#i wanna come back and write some actual fic for this at some point | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

caelum-in-the-avatarverse · 4 months

Text

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available.

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community.

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company?

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists.

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits.

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people.

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it.

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

#ao3 #lore.fm #fanfiction #fandom history #gift economy #caelum rambles

6K notes · View notes

only-luce-the-goose · 4 months

Note

Heeeey pookie!!

i loved your Arthur fic too much, the man deserves to receive more love here🥹🫶🫶 I have two ideas for you, which in my head make more sense. I will try to explain myself as best as I can but in reality this is not my strong point LMAO

If you want and can write something about loving every little thing the reader does, such as the habit of brushing his hair behind his ears or, for example, when he reads a book that she cries, smiles or curses as if he LOVES that about her. 😮‍💨💗

Or maybe something about him being a little jealous and possessive not in a grotesque sense like I had to defend her from someone in a bar or something, like her being too nice by not wanting to walk away so as not to hurt the other person even if it's bothering her (that happens to me often haha😅)

Maybee some of the care for her when she's sick 🥹🥹

Of course, only if you feel comfortable with these ideas, which were more than two, I apologize for that, I'm a little excited.🧍🏻‍♀️🫶🫶

(I hope I have made myself understood, also English is not my first language, I am sorry if this is complicated when read or understood, also sorry this was so long :(, anyway much love to you 💗💗💗💗)

Little things

A/N: I am going to write all of them, they're so cute. Arthur absolutely deserves more love, he's underrated. Don't worry btw, your English is fantastic. I'm actually Australian so my spelling of certain words are different to everyone else's 😅. Keep an eye on my page for the next few days, I'll release them soon (I just need to finish my uni assignment first, whoops 🤷‍♀️). I hope I did what you were thinking 🫶🫶

Arthur Leclerc x reader

Warnings: Fluffy/Simp Arthur

Synopsis: "If you want and can write something about loving every little thing the reader does, such as the habit of brushing his hair behind his ears or, for example, when he reads a book that she cries, smiles or curses as if he LOVES that about her. 😮‍💨💗" - This part of the request.

You and Arthur were lying on the couch watching a movie after a long day. You propped up my pillows with Arthur on top of you, head resting on your chest. Your fingers started to scratch the back of his scalp, slowly worth their way up. He sighed as he pressed himself deeper into you, nuzzling his face into your skin. He lifted his head up and pecked your lips. You look down at him and giggled, “what was that for, baby?”. He looked up at you with a peaceful smile, his eyes brimming with love as he replied “just appreciating the small things” before resting his head back on your chest as you kept scratching his head.

The next time it happened, you guys were cuddled up in bed and you were reading a book. It might be one of the saddest books you had ever read in your life (for this I’m gonna use “Bridge to Terabithia” cuz I feel like everyone read it for school). You got the the chapter where the girl fell into the creek and drowned. The pure amount of detail broke your heart and sent you into a sobbing mess. Your sniffles caught Arthur’s attention, he looked down the see his shirt beginning to get wet. He pulled you up to face him as we wiped your tears. “Hey hey hey what happened mi amor?” He rushed. You explained what happened, causing Arthur to give you that look again. A peaceful smile, eyes brimming with love, he pecked your lips, “how about we read a happier book?” He suggested. “No” you said as you made eye contact again “I just wanna cuddle”. He grinned and settled down, pulling you into him “that is something I can definitely do”. You smiled as you tucked yourself into his side.

Another instance was when you and Arthur were walking through the paddock. The crowd was pushing and shoving, sweeping you away with them. Arthur quickly realised you had gotten caught up, jogging back to guide you again. You think your right hand to his left, your left hand coming up to hold his strong bicep on the same arm, basically wrapping yourself around his arm. You have his hand a little squeeze, leaning your head on his shoulder when he squeezed back. You made it to the Ferrari garage and you knew you would need to let go but you didn’t want to, do you didn’t. Arthur planted a kiss on your forehead and gave you that dopey, in love look he gives you in moments like these. “What?” You laughed. Arthur pecked your lips “nothing my love” he mumbled against them, “just admiring” he winked. Just like a school girl, you giggled and then cuddled into him, are grip still tight on his arm.

What really stood out is when you were cleaning your shared apartment. You were going through your shared closet when you found a brown leather book. The title on the inside of the book, in Arthur’s unmistakeable handwriting, was “those moments”. You flicked through the book and saw dates and times, which matched to all the moments when Arthur gave you the look. Scratching his head on the couch, crying at a book, being clingy at the paddock, it was all there. What you didn’t know, was that Arthur was leaning on the door frame, watching you read his little things journal. “Find something good, amor?” You jumped at his question. “I’m so so sorry. I shouldn’t be snooping but I’ve never seen it before, and I had no idea what it was for. I’m sorry, I should’ve given you your privacy an-” Arthur cut you off with a kiss. “Im glad you found it. Everytime you ask about this “look” I give you, you now know what I was feeling and thinking. Is that ok amor?” He has a glimmer of home in his eyes as he asks you. You put the book back where you got it from, wrapped your hands around his neck and kissed him deep “of it is, I love you Arthur” “I love you mi amor”

#arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x reader fluff #arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc fluff #arthur leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #f1 fanfic #f2

439 notes · View notes

hannieehaee · 6 months

Text

DOES HE KNOW ? (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: after being friends with lee chan for a good portion of your life, the boy you considered nothing but your best friend suddenly starts acting different, making you slowly fall for him. problem is, you have a boyfriend.

content: friends2lovers!chan, reader has a bf, almost cheating but not actually, afab reader, smut, oral (f receiving), wet dream (this is actually a huge point in the plot lol), masturbation (f receiving), dry humping, more oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 1k (teaser); 9.8k (full fic)

release date: april 17th

or you can check it out on my ko-fi or patreon today by subscribing to either one!

a/n: rewrote this so many times but finally finished it!! i love writing channie so i hope u guys enjoy<3

masterlist

support me through a one time tip<3

Something was clearly wrong with you.

Was Lee Chan hot?

Nothing made sense anymore, and it had been the case for a while.

You could date it back to some months ago, at one of Soonyoung's usual gatherings. This had been where it all began, or more so, where it all ended.

For some reason unknown to man, that was the day in which Chan began courting you (his words, not yours).

After years of a solid friendship between the two of you, a not-so tipsy Chan cornered you at aforementioned party and began dancing with you. This was a common occurrence between the two of you. Despite having been taken for the past few months, you were still quite liberal about your touchy relationship with your best friend. However, what happened next what was truly out of the ordinary.

"Hey," he had whispered against your ear.

"Yeah?", you giggled, entertained by the boy.

"Wanna know a secret?"

"Sure."

"I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you," and with that, the dam had broken.

You froze against his arms, eyes widening. Though he could not see, as you were holding each other far too close to make eye contact.

Maybe he was drunk?

He interrupted you before you could respond. Chan pulled away from you to look into your eyes with a fully sober look in his face.

"I'm not drunk, and I know you have a boyfriend. And I know you only see me as a friend. But give me a few weeks, and I'll change both those things," was the last thing he said before giving you a peck on the cheek (yet another common thing in your relationship) and walking away with a confident sway in his step.

Ever since then, you had been bombarded by romantic gestures from your former best friend – former because you truly had no idea how you felt about him by this point.

Chan bought you flowers, – even when it was raining – had your favorite beverage at hand any time you so happened to see him, tied your shoelaces should they ever come undone, plucked loose eyelashes from your cheeks, tucked your hair behind your ear, placed his hand at the small of your back before crossing a street, walked you to and from home, looked at you with an indescribable sweetness in his eye, he ... He did everything any girl would need to be completely swooned (and then some).

You were beyond confused as to when this change had come about. As far as you knew, you were nothing more than best friends. When had Chan even begun liking you? What had changed?

"Oh. He's always had a thing for you," was what your mutual friend Soonyoung said when you first brought it up.

"What do you mean? We've been friends for years, he's never-"

"Yeah, duh. You never showed interest, what was he supposed to do? But yeah, he's crazy about you," added Seungkwan, sipping his drink nonchalantly.

You had decided to meet up with some of your mutual friends while Chan was at work. You needed at least five minutes with your other friends without Chan getting in the way with his flirting.

"It's kinda sick, actually," interjected Soonyoung once more.

You remained quiet for a while, thinking back to every interaction you'd ever had with Chan that may have revealed his feelings for you. Unfortunately, you kept drawing blanks all the while Soonyoung stole fries from your plate, disregarding your confusion at the situation.

"But why now?", you finally asked, slapping his meddling hand away from your food.

He shrugged, "Maybe he got fed up of watching you with that guy."

"He has a name, Soonyou-"

"None of us really care enough to learn it."

That much was true. None of your friends were fans of your current boyfriend. Or of any of them, to be quite frank. You had certain lack of skill at picking them, though this time around you felt confident about your current relationship. He was nice and respectful. Maybe a little bit of a square, but you liked to think you brought out the fun in him. This was also the longest relationship you'd ever had, giving you the grand total of three months in a exclusive relationship and a month and a half of a very prolonged talking stage that took place before he ever asked you out officially.

"Is this because I've been taken for longer than usual?", you tried to assert.

"Oh! That might be it, huh?", Soonyoung agreed.

"Well, I guess he didn't want you to break your streak of failed relationships," chuckled Kwan.

With a slap to his chest, you dropped the subject, deciding to ignore the slight acceleration of your heart any time you thought about Chan's crush for too long.

At first you found it to be a bit of a joke, but his affections quickly began to wear you down. It also didn't help how blatant he was about it, constantly flirting up a storm around your friends, not caring for their amused smiles at your flustered half-rejections of his advances. The only times in which he held back were the rare occasions in which your boyfriend would join your friend group in their outings. He could be reserved at times, not really clicking with your loud friends, so his presence was not a common thing.

Being honest, you felt kind of bad at the genuine excitement Chan's crush gave you. Though you weren't sure of your feelings for him at this point, his interest flustered you tremendously. You'd always known him as a pretty and charming guy, despite never really acknowledging such things. You understood why he got so much attention from girls, though you never thought too much of it. He was your best friend, you never had any motive to consider anything further than platonic feelings for him. But now that you were questioning your feelings, you felt as if you were kind of betraying your boyfriend.

Not to misunderstand, you had no desire of pursuing anything with anyone while you were in a committed relationship. You were just not that kind of person. But the mere thought of blushing at the words of a guy who wasn't yours (all while actually having a guy of your own) made you feel ashamed. Specially considering that you already had a very grand preexisting fondness for the guy in question.

God damn you, Lee Chan.

...

read today on ko-fi or patreon by subscribing to either one<3

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt smut #chan smut #chan imagine #chan oneshot #chan scenario #chan x reader #chan fanfic #dino fanfic #dino smut #dino x reader #dino scenarios #dino oneshot

472 notes · View notes

thelastofhyde · 1 year

Text

i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet.

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?”

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s.

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point.

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

“you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure.

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass.

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time.

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you.

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms.

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut

3K notes · View notes

estrellami-1 · 1 year

Text

If I Should Stay

Y’all are the absolute funniest most of the tags/comments on part 2 were either “oh shit Nancy????” Like we as a collective Steddie hivemind genuinely forgot Steve and Nancy were a Thing for a minute and I think that’s so sexy of us. OR y’all went “OH THANK FUCK ROBIN REMEMBERS” which. Y’all. Y’all don’t understand how little control I actually have over this fic 😂 like genuinely I’m not creating anything, it’s writing itself, I’m just writing the words down. It’s fantastic. 😂 also keep in mind I have a tentative posting schedule of every 4 days so expect something on/around the 16th! ❤️

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Eddie runs.

He’s terrified and a coward but it’s kept him alive this long so he runs, books it back to his van, ignores Harrington calling out for him, only realizes when he’s most of the way home that he’s still got the ring clenched in his hand.

He stares at it long enough at a stoplight that someone honks at him when it turns green. “What the fuck,” he whispers again, placing it on his desk when he gets home. “What the fuck.”

Wayne knocks on his door then immediately pokes his head in, which completely defeats the purpose of the knock, but Eddie’s door was open anyways. “Eds?”

“Yeah?”

“Y’alright, kiddo?”

“I think I hallucinated.”

Wayne’s silent for a few long moments. “Did you take somethin’? Or are you bein’ dramatic?”

“I didn’t take anything.”

Wayne sighs. “Wanna tell me what you think you hallucinated?”

He’s about to, it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite say it. Like there’s a dam at the front of his mouth, and the words can’t break through. He lets out a desperate chuckle and shakes his head, flopping backwards onto his bed. “I don’t even know.”

Wayne raises a brow, but before he can respond, there’s a knock on the trailer door.

Knock is a polite term for it. It’s more like someone’s trying to break down the door with their fist. “Munson!” Someone yells. “Open this door, dammit, or I will drag you out by your ears!”

“Boy,” Wayne says, looking at him. “What the fuck did you get yourself into?”

Eddie groans, grabs his pillow, and screams into it.

When he surfaces for air, Wayne’s gone, talking to the person at the front door. Eddie vaguely recognizes the voice. Female, young, probably someone he has a class with.

Wayne, the traitor, lets her in, and Eddie’s suddenly faced with a furious Robin Buckley. He blinks. “Buckley?”

He tries to think back, but he hadn’t sold her anything recently—or ever, for that matter—so he has no idea why she’s here, looking like she’s about to murder him. “You said you’d listen.”

He blinks again. Sits up to face her. “What?”

“Steve. He told you.”

“Steve- Harrington? Oh, come on, Buckley, are you delusional too?”

Blue eyes narrow at him. “You’ve got a little stick-n-poke on your thigh. It’s an upside down star. It’s crappy ‘cause you did it yourself, but that’s why you love it. He already said your favorite song, so I won’t repeat it. You’ve had a frankly ridiculous crush on him practically since the moment you laid eyes on him. You call your guitar your sweetheart because that’s what your mom called you, and she’s the one who taught you to play.” She crosses her arms. “I can keep going.”

“I suppose you’re from the future, then, too?” Her words catch up to him and he suddenly blanches. “I, uh, I’m not sure about your second point.”

She softens some, which is rather unexpected, but he’s grateful. “Oh, Eddie.” She sits on the edge of his bed. “Me too. It’s alright. I’m sorry, I got upset because you ran, after you told Steve you’d listen, and…” she sighs, looking around his room, before standing when she catches sight of the ring on his desk. She picks it up and studies it. “This is practically all we have left,” she says softly, and Eddie feels like throwing up.

“Because I die?”

She looks at him like she’s seeing a ghost. “Yeah.”

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @local-writers-corner @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

@paperbackribs @ninjapirateunicorns @bisexualdisastersworld @hiscrimsonangel @lolawonsstuff @xo-r4e @thedragonsaunt @l0st-strawberry

Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @little-gae-shit

#if I should stay #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #time travel fic #starambles

2K notes · View notes

mournings-stars · 7 months

Note

i’ve see loads of fics where reader touches adam’s wings and how they are really sensitive but never any with adam touching readers wings so could you write a adam x fem!reader where he touches her wings and they are obvi really sensitive?

well yes ofc!! i made this a little more of a "reader is usually dominant" fic cus i love dom!reader but here u go lovie

You’d had a long day, heavenly duties resulting in social exhaustion to the point where as soon as you got home, you lied on the couch, folded your wings around you, and shut your eyes.

It was only a few minutes of rest before the door opened again, your boyfriend coming in and talking loudly with his bandmates. You groaned, curling up beneath your wings and hiding in the feathers.

“And when she sees you guys are here—!“ The conversation quickly came to a halt, your boyfriend’s voice dying out before he quickly told everyone, “shit, I just remembered she’s not home right now.” he hadn’t let anyone into the living room, but he saw you hidden in your wings on the couch and knew he had to cut any antics short.

And since he was Adam, his bandmates didn’t hold it against him and left with the agreement to come back another day.

As soon as they were out, Adam came into the living room and went to the couch. “What’s up, babe?” Was his way of extending comfort, sitting next to you when you looked up at him. You sighed, making him open his wings so you could lie your head on his chest. Instead, you opted to lie your head on his lap. He cleared his throat. “Okay…” He shifted on the cushions, the sudden touch making him antsy. He placed his hand on your head. “You wanna talk?”

“Long day,” you said.

“Want some ribs?!” He asked, a little too excited as he took off his helmet and tossed it onto an armchair.

“You can have some if you want.“

“You never turn down ribs. What the fuck?” He took a moment to think. “Wanna fuck?” He suggested, half joking, but you took a moment to consider it. Maybe that would wash away your sour mood.

“Let me think about it.”

His golden wings almost fluttered with excitement as he grinned. “Okay,” was his answer. His hands went to your back to begin massaging gently. When you sighed, he felt a soft brush against his side and his eyes drifted to your wings, gently fluttering and stretching with every touch. “Is that uncomfortable?” He asked you, and you seemed to not even notice your wings, but he was very much aware.

“No, that’s nice,” you said in a breath. He hummed in response, swallowing down any thoughts that suddenly popped up.

Unsuccessfully.

