#if i make the tiny small break turn into a longer break then that will make it harder to start back up and

[retiredcultistredux]

(Non-story) Don't burn urself out! You dont have to get everything out so quickly! We can wait! - Lollipop anon

((ok that's cool to hear thank you /gen))

[kryptonitejelly]

art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

-

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

-

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortlessly, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as you easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

-

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

-

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

-

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

-

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

-

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

-

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

-

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

-

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[specshroom]

BLOOD IN THE WATER꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷

"How much longer?"

Your current patron meekly asks from his seat behind you.

"Not much longer."

You curtly reassure him.

You should be used to these tourists and their consistent whines but it never seems to get less pathetic. You suppose you shouldn't blame them considering the position they've gotten themselves into, although a bigger part of you just couldn't muster up sympathy for people who are dumb enough to find themselves in the middle of a monster infested lake with a complete stranger at the oar.

That thought breaks you form your daydream and you take a moment to stare at the deceptively clam waters below. You stop your slow rows, bring the gondola to a steady halt and turn to your patron.

"This is your stop."

You fasten the large oar to the hull and step towards the man so that you can look down at him properly.

He looks around at the open water, the mist is so thick he can barely see a few feet Infront of his face much less any semblance of land. He looks back up at you and hesitates before speaking,

"I...payed for the full trip."

You shake your head solomly,

"I only said I could get you on the lake...which I did."

You gesture around to the lake that you both are very much on.

"If you want to get to the other side, that's a seperate trip."

You hold your hand out, clearly indicating what you want. The man's eyebrows scrunch, his eyes go from wide with fear to a heated glare and his hands grip the travel bag he's been cradling.

"You can't do that! We agreed!"

He yells and you quickly cover his mouth with your hand as ripples break in the water all around the gondola. As if he just remembered where he is, the man freezes and lets out a little whimper when he hears tiny splashes in the water right next to him. The small boat rocks side to side as the water vibrates, sounding out the life that dwells beneath it.

The water settles after a few moments of silence and you stand again and look down at the quivering man.

"What choice do you have?"

The tourist heaves out a defeated breathe and digs in his bag to retrieve a sack of coins for the rest of the trip. He hands it to you with an icy glare.

"Is that enough for you?"

He hisses, a little quiver remains in his voice.

You give him a look and continue to count your coins. If you're being honest, you expected more from him. The disappointment must show on your face because he looks just about ready to swing at you before you let out a loud whistle.

Just then several claws burst out of the water and grab him. He shrieks as wet scaly hands cling to his shirt. One by one three heads pop out of the water to leer at his now pale face, drained of any colour once his wide eyes meet the inky black orbs of the creatures holding him down. They bare their sharp teeth as talons sink into his skin making him unable to struggle lest they dig further.

His panicked eyes can only follow you as you start plucking valuables from his pockets and rummaging through his belongings.

From the corner of his eye he can see more of these creatures circling the gondola. Waiting.

You sit down with a huff, slightly rocking the boat as you count and inspect your new plunder.

After a few moments you hear low growls that simmer into whines, you peer up at the multiple black eyes staring at you, waiting for the go ahead. The man's blood is already seeping into their claws and they're practically drooling.

You take pity on the poor creatures and with no more than a final glance at the man you let out another whistle and he's instantly pulled from the boat into the water without time to scream. You huff as the water splashes you, as eager as they are it was a pretty good deal you struck with the creatures, you get the valuables and they get dinner.

As you watch the merfolk fight over their thrashing meal you feel a tug on your sleeve. One of the creatures looks up at you from the surface with intrigue. You give them a questioning look and in response they bring themselves higher over the hull to rather boldly nuzzle at your neck.

You huff in amusement and waste no time grabbing their jaw and kissing their cold but soft lips, caressing their wet cheek with your warm hand. They croon at the warm touch and lick into your mouth.

Another one surfaces the water to place kisses on your neck with a few cheeky nibbles as they cling to your clothes to try and bring your body closer.

You fully indulge in the benefits of your agreement with these creatures as the water around you turns crimson.

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷

Some more of this!

[whitexwolfxx310]

|| What’s Your Favorite Scary Movie? || Part 2.

Pairing: Dom!Bucky x Sub!female reader

Summary: After accidentally revealing that you have a masked man kink, Bucky starts taking it to the next level. The reveal!

Warnings: Smut- MDNI please!, unprotected sexual intercourse (p in v), don't forget no glove no love, edging, asphyxiation, fingering, mild dirty talk, language, praise kink, masked man kink, stalking, harassment, implied harm, breaking in.

Word Count: 5.4

A/Ns: Hi babes! Sorry this took an extra day than intended. Tumblr is being super finicky tonight, I’ve edited and re-edited this so many times. If there’s mistakes just ignore. I hope you like the conclusion!

In case you missed it, Part 1

You didn’t sleep much the next couple of nights, and decided to take some time off of work. Bucky finally reached out, and you updated him as to what was going on. He immediately offered to come home, which you refused and started to downplay the situation.

Hailee has been great with letting you borrow some clothes and little things, since you only grabbed a small bag in a rush before heading to her place to stay a few days ago. You’ve been dreading going back to the apartment, scared to find someone in there waiting for you. But it’s at the point where you need to grab some of your stuff.

Walking into the apartment, it was eerily quiet and uncomfortable. But nothing looked out of place, and was exactly how you left it. Deciding not to spend any longer there than you had to, you promptly tossed a large duffle bag onto your bed and started stuffing it with clothes and any other necessities.

Zipping the duffle closed, you felt a light gust of cool air. Scanning your bedroom window assuming it was the source, you realize it’s open. You never open this window. In fact, it’s always locked. All of the hair on the top layer of your skin stands up to the extent it almost feels like tiny pinpricks. Flight mode is instantly activated; before you can even think, you grab the bag and run, practically tripping over your own feet out of the room.

Grappling with the door knob, the pure panic starts to set in. Just as you’re twisting the knob open, you hear a distant bang coming from another room in the apartment. You freeze at the realization:

I’m not alone.

You know when you’re watching a scary movie and yell at the tv, wondering why the one of the characters was so fucking stupid to do something?

Well, you did exactly that. What possessed you in that moment, you haven’t the faintest idea. But, with your heartbeat pounding in your ears so loudly that you thought your eardrums might rupture, you started to turn around to look.

What primitively catches your attention isn’t what you expected, but quickly makes your chest tighten. The fruit bowl on the kitchen counter that is normally overflowing with lucious, red delicious apples, now just has all apple cores.

The flashback of one being on left on the countertop after Bucky had left blazes in your mind. It suddenly makes sense. Bucky would never leave a mess and it wasn't long after that you saw someone outside your window.

Attempting to swallow the growing dryness in your throat, you continue to turn around. And that's when you see him for the first time. About fifteen feet away, stood an obviously immensely tall man. He wore thick, black shiny leather boots that gleamed lightly in the natural daylight within the apartment. Fitted black jeans with a loose, black hooded sweatshirt that failed to hide how muscular and broad his chest and shoulders were with the hood pulled up.

But two things stuck out the most about his appearance. First, was the tight, black leather gloves he wore on his hands that were currently clenched into rigid fists. The second, was the fact that you couldn't make out his face. All you could see was an elongated paleness, caverned by the blackness of the hood, and it seemed... sinister. He didn't move or make a sound. It was as if you would blink and he would be gone, like a cloud of smoke.

But if anyone was going to disappear, it was going to be you. So taking a chance, you ran. And you didn't stop running. Even with the faint vibration in your pocket alerting you to the new text notification on your phone, you kept going.

It wasn't until you got back to Hailee's place and frantically, out of breath explained to her, that you even remembered about the text message.

"Here," You toss the phone in pure detestation onto her bed, "I don't even want to fucking know what it says." You lean against the opposite wall of her bedroom, crossing your arms across your chest in an attempt to control the body shakes as you come down from the adrenaline.

Hailee watches you for a brief moment, still not having said much aside from asking if you were okay. Her expression was soft and sympathetic and yet had an dissenting undertone. You couldn't blame her, this all sounded absolutely insane.

Letting out a small, exasperated breath, Hailee sits on her knees from her previous crossed legged position and grabs your cell. As the screen comes to life, her teeth clench down reading whatever is on the screen.

“What?” The concern is evident in your voice as you pry away from the wall, though still holding onto yourself.

Hailee inhales deeply through her nostrils, faking a tightlipped smile, “it’s nothing,” her tone is flat. She’s lying. Clicking the sleep button on the side of the phone to make the screen go black, she makes her way off the bed, “hey, how about we head down to the cellphone store and get you a new phone and number?” She asks, trying to sound like her usual carefree self as she grabbed her crossbody bag.

“Hailee,” you uncross your arms and step in front of her, forcing her to make eye contact, “what is it?”

Searching your eyes, you can see that she is torn. She wants so badly to do the right thing, but isn’t sure what exactly that is in this situation. On one hand, she could just keep it to herself. Let the unknown and curiosity eat you alive from the inside out like it inevitably will. But only because she wants to protect you, shield you from anything that brings you the opposite of joy. Or, she can show you what you’re actually dealing with, and the two of you can come up with a plan and handle it together. Hailee decides on the latter.

Hesitating, her hand shakes slightly as she holds out the phone to you. It appears that now both of you will take this predicament more critically now. Grabbing the phone a tad more aggressively then you meant to, you unlock it and open the messages. But it's not often Hailee gets rendered quiet. Scrolling through the back to back texts, you understand why.

Taking your best friends advice, you immediately went to the cell phone store. She tagged along as you got a completely new phone and number, not transferring anything over, not wanting to take the risk. You didn't download any social media, deciding to take a much needed mental break for a bit. The only thing you did do, was take a few phone numbers that you needed out of your old phone, and even then you wrote them down on a piece of paper to manually add them into your contacts later.

Walking out of the store, you felt as if a weight had been lifted. Hailee locked arms with you, leading you around the corner to the nearest cafe to get iced coffee. It was her answer for everything. Bad day? Iced coffee. Need a pick me up? Iced coffee. Need to clear your head and just ramble about random shit for a bit? Iced coffee. Your best friend has an apparent stalker and we're hoping that changing phone numbers is the end all solution?! Obviously, iced coffee.

Sitting at a small table outside the cafe, enjoying the slight crispness in the fall air, you let out a huge, relieving sigh that makes your shoulders sink. You take the opportunity to add Bucky to your contacts and text him your new number. Although, you decide not to go into detail about your most recent encounter while he's still away on a mission.

Putting the phone down on the table and not have it incessantly go off with calls and texts, let's you feel as though you can finally breathe. "Thank you for coming with me, Hales, I really appreciate you."

Hailee is sucking the remnants of her drink through the straw as she looks up at you. She gives you a small, genuine side smile, "you're welcome," before smirking, "so I'm supposed to have a date tonight, with that guy Noah I've been seeing..." she leaves it open ended. "But, I should totally cancel after everythi-"

"No, please. Go out and have fun. You've been dealing with my shit enough," trying to make your words sound affirming, even with the lingering dread that you still felt.

That's one thing about Hailee. You never quite really have to twist her arm to do anything.

After showering and changing into your comfy jeans and oversized cropped sweater, it was hard not to feel the slightest tinge of jealousy watching Hailee do her finishing touches for date night in the mirror. Jealousy in the sense of missing Bucky and going out and having a carefree night, not in comparing yourself physically.

She swipes yet another layer of clear lip gloss on before fluffing her beach wave blonde hair. Turning to face you, her thick heels clack on the wooden floor as she starts adjusting her boobs in her sleek, dusty rose colored dress.

"What do you think?" Her hands glide down over her curves, "Dress is okay?"

"That dress is fire," and it is, she looks amazing. By the smile she's wearing, she's feeling it too, "too bad it's going to end up on Noah's floor ten minutes into your date." Hailee dramatically gasps, as if that's not true. It totally is.

You're both laughing until she abruptly stops, "I have to go!" She gives you a quick hug and starts scurrying towards the door, a bit awkwardly in the heels, "Bye! Love you! Lock the door!" As she goes to close the door behind her she yells back in, "don't read too much smut on your kindle while I'm gone!" and the door slams.

Shaking your head with a small laugh, you lock the door. Hailee just gave you the perfect idea of how to spend your night.

About an hour had gone by, you comfortably laid in Hailee's spare bed, a few chapters deep into your latest book. It was quiet, so when your phone vibrated on the bed next to you- you jumped slightly. Assuming it was Bucky finally having the chance to text you back, you pick it up fairly quickly. But the message you received isn't what you expected at all.

Before even unlocking the phone, you had a text alert from Unknown. There was nothing written, but all the way to the right of the alert, you could see a picture was included.

Promptly, you sat up in the bed and stared at the notification. That familiar wave of unease dispersed throughout your body as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over your head.

This phone number is only a few hours old, how the fuck did he get it already?

The notification banner and you were in a staredown. You had to know what the message was, but you were absolutely terrified at the same time. Your thumbs hover, occasionally twitching over the screen, until you pull the trigger and swipe up.

Us. Hailee...

Driving to your apartment, you broke nearly every single traffic law that there is. The entire time you tried calling Hailee’s phone back to back, just repeating the same mantra; please pick up. Please, please pick up. She never did.

“Hailee!!” You run through your apartment door, not having to mess with it for long as it was already unlocked. You had a feeling it would be. “Answer me!” You yell, breathlessly. The apartment is eerily dark and quiet.

Coming to a halt in the main living space, you whipped your head around looking for clues and try to listen for any signs of distress. But it was so difficult to hear anything over your own breathing and pulse drumming in your ears.

You knew where you had to go, the last picture of your friends dress laid out on your bedspread was the roadmap. The bedroom door was just barely closed over, a creepy orange glow lining it and trying to escape from underneath. Each step closer that you took, felt as if a large spider made entirely of ice was crawling down your spine.

Pushing the door open slightly with just a fingernail, you peered into the room. You knew this is exactly where this person wanted you. For what? There’s only one way to find out.

There didn’t seem to be anyone in the room, so you took a few small steps in. The glow was more prominent now, giving the room an uncanny romantic ambiance with numerous amount of white candles lit all along the dressers, night tables, and bookshelves.

Taking a broad step forward, your attention is now focused on the bed. Hailee's dress is no longer laid out like it had been in the picture. Instead, there are flower petals sprinkled across your comforter. The intriguing curiosity drew you even more into the room without you even realizing. Picking up one of the petals, you rub it between your fingers, feeling it's supple and delicate smoothness as you examine it more closely. In that moment you recognize it- the familiarity of it's dark appeal. They're black dahlia petals.

Some of the petals congregated in one particular area on the bed, revealing an elegant, black gift box about the size of a large book. Your lips part slightly as you pick up the box, captivated by it's alluring magnetism. Taking off the lid, your brows furrow slightly in confusion. It's a chain. A long, thick slip chain that looks like a necklace but almost long enough to be a leash.

As your finger smoothes over the cold indentations of the chain, you hear a creak come from the floor behind you. In a startled jump, you drop the box- a slight ringing sound deafens the scene even more from the chain hitting the floor. But that's not your concern. Because as you turn around, you see him.

Within arms reach, you are confronted with the person that's been behind all of this. He's even taller up close, broader. Dressed in all black attire, this time swapping the black hoodie for a black t-shirt and black leather jacket. And without the hood, you're able to see the elongated white face from earlier.

