, consoling her.

“I am here Mir. I won’t go anywhere… I promised you I won’t.” Your soft voice brought her peace. This wasn’t the first time she awoke in this manner. Once the nurses and doctors were happy with your recovery, they allowed you to go back home. Miranda insisted you live with her, so she could take care of you and protect you. Of course you said yes. But ever since then, Miranda was plagued by nightmares. One worse than the other, the outcome was the same every time. She couldn’t save you. She couldn’t protect you. You were gone, leaving her alone in her pain and loneliness. 

But it was just a dream. Every night she would feel your arms around her, your soft voice rousing her from the hell she fell into. Every night, you would reassure her that you were still there, that you survived, and that it was thanks to her quick thinking. Every night, you would dry her tears and have her fall asleep with her head on your chest, hearing your heartbeat. You were alive, and you were with her. It would take some time for the two of you to overcome the trauma, the horrors both of you faced each night. But you would overcome it. Together. Miranda could overcome it with your love, and you with hers. And her heart of Gold.

So, just like every night, you reminded her of that. A kiss pressed to her head as you noticed her relaxing in your arms, sleep ready to take her again. You whispered, so as not to wake her again: “Miranda?”

“Hm?”

“I love you”

------

End Note: As always, reblogs, comments and likes are well appreciated <3 Taglist: @vivendraws @erinyaya @phexyce @aemilia19 @weemssapphic @gela123 @winterfireblond @Xxmecverxx @unicorniusfallapatorious @gwenistheloml @yourgaeyisshowing @readingtheentrails

[daisyvisions]

10 79 99 w juyo

im just doing all the members <3 take ur time

(this was supposed to be out for his bday but life happened 🥴 belated hbd to our juyo still!)

Behave...

Member + Prompts: Lee Juyeon (TBZ) + 10. “Wanna see how you look when you come undone under me.”, 79. “Behave.”, & 99 .“Try not to be so noisy, yeah?”

Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), brat taming, bratty reader x brother’s best friend!au, hard dom, dubcon, fingering, overstimulating, squirting, Juyeon’s a lil perv (if you squint), dacryphilia (ish?)

Extra content warning: ⚠️ this fic contains a cnc kink (aka dubcon) but please know that consent is key ALWAYS. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise!

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆.

Juyeon had seen you almost every single day since you were kids. Not only was he your neighbor, but he also happened to be one of your brother’s closest friends.

Growing up, you were seen as the annoying little sister who would always try to play with your brother and his friends. And for some reason, you insisted on staying beside Juyeon every single time. Always trying to link arms with him, show him the things you would create, etc.

To you, no one else mattered in the room except for Juyeon. There was just something about him that always had you sticking to him like a magnet (…or maybe because you had a fat crush on him).

But for Juyeon? It was annoying as hell. The more you kept on clinging onto him, his patience was wearing thin.

That’s how this whole rift between the two of you started when you accidentally overheard Juyeon ranting to Kevin that you were getting on his nerves and that he just wished you could back off. It broke your tiny little heart into pieces.

Since then, you distanced yourself and became more hostile towards him, trying to find ways to push him away so you wouldn’t get hurt again.

Juyeon didn’t pick up this new attitude of yours at first but when you started becoming more snarky and rolling your eyes at him, it pissed him off even more than you being clingy.

And that’s what you did through the years growing up together: nothing but pure pettiness and bickering, more than your actual brother!

However, neither of you expected that some of these fights ended up becoming more flirtatious and suggestive as you both went through your teenage years.

Naturally, it gave you some confused feelings about him (especially when puberty did him so good…) and Juyeon was well aware that some of his words came off too flirty or suggestive (and yes, some were on purpose). How could he resist? Especially when your puberty hit you like a damn freight train.

One day you were this annoying little clingy girl then next thing you know you’re walking around the house wearing those skimpy little shorts that hugged the globes of your ass so perfectly. and what a sight it was indeed (especially when you would bend to pick something up from the floor.)

But what really riled him up the most was when you would act like a brat towards him… oh how he wished to put you in your place someday and teach you a lesson.

— — — — — — —

It was 10:17 PM and you were heading out to meet some friends at this newly open bar to just drink and have fun, making sure to wear the cutest top and matching skirt along with some of your favorite accessories.

As you were walking into the kitchen to grab a drink of water before heading out, your body accidentally collides with another figure. “Really? isn’t that skirt a little too short on you?”

Oh… It's Juyeon…

“What does it matter to you?” you snap back.

“You could at least cover up or something.” he retorted.

“Who are you, my dad? Why don't you just shut up and mind your business you prude.” You look in his eyes before you walk past him, slightly bumping into his shoulder on purpose.

“Fucking brat…” he muttered to himself, trying to ignore the slight twitch in his crotch area because admittedly, the outfit you wore was incredibly hot to say the least.

“Okay! Going! I'll text you, bye!” You shout to your brother in the living room as he and his other friends were playing a video game. “Kay, bye!” He shouts, still looking at the screen.

“Are you just gonna allow her to go out dressing like that?” Juyeon asks your brother, but he shrugs and ignores him, failing to notice the overprotective tone in Juyeon’s voice.

Hours pass and Juyeon does nothing but nervously shake his leg and glance at the clock every five minutes. Why does he feel so anxious and nervous all of a sudden?

It’s not like this is the first time you’ve gone out dressing up like that. And it’s not the first time you’ve been out too late either. So what made tonight different from the rest?

His internal thoughts were cut off when he heard your brother’s phone ring with you asking to be picked up from the bar. But before your brother even gets up from the couch, Juyeon immediately cuts him off.

“I can pick her up if you want. I don't mind.” he eagerly says.

“Oh really you sure? Thanks man! You know where to find the keys.”

Nodding his head, Juyeon pushes himself off the armchair and heads straight to the car to go you.

— — — — — — —

“What the fuck is he doing here?” you mutter to yourself as you see your brother’s car pull up at front of the bar but Juyeon in the driver’s seat instead.

“Get in.” Juyeon utters. You open the the car door and slide into the passenger seat.

“Why are YOU picking me up?” you snarl at him.

“Just doing your brother a favor.”

“What, so you can continue pissing me off? Don’t you have anything better to do than be obsessed with me?”

“You better watch that fucking attitude…” Juyeon’s hand on the wheel tightening the more you keep on fighting back, the whites of knuckles instantly popping out.

“Why don't you make me-” Before you can even finish your sentence, Juyeon’s large strong hand grips your exposed inner thigh.

You gasp at the sudden contact, and when you turn your head towards him he’s already looking straight at you with his piercing eyes and jaw clenched.

“Behave.” he sternly says.

That’s all it took for you to shut up the whole time driving back home. Juyeon’s hand was still grasping your inner thigh very hard during the drive. You’re pretty sure it’s gonna leave some light bruises the next day.

You bit your lower lip so hard trying not to to react with the feeling of Juyeon’s hand dangerously close to your core, your arousal practically blooming through your thin panties.

By the time you get home, you slam the car door and make your way inside. This doesn’t sit well with Juyeon of course so he follows behind you, nagging about how you should fix your attitude.

The sounds of you fighting from the front door of the house travel all the way to the kitchen. Your brother and his other friends treat it like background noise at this point.

“I don't know why you always have to make things so difficult!” Juyeon argued.

“Stop nagging me like you have a say in what I do!” you snap back.

Furious with your attitude, Juyeon grabs both your wrists and pins them on top of the kitchen counter, your back pressed against his chest while his entire body cages you beneath him.

“Such a fucking brat.” He whispers in your ear, the vibrations of his voice making your core slightly throb. You feel his bulge dig in-between your ass and his hot breath fanning the sensitive spot between your neck and ear.

The words are caught up in your throat, struggling to utter even a one-worded response to him. You almost let a loud whimper come out of your mouth instead when you feel Juyeon’s hand snake under your skirt, aggressively pulling your panties to the side and sliding two digits in-between your soaking folds.

“I’m gonna put you in your place, show you what happens if you keep being a brat in front of me” he whispered.