Adam brought his hands between your shoulder blades, pressing down with gradual pressure and watching the way your wings flared as you shifted on his thigh.

He swallowed harshly, continuing to massage and watch as he wondered whether or not your wings were sensitive. He’d heard about some angels having hypersensitive wings, but he hadn’t been with you enough times to know whether or not you fell into that category. Especially since he was hardly ever the one in control when you did have sex — that was beside the point, of course.

He’d been thinking about it far too long, accidentally giving you an actual massage that was relaxing enough for you to fall back asleep, wings flat on your back and fluttering ever so slightly.

He let his hand drift, gently brushing the back of your wing and making you wake with a start, looking up at him curiously.

“Sorry, babe. Hand slipped…”

Fuck.

He was never going to stop thinking about this now.

It’d been hours now. Your bad mood had washed away with a nap (he definitely fell asleep too) and his opportunity had gone with it. But his thoughts stayed, making him wake up with a completely non-ignorable problem while you had started making dinner.

He groaned as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, attempting to massage out his thoughts before he got up. He was going to just deal with it, but you were attentive as usual.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Fuck off,” he muttered, making you scoff. When you said nothing, he quickly muttered, “sorry,” and then, “hi,” as he went over to you. You hummed, continuing to cut vegetables. “Don’t be like that,” he whined childishly, watching you go to wash your hands.

“Like what?” You frowned at him. “Wash your hands and help with dinner, please.”

“Still tired?” You nodded, gaining a kiss on the cheek. “I could’ve made us dinner.”

“That sounds terrifying,” you mumbled, eyes drifting to the flame on the stove. You didn’t want to imagine him alone in the kitchen.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said with a glare before heading to the bathroom to wash up. He didn’t miss the way your mood briefly soured, telling him your bad mood wasn’t totally gone. He could definitely help with that.

He left the bathroom, still with a problem, but also with a pompous grin as he went back to the kitchen, seeing you stirring a pot of soup. He walked up behind you, hands on your hips as his head rested on your shoulder. You hummed, smiling faintly as his hands drifted in toward your stomach. His lips grazed your neck and you sighed.

“Adam…”

“Yeah…” He mocked your tone, hands drifting down your thighs as he kissed the back of your neck.

“What are you doing?”

“Saying hello to my hot as fuck girlfriend?” He questioned as he pulled you back against him, making you understand what was going on.

“Control yourself,” you warned, but still turned off the flame and leaned into him as your hands fell over his.

“Can’t. You’re here.”

He kissed down the center of your back, pulling you further into him before his hands undid the back of your robes so he could kiss your bare skin, stopping right between your wings and sucking open-mouthed kisses there. You gasped, wings flaring before you turned to get his mouth away from you.

“What are you doing?” The scowl you gave him wasn't one of anger. Clearly, he’d just done something to you that you couldn’t process.

“Trying something new,” he said, reaching for you. “Come back.” He grabbed your hands, pulling you back against him and attaching his mouth to yours. He kissed you eagerly, tongue pushing into your mouth as his hands found your back. One pressed you against him and the other traced down your spine. You sighed and he took the opportunity to make his way to the base of your wings. The moment he did, you moaned into his mouth.

You attempted to pull back, but he followed you, kissing you desperately and holding you close. “Adam—“

“Let me touch them,” he said breathlessly, thoughts of you, a complete mess, beneath him making him lose himself and say, “Please — fuck — I’ll do anything. Let me.”

He was beyond ecstatic when you checked to make sure any flame was off before leading him to the bedroom. He was watching your exposed back the whole way there, antsy enough that as soon as you closed the door he was pulling you to him and getting your robes off.

You got his off too, looking down and seeing the strain against his boxers. As you leaned back in, you moved your hand to the bulge in his underwear, palming gently and making him groan.

He got your undergarments off quickly, hands running over your breasts briefly. He couldn’t even stop to feign interest now that he knew how sensitive your wings might be.

He pulled you onto the bed with him, straddling his thighs with your cunt right where he needed it. He pulled you impossibly closer, continuing his forceful kisses as your hips twitched and hand continued to stroke him through the fabric.

“You’re so—“ You could even get the words out before his hands brushed over your wings. You moaned, hands going to his shoulders to brace yourself as your hips rolled against his.

He could feel how wet that made you, having to hold back his own satisfied moan as his fingers traced the tips of your wings, watching your wings open as he did. Your hips jerked, a harsh breath leaving your lips. His hands found the base of your wings, tracing with deliberate pressure and feeling your hands grip him as you shuddered and moaned.

“You can bruise me, if you need to,” he told you, feeling you try not to grip his shoulders too hard. “Mark me up, baby. Let everyone know I’m the one doing this to you—“

“Don’t get cocky—“ He cut you off with a sharp thrust up against you, making you moan.

“You make such pretty noises…” He sighed, reveling in the sound of you. “Why don’t you stop talking and just let me hear those?”

“Adam,” your warning wasn’t taken when he groaned and said, “You can keep saying that though. As loud as you want—“

“Do you want to keep touching me?” You asked sharply, making him stop his taunts. “That’s what I thought,” you sighed as your hand drifted to the base of his throat. “Be a good little angel and do what you asked for, yes?" He immediately flushed, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but your eyes. "Any more of this, and they’ll be off limits.” Your wings circled around the two of you, shielding you from the outside world and making Adam have to look you in the eyes. “Understood?” He nodded. “Good.” You moved your hand away from his neck and let your wings relax.

He fought off a dumb smile as he said, “You’re so fucking hot,” and pulled you into him, kissing you hard and letting his hands drift back to your wings. How something so powerful, that he was hanging on your every word, could make you so submissive, he had no idea, but he needed to see how far he could go.

He wanted more. This just wasn’t enough. He could always have you on top of him, controlling the situation. He could always touch you if he asked nicely, but he wanted you a shaking, incoherent mess when he was done with you. He didn’t want to have to ask for that.

He moved his hands to the tops of your wings, stroking gently before running his hands across the backs of them. Your kisses slowed, hips grinding against him. “That feel good?” You nodded. “Stop grinding,” he said, “just focus on this,” his nails ran along your wings as he spoke, making you arch into him as you moaned. When you did as he asked, he knew you wouldn’t be able to get back in control.

So he took his chances, touching you with haste and making your wings tremble as you tried not to grind against him. Your head fell to his shoulder, your hips squirming in hopes of getting some kind of relief. He ground his hips up, making you sigh at the relief and making Adam feel your heavy breaths on his neck, turning him on even more.

He took note, but moved his hands to the insides of your wings. He nearly froze at the whine you let slip, feeling himself get harder and having to focus on you. He did it again and you practically crumbled into him, whining as your hips twitched. Your arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him tight as your other hand dug into his back, leaving scratches as he continued.

He held you close as he chuckled. “I know,” he cooed, mocking. “You can handle it.” That alone made you whine. “Words, baby, come on… Like you always say,” he reminded you demeaningly as he continued his relentless touches.

You swallowed your pride and said, “More,” in the most pathetic voice he’d ever heard from you.

He couldn’t resist. “Anything you want,” he said, but stopped touching your wings.

“No, no, no, Adam, please—“ He was stunned by your desperate begging, mouth finding his neck to press sweet kisses to, in an effort to get what you needed from him. “Need you.”

“I’ll keep going,” he said, turning you to lie down on the bed as he straddled your thigh. “Control yourself.” He expected some quip from you, but you just nodded, keeping eye contact and making him coo. “Aren’t you so good?” He dragged the back of his hand down the inside of your wing, watching your eyes roll back and mouth fall open. “And so pretty. Fuck.” He had to rid himself of his boxers with how tight they were now, taking the moment to look at your body on the bed, ready for whatever he wanted.

He couldn’t control himself, moaning at the sight of you before he got back on the bed. One of his hands held him up while the other began stroking the inside of your wing.

He kissed you hard, reveling in the way you tried to keep up despite your whining. You couldn’t control it, whimpers and moans slipping with every breath as he had his way with you.

Your legs squeezed, hips grinding against the friction of your thighs for any kind of relief which Adam quickly noticed. He reached his hand down, pushed your legs open, and put his knee back between them before his hand went back to touching your wings.

He added more pressure and you stopped kissing him, hands going to his waist to keep him still as your cunt grinded against his thigh. Your eyes were shut, squeezing as he continued to touch you, applying more and more pressure until even his thigh wasn’t enough for you.

You whined, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes. He paused, trying to give you a break, but you quickly told him, “Need you inside,” and “Need more,” your hands traveling down as he shook his head. That made your hands stop, but your pleas continued as you looked up at him with big, glassy eyes. He wanted to give you everything you asked for, but under any other circumstance this would be too soon. He softened his touches on your wings, trying to coax you and only making it worse. “Want you now, Adam, please—“

“You can’t take that yet—“

“I can, I can, promise, just — fuck — Adam —“ He shuddered at the way you whined his name. “— you keep touching me—“ He stopped, but that immediately made the shine in your eyes turn to hot tears that dripped down your cheeks. He tried not to be turned on by this, wiping away your needy tears and trying not to think of how pretty you looked like this; crying for him. He knew how pissed you’d be with him once this finally settled, but this was exactly what he was hoping for. “Don’t stop. It feels so good, just, please,” you looked between the two of you, how close he was to giving you what you wanted — how much he needed it too, “I need it.”

How could he deny you?

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel heaven #adam smut #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam x reader #adam hazbin #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin #hazbin smut #hazbin hotel smut

929 notes · View notes

wolfiesmoon · 8 months

Text

Eyes on me

floyd x gn!reader

Its rlly hard writing this w one hand because i had a bit of a medical emergency last night (in fact i'm in the hospital as i'm typing this) but we survive

so imagine my surprise when i got my baby boy floyd in all his basketball glory (as a consolation from the sevens i assume)

long story short this calls for a floyd fic

(also i use the word stadium a lot here, by that i mean a more small, local stadium and not one of those big NBA league ones)

"I told you, I'm not playing." Floyd crossed his arms and pouted like a little toddler. "Floyd. This is an important match. We have no time for one of your tantrums." Jamil tried reasoning with him, but it was all for naught. It seems like Floyd is inconsolable right now.

The coach was very close to losing it at this point. The match was drawing closer and closer and Floyd's mood was getting worse and worse.

The team could already hear the people coming into the stadium.

"What are you even so sad about?" Ace questioned, getting a bit annoyed with Floyd.

"Little Shrimpy promised to come see me but isn't here yet... " Floyd glanced at the people sitting on the bleachers, searching for your face in the crowd. When he didn't see you, his pout increased.

"... That's why you're refusing to play?" Jamil couldn't believe his ears. Neither could anyone else in the club right now. Is this dude really 17 years old? He seems like a bit of an overgrown 5 year old right now.

Well, the coach knew he was taking a risk when placing Floyd on the team seeing as things like this are very likely to happen. All he can do now is hope you actually show up so he won't have one potentially amazing player less.

"Oh crap, Floyd's match! I almost forgot!" You quickly got up, startling your classmates. You had to stay with some of them to work on a group project professor Crewel gave you. "Anyone wanna come watch basketball with me?"

A few of your classmates agreed to go while others said they had plans to get to.

And so you went.

"Can't believe you forgot it, idiot." Grim scolded you. "Oh yeah? and who was the one sleeping away in my lap while we had to do all the work?" you shot back and he grumbled something under his breath as a response.

The two classmates going with you huffed in amusement at your reply.

By now, you were already at the entrance to the stadium. You saw Floyd play before at practice and you know how good he can get when he's fired up. But you also know how he can be when the opposite is true.

You just hope he's in a good mood right now. If he isn't, you'll just cheer for him until he is.

You sat down on the bleachers, chatting with your classmates about the project as you waited for the match to start.

"Hey, isn't that the Prefect right the-ack!" Ace got pushed away by Floyd who's eyes immediately scanned the bleachers again. When he saw you, his eyes lit up and a wide smile spread across his face.

"Shrimpy is here!~" the sudden change in mood surprised even the coach. Well, he supposes the issue is solved now.

His eyes darkened, however, when he saw you laughing with your classmates. You're here for him, not some rando dudes from your class.

Suddenly, he feels determined to play so well you won't take your eyes off him for even a second. He'll make sure of it.

"Hey. We're going to beat the other team so hard they cry. Got it?" he suggested with a horrifying expression on his face. The entire team felt too afraid to do anything but nod in agreement.

That's the second mood change he had in a matter of 30 seconds. Now the entire team is just generally concerned for him.

As the NRC team walked out, you smiled at Floyd and waved to him, Grim raising his little paw to wave too. He smiled back at you widely, flailing his arms around like an excited child at you. When he looked away, however, his expression darkened once more.

Better keep your eyes on him the whole time or someone from the other team might not make it out unscathed.

#˗ˏˋ ★ ♡ 「Wolfie’s other works」 ♡ ★ ˎˊ˗#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland x yuu #twisted wonderland x mc #twst x mc #twst x reader #twst x you #twst x yuu #twst x y/n #floyd leech x yuu #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech x y/n #floyd x reader #floyd leech #floyd twisted wonderland

508 notes · View notes

bamboobooshark · 22 days

Note

oooh! what about a Logan Howlett x f!reader fic where the reader picks up (bonus if she carries him *wink*) Logan, to his surprise. Because like, he’s got the metal bones ‘nd all that? I think he’d rather find it pretty hilarious :3

LOGAN HOWLETT X READER

──★ ˙☕️ ̟ !! ♱ YES WAY : 508 WRDS

<RATING: PG-13, SOME LANGUAGE>

A/N : This request was a little finicky to write, because comic Logan at 5’3 weighs ≈ 300 pounds from the admantium plus normal body weight, so for the sake of this fic we’re gonna pretend the admantium is somewhat lighter!! !!Warning: Logan uses his usual pet names (kid and bub), but is in a relationship with the reader!!

You have a party to go to. Logan promised to go. Now you’re stuck bickering with him as he’s slumped against the couch. “I’m not getting up” he declares. You cross your arms against your chest eyeing him up and down. “Yes you are. You’re getting your ass off that couch and you’re going with me” you state with raises eyebrows. “You promised you would go remember” you ask. Logan huffs as he shifts in place. “Yeah I did bub but people can change their minds. You change your mind all the time. I don’t wanna hear it” he retorts making a good point. You toss your arms to your side while groaning. “Oh my god Logan! Just come with me. I promise I’ll stay with you the whole time. I won’t run off with my friends. I’m not going to be around anyone you don’t know,” you swear to him truthfully. “Kid you say that but you’ll be out of sight an hour after we get there give or take” your boyfriend says. He leans forward elbows on his thighs as he spread his legs to the side. He looks up at you with a sharp gaze before speaking. “I said I’m not going” he says one last time.

“Alright, fine. I can’t make you get up yourself” you shrug while looking at him. A small smirk forms on your lips causing Logan to give you an obscured look. “Oh god kid. What are you about to do” he asks with irritation in his voice. You simply continue to smile before getting close to him and scooping your arms under him. “There’s no way in hell that’s gonna happen” he challenges chuckling with amusement. “Yes way actually” you reply confidently picking him up with a grunt.

Logan’s eyes go wide and looks panicked face chalk full of bewilderment. “How? Where? When” he asks stammering over his words. “That’s a secret that you don’t get to know” you hum happily. The man squirms in your arms before you start padding against the floor. “Hey, woah! Cool party trick bub now put me down” he urged with a forced grin. You chuckled and shook your head. “This is what you get for trying to break our little promise” you retort. Logan groans as you continue to carry him around. He’s a grumpy child in your arms, grunting and muttering under his breath. You on the other hand are having the time of your life. You’re laughing and smiling ear to ear and eventually spinning him around a few times.

“Are you gonna go with me?” “No.” “Please?” “No.” “Pretty please?” “If you’ll let me go, yes.” You sigh and set Logan down. He almost trips over his own feet trying to steady himself and you can’t hold back a laugh. Logan groans softly before smiling at you admiring you as you laugh. He slings an arm around your shoulder before kissing your cheek. “We should get going if you wanna be on time. C’mon kid.”

#wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine x y/n #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #gender neutral reader #androgynous reader #grumpy logan #established relationship #bamboobooanswers #bamboobooshark #bambooboofic

146 notes · View notes

forays-into-fiction · 2 years

Text

Bambi

Eddie thinks he’ll be the one to corrupt her, little does he know she’s already kinkier and more depraved than his wildest dreams.

Eddie x Bambi Masterlist

Minors DNI

I keep getting carried away with these, this is over 7000 words! I tried to balance fluffy, sweet and goofy with filthy, smutty and kinky, hopefully I pulled off the combo and it’s not too cringy lol.

@hard-candy-writing is to blame for this one, she put the idea in my head with this post and I just ran with it. It’s maybe not quite exactly the same as that post, but still in the same spirit. Also, check out her fics too they’re brilliant!