It's a Ghostface mask.

He stands as still as a statue, watching you intently, waiting. Your eyes persist in looking him over as your chest rises and falls deeply. When your gaze meets his face once again, his head creepily tilts ever so slightly to one side.

"What's the matter?" He speaks, his voice deep and low, "you look like you've seen a ghost," the tone almost mocking.

Squinting your eyes, you look at him again. And this time you really look at him. His body frame, the clothes, the familiarity of his voice. Your eyes widen at the realization.

"Bucky?" you gape, completely stupefied. Taking the first fearless step in what feels like months, you wrap your arms around him. He returns the sentiment and you feel safe, for the first time in what feels like forever. It suddenly dawns on you that he's not actually on a mission. And probably never was.

"What- What is this?" You ask, looking up at him, slightly pushing the mask up to reveal his stubbled chin and promiscuous grin.

"There’s just something so dark and exhilarating about an unknown man behind a mask that stalks and is obsessed with you. The anonymity of it..." He repeats back the words you said to him a few months ago watching the Scream movie.

The memory of you how you told him about this kink of yours curls around your mind. That this entire time, you were never in any kind of serious danger, he just brought it to life. Weeks and months of preparation went into this, here, tonight. You should have known all along that Bucky would never have been so nonchalant about you in any type of significant situation. You're safe. You always were and always will be.

The tiny icy footprints that had trailed up your spine were long gone, now replaced with a burning and tantalizing desire. You've missed him, thinking he was away while you were dealing with this on your own. But now he's here, fulfilling your deepest desires.

Looking up, Bucky's Pacific blue eyes are already gazing down into yours, a built up and unsatisfied hunger prominent. Moving up onto your tiptoes and grabbing him behind the neck, you bring down his head and capture his lips.

Your mouth parted his, gliding and massaging his tongue with your own. A low growl reverberated from within his throat with approval, and promise to make everything up to you tenfold. Bucky's intoxicating cypress scent fills your nostrils as your inhaled deeply, pressing your breasts up into his chest. Taking off the leather gloves and shrugging his jacket onto the floor, his hands started to wildly wander around your body, giving light squeezes on your hips before settling and interlacing gingerly in your hair.

That didn't last long, though. There was a sudden and hard tug from where Bucky held your hair, enough to pull the two of you apart. The aggressiveness of the gesture was unexpected, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't fucking love it. His eyes linger on your already swollen lips, now wearing a pursed, provocative grin. His hand releases the tight grip he had on your loose curls, watching the relief from the sting flash across your eyes. Bucky has always been tender, gentle and using your body as a place of worship-but tonight is different.

Grabbing the hem of your sweater, he maneuvers it up and off to join his growing pile of discarded clothes. Dropping to his knees with a loud thud, he undoes the button and zipper of your jeans, pulling them down and weaving his tongue along the freshly exposed skin. Hissing through your teeth, your hips instinctively press forward. He lets out a dark laugh, before grabbing the chain you dropped before. Standing back up, he takes your hand, "Come," he says, leading you towards the cornered edge of the mattress.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, his muscular body causes it to sink slightly. His free hand, still holding the chain, grips his own thigh before giving it a light pat, "Sit," he commanded, again keeping that firm edge in his voice that you weren't used to. You enthusiastically follow his orders, sitting delicately facing outward in just your matching ivory lace bra and panties. It's hard not to notice how you just fit. And how much you secretly love his significantly large frame pressed against your much more petite body in comparison to his.

The soft tip of his nose runs along the outside of your neck, his large hands coasting along your shoulders, down your arms, sides, before settling on your thighs. The calluses on his hands leaving a sensational trail of tingles and heat to disperse under your skin.

"Look," his head nods forward once to get your attention, and now you see the reason why he sat you here. In the corner of the bedroom, just a few feet away, is a full length standing mirror angled perfectly to reflect everything.

You see yourself, already flushed with arousal and breathing heavily as you make eye contact with Bucky in the mirror. His devious smile pins you in place as you watch his hands pry open your legs, entrancingly over his. They willingly spread open wide for him, your restless hips now squirming, aching for more. His fingertips trace small circles on your inner thigh.

"I want you to see your face as you fall apart, " he taunted, his voice sultry in your ear, still holding your gaze in the mirror. His middle finger skims across your already embarrassingly dampened panties, causing your back to press against his rigid chest.

There was a vague rattling sound, followed by Bucky placing the large opening of the looped chain over your head and around your neck, “Bucky, what are you doing-” you watch curiously in the mirror. Part of the chain dangles between your breasts, which he wraps around his hand once and slowly starts to pull, causing the loop around your neck to compress.

It’s a choker.

Your eyes go wide, nervousness rippling through you as you grasp his intentions, “Bucky, I don’t know-”

“Do you really think you have a choice?” he barked, pulling the Ghostface mask down back onto his face. Talking to you through the mirror, “I won’t hurt you. Trust me,” he whispers, breaking character for a moment to assure you’re safe.

You nod in response, your reflection visibly eases in the mirror as the necklace slackens around your throat. He lets the chain lax too, for now.

Large hands are back to kneading your thighs, a lone finger brushing between your legs when gravitating along the inside. It’s not long until the sensation has you starting to wriggle once again.

Cupping your sex, his hand gently moves up and down, keeping a firm, yet delicate and delicious pressure. Your greedy hips tilt forward, wanting more from his right hand, while the coolness of his left continues to lazily stroke over your skin. But when that icy touch quickly grabs and tears your underwear off in one jolt, you gasp at the tiny bite the ripping cloth left behind.

Now you’re left wide and exposed- to yourself, to Bucky, to the reflections of yourselves staring intensely, watching every movement. The warmth of his hand is back, leisurely gliding two fingers between your already achingly wet pussy. Swallowing hard, your breath hitches as you can not only feel, but see, yourself start to lose composure.

Bucky pulls the two fingers away, holding them up just to your mouth, "wet them for me," he instructs, his voice silk like satin. Taking the two fingers into your mouth, your tongue swirled rapidly around the digits, savoring the salty-sweetness of your arousal. Slowly pulling them back out, you see them shine with your saliva.

Something comes over you in that moment, call it gluttonous, but you pool some extra moisture into your mouth and spit onto the fingers. Just for good measure.

There's a murmured hum of approval in your ear as he spreads your folds, teasing your increasingly sensitive clit between his two fingers. And getting Bucky's praise will only enhance the entire night. Your legs quiver at the deliberate sluggish pace, letting out shaky breaths as the overwhelming throbbing demands more attention.

Finally, the pads of those fingers start to rub your bundle of nerves in unhurried circles. Gripping onto his thigh to steady yourself, your nails clutching his jeans, a whine escapes as your hips try to buck against his hand.

That dark laugh is in your ear again, "good girls don't come until I tell them too," Bucky breathes, overly indulging in how you respond to his touch. It feels like torture, in the best possible way. The combination of his words and caress... you have never felt this good. This wanted.

Your head falls back slightly against his shoulder in small disappointment, whimpering, knowing that he's going to make you beg. And you're getting desperate enough to do so.

The leisurely pace of his fingers picks up, causing your back to arch away from his chest as you start panting. Each swipe building pleasure, layer on top of agonizing layer. Finding yourself in the mirror again, you unapologetically watch as your body vigorously writhes against his hand, your moans spilling from your mouth more and more.

"How badly do you want to come, princess?" The Ghost breathed, his chest rising and falling heavily now, trying to fight off his own desire, evident from the hard protrusion you keep rolling your hips against.

"S-so bad... Please! Please," you pleaded, not caring how desperate it sounds. Adding some additional pressure, your hips stutter. Your breathing practically stops as your moans transform into one long, drawn out strangled whine as you come apart, "O-ooh...oh my god. Oh god!"

Not even fully coming down from the repeated waves, you hear, "God's not here," growled into your ear. In one sudden movement, Bucky stands up with you in his arms before tossing you onto the bed, "just me.” the low rumble emits from his chest. Ripping off the mask, he kneels on the bed and uses his left arm to support his weight. Using those same damned two fingers, he plunges them into your drenched pussy, siphoning a sound from your throat that’s unrecognizable.

“Again,” Bucky breathes, his eyes glazed over with a new kind of wickedness as they lock into yours, “Come for me again. I fucking love all the sounds you make,” With his palm face up, his fingers start pumping you from the inside, running over your g-spot in a come here motion.

Since there was no remission from your last orgasm, the tightness in your belly never fully went away. Watching Bucky, seeing him in the tight black t-shirt while his bicep flexes from working you, his slightly furrowed brow and his lips slightly parted in determination, you could feel it building up once again.

Feeling your walls contract around him, he grinned. He changes his hand motions to going in a frantic up and down movement, and if you know, you know. Your rasped whimpers became silent as you forgot how to breathe and your vision blurred. The build up came on so fast and so strong, the only sound in the room was your ever increasing wetness.

Your mouth dropped open into a silent O, not able to think not a single coherent thought, "Thaaat's it..." Bucky coaxed, "I want you to gush all over my fucking hand," and with his words, your body quivers as you completely shatter with a loud cry. "Goood girl. God, what a good fucking girl," he soothes. You winced slightly as he pulled out his fingers, collapsing back more into the bed as you try to rein in remembering how to breathe. Bucky sits back on his knees, and almost entirely up to his elbow is glistening with how hard you just came.

With a flat tongue, he presses it to his palm, and licks all the way up to the tip of his middle finger, "Perfect," Bucky hums in satisfaction to himself. Your throat goes dry at the sight, being the cherry on top of all the mouth breathing you've been doing. Am I fucking dreaming?

Pushing his jeans down to his knees, his thick, flushed cock rebounds out of his boxers. Bucky grabs you by the hips, pulling you down the bed before flipping you over onto all fours. Each of his hands grabs a fistfull of your ass, before slapping one side. You moan at the bite of the smack, feeling delusional from needing him inside you so badly. He rubs the reddened cheek before dropping a teeth grazed kiss on the sensitive skin.

There's a coolness between your legs, and you realize that it's your juices sliding down your thighs. Not needing any preparation, you feel the tip of Bucky's fat cock lining up to slide into your tight little slit. He rubs the head up and down, lubricating just enough to push himself in. As he started to sink into you, it took every bit of will you had not to collapse as you felt his slight struggle to get in.

"Fuck, you're tight," he sighs. But truth be told, he's just that big. As if he had a direct roadmap, he slides in effortlessly right to the hilt, poking the sweetest spot of all making you choke out a sob, "You can take it, can't you angel?" He breathes huskily, amusement draped around the words as he dragged his cock back maliciously slow, letting you feel the ridge of each vein, every delectable centimeter of his length.

You feel your eyes roll closed, enjoying the all consuming sensation. With one quick thrust all at once, Bucky simultaneously yanks on the chain of the forgotten choker forcing your eyes open with a loud cry to find him glaring at you in the mirror, "Look at me when I'm fucking you," he reprimanded, in a subdued yet stern voice.

He started to move in a merciless rhythm, keeping the chain taut in one of the hands that clenched your hips. Each thrust delivered not only a delectable deep nudge against your cervix, but a small slap of his balls to your achingly sensitive clit. The combination of internal and external stimulation has you singing your own personal explicit cry, almost on the verge of tears with the intensity.

It's almost cruel the way that he fucks you, like he's dismantling you piece by piece, mentally, physically, emotionally. Never have you been treated like such a prize possession and a cheap whore at the same time. Your walls flutter around his cock, swallowing him needing moremoremore. You're body's accepted that this pussy is Bucky's. It's meant for him. It was made for him.

In the reflection you can see Bucky wet his lips, his eyes darting between yours and your ass bouncing off of his snapping hips. He continues to murmur soft, filthy praises as he fucks another orgasm from you. The choker tensed as you came, making the edges of your vision blurry- your walls clenching so tightly, causing each stroke to become more intense than the next. After you completely shattered, the chain went slack once again.

Manhandling you one last time, Bucky lays back flat on the bed and positions you to straddle him. You shake your head in an almost delirious state, "I-I can't. Buck, I-" you whisper, thoroughly cock drunk, "I can't," you pleaded.

"Yes you can, angel," his hands glide over your sweat coated thighs, a lecherous expression on his face. You nod ever so slightly, because even as spent and exhausted as you feel, you want to see him come apart. You want to look down into his eyes as joins you in the fucked out bliss.

You grab the base of his cock, using it to align yourself before sliding back down on top of him. Bucky's eyes widen, watching intensely as your bodies joined one another. All the air releases out of his lungs at the sight of your greedy pussy sucking him all the way in- deeper, your thighs already trembling. His hands clench your hips as your they start to grind back and forth.

His ab muscles flex under your nail piercing grasp- that pressure once again starting to build. He's just so deep, you're still just so wet from coming 3 times in a row, and now his wide tip is nestled so perfectly against your cervix that each motion of your body feels like you're going to spontaneously combust and die. But there's no way that heaven could be better than this. Those painfully beautiful sapphire blue eyes filled with an rapacious hunger that only you can fulfill.

You're mouth opens in attempt to say his name like a prayer, or something as equally dirty, but all that comes out is a sputter of shuddered gasps. Bucky's unapologetically loud moans grow more frequent, turning into their own long, drawn out beautiful melody, "fuck," he whispers, "that's so good."

Leaning down, chest to chest, you capture his lips in yours- swallowing those gorgeous sounds. Bucky takes this opportunity to thrust his hips up, massaging your inner walls as you push back against him. The loud smacking of flesh borderline drown out the sounds of both your orgasms, but you could feel the vibration from deep within Bucky's throat through the kiss. Rope after rope, you could feel his warmth emptying inside of you.

The strokes became laguid as he maintained the kiss- Bucky's hands cupping your face gently, which was such a dichotomy compared to the way he fucked you tonight. You finally pull your lips apart, collapsing fully on top of his body. Laying in silence, all you can hear is each other's ragged breathing and the drumming of his heart in your ear against his chest.

"I am... never getting rid of that fucking mask," Bucky chuckles lightly.

"Just so you know," you prop your chin up on your palm, "there's 5 other movies in the franchise."

If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist.

@peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead @saranghaey @erinallene @mrsvxder @elizabeth916 @cjand10 @bucky-barnes-lover @wintrsoldrluvr

@marianastudiesart @chaosbarelycontained @wonderbreadbucky @amethystviolin @fluffysucker @buckybraneslover111 @crazyf0robx @thorns-fixations @brairslair @dumdumlolly @miss0giarra @nerdytif @am-3-thyst @blondierog @mrsstuckyboo

[yeonzzzn]

devilish: sjyn + lhs

epilogue of chilling & killing 🔪 | spotify playlist

pairing: jake x afab!reader + heeseung word count: 2.3k

synopsis: you go visit heeseung in jail for one final interview about the ghost face cases…learning more than you expected.

genre: ghostface!heeseung, ghostface!jake, journalist!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, m*rder & sexual themes, heeseung and jake are insane (as always <3) I think that’s it!

Heeseung chuckled when he saw you sitting on the other side of the glass, his heart smile reaching from ear to ear. 

He sat down in front of you, tilting his head, “Awe, what did I do to deserve a special visit from you?” his voice echoed through the small holes in the glass, his voice a tiny bit muffled. 

You cross one of your legs over the other and stretch your arms out, hands resting on your knee, “I came to ask questions.” 