Juyeon instantly forces his two fingers inside your weeping hole, fucking them in and out of you without any warning whatsoever. You mewl at the rough sensation it brings you. “F-ffuck- Juyeon wait-”

But he doesn't listen. Instead, he increases the pace of his fingers to the point you hear the wetness of your own arousal squelching. But when he starts curling his long fingers inside you, hitting that gummy spot you could never reach with your own fingers, you let out a desperate moan.

Juyeon quickly covers your mouth with his other hand, making you remember that your brother and his friends were just in the other room.

“Shhhh. Try not to be so noisy, yeah?” Juyeon smirks. Hearing your muffled moans against his hand made his cock strain in his jeans, digging into your ass even more.

Juyeon continues to curl and pump his fingers into you at an ungodly pace, you mind slowly entering into subspace from how good it actually feels.

You suddenly see a flash of white before your eyes as you cry from the pleasure of your high unexpectedly hitting you harder than it has ever did before.

But Juyeon doesn't stop there. He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you like his life depended on it, his free hand snaking under your skirt to vigorously rub your overly sensitive bud.

“Ju-juyeon s-stoooppp-” You hazily say, now covering your mouth with your own hand.

“Nope, wanna see how you look when you come undone under me.”

Tears start falling down your cheeks as you get overwhelmed with the sensations, the pleasure now turning slightly into pain. You quietly scream into your hand as you feel your abdomen explode, feeling your juices squirting out of you, running down your legs and onto the kitchen floor.

The moment Juyeon saw the mess happening below, he did nothing but smile from ear to ear and let out a satisfied hum. Before he leaves, his hands travel back to your waist and leans in forward to whisper in your ear once again,

“The next time you decide to become a brat, I’m not gonna be nice about it…”

[winchesterandpie]

Done waiting

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x fem!reader

Word Count: 1621

Warnings: Very self-indulgent, major insecurities, lots of fluff/comfort

A/N: I really appreciate the support on the other Rooster fics I've been posting--you guys are making it fun to post! This is based on a post that tumblr won't let me link, though I think it was originally intended to have a more goofy tone, so my apologies. Nonetheless, I enjoyed writing it! Without further ado, here you go!

You had been best friends with Rooster since you met in the Top Gun program. Somewhere along the line, you’d fallen in love with him. If you were someone else, you might have told him. However, you were well aware that he couldn’t feel the same, so you never said anything.

It was easier to ignore after Top Gun, when you were both on distant assignments and only able to text or call occasionally. Now, summoned back to Top Gun, for a mission they wouldn’t tell you about until you arrived, you were terrified. For yourself, sure, but also for Rooster. The fear for him was what had your feelings threatening to bubble over.

You needed to get it under control tonight, before the training started. Unfortunately, Rooster was making that difficult.

“Hey, are you okay, Hawk?” The man himself nudged your shoulder, snapping you back to awareness

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.” You flashed a tight smile before taking a swig of your drink.

“‘Bout what?”

“They’ve called us all back here. It’s gotta be something serious, I just can’t figure out what.”

“I’m sure they’ll tell us tomorrow. No sense in worrying just yet.”

“Who said I was worried, Roose?”

“Please, I know you. Your eyebrows draw together here,” he said, lifting his hand to touch the spot between them, “and they lift just a little.”

“It’s that obvious, huh?” you chuckled.

“Just to me.” Rooster’s half-smile matched yours. “C’mon, let’s go for a walk. We can catch up.”

“So, how was overseas? Meet anyone special?” you asked once you were out of the Hard Deck.

He laughed, leaning into you to stay upright. “No, no, nothing like that.”

“Oh, I find that hard to believe, big guy. They weren’t swooning over your every flex?” you teased.

“I’ll have you know I don’t just go around flexing.”

“Mmhmm, whatever you say.”

“What about you, then?” Rooster grinned, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What about me?”

“Meet anybody lately?”

“Nah, that was never my thing.” You brushed it off, dropping your gaze. You hadn’t had anyone interested in you before, and you weren’t going to start moping about it now. Certainly you weren’t planning to tell Bradley anything about it. Instead, you turned it back to him once again. “Really? No crushes, no dates, nothing?”

“Well, I…” It was his time to duck his head, catching your attention. “Not--”

“Uh uh, what was that?”

“What was what?” He turned toward you, stopping in the sand.

“You hesitated! There’s definitely someone.” Despite your teasing, his clear interest in someone hit you like a punch in the gut.

“Who said there was someone?” he deflected.

“Please, I know you,” you parroted his words from earlier.

“Fine, alright,” he admitted with a sigh. “There is someone I like.”

“Ooh, and the whole Navy is full of broken hearts for it.” Your heart was among them. “When did that start? Have you said anything to them?”

“I’ve been dropping the most insanely obvious hints for a few years now.” He started walking again, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly before he spoke again. “No response from her.”

“Ok, but what you think is obvious isn’t always actually obvious. You’re sure she would pick up on it?” Quietly, you told yourself that Rooster was your best friend. If this was how he would be happy, you resigned yourself to helping him win over his mystery crush.

“Phoenix said she could see it from a mile away.”

“You told Phoenix before me?” That stung.

“No, she saw it happen. Came up to me to tease me afterward.” It stung less, but the ache in your chest didn’t lessen with it.

“She sounds a little stupid, no offense.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, not stupid. She’s quite smart, actually. Just a bit dense.” 

The undeniable fondness in his voice hurt. You had never been under any illusion that he would be interested in you. Bradley was so far out of your league in every way that mattered. Given time, you knew you would get better at acting. Perhaps you would even get past your feelings for him.

“Maybe you just need to be more obvious?” you suggested.

“How would I do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe just say it to her. Maybe ‘Hey, I love you,’ or something like that.”

“Not a bad idea,” he acknowledged before turning to address you by your name. Your real name, not your callsign. “Hey, I love you.”

“Exactly like that.” You swallowed the hurt of knowing he wouldn’t ever mean that about you no matter how much you wished he would. “Now just tell it to her. And let me know how it goes.” You bumped his shoulder with yours.

“Wow.”

“And y’know, if she still doesn’t get it, she’s too dumb for you, Roose.”

He said your name again.

You wished he would stop. Stop making you melt with just his voice. Stop making you feel things you knew better than to feel. Stop making you wonder if he might just reciprocate. Stop making you wish for what might be.

“What?”

“Do you really not know?” he asked, his face scrunching in confusion.

“Know what? You’re not making any sense.”

“Hawk, it’s you. I love you.”

You laughed incredulously and something like anger grew in his face. Still, you shook your head as you started off down the beach again. “No, no you don’t.”

He stood there for a second, stunned, before jogging after you. “What the hell do you mean I don’t?”

“I mean you don’t love me. You can’t…” You cut yourself off, trying not to cry. “You can’t love me.” 

The anger in his face creased into concern when he heard the sob you choked off. His arms opened, reaching for you. You went to him without hesitation, wrapping your arms around him as you tried to force your shoulders not to shake. His hand held the back of your head, keeping you secure against him. Bradley’s breathing was deep and even, something you used to slow your own gasping breaths. He held you for a long minute, even after you calmed.

“Why can’t I love you?” he asked quietly.

“Why would anyone?” you returned his question with another. “Especially you. You’re… everything--brilliant, talented, funny, gorgeous, kind, everything--and I… I’m just me. You could have anyone you wanted and I just don’t see how you could want me.”

He squeezed you tighter for a minute before he pulled back to look at you. You avoided his gaze, still sniffling a little. His hand moved to your chin, gently encouraging you to lift your head. After a moment, you did, bringing your eyes to his briefly.

“Sweetheart, I--”

You cut him off with a hand over his mouth. “If you’re going to keep talking, I want you to be sure you mean it. I had a guy ask me out as a joke once and I don’t think I could handle it if you did that to me too.”

Bradley took hold of your wrist, moving your hand so it rested over his heart. “I promise you, I would never do that.” He waited for you to nod before he continued. “I do love you. I have since you gave me that old record.”