Contains: Perv!Eddie/Not So Innocent!Girly!Reader, Fluff, Mutual Masturbation, Corruption Kink, Unprotected Sex, Sex Toys, Bondage/Handcuffs, Mentions of Oral/Hints of Oral Fixation, Cum Eating, Dirty Talk, Honorifics/ Petnames (Sir, Bambi, Baby, Sweetheart, Princess), Collaring, Praise Kink, The Slightest Degredation/Name-calling (Slut), Dom!Eddie/Sub!Reader

You practically skip over to his table where he sits surrounded by the rest of the Hellfire Club. Eddie can’t imagine what you’d want with him as you approach him, all frills and ruffles, your hair tied into pigtails with little bows. You come to stand beside him bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands clasped together in front of you over your little, pleated snow-white skirt.

“Hi Eddie!” Your tone sweet as sugar, giving him a bright, dazzling smile.

“Uh… hi there, sweetheart. What can I do for you?” He asks, eyeing you quizzically.

“I was wondering if you’d wanna go out for milkshakes with me?” You ask shyly glancing down, toying with the charm bracelet around your wrist. What Eddie doesn’t realise though, is that your eyes end up glued to his little handcuff belt buckle as your mind races… wondering if he’d have an actual set of cuffs or if that was just part of his ‘style’.

He looks at you sceptically, “Me? You wanna go out… with me?” he points to his chest.

You look back up at him giggling, “Duh, silly that’s why I asked you.”

“Really? This isn’t some kind of joke or something?” His eyes narrow at you.

It breaks your heart to hear him say that, “Of course not, that would be horrible! I would never do that!” You insist, pouting at him.

“Alright. If you say so.” He shrugs, still can’t believe his ears.

“Ok, so I guess I’ll meet you by your van after school?”

“Yeah, sure.” He replies unconvinced.

“Ok, well bye guys! See you later Eddie!” You wave to the group before bouncing away.

He spends the whole day thinking this had to be some sort of prank, there’s no way you’d actually be waiting for him. But lo and behold there you are leaning against the side of his van at the end of the day, he watches as you bend to peer in a sidemirror, reapplying your lip-gloss and smacking your lips.

As you stand back upright you catch sight of him, grinning and waving with your arm stretched up high, calling his name excitedly. He almost has to pinch himself, he can’t believe his eyes.

“So… milkshakes, was it?” He confirms as he approaches you.

“Yes, please.” You nod hopping into his van as he holds the door open for you.

The pair of you sit in the diner in a booth opposite one another, he orders chocolate, you order strawberry. When your milkshakes arrive, topped with whipped cream and cherries, Eddie picks his cherry off placing it beside his glass on a napkin.

You pluck the cherry off of yours popping it between your lips, humming in delight, “Mmmh, my favourite.” Then swiping a finger through the cream and sucking it off the tip.

Eddie gapes at you, you can’t know what you’re doing right, there’s no way, but you barely notice his reaction. You eye his cherry greedily, “You gonna eat that?” You point to it.

Eddie chokes in response, “Nope… uh, all yours.”

“Thanks.” You reply swooping in to steal it off his napkin without hesitation.

He’d never tell you, but he’d actually been saving the cherry for last.

He soon finds that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his little princess. All too quickly becoming your personal chauffeur anywhere you wanted to go. He’d even let you listen to all your girly pop music, just to see how happy it made you. Not that he’d ever even pretend to like it, but he tolerates it, for you.

Until one day when you suggest, “Hey, Eds. Why don’t we listen to some of your music for a change?”

And he leaps at the chance, scrambling to find one of his cassettes popping it in for you. He’s surprised to find you actually like it, as you nod along, tapping your foot to the beat.

“What’s this song, Eds?” You hum curiously.

“Oh, uh it’s called Rainbow in the Dark, it’s by Dio.”

“Oh, like on your back patch, right?” You ask eagerly.

His chest swells more than he thought possible, full of happiness, “Yep that’s right, sweetheart. Can’t believe you remember things like that.”

“Is this the sort of music your band plays?”

“Yeah, I guess kinda.” He shrugs.

“Maybe I could come see you guys play at that bar you guys perform at.” You suggest hopefully.

He shakes his head, “Oh, no, no, no sweetheart The Hideout isn’t the type of place for you and plus it’s on a school night.”

You pout in response, going to protest, “But…”

Your protests die on your lips as he offers, “But you could come to band practice… if you wanted.”

“Really? That’s perfect, thanks Eds.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think to invite you sooner. I guess I just thought you wouldn’t be into it.”

“Of course I’m into it. You’re my boyfriend, why wouldn’t I want to support you?”

He jerks in his seat, stuttering awkwardly, “I’m your… your boyfriend?”

Your stomach drops, was it too early, you’d only been on a handful of dates, this’d be your fourth, “Oh, uh yeah… unless… unless you don’t want to be…”

“No! I mean I do… want to be your boyfriend… want you to be my girlfriend … I just… it’s… never-mind. Yeah, I’m your boyfriend.” He settles back into the seat goofy grin plastered across his face.

When you get to your destination, he leaps out trotting around the hood of the van to open your door for you as usual, offering you his hand to help you down. You giggle and take his hand, he shuts the door behind you and you lead him away from the van, his hand still clasped in yours.

An idea strikes him all of a sudden, tugging on your hand gently and spinning you to face him. He’s blurting out, stumbling over his words, “Uhhhh, hey sweetheart, I know it’s not really your style or whatever, but uh… I want… now you’re like officially my girlfriend I want to… to give you something. Show everyone you’re mine.”

He fishes around under the collar of his shirt as he speaks. You bite your lip, without even knowing it, he’s got you pegged right from the start. You wanna be his, let everyone know it, let him claim you.

He pulls out his guitar pick necklace and twists your hand so that it faces palm up. He drops the pick into your hand, slowly lowering the chain to coil up alongside it.

He looks into your eyes nervously, hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck “You don’t have to wear it or anything if you don’t want. I can get you something better once I save a bit more money-”

You cut him off with a short kiss to his lips, before slipping the chain over your head, squealing, “No! Eddie, I love it! I’m going to wear it all the time!”

He stares down at your chest as his pick settles between your breasts, wrapped up as they are in your snug, little pink cardigan before gazing back up at you.

He breathes out a sigh of relief, she likes it, thank fucking Christ, he thinks to himself with a dopey grin. Floating back down to earth his grin fading slightly, but not disappearing, he clears his throat, “Alright, come on let’s go before we’re late for the movie.”

He swaps positions with you now taking the lead, making sure he stands curb-side as he pulls you to walk alongside him. You tug on his arm and he pauses turning to you as you speak, “Wait… I wanna give you something too.”

You reach into your hair tugging on the end of a ribbon, you’d had wrapped around like a headband. It falls away and you bring his hand closer to you, looping it around his wrist beside the chain bracelet that’s already there and tying a bow.

He glances down, watching your nimble fingers working the soft, pink material. It stands out on his arm, a pop of colour amidst the darkness. He feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest, still can’t believe any of this is real.

He stares at his wrist for a beat, before you break him out of it, “Ok, now let’s go.”

“Yeah, sure thing Bambi.” He mumbles.

He’d started in with that nickname a little while ago, but you’re still not quite sure why. All the little nicknames he called you brought you so much joy. Every ‘baby’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘princess’… you cherished them all.

Despite being your boyfriend now, he’d never felt like more of a perv than when he’s around you. He wants to take it slow with you, not rush you into anything you’re not comfortable with.

However, he finds he can’t contain himself, stealing your dirty panties, peeping on you in the shower, jerking off into your lotion imagining you rubbing it into your skin the next day.

When you offer up your shower to him one day with a, ‘…why don’t you just shower here, silly. I don’t mind’, he does the same with your body wash this time. He’s surrounded by you, your scent, absolutely falling to pieces.

The smell of you clings to him for the rest of the day, can’t resist twisting his hair in front of his face, smelling your shampoo grinning stupidly. He ends up jerking off about three more times that day.

He feels conflicted about it though, he shouldn’t be thinking of you like that, cute, innocent little y/n. There’s a part of him that wants to corrupt you, give in to all his devilishly, sinful thoughts, have his way with you. But it’s wrong, so wrong and the guilt eats him up.

It takes a while before you convince him to let you visit him at his place, he’s never been embarrassed about where he lives per se but when he compares his trailer to your perfectly, picturesque white picket fence suburbia he feels he doesn’t quite measure up. You on the other hand couldn’t care less.

“Oh, look Eds! A puppy!” You squeal pointing at the dog behind the fence trotting off to get a closer look, dirtying your white trainers in the mud without even noticing.

You bend at the waist offering your hand for the dog to sniff before scratching at its head. Your skirt rides up and flutters with a gust of wind, Eddie catches sight of the black ink at the junction of your hip, eyes bulging out of his skull, almost choking on his own tongue, “You have a tattoo?!”

“Mhmm.” You hum distractedly, fully focused on the dog in front of you.

“Can… can I see it?”

“Oh, yeah sure.” You stand turning to face him.

You scan the street for any potential witnesses, seeing none, you flip your skirt up, the little, trussed up kitten on full display beside your little lilac and white polka dot panties. Eddie chokes out a gasp, barely getting a glimpse at it before he’s rushing over to you pulling your skirt back down to cover you, “Bambi, you can’t just do that in the middle of the street!” He shrieks in a pitchy voice.

“What, why not? There’s no one here.” You protest, his hand grips your wrist and he’s dragging you into his trailer.

As soon as he gets you inside, he rounds on you, answering, “Anyone could see you out there, you don’t know the kinda pervs that live here!”

“Awww, you one of those pervs Eds?” You giggle.

He splutters, “What? No! Why would you think that?”

“It’s ok, I’m only teasing.” You prod at his shoulder, “Hey, uh I wanted to ask… um, can I paint your nails?” You give him your very best puppy dog eyes.

He looks down at you quizzically, “Uh, why?”

“I think it’d look hot, especially with your rings. Don’t worry I got black, got it special just for you.”

“Oh, sweetheart that’s adorable, you got it just for me?”

You nod eagerly, “Uhh huh. What do you think? Can I?”

He smirks, “You really think it’d be ‘hot’?”

“Yeah, sooo hot Eds, you have no idea.”

“Ok then. Did you wanna do it now?” He concedes.

“Yes, please!” You bounce, unable to contain your excitement and he chuckles at you.

“Come on, let’s head into my room then.”

He leads the way and you trail along behind him, he’d tidied up his room specially for you, hiding away a few choice items he thought you shouldn’t see. You don’t notice when he stiffens a little as he realises there’s something he missed. He spots a pair of your panties, stained with his cum poking out from under his bed he surges forward kicking them further under before doing an odd twirl spreading his arms and shouting a little louder than necessary, “Well, this is it!”

You grin at him, looking around the room you announce, “It’s great Eds, very you, I like it.”

Slipping your little powder blue backpack off your shoulders, setting it down on his bed and digging through it to pull out that bottle of black nail polish. You hold it up triumphantly before sitting on the edge of his bed, waving him over, “ You got some tissues or something around, don’t wanna ruin my skirt.”

“Yeah, just a sec.” He mumbles rushing off.

You take another glance around his room, giddy with excitement, you were in his room, on his bed.

He tumbles back in clutching a box of tissues, thrusting it into your arms, “Here ya go.”

You set the box down beside you, pulling a couple out and laying them over your thigh before looking up at him, “Sit please. On the floor, just there would be good.” You spread your legs a little giving him a space to slot into in front of you.

“Oh… uh… ok I guess.” He sinks to the floor on his knees.

“Thank you.” You grin at him sickly sweet. “Now I just need your hand.”

He nods offering you one and you grip it gently, bringing it to rest on your thigh over the tissue there. His fingers tremble slightly, breath catching in his throat as you let go of his hand leaving it there to open the nail polish.

He’s suddenly hyperaware of his position between your legs, his hand on your thigh. His thoughts drift to the panties under his bed as a blush spreads over his cheeks, down his neck and his dick swells between his legs.

You get to work painting his nails, tongue poking out between your teeth in concentration. When you finish one hand you bring it up to your lips, blowing over his fingers gently. His eyes dart between your glossy lips and your eyes, he has to fight back a moan.

“Next please! And careful with that hand it’s not going to be completely dry yet. Don’t want it to smudge.” You instruct him.

He nods mutely, painted hand dropping to rest on the bed beside you, you grab at the other and repeat the process.

“All done!” You hum smiling at him, “Now you gotta let them dry, you can blow on ‘em too. How about we put on one of your records and just relax for a bit?” You suggest.

He nods in agreement and you extricate yourself from your spot on the bed. Moving over to his record player that you’d spotted earlier, flipping through his collection and picking out one at random you set it up. Music fills the room, through the crackly speaker and you flop back onto his bed. He remains on the floor beside you.

You lean back sighing contentedly staring up at the ceiling when a thought occurs to you, propping yourself up on one arm you turn to him, “Hey, Eds?”

“Hmmm?”

“Why do you call me ‘Bambi’ all the time?”

“Well, it’s cause you’re all cute and innocent.” He states matter-of-factly.

“But I’m not though.” You pout back at him.

“What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“‘M not innocent, don’t know why everyone thinks I am.”

“But you are.” He insists.

“I’m not, you’ll see.” You protest.

He chuckles to himself, “Ok, sweetheart, if you say so.”

“You will see, next time we’re at my place. I promise.”

He scrambles up the trellis outside your bedroom, hoisting himself onto the roof. Just as he pops his head around to peer into your window, hand raised to knock against the glass he sees you. Completely bare… scratch that, bare except for the frilly little panties tangled around your ankle and his guitar pick bouncing around between the swell of your breasts.

His breath catches in his throat, did you forget that you had invited him over? He can finally get a good look at that tattoo on your thigh by your hip. A fluffy kitten, paws under its chin, all knotted up in baby pink rope, a shibari design, the tail end of the rope clasped in its mouth, golden bell hanging off of it, surrounded by berries and leaves. Cute and innocent but also so very filthy at the same time, his mouth waters at the sight.

You’re sitting atop your large stuffed white tiger, Mr Stripes as he recalls from when you’d spread out all your stuffies introducing them all to him by name, one by one.

You’re thrusting away with abandon, grinding against the tigers back, clutching at the stuffed head in front of you, your head thrown back moaning wantonly. He can hear it even through the glass, then suddenly your eyes are drawn to the window and you spot him, crouched there staring at you slack jawed.

You hop off the tiger eyes lighting up, your panties slip away onto the floor as you bounce over to the window calling out his name. Pushing it open you pull him in with a hand scrunched into the front of his shirt.

He stumbles through the window and you drag him over to sit on the edge of your bed. He grabs for the nearest item to shove into his crotch, hiding his raging erection.

“Wh-what’re you doing?” He gasps.

“Eddie don’t be silly, you know what I’m doing, I was just about to cum when you got here… can I… can I keep going?”

“Bambi, I don’t think I should… we shouldn’t…”

“Please, Eds wanna finish. I want you to watch.” You pout at him

“Fuck… I… ok, yeah you can finish.”

You squeal and kiss the tip of his nose, “Thank you. Now watch, ok… and you don’t need to hide behind Miss Flopsy ya know, I already know you’re hard.”

He glances down at his lap and realises he had in fact grabbed your fluffy, floppy eared bunny, slowly removing it and placing it to the side a little awkwardly.

You hop back on top of the stuffed tiger resuming the roll of your hips and bringing one hand up to tweak at your nipple as you look directly into his eyes. He balls his hands into fists at his knees, clenching and unclenching them, swallowing harshly his Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

You moan and whine grinding into the fuzz beneath you, when an idea springs to your mind, “Edddiieee… can you take your cock out for me, please? Wanna watch you touching yourself when I cum.”

He splutters and chokes at your words, hesitating before he responds, despite everything in him screaming to do exactly what you just asked for, “Are you sure? Like really, really sure?”

You pout at him, “Yes Eds, I told you I’m not as innocent as everyone thinks I am, ok. Please I want this.”

“And you’re not just doing this to prove a point right? I don’t want you doing anything you’ll regret.”

“No, Eddie please just let me watch you, let me give you a show.”

His hands fumble at his belt as he breaths out heavily, “Jesus Christ Bambi, where is all this coming from?”

“Hurry up Eds, need to see you, ‘m so close.”

He hurriedly pulls his cock free of its confines, his wet tip glistens and you gasp at the sight, “Yes Eddie, thank you.”

His hand glides up and down his length with ease, precum already bubbling up at the head adding to the slick shlucking sound that is produced as he fists his cock desperately, he’s almost embarrassed at how close he is already.

You moan encouragingly, “Such a pretty cock, look how pink it is… and shiny. Just wanna suck on it. Bet it’s sweet like a lolly, will you let me taste it?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… I’m gonna cum… you gonna cum with me Bambi?”

“God yes! Eddiiieee…” You wail as your hips move to match his pace, the dam inside you breaking and giving way to your body wracking orgasm. Your head thrown back, eyes rolling into your skull, hands digging into the stuffed toy beneath you in a vicelike grip as you ride it out.

“Fuck, y/n.” He groans coating his fist in his release as it sprays all over the blush pink duvet on the bed. He falls back limply, eyes drooping, gasping as he tries to catch his breath.

You pant, chest heaving, as you look at his messy hand still clasped around his cock. You slide off the stuffed toy inching closer to him, you grasp his wrist pulling his hand up to your face. His eyes snap open, looking at you curiously. You lick away his thick, white cream, your tongue laving over each digit, paying extra special attention to his ring-clad fingers. He lets out a guttural moan and you suck his pointer finger all the way into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it.