He chuckled again, “There’s the journalist YN we all know and love.”

“You don’t even know me.” 

Heeseung smiled, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth then releasing it, eyeing you up and down, “How’s Jay going?” he asked, tilting his head in the other direction, “You know, after you stabbed him three times.” 

You tried to not react, not to give him what he wanted: to see you break. “Jay is fine,” you said calmly, “He was released from the hospital yesterday.” 

Heeseung nodded, “Didn’t think you had it in you to be so feisty.” 

You still didn't react. But you had to agree with him, you didn’t think you’d have it in you either to attempt to kill someone until seeing the way Jay was hovered over Jake with Jake’s blood spilling on the floor. 

“So,” Heeseung said, sliding his cuffed hands onto the table, index finger touching the glass, “How did…” he glanced up to the ceiling, then back down at you, “how did Jake figure me out?” 

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table, “It wasn’t hard, Heeseung. Not after piecing everything together.” 

“Oh?” his eyebrows raised, “Tell me more!” 

“You slipped up,” you lean back in the chair, “First, you let me see your watch when you attacked me.” 

Heeseung shrugged, “That wasn’t something I was planning on, it didn't cross my mind. Sunoo had my longer gloves at that time and once I saw you leave your apartment, I had to ask fast.” 

You continued, “Second, after you attacked me, when we were discussing the murders, you specifically said, “we’ll catch him,” that narrowed it down to males specifically. So we had the watch, and what you said.” 

Heeseung stared at you, “Jake figured me out just by those two things?” 

You raised a brow, “I wasn’t finished. Besides, he is…you know. He knows how it all works, I suppose.” 

Heeseung had to give you that one, Jake was one smart motherfucker. 

“Jake went over all the cases again, looking at every piece of information given until he found the missing puzzle piece.” 

“He always was a good detective,” Heeseung leaned back in the chair, lowering his head at you, “Still will make a damn good one.” 

“Jake wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was even you,” you sighed, “But the more he thought about it, the more sure he became. Jake went into the film office, finding nothing that said it would even be pinned to Jay or Jungwon. Then he searched the investigation office, used his brain, and found Sunoo’s ghost face attire. That was another strike in your box, that you had help. The last bit of confirmation was how Jay attacked us. It wasn’t the same movements as when you attacked me. Plus anytime you talked to Jake as ghost face, you said his full name. Jay slipped up and called him Sim.”

Heeseung locked his jaw, anger raising through him at how he could have gotten away with everything if fucking Jay didn’t fuck that one up. 

You saw his gears turning and you smiled, “The only last bit was to draw you in and confess.” 

Heeseung evilly smiled, “Your boyfriend used you as bait to catch me,” he laughed, “he was so confident that he risked your life, all to catch me?” 

You looked to the floor. It wasn’t a risk Jake wanted to take but one he felt that needed to be done. Jake researched everything about Heeseung and took notice of every little thing he did towards you, it was obvious Heeseung had feelings. Jake knew Heeseung wouldn’t fall for a meeting if Jake was the one to call it, it had to come from you no matter how much he hated it. 

“Why did you do it?” you asked him once more, “Why drag Sunoo in on this? How many people did he kill?” 

Heeseung smirked, “I assume you already tried speaking to him and he gave you nothing.” 

You didn’t have to acknowledge it, you knew Heeseung already knew you spoke to Sunoo. All Sunoo did was stare and smile at you and occasionally giggle, “I want to know about the past department head too.” 

Heeseung sighed, leaning forward again, “I’ve always been obsessed with killers and how their brains worked. All the crimes they commit and how they do them. Watching plenty of documentaries growing up and different types of crime TV shows, it always made sense to me to become a forensics investigator,” he shrugged, “You probably could assume how excited I was when the ghost face killings started happening,” Heeseung chuckled at the memory of the first body that popped up on the news, “It was all exciting. Like a serial killer was on my campus. It was crazy. I rushed to the first murder scene.” 

He made eye contact with you, “Then there was you,” you swallowed, waiting for him to continue, “It was love at first sight. Seeing how you wrote in that little journal of yours, taking pictures and investigating. I knew I was in love.” 

“You don’t know me…” 

“Oh, but I do,” he bit his lip, “I followed you around everywhere. I looked up every piece of information possible and learned everything. I know how you like your coffee and you’ve never drank coffee near me.” 

The hair on your arms raised. Heeseung stalked you for so long and you never knew. 

“I spent so long trying to figure out how to approach you, to make you mine while at the same time, my obsession with ghost face grew. And then Jake joined your team,” Heeseung’s eyes grew with hatred, “I hated him the moment I saw how he looked at you. He looked at you like you were the ones who aligned the planets and slapped the stars in the sky.” 

You already knew Jake was interested in you since way before he even joined your team, he’s admitted that much to you. But hearing Heeseung say it made your heart race. Like it was fated that Jake would always be your endgame. 

“So I started following him around,” Heeseung confessed, “It didn’t take long for me to figure out…his secret.” Because of course it didn’t, “You should have seen how angry I was. Knowing the man I loathed because he had feelings for my girl was also the same man I obsessed with and looked up to? The mixed emotions were crazy.” 

You stared at him, “I can imagine, and I’m not your girl.” 

Heeseung frowned, “My admiration for him outweighed my feelings for you,” he looked away from you, “At least, at first. Not until I followed him off to your apartment, seeing how you figured out his secret and still let him fuck you on your kitchen floor.” 

“Jealousy is an ugly thing, Heeseung,” you whispered.

“Not so ugly when you felt him fuck you in public all because Jay was hitting on you.” 

You roll your eyes, “Continue your story.” 

Heeseung laughed, “Eager are we?” you narrow your eyes at him, “I stalked him enough to learn his patterns and the types of victims he goes for. The brand of knives he uses, even the cloak, and where he got his mask. I studied everything, all just to take him down, steal his title and his girl.” 

Maybe Heeseung was crazier than Jake. 

“But I had to get close, needed a reason to get close. So I committed a few murders and dumped my mask as a middle finger to him knowing it would piss him off. I learned how to bug devices, and was listening in when the news was on. It was the perfect time to introduce myself, then go commit more murders,” He shrugged again, “I needed to get close to you and your team. So I pitched to the dean about us joining together, but he told me to ask the department head. And as you know, she was murdered.” 

“I’m going to assume she turned you down, saying to stay out of it?” 

“You’re the department head for the journalism club for a reason,” he smiled, “She told me no. So I dressed up as ghost face and murdered her right outside her dorm room,” he sighed, “That’s when Sunoo comes in.” 

You laughed, “He caught you, didn’t he?” 

Heeseung nodded, “He watched me slit her throat and started acting like a fanboy, begging me to let him join me. He’s a major ghost face enthusiast.” 

It made sense. 

“Sunoo even knew I was a copycat,” Heeseung snickered, “He did his research just as much as I did. The only thing is he didn’t know who the original was until I told him. Then we started plotting together.” 

“And you had him do your side work.” 

“You’re on a roll today!” he clapped his hands together, “and to finally answer your question, Sunoo only stained his hands red once. The rest was all me. I wanted it to be all me.” 

“Why?” you asked with a shaky breath. 

“Again,” he leaned forward, “To destroy Jake. Destroy everything he was and what he had built. To murder him and take up his ghost face mantle and make you love me instead of him!” Heeseung clenched his fists, “I could have continued his legacy and had you at my side. Oh, the way I’ve dreamed of being in his position. Getting to be the one to be ghost face and come home to you every night and fuck you so so good. With Jake completely out of the picture. You were such a fucking tease with how you drew me into you, I knew it was too good to be true but I couldn’t help myself. Feeling your legs wrapped around me and lips brushing against mine, getting to finally touch you…” 

Your ears turned red and you stood from the chair, “You’re fucking crazy!!” 

Heeseung stood up quickly, leaning closer to the glass, “Says the one who is fucking a serial killer every single night.” 

You shook your head, “He’s changed.” 

Heeseung laughs a bit too loud, it echoing against the walls on your side of the glass, “Has he though?” he smirked, “Where is your boyfriend at right now? Do you know?” 

You swallow, thinking of all the places Jake could possibly be right now, not giving him an answer. 

Heeseung leans closer to the glass, his breath fogging it up, tapping his index finger against the glass, “I think we both know where he is right now, YN.” 

You slowly backed away, blowing off his comment, “We’re done here.” You turn on your heels, quickly pressing the button to buzz yourself out of this room. 

Hessung’s laughter could still be heard, “You know where he is, YN. Use that brain of yours!” 

You exited the mental hospital, quickly walking to your car and climbing inside, dropping your face into your hands and taking a couple of deep breaths. 

Heeseung’s words echoed in your mind over and over on repeat to the point you were driving yourself crazy. You sat back in the seat, glancing at the time on your dashboard, it was almost seven pm and you couldn’t help but wonder where your boyfriend could be, letting Heeseung’s words sink in and not wanting to actually know the truth. 

—

Jake’s laughter echoes across the empty alleyway, pulling his knife out of this random guy's chest, his blood splattering across Jake’s new mask. He lifted the all-white hockey mask up to the top of his head and pulled down the black bandana to his neck. 

“Awe fuck,” he breathed, staring at the blood dripping down the blade of his knife, “Feels so fucking good to slash with my favorite weapon again,” he coos, “It’s been too long.” 

Jake laughed again, leaning down and pressing the knife to the man’s neck, his eyes widened, and cried out of fear as he looked up at Jake, pleading with him. 

“Yes, I’ve missed seeing those desperate looks,” he pressed the blade more against the man’s neck, and Jake’s smile turned into a frown, “That damn copycat forced me to change my whole persona. My mask and outfit too. Such a fucking shame.” Jake slides the blade in and through his throat, blood going everywhere including Jake’s near face, it being the killing blow. 

He stood to his feet, wiping the blood onto his long-sleeved shirt, staring at his reflection on the blade. Jake’s corners of his lips curled upwards, him not being able to hold back his giggles that once again became a laughing fit. 

“Ahhh,” he sighs after calming down, dropping his hands to his sides and staring up at the nighttime sky, “YN is going to murder me once she finds out where I am,” his smile just grows more, “But that’s just the thrill of it all, knowing she could end me at any moment.” 

Jake walked deeper into the alleyway, grabbing his things. Who knew just chilling and killing could be this much fun? Mostly now that Heeseung took the fall for his plus Jake’s crimes. Jake could start fresh and rebuild what was taken from him. Oh man, he couldn’t wait to see the look on your face once he’s home. His cock twitched with anticipation just thinking about it.  

He tossed the knife up, catching it at its hilt then tossing it again, “We are so back.” 

‧₊˚✧T H E E N D✧˚₊‧

— perm taglist: @alvojake @ikeuverse @woniebae @shawnyle @kangnina @jwnghyuns @in-somnias-world @zyvlxqht @aaa-sia @wonniethepoo @addictedtohobi @eneiyri @sparklovespink @skzenhalove @fakeuwus @cherry-park @vousty @ladyartemesia @psh9 @cmoundiamante @enhaverse713586 @wondipity @lhsvibez @jaeyunq @rikizm @kaykay11sworld @pockettwinzz @zeeloveshee

— taglist: @secretlyapartofthisfandom @wonheartz @ggukkyu @liwugy @hoondrop @jentlecoeur @yawnzzhoon @vixialuvs @ericluvs @qoeqe @hanjisunginc @jaeyunsbimbo @ksnooppy @immortalvee @criminaluvr @kookify @aileeeeeeeeeeeee @sunpov @topichoon @brownsugarbaybee @lilyuwon

[latenightdaydreams]

König thought

Him walking past a recruits' room, hearing them moaning his name.

Honestly think he'd go a little feral if their begging for him to let them cum.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 König would absolutely die if he heard this.

Late Night Walk (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

Part2

>cw: fem/afab, voyeurism, masturbation

1.0k word count

.

.

It was way past midnight and König couldn’t sleep. He put on grey sweat pants and a tight black shirt, his sniper hood over his head as he leaves his room. The halls are quiet as he walks along, only the sound of his footsteps filling the empty space. Turning the corner, something catches König’s attention.

A tiny pathetic little moan; his cock instantly tingles. He slows his steps so that they can’t hear his footsteps and accidently interrupt them. He hears them whimper his name. A small little “König” and he feels like his mind is melting. He walks close to your door, realizing it’s you. His jaw drops. You? He had no idea someone like you could desire him. You’re so…perfect.

He hears small wet sounds, most likely the sound of your small fingers going in and out of your tiny cunt. Fingers so small, they probably aren’t even pleasing you. Just one of his fingers would probably fill you…

“Mmmm, König, please.” You moan from your bed.

König’s eyes flutter as he hears you moan his name again. He quickly looks around the hallway to make sure no one else is around. Once he is sure he is truly alone, he slips a hand under the band of his sweat pants; his hand grasping his cock. He presses his ear against your door to hear things better.

His large calloused hand wraps around his leaky cock, pulling back his foreskin before rubbing his palm around the tip. His breath shutters from the pleasure. He closes his eyes and focuses on your sounds. His hand grips himself tightly as he begins to stroke his cock. Picturing in his mind that he was fucking your pretty pussy instead.

He has an overwhelming urge to knock on your door and just go in and fuck you. You’re literally moaning out to him, yet he can’t seem to find the nerve to. You’re a recruit and he is your Colonel. That would be breaking the rules, but fuck that cunt sounds deliciously wet.

Pumping his fist over his cock faster as he hears your little fingers begin to move faster. Your moans becoming slightly louder and more intense. You’re getting ready to cum. He listens intently.

“König, please, I need to cum.” Oh fuck, his brow furrows as he stops breathing. “Please, make me cum König.”

My god how he wishes he was the one making you cum, not your pathetic little fingers. His cock would ruin you for any other man, you’d be his forever; addicted to the way he fucks you. You’d never have a lonely night again.

Eyes closed and three fingers deep into your pussy, you’re imagining König’s massive body over yours. Legs spread wide apart to accompany his body, three fingers because you know his cock would be fucking massive. The man is a behemoth. You imagine him relentlessly fucking your cunt until you wouldn’t walk. You’re close. Moaning out to the König you’re envisioning.

“Please, can I cum Colonel?” Your free hand moves to rub your clit.

Please cum for me. König is losing his mind. Begging him to let you cum, calling him by his rank. König bites his tongue to stifle his moans as he begins to jizz in his pants. He couldn’t hold on any longer.

On the other side of the door your moan out in a soft melody, thanking König for fucking you. König in disbelief of what just happened, quickly snaps out of his lust trance when he hears you get up from the bed. He withdraws his hand and wipes it on the side of his sweat pants.

With a wet spot on his pants, he quickly and quietly turns and goes back to his room. Quickly changing out of his cum covered bottom, he gets into bed, excited to see you tomorrow.

The next morning you had training bright and early. You got showered, dressed, and ate before heading off. Once entering the room, your eyes instantly go to König, like always. Except this time, his icy blue eyes were already on you. Instantly you blush and look down to the ground. König smirks under his mask and continues to watch you.

As recruits are filing into the room König takes the time to slowly approach you from behind; he can’t stop replaying you moaning out for him in his mind. He towers over you and stands closer than he has to. You smell wonderful, he wonders how your pussy smells.