“Really? That was all the way back when we were in Top Gun.” When you chuckled weakly, his lips tilted up into a half-smile.

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to work up to asking you out since then. Better late than never, I guess.”

“Technically, you still haven’t.” You might have winked at him if you didn’t still feel raw. As it was, you managed a teasing tone that broadened his grin.

“You’re absolutely right. Allow me to rectify that mistake.” Bradley tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear. This time when he said your name, delicious shivers ran down your spine. “Let me take you on a date?”

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”  You felt warm as he looked at you in the moonlight. Perhaps it was the reflection of that light that seemed to glow in his eyes that made you braver. “I love you too, Bradley.”

“Yeah?” Shyness colored his tone--a rarity for him.

“Since you found me that time on the beach. You know which one.” You smiled, watching his hazel eyes. “I… I’m sorry for earlier. I shouldn’t have laughed.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I understand,” he reassured immediately. “I wish you knew how amazing you are, but until then, can you trust me to believe it for both of us?”

“There’s no one on this earth I trust more than you,” you said, your gaze turning a little uncertain after a moment. “You might have to remind me once in a while, though.”

He pulled you back into his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before leaning his cheek there. “I’ll remind you as often as you need for as long as you let me.”

You were fighting tears again, this time wondering how you had possibly gotten so lucky. Bradley didn’t say anything, just held you close. He let you be the one to pull back, and you tucked yourself into his side for the walk back to his car.

“So, about that date,” you started, grinning up at him. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, I was thinking we could make dinner, get ice cream, the whole nine yards.”

“When are you gonna pick me up, sunshine?”

“Same as always, sweetheart,” he squeezed you closer by the shoulders, kissing your forehead. “6 sharp from the locker room after whatever their training is tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Me neither.”

[jotun-design-party]

on fandom orientalism, ft. a quick visual example:

the example on the right is something i drew solely using references of the top results i saw on pinterest upon searching "jotun loki." please don’t roast my inconsistent handwriting

south asian cultures are often jumbled together for white artists of all kinds (authors, artists, movie directors) to create a sense of mystery and make things look "more foreign."

note: this doesn't touch on the antiblack racism in canon jötun designs; this post is primarily about fandom-sourced fetishization. i heavily encourage people to reblog and add onto this post anything i may have missed or added nuance

cut: links on orientalism, in-media examples, how this manifests in fandom-made content

i'd like to start off by saying that this post is a white person telling other white people how to spot orientalism in relation to fiction. i am by no means an expert on any of this, but my goal here is to start creating a less ignorant space that doesn't push people out of fandom.

i'm just trying to stir up more conversations about this and get other white people to think more critically about how they engage with the content they consume. nerd shit should never come with a sacrifice and it's extremely upsetting to see people of color consistently forced out of fandom communities, especially when modern superhero comics began as a way for jewish people to have a voice.

if this post upsets you, i don't want to hear it. don't tell me, "it's not that deep," or, "keep politics out of comics." it is that deep, and superhero comics have always been political. if you have the urge to leave a comment or send an anon about how you don't think it's a big deal, feel free to block me instead, because i don't care and you'll just get blocked anyway 👍

with that out of the way,

Q:

A:

there are countless ways to design a character in a way that makes it clear that they are an alien, or to make them sexy, and there is no excuse to perpetuate stereotype that put real-life people in danger to do so.

"Orientalist paintings and other forms of material culture... depict an 'exotic' and therefore racialized, feminized, and often sexualized culture from a distant land." [¹]

there are so many examples of this in loki fic and art. it's extremely common to see loki depicted as a feminine object of desire. they may have longer hair. clothing that serves more as an accessory than an outfit, that isn't suited to protect them from either the harsh cold of jötunheim or the sunburns one might get when surrounded by reflections of the sun off the snow. draped in jewelry, and in a compromising position.

i'm sure you can imagine how this can get especially out of hand in relation to thorki. i would speak more on thor's presence as both the white aesir prince or the strong barbaric jötun, but as i'm not comfortable consuming thorki content, i don't have enough context to speak on the stereotypes used outside of the art pieces i've seen while searching for jötun loki fanart.

i am, however, confident in saying that orientalism often serves as a device for fan creators to show a contrast between Asgard's white-viking-british-accent-magic-science-elegance. jötunheim, in the comics, is often portrayed as a less intelligent, cutthroat, barbaric, and bloodthirsty culture.

"There was always something unknown and uniquely different about Orients which reinforced the distinction between the European 'us' and Asian 'them.'" [²]

the green link in particular comes with a helpful tool for anyone who might be inexperienced in spotting racist themes in media. if you have trouble being confident that the media in question is orientalism, this link comes with a checklist scale to score how likely it is to be an offensive depiction.

an example that most of you will be familiar with is Disney's Aladdin (1992). the green link goes much more in-depth about the intricacies of Aladdin's orientalism, and i heavily HEAVILY encourage you to read it, as it will help fully grasp the way fetishization and demonization go hand in hand in orientalism.

here, i'd also like to use it as a comparison to show why this loki stuff is honestly... egregious.

by now, even the visuals here should seem very familiar.

the source goes on to use arranged marriage as an example of a common "trope" in orientalist fiction. as previously stated, i don't consume thorki fiction. however, i am EXTREMELY confident in making the guess that it tends to be a common theme when jötun loki is paired with an aesir thor.

i'd also heavily recommended this article and this wikipedia page, both on the negative and stereotypical portrayals of romani people; loki is a magic user, and i suspect that one of the reasons there is such heavy use of these appropriated, exaggerated, and fetishized themes and visuals is because of the demonization of romani people as tricksters, thieves, and witches.

[ratmonky]

Laid and Paid

warnings: non-con, mild violence, choking

word count: 1.9k

ao3 link

literally couldn't leave it as a warm up so turned it into a fic as soon as i was free again lmao

Taking a sip from your coffee, you smiled at the taste. You had been trying not to drink coffee as much as you did and now, when you drank some once in a while, it made you truly savor the taste. You took a bite from your sweet snack of the day to wash off the slight bitterness of your coffee and prepared yourself for the next sip of your coffee.

However before you could take another sip, you heard a knock on your door. You weren’t expecting anyone but you didn’t have the luxury of ignoring whoever had come all this way to knock at your door either, so you wiped your mouth and walked out of your living room to the entrance of your apartment. 

You stood in front of the tall shoe cupboard that had a mirror on its door to fix your clothes. That was when the person knocked on the door again. Your eyes slowly fell on the stack of money you had next to the cupboard, it wasn’t exactly the day for the collection. The old man always arrived exactly at eight in the morning on Mondays.

The knocking broke you out of your trance, you turned and opened the door. You had a smile on your lips, something that happened instinctively at this point from working at the register for so long. “Hello?” you greeted, looking at the tall man with dark clothing. He had a rough look on him and you didn’t know him but he looked suave from the way he was dressed.

“(name)?” he asked.

Well, it seemed like he knew you.

Your smile faltered hesitantly, “Yes?”

He took a step forward, putting his hand on the door and grabbing it from over your head. “Time to pay.”

He was tall, dressed in dark, rough features and sideburns, he looked terrifying now.

The color drained from your face but you forced yourself to not look as scared, you spoke, “The money is not ready.”

He looked down at you and you stood there, feeling smaller than ever.

“I-...” You took a deep breath to calm your nerves. “I don’t get my payment until Monday morning, this week’s money will be missing but I have it ready otherwise and-”

He pushed the door open and you stumbled back in fear, he walked through the door frame and closed the door behind himself. He was quiet which only made your anxiety go wild, you could imagine every scenario that could happen at this moment and you knew every single ending was worse than the other.

“You’ll pay the money,” he said and watched you nod frantically as you were still taking steps back to get away. He paused and took off his shoes as if he wasn’t intruding on your home. He took a step forward to close the distance between the two of you and abruptly grabbed you by the throat, slamming you against the wall. “Where is the rest of the money then?”