He pulls his hand away, gasping “Stop, stop. What are you doing?”

His reaction stings, an awful feeling settling in your belly… you’d done it again, gone too far. Tears well up in your eyes, and you blubber, “S-s-sorry…”

The urge to comfort you overtakes all else and he’s scooping you into his lap, completely forgetting that you’re totally naked, that he’s still got his pants rolled down, cock out. He pulls you against his chest, you press your face into the crook of his neck, shoulders shaking as he rubs your back soothingly.

“Hey, no, no, don’t cry. I should have stopped it sooner. You were too far gone, I should have known better.”

All at once he becomes acutely aware of your wet, puffy folds on top of him, his dick swelling in response… Oh god, no not now, not like this, not when she’s so distraught and crying… fuck… that’s it, he’s done for, he thinks.

“No, I’m sorry… I-I…”You whimper.

“Bambi, talk to me. Tell me how I can make it better.”

“Wh-what…?” You look up at him blinking away tears, “You’re… you’re not mad at me? You don’t think I’m gross?”

“What?! Why on earth would I think that?”

You can’t hold back the weepy tirade, and he lets you blubber on, “W-well my… my last boyfriend he… he couldn’t handle the stuff I was into either… he called me a freak, said he never wanted to see me again… an-and I tried to take it slow, hold back with you.”

You take a big, shaky breath before continuing, “Didn’t wanna scare you o-off too… cause I really, really like you Eds… b-but you’ve barely even tried to touch me li-like that and we’ve been dating for weeks now… I was going crazy, I just had to do something.”

He holds up a hand huffing angrily, “Hold up. First of all, what do you mean ‘scare me off’, who said I can’t handle this? That was hot as fuck. And second of all, who the fuck was that creep, there has got to be something seriously wrong with him… if he-he…”

You cut him off squeezing his shoulder, “Eddie, it’s ok, it’s fine forget about him. Please, tell me why you stopped me. Why do you think we should have stopped sooner?”

“Come on Bambi, why do you think? Look at you always so cute and innocent. I shouldn’t corrupt you like that… I shouldn’t be dragging you down with me like this… turning you into some pervert.”

“Eddie, enough with the ‘cute and innocent’ stuff… and I can feel that, by the way. The way your dick twitched when you talked about ‘corrupting’ me…” You grind down on him and he whimpers hanging his head in shame.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be, this is what I wanted, ok. Wait. Wait here a minute let me show you what I really mean.” You slide out of his grip trotting off into your walk-in wardrobe.

You emerge carrying what you had affectionately dubbed the treasure chest, a moderately sized wooden box that you’d covered in stickers. You’d been dying to do a little show and tell with him, just like you had with all your stuffies. Again, in the interest of not scaring him off you’d held off, but now seemed a good a time as any to really make your point.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“More toys.” You grin at him.

“I thought you showed me all your toys, told me all their names and everything.”

“Yeah, I did show you all those toys, but I didn’t tell you everything about them. Let’s start there, ok? So, you saw me riding Mr. Stripes. He’s one of the best for that, firm but soft and fuzzy. Perfectly shaped cushion to sit on, something to grab on to, it’s like he was made for it.”

“Fuck, yeah saw the way you were bucking against him.” You notice his hand twitching, making slight moves towards his fat dick resting between his thighs.

You nod towards his crotch, “You can keep touching yourself if you want.”

“God, sweetheart I don’t know if I can take much more of this. My poor little heart might just give out. How did you keep all of this hidden away for so long?”

“Told ya didn’t wanna scare you off, I care about you too much Eds. Anyway, Mr. Stripes was my favourite stuffie for a long time, but then you gave me my little Eddie Bear.”

He gasps, hand drifting towards his cock gripping it lazily, “Yeah, uhh huh. I remember Eddie Bear.”

He recalls the day he’d gifted that to you, he’d cut a small hole into the bear and fucked it ‘til he came deep inside. Stitching it up carefully afterwards so you’d never notice.

“And when you did, he smelled just like… you. And then I rode him so much, over and over, just thinking of you. So many times, ‘til he didn’t smell like you anymore. I was a bit sad about that, though.” You lament.

He groans, a rumbling sound deep from his chest, as he continues stroking his throbbing cock, thumbing at the tip, “Yeah, what else? Tell me more, Bambi.”

“Well, sometimes I like to make all the other stuffies watch while I ride one of them, but the really fun toys are in here…” You hold up the chest.

“What’s in there sweetheart, you gonna show me like you did with all your other toys?”

You nod eagerly, placing the box on the bed and take a seat in front of it cross-legged, he chuckles at you, “Um these ones don’t really have names… except one. That one is my absolute favourite! Do you want me to show you that one first?”

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart.” His hand drops to fondle his balls for a moment as you continue.

You swing back the lid of the box on its hinges, holding so it blocks his view of everything inside, “Ok, so I call this my little treasure chest…”

“That’s cute, Bambi, I like that.” He remarks as you shuffle around the box in search of a particular item.

“Ok get ready, this one is called Mr. Flopsy…”

He grins at you, but that falters and his hand moves to squeeze the base of his cock firmly, eyes widening as you pull out a six-inch, translucent pink, sparkly rabbit vibrator, it’s almost the same circumference around as it is long. It’s not the most intimidating one in your collection but it is one of your favourites.

He inhales sharply before groaning out, “God fucking damn! That is not what I was expecting when you said ‘toys’. Jesus H Christ Bambi if you asked me yesterday, I wouldn’t have even thought you knew what one of those was!”

“Well, I do mister, so now do you believe I’m not just little Miss Innocent?”

He nods and hums in a strained way, “Uh huh, yep mm hmm.”

“So, see Mr. Flopsy is my favourite cause he’s all pink and sparkly and look a little bunny… that’s why I call him Mr. Flopsy.” You flick the ears on the toy and Eddie groans in response, just the thought of where those little ears have been drives him wild.

“He might not be the biggest in the collection, but he makes up for it in every other way.”

He resumes stroking along his length, whining, “Please can I see you use Mr. Flopsy?”

“Yeah, you really wanna?” You smile up at him sweetly, eyes lighting up.

“Fuck, absolutely sweetheart. You gonna do it for me?”

“Yes, but not now, there’s still a whole lot more to show you first.”

“Can’t we do that some other time?”

“Nope.” You reply cheekily.

“Ugh, do we have to go one by one though? Can’t you just dump it all out?” He groans frustratedly.

“Ok, I guess… for you, but you’ll have to help me pack up later.” You concede, tipping over the chest and letting everything tumble out.

Piles of rope and collars and nipple clamps and chains and dildos and fuzzy handcuffs, and more, in all shades of pastel colours cascade over the bed. He drops his slick, leaky cock, wiping his hand off along the duvet before rummaging through the pile in front of him. His cock bobs up and down in his lap desperate for attention.

“Oh, this is so much better than anything I could have ever imagined. Who knew you were such a kinky, little…” He pauses abruptly, you can tell he’s holding back.

“Go on Eds, call me dirty names, tell me I’m a kinky, little slut… is that what you were going to say? ‘Cause I’ll be your little slut, all yours, just for you. I’ll be your little present all wrapped up in bows, let you tie me up, split me open on your cock…”

He cuts you off pulling you in by the back of your neck, his lips colliding with your own over the paraphernalia laying beneath you. You break apart breathlessly, whining “Need you Eds, please…”

He rushes to strip off his clothing, tossing his jeans clear across the room in his haste. He glances down into the items scattered before him, in search of something…

“You gonna tie me up?” You ask hopefully.

“Sorry, Bambi not this time…” he spots what he was looking for, “…but I will be using these… if that’s ok?” He holds up a pink, fluffy pair of handcuffs, dangling them off a finger.

“Oh, that is more than ok Eddie.”

“I’m going to guess you’re familiar with the traffic light system, right?”

You nod proudly, “Uh huh, sure am.”

“Good, we’ll use that for now, ok?”

“Ok, Eddie, all green from me.” You offer him your wrists without him even asking.

“Oh, what a good girl you are, but first I’m going to need you to make some room on the bed. Just scoop all of that back into its box and set it on the floor, we can deal with it later…”

You nod mutely and do as you’re told while he continues, “… and you can tell me all about every little thing in there while we do. Your stuffies can stay and watch the show though.” He smirks at you.

Once the bed is clear, you kneel in the centre, resting back on your heels, all your stuffies and flowery, fluffy pillows propped up behind you. You look up at him through your long lashes waiting with baited breath for his next move. He cups your cheek, caressing it with a thumb, “You wanna be my good girl, my good little slut?”

“Y-yes please. Can I… can I call you ‘sir’?”

“Oh, Bambi so precious, so cute… yes, you may call me ‘sir’.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Anything for you princess. Now, how would you like to be cuffed… hands behind your back or to your bed frame?”

“To the bed, please.” You scoot back closer to the head of the bed, bringing your knees to your chest and squishing up against the toys and pillows.

“Such good manners. Did your mummy and daddy teach you that? Are they home now?” Coming up beside you he guides your hands one at a time, first closing a fluffy cuff around one wrist, then looping it through the bed frame and cuffing the other hand.

You shake your head, sinking down into the mattress your legs falling open, “Nuh uh, they’ve gone out. Won’t be home for hours.”

He moves to rest between your spread legs, humming in your ear, a finger brushing stray wisps of hair away from your face. “Hmmm, that’s strange why did you tell me to come in through the backyard then? Why’d you ask me not to use the door?”

“‘Cause… ‘cause I wanted you to catch me, thought maybe if you did…” You trail off distracted by his breath heating the side of your face.

Drawing back slightly he questions, “What did you think sweetheart? Did you think I wouldn’t be able to control myself? That I’d just take you right there as soon as I saw you?”

“Maybe… something a little like that.” You admit shyly.

“Well, aren’t you lucky then, that worked out quite nicely for you, didn’t it? I think it was very naughty though, don’t you?” He teases with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Sir?”

“I think someone needs to be… punished.” He proceeds cautiously.

“No, sir please I’ll be good. I’m your good girl remember.”

He gives you a slightly concerned look, “Colour?”

You grin back at him, “Green, sir.”

He runs a hand over your thigh, you shiver in response squeezing your legs together around him, “Ok, I have an idea… maybe more of a fun punishment. How’s that?”

“O-ok.” You agree shakily.

He continues “Well, since you decided to tease me with Mr. Flopsy, how about I use him on you… but you’re not allowed to cum.”

You pout, “Aww, that’s not fair.”

“Ah, ah, thought you said you were going to be my good girl?” He tuts at you, “The next time you cum I want that tight little pussy wrapped around my cock. Want you to get it all wet and sloppy for me.”

“I-I can do that for you.” You assure him breathily.

“I know, just wait right there for me while I find Mr. Flopsy.” He leans over the edge of the bed and riffles through the ‘treasure chest’.

You giggle, jiggling the cuffs around your wrist, “I can’t go anywhere Eds.”

“Ha got it!” He pulls out the toy holding it up proudly, before fiddling with the buttons on its base.

You’re practically shivering with anticipation as he cycles through the settings getting familiar with it. When he finds the button that makes the shaft thrust back and forth, with a gasp his head snaps to you, “I didn’t know it did that!”

You smirk at him, “Yeah, it’s good, isn’t it?”

“Why, don’t we see just how good it is, sweetheart?” He turns off the vibrations and the thrusting tip before making his way back to you. He trails the toy over your body slowly, lingering when he brings it up between your breasts alongside his guitar pick.

He looks up into your eyes, his pupils blown wide with lust, “Why don’t you start by getting Mr. Flopsy all nice and wet for me with your mouth?”

You nod in agreement and he holds the toy against your lips, they part. You lick up and down the shaft, letting your drool dribble all over it before wrapping your lips around the tip giving it a suck.

He groans in response as you try to take more of the shaft into your mouth. He pulls the toy away, “I think that’s enough now, are you still trying to tease me? Still being a naughty girl?”

You shake your head, “No just… just like having something to suck on. It feels good for me too… really like sucking on dick… ‘s like a little treat, like a lollipop, but better.”

“Fuuuuck, baby we are going to have to explore that a whole lot more soon-”

You interrupt him eagerly adding, “Balls! I like balls too! Wanna worship every inch of you Eds.”

A strangled groan escapes his lips, he grits his teeth, “God you really are gonna give me a heart attack ya know.”

“How’re… how’re you doing Eds?” You ask, checking in with him too.

“Oh, I’m green. I’m so fucking green I’m an emerald, ‘bout as hard as one too.”

You giggle at the comparison, “Well, come on let’s get to my… funishment then.”

“Oh, little princess thinks she can give orders now. Well, you’ll soon learn to be careful what you ask for, sweetheart.”

He takes the slobbery toy and runs it through your folds, prodding at your clit a few times before turning it on. The vibrations start out gentle as he continues his motions, slowly he begins easing the toy into your slick entrance. You gasp at the intrusion, sighing as he eases it in further and further. The little rabbit ears press into your clit and he starts the vibrations on those to.

“Oh, Eddie feels so good.” You whine.

“Remember no cumming on your toy this time.” He warns.

“I promise Eds, I’ll be good.”

He groans along with you and increases the intensity of the vibrations, “Let me know when you’re close ok?”

“Yes, sir,”

He gives an experimental thrust with the toy gauging your reaction, your wrists pull on their restraints and you moan. He ups the intensity yet again before remembering the thrusting feature, he pushes the toy all the way in and you feel your wetness flood around it.

He starts the thrusting action of the toy then waves his hands around grinning, “Look Bambi, no hands.”

Your giggle turns into a broken moan as he increases the speed of the thrusting toy inside you. His hands moving to cup your breasts, kneading them and rolling your nipples between his fingers.

Your hips begin to raise off the mattress, attempting to match the movements of the toy buzzing away inside you. You gasp, “Please, sir… please, please, please. I’m so close…”

And then all at once all sensation is gone, ripped away from you right at the precipice as he removes the toy. You whine at the loss, hips still bucking away in search of more.

“Oh, I know, I know…” He coos down at you, pressing your hips back down into the mattress.

“Fuck… Eddie, please I need you. Please fuck me.”

“If only I knew what a little slut you really were, we could’ve been doing this ages ago, you know that right?” He switches off the toy and licks it clean of your juices before dropping it down on the bed beside you.

You whimper beneath him, “Yes, sir I know. ‘m sorry I made you wait. Please I need you now, we can make up for all the lost time.”

“Oh, my pretty little princess, we will be making up for it…” he growls before guiding his slick cock into your wet heat. He slams in all at once. The toy is nothing compared to him and his impressive length, but the preparation and all your arousal is enough to have him sliding in with ease.

He rests there for a moment gazing down at you, before checking in breathlessly, “You… hmmm… you good down there?”

You look up at him nodding, “… mhmmmm… perfect Eds, green.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s pulling his hips back and slamming into you once more. “Don’t… don’t know if I’ll be able to last long… ya got no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He manages to pant out. Head hanging forward his hair flopping into his face as he braces himself with his hands on the bed frame by your own.

“I-I think I have some idea… hey, Eds?”

“Yeah, sweetheart? You still good?”

“Yep, just… hngh… just… can you cum inside me, please?”

His hips stutter and he groans, “God fucking damn, you really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You look up at him desperate and needy, “Please, sir. Please, wan’ it nice and deep.”

“Fuuuuck… shit yeah, yeah gonna cum soon. Gonna give it all to you.”

You strain at the cuffs in a pathetic attempt to grab a hold of something… tug on his long hair that dangles in his face, crumple the sheets, squeeze your stuffies, a pillow… anything. Instead, you wrap your legs around him, drawing him in deeper mewling desperately with each thrust.

“Are you close?” He pants above you.

“So close Eds, so close… you gonna cum with me when I soak that perfect cock of yours?”

He lets out the most hopeless, pathetic whine, “God… fuck… yes, yes, yes…”

He grabs the discarded vibrator turning it on and pressing it into your clit sending you into orbit, you pulse around him rhythmically, gushing all over his length with a scream and call out his name.

It doesn’t take long for him either, the feeling of you clamping down around him, the added vibrations from the toy. He unloads into you with a cry of his own. The feel of his warm, thick cum painting your walls only prolongs the sensation for you. When he slides his dick out, your combined fluids dribble out, running between your cheeks and pooling on the bed beneath you.

He’s still holding the toy against you as you tremble with aftershocks, “S-stop, ‘m sensitive Eds, please.” You gasp out.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He grins sheepishly, removing the toy, turning it off and tossing it aside.

He hooks a finger into the chain linking your cuffs, “Keys?”

“Bedside table. Top drawer. They’re pink.”

“Of course they are.” He chuckles and leans over to retrieve the keys.

He undoes the restraints and rubs at your wrists soothingly before scooping you up into his arms and manoeuvring you to lay against his chest.

His fingers trail along the chain draped over your neck, settling on the guitar pick, toying with it, “So, you kept this on, huh?”

“Yeah, uh it’s… it’s kinda like a collar in a way, but… more. More personal. More special. Been wearing it more than my actual collars now. More than any pretty little ribbon too.”