Feeling a presence behind you, you turn. Jumping when you see König. He just looks down at you for a while not moving.

“Hallo,” Why am I so fucking awkward?!  

“Hello, Colonel.”

“How are you today?” His voice is stoic, hiding the lust he feels for you.

“I’m well sir, yourself?”

He nods softly, his eyes dropping from your eyes to your soft lips and then back up. He is thinking about kissing them, wondering how you taste. Imagining what they would look like wrapped around his fat cock. “I’m also well.”

You both stand awkwardly, both wanting to say something but not daring to say anything. Instead, you gaze into his blue eyes and take in his true size and smell. As he studies your face, trying to imagine how it looked when you were moaning out his name.  He was going to find out. Leaning in a little more so he can whisper in your ear, his proximity sending chills down your spine.

“You know, Liebling, if you were to ever find yourself unable to sleep again…my door is always open.”

König leans back and looks down at your stunned expression, clearly embarrassed but he can see the excitement building behind your eyes. He simply turns around and walks away, as if he was totally chill about this. In reality he can’t believe he just did that. His heart beating a million miles an hour and face bright red, but the mask hides it all.

He only hopes that you take him up on that offer.

Part2

[demonpiratehuntress]

recently read your baby!name x op characters and i was thinking what abt name x baby!op characters-

they somehow turned into babies for 24 hrs (like in your fic)

just randomly thought of this while scrolling thru baby op characters on pinterest lmao

anyways have a great day/ night~~

love this idea!! I just wanted to do baby (name) first since i've seen a few baby OP characters but im more than happy to do it!

i finally got my laptop back, but im actually so upset it took so long to be fixed, and that i couldn't get all your requests out sooner! im so sorry this took ages, and to everyone else who requested before i closed requests - yours will be out soon enough! once again, so so sorry everyone :(

taglist - @kabloswrld

baby OP Men! (Straw Hats, Law, Ace, Kaku)

featuring - Zoro x F!Reader, Ace x F!Reader, Law x F!Reader, Usopp x F!Reader, Luffy x F!Reader, Kaku x F!Reader, Sanji x F!Reader

summary - the OP men get turned into babies for 24 hours and naturally, you're the babysitter.

warnings - none except that i haven't watched far enough to know what Law and Ace were like as kids so them and Kaku will just be wild guesses. and there is no longer yellow font so i will just be making Law's colour blue.

ZORO

Waking up to the sounds of things breaking and crashing against other things wasn't uncommon on the Sunny. It has been something you'd all become accustomed to on the Merry, which just carried over to the Sunny. More often than not, the source was Zoro and Sanji, so you just rolled over and went back to bed.

Until the cry of an infant woke you right back up.

You looked down at yourself, sighing in relief when you realised it wasn't you this time. However, if not you then who?

You got your answer when you walked into the kitchen and spotted a green-haired baby fussing and throwing pots at a scowling blonde cook.

"Devil child!" Sanji yelled, earning him another pot to the face.

You laughed at the sight, and both of them turned to look at you. Sanji breathed a sigh of relief, while baby Zoro crawled across the countertop to get to you.

"What happened to him?" You asked the cook as you lifted the moody infant up into your arms, where he relaxed and cooed happily.

"That idiot got too cocky and tried to take on a devil fruit user without knowing what the devil fruit actually was," Sanji explained, throwing another hateful glare at the baby swordsman in your arms. "Now he's stuck like this for a whole day."

You volunteered to care for him, something that no one else seemed willing or able to do. You supposed it was fitting, since Zoro threw a tantrum every time he was with someone who wasn't you. It was funny really, how he would scream and throw things when you set him down or handed him to someone else and then immediately fall silent when you picked him up again. Zoro was not a clingy adult, but he was certainly a very clingy baby.

But you didn't mind.

He was calmest when you sat and watched the ocean with him perched on your lap, bouncing a little on your thighs as he tried to see over the railing. You laughed and lifted him up, setting the green-haired infant on your shoulders.

"That better, baby?"

He cooed and clapped his tiny hands, indicating he was much more satisfied now. Then his fingers found your hair, and be busied himself pulling and playing with it as you chuckled and let him be. His attention span was short, but even shorter now that he was barely a year old.

"Not too hard now," you reminded him, laughing when he just pulled harder. "Even as a baby you're a bully." That only earned you a whine and a harder tug on your strands, but you only laughed more because it didn't really hurt.

He ended up falling asleep on your chest that night, small hand fisting your shirt. You were humming and singing softly to get him to sleep, so it was a bit of a relief when you saw his eyes closed.

In the morning, he hovered over you with a teasing smirk on his face.

"So I'm a bully huh?"

ACE

After your encounter with the de-aging devil fruit user, you would think Ace would have been more inclined to avoiding him. But no, your boyfriend was super confident that he could take this guy on and not get hit with the de-aging beam, which is why you were now back on the Moby Dick with a very pouty infant Ace on your lap. He only wore a diaper, and had thrown a tantrum when you tried to put something else on. The crew was laughing and teasing him, which only made him poutier.

And also shoot little balls of fire at their shoes. He looked at you innocently, but you knew he did it on purpose.

Ace is just as naughty as you would think he'd be as a baby. If you lose sight of him for one second, he's gone and you're running around panicking and trying to find this troublemaker, which is much harder now that he's so small. You end up finding him under a table or crawling towards any set of stairs on the ship. And he'll giggle and smile innocently, instantly earning your forgiveness.

"You're a handful, you know that?" You huff as you pick him up right before he tumbles down some steps. "Stop trying to hurt yourself!"

Ace just cooed and reached for your face, patting your cheek affectionately before nuzzling his face against it. He becomes so clingy when you try to do work while babysitting him, always pulling your hair or squeezing your nose hard when you paid more attention to a chore than him.

"Ace! I'm trying to work, I'll play with you just now."

Ace babbles nonsense and starts to cry, making you sigh as you turn your attention back to him. Then he immediately stops crying and is happily giving you sloppy kisses all over your face, his mood changing in that split second.

You don't get any work done.

Ace also has a tendency to disappear when you set him down for one second, only to reappear by a screaming crewmate who's trying to put out a fire on their pants. The little 2nd division commander would howl with laughter and fall onto his back, before pouting when he realises he can't get up and then cries for you. Little Ace is a menace.

"You need to go sleep!" You sighed in exasperation as you rocked Ace back and forth gently, later that evening in your room. "Please?"

Ace just giggled and sucked in his tiny fingers, a very blatant 'no'. You sighed and sat on the bed, setting him on your lap. Trying to bounce him didn't work because he just got excited and more energetic. Then you finally remembered the one time he never fails to sleep, and you were almost mad at him for making you so tired and worn out that you'd forgotten.

You got him the softest food you can find in the kitchen, and watch in amusement as he falls face-first onto the bed next to the bowl. You quickly turn him over, laughing softly as you tucked him in.

LAW

Law doesn't make mistakes often, but when he does they have extreme consequences. Like now, when you'd warned him about something but he overlooked it, claiming it wasn't important. Which ended up with him sitting on your lap, looking at you with big, innocent eyes - an infant.

You weren't sure what to do with this tiny version of your pale boyfriend. So for a while you just sat there and kind of...stared at each other. He was looking into your soul - you were sure of it, because no baby has a look that intense.

"So..." You started, "What do you want to do?"

Blank stare. That's all you got. Law was not so different as a baby, he was extremely quiet and reserved, he didn't move much and he just stared. It was almost like talking to a baby doll.

"Right, um...are you hungry?" You tried again.

He blinked. Then he crawled off your lap, attempting to jump off the bed but being caught by you since he would very obviously hurt himself. He tried to glare, but he was so small and cute it became a very adorable pout.

"You're tiny remember!" You groaned. "I know you don't like asking for help but come on, you're going to hurt yourself."

He rolled his eyes.

"HEY!"

Then he giggled, something you didn't expect. Your jaw dropped, eyes going wide as he flat out giggled at your response to his little display of attitude. He was so cute giggling that you didn't want him to stop, but once he realised you were grinning at him he immediately went quiet and pouted again.

"You're impossible."

Another giggle, and you side-eyed him. He only giggled more before pointing to the bookshelf in his room. You sighed and took him over to it, letting him reach for whatever book he seemingly wanted you to read to him. Of course, it was a medical book.

You laid him against your chest as you leaned back against the headboard, opening the book and going to its contents section to decide which section to read to him. But he grew impatient, and reached out to grab a tiny fistful of pages and turn them over.

"Alright then."

As you began to read, Law listened intently and focused on the picutres, his eyes wide with interest. You smiled softly at the sight, marvelling at how cute he was when he was curious at this size. But he was still a baby, so after a few minutes of reading his eyes started to droop and he turned his body a little so he could grasp your shirt in his small fist. And then he was out, and you smiled and kisses the top of his head as you set the book aside and cuddled him.

Baby Law was so sweet and cute, even if his attitude was just like adult Law's.

KAKU

"And what have we learned?"

Of course, you couldn't expect a response from the man you were asking that question. That would be because he was now less than a year old, laying flat on his back across your legs and gazing up at you with big, innocent eyes. He just cooed softly and kicked his small legs lazily, reaching for you.

You sighed. The idiot had gone head-first into a fight he didn't properly think through. It was his most reckless move yet, and now he was paying the price as a baby. Simply because Jabra had pissed him off.

Kaku was a relatively calm and quiet baby. He didn't fuss much, and he wasn't too noisy. Adorably, he was also a shy and easily flustered little infant. But one thing he did want was your attention, and he wanted it the whole day.

So you carried him around the whole day, much like he'd done when you'd been babified. You rarely left him alone, and if you did it was only for bathroom breaks or like five seconds. You were afraid of leaving him around alone, because the other CP9 members could be mean and careless and some of them would definitely be rough with and bully him.

You had to admit, his little long nose was the cutest thing ever, apart from when he accidentally bumped it against you and then giggled. He was so sweet, rubbing the spot he bumped with his small hand and then giving you a sloppy kiss.

Baby Kaku is also very playful. Once he gets comfortable in his state. He tries to make funny noises with his long nose and then erupts into the cutest baby laughter right after. He will also curiously pull on his nose, only to have it wobble like a springboard when he's done, causing more giggles.

"Come onnnnn it'll be good!"

Unfortunately, he was very fussy with his food. You were trying to feed him some mashed potatoes, because that was the only appropriate thing you could find, but he just stared at you like 'really?' and kept his little mouth closed. After that, you were forced to go out and buy baby food.

Like Law, baby Kaku wants to be read to. But he won't be satisfied with the usual infant storytime books, because even as a baby he is much smarter than that. He prefers something historical, which may be boring for you but absolutely thrills him. He gets excited and bounces on your lap, tapping the book with his small hands while you're struggling to keep your eyes open.

When he's finally ready to sleep, he tries to fight it because he likes having you baby him like this. But eventually he drifts off when placed on your chest, because you're so warm and comfortable it lulls him into slumber.

When he wakes up an adult, he looks sheepish.

"We learned not to rush into a fight recklessly."

LUFFY

If you thought Luffy was a menace as a teenager, you were really in for it when he got turned into an infant by the same devil fruit user who'd done it to you. Of course, Luffy being Luffy, he forgot about that and charged straight into the fight without even considering your plan. And that's what now led to you having to carry a very fussy, very tiny Monkey D. Luffy back to the Thousand Sunny.

As expected, he is an active infant.

"Luffy no!"

But not only is he baby Luffy, he is baby Luffy with stretchy abilities. As seen now when he giggles loudly and grabs the mast, before propelling himself halfway across the ship. If Robin hadn't been around to catch him using her own devil fruit ability, you're pretty sure you'd be facing a sobbing, snotty-nosed little captain.

You have to chase this baby around the ship to actually change him or do any of the basic baby care things. He is so quick to crawl away when it comes to diaper-changing, but he is even quicker to crawl back with the promise of food, as usual. You cannot take your eyes off him though, because if you do for even one second he's gone and a ship-wide hunt for the naughty infant has to be conducted.

Infant Luffy is VERY good at hide and seek.

"Now where could Luffy be?" You say out loud as you walk around the ship, amused when a little giggle follows your words. "Maybe he's in the kitchen." Another giggle. "Or maybe he's right...here!"

And when you uncover his hiding spot and grab him, he squeals and tries to wriggle out of yours arms. But ultimately starts giggling and laughing uncontrollably as you tickle his little sides and smother his tiny face in kisses. He loves having all your attention on him, and will not hesitate to trip someone from the ground or reach around you to pull on their hair if they take your attention away from him for even a second. Baby Luffy is a lot clingier than grown up Luffy.

But if you sit him down in the aquarium or in the crow's nest and let him watch the fish or the water while you tell him stories about Shanks that he's told you before, he'll calm down a little bit and relax. His eyes will go big and he'll stare at you in awe as you tell him all of these stories, even if he doesn't really understand. And when you make big gestures to try and show him, he cutely tries to mimic you and make those same gestures with his little arms. Which always has you cooing at him and him giggling at how cute you found it.

He was so hyper that you almost couldn't put him to sleep, and you didn't think he would ever fall asleep. But after a while of you - once again - chasing him around the ship, you finally caught him and managed (somehow) to rock him to sleep.

When he woke up a grown boy, there really wasn't much difference in his behaviour, even after you told him about his infant self.

SANJI

Honestly you don't even know how it happened. One minute you're engaging the enemy, the next your old friend with the de-aging devil fruit appears and this time targets your boyfriend. Which is why now you're sitting in the kitchen with a pouty baby cook on the table, the two of you just staring at each other.

When he realises he can't cook like this, the poor blonde bursts into tears, looking so upset it breaks your heart. You quickly pull him into your arms and cradle him, and he slowly calms down and looks up at you with his big, round eyes.

"There we go," you smiled at him, kissing his little cheek. "It's okay."

If you think Sanji is clingy as a grown up, his clinginess soars to new heights as a baby. He will absolutely not let go of you if you're holding him, not for any reason other than you needing the bathroom. He wants your attention on him for the full 24 hours, which of course is nothing new but still makes you laugh every time he gets pouty when you're not looking at him.

He's also a very sly baby. He uses his cuteness to his advantage to get Zoro in trouble, because every time he cries and points to Zoro, you glare at the swordsman or chuck something at him, much to Sanji's amusement.

"You're ugly and annoying even as a baby!" You heard Zoro shouting when you'd left them alone for one second to fetch some food for Sanji. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"ZORO!" You chided as you walked back into the room, coincidentally as soon as Sanji decided to start bawling to exaggerate the situation. He pointed at the green-haired swordsman as he cried, making you sigh and smack him upside his head. This caused Sanji to stop crying and giggle, earning a glare from Zoro.

"Why, you-!"

"Zoro, he's just a baby," you sighed, "He's going to annoy you."

"He annoys me regardless," the swordsman huffed, walking away. "Just keep that little demon away from me."

Sanji stuck his tiny tongue out at the bulky man's figure as he retreated, making you laugh and scoop the cook up into your arms. He immediately relaxed and cooed happily, playing with your shirt as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Sanji is a fussy eater, which you kind of figured. He doesn't settle for just any soft food, he specifically likes pureed apple. So every time you have to feed him, you have to either feed him some you got from an island you had to stop at when you first found out about his preference, or you have to puree the apples yourself.