The impact of the slam made you bite your tongue and the pain spread through your nerves like lightning. You let out a pained mewl and your hands went to his hand, grabbing him by the wrist. “I-I don’t have it.”

“Is the place rented?” he asked. 

“Y-yes…”

“Then it’s better to pay off your debts than to pay your rent a little later, don’t you think?” His grip started to tighten and you lifted your chin up in horror, realizing that he was going to actually choke you. 

“Please,” you said, it was the easiest word to come out. “I have the money-”

He squeezed the sides of your neck hard enough to make your mouth pop open from the pressure. You couldn’t move your jaw either. Just how strong was he?

“You don’t pay off the debt and you keep making up excuses, do you not understand who you owe money to?” He looked almost too disinterested as he lifted you up by the neck until you were on tiptoes. It was just a normal day for him.

You couldn’t speak anymore, you wished you could, you wanted to beg him for mercy. Spare your life. However, you felt his hand on your chest, groping your tits. You wanted to look down to confirm because you thought you were imagining it but the faint smirk on his lips was more than enough to confirm. 

“You should look into other job options,” he said, “I’m sure they’ll help you pay your debt faster.” He paused for a moment, “Your dad’s debt,” he corrected. 

You were too busy feeling like you were going to faint from how tight he was grabbing your neck. The circulation to your head was gone and you were seeing white spots in your vision, your eyes could pop out of your skull at any given moment if he squeezed only a tad bit tighter.

He gave your tit a squeeze, kneading the mold of flesh over your shirt. Once satisfied he let his hand slide down and inside your pants, you struggled but he had one hand wrapped tight around your neck, you could feel your own pulse in your temple now, everything felt so hot and you squinted your eyes shut in frustration.

You wanted to scream but you were losing your strength with every passing second, you didn’t want to lose consciousness... yet.

He cupped your pussy, rubbing his fingers along your slit and speaking in that monotone voice, "Playing dead won't work."

You opened your eyes, glaring at the man with sideburns. He glared back at you with his lips slightly curled upward. He pushed his foremost fingers inside your cunt without breaking eye contact.

Your brows furrowed and you parted your lips in surprise, his fingers were long and rough. He reached deeper than you ever could.

"This is what happens if your daddy doesn't pay his debt," he said, forefingers drumming on your walls while his thumb is pressed on your clit. "You'll get humiliated and overpowered."

Your fingers tried digging under the hand he had wrapped around your neck, you were getting too lightheaded now. The man was too strong and he was incapable of realizing how weak you were.

You tried moving your legs and it pissed him off, he curled his fingers inside you and forced his knee between your legs on the wall, he spread your legs wider with the help of his knee and looked at you with rage. 

"Stay still," he warned and you looked at him helplessly, wanting to beg him to let you go, to at least stop using this much force but he was large, he was brute and he was a Yakuza. You didn’t get to choose how to be treated by Yakuza. You know he wouldn't mind killing you and that was why you were okay with doing whatever he wanted as long as it didn’t cost you your life. 

His fingers started moving in and out of you at an achingly slow pace, he was watching your face closely, eyes devoid of any emotion. You couldn’t tell if he was aroused or curious or enjoying how ashamed you looked. It made tears fill your eyes and you refused to cry, you pressed your lips into a thin line and sniffled. 

He raised a brow at your reaction and decidedly loosened his hand around your neck. You felt the sudden rush of blood returning to your head and immediately your vision was better and you could think again. but not for long.

The man grabbed you by the back of your head and wrapped his hand around your hair to keep you in place this time. Your hands went to your hair this time, and you cried in pain.

"Tell your dad to pay the debt," he said and forced you to look up at him from an uncomfortable angle. His eyes were half-lidded now, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “If you know you can’t handle it yourself.”

"He’s got no money," you told him, voice shaky. “He’s sick.” He didn’t care for your sob story. He made that obvious by rubbing a short circle around your clit. You bit back a moan to continue talking, "Please mister..." you looked up at him with your puppy eyes, begging for mercy.

That struck a chord but not the one you wanted. 

He clashed his lips onto yours and his fingers moved quickly in and out of you. He pressed you into the wall while viciously rubbing himself on you. 

He bit your lip hard enough to make you bleed and when you opened your mouth in pain, he pushed his tongue in, forcing you to savor his taste with your blood.

Your hands went to his chest, and you tried to push him away, that made him angry.

He reached a certain spot that made you powerless again and you clutched on his leather coat to pull him closer instead, you felt him smile into the rough kiss before pulling away to focus on fingerfucking you hard enough to make you hold onto him for support.

Then his thumb pressed on your clit and his fingers started massaging your walls until you were a mess, his crotch rubbed on you hard, deliberately and you could feel his large bulge throbbing in need despite that he was waiting patiently until your legs started to shake uncontrollably and you lost all of your strength to stand by yourself.

He unwrapped your hair from his hand and wrapped that arm around you to hold you up. He was strong enough to hold you up with one arm’s strength, you tried not to think about how many people he potentially hurt with his strong arms.

He removed his hand from your panties and brought it up to his face. His fingers were coated with clear fluid, it was shiny and inviting. He opened his mouth to have a taste but he stopped when his phone rang. 

He knows that it was his grandpa from the ringtone itself. 

He quickly wiped the clear gold on his pants and grabbed his phone out of his coat pocket. He answered the call while you were still trying to collect yourself. 

"Yes. I'll be there. Yes, I'm done. Yeah, I warned them. Okay... no, I'll come myself. Okay. See you."

He hung up the phone and put you down on the floor of your apartment. He stood up and fixed his clothes while looking at himself in the mirror of your tall shoe cupboard at the entrance. He ran a hand through his hair and your eyes met momentarily while he was smiling at himself.

You watched while still swimming in bliss, you were not sure why he stood there to look at you, maybe he was admiring how much he humiliated you. You could tell from the faint smile on his face that he was satisfied.

"I won't be as kind next week," he warned, his scary expression returning as he caught a glimpse of something and grabbed the stack of money you had prepared next to the cupboard, the same one you were going to give to him before he forced his way inside instead of talking at the door. "Make sure to have the money ready next time."

He didn’t wait for your answer and left your apartment. You hoped you could give him the money before he assaulted you next time.

[ourloveisforthelovely]

His Pet (one shot)

Regulus Black AU 

Request:  Request: if possible, could you do a fem! x dom!reg? with the situation being that the two are under house arrest or something similar? im reading a fic like this rn lol

Rating: Explicit- smut 

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader 

AO3 Link

____

“Don’t let him sweet talk you Y/n. You know how he is.”

James warned. You had agreed to “keep an eye” on Regulus Black while he was under house arrest by the order. When he turned up willing to let some valuable secrets about Voldemort go, you were shocked. Never in a million years would you have believed that Regulus would have gone against the master that he so proudly served. The best that you could come up with was Regulus saw the proverbial writing on the wall and knew it was time to make his escape.

“Don’t worry, James. I have better things to worry about.”

You assured your brother. Deep down, you knew what it was. James was worried about the crush that you had on Regulus for some time.

“Yeah, I have things to worry about.”

James grumbled before leaving. Locking the door behind your elder brother, you turned back to Regulus who looked bored. He sat clearly trying to ignore the conversation that you had with your brother right in front of him.

“Smooth, Potter.”

Regulus thought with a smirk when James spoke. James was never one for waiting to say things at the right time. He was, in Regulus’ mind, a blurter and just said whatever it was all willy-nilly at bad times. Today, however, he said what Regulus had been wanting to hear. James confirmed that Regulus could, in fact, sweet talk you.

After going through school with a crush on you, Regulus was thrilled to know that you possibly reciprocated his feelings.

‘Now time to get what I want.’

Regulus added as you turned to look at him. Fuck, you were pretty and Regulus wanted nothing more than to wreck you.

“So I’m supposed to sweet talk you?”

Regulus questioned as you sat down at the table. When your cheeks flushed bright pink, Regulus chuckled.

“You’re not going to.”