He gives it a gentle tug and you whine in response.

“You like wearing it, like it’s your own little special collar showing everyone who you belong to?”

“Yes Eds, God yes.” You breath out, pausing for a beat before asking hopefully, “What about you, do you still have the ribbon I gave you?”

“I could never part with my lady’s favour.” He declares, spinning the bracelet around his wrist to show the chain side where he’d woven the ribbon through the links.

You reach down running your fingertips over it, overwhelmed by your emotions, it has you blurting out, “I love you, Eddie.”

He sighs, “I love you too.”

“Do you think after we clean up, we can go for milkshakes?”

“Absolutely, sweetheart... with whipped cream and extra cherries too.”

You squeal in delight, “Thank you, Eddie! Best boyfriend ever!”

He pulls you in for a lingering kiss, before pulling away whispering, “Alright, then better get up if we’re gonna get to the diner.”

#eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #perv!eddie #perv!eddie x reader #perv!eddie x innocent!reader #eddie x innocent!reader #perv!eddie munson #eddie x girly!reader #perv!eddie x girly!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie x bambi

6K notes · View notes

shortcakesturns · 4 months

Text

Am I making you feel sick?

A/N: eventual smut later in the fic, you are responsible for what you consume. Cannabilism however u spell it, P in v, asphyxiation, blood, unprotected sex! (DONT DO THIS), cream pie, daddy kink, pet names: baby, honey,sweetheart princess, pretty girl. Female reader, semi, public sex. prolly more. fluff, angst. IN THIS UNIVERSE LEE WILL NOT DIE. PERIOD. THATS IT.

REQUESTS OPEN!!! I write for a lot of people please check my pinned to see who I write for! (I also take requests of who to write for)

Summary: you meet a stranger that’s also a so called eater, eventually you fall in love with him and during a kill you wonder how good he could make you feel

“Don’t talk to strangers, or you might fall in love”

A dimly lit streetlight shines above me, I could smell him in the store. He left shortly after having a man chase him out. My eyes are drawn to the corner of the abandoned building where I know he lays above the man's bloodied body eating.

The skinny boy stands up and out of the window stumbling, blood dripping down his body and coming from his mouth.

“Whatcha looking at darlin?” he asked

“I could smell you in the store.” I blankly replied.

“Could you now? I could smell you too, another eater?” he tilts his head to the side.

I nod and look around. “So where you headed?” I inquire.

“Wherever the wind takes me, honey, what about you?” his smirk grew.

“Same.” I stay quiet observing the boy, from top to bottom. Curly red grown-out hair, shell necklace originally white covered in blood droplets, the res stain meeting his skinny frame, and suddenly his hips shift.

“You like what you see there? Well if you have nowhere to go either. Come with me.” he pointed to the blue truck and his feet began to move towards the driver's side. Before my mouth could say anything I felt myself following him. I open the door from the passenger's side and climb up into the seat. With a creak, the door shuts.

“I asked you a question doll” he turns to look me in my eyes, grabbing my chin to turn my face to look at him. “I said, you like what you see doll?” giving him yet another glance down his body. I nod slowly. He lets go and turns his eyes toward the wheel and road. “Thatta girl” With a jerk the car starts up and begins to move slowly.

“Where are we staying for the night?” I look at him curiously.

“Wherever this guy's house is” he nods.

“What's your name beautiful?” he follows up with.

“Y/n, you?” I meet his eyes yet again.

“Lee.”

————

The light gleams in, and my eyes start to flutter. I turn to the other side and Lee is dangerously close to me. Cramped up in a small twin-size bed. Without waking Lee I jolt up and get ready for the day, opening the man's fridge to see if anything good could be scavenged, eggs.

A crack and pop of the eggs cooking is the ambiance as I look around the house, the eerie feeling is lingering. The house smelt like weed and cigarettes. I go to turn a corner in the house and my waist is quickly pulled back and spun around.

“You probably don't wanna go in there, it smells the worst in there. It's just an old record and a TV, rotten food. He really was a low life. Well, good riddance..”

I chuckle and my head falls into Lee's chest. His arms wrap tighter around me. “I made eggs in case you hungry for not…people” I look up at his beautiful blue eyes and his perfect smile.

“I'm always hungry honey.” he makes his way to the kitchen grabbing the eggs out of the pan and bringing them to the table.

For some reason, meeting a nonscary eater has made me more comfortable, and makes me feel more connected to him.

“I feel like I can be myself around you.” I break the silence sitting down.

“Whys that?” he makes a confused face.

“You're just the only eater that I've met that isn't scary, kinda sweet actually.” I smile

“Well, that's just perfect honey, and kinda? I'm insulted.” Lee chuckled.

“You are sweet, are” I laugh.

—— two months later ——

Lee drives down the road after picking a man up at the carnival to eat for the night, Lee brings him into the cornfield and begins to touch him. It was odd seeing Lee like that. Talking someone through it, the farthest we had gone was just a quick make-out session.

The man's moans echo throughout the so-called empty cornfield. Does Lee make people feel that good? Before the man could finish Lee slit his throat and waves me over. “Were you watching darlin'?”

“Yeah, I was.” I kneel down to feed on the man, but then Lee’s eyes dart up to look at me. “Eat baby, come on” I began to feed on the man, but keeping my eyes on who I'm truly craving. Lee.

As we finish the man Lee stands up with his blouse unbuttoned and blood down his body. “Come on pretty girl, let's get out of here.” he motions for me to follow him. I quickly follow him. Once we're at the truck I keep my eyes on Lee.

“Need somethin’ sweetheart?” Lee smirks.

“You, Lee, need you.” Lee is taken aback by the sudden boldness but keeps his mischievous smirk plastered on his face.

“Go to the bed of the truck, and bend that ass over f’me mk? I'll get there in a second love”

I do as he says and pull down the wall to the truck bed plant my feet on the road and arch my back laying the front of my body on the cold truck bed. I look around the dark isolated road, with only us. Fog covering the cornfield. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lee walk over and feel his presence behind me.

“Mm that's a good girl, love seeing this ass bent over for daddy.” a harsh slap makes contact with my ass, my dress is slowly lifted up to reveal my wet pussy.

“No panties hm? You slut.” another slap is landed on my ass. I feel Lee get on his knees and lick a stripe down my cunt, he begins to attack my clit, the noise of him sucking on my clit could make me cum alone. Suddenly he adds a finger to my pussy stretching it out.

“Gotta stretch this pussy for my dick, yeah?” he mumbles into my pussy,

I cry as I feel a second finger added to my pussy, he continues to fuck my pussy with his fingers at a fast pace. His tongue lapped over my sweet spot, I started to build up this feeling in my stomach.

“Im gonna- fuck- Lee I'm gonna cum.” his pace quickens.

“Come on baby come f’me, come on my tongue.”

I feel my legs twitch and white covers Lee’s tongue but he doesn't stop.

“Gonna get your cum all over my face baby,” my legs twitch and my pussy becomes sensitive, and my legs began to shake more intensely. “Thats my good girl.”

Lee licks one last stripe and stands up, the pressure on his hips is sudden and firm. “You feel that princess, you feel how hard my dick is for you?” he groans out. “Yeah baby it's so big.” he jerks his hips, rubbing his clothed cock around my entrance. “That's all you have to say? Hmm okay, baby.”

His pants and underwear are yanked off in one swift motion, and his undergarments hang low against his ankles. The tip of his cock begins to rub against my pussy, from my clit to my entrance. “You want it inside baby.” he pulls back spitting in his cock and fondling it and rubbing the tip around my opening.

“Yes Lee, baby please need it so bad”

“So needy sweetheart.”

With one swift motion, Lee is inside me entirely. letting out a loud groan, he stays for one second letting my pussy adjust to the hasty stretch. “So tight baby.”

He begins to thrust deeply into my pussy, “Hmm baby, so wet and tight for me.” his cock hits my cervix over and over again. The sounds of slapping and moaning fill the once-quiet atmosphere. I glance behind me at Lee with his head thrown back encircled in blood, muttering incoherent words.

“Lee fuck its so big.”

“Yeah, this dick big enough for you? Who's fucking pussy is this?” he starts to thrust harder, “Your pussy baby.”

“Thats right pretty girl.” his thrusts slow down. “Thats fucking right” he grumbles.

A tug on my hair is felt and then a hand creeps up on my neck. “You want me to make you a mommy baby, fill up this pussy?” his thrusts are painfully slow and deep. “Yes baby please wanna be a mommy,” I beg and cry out when his thrusts speed up.

“Good girl, gonna make you the most perfect mom- oh fu- fuck gonna cum in this pussy baby.” hot cum spurts to my cervix and he lets go of my throat. “Good girl, don't let it drip out.” I stand up and he kisses my lips.

“We better get going hun, don't wanna get caught.” he steps away and walks to the front of the truck. I follow quickly behind.

We sit in silence and the car starts.

“Lee I love you.”

“I love you pretty girl.”

#Spotify #timothee chamalet #timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet #timothee x reader #timothee chalamalabingbong #lee bones and all #bones and all #willy wonka #wonka smut #wonka x reader smut #smut

203 notes · View notes

homestylehughes · 4 months

Text

do you two know each other?

pairing(s): jamie drysdale x fem!york sister

summary: jamie hooks up with a girl he meets at a random bar, but what happens when the girl he hooked up with is he roommate and teammates sister?

warnings: fluff, sweet, and shy reader and jamie. pure filth smut 18+, oral fem!reciving, dirty talk. pet names, use of y/n.

wc: 4.4k

an: hi loveessssss!!! jamic fic...with smut;). also i actually dont know how this is 4.4k words dont ask me what happened... i got realllyyyyyy carried away. BUT I LOVE THIS. this was sent to me as request and boy did i eat it UP, so thank you sooo much for whoever requested. hopefully you read it and enjoy!!! i loved writing this sooo much. i hope you guys all enjoy, more things coming veryyyy soon. be sure to send in any blurbs or ideas you guys have for me i love talking and hearing from you guys. like and reblog if you enjoy. as always much love <3

happy reading <3

Jamie doesnt even know how he got here, or why he's even in this club. Sitting at the table nursing a beer, that's now going lukewarm from having it for so long. He doesn't know why his mood is so down, the flyers have won their last 5 games, he's happy to be in philly

Sure he misses Trevor and the rest of his past teammates, but he's fitting in well here and he likes it. Maybe he's lonely? Who knows at this point, all he knows is he'd rather be anywhere but here. “Jamieeee buddy!!! Cheer up!!!! Go get laid!!!” one of his drunk teammates yells out at him from across the bar. A small chuckle rips through his body, as he looks back at his teammate raising his beer with a smile.

Finally killing off the beer, he makes his way to the bar to get a new one, leaning against the counter, waiting for the bartender. All of the sudden Jamie feels something or someone's body crash into his left side.

“Oh my gosh, i'm so so sorry” the sweet voice of a woman echoed in his ears. “Are you okay?” The nameless woman speaks again, holding Jamie's arms to steady herself and to look at him. “Yeah, I'm fine. Are you?” He finally speaks, the woman in front of him as to be one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen in his entire life.

The way her hair falls, so perfectly in her face, the way her leather pants and corset fit her so well, hugging every part of her body perfectly. He swears she's an angel.

“Yes, I'm okay. I'm so sorry, some guy ran into me and you happened to be here and you know.. I ran into you.'' The woman pauses, blowing air from her lips, the plump lips Jamie can't help but stare at while she's talking. “Basically what I'm saying is, I'm sorry. Can I buy you a drink?”

Buy him a drink? A very attractive, seamly sweet woman bumps into him by accident and is now offering to buy him a drink? Maybe this night isn't as bad as it seems.

“Oh no you don't have too, i promise all is good '' he says back to her, “please i insist” she again counters. “Okay fine, but i'm buying the next round if you'd like.” he says with a small smile. “Sounds good to me.” she says, returning a smile. Even her smile is perfect, he thinks to himself.

Waving down the bartender, “hi! Can I get two highmoons please!” she says smiling at the bartender, handing him a 20, telling him to keep the change, yelling a thank you. Before grabbing the two drinks in front of him, handing one to Jamie, before leaning in closer. “Do you wanna go somewhere quieter?” she whispers into his ear.

Jamie nods in response, holding out his arm out, so she can grab his hand, grabbing it quickly, warmth flooding through the both of them, as Jamie leads them through the crowded bar, back towards the table James was once at.

“Thank you, I'm sorry i couldnt hear you up there,” she quietly says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “You say sorry alot, nothing to apologize for” he replies looking at her, taking her in, in a different light. She still looks beautiful. “I'm sor- actually nevermind. Oh! Im y/n” she says holding out her hand for Jamie to shake, “jamie” he says as he shakes her hand.

“So Jamie, what are you doing here?” she asks, while taking a sip of her bear. “Honestly I don't know, I didn't really want to come here tonight.”

“Me either, my friends made me come tonight, they said i needed to stop acting like a grandma, pulling me out of my comfy bed, put me in this” she says juestering to her outfit. “So now i'm here, talking to a guy..that i find cute” she finishes saying the last part quietly, hoping that Jamie did not register what she said, but he does.

“Well I'm glad you're here, you saved me from a night of boredom. Now i'm talking to this girl that i find..cute” he says leaning towards her from across the table with a smile.

“Oh really?” she says with a glimmer in her eyes

“Mhm, wouldn't say it if it wasn't true pretty girl.'' Jamie replies with a smirk on his face. “So Jamie, tell me what you do? Tell me your story” she says leaning even closer to him across the time, so close that she can make out the freckles that are scattered across his face so beautifully. “Well, where do I begin?” he laughs out before speaking again.

This is how it was the whole night, laughs, smiles, flirty remarks were being thrown around all night. Jamie telling her about his hockey career, being transferred from anaheim to philly. You couldn't imagine the excitement that spread through her when he said that, being a hockey fan herself growing up all around it thanks to her brother.

They spent hours talking about anything and everything, from childhoods, to first kisses. Being so caught up in their conversation either of them realized their full drinks were now empty, not bothering to get another.

The tension between y/n and Jamie grew over the few hours that they spent together. y/n checking her phone to see that it was now close to 2 a.m., knowing that it's probably time to head home, even though she didn't want to anyway and especially not alone.

“It's getting late” she says looking at Jamie, “oh yeah, shit it is” Jamie says glancing at his watch at the time.

“How far do you live from here? I can walk you home if you'd like?” Jamie says, hoping she says yes, not wanting this night to end just yet. “I do actually, just around the block, I'll be more than happy to have you walk me home.” y/n says smiling brightly at him.

“Well let's get you home.'' Jamie says, getting up from his seat. Once again he holds out his hand for y/n to grab, leading her through the still crowded bar towards the exit. The cool air nips at their skin as they walk outside.

“Which way?” Jamie asks now looking at y/n, taking in her features in the natural light. Even though it's dark out the street light and lights from the bar luminate her skin beautifully.

“Left” she replies, as she also takes in jamies appearance, he's even prettier outside she thinks to herself.

They began to walk in the direction of her apartment, making simple small talk as they do, their hands still closed together. After the 10 or so minute walk to her apartment, they arrive now standing outside her door.

Now standing in front of each other, Jamie realizes how much he wants to kiss her, stepping a little closer to y/n, “i'd really like to kiss you right now, if that's okay” he softly says tilting his head down closer to hers. “I'd really like you to kiss me right now” y/n whispers back to him.

Not a beat later, Jamie's lips are y/n’s, the kiss is sweet, not rushed, their lips moving together. Jamie's hands moving from beside him to her face grabbing her cheeks, pulling her close as if she's going to disappear any second. y/n’s hands finding the back of his head, tucking her fingers in between his soft black locks.

They finally pull apart after a few minutes, their chests rising and falling quickly, eyes locked together. Now she really doesnt want him to go home now, and neither is jamie. “I don't do one night stands' ' y/n quickly says, staring at Jamie, “me neither, so let's not make it a one time thing "Jamie says before finding his way back to her lips, pulling her into another kiss.

This kiss is more urgent and hotter than the last, his tongue sliding into her mouth, his hand moving down to her waist pulling her body into his.

“Jamie” she says breathlessly, as he pulls away from her lips, trails kisses down her exposed neck. Small moans are leaving her lips as she feels her knees growing weaker and weaker for him.

“Jamie” she says louder now, pulling away from him slightly. His eyes finding hers, blown with lust, “inside.” is all she says before pulling him up the steps of her apartment. Fishing her keys out of her purse to unlock the door, she can feel Jamie's front against her back, leaning down to pepper her neck with more kisses, making it harder to open her door.

Once the floor finally opens their stumbling inside, y/n dropping her purse on the floor not caring where anything goes. Their lips move together once again, as she walks them backwards further into her place.

“Jump '' Jamie mumbles against her lips, immediately following his orders, she quickly jumps wrapping her legs to his waist, Jamie walking her through her place.