Changing Sanji's diaper is also easy, because he's very calm and he lets you do it without much fuss. You have no issues putting him to sleep, either, because once you've changed him for the last time at night, he's out like a light. And you smile and bring him to your bed to sleep, laying him in between your pillows.

When he wakes up, he's back to being a smug little mf because he woke up in your bed.

USOPP

Honestly you didn't even know what had happened while you had stayed on the ship to keep watch. The others all returned looking weary but otherwise okay, so you just assumed Usopp was too, and you didn't think to ask why Brook and Sanji looked so suspicious, passing something between them behind their backs. That is, of course, until you heard the unmistakable sound of an infant crying.

"What was that?" You looked at them, raising an eyebrow.

"What was what?" Sanji asked, laughing nervously.

The infant cried again, and you stalked over and pushed them aside to reveal your boyfriend...only smaller. Baby Usopp stared up at you with wide, terrified eyes, tears streaming down his adorably chubby cheeks.

"What the-How did this happen??"

You looked up, but everyone avoided your gaze and made excuses to leave. So you just sighed and picked the baby up, wiping his tears away and gently rocking him to calm him down. He did eventually, but the terror never left his eyes as he got hold of your shirt collar and never let go.

"Hey, hey," you cooed softly. "It's okay, I'm here."

When he calmed down, you realised he had been so scared that he'd messed himself, so you changed him. Poor Usopp was already so nervous and frightened as a grown up, that as a baby he was almost always shaking. But you put him at ease, and whenever he was in your arms he was calm, relaxed and very playful. He liked your hair, liked to play with it and also, apparently, eat it.

"Usopp no!" You laughed as you once again had to pull your hair out of his tiny mouth. His bottom lip trembled, and you quickly amended it by kissing his cheeks and giving him something else to play with.

He liked to tinker even as a baby. You gave him the safest things he could play with, and he would try to arrange it in a certain way that wasn't just a jumbled mess. You were very impressed when he managed to stack all the gold coins you'd given him to play with - under Nami's strict supervision, of course.

However, he was naughty when it came to being fed. It wasn't that he was a fussy eater, he just liked to play with his food. And he had incredible aim, so every bunch of food he threw landed on its intended target. Which was you. Sanji had tried to feed him, but the stress of wasted food got to him and you had to replace him before he yelled at poor baby Usopp.

Putting him to sleep is relatively easier than putting anyone else on this list to sleep. As soon as you noticed his eyes drooping while you told him a story - one of his own made-up adventures - you picked him up and placed him on his bed, and he was out.

When he woke up in the morning, all grown up, he groaned.

"That was the scariest experience of my life."

A/N: I'm so sorry if this seems rushed or isn't as good as you expected, it's been a busy few weeks and i'm so mentally exhausted but i really wanted to get this out for you! Again, requests that were in my inbox before i closed them will be posted as soon as possible! Please just be patient with me, 2024 is turning out to be a weird year for me.

[slvthrs]

can you do a vinnie x fem reader smut where she (reader) is stressed out and vinnie fucks her good on the balcony and they didn’t care anymore if they get caught of what 🙈

ofc my lovesss

BREATHE BABY | v.hacker

— MINORS PLEASE FUCK OFF FOR UR OWN GOOD —

stress never stood a chance against a tall blond with an unyielding love for you.

BSF!VINNIE X FEM!READER

WARNINGS: NSFW CONTENT MINORS DNI, fucking in a pool over the city, vinnie LOVES u, praise kink, hickies n love bites

word count: 2.5k <3

a/n: idfk if vinnie has a pool in his apt, i added one for the plot 😭

Stress was one of the most constant presences in your life. University, friendships, family relationships. It was as if stress was an obsessive ex that you couldn’t get rid of creeping back into your life once it got good. 

The only thing that could keep it a bay was Vinnie, your best friend of 12 years, ever since you were nine years old the boy was like a walking calmer for you. His presence made you relax and he always reminded you when you needed to take a break.

Ever since he moved out to LA at 18 the stress slowly crept back into your life, and you had to adapt again. More friends in uni and new found appreciation of swimming. 

If you weren't studying or with your friends, you were swimming. Sometimes the water made you calm down, it felt as if all your stress floated away as the water touched your skin.

That’s where you were again, the pool attached to Vinnie's apartment. 

It was so odd, the lanky scruffy boy who you became friends with grew into the type of men you would see modeling- and you did.

Everything was so much more intimidating about the boy. His height, the tattoos littering his skin which make your skin turn hot. 

His new found fame which made your head dizzy the longer you thought about it. The idea of the boy you first became friends with turning into this man who had girls falling over him left in right made your stomach flip and you had no idea if it was good or bad. 

You had kept an eye on what he was up to in LA, his friends, his business, that one fight that made you nearly throw up out of fear. 

And of course who he was dating.

It always said he wasn’t seeing anyone but you were never convinced, no one looks like that and is single, you always thought to yourself.

But it wasn’t just him who had changed. 

Looking back, being stuck to one boy's side for all of elementary, middle, and high school was a hindrance.

Once you branched out in university you flourished.

You grew into a new woman.

Your features were sharper, your curves more defined, your entire face had what your friends called, ‘a glow up’. 

Regular visits to the gym and taking care of yourself made you stand out.

Also being more active in your sex and love life made you more in touch with your body. Your last ex boyfriend taught you so much about what you did and didn’t like, you got better and sex and the burst of confidence helped you in tremendous ways.

You walked with more purpose in your steps and it really did seem like you left Seattle and turned into a different woman.

But this new Vinnie made you feel like a little girl again. Floundering in the big kids pool, kicking your tiny legs for a chance to come up and breathe again.

All of your confidence was for show as when Vinnie walked in you returned into that stressful anxious girl again.

You relaxed lackadaisical at the edge of the pool looking over the edge. 

Everything looked so small, everyone down there had their own lives, your worries seemed miniscule compared to what everyone else down there had to go through. 

An ambulance rushed by and the only thought you had was someone was about to get the most devastating news of your life.

It was like a trance the city of LA put you into.

The city of angels. 

“You look deep in thought.” The velvety voice of the boy who the house belonged to piped in.

You turned and saw Vinnie resting against the sliding door of the balcony. His hands were in the pockets of his swim trunks whilst he had an unbuttoned linen shirt barely converting his ink filled torso. 

“I’m always deep in thought Vinne, you know that.” A small huff left your plump lips as you turned and said that.

“I know but especially today.” He explained whilst walking over to dip his feet in the pool, “Is LA freaking you out? I felt like that for the first year I was here.”

He always did that. Trying to figure out what made you uncomfortable and trying to fix that. He was always kind like that.

“No Vin, it’s everything. It’s so weird. You left Seattle as a scared boy and now you seem like someone I’d see plastered on magazines talking about how many girls he sleeps with in a year.” The crude stereotype aside, Vinnie laughed at your remark.

“I’m still the same guy, you know that.” He said and continued a second later, “Besides, look at you. You're like a different person.”

It was your turn to laugh now, “You can come in you know that? It’s like you're trying to stay away from me.”

He smiled, “Thanks for the invite into my own pool.”

Despite the sarcasm he took his shirt off and entered the pool, walking over to where you were floating. 

He towered over you.

“I don’t think I’ve changed that much.” You toyed with your bikini strap, “I’m still the same anxious girl you met.”

His hands rested on your waist, “Sure, but you're more confident, you're more talkative, plus you look so different.” 

It’s quiet until Vinnie breaks the silence again.

“I kept checking on your Instagram now and again. You seem happier.” You both know what he means when he says that.

“I am. Moving out of Seattle was hard but in the grand scheme of things I couldn’t stay there after you left, it felt empty.” You tell him as he pushes a strand of hair away from your face.

“M’ sorry, I had to leave but my biggest regret is that you couldn’t have come with me.” 

You laugh pulling away from him and turing back around, facing the city again, leaning over the edge of the pool.

“Even if you have asked I wouldn’t have come. I love you Vin, but I was always was gonna go to university. You were the unconventional one out of the 2 of us.” You sigh pulling you hair to one side and playing with the ends, a sort of nervous tick you developed after your first months in university.

“I know.” He breathes out, “That’s why I didn’t ask but a part of me always hoped you would come.” 

He comes closer to you, his hands wrap around your waist and now your back is hitting his chest. His head practically rests on top of yours.

You nearly start crying. 

You don’t know why. 

“You think anyone down there is going through the same thing were going through?” It’s a dumb question on your part but you like talking to the blond.

“Are any of them dealing with 2 friends you love each other and have been apart for so long that they don’t know what to do,” He pauses, “Also one of them if famous and the other is the most amazing person on earth? Nah I don’t think so.”

“Mhm that makes sense.”

It goes quiet again.

The wind rustles against the palm trees and if you really focused your ears you could hear the waves crashing along the shore.

“You keep tabs on my insta?” You ask with a smile creeping up on your face

He smiles him self letting a huff of laughter out, “Yeah, I was hoping you forgot I said that.”

“Why, whatd’ya see on there?” Another dumb question, you know exactly what he saw on there.

“You look happier, also you have new friends, ones I would like to meet,” His heart skips a beat, “Also y’know that guys on there.”

You laugh internally and turn around so you can see his face.

“Their some of my friends, I think you would like them.” You know he wouldn’t.

“What about Tyler?” 

Your ex-boyfriend, the one you meet during finals week of your sophomore year. You had dated for nearly 9 months before you broke it off. 

It wasn’t anything serious, he didn’t cheat, he didn’t lie- your lives were too different and you both knew that.

It was a mutual decision but Vinnie didn’t care. Anyone the broke up with you or even hurt you in anyways was evil in his eyes, how anyone could do that to you, he couldn’t explain to himself. 

“Tyler’s Tyler it doesn’t matter.” 

He blinks at you.

“What you want me to bring up all the girls your rumored to be dating?”

“Fuck off you know that isn’t the same thing. Half of those girls I only follow on tiktok and I haven’t been in a single committed relationship with any of them… Why the fuck did I find out about your long term relationship over fucking INSTAGRAM, I’m your best friend what hell?”

He steps back, with his hands in the air like he’s being accused of something.

“I don’t know Vin I just didn’t know how to tell you, everything was too much. I was so worried what you were gonna think and then it got to late. I felt like there was no point in telling you-” 

You ramble and he cuts you off.

“It’s fine, breathe pretty girl, just relax, I’m right here.” 

He pulls you closer to him and the moment you look into his eyes that calming effect he has on you just corses through your body.

Something just clicks inside the both of you and he’s kissing you so gently it’s like hes afraid of breaking you. 

His lips slot perfectly into your’s, it’s like you were made for him, his hands fall onto your ass as he pulls you closer, his eyebrows are knitted together in focus and he’s holding you as if he’s afraid to lose you.

It feels so fucking right. 

You the one that pulls him harder into you, your hands tangle into his hair, deepening the kiss.

Your nails rake the back of his neck and he hums in content. 

Your the one that pulls back, a trail of saliva linking the 2 of you and he looks at you so intently as if he’s studying you.

“Your so beautiful. I don’t think I tell you that enough.” And his lips are back on yours.

Your the one who pulls the strings of your bikini of and his lifting you up so your flush against his body, most likely so he can feel your tits pressed up against his chest. 

He’s grining in the kiss, as his hands grope your thighs and ass trailing up towards your hips. His hands are all over you and your ecstatic they are.

“More” you whisper into the kiss like it’s a secret only the two of you can share or else yoru lives would ruin.

“Please Vinnie I’m begging you.” You know your not telling him what you wnat but you pray he’ll save some of the embarrassment for you.

“Tell me what you want, I’ll do anything for you.” It’s like a prayer or promise of worship.

“Fuck me please, do whatever you want, I just need you.” It’s desperate and it turns Vinnie on so much more.

His fingers link around the straps of your bottoms and he pulls the down, your fully nude under him as he fiddles with his own shorts.

Your legs link around him as he slowly slides his dick in letting you get used to the size if anything. 

You head falls onto his shoulders as you sigh out, your eyebrows knit and you nearly loose your shit. 

He feels so much bigger than anyone else you’ve ever had sex with and your entire body feels like its getting shocked.

The sensation to crynearly hits you before you pull your self together, latching you lips onto Vinnie’s neck as he starts to move you.

It’sa rhythmic pace and it’s a kind one faring his size but you want more. You’ve waited years for this and you want more than him just being kind. 

“Vinnieee,” It comes out as a needy whine as you cry out his name, “More, harder, anything just please needa feel you everywhere.” 

You ramble but he knows what you want. He knows your body, he knows you better than you know yourself. 

His pace speeds up and he tries to keep kissing your but you keep writhing. He finds it adorable but your trying not to cum as quick to draw this out. 

You wanna feel him everywhere, you wanna be able to only see him.

“Vin,” You words are loosing power as he keeps thrusting into you, your thighs are sore and your mind is clouded with the thought of yoru impending orgasm. 

“Choke me please, need to feel you.” His pace falters as he tries to grapple with what you just admitted to him.

The look on your face proves your not joking but he swears he nearly came just by the sentence alone. 

His dick twitches inside you as his hands wrap around the base of your neck, he pulls yoru face up and you look into his eyes. 

You look drunk and delrious and he wants you to have his kids right there on the spot. 

He can’t even tell you what it is, he’s just so much more in love with you.

As his hands add pressure your hands comes to weakly wrap around his, not realy doing anything, just an unorthodox way of holding hands.

Your sense are flooded with just, Vinnie. 

The same boy practically trained to teach you how to breathe when your mind rabbles, cutting your breathe off, and the way he looks while doing it.

His pupils are blown out and his face looks like a mix of lust and love. The whole scene out of a porno but even his eyes can’t hide how deeply he’s in love with you.

When he lets your neck go you inhale so deeply you nearly start coughing and he pulls you closer to him as his thrusts become sporadic. 

Your forehead rests against his as you both cum, nearly blacking out as your vision goes white.

Your panting as he puts you down on the edge of the pool as he finds you a towl and the rest of your clothes floating around in the pool. 

You end up in the bath making sure the get the chlorine off and the residues of sex off the both of you.

Your lying ontop of his as his hands rake through your hair.

“Just breathe baby we’ll take about it tomorrow.” And thats what you do, breathing to the sund of his heartbeats. 

[xianyoon]

♡ KISSPROOF!

⤷ alhaitham is a smart man, but can be quite the fool when it comes to you.

char. alhaitham x gn reader. genre. fluff a/n. reader does makeup. this fic is inspired by this video from anthony padilla! a sweet kiss scene for valentine's day hehe ; ty to @iceunhie for helping me proofread!!! :")

alhaitham cannot resist it when his darling is sitting in front of him so sweetly, your aura so soft and tender, legs crossed on the stool and you perched near the vanity – oh, who can blame him? all he can see are stars . . . he watches as you go through your lengthy process of applying all sorts of product onto yourself.

he doesn’t believe that you need it, of course – you’re perfect as you are to him – but he understands why you put it on, since the day you explained to him that it was to help you feel good. yes, not because you didn’t look good, alhaitham has reassured you of that.

“hayi? can you come here, pleaseee? i need you.” a soft whine breaks him out of his stupor.

“hm?” his eyebrow is raised, and he turns his heel towards you – his darling, sitting there all pretty with the most curious doe eyes to grace his sight. and your smile. oh, your smile, he believes has been blessed with the warmth of the sun. alhaitham gently places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing you tenderly as you reach your hand back to meet his.