You replied. Regulus raised an eyebrow.

“You’re awfully adorable when you blush.”

Regulus commented before coming to join you at the table. You gave him a scowl as he sat down.

“Stop trying to be cocky, Regulus.”

Regulus innocently held his hands up.

“I can’t tell you that you are adorable. I shouldn’t say adorable. You’re a goddamn fox. It was a real pity that I didn’t get to see those stunning legs of yours sooner. That would have been enough to make an honest man.”

You bit your lip. These were things that the dirty side of your mind had wanted to hear Regulus say for so long. Now that he was saying it, you couldn’t help but question whether or not he was screwing with you or not. You were, in fact, the only woman that Regulus would see for some time. Why wouldn’t he try to cozy up?

“Regulus, you can stop. We both know that you don’t mean a damned thing that you are saying. You are only saying this because you won’t have any other girls to fuck so it only makes sense to try and woo me.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow before starting to roll his sleeves up. Internally, you sighed when you saw the dark mark on his arm. All of that perfect skin was ruined by that dark mark that he would never be able to get rid of.

“I’ve always liked you, Y/n. You have always been gorgeous.”

“You are a big fat liar, Regulus Black. You have always hated me.”

Regulus stood up to join you at the counter.

“I never hated you. You just got on my nerves. That doesn't mean that I couldn’t have a crush on you. There is one thing that you should know about me, Y/n. I’m not a liar. I never have been. Now, why don’t we make the best out of this little house arrest bit and have some fun? We can get to know each other and maybe we can both have things that we both want.”

You stood not saying anything until Regulus tilted your face to his.

“May I kiss these perfect lips? I bet they taste as wonderful as they look.”

When you didn’t say “no,” Regulus took this as you giving him permission to move forward. Regulus leaned down and gently pressed his lips to yours. The two of you stood silently as the kiss depend.

“I knew you tasted heavenly.”

Regulus murmured as he gently moved his mouth away from yours. You stood on your tip toes silently twirling a strand of his hair around your finger.

“Don’t stop.”

You replied. Later, you may regret your decision but at the moment your heart had taken over and you wanted whatever Regulus had to offer. You pushed James’ pleas of protest out of your mind and focused on your wants

“Tell me that you want me. I won’t do anything unless you say yes first.”

Regulus said with a sly smile on his face. He knew that you were going to say yes but he wanted to hear it first.

“Yes, I want you…I want you too, Regulus.”

Regulus reached down and picked you up by your thighs. Placing you on top of the counter, Regulus moved to stand between your legs.

“I’m going to wreck you, sweetheart.”

You could only nod before reaching out and pulling Regulus closer to you. Regulus chuckled as he gently began to nibble on your bottom lip.

“Easy, princess, We have all night and tomorrow…and for however long you. Now come on. Let's go ruin that bed of yours.”

You move forward to let Regulus pick you up off of the counter. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you threw all of your fears out of the window.

2 hours later…

“Roll over and let me fuck you.”

You were exhausted! Never, in all of the time that you had been sexually active, been this weak and blissed out of your mind! Lying on the bed, you focused all of your energy on turning on your back. For the past half an hour, you had been on your hands and knees while Regulus alternated fucking you with a vibrator, his finger, and his cock. Each one had you on the cusp of coming but each time Regulus would stop as soon as he sensed your orgasm approaching.

“Are you tired, love?”

Regulus asked, in a soft tone. His voice had been hard as nails for the longest time but now he appeared to be softening up. With the blindfold on your face, you could only nod. You wanted to see him. If he was going to fuck you in a proper missionary position, you wanted to see him…to hold him.

“Regulus…please…I want to see and touch you.”

You replied, gently tugging on the restraints that held your hands. Regulus didn’t speak or move for a moment.

“I don’t like being touched.”

He replied, his voice once again becoming icy. You had a good idea why too. It didn’t take you being friends with Sirius to know why Regulus hated the idea of being touched…their parents and the abuse suffered at their hands. You know that both Black brothers had gone through hell as children. It would be enough to make anyone despise the thought of being touched.

“It isn’t so bad. If you’ll just give me a chance…I can show you how nice it would…could be.”

You said, into the darkness. Regulus, meanwhile, was nearly ready to run. The sex so far had been mind-blowing but now you were flipping the tables on him. Regulus had been the one edging you to the brink now here you were throwing him out of his comfort zone.

“I don’t think so.”

Regulus snapped. You pressed your lips together as your chest heaved. From your place in darkness, you could feel that Regulus hadn’t moved away. He was still within touching distance. You weren't sure if Regulus ever had a lover who touched him properly. It definitely didn’t seem like it. No one had ever taken the time to make him feel wanted properly.

“You’ve never had anyone love you right. No one has touched you the way a man should be touched. No one has ever loved you properly. I can make you feel good…daddy.”

You kept your voice gentle. The last thing that you wanted was to scare Regulus. When the word “daddy” left your lips, you felt Regulus shiver. Regulus didn’t say anything and for a moment you were afraid that you had pushed him away. When he removed the blindfold from your face, you were pleased to see that he still sat perched beside your legs.

“You have one chance.”

Regulus said before leaning up to untie your hands. You waited until your hands were free before sitting up. Rubbing your sore wrists, you moved to get closer to Regulus.

“Daddy, may I?”

He looked nearly feral sitting there with his curls a wild mess and pupils nearly blown out.

“You may.”

He replied. You didn’t give Regulus a chance to change his mind. Taking your place on his lap, you pressed your lips to his, tasting yourself. You sighed and stroked a hand over his cheek down his chest and stopped at his cock. Despite the rather uncomfortable subject, he was still rock hard. You teased the head of his cock a few times before gently wrapping your hand around his length.

“So big daddy…I don’t think I'll be able to sit properly.”

You cooed against his mouth before kissing him again. After a few more quiet kisses, you began to kiss your way down his chest. With each kiss, you felt Regulus moan. His gray eyes were closed and his face looked peaceful. You smiled, knowing that he was enjoying this as much as you were.

Reaching his cock, you licked your lips before wrapping your mouth around his length. Regulus immediately moaned as your tongue traced over the vein on the underside of his length.

“Fucking hell, princess.”

He grumbled as you choked on him. Regulus had to admit that this did feel good. You touching him felt nearly heavenly. Had it always felt this good to be touched? Part of him was unsure but the other part had come up with the agreement that it had to be with the right person. Apparently, that right person was you.

Your time sucking his cock was short-lived as Regulus quickly pulled you back up to him. He quickly pushed you onto your back and took his place between your legs.

“I’ve never wanted to fuck someone more in my life. You with your sinful twat and those perfect lips. You’re all mine. Do you understand?”

You gasped as Regulus shoved two fingers into your pussy. He automatically found your spot, making you shudder.

“Yes, daddy…all yours.”

You whimpered. Regulus pinched your nipples with his free hand before cupping your cheek. Fuck, you were a dream! A goddamn daydream that Regulus had been praying for as long as he could imagine…now you were all his. Regulus had already decided that he would never let you go. So what if the relationship would be toxic and based on passion? In time, he would learn to love you properly but for now, the sex could keep him going.

“I’m not letting you go. I don’t give a shit what your brother nor anyone else has to say. You’re all mine.”

You lifted your hips as his fingers brushed your spot again.

“All yours.”

You repeated, unable to formulate a reason as to why you wouldn’t be his. When Regulus removed his fingers, you whined pathetically.

“There there, angel. I’m going to put my cock in you and make you feel all better. Before I do that, however, suck my fingers as you would my cock”

You obediently opened your mouth as Regulus stuck the fingers, that had been in your pussy, into your mouth. Closing your eyes, you sucked his fingers just as you had his cock moments before. Regulus hummed in approval before taking his hand away.

“Good girl, I’ll fuck you now.”

You nearly came the moment Regulus pushed his cock into you. Never in a million years, would you have thought that he was as big as he was. You expected average but, boy, were you wrong!

“Daddy, feels so good.”