“First room on the left” y/n lets out before watching her lips back jamies. Pushing the door to her room open quickly, finding her bed, tossing her back on it.

y/n’s chest rising and falling quickly as Jamie looks down at her, “you're so beautiful” he says before lowering himself between her legs and is open for his invitation.

y/n’s hands finding his hair pulling him against her again, their lips fighting against each other. Moving one of her hands from his hair to under the shirt he's wearing tracing her hand along his bare sides, feeling his muscles contract under her touch.

Wanting to feel all of him, she pulls at Jamie's shirt wanting him to take it off. Getting the message quickly Jamie lifts his lips from hers, leaning himself up and slipping his shirt off, tossing it somewhere in her bedroom before reconnecting their lips. Her hands now explore the plains of his bare back.

“Not fair that my shirt is off but yours isn't” Jamie says from above her, “well take it off then”. Jamie doesnt need to be told twice, quickly flipping them over, settling his back against the headboard, pulling her into his lap. His hands quickly found the clasps on the back of her top, unhooking them one by one, while kissing her neck. The small moans y/n lets out from above him, make him harder by the second.

Pulling the now unclasped top from her body, watching the straps fall from her shoulder, as he takes in her bare chest. He can't help but reach out to hold her breast in his hands, the smooth warm kiss pulling him in. “fuck you’re so beautiful ” he rasps out, leaning forward, wrapping his lips around her left lip, his eyes remaining locked with y/n’s. “Fuck” she moans out, the feeling of jamie warm mouth wrapping around her nipple is sending her whole body into a blaze.

She can feel the heat between her legs grow by the second, feeling his hardened cock resting in the inside of her left thigh. Taking matters into her own hands, deciding to grind their hips together. Jamie's lips instantly fell from their assault on her breast. A strangled moan falling from his lips, as he watches her grind herself against him.

“Fuck y/n” he groans out as her hips hit just the right spot on his hardened cock. “I need you Jamie please” y/n says breathlessly, looking down at him with lust in her eyes.

Flipping them over again, Jamie starts making his way to her pants, kissing down her body, until he gets to her top button. Looking up at her making sure it's okay before he takes them off, “yes please” y/n says lifting her hips up to help him take them off. Her pants are off now, just leaving her in her white cotton underwear.

Jamie leaning back on his heels, taking a good look at her. “There's so many things i want to do to you right now” Jamie says, while trailing his hands up her bare legs, spreading her thighs getting a better look at the wet patch that’s now formed on her underwear from how wet she is.

“Please do something, Jamie please.” y/n sys getting more antster by the second. “Where do you want me, pretty girl?” Jamie says before pressing a kiss to her core, breathing her scent, his mouth watering instantly. “I want you to fuck me, please”. “Okay pretty girl, since you've been so good to me, '' he says. Working to undo his belt and pants, unbuttoning them before pulling them down his legs. “I wanna see all of you Jamie” y/n whines out too. “You will baby, you will, but first i wanna taste you” he says, now hooking his fingers under her underwear. “Is that okay, baby?” pressing kisses to the inside of her thighs, waiting for her response.

y/n’s brain is mush she can hardly think, he's barely touched her and she's already out of it. “Yes' ' she says finally, looking down at him, Jamie remains in eye contact as he pulls her underwear down her legs. The soft fabric hitting her ankles before completely pulling them off her body. Her body now completely exposed to Jamie, usually she'd run to cover herself up, but the way he's looking down on her body, like he wants to eat her alive, is changing her mind.

“I've thought about how you'd taste, all night” kissing his way back to her core. Pressing a soft kiss to it, before spreading her lips, finding her clit immediately. “Oh my god” y/n moans out her back lifting from the bed. Jamie hands pinning her hips down. His tongue begins exploring her cunt, sucking and licking every part of her as he could. The sounds coming out from above him are music to his ears, he never wants to stop hearing them.

“Fuck jamie right there” y/n says a certian thrust of his tongue in her cunt, has her hands flying to his hair, pushing his face furthe into her cunt. Jamie doesn't let up, continuing to lap her up like a starving man.

“Im almost there fuck. Please done stop” and jamie doesnt, sliping a finger into her tight hole, he begins fucking her with is fingers, his lips still wrapped around her clit. Don't stop and ragged moans fall from her lips as she begins to cum. “Im cumming fuck” y/n moans out, jamie increases his pace, fucking her with two fingers now, feeling her seize around them.

Her head pushed as far into the pillow as it can go, her jaw open as she cums, her legs shaking as she tries to close them., but jamies strong hands hold them open, as he continues to fuck through her orgasm.

y/n’s chest falling and rising quickly, trying to recover from her orgasim, lifting her head down to look at Jamie, who's looking back at her. “Fuck.” is all he says before climbing back up the bed to her, reconnecting their lips. Tasting herself in his mouth makes her mind go dizzy. “Need you fuck me jamie” y/n whines pulling back to look him in the eyes. “Want to ride you, please” trailing one of her hands to his hardened cock in his boxers, running her fingertips along the covered ridged length, her mouth watering, at the feeling.

“Yes, pretty girl” he moans, dropping his head into her neck, as he feels her hand run across his hard-on. Pulling himself off of her, slipping back into a sitting position in her bed, y/n helping him pull his boxers down. His hardened cock falling out, precome painted along the tip, his pretty cock staring at her, begging her to put her mouth on it.

Moving her hands to the base of his cock, the weight of it in her hands, causes her to let out a low moan. Jamie's mouth hanging open, looking at her with half hooded eyes waiting for her next move. Settling her thighs on either side of his thighs rubbing her thumb over his precum covered tip, Jamie moans out from above her. “Baby please do something” he says urgently, grabbing her hips, helping her lift up, y/n lines up his cock with her entrance, slowly sinking down on it.

“Oh my gosh” y/n says once she's fully sat on his length, jamies hands are hips hold her in place. Their eyes finding each other again, “you look so beautiful” he says, bringing his hands to her face, pulling her into a soft kiss, y/n smiling into the kiss as she begins lifting herself slowly from his cock. Jamie lets out a moan against her mouth as she skinks back down on him.

The room begins to get hotter as each snap of y/n’s hips against jamies, moans and pants fill the room. “Fuck y/n” jamie groans out to her, watching her slide down on his cock, the way her hair is falling around her face, the soft glow of light in room, highlights the thin layer of sweat that covers her body as she rides him.

The grip Jamie has on her hips begins to tighten as he feels her tighten around her, his own orgasim also approaching. “Im almost there fuck jamie” y/n says dropping her head into his neck. “I can feel you baby, doing so good for me” leaning forward as he kisses and sucks on her exposed neck. “Look so pretty riding my cock pretty girl,” Jamie says, moving his hips to meet her thrusts. “Jamie dont stop, fuck im almost there”.

Each snap of their hips against each other is pure magic, the sounds of their skin smacking along with their moans will enter the room. Before y/n can realize she’s cumming, her lips finding jamies as she does, her hips still moving up and down his cock. “Im cumming baby” Jamie moans out, as he goes to pull y/n off of him, grabbing his hands she stops him, “cum inside me please, im clean, on the pill.” she says looking into his eyes she can tell he’s almost there.

“Please jamie, i want to feel you cum inside of me”, thats all it takes before jamie begins to fall apart above her, smashing his lips to hers as he cums, y/n continuing to fuck him through it, the movement of her hips never stopping.

Her hips slowly stop moving, now just resting sitting in Jamie's lap, the sound of their breathing is the only thing you can hear in the room. Jamie bringing his hand to her face lifting it up to look in her eyes ``that was..” he trails off, struggling trying to find the right words. “That was amazing” y/n says finishing his thought with her own words. “Yeah it was,” he chuckles before giving her a soft kiss.

“We should go get cleaned up” she says after a few moments, Jamie nodding his head in agreement. y/n lifting off him slowly, already missing the feeling of him inside her. Getting up from her bed, leading them to her bathroom, turning on the shower climbing, Jamie followed in suit with a smile on his face.

The shower was sweet and soft taking turns washing each other, stealing a few kisses from each other once and awhile. It almost all felt too domestic, something the both of them could get used too. Climbing out of the shower, y/n handing him a towel, as she begins to dry herself off she can feel Jamie staring at her. “Everything okay?” she asks, “more than okay, didnt think my might would turn out like this” he says, taking a few steps closer to y/n grabbing her by the hips pulling her closer. “But i'm not complaining” he says with a smile, “and neither am i” she counters before leaning in for a kiss, wrapping her arms around him.

Jamie picks her up once again, carrying her to her bedroom, laying her back down before reconnecting their lips. This is how they spend the night, all wrapped up and each other, their connection they share blossoming by each touch.

–

Ever since their first night together Jamie and y/n have been texting nonstop. both their schedules are super busy so they haven't been able to see each other again. That all changes tonight.

“y/n pleaseeee” cam says on the other side of the call. “I'll never ask you for anything ever again, if you come tonight. All the guys wanna see you.” he pleads again. Rubbing my head at my desk, trying to come up with an excuse to not go to a charity event the flyers are throwing but i can't come up with anything. “Okay okay, please shut up and stop begging me i’ll come with you” i finally say. “You're actually the best sister ever, I'll pick you up at 7 and wear something fancy! Gotta go to practice! Bye love you!” Cam quickly says before ending the call.

I stare at my phone in disbelief before getting back to work again, 7 o’clock can't come fast enough.

Trying to find something to wear to this event is going to kill me. Every dress I put on I hate. It's either two flashy or too borning. Maybe i just shouldn't go, i say to myself, knowing cam would actually kill me if i didn't. Settling on a simple black dress, quickly finishing my hair and makeup. Checking my phone to see that cam texted me that he's outside. Slipping on my shoes checking on my makeup before heading out the door.

My phone dinging from a text message, seeing that Jamie texted me “wish you were here with me tonight, at this work event” it reads. Smiling before sending a quickly before getting into cam’s car.

“Who's got you smiling at your phone?” is the first thing he says to me. “None of your business, don't make me leave and go back inside '' I say while snapping my seatbelt into place.

“Okay fine” he says before pulling off, making his way to the event. Small talk fills the car, as we catch up, I find myself wishing I saw my brother more. Even with us living in the same city, we barely have time to see each other, his hockey schedule and demanding work schedule keep us from seeing each other.

“Oh guess who will be there tonight?” Cam says, putting the car into park before handing his key to the valet , muttering a small thank you before heading over to my side, opening the door for me. “Who?” I ask , stepping out of the car. “My roommate, the one I told you about who transferred here a few months ago. He also plays defense. Really sweet I'm sure you guys will hit it off, "Cam says, winking at the last part. “Okay buddy, let's calm down.” I say laughing as Cam holds his arm for me to take.

The event itself is amazing, the music, decor, everything about it, I barely have time to take it all in before cam pulls me over to a group of his teammates, throwing me into conversation with them. Sometime during our conversations Cam runs off saying he's going to find his roommate who I have not yet caught the name of, and to grab us drinks.

Turning to talk to one of the wags that are there, I hear my name being called from behind, turning around to see Cam with drinks in his hand and Jamie standing right next to him. Jamie? What is Jamie doing here? And how does he know my brother?

“y/n there you are!” Cam says, handing a drink to me, “y/n this is my roommate Jamie, the one who transferred from the ducks! And Jamie this is my sister y/n” my eyes are wide as I stare at Jamie, I'm sure all of the color has left my face, jamies staring back at me just as shocked as I am.

“Hello guys?” Cam breaks the silence. “Do you two know each other?” he asks again, glancing back and forth between us. Still neither of us respond, just continuing to stare at each other. “Well since either of you are responding im going to take my drink, and your drink: he says plucking my drink out my hands. “And I'm going to go congregate, have fun! Introduce yourselves…unless you two have already done that already bye!” and just like that he’s gone faster than he came.

“Hi?” I say speaking first. “You didn't tell me your brother played for the flyers' 'Jamie quickly says. “Im sorry, i didn't mean to hide it from you, it's not something i want people to know me for.'' I say, pausing before taking a deep breath, “I didn't know you were Cam's roommate. He talks about you all the time.'' I say laughing awkwardly, shifting on my feet, scared of where we stand now.

“Well I both think we left out important details, didn't we?” Jamie says, flashing me a smile, reaching out to grab my waist pulling me closer to him. “You look gorgeous, I missed you” he says leaning into my neck. “I missed you too, you look really good.”, my eyes moving over the simple, yet sexy suite he’s wearing.

“Imagine if we just happened to leave at the same time.” Jamie says into my ear husklely. “Imagine if I happen to say that's a great idea and follow you?” I say, biting my lip to conceal my smile. Grabbing my hand pulling me behind him, through the crowded event, leading her out the back door.

Neither of them realized the cam’s eyes had not left them since he walked away, seeing their whole interaction, seeing them leave the venue together. A smile dancing across his face, happy for his sister and his teammate. Wondering how long they would try to keep it a secret from him.

#nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl fic #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale smut #philadephia flyers #jamie drysdale x y/n

346 notes · View notes

imaginespazzi · 4 months

Text

Part 6: Leaps of Faith

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 7

I hope that you catch me, cause I'm already falling (you put your arms around me and I'm home)

(In which a writer who can see the end approaching starts building towards that ending)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst and Fluff

Words: 8.0K

TW: Swearing, Alludes to Sexual Content

A/N: Good evening my lovelies <3. Happy Sunday and Happy Mothers day! First of all, I wanna thank y'all for being ever so patient with me. I know I've been pretty bad about updating lately and y'all have been so sweet with your asks and I really appreciate it. This fic is very close to its end. I probably could have ended it with this chapter but there's a very specific ending I want to write so this one is more of a self-indulgent filler but I think y'all will like this one. There will be one more chapter and then an epilogue of sorts. Once again, there are most likely logistical inaccuracies. I'm not even gonna lie, the editing on this one is shoddy so there are definitely grammar errors/typos. For now, ignore them and I'll go fix them later. As always, even if we're near the end, feel free let me know what you liked, what you didn't and anything you'd like to see before we get to the end. Have a wonderful week my angels <3

April 2024

“It’s a little early for ice cream hon,” Azzi jumps at the sound of her mother’s voice, startled eyes following the direction of the noise to find Katie leaning against the kitchen door, with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a little early to scare the living bejesus out of me mom,” she says with a hand to her chest.

If possible, Katie’s eyes roll even further at her daughter’s sarcastic tone as she makes her way over to the kitchen counter. She’s gotten herself a spoon and everything, ready to steal some ice cream for herself, when she notices the flavour. Next to her, Azzi stiffens.

“You hate mint chocolate chip Az,” Katie says quietly.

“I couldn’t find the strawberry ice cream,” Azzi defends stubbornly, her face taking on a guarded expression.

Katie walks over to the freezer, opening it and pointing at the strawberry ice cream, Azzi’s favourite, that’s sitting in plain sight, “it’s right there.”

“Well,” Azzi splutters, “I’m trying something new,”.

“You hate trying new things.”

“I’ve grown up I guess.”

“Azzi.”

“Mom.”

“Azzi, why are you eating ice cream you hate at 4 in the morning?” Katie finally asks in her best mom voice, sighing when she gets a mumbled response from her daughter, “in words Az, please.”

“Paige likes it,” Azzi admits slowly, and before Katie can say anything, before Azzi can dwell on what she’s said, she launches into a rant, “god knows why. Actually I know why because she’s stupid and weird and likes the dumbest shit. Who the fuck likes mint? Who the fuck likes mint and chocolate together? Gross. This shit is disgusting. It tastes all wrong. Paige is just-,” Azzi throws her hands up in the air, “she just doesn’t understand that some things don’t belong together. They can’t. They’re too different and it just- there’s a fucking balance to things you know? And she just- she doesn’t get that. It’s just- it’s not meant to be.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re eating it right now,” Katie says carefully.

“Because I miss her,” the truth bursts out of Azzi like an erupting volcano, burning itself into every crevice of her skin, “because for some fucking reason I don’t hate the taste of mint chocolate chip. Because maybe they do go together and maybe I’ve been the stupid one this whole time.”

Since she’d stepped out of the hotel in Cleveland, all Azzi could think about was going back, saying fuck it to all the useless logic she’d come up with and going back to the only thing in her life that had ever made sense her Paige. But as it often did in that clichéd battle between head and heart, her head had won out. And she’s never questioned why her head wins so much, why she’s always chosen to listen to the practical side of her brain, until now. Until now when the urge to turn back time, to make herself stay in that hotel room, is all that’s consumed her for the last week.

“Azzi,” Katie wraps her arms around the younger girl, “what happened with you and Paige?”

Azzi hesitates for a second and then everything’s spilling out of her lips, the good, the bad, the inbetween, all of it tumbles out like an uncontrollable waterfall. There’s something freeing about being able to say it all out loud, something freeing about the tears Azzi finally lets roll down her cheeks. She grips the edge of the counter to keep herself from keeling over, starting to feel herself crumble under the heaviness of all these stupid feelings.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” Azzi whispers, “we used to be so easy.”

“Oh Az,” Katie rubs a thumb against her daughter’s cheek, “you used to be kids. You’re all grown up now. It’s always harder when you’re older.”

“Well, I don’t like it. I just want to be the way we were again.”

“So why don’t you?” Katie asks like it’s the most simple solution in the world and Azzi shoots her mother an exasperated look.