"do you know what this is?" you point to a crystal-encrusted gold tube. alhaitham knows it well – it goes on as a thin layer, where you smack it on your lips before planting kisses all over his face. he inspects it even closer, just to be a hundred percent sure – and maybe also to peck a tiny kiss on your cheek.

"..it's lipstick."

"right!" you beam proudly at the right answer. "but what kind of lipstick?"

you look so astoundingly perfect that he has no idea what to say next. oh, smart man, smart man, alhaitham! you’ve got him completely mesmerised. for the first time in his life, he’s hopelessly unsure of what to say next.

"...red?" he mumbles, not taking his gaze off you.

"no." a small giggle parts your lips, and alhaitham looks almost embarrassed to offer such a childish answer.

"this is liquid lipstick."

he peers at the small container you hold in your hands, studying it ever so carefully. isn’t it annoying, having the moistness cling to your rosy lips all day? (that part, he doesn’t quite understand.) you seem to read his thoughts, and lean into his warmth for a bit longer.

"see, the good thing about liquid lipstick–" you brandish your pretty tube proudly, taking the wand out of the tube and applying some to your lips. he sees you scrutinising it in the mirror one last time, smacking your lips together. alhaitham watches with a quiet fascination, seeing them go from a light pink to a dusty coral.

"–is that it dries."

"i see." you smile sweetly up at his response, and alhaitham thinks the world stops to be in awe of you.

"which makes it. . ."

oh, alhaitham. nothing could have prepared him for you placing a hand on the back of his neck – pulling him oh-so-gently closer to you, to plant the sweetest kiss he’s had all day right onto his lips. he squeezes his eyes shut, falling, slowly falling, right into you. oh, archons. if only you knew how much you made his heart leap in private – with just how infatuated he is with your sweetness.

"kissproof!"

a breathy chuckle is the only thing that slips past his lips for a good while.

“i... i believe you got a touch of lipstick on me.” he murmurs when he finally recollects himself, reaching up to touch his lips. alhaitham doesn’t move to wipe it off. "it seems as if your statement has some falsities in it."

“ah! we didn’t let it dry long enough!” you lean away to grab a tissue, but he chases after your touch, moving closer.

lipstick on his lips? perhaps he would never wipe it off. perhaps he’d keep it there, as a memento of your lips on his. oh, my angel... if only you knew how utterly enamoured i am with you.

taglist : @ryuryuryuyurboat @yeul-ha @the-guardian-kitsune (send ask to be added!)

[86-babyy]

Undeniable.

Part two - Insatiable.

Older!Eddie x Fem!Reader.

He’s your Dad’s best friend but when temptation comes to strong, you just couldn’t turn away.

This fic is inspired by the amazing edits of @eddiemunsons-missingnipple, which make me absolutely feral. 🫠 (pictures used in header created by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple )

Warnings: There’s a age gap. Reader is 20, Eddie is in his 30s. Fingering. Choking. Size kink, maybe? (Eddie is big.) Dirty Talk. Eddie is tattooed to the max. Teasing, a lot of smutty goodness. Dirty thoughts and easy temptations, it’s just filthy, babes. 😘 (let me know if I missed anything)

It started small.

Like a ever present dip that strung low in your stomach, it’s soft, subtle and you almost always missed it. The creep of warmth that prickled the tips of your toes, made your chest bubble like tiny explosions weaving through your bloodstream, left you feeling slightly left of centre with no real reasoning.

It was small, dismissive and evidently so fucking obvious.

You weren’t sixteen, freshly twenty, straight out of your adolescence but you were anything but naive. You knew by the second time the feeling had woven it’s way through your hormones like stitching, pulling, twisting, tightening the thread that lead directly to your cunt— that this was every bit of what you knew it was.

It was wrong. Instinctively and morally, it was everything bad, dangerous and wrong in the world to fragile to even think about— to impulsive, playful, thoughts of sin and lust, desire and temptation— It was fucking carnage and you wanted to dip your fingers, smooth the rough edges like rippled water, you wanted to ravish and explore— let the filth cover your skin like dirt and regret.

You wanted to devour, tempt and play with him.

You could take it. That was no hesitation. Everything he could dish out, you would lick clean and ask for more.

“Hey! Look, I got to go, alright?”

The hand waving across your line of vision breaks the border between your subconscious and draws you back to reality.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. It’s fine, I’ll see you when you get home.”

He shuffles the jacket over his shoulder, the puff slowly dissipates when he zips it all the way up, a concerning smile plays his lips before stuffing the keys into the side pocket and hoisting his bag on his shoulder.

“Try to be good. It’s a late one, don’t think I’ll be back until morning, 6am at best.”

There’s a slight wince in his expression, it falls and tugs his frame along with it, the weight shifting his stance when outstretched arms pull you in.

“It’s fine, Dad. I have a whole night planned, full of pizza and shitty movies.”

You run little circles at the middle of his back, the thick jacket restrains most of your touch but he gestures with a smile in response regardless, he huffs a laugh, nods and heads for the front door.

You genuinely felt fucking terrible most days, your Dad loved what he did, strived for the best in all aspects of his career and it was truly admirable but sometimes when the days would turn to weeks and the nights would stretch longer and longer, he felt guilty, leaving you for so long, though every reassurance you noted towards him felt like it fell on deaf ears you tried none the less.

Except this time, you weren’t alone.

The gentle hum of water swam through the pipes and trickled like notes through the wall, no, you definitely weren’t alone.

The occupied upstairs bathroom was proof of that, housed by one Eddie Munson.

It was like a cruel twist of fate that landed him on your doorstep, like a perfectly timed occurrence when your Dad mentioned that Eddie was in town and would be staying over the weekend.

You had met Eddie before, many times before, see Eddie was your dads best friend. Childhood friends, in-fact.

The pipes creaked, shuttered to a holt when the water turned off. It was like a alarm that vibrated the walls, sent signals telling you to vacate before he came downstairs, telling you to hide. Four minutes. That’s exactly how long it took for you to take the gap between Eddie leaving the bathroom and going back to his room. You stumbled upstairs, each step seemingly drifting further apart with each stride until you hit the top, feet planted and making a line straight to your bedroom. It sounded good, planned perfect, down to each second until you collided with something that held resemblance to a brick wall, knocking you clean from your feet.

The patches of water residue seeps through the fabric of your shirt, bleeds and stains your skin underneath but the searing heat that bares the curve of your waist sticks like molten from the hold as Eddie bares your weight, keeping you grounded, keeps you from falling.

You feel the muscle pinch, flex beneath your palm, the water soaking between skin, seeps from one pore to other beneath your hand.

It’s soft reels of time, like everything is in slow motion, your eyes rake over the sparse of dewy skin coated in a sheen of water, drops leaving tracks as they follow the contours of definition, the inky black images show so much more refine up close, each placed line and shading painted, stained, perfectly across his chest.

Curls cling to the dip in his shoulders, wet ends create a pool in divots of his collar bone, strands of black glisten from the recent action— everything is so wet.

It’s a sickly wet that drys way to quick, beads mirror your face in tiny droplets painted across canvas that you want to reach forward and taste— the border between water and salt, the cool on your tongue mixed with the taste of him.

“Sorry, I uh, are you okay?”

The wind catches in your throat, sucks any air and words along with it when you finally land in his line of sight— deep, dark eyes fluttered beneath eyelashes that study you.

“Yeah, sorry.”

It’s a pathetic response, it’s all breath with no voice and it makes you want to sink further than you already were.

“Maybe, I should—“

In a instant Eddie let’s go. Hovers slightly to make sure you have your footing but removes himself completely, from touch, from space, stepping backwards. The loss of contact winds you without the actual impact, makes you want to run, makes you want to stay more.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie’s apology is quiet, knowing.

“No, please. It was my fault.”

You pull a semblance of a laugh, a dry attempt at trying to lighten the strain that had set in the air. Eddie bites back with a smile, it’s lop sided and it quirks his lips to dimple the hollow of his cheeks.

“It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

You can’t help it. You smile. It’s small and shy, makes you dip your head to hide the growing heat that burns to the tips of your ears.

“I was just about to clean up, make a pizza, want to join?”

His voice is thick, syrupy like honey but dark like malt, it bares rough in the back of his throat but cheery none the less. You sense the hope in his words, a strained branch in offering to deescalate the situation so you nod.

“Yeah, would love too.”

The painted skull on his throat bobs along with his adams apple when he smiles, reaches behind him and opens the door and you’re quick to take the message, heading back downstairs.

It’s a mess. The whole kitchen is laid out in flour and dough, ingredients spread across the island, once were in bowls, now a muddled mess of vegetables. Eddie’s got a ball of dough, fingers and knuckles need the springy texture to a mould and he’s helplessly coated in the powdery substance. It clings all the way up to his elbows and flecks decorate his hair.

“Are you laughing at me?”

Eddie side eyes you, the gleam reflects off the light and back into you but you can’t help it. You both look a absolute mess.

“Can you blame me? You said you were good at this.”

“Hey, I am. We got dough right?”

“Yeah, and so does the kitchen floor.”

There’s a drop in his expression, a pouty look before he dips his fingers, finds were the flour has collected most and smears your cheek. The white powder blends with your laughter, to slow to avoid his actions, instead you mimic.

Fingers dip into the bag of flour, you watch Eddie hesitantly step backwards, eyes squinted in a daring gaze before you leap forward, your hand smearing white across his shirt, the trail of your hand print perfectly centred on his chest. The walls bounce with laughter, rebound and echo with squeals when Eddie comes for you. You dip and weave managing to duck under his arm before twisting on your heel and feeling the collision of your back into the counter, but that wasn’t what caught you off guard.

Somewhere between the push and pull, Eddie had reached across mid duck and when you came back up, cashing in to the counter, Eddie had caught your throat.

It was a obvious mistake, a miss of direction when you twisted the other way but the evident pressure was unmistakable. You whined, a needy gasp that slipped way to quick before you could even try to swallow it back down, the flush of your cheeks burn through the rapid of your heart rate and you lean forward. Against all better fucking judgement, you chase the feeling, you lose yourself in the hallow of boring eyes that look back at you, to far gone in the abyss— Your mind swept in a fog, dragged by your ankles and left you looking from the outside in.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Fuck.”

Eddie moves quick, takes three steps backwards, hands raised like a wounded soldier.

“No, no. You’re okay.”

It’s breathy and loose, you mask a laugh behind in desperation to carry the banter, not make it awkward, though you very clearly already had.

He laughs but it’s weak, cautious and when he turns to finish working out the discarded dough, you don’t miss the slight tremor to his movements, the way he swallows thick.

“So, how have you been?”

You pick the vegetables, try to place them back in their respective bowls, busy hands keeps your tone light— Friendly.

“Ah, you know, here there and everywhere. Can never seem to keep my feet planted long enough to enjoy much.”

“Maybe you should settle here. You always seem to drift back.”

You catch him wince slightly and realise maybe it had come across more bitter than intended. You knew Eddie hated it here, ever since high school, or so your dad says.

“I’m sorry, I mean, you just seem—“

“No.” He laughs. “You’re right. It’s like I can’t keep away.”

There’s a playful hint in his smile when hooded eyes glance your way, just for a second. It settles deep in your stomach, the churn that pulls and tightens.

“It’s okay, if you ask me, the town is cursed.”

He laughs at this, it’s deep and throaty when he nudges your shoulder, reaches across and offers the jar of sauce.

“I think you’re on to something there. So, what’s kept you?”

You reach across to spread the sauce on the dough, watching the red seep and blend with the stark white, Eddie steps back, lets you manoeuvre in front of him to reach the sides.

“Dads wanting me to move to collage.”

You hum in response, evening the sauce into the sides, dipping into places you missed.

“And what do you want to do?”

It rumbles like a distant thunderstorm, his breath seeps across your neck from behind you, the warmth pricks bumps along your skin. The slight brush of his chest makes contact with your back, sends your mind deeper into oblivion.

“I, uh, I don’t know yet. Maybe travel.”

“Here.”

Eddie reaches around, leans into you as he guides your hand in smooth circles.

“It’s easier if you cover the whole area in one motion, the sauce will spread more easily.”

His chest moves in perfect waves as he breaths, the pressure pressing into your back with each inhale and it only sends yours into unease. Each lined breath comes short and uneven, it’s a wall that’s compressed against your rib cage, shrinks with every small move, slowly suffocating.

You nod back, willing yourself to pull some kind of composure but when his hand holds yours steady against the wavier of motion, just the view of his hand engulfing yours, sends your hormones in active overdrive.

“That’s it. Just like that.”

It’s over. Your heart shutters to a complete skip, missing several beats as your pussy throbs. It’s a dull ache that nips painfully and if you don’t find a way out now, you weren’t going to be able to stop.

“Are you okay?”

Eddie’s now leaning over you, his hair fans your shoulders, the angle of his words ring like a perfectly chimed bell through your ears as he runs a pad of his thumb over your knuckles— The task of spreading sauce long forgotten.

You instinctively lean into his touch, your throat catches on dry air, leaving a strangled groan to brush your lips. If it weren’t for Eddie keeping your hand so stable, you’d be a complete fucking wreck.

“Am I reading this wrong?”

No, god no.

“Eddie..”

“Just say the word, I’ll back off.”

No, please. Don’t.

“I don’t—“

“We’ll forget it ever happened. Go back to normal.”

But, I want it too happen.

“No, please. Eddie.”

Your hips sink backwards, finds the dip between his thighs and you grind, it’s slow and pitiful, pulls the most needy whine from your lips. Breath is sucker punched from the hollow of your chest, a tension snapped after it had been so far strung out and the gasp that hinders in your throat when Eddie pushes back has all reason bailed and running for the door.

“Fuck.”

The spoon is long discarded and Eddie’s now got both palm’s following the contour of your waist, his fingers dip in to the curve of your frame, touching and teasing the exposed skin.

It’s a helpless battle of push and pull, your heads rolled so far back it now sits in the dip of Eddie’s shoulder, while his hands play puppet along the underside of your breasts— curious palms test the water, squeeze the soft skin underneath, lengthy fingers creep to come full circle and caress you. The warmth spreads like wildfire through your veins, the pinch of fingers as he toys with your nipples has your mouth gapped and hiccuping gasps of air, it all feels like fire and ice and it makes you strain harder— Your hips arching painfully back in search of friction as his ever present bulge presses harder back, looking for one of the same.

“Jesus Christ.. Fuck.”

Eddie groans into the sparse of your throat, the mumbled words pressed into flesh when he moans around the soft of your throat. Teeth graze, pinch, bite. Sink so deep that the skin threatens to break, it’s a purple stain that bleeds instead.

“Fuck, Eddie. Please.”

It’s a complete fucking disarray when Eddie takes hold of your waist, fingertips bruise when he spins you around and hooks two palms under the back of your thighs, lifting you up like you were nothing. Your ankles meet at the small of his back, your hands graze the definition of muscle along his arms when they link around his neck. Your ass perfectly cupped in strong hands and you can absolutely feel the mess created between your thighs. It’s soft and wet, humming with pressure that begs for release and when Eddie places you on the opposite counter, needy hands drag you to the edge, it’s a collision of lips and teeth.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

A fight for air between heated kisses, Eddie’s forehead rests against yours as his fingers work at unloosing your jeans.