You moaned as Regulus set up an unforgiving pace. Regulus held himself up by his arms. He kept his steely grey eyes locked on your face. Each look of pure pleasure that passed made Regulus’ own orgasm come closer and closer. With each look he realized too that this wasn’t just a fuck…this was making love. This was something that he never wanted any part of and yet here he was doing it.

Before now, before you, Regulus never would have considered letting a partner touch him as you had. You had been the first partner that he let caress him or look at him for that matter. This whole experience had turned from a fuck of boredom to Regulus realizing that he wasn’t so broken after all. Regulus realized that he could still keep his dominant control over a lover while giving you something that you were clearly good at also.

Could this be love? Could love actually exist?

The thought made Regulus question everything. He shoved the thoughts from his mind and focused on the task at hand. Regulus could question everything later. Making you come and marking you was what needed to be done.

“Regulus, I’m so close.”

Regulus quickly yanked your thigh over his shoulder to get, if possible, deeper. You gasped as he leaned down and began to suck a lovebite onto your neck.

“Come, princess.”

Regulus ordered before pressing firmly on your clit. The moment your pussy began to clench around him wildly, Regulus let go. You sighed in fulfillment as Regulus filled you with rope after rope of come.

“Wow”

Regulus murmured, not moving from his place against your neck. Part of him wanted to consider never moving ever again. He could die now and be happy.

Aftercare…

Regulus knew that he couldn't exactly “check out” at the moment. You were different. You deserved a lot more than him getting out of bed and with a thank you for the good time. Maybe, Regulus could develop some new skills himself?

He gently pulled out of you before pressing a kiss to the love bite. Taking the place between yourself and the bed, Regulus turned on his side in order to pull your spent body against his chest. He tilted your face back to his for a series of small kisses.

“Maybe I do like being touched now.”

_______

@amelie-black @justfinishthis @georgeweasleydumbhoe @jessyballet @knreidy1 @acciosiriusblack @fific7 @hopeful-hufflepuff-peeves @f4iryluvy @lostarc24 @daddyslittlevillain @panpride @saramaple @missgorldafirst @i-love-scott-mccall @s-we-e-t-t-ea @padf00ts-l0ver @readtomeregulus @goldensunshineshit @haroldpotterson @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @mentally-unstable-hoe @gugggu6gvai @quinis @aurorasnape12 @eclipsejune @jag9000 @buttercup-beeee @un-lovesherself @melaninnbarbie @mimisparkle12 @teletubiswszpilkach @dumybitch @play-more-led-zeppelin @ravenhood2792 @rubyroscoe1 @bennyberry @criminalyetminimal @whymyparentscheckmyphone @lucasfilms77 @spideyxalmighty @moonythemilf @brokencasbutt67-writer @authoressskr @moldy-old-boot @hankypranky @summer-novak @emiwrites3reads @shaylybaby2032 @knight-of-gleefulness @marichromatic @deanwherescas @shitfaceddaniel-blog @sprnaturallover @wontlookaway @tas898 @li0nh34rt @mycuddlycorner @untoldshortsofthefandoms 

[hauntingcryptids]

Soft Spot In The Hearts Of A Murderer

Simm!Master x Reader

Summary - The reader has a panic attack after hearing people being killed day after day on The Valiant, and The Master comforts them.

Based On This Request - Anonymous requested - “Hi! May I ask for a soft fic with The Master where they hypnotise The Reader?”

Warnings -The Year That Never Was, The Reader has a panic attack/anxiety attack, hypnotism, hypnotism without consent, canon typical violence

Word Count - 1095

A/n - Gender Neutral Reader. Requested by this lovely anon. I will link the other fics inspired by this request HERE, if you would like to read them. I hope that you enjoy!

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

For some reason, The Master allowed you to roam the halls of The Valient unaccompanied, maybe with the supervision of a guard or two, but usually, you could just go your merry way around the ship. However, you rarely ever did this. You never wanted to see what was occurring on the Earth down below, you didn’t want to see the Toclafane unleash a flurry of lasers onto Humanity, and you didn’t want to see what The Master had done to any of your friends. 

You were a coward. Or, at least, you thought that. Martha was Gods-know-where, her family were being used, and everyone aboard was being tortured and degraded, except for you. And you couldn’t do anything to stop The Master because you were so crippled with fear.

The past couple of days you have been staying in your room all instead of roaming The Valiant on occasion. You assumed that no one would notice your absence. Unbeknownst to you, though, The Master was causing hell to everyone around him whenever he didn’t see you. He constantly tried to escape the day’s plans, but apparently destroying the planet Earth and scouring it for a “fugitive” was difficult and time-consuming work. But eventually, the day was mostly over, and The Master was free to spend some time with you, just in time for dinner.

The Master made his way past random Valiant guards and security toward your room. He thought about what he would order for dinner in order to impress you, which he desperately wanted to do. He had absolutely no idea about how you were feeling or why you were absent today. But if he had been aware, he would’ve spent the entire day trying to cheer you up and make you feel special.

A gentle knock on your door startled you away from your anxious mind. You thought that you might just ignore it, as it was probably just a guard. But then there was another set of knocking, and you noticed the rhythm. Was it like that before? You couldn’t tell. And again: knock knock knock knock. You rushed to the door, worried that you had waited too long and now The Master would be upset with you. You had never seen him upset with you, but he always seemed upset when he was with someone else. He would probably be upset with you at some point, so why not now. 

You opened the door tentatively.

“Ah! Y/n, it’s lovely to finally see you.” The Master smiled at you, but his eyes looked clouded with latent rage. You cursed yourself. You should have gone out of your room today to see him. 

“I missed you today.” The Master up again when you didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise. We all have reclusive days. I just hope that I haven’t done anything wrong to worsen your mood.” The Master entered your room without asking you and instantly began looking around. He actually wasn’t trying to be intrusive, he just wanted to get to know you better. And maybe if he knew you better, then he would know the best way to get you to love him.

“No, no of course you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Y/n.” The Master suddenly stopped looking through the bookshelf he had gifted you, trying to see which books you have read, and he turned to face you.

“I don’t know what -”

“I know that my presence here hasn’t been the most comforting. I have destroyed your planet and terrorized your people and I have, frankly, been a right menace aboard The Valiant, especially when there are some political manoeuvres that I have to plan. All I am saying is that I would completely understand why you would hate me, Y/n.” It almost looked as if The Master’s eyes softened as he spoke, but you assumed that it was a trick of the light.

You didn’t know how to respond. You wanted to say something brave, something calling out The Master’s horrible behaviour, but nothing formed because your anxiety seemed to be controlling everything at the moment. You were too scared that this was all a trap and that The Master would kill you after you revealed your true feelings. But then a rolling thunder sounded around The Valiant.

“What was that?”

“Oh, just the evening patrol.” The Master nonchalantly responded. 

You felt your chest tighten. You immediately thought of Martha. What if this was the moment she was caught and killed? You could have done so much during your time aboard this ship, yet you did nothing. 

The Master was saying something, but you couldn’t hear him over the thumping of your heartbeat in your ears. Your breath began to quicken and heave. You suddenly felt incredibly dizzy, and the room looked like it was spinning. You tried to move to a nearby chair, but you missed the seat and stumbled onto the ground. You heard The Master calling your name, but you were unable to respond; you were far too focused on the anxiety attack you were having and the horrible thoughts circling around your mind.

“Hey. No. Don’t do that. Everything is going to be fine, sweetheart.” You shook your head ‘no’. Things did not feel fine. The Master joined you on the floor and stroked your arms and face soothingly. He hated seeing you like this. Is this how you acted when he wasn’t around? Did he cause you to be in this much pain? The Master never wanted you to hide anything from him, even your bad thoughts. The Master just wanted to comfort you and know the real you.

“Look into my eyes. Everything will be calmer in a moment.” The Master held your face softly in his hands and brushed his thumbs across your temples. You met the commanding alien's gaze tentatively. His eyes were beautiful; they were a warm brown with green specks and waves rolling through his irises. You never noticed that before.