“What do you mean? How do we even do that? We can’t be just friends again. We tried. Were you not listening at all?”

“Azzi, sweetheart, you’ve never been just friends.”

“That’s not true,” it’s a futile attempt at arguing against what’s become more of a fact than an opinion in Azzi’s life. It’s a truth she’d let herself acknowledge once and then buried deep within her, scared that once unleashed, it would ruin everything. Except, it turns out, even without it, things had still turned to dust.

“Do you remember when you came home from Minnesota that first summer with Paige? You were either moping around or you were on call with her. There was no in between. It got better eventually, the moping stopped but the calls? I think you fell asleep on facetime with her almost every night. And you were tired every morning after, you barely had time to eat before school but every time I suggested that maybe you cut back, that was never an option,” Katie smiles fondly, “it’s when I knew.”

Azzi does remember, remembers talking about everything and nothing, remembers laughing and crying, remembers when Paige’s breathing was the only lullaby that could relax her into sleeping. And she remembers battling with that voice in her head, the one convinced there’s something more, silencing it with I’d do this with anyone. But that wasn’t true then and it’s not true now because Paige has never been just anyone, never been just a friend. Because even if Azzi’s never been brave enough to say it out loud, Paige is and has always been everything.

Despite knowing the answer and maybe dreading it just a little bit, Azzi asks it to her mom anyway, “what did you know?”

“That she was your person. You were too young, I couldn’t call it love just yet but I knew Paige was different then, she was yours in a way none of your other friends were. You were different around her,” Katie nudges her daughter, “Azzi you’ve always been just a little bit in love with her and she’s always been just a little bit in love with you too. The two of you have just been a matter of time.”

Azzi closes her eyes, and unlike other people, she doesn’t see darkness or little spots of light, she just sees Paige. Her mother’s words wash over her, like acid in her self-inflicted fight the feelings wounds and yet, the idea of she’s loved me too feels like a band-aid being delicately placed on the scars of her heart.

“And place,” she whispers, eyes still closed, “we never seem to get time and place right.”

“Why do you need to?”

Another exasperated look is sent Katie’s way at that question, “we live on different sides of the country mom, what do you mean why do we need to?”

“I mean the two of you have barely ever been in the same place. But you made it work, when you had even less, when you felt even less. But you’re adults now. You have other resources now. And I know timing is difficult but- it’s you and Paige. What are you so scared of Azzi?”

Azzi sucks in a deep breath, “what if Paige runs away again?”

“What if you run away again?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who was the last person to walk away, Azzi?,” Katie sighs when Azzi is adamantly silent, “I know she hurt you by leaving. I know she hurt you by pushing you away. But you did the same thing. You chose UCLA,” Katie holds up a hand when a frustrated Azzi tries to interrupt, “and it was the right decision for you Azzi and she should have supported it. But that doesn’t meant you didn’t hurt her and then you chose Zoe-”

“I didn’t choose Zoe-”

“Yes you did Azzi. Sweetheart you’re my daughter and I will always tell you the complete truth even if it’s not what you wanna hear. And the truth Azzi is that Paige might have hurt you in 101 different ways but that doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt her back in 99 different ways too.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Azzi whispers, “that’s the problem mom. It hurts when she hurts me but it hurts even more when I hurt her. I don’t want that for us but I just- I just don’t know how to stop it without stopping us.”

“You haven’t even tried, baby. Paige held out a hand and you ran away.”

“She left first. How am I supposed to trust that she won’t just do that again," all that’s missing from Azzi’s stubborn whine is a foot stomp.

“Because she came back. It took her a little bit, I know, but she came back and she’s ready to fight, the question is, are you?”

“Why are you defending her?” Azzi splutters, “who’s side are you even on?”

“There are no sides to this sweetheart. The two of you are on the same side. So maybe instead of fighting against her, take that hand, fight with her.”

***

The WNBA draft is a momentous occasion this year. With a hyped draft class like no other, and the promise of even greater ones in the future, there’s a sense of celebratory hope dangling in the air. When the invite had first come in, Azzi had known the same one would be sent to a certain blonde in Connecticut as well. And a part of her had wanted to hide herself away from that possible collision, but every other part of her wanted nothing more than to get just a glimpse of the blonde.

One moment Azzi is surrounded by flashing cameras and the echo of her name on everyone’s lips, the next everything around her is fading away her eyes meet Paige’s on the other end of the WNBA draft orange carpet. It’s nothing new really. Since she’s met her, the blonde has commandeered all of Azzi’s attention whenever she’s nearby. Sometimes it feels like all of her other five senses fade away to give birth to a secret sixth one, one that’s solely dedicated to Paige, one that’s terrifyingly all-consuming. And yet, despite the heaviness of we’ve said too many goodbyes, for the first time in what feels like eternity, Azzi feels like she can finally breathe.

And then Paige looks away.

And Azzi’s back to struggling for air.

It’s selfish of her, she knows, to expect something, not when she’d been the one to leave them stranded on different islands. But Azzi doesn’t seem to think logically when it comes to Paige and even as she tries to turn her focus back to posing for the camera, every inch of her body is dangerously aware of the blonde’s every move, just a mere few feet away from her. Her conversation with her mother is echoing in her head, giving rise to dangerous desires of what if i grabbed your hand and we ran away together.

Paige is a natural on the orange carpet, all dazzling smiles and twinkling eyes. She glides through it, inching closer and closer to Azzi, but never giving away any sense of discomfort. And if it was anybody else, maybe they’d never catch onto the nerves hidden beneath Paige’s facade of calm, cool and collected. But once upon a time Paige used to be Azzi’s favourite puzzle and she has every part of the blonde committed to memory. It’s in the way Paige’s teeth gnaw at her lips for the briefest of seconds, in the way her right index finger is begging to tap a beat against where her hands rests on hips, in the way she’s blinking just one too many times.

And then with one more heavy footed step from Paige, the distance between them is barely a couple inches and they let out identical breaths of air, both of them keeping their focus on the cameras in front of them. It’s loud, too loud, and still all Azzi can focus on is the sound of Paige breathing. The air around them is thick with tension. It feels a bit like they’re silhouetted against a sky made of words they’ve left unsaid and clouds of all the bitter mistakes they’ve made are hanging over their heads. And when their pinkies brush together, and a jolt of electricity sends shivers of I miss you more every day again her skin, Azzi questions if she’s ever made the right decision when it comes to Paige.

“Wait wait wait,” Ari cuts in, as she squeezes herself in between the two of them, “I wanna get in between the two of you.”

A harsh cry of no sits heavily on the top of Azzi’s tongue as the older woman forces a break in whatever little bit of contact she’d had with Paige. She feels a little pathetic, the way every little inch of her skin is craving for that touch back. It had been nothing, a barely there moment and still Azzi thinks, when she goes to bed tonight, if that was all she’d get of Paige, then it’ll be the only thing that’ll feature in her dreams.

“Alright one with just Paige and Azzi,” Ari directs the media, stepping out of the way and pushing the two younger girls together. And it’s laughable that a little brush of their pinkies had Azzi feeling any type of way because when they’re suddenly pressed together, every inch of Paige’s side fitting into Azzi’s like it belongs, the way the world suddenly bursts with light and colours makes Azzi wonder if every moment without Paige has simply been monochrome.

It comes to them naturally how to pose together, arms winding around each other’s waist, heads involuntarily leaning against the other’s. And the smiles might be for the cameras but Azzi knows hers is the most real it’s been all night. It might be temporary, she might lose Paige in the chaos, but for now Paige is here and Azzi has learned how to be content with whatever little she can get.

As the media moves to capture other people, the logical thing to do would be to separate, to let go of each other. But instead they stand there, still completely wrapped around each other, heart rates in sync as they breathe in each other’s presence. And then Paige’s hand falls from the small of Azzi’s back to tangle their fingers together and they let out identical sighs of relief, something so cathartic in the purposefulness of that touch. Everyone is too busy to notice that the two of them have fallen into a whole other world, one where there’s only two of them and every emotion that they’ve only reserved for the other. There’s no words exchanged as Paige guides the two of them out of the spotlight, somehow keeping their hands clasped together in secret, despite the ever growing crowd. And Azzi doesn’t know this building at all, doesn’t have the faintest clue where she’s being led to, but as long as it’s Paige pulling her along, she doesn’t care where, she thinks she’d go anywhere.

Paige stops abruptly in a secluded corridor, turning to fully face Azzi. And the sincerity in the blonde’s crystalline blue eyes, as they roam every inch of Azzi’s body before coming to fixate on her face, steals the air away from Azzi’s lungs. Paige has gotten better over the years at building walls, but with every new lock she places on her emotions, there’s a key to open them that seems to always find its way to Azzi. In the delicate golden hue, Paige shines brighter than any star ever could and in the dim light Azzi can make out every bit of hurt and love and please can we just have this moment that Paige can’t put into words.

“Hi,” Azzi whispers softly, hands itching to reach out and caress Paige’s skin.

“Hi,” Paige says back, even quieter. She stares at Azzi as if she’s memorising every little detail and then her face crumbles. Azzi feels her heart drop at the single tear that trickles down Paige’s cheek as she lets out a broken whimper. And this, this unspoken power they seem to have over each other, the uncanny ability to just hurt each other without any bit of effort, is what scares Azzi the most. It’s too much. They shouldn’t be able to do this.

“Paige,” Azzi’s fingers twitch but she hesitates, not knowing if it’s the right thing, “fuck- P what’s wrong?”

Paige doesn’t reply, eyes wandering down to where Azzi’s trying to keep her hands still against her sides and when she looks back up, her eyes are bloodshot, “what’s wrong? What’s not wrong Azzi? You won’t even fucking touch me.”

“I didn’t-” Azzi struggles to speak, “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“Can you just- fuck- can you just stop overthinking things for once in your life. Of course I want you to touch- you know what nevermind. This was a bad idea. You made yourself clear and I’m just- fuck- I should- I should just go.”

She sounds adamant enough but all it takes, when Paige moves to leave, is the strangled cry that leaves Azzi’s lips. The sound is enough to pull Paige right back in. She takes one look at the tears brimming in Azzi’s eyes. And then she’s pushing Azzi against a wall, hands on either side caging the younger girl between her body and the hard surface behind. She presses their foreheads together and Azzi feels like every part of her might just be a part of Paige too.

“I miss you. I miss you so fucking much. It’s barely been two weeks and I- fuck- Azzi- I’ve missed you every single second and now you’re here and I still miss you. And it really fucking hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Azzi whispers, finally letting her hands cup Paige’s cheeks, and it’s worth it for the way Paige seems to completely melt into her touch, “I’m sorry I keep hurting you. I keep thinking I’m doing the right thing but- I don’t know- I feel like I’m always doing the wrong thing when it comes to you. I don’t- I don’t know what to do.”

“Just let me be with you,” Paige’s voice is wrecked with desperation as she presses herself as close to Azzi as possible, “I’ll be your whatever- whatever you give me- whatever you want- I just- I just want you Az- whatever little bit you’re willing to give me- I’ll take it- and if you want me to wait- fuck Azzi- I’d wait forever- you know that right? However long it takes, baby. Just want you- just want us.”

Leaps of faith are scary. Azzi’s never been great at taking them, too cautious, too much of a worrier. She’s more of a step back from the cliff kind of person. If she doesn’t jump, she can’t fall. But here’s the thing, when she was fourteen, Azzi jumped off of her first hypothetical cliff. It had been on a plane, when after avoiding one too many deep questions, Azzi had admitted to a girl she barely knew,that maybe she could like girls. It was the first time she’d ever let herself acknowledge that truth about herself and the girl next to her was a stranger but there was something about her, something that screamed i’ll hold your hand and if you jump it’ll never be alone. And ever since then, that girl, Paige, has always been there. Hands outstretched, ready to jump off any ledge. Because if there’s hard ground underneath, then they’ll learn how to fly together and if there’s water, they’ll figure out how to swim. With Paige there has always been the promise that, whatever it is, they’ll figure it out together. And it’s with that promise in mind, that Azzi takes the leap of faith.

“Me too,” Azzi whispers, heart beating erratically.

“What?” Paige searches Azzi’s face, as if waiting for her to take it back.

“Us. You. You and me. I want that too,” a ghost of a smile begins to creep onto Azzi’s face, and for the first time in god knows how long, she feels feather light, a little bit like she’s floating on a rainbow.

“You mean it?” Paige asks earnestly, hands moving from the wall to clutch at Azzi’s waist, “don’t play-Azzi- okay- you mean it for real?”

“I do. I want this- I want this so much and I’m still- I’m still really scared and maybe it’ll be a disaster but I- I want to try. With you.”

Azzi used to think she knew all of Paige’s smiles. Her small, not quite fake, but only for cameras and people she didn’t quite know, smiles. Her just for my friends smile that was filled with mirth and childlike joy. Her basketball smile that transformed into a smirk when she got too cocky. Her only for Drew smile, soft and filled with so much adoration and pride. Her Azzi smile, the one only the brown-skinned girl gets to experience, a smile that made Azzi’s her heart swell with love. But the smile that stretches across Paige’s face now, is one Azzi’s never seen before. This one throws Azzi’s entire world of balance, so bright, so big, so full of emotions. If she could, she’d tattoo that smile onto her skin forever.

“We’re really doing this?” Paige asks, still a little stunned. It wasn’t what Azzi had planned for tonight. She hadn’t really had any plans for what would really happen. But then Paige had walked in and all Azzi could see was forever she was tired of fighting against.

“We should take it slow okay-” Azzi wraps her arms around the older girl’s neck, keeping their foreheads still against each other’s, “I don’t- I don’t wanna rush into things and fuck it up. I can’t- fuck- I can’t lose y-”

“You won’t,” Paige swears, squeezing at Azzi’s wait, “I won’t let you. We can take it slow. We can take it however you want- I just- we’re doing this?”

“Yeah,” Azzi can’t help the grin that fills up her entire face, “yeah we’re doing this.”

And as they surge forward to claim each other’s lips, and as they meld every inch of themselves into each other, and as they smile and cry into the kiss simultaneously, and as they etch promises into each other skin, and as they let themselves finally fall into each other, for each other, it feels a lot like coming home.

***

July 2024

The early morning sunlight casts a dark shadow across Paige’s face, causing the still asleep blonde to scrunch up her face in irritation. Azzi, who’s been awake for nearly half an hour now, can’t help the fond smile that creeps onto her own lips. She shifts herself to block the sun and Paige lets out a content sigh, burrowing herself further into her pillows. And the thing is every moment with Paige is special but there’s something about waking up to her in the morning. Azzi’s always awake first and it gives her ample time to just admire the girl in her arms, blond hair tousled all over her pillow, lips parted slightly open, and one arm always, always, splayed across Azzi’s torso, holding her close. Over the course of time, Azzi’s found out that the second she moves, Paige seems to feel her leave, waking up instantly.

There had been an adjustment period if Azzi's honest. It had taken her a while to shake that fear of Paige not being there in the morning. The first morning, she’d been scared to open her eyes, even if she could feel Paige’s presence right next to her. That had been one of the few mornings that Paige was fully awake first, hovering above Azzi to wake her up. And when she finally did get the courage to open her eyes, the first thing Azzi had seen was Paige, blue eyes sparkling with unfiltered adoration, a smile filled with promises of every morning just like this. And that had been enough.

Azzi reaches out to brush a hand through Paige’s soft blond hair, mesmerised by how pretty Paige looks in the morning glow. A lot of Paige belongs to the world now and Azzi’s not opposed to sharing really, because someone so fucking perfect, deserves to be celebrated like that. But there are some parts of Paige that belong to Azzi and Azzi only, some parts Azzi cherishes as being only hers. This is one of them and Azzi takes a snapshot of it, knowing she’ll need it to function in a few months, when she won’t get the real thing.

“Are you watching Paige sleep?” Azzi almost jumps at the sound of Drew’s voice at the doorway, having been too immersed in Paige to have even heard the door open, “that’s kinda creepy Azzi.”

“Jesus Drew, whatever happened to knocking?”

“I forgot?” Drew grins, before he plops on the bed, the force of it making the whole frame shake a little bit.

“Drew!” Azzi chides, “you’re gonna wake her up.”

Drew cocks his eyebrows, sparing his sister, who seems unphased by the sudden little bit of chaos around her, still fast asleep, an unimpressive look, “please she can sleep through anything. Besides, it’s already 9. I thought we were gonna do things. I been up for aaaages.”

“She’ll be awake soon,” Azzi smiles, ruffling the younger boy's hair. Drew rolls his eyes and it’s remarkable how much he resembles Paige, not just by face, but the mannerisms too.

He huffs for a second before his eyes sparkle with an idea, “what if we pour water on her!”

“Drew!” Azzi chastises again, trying not to giggle.

“Boo,” Drew crosses his arms across his chest, “you used to be so cool Azzi.”

Azzi laughs as she’s reminded of a younger version of herself, scheming with Drew on how to wake Paige up. And it’s not that she’s beyond that really, tucking the water idea for a rainy day, but Paige looks too peaceful this morning and she wants to preserve that look of serenity on the older girl’s face for just a little bit longer.