Black eyes bore into yours, it’s a pit of lust and desire, the edges burning with flames when he mutters the sentence, each lingering stare silently asks permission with every pop of button he releases and you simply moan back in response, in approval.

An arm slings around your waist, Eddie hoists you up slightly, enough to get a pull on your jeans and pull he does. The thick material drags down your thighs and gets tossed at his ankles.

Eddie’s taken two steps back, enough room to give way to remove your pants and underwear, now, he’s standing there— All tall and built. He’s not overly muscular, toned, but his presence is big and demanding. In one swift motion, Eddie reaches behind him, grips a handful of material and effortlessly slips it over his shoulders and head, leaves him in low hanging sweats— A curtain of curls follow suit, leaving the strays still damp to cling to the dip of his temples. The display of tattoos is mesmerising, his torso, chest all littered in black and white art, tales of story’s and pictures of moments— It’s absolutely beautiful.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?”

There’s a dark ring to his tone, it pulls from the back of his throat is a rasp, a growl almost.

You nod your head, all dumb and shy, feels like you’re drunk just from the view.

“Fuck, baby. You can’t do that.”

You whimper, small and needy, watch as his cock twitches beneath his pants.

Eddie does growl this time. It’s predatory and deep, has you white knuckling the edges of the counter when he comes closer. Your whole body is limp on impulse, reacting to the man in front of you. You knew how you must look, all drawn out and needy, not exactly how you expected to play this out but the tables quickly turned when Eddie shown a slight hint of dominance.

“What did I say?”

Eddie’s hand comes to cradle the side of your throat, gentle, holds you there while he nuzzles into the latter side, breathes in the scent. He’s slotted perfectly between your thighs, a puzzle piece meant to be, and his painfully hard bulge presses into where you are most vulnerable.

“You’ll have to remind me. I forgot.”

It’s absolutely dripping in tease, has your confidence spiked and you wanted to test the waters, see how just how far you could sink before you drown.

“Don’t fucking play with me, baby girl.”

“Ah, Eddie!”

Teeth hook into your throat, skin pinches when he releases, slides his hand to cover the front of your throat.

“Mm. A little fight in you, huh?”

The pressure is evident, it’s spreads across your throat where fingers pinch the sides, tips your head back to bring your vision to his and it feels so fucking good. Your body tingles all over, feels like there’s a flood baring through your bloodstream, making everything heightened— sensitive.

Even if you wanted to fight back, you couldn’t. The palm encasing your throat kept its firm hold and the desperate whine that leaves your lips was anything but expected when you felt Eddie’s latter hand smooth up your thigh. It’s a trail that burns, leaves behind a tingling sensation that scorns your skin. Eddie’s fingertips graze the slit of your lips, teases the sensitive flesh and when the pad of his thumb rolls over your clit, so do your eyes, falling helplessly into your head as the wave of euphoria blankets your senses.

“Na uh, baby, look at me.”

Eddie’s fingers dip into your entrance, your slick making it to easy while his thumb stays steady circling your clit. The intrusion has the walls of your pussy fluttering, they clench around the thickness of his fingers, drawing them in to the knuckles.

Your head falls forward, caught by his grip as hooded eyes strain to focus on the man in front of you.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

His eyes swallow you whole, pull you in head first and you had no plans on stopping it. Eddie’s fingers find a pace, pumping in and out of you, his thumb never leaving your clit. Your entire body trembles from the high, your senses so far on alert that it has you internally screaming. Your stomach washes in waves, the draw of pleasure been brought to the surface, you can feel the bubble, the drop.

“Oh god, Eddie.”

The curl of his fingers has you tipping over the edge, your pussy fights with every draw of his fingers, the heated pressure against your throat sends you further. It’s all a collision of white heat and pleasure, has you babbling and moaning complete chaos.

“Oh fuck, Eddie. I’m going to—“

“Eyes on me, baby. I want to watch you.”

The second your vision locks with his, you’re brought down in crashing waves. Your pussy contracts, leaves your thighs shaking. It’s intense and hard, the release rushes through your system in a whirlwind, boils your blood and leaves your head in a blissed out fog.

Eddie removes his hand from around your throat then his fingers, slowly. Let’s the ride of your orgasm slow before placing the two finger’s between plush lips. His tongue darts out, swirls and sucks the evidence of your cum from his fingers. It’s a fucking sight to see, dark eyes follow your motion before he releases with a soft pop.

You absolutely should be completely fucked out, your body heavy is evidence of it but the need still claws in the pit of your stomach, the hunger that bleeds and screams for more.

You reach out and pull Eddie back in, your ass slipping further to the edge from the slick created when your mouths meet in a tangled mess of lips and breath. You wanted to feel him, taste him. You wanted to explore and trace and Jesus Christ, you just couldn’t get enough. Your hands weave in a knot in his hair, groans vibrate through his chest at the action as you abandon one hand to reach between you both. Finding the hardness that hid beneath his pants, eager hands work through to slip between the barrier of material and skin.

“Ah, Jesus. Oh fuck.”

Eddie moans against your lips and you smile in response. Your hand sinks and wraps around his length, your palm working in slow strokes, doing what you could with how much you had to work with. Eddie was big. Thick and lengthy. You’d be lucky if your fingers could touch around the girth and as Eddie fucks up into your hand, you realise just how much bigger he was.

“Jesus Eddie.”

You hadn’t really need to say it, Eddie knew.

You break from the kiss, slip your other hand out from his hair and tug the left side of his pants down. Eddie chuckles, helps the process by pushing the remainder down, his cock still grasped in your hold and fuck where you right.

Eddie wraps a hand around yours, uses the other to hook a finger under your chin and dips his head into your line of vision.

“You doin’ okay, sweetheart?”

There’s humour in his tone. Your eyes are blown out when you nod, smile. Spreading your legs wider with invitation.

Eddie places both hands to cup your face, presses forward and you feel the gentle nudge of his cock spread your pussy. It slips perfectly, your slick making easy way when he breaks the head in. The stretch burns, it’s subtle but there and when he inches further your throat breaks out in a pitiful cry.

“You’re doing good, baby.”

Eddie’s forehead rests against yours, his gaze holds yours in reassurance when he presses further. It’s unmistakable the width that your pussy is being stretched, its a mix of pain and euphoria, leaving behind the most delicious throb.

“That’s it, baby. You’re taking me so well.”

“Oh, Eddie. Fuck.”

Eddie’s thumbs run the pad of your cheeks when he bottoms out, you whimper against the movement, the pain easing from discomfort to pleasure and it courses through your system like a new high all over again.

Eddie draws out and thrusts back in, his rhythm is steady, slow. Each drag pulls new waves, each one has you moaning for more. The pleasure undeniable, it brings forwards a hunger that seemed to be starved, a pulsating heat that hooks your arms around his neck and has Eddie’s palms resting on your thighs, spreading you further. It’s absolutely filthy the image in front of you. You watch Eddie’s cock disappear in the hollow of your pussy between your legs, fingerprints stain your thighs as Eddie picks up the pace, his hips crashing against yours in a wet collision.

“Jesus H Christ, you’re so tight.”

Eddie’s tattoos flex along with his thrusts, the pictures and words dance across his skin, the black ink shining with sweat.

“Fuck, oh my god.”

“Ah, right there, oh fuck.”

Eddie’s railing you with relentless force, it’s a sticky wet fucking mess, echos of skin and moans bounce around you and his cock feels so fucking good. Your chest hammers against your rib cage, air seems to be long gone with every thrust. His curls stick to the creases of his forehead, his eyes watching you intently, almost possessive.

Your hands weave into the back of his hair and settle just at the nape, knuckles knot around the curls and you pull, Eddie’s head jars back momentarily and when he comes back to eye level there’s a flare of desire that bares straight to your centre, ignites a wildfire.

“Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Eddie grits out between teeth, the rumble in his tone matches the harsh imprints his hands leave upon your thighs, blunt nails scarring the skin.

“Show me, god, please.”

It’s down right fucking pornographic the moan Eddie emits, he wraps his arms around your waist and without falter, without removing himself he lifts you from the counter and lays you out on the floor beneath.

Before you even tried to protest, Eddie has your legs hooked over his shoulders, your knees press to your chest as he fucks into you. It’s deeper, the thrust of his cock hits the soft of your pussy and has you throwing your head back, even the contact with the harsh floor doesn’t register— Just Eddie’s cock sending you into complete fucking meltdown.

“Like this. M’ want you spread wide fucking open.”

He’s not shy, he pounds away with force and perfect precision, dips his head into the curve of your neck and his moans are like the perfect melody, ringing loud and hard.

“Oh fuck, Eddie. Jesus.”

“Let go, baby. Let me fucking feel you.”

Your stomach churns, the warmth bubbling with one last thrust into your soft spot and it has you clenched tight around his cock. Your orgasm baring down like a earthquake, leaving your thighs trembling and your body fucked out.

“Fuck, good girl, you feel so fucking good.”

Your pussy is soaking, Eddie fucks your orgasm right to the very edge, coats his along too. His thrusts wavier, you feel his cock swell and you reach out, grip his waist and urge him deeper.

“Shit, fuck, I’m going to cum baby.”

His eyes search yours in a hasty need, searching, asking.

“I’m covered, fill me up Eddie, please.”

It’s bares more a whine than a moan, the desperation drawn on every word.

“Holy fuck.”

You feel the hot substance coat the inside of your pussy, Eddie’s release seeping into the most intimate parts and it’s has you on cloud fucking nine.

Eddie sinks above you, his weight rests lightly above yours, the air is thick and humid, filled with heavy pants for air and raspy ends of lingering moans. Eddie rolls over, loops an arm and takes you with him, curled up beside him, tangled in arms and legs and it’s absolute bliss.

Eddie chuckles softly, nudges into the crook of your neck.

“Well, fuck.”

[munsons-maiden]

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Here's a little oneshot for you, lovelies! I hope you enjoy 🖤

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Eddie Munson x female reader (no physical descriptions, though)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Based on this request: could i request maybe eddie brings reader to a deal but wants her to stay in the van so she’s safe but the people he’s dealing to see her because she walked out to tell eddie something and it doesn’t go so well. and after the situation eddie and her argue but eddie’s upset and just what’s to protect her 🥺 but ofc it ends well🫡

- I hope you like it, dear!🖤

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | fights turning into love confessions, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst with a happy ending, attempted (sexual) assault

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝🖤

You can barely make out your surroundings, the little dirt path leading you deeper into the woods, in the darkness between the trees as you slowly draw closer – the moon and stars have vanished behind the clouds as if they’ve gone into hiding, and the taste of a summer storm already laces the stuffy air.

In all these years of being Eddie Munson’s friend, there’s been one simple rule when it comes to him meeting his customers for a drug deal:

Stay in the car.

The customers are harmless. It’s the cops I’m worried about, he tells you, expression stern, whenever you crack a joke about him being scared you could scare away a customer.

It’s tiny little Hawkins, and the deals gone wrong that sometimes make it into the TV news or newspaper headlines are over coke and heroin and all the hard stuff Eddie would never sell, not over something as harmless as weed or the occasional pill of ketamine.

Tonight has been no different.

It was supposed to be a quick deal on your way to the Carnival two towns over at Sycamore where you’re supposed to meet the rest of Hellfire.

Some new customer sent by Reefer Rick.

But the longer you’ve been sitting in Eddie’s van, in the dark, in the middle of the lonely road that cuts through the woods surrounding Hawkins…this nagging feeling started to grow in your chest. First into worry, then into outright panic when you’d watched the clock on the old van’s display tick, one minute turning into five, and five into ten.

What if something went wrong?

What if something horrible happened to him?

What if Eddie needs your help?

You wanted to tell him, tonight at the fair, beneath the see of glittering lights of the Ferris wheel. That you’re in love with him. That you’ve been, for a very long time. That even if he doesn’t feel the same, you need to say it out loud, how you first fell for all the tiny little pieces that make him Eddie and then wholly and utterly and completely.

When ten minutes bled into fifteen, and your mind had come up with the most horrid scenarios fueled by news coverage of drug deals breaking into violence, conjuring up gruesome images of Eddie bleeding out between the ferns and brambles covering the forest floor, blood soaking the moss, you couldn’t stay cooped up in the confines of his old van a second longer.

You broke Eddie’s one rule. You left the car and went looking for him.

As you’re now traipsing along the small dirt path cutting through the brambles and ferns, the fabric of your summer dress you’ve spent an entire weekend picking out at the mall just so Eddie might finally start seeing you as something else as his friend, sticking to your sweaty skin and thorns scratching at your legs, you realize that even if Eddie needs your help…how the fuck would you even be able to help him?

It’s not like you’re carrying a gun in the little bag you’re clutching at your side.

The sound of voices startles you out of your thoughts, and in the dark, your eyes lock on the two silhouettes in the little clearing ahead of you.

You recognize Eddie first – you’d recognize him everywhere.

He’s standing with his back to you. Even with the remaining distance between the two of you, the darkness of the woods, you can tell that his shoulders are tense.

His whole body is holding a kind of tension you’ve only ever seen on him once before, a few years ago, when his deadbeat father had shown up at the trailer park drunken and shouting curses into the wind before Eddie had dragged you into the safety Wayne’s trailer.

A twig snaps beneath your sneakers, and both Eddie and his customer whirl around to you.

And you realize you’ve made a huge mistake.

The guy in front of Eddie is no nervous classmate, not one of the chill stoner guys always hanging around beneath the bleachers. No friendly family dad or stressed housewife looking for a little relaxation or piece of rebellion.

The guy’s buzzcut does nothing to soften the harsh angles of his face, the lines around his mouth formed by the frown that seems to be engraved there.

There’s something menacing in his eyes as they lock on you.

Something evil and predatory.

The guy licks his lips, and his mouth curls into a lewd smirk, a twisted mirror to the abysmal panic in Eddie’s wide eyes as he stares at you.

You can read them like the pages of an open book.

What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay in the car!

The guy slaps a meaty hand on Eddie’s shoulder, hard enough to make Eddie sway a little on his feet with the impact. And contrary to what the jocks at Hawkins High believe, Eddie is strong.

“And at first I thought you’d brought the cops,” the guy laughs – but it’s not a friendly laugh. It doesn’t reach his eyes, either. He’s got muscles. A lot of them, flexing beneath his skin as he lets his arm sink from Eddie’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t do that to your old friend though, would you? Instead, you brought me a present.”

There’s an eagle tattooed across the guy’s throat, wings spread wide. It’s fitting, this bird of prey marking him. You feel like a tiny little robin beneath his gaze.

Eddie’s eyes haven’t left you for a single second.

“I told you to stay in the car.” His voice is strained with barely suppressed fury and, above all else…panic.

“Nah, we’re good,” the guy grins, letting his eyes roam over you.

Making you wish you were wearing something other than a short little summer dress.

“Come on closer, little birdie,” he drawls, “Don’t be shy now.”

“Go back to the car,” Eddie says, louder, the vehemence of his tone flashing in his panicked eyes. His voice is trembling. “Now.”

“What, you don’t want to introduce us?” The man drawls. The threat in his own voice is as clear and tangible as the panic in Eddie’s umber eyes as he shakes his head, the movement subtle, barely visible. Go, he mouths. Now.