A calm rushed over you. You were no longer plagued by the thoughts of Martha dying or that you were not being brave enough or that you were not being a good companion to The Doctor. You were so calm and relaxed in fact that you felt your body grow limper. You fell into The Master’s chest. He brought two of his fingers to your chin and gently moved your face to look at him.

“Now, tell your Master what’s wrong, sweetheart.”

[theearlgreymage]

I AM READY FOR SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY FOR ONCE!!

I may have taken some mental health days this week and spent all of my free time writing.

Worked a lot on May Their Blood Boil -- I have officially finished the first arc of this beast of a fic!! It's sitting just shy of 80k (and now I have to edit it and I do not want to in the slightest.)

And a bunch of silly little one-shots. So I actually have WORDS for everyone today.

6 Sentence Excerpt from Chapter XXII of May Their Blood Boil

It didn’t work last time.  When I took the [redacted] down to the heart of Eldia - nothing happened.  It should have bound him to the palace. Tied him to the land. Let the soil feed off of [redacted] until it was sated.  But it didn’t work. 

6 Paragraph Excerpt from Untitled Reincarnation One-Shot

Things weren’t perfect. Levi still found himself suspended on occasion, mostly for fighting or being disrespectful to his teachers. But he got away with more than he should have as everyone in the school quickly learned that Levi would do anything for Erwin.  Most of his fights were over Erwin.  Smacking someone’s lunch tray out of their hand for calling Erwin a teacher’s pet. Kicking someone in the back of their knees for insinuating that Erwin was a nerd. Pushing someone against the chain link fence behind the school for stealing Erwin’s notebook.  It didn’t take long for Levi to gain a reputation as Erwin’s guard dog.  Erwin, meanwhile, was more discrete in his defense of Levi. Pinning a boy against the stall of the restroom and threatening him with a cold voice for spreading rumors about Levi. Quietly telling a teacher that someone who had tried to steal Levi’s jacket in gym that they were cheating on a test. Tripping someone and sending them flying down the stairs for insulting Levi while being sure to leave no witnesses.  By the end of Levi’s first year at Trost Middle School, the duo had a reputation for being an inseparable pair that shouldn’t be trifled with. 

6 Sentence Excerpt from Untitled PWP One-Shot that I fully blame @ic3-que3n for

Grabbing at the lapels of Erwin’s canvas jacket, Levi’s words are slurred as he tries to find feeling in his mouth. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some kid.”  Erwin spins them suddenly, pinning Levi against the edge of his desk with a tone that’s meant to be playful. “Then don’t act like one, boy.”  The tremble of pleasure that causes catches Levi entirely off guard. Never having thought about, considered even, the prospect of Erwin talking to him in such a way. 

However Many Words I Fucking Feel Like Excerpt from Untitled Client & Secretary One-Shot

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Three concise buzzes that tell me that it’s from the dark little app that I indulge in late at night.  Normally, I wouldn’t check it during the work day.  He’s too much of a distraction. But I need a distraction right now. And I did tell him to tell me about his job interview - which was … today.  No.  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I see the 1 Unread Message from Levi across the top of my screen.  It couldn’t be.  Pressing my thumb on the sensor to unlock my phone, I tap on the message notification.  Levi [3:42PM] : You said you wanted to hear how my interview went. I got the job on the spot.  It’s just a coincidence.   I type out my reply as I walk back to my desk. Not wanting to ignore the man that has captivated my every thought outside of work.  The Commander [3:43PM] : That’s wonderful news!  This could be terrible news.  Grabbing the folder that Hange left for me, I throw it open. Scanning the top of the page for the name of my new secretary.   Levi Ackerman.  Fuck. 

Hello's to all my online friends who I am terrible at staying in contact with below the cut.

And apologies for still being on my AOT bullshit. I swear I have outlines for CO fics. Swear. Promise. I'm just chasing the dopamine and serotonin lately.

@ic3-que3n @shrekgogurt @artsyunderstudy @krisrix @stardustasincocaine @upuntil6am @buffy @raenestee @aristocratic-otter @aroace-genderfluid-snake @bazzybelle @bookish-bogwitch @captain-aralias @confused-bi-queer @cutestkilla @ebbpettier @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @foolofabookwyrm-activated @hushed-chorus @ivelovedhimthroughworse @j-nipper-95 @larkral @martsonmars @mostlymaudlin @onepintobean @skeedelvee @stitchyqueer @theimpossibledemon @wellbelesbian @whogaveyoupermission @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @thewholelemon @yellobb

[thisisarcanereverie]

Can I request NSFW 1 & ❤ with Jake Lockley?

P.S. I love your Moon Knight Fic!!

Against the Wall (Jake Lockely (Main) x Reader) SMUT

Warnings: Smut, MINORS DNI, semi public sex?, quickie, pussy slapping, jealous Jake Lockely (he is a goddamn warning), semi Mirror kink, possessive, Jake talks spanish and only spanish during sex, little to no plot, dom Jake, Jake talking to Steven and Marc during sex, google translate since I'm not fluent in Spanish.

“Jake!” you whisper scolded him as you felt your boyfriend's hands wander sneakily over the curves and contours of your body. To anyone else it would simply seem like stereotypical PDA, but you knew Jake. And the false innocent look in his eyes while his lips turned upward to his signature devilish grin only confirmed your suspicions. You looked over the counter to where your friends were chatting with each other, in their own little world. Completely unaware of your boyfriend’s movements becoming increasingly bolder. 

“Si Mami,” he whispered in your ear, his hot breath ghosting over your skin causing goosebumps to rise in their wake. 

“I know what your doing,”

“Hmm,” he hummed as his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear as he took in a deep breath, savoring the fresh scent of your conditioner, “and what is it that I am doing?” 

“You're feeling to see if I’m wearing any underwear.” You bluntly stated quietly, you could feel the vibrations of his chest against your back as you felt him laugh. As he stated plenty of times before, he didn’t love you for your subtly. 

“And?” 

“And what?” you asked before stifling a small squeak that let out as you felt him give your ass a pinch. 

“And you’re not.” 

Heat traveled to your face as you began to stutter. The truth was, it was laundry day and since the man behind you has little to no regard for your underwear and views them as a hindrance, most of them were in tatters from being ripped off of you, the rest were in your hamper. His large hands worshiped you, hidden from everyone's view. Your heart was racing a mile a minute as wetness pools in between your legs as his fingers brushed over where you needed him most. Just as you were about to suggest a quickie in the bathroom your redheaded friend Liz called you over to rejoin your group. You tried to smile at her as you felt Jake's forehead fall to your shoulder in frustration. Reluctantly, you break out of his hold with a drink in hand. You tried to ignore the need building in you as you sat casually on your couch, adjusting your sundress in the process. 

“You won’t believe who Chrissy ran into the other day!” Liz excitedly said, practically bouncing up and down on the couch. You looked over at the dark haired woman across from you. 

“I saw Laurent.” 

“Laurent,” you said astonished, “you mean Laurent LeClaire?” She nods in confirmation, “I thought he was all the way in Paris?”

“We talked a bit, apparently he’s here for business one of his artworks is being auctioned off at this big shot charity gala.” Chrissy said with a cheeky look in her eye, “he asked about you.” 

“Oh?” You said slightly surprised, oblivious to the man beside you looking intently between you and Chrissy. Growing more and more curious about this Laurent, that asked about you. 

“Who’s Laurent?” Jake asked. 

“An acquaintance,” you tried to brush off as you saw Chrissy and Liz snicker. 

“I’m pretty sure ‘acquaintances’ don’t pin each other against the wall with their tongues down the others' throat.” Liz snickered, all in good fun as your face flushed as you looked over tentatively to Jake. To anyone who didn’t know him, they would think he was jealous. You, however, knew Jake Lockely. You knew from the way his eyes were darkening and watching your every move, one thick eyebrow raised, his legs spreading ever so slightly, his chest puffed out, biting the inside of his cheek, and his arm resting against the armrest of the chair adjacent to you. You knew you were in for a very long night tonight. That you should probably stretch and get drinks and snacks ready beforehand. 