“Hey Azzi,” Drew says after a while and Azzi hums in response, “when you and Paige get married, I can still be a groomsman right? Even if there’s no grooms?”

“Wha- where did that come from?” the brunette’s eyes widened at the question, sitting up a little straighter.

Drew peers up at her with all the innocence of a pre-teen, “you are gonna get married right?”

“I don’t-”

“It’s too early for your yapping Drew,” Azzi’s saved from answering by Paige’s tired voice entering the conversation. She looks over to find Paige’s eyes already on her, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looks up at Azzi. If Drew wasn’t sitting right there, Azzi would lean over and kiss her and let Paige deepen it until they were both satisfied.

“Oh thank god,” Drew cheers dramatically, “I thought you were gonna sleep forever.”

Paige scoffs, the arm that’s still wrapped around Azzi’s torso tightening its hold, “I wish.”

“Well you’re awake now so get up,” Drew whines, moving from his spot on the end of the bed, to flop on top of Paige’s body instead, “get up, get up, GET UP.”

“Get off,” Paige groans but there’s no real force behind it. Azzi watches with a fond smile, as Paige flips Drew over so that she can tickle him, eliciting rounds of laughter from the younger boy. Something in her heart flutters, her mind going back to Drew’s question. She’s never really been one to think too hard about marriage and children and that domestic suburban life, leaving it up to fate, but now- well, maybe.

“Okay aight aight enough. Go get ready for breakfast and we’ll be down in a second,” Paige says, ushering Drew off of the bed.

“You can just tell me you want me to leave so you can kiss Azzi you know?” Drew scrunches up his nose, “you two are gross.”

Paige sends him a stern look and gets a dramatic eye roll in return but as he always does, Drew does as he’s told, mock saluting the two of them and skipping out of the room.

“He’s right by the way,” Paige says softly, turning back to where Azzi’s leaning against the backboard, “I do want to kiss you.”

Azzi smirks lopsidedly, “what’s stopping you?”

She squeals in surprise when Paige pulls her, the force of it causing both of them to tumble onto the front-end of the bed. Azzi ends up on top of Paige, hands resting around her neck, the blonde’s hands holding her waist in place.

“Good morning,” Paige grins, clearly proud of herself as she chases Azzi’s lips to pull her into a searing kiss.

“Good morning,” Azzi whispers back, thumb caressing Paige’s left cheek.

“Just so you know,” Paige pulls away, a determined glint in her eyes, “we’re so getting married one day.”

***

October 2024

Azzi’s mood has been rancid for the last couple of weeks. It’s terrible she knows; it makes her irritating to play with and a nightmare to live with. But even if this had been expected, that she would be on one end of the country and her heart would be on the other side, it doesn’t stop her from constantly being in a state of missing Paige. And it’s different from before, now that there’s a certain surety of of course i’ll see you soon but soon never really feels soon enough.

“Azzi can you please get the door,” Kiki calls from her room when the doorbell rings.

“I’m busy,” Azzi grunts back, snuggling further into her pillow with a book she isn’t actually reading, “you go get it.”

“Azzi please, I’m literally in the middle of getting dressed,” Kiki yells exasperatedly.

If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s pretty sure her teammates are about this close to plotting her murder, and deservedly so, Azzi would sink back onto her bed and let the incessant doorbell noise continue. But she does love her teammates, thinks Kiki probably deserves to change in peace, and it forces her out of bed, grumbling away about annoying visitors. Until she actually gets a look at the visitor. Paige stands on the doorstep, confident as ever, a bouquet of roses and peonies and lilies in her hand.

“You’re here,” Azzi breathes out, staring in awe.

“And thank fucking god she is,” Kiki quips from behind her, “maybe we can finally get our old happy Azzi back and not this bitch.”

Paige laughs, “watch how you talk about my girl Rice.”

“You’re here. You’re really here,” Azzi whispers again.

“I heard you missed me baby,” Paige says, her cocky smirk betrayed by the softness in her voice. And then Azzi is flying into her arms, throwing Paige off balance.

“So fucking much,” Azzi admits into Paige’s neck, eliciting a giggle from the blonde, “Kiki’s right. I have been a bitch.”

“Just a little bit,” Kiki calls out again but there’s a new fondness in her voice. It’s funny how her team, even the haters, have slowly become Paige fans. They’d been hesitant at first, just like the UConn girls, but now well, it seems the basketball world’s Montagues and Capulets have learned to accept their star players’ relationship.

“Missed you too Az,” Paige’s tone is vulnerable as they break away, “alright, go get changed, I wanna take you somewhere.”

“Or…,” Azzi presses her lips to Paige’s neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, “we could stay here and do something else.”

Paige shivers under her touch, stepping away to keep some semblance of control “n-no I have plans,” but she can’t help but kiss Azzi’s pout away, “it’ll be worth it, I promise. Besides,” she bites at Azzi’s ear, “there’s always later.”

***

“Your big plans are to bring me to the supermarket,” Azzi cocks an eyebrow as they walk down one of the many aisles, “you turned down sex for this? Should I be offended?”

Paige doesn’t say anything, concentratedly looking at signs, trying to figure out a specific section, before an aha! moment dances over her face, and she pulls Azzi with her, the younger girl going willingly, despite the eye roll. She stops triumphantly in front of the sushi section and Azzi looks at her quizzically.

“I’m getting you supermarket sushi,” Paige says pointedly, “and then you can get me mac and cheese.”

And if you brought me sushi I’d have brought you your favourite mac and cheese. Oh. The realisation of what Paige is doing trickles around Azzi a little bit like rain after a long summer drought. She thinks back to the bouquet, everything suddenly making sense.

“You’re such a dork Paige Bueckers,” Azzi says softly, tapping the older girl’s nose.

“Your dork,” Paige grins cheesily, “now hurry up and pick one. I don’t wanna miss the sunset.”

***

Once she catches on it, it doesn’t surprise Azzi to find that Paige has everything planned out perfectly, down to the exact spot in the park- the one by Paige’s recovery airBnB, the one they’d taken countless walks in trying to repair their friendship- where the two of them can be away from everybody else, in their own little bubble. And she has a picnic blanket, that’s a little small but they don’t really want space from each other anyways. They lean against a tree, food set up in front of them, Paige’s laptop, carefully piled on top of a couple of books to be the perfect height, set a little bit further away.

“So what NBA game are we watching?” Azzi asks with a smile and Paige groans, “what? Was that not part of the plan?”

“Dude come on. It’s the beginning of October. Please tell me you know the NBA season isn’t happening yet,” Paige rubs her temple, only a little endeared by the comment, “are you sure you’re a basketball player?”

“There are games in October. I swear I’ve seen them before,” Azzi says sceptically.

“Yeah at the very end of the month, not right now.”

“Well then close enough,” Azzi says indignantly, “I don’t need to know the exact day.”

“Whatever you say baby,” Paige acquiesces with a smirk and it earns her an elbow to the stomach, “what the fuck? That shit’s domestic violence you know?”

“Big words Bueckers, didn’t think you knew them,” Azzi teases, placing a kiss against Paige’s offended expression, before settling herself against the blonde’s side, sighing contentedly when she gets a kiss on her temple in return. They’re cliché enough to put on Love and Basketball, but Azzi doesn’t really end up watching much at all. In between slow kisses, she almost falls asleep a couple of times, the comfort of Paige’s arms like a blanket wrapping her in the warmth of this is my fairytale.

“THE POLAROID,” Paige’s shout breaks Azzi out of her haze as she feels her body being shaken off, the blonde rummaging through her bag for the camera, “we have to take the polaroid. My wall needs it.”

“Oh yeah a tiny polaroid picture of us inbetween all your Lebron posters, a perfect fit,” Azzi drawls only to be met with a scathing look from Paige.

“It’s for important things and Lebron is the most important of them all,” Paige explains with complete seriousness, as she finally finds the polaroid camera and shimmies back to Azzi with it in hand.

The sunset is beautiful. Pink, purple, orange and blue, all blending together to create the perfect picture. But Azzi thinks it’s not nearly as beautiful as the girl in front of her, not nearly as beautiful as the date Paige had planned, not nearly as beautiful as the future she can so clearly see now. Her mind drifts back to the night of the phone call, and she can almost hear Paige’s sobs again, can still hear her own voice breaking. Back then, they had seemed impossible, a butterfly like dream that danced out of their grasp.

“Hey,” Paige captures her chin with two fingers, “where’d you go?”

Azzi shakes her head, “nowhere. I’m right here. With you. Where I should be.”

“Sappy goof,” Paige snorts but she kisses Azzi like she’ll take those words and hide them in the labyrinth of her mind, protect them there forever.

Taking the picture is a task, both of them bickering about angles and lights. It’s unnecessary arguing, in true Paige and Azzi fashion really but there’s something so mundanely domestic about it that Azzi finds herself wanting to memorise this moment too. They finally get the frame just right, somewhere in between what they both wanted. Azzi smiles at the camera, her Paige smile, as the blonde in question presses her lips against her cheeks.

Click.

And Azzi hopes, that however many years later, when they have a home of their own, amidst all the photos that they’ll take over the next years, this one will be hung somewhere on their wall, a testament to finally realising every dream they’d dared to dream together.

***

December 2024

There are pebbles being thrown at her window and Azzi has to stop herself from laughing when she peers down to see Paige, freezing cold in the Virginia December air, staring up at her with a goofy smile. She shakes her head when her phone rings, knowing it’s Paige and answers it with her own foolish grin.

“What exactly are you doing?” Azzi asks, “come back to bed.”

“You said I was unromantic. I’m trying to be romantic,” Paige’s teeth chatter in the cold, as she balances her phone in one hand, still throwing rocks with the other.

“I didn’t say that and throwing rocks at my window is supposed to be romantic? You’re going to wake the whole house up.”

“That’s what they do in all the good rom coms. And you said and I quote ‘we’re kind of boring’. You might be boring Azzi Fudd but I most definitely am not.”

It had been a throwaway comment Azzi had made at dinner with some friends from high school. One of her friends had been going on and on about some adventurous trip that she and her boyfriend were going on, and then asked Paige and Azzi if they had any of that planned. To which Azzi had replied that they were a little too busy, considering they were college basketball players still in season, and besides they were “kind of boring” people. She hadn’t meant it in any type of way. Personally, Azzi likes boring. Paige however, seemed to have taken the comment to heart and Azzi had woken up at 2 a.m. to an empty bed and the sound of something being thrown at her window.

“Okay I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You're really interesting baby and the most romantic person in the world. Now will you please come back to bed,” Azzi concedes, already missing the feeling of being cuddled up in her blankets with Paige’s body heat keeping her nice and toasty.

“No,” Paige says indignantly, “come down here.”

“Paige, it's freezing. It’s gonna start snowing any minute.”

“Exactly. That’s exciting.”

“Sleep is exciting,” Azzi whines, but she’s already padding around her room looking for a warm sweater, grumbling under her breath about the warm California sun she’s missing. She tiptoes down the staircase, wincing at the one step that creaks just a little too much, before pushing herself out the door. And it’s freezing cold, there’s sleep in her eyes, but it’s all worth it Azzi thinks, it’ll always be worth it, just to experience Paige’s smile.

“Knew you’d come,” Paige grins cockily, mittened hands pulling Azzi into her.

“Yeah yeah. What are we even doing?”

“Azzi Fudd,” Paige bellows dramatically, “may I have this dance.”

Azzi stares at Paige’s outstretched hand wondering if this is some sort of cry for help, but one look at Paige’s face tells her that the girl in front of her is being absolutely serious.

“This is your idea of exciting? Dancing in the street while it’s freezing with no music?” Azzi raises an eyebrow, but she takes Paige’s hand.

“It’s spontaneous,” Paige says the last word with a flourish, as she spins Azzi, “why not dance in the street when it’s freezing with no music?”

And well, that’s a fair point. If anyone were to look out their window that night, they’d probably think the two girls were somewhat crazy. Laughing and giggling and tripping over each other as Paige hums a melody and Azzi occasionally joins in. It’s ridiculous and corny and cliché and perfect. And then the first little bit of snow falls, white drops circling around the two dancing girls, snowflakes catching on their eyelashes. The dim glow of the streetlight is enough to catch identical smiles on the two girl’s faces as they revel in each other.

“You know some people say if you make a wish during the first snowfall, it’ll come true,” Paige whispers, still waltzing the two of them around, cheek pressed to Azzi’s, “you wanna try?”

And the thing is Azzi doesn’t really believe in all of that, in magic but something about Paige, something about this moment feels magical. It makes a believer out of Azzi.

“Yeah,” Azzi smiles, “let’s make a wish.”

They stand still, holding hands, eyes closed, both a little breathless, as they make their wishes. And when they open them, if it feels a little bit like maybe their wishes have already been granted, well they’ll share it in a secret smile but never out loud. After all, wishes don’t come true if you speak of them.

***

April 2025

7 seconds to go in the National Championship and Azzi’s UCLA Bruins are down by two points. It’s her last chance, having already declared for the 2025 WNBA draft, to win a national championship, to bring home their first basketball national championship since the 1978 team that had won the AIAW championship, to win their first NCAA championship ever. It had taken some sheer luck to get to this point if Azzi’s honest. As a two-seed in the Spokane region, they’d benefitted from their one-seed having been eliminated early and then getting to face a Cinderella six-seed in the final four. On the other side of the bracket, UConn, the favourites coming for a repeat, had been stunned by another team, the team that UCLA was now facing. That had caused a bit of a second-hand sting and Azzi’s not really trying to take revenge for Paige, but it'd be a lie to say the get back at them for me babe from earlier this morning isn’t ringing in her head.

The play is simple, set screens for Azzi, get her open, get her the ball. A two would get them to a tie and three would win it outright. Either will do. It’s a little too reminiscent of last year when Azzi had failed at tying the final 4 game and she can still feel that loss on the tips of her fingers. They break out from their last timeout, breathlessly running to their spots on the floor. The whistle blows, Kiki inbounds the ball and everything is a blur. All Azzi knows is the shot clock is winding down. She runs off of what feels like a million screens. And then she’s open on the wing, for a millisecond. A perfect pass from Kiki makes sure the ball lands straight in Azzi’s hand. And she doesn’t think, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t even notice the defender put up a hand, she shoots the ball. There’s two people on the court that know for sure that ball is going in the minute it leaves Azzi’s fingers, the shooter herself and her biggest fan in the stands, who’s been just a little bit in love with that shooting stroke, since before anything else had even begun.

With a delicate swish, the ball falls through the net, the buzzer sounds around the arena, the crowd explodes in blue and gold, as the UCLA Bruins win the 2025 national championship.

Everything stills in Azzi’s brain for a second, her thoughts taking a second to catch up to reality. She’s never really been one to emotion on the court, keeping herself steely guarded through most games, even at the very end. But now, triumph and pride and just utter happiness at finally achieving one of her biggest dreams, comes roaring to the surface, manifesting itself throughout her entire body, as she lets out a scream of joy. Her teammates engulf her and she gets lost in a sea of hugs and tears and bright, decadent smiles.

As thing start to calm down, there’s really only one thing on Azzi’s mind and Paige’s words echo in her ears, because if I’m gonna end up fucking crying, then I want it to be on your shoulder. And if I’m gonna end up celebrating, I want it to be in your arms. And Azzi thinks maybe Paige had discovered one of the biggest truths of their life with that, the truth that at the end of day, in any moment, big or small, happy or sad, the one person Azzi wants next to her, is her Paige. It’s been that way since she was fourteen, and too young to really understand the meaning of wanting someone forever, and she thinks if she has her way, it’ll be like that for the rest of her life, the rest of their life.

Paige is beaming in the crowd, standing next to Jon and José, a #35 jersey proudly adorning her torso. She waves when she catches Azzi’s eyes, always her biggest cheerleader. And Azzi throws caution to the wind, fuck it, not caring that there’s still a large crowd or that cameras are likely to follow her every move. She pushes her way into the stands, stopping right in front of the blonde.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad would kissing you right now be?” Azzi asks, still a little breathless.

A myriad of emotions flicker through Paige’s face before settling on a mischievous smirk, “probably pretty bad but you should do it anyways.”

Azzi grins before merging their lips together and everything else fades to the background, until she’s consumed by nothing but Paige. They break apart far quicker than either of them would like and Azzi expects to feel just a little bit of fear at what she’s just done, likely given the media a spectacle they could run a million and one stories about but instead, with her forehead still pressed against Paige’s, she feels nothing but calm.

“I’m so in love with you,” Azzi whispers and Paige’s eyes widen. They’ve known it for a while now but it’s the first time either of them have said it.

“Say it again,” Paige demands.

“I’m so in love with you,” Azzi says again, grinning so hard, she thinks it might become her permanent expression, “like really fucking in love with you.”

“I’m so in love with you,” Paige whispers, pulling Azzi into a bone-crushing hug.

And this might not be the moment where everything finally comes together. There’s still so much life left to live, so much that they still need to work through, so much they’ve yet to deal with. But for now, Azzi has a national championship and she has the love of her life, the rest will work itself out, or so she hopes.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

263 notes · View notes