You were in the middle of saying a silent farewell to your pussy when you saw Jake stand up from the chair, letting out a small polite ‘excuse me’ before heading towards the bathroom. About a minute later, your phone vibrated in the pocket of the dress. You pull it out and read the message that had your legs clenching together slightly. 

“Five minutes.” 

“Don’t make me wait.” 

Your leg bounced excitedly as you diligently watched the time go by very slowly. Honestly, only Jake (Marc & Steven) made you like this. Counting the minutes until you can slip into the bathroom for a quickie. You barely paid attention to the chatter going on around you as you covertly looked over at the clock. When five minutes passed, you tried not to seem too excited as you excused yourself. 

You walked over to the bathroom and before you opened the door Jake had already opened it and pulled you in. All at once his lips were on you, leaving wet kisses down your jaw and groping you through the material of your dress. You let out a small moan before putting your hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. Something Jake did not appreciate, he moved you over to pin you to the empty wall beside the door taking both of your hands in his one and pinning it behind you as he pressed your front against the wall. You gasped at the feeling of cool tile against your bare chest and the warm feeling of Jake's chest on your back. You wiggled your hips back for some kind of friction, only for him to groan and grip your hips firmly. 

“Paciencia Mami,” his hand slowly bunched the skirt of your sundress to your waist, exposing your bare ass, you heard him suck in a breath as his hand kneaded the soft flesh, “Manifica, mirate buena para mi.” His hot breath tickled the back of your ear as all at once you felt him in you. You let out a loud moan as you felt yourself pleasantly stretch around him. Jake's grip on your wrists and waist becomes bruised, you were positive that they were going to leave marks later on that you would look back on and blush at while he would just look smug. 

He stayed still in you for all of five seconds before pounding into you ruthlessly. You barely felt him pull out before slamming back in, the room was filled with his moans and him saying filthy things to you in Spanish. However, you could barely concentrate on what he was saying, all that you could think of was how pleasant the tenor of his voice was, how it sent shivers down your spine and need to your core. You felt your nipples perk and rub against the tile of the wall which only added to the pleasure you were feeling, the coolness of the wall and the warmth of him contrasted against each other always keeping you on the edge. 

You were about to cum, the coil wound itself tightly in the pit of your stomach and you were sure they could hear you in the living room. 

“Ver este,” You hear him say, you look over to where the mirror was on the opposite wall, groaning at the image of you fucked out and at his mercy; and him with his possessive demenor, the way he held you screamed that you were his. “Así es como se hace.” Before you could ask, you felt him release your hands from behind your back and pin them above you while his other hand went from your waist to rub furious circles on your clit. Your face was pressed against the wall further as tears started to prick your eyes. God you were right there, tereting on the edge of pleasure and pain as the coil in your gut was so tight, just begging to burst. 

And with one harsh thrust you came undone, uncaring about the innocent guests in your living room as you screamed Jake’s name. Your heartbeat sped up as Jake continued to pound furiously into you. Giving you no reprieve as your second orgasm was already building before you recovered from the first one. You couldn’t form a coherent thought let alone a sentence as the pressure re-wound itself in your lower abdomen. “Una vez,” he moaned into your ear, “más puedes hacerlo.” 

Your second orgasm came by surprise, although you could feel it building, it wasn’t until his rough and calloused hands gave your abused clitorus a light smack and ripped your release right through you. Your sudden organsm sent Jake into his own, moaning lowly as his hips stuttered as he gently fucked you both through your release. You stayed like that for a while, with him holding you up as his chest laid against your back. Trying to steady both of your breathing and calm your nerves as your limbs refused to stop trembling from the aftershock. It wasn’t until you felt your phone buzz in your dress pocket that you were brought back to reality as your eyes widened as you saw your face turn bright red. You reached into your pocket only to find messages from your friends in your group chat. 

“Y’all are nastyyy - C”

“Damn, sounds like the dick is good - L” 

Liz put a fainting gif at the end of her message. You groaned in embarrassment as you read their messages further teasing you, before letting you know that they had gone home to give you guys some “space” to bone further. You made a note to apologize to them later as you turned your phone off before putting it back in your pocket. By that time Jake had recovered and had set out on cleaning you up. Pulling himself out with a wet plop, and some dark perverted part of him wanted to push his cum back in as he saw it leaking out of you. But decided there would be time for that later. 

What you thought that was gonna be it. 

Oh hell no, he still has a few more rounds in him before he’s through with you, but first and foremost he was gonna take care of you, he was gonna clean you up, cuddle with you on the couch because he was certain your guests had left already after hearing loud moans from the bathroom, let you regain some of your energy before pounding back into you. 

You shivered as you felt the warm wet rag clean up your combined juices as you turned around, massaging your sore wrists. 

“So what was that all about?” You asked, still trying to catch your breath as he helped walk you over to the couch, not fully trusting your legs to carry you there. 

“Just proving a point.” He said grabbing you a throw blanket. 

“Oh?” You said to accept it, “and what would that be?” he leaned in close, just enough for his breath to hit your ear. 

“That I am the only man allowed to pin you to a wall.” he pecked your cheek before retreating to the kitchen as you’re left there gaping like a fish. All of that because of something Chrissy said about catching you snogging against a wall with a fling. You bit back the urge to laugh as you thought about how childish your boyfriend(s) were. 

And how you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@yuki235171

@dopeqff

@themapoftinyperfectthings

@later-gators12

@lovepeaceorelse

@ahookedheroespureheart

@8hgel

@onestopficshop

[fariesoiree]

ELBOWS OFF THE TABLE !

01 gonna start off with this is an 18+ account! no minors allowed to follow or interact with any of my works. i will block each and every one that does so. ofc i cannot monitor and catch every single one but i go through my followers lists regularly and occasionally check who likes my posts. do NOT interact with my written fics if you are not over the age of 18. if your age isn’t visible somewhere or i cannot find it, blocked.

i will also block blank accounts. if i cannot tell there is a real person behind the account, i will block it. ideally, your account will have a different background or header or icon than the one tumblr spawns you in with.

02 dni if you do not like dark content. i do not write it myself, however i do repost works from blogs that either write it or interact w people who do. follow at your own risk because it may or may not appear on my blog. i would like to emphasize that i do nawt write it. i will not and never will.

03 my requests are open! that being said, i’m only taking requests for little things so don’t expect a whole fic to be made from it. 2000 words or less c: feel free to tell me your ideas or wtv else comes to your pretty little head

04 do not repost my work. don’t translate it or claim it as your own. leave them on my account. you can still reblog! reblogging is the best way to interact with posts on tumblr and i loveeee seeing the comments that sometimes comes w it

05 every single one of my fics are written with black girls in mind. i only write for fem black readers. most of it is written per what i enjoy, which can be summed up as hyperfem and soft. i sometimes include outfit links because i like to visualize when i write. feel free to ignore and reimagine.

i do not write for nonblack reader, dom reader, masc reader, scat, piss, vomit, blood, knife play, gun play, step/incest, noncon, dubcon, minors, and irl people. although i imagine characters around my age, im not gonna write for a character under 18 and pretend they are.

06 i’m a slow writer. very very very slow. i used to pump out fics back to back but im no longer doing that. it takes me a monthhh to write a fic. don’t expect me to write n write n write. just b patience and i’ll post when im ready.

07 i love every single one of you. you’re all great and your support is amazing. that being said! treat me w respect and i’ll do the same to you. my inbox is open but it’s not free real estate. pls do not enter my dms unless we’re mutuals or i follow you OR you’re inquiring abt commissions. be nice to me. i’ll literally cry and disintegrate if you don’t.

08 i have a secondary blog where i post whateva i feel like it. just letting you know i am very opinionated and consider that account to be where i talk as bluntly as i’d like to. take that how you want — miffwiff.

my tags!

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my anons!

☄️ . . .

☆ that’s all! love you ☆