At the guy, he adds, “I thought we were here to talk about business.”

“You want me to focus on business when you brought your pretty girl with you, boy?” The guy makes a beckoning motion at you, still frozen like a deer in the headlights, rooted to your spot only feet away from him and Eddie. “Come closer, doll. Don’t be shy now.”

“No,” Eddie interjects, fervor smoothing his voice as it cuts through the rain-laced air of the clearing, despair flashing out beneath the panic, “She’s not part of this.”

You’re scared out of your mind.

But hell will freeze over before you leave Eddie alone with this man.

So you do what the guy told you.

You step closer, coming to stand beside Eddie.

“Tell you what, boy,” the man purrs, tearing his eyes off of you to meet Eddie’s, a flash of yellowed teeth in diffuse moonlight, as his smirk grows into a grin so devilish you wouldn’t have been surprised had they been pointed, “I’m gonna give you a few more bucks and you’re gonna give me a few minutes with your lovely lady here.”

Beside you, Eddie inches closer to you, shifting to place himself between the guy and you.

Trying to shield you with his own body, you realize.

Eddie Munson, who always swore he was no hero outside of D&D, is becoming your hero right now.

“I’ll give you everything I got with me right now, and you leave,” Eddie counters, voice hard.

A desperate attempt to get you out of this situation.

Almost completely hidden from the guy’s field of vision with Eddie having placed himself in front of you, his muscles taut and ready to fight, your hands slowly dive into the bag slung over your shoulder, fingertips carefully feeling for something, anything, to use to protect him, to protect both of you –

“Or,” the man drawls, taking a step closer, with the ease of a predator rounding in on a wounded fawn, “I’ll just take whatever you got and have some fun with your pretty lady.”

It happens too fast to see it coming.

There’s a snapping sound as the flick-knife the guy must have been holding, concealed in his meaty fist and the dark of night, is flipped open, the jagged blade flashing in the obscure beams of moonlight filtering through the clouds and the foliage of trees above your heads – and Eddie pushes you farther behind him.

Placing yourself between you and the knife’s path as he snaps, voice vibrating, “Stay the fuck away from her.”

The man lets out a low, rumbling chuckle. “And what are you gonna do, hm?”

There. Your fingers wrap around something smooth and cool nestled at the bottom of your bag.

And not a second too soon.

Before the guy can let the knife in his fist soar down to hurt Eddie, you duck around your friend, your own hand flying up as you press your index finger down in the spray bottle in your sweaty grip, sending a blast of hair spray straight into the guy’s face.

He screams, hands flying up to cover his eyes as he stumbles backwards, and the flick-knife lands between the ferns.

Eddie doesn’t waste a single second.

His hand finding yours, he pulls you away from the screaming, staggering man and pushes you towards the path that leads back to the road and the van and safety. Together, you break into a run.

You don’t notice the thorns of the brambles cutting your legs, the burn of your lungs, your muscles, because it all fades to white noise beneath the roaring of blood in your ears, the wild pounding of your heart, Eddie’s own racing steps behind you.

Only at the edges of your panic-addled mind you realize that he’s staying behind you to make sure you’ll get away, first.

The van comes up in the distance, a flash of white among the leaves and branches, and you feel the first tender burst of relief wash through you at the sight.

Eddie rips the driver’s side door open, all but shoving you inside and onto the passenger seat as he climbs in after you, and the old engine comes to life with a sputtering roar. The van jerks forwards with screeching tires as your hands shoot out to grab the door’s handle to avoid toppling over into the footwell.

As the vehicle bolts down the country road leading out of the woods, silence descends upon you, heavy and loud even beneath the roar of the engine, your own panting breaths slowly calming.

You cast Eddie a careful sideways glance.

He doesn’t look at you.

His eyes are glued to the road the way his foot is glued to the gas pedal, jaw set, and his knuckles clamped around the wheel are white.

You’ve never seen him so angry in all the time you’ve known him.

You’ve never felt so angry in all the time you’ve known him, either.

When the van emerges from the woods and lights of the carnival come into sight, the twinkling form of the Ferris wheel rising over the rolling fields of wheat covering the landscape, Eddie steers the vehicle to the side of the road.

By the time he cuts off the engine and pushes the driver’s door open with a force that makes you fear it’ll just rip off its hinges, he still hasn’t uttered a single word.

You reach for the latch in your own door, but before you can open it, Eddie has already rounded the hood, and the door is ripped open to reveal his face, unreadable and void of all the usual humor and goofiness.

“Are you okay?” It sounds strangely hollow, the way he says it.

“Eddie –“

“Are you okay?” It’s nearly a shout, but not an angry one. Only scared. So fucking scared that it makes his voice shake as much as his hands coming up to rake through his curls while his dark eyes roam over you in the diffuse moonlight over the field, the dim glow of the lights inside the van, scanning the tiny cuts decorating your face and arms and legs where the brambles and branches of the woods have left their marks during your flight.

You give a tentative nod.

The breath he seems to have been holding leaves in a sharp exhale as he rakes his hand through his dark curls once more, sending stray leaves falling out as he starts pacing at the edge of the road.

You climb out of the car.

And the storm that’s been building the past few minutes breaks lose – not in the sky, but down beneath it.

“I TOLD YOU TO STAY IN THE FUCKING CAR!”

Eddie has never shouted at you.

You’ve never shouted at him, either, but it breaks out of you like a flood-wave.

“ME?! THIS IS MY FAULT?!”

“YES! FUCKING HELL YES IT IS! SHIT. IF YOU HAD, JUST FOR ONCE, LISTENED –“

“ME?! I’M NOT THE ONE MEETING FUCKING KILLERS IN THE WOODS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!”

“THAT’S WHY I TOLD YOU TO STAY –“

“IF I’D STAYED IN THE CAR, YOU’D BE DEAD ON THE FOREST FLOOR NOW!” The thought of it, of Eddie, bleeding out between the ferns, scared and alone and in pain, makes the tears spill over and your voice shatter as you choke out the rest of the sentence in a miserable little whisper. “You’d be fucking dead!” Saying it aloud brings back the fury at him for being so fucking careless. “HE WAS ABOUT TO HURT YOU!”

“AND THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN WAY BETTER THAN IF HE’D HURT YOU! I CAN’T LOSE YOU, I FUCKING LOVE YOU!”

Eddie’s words shut you up.

They ring through the night, mingle with the soft summer breeze that ruffles the stalks of wheat in the nearby field, the rustling too loud in the shellshocked silence.

The tears which have been glittering in his dark eyes have started running down his pale cheeks.

For a few wild heartbeats, you just stare at each other in the moonlight piercing through the passing clouds, the glow of colorful lights of the fair at the edge of the field sending flares into the night, the stuffy summer night’s air pressing down on the two of you.

In a few quick strides, both of you cross the small distance between the two of you, meeting in the middle.

And then, you’re kissing.

And the world stills, heartbeat accelerating as panic and adrenaline bleed into something entirely else, something that’s been trapped within you for so long it takes a second to realize this, right now, is truly happening.

Eddie’s lips, soft and hot against yours, his palms cradling your face, the metal of his rings warm with the heat of his body as they press gently against your skin.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.

He kisses you like he really, truly means it.

Because I fucking love you.

It’s better, so much better than even your wildest daydreams.

You know you’ll never want to kiss anyone else after this.

You know you don’t ever want this kiss to end.

It does, eventually. Eddie pulls away, wide-eyed and panting, lips slightly apart in a gape and curls in a tangled mess – from his own hands raking through it or yours right now, you can’t tell. Even in the half-dark of the night, you can see the blush dusting his cheeks.

“I – I’m sorry,” he breathes, the kiss-dazed gleam in his eyes making room for an appalled expression. “God, fuck, I’m – I didn’t think. I didn’t even ask –“

“I’ve been waiting for you to do this for a very long time,” you say quietly, giving him a soft smile.

For a moment, Eddie just stares at you, as if he’s contemplating whether his mind is playing tricks on him. “You, uh. You did?”

“Yeah,” you whisper into the few inches of between the two of you. “And now I’ll be waiting for you to do it again.”

He does. Not a single beat of hesitation.

This time, when Eddie’s lips meet yours, it’s softer, slower, yet just as intoxicating and feverish as that first kiss.

His hands snake up to cup your cheeks and angle your head as he slowly walks you backwards, until your back meets the side of the van, the metal still warm from the day and the sweltering night air, and butterflies flood your belly, your entire body, a colorful swarm of them making your skin tingle in all the places his body brushes against yours. His chest against yours, one of his knees between yours, his calloused fingertips gently trailing down the column of your throat.

Kissing Eddie Munson is as easy as breathing.

“I meant it,” he breathes into the kiss, before resting his forehead against yours, the curls of his bangs tickling you, “What I said. I’m so fucking sorry I dragged you into this mess. I’m so fucking sorry I put you in danger.” He swallows. “And I’m so fucking much in love with you.”

“I love you, too,” you whisper, placing a kiss to the corner of his lips, feeling his smile. “I’ve been loving you for a very long time, Eddie.”

You place your hands over his, still holding your face.

“I was so fucking scared,” Eddie murmurs, voice trembling again with new tears. “Fuck. I was so stupid –“

“We’re okay,” you whisper, fingers squeezing his, “We’re safe. You saved me.”

“Shit, you saved me. What even was that? Pepper spray?”

You chuckle. “Farah Fawcett hair spray.”

Eddie blinks, before he gives a breathless little laugh, as if he’s not sure he’d rather laugh or cry. Probably both. “Pretty fucking metal.”

“I wanted to look pretty for you tonight,” you amend, and Eddie’s expression grows serious again.

“You always look pretty, sweetheart. I’ve been having a pretty hard time not ogling you every second we’re together.”

“You need to promise me you’ll never ever meet clients in the middle of the woods. Not at night. Not by day either. And –“

“I promise,” Eddie interrupts, voice sincere. “I’m gonna stick to the clients I know. No expanding the business.”

“Good,” you breathe, letting your hands fall away from his to lock them at the nape of his neck, fingertips playing with his dark curls.

“Your hair is really soft,” you breathe, lips not an inch from his, feeling stupid all of a sudden for saying it out loud, but Eddie replies with an adorable little giggle that makes your heart soar and race and squeeze with love all at the same time.

“Thanks. It’s…uh. Don’t laugh. It’s Farah Fawcett conditioner.”

Your own soft laugh fades into the night as Eddie’s lips find yours again, the summer storm brewing over your heads and the glittering lights of the carnival in the distance and the moment of terror in the woods blurring against the radiant joy of knowing the one you love loves you back just as much.

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝🖤

Requests for angst/smangst remain open. If you want to check out my works in progress, here's the list🖤

[sillysowa]

Could you do a lil one-shot of Hobie and fem reader on a road trip, reader driving until he takes the wheel since she took too many distracted stops at roadside shops. That’s until he takes his own stop this time but it involves him on her lap🤭 or not, nsfw or sfw- just a lil idea <3

Not gonna lie, I started writing this request and half way through I realized I read it wrong. Hobie on her lap caught me off guard and I didn’t quite understand how to do that in a car (or what your specific idea was) but I hope this is satisfactory—I went with a switch reader vibe!

I WANNA BE SEDATED!

PAIRING: HOBIE BROWN X FEM!READER

GENRE: SMUT! PWP

WORD COUNT: 1.2K

WARNINGS: USE OF Y/N, USE OF PET-NAMES, SEX IN A CAR, SLIGHTLY DOM READER AT POINTS, VAGINAL SEX

AUTHORS NOTE: NOT PROOFREAD SO THERE MAY BE SLIGHT MISTAKES!

SYNOPSIS: WHATS A ROAD TRIP WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND WITH NO SEX ON THE HIGHWAY?

—

“Oh my god, Hobie! This one looks cute!” You gush for about the sixth time in the past two hours, pulling off into another local cafe in a small town. The car swings to the side as you enter the tiny parking lot and Hobie’s lanky frame bangs around in his seat as he clings to the handle on his side,

“Shit! Holy fuck, love! Go easy.” He curses, laughing in complete disbelief at your trash driving. You pull into the small bakery parking lot and bother the shit out of Hobie the entire time you’re inside (he loves it.) He pays for it all and you leave with a couple cases of sweets and pile them into your baskets in the back of the car for safekeeping. You “dust” your hands off, reaching for the drivers side door when Hobie’s hand shoots out and snatches your wrist,

“I don’t think so, dollface. It’s my turn—get your sweet ass in the passenger seat.” Hobie quips, nodding towards the other side of the car. You huff and walk over,

“Your driving isn’t any better than mine!” You say, getting comfortable in your seat and not so discreetly catching glimpses at Hobie’s hands as he turns the car on and shifts it into reverse.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He laughs, his hand over you and firmly on the back of your seat as pulls out of the parking lot.

“Oh shut up.” You snap, sipping your drink and messing with his radio. When he’s noticed this, he quickly stops you,

“Ah-ah-ah! I’m driving, my songs.” He tsks, waving his finger at you all annoyingly and pointing to the cds he brought into your car. (He stole every single one.) You sift through all of them, announcing the titles until Hobie gives you the green light on one,

“Road to ruin, Ramones?”

“Yes! Play that one, love.” He smiles, eyes on the road as you put the CD in. Instantly, loud punk rock fills the car, the both of you getting hype and energetic. Hobie drummed his ring clad fingers over the wheel, thrashing his head around and yelling out lyrics, having the time of his life. He stole glances at you—the way your lips locked around the straw of your drink from the cafe, the way you sang along to his favorite songs, and how jaw droppingly gorgeous you look as his passenger princess. It made him feel a certain way, his mischievous side coming out as he pulls over the car in the middle of nowhere on the busy highway.

“Hobie?-“

“Get in the back baby.” Hobie mumbles, that special glint in his eyes as he looks at you, swallowing. You smile widely for a moment before you hurriedly unbuckle and clamor into the backseat with Hobie, a giggling mess. His tall stature struggles in the small car, stumbling around and falling onto the seats. You’re both breathless and laughing, the sunlight fading from view and the only lighting being the cars on the road and the inside lights on in the front seat. Hobie’s under you, kissing you passionately with his hips thrusting up against yours. You break the kiss to suck hickeys into his neck, your whole body shuddering at the sounds he makes,

“A-Ah! Fuck-Don’t stop.” He grunts, his hands finding their way to your hips. You pull back looking him in the eyes, waiting,

“Oh, Y/N don’t make me-“

“Beg.”

“Fuck.” Hobie sighs, looking up at your beautiful smiling eyes, the sadistic look in your them making his cock twitch,

“Please…please don’t stop.” Hobie grunts, his hand reaching up into your hair and tugging it, the moan that leaves your lips a firm reminder of how much you both want this. You grin at him, leaning down and kissing his neck, sucking hickeys right into that sensitive spot of his. Hobie’s hips grind into yours, and you grind back. He’s breathless in the warm air, the windows starting to fog up in the corners.

“Y/N…Y/N.” He moans, reaching up and holding your waist, his fingers dipping under your top as he looks up at you, asking for permission. You nod and he instantly pulls your shirt off of you, nearly cumming at the sight of your tits.

“Fuck…” He groans, sitting up slightly and immediately flicking his tongue over one your nipples, the needy look in his eyes and the sensation driving you insane. Hobie sucks and licks your nipples, biting every now and then, letting out growl-like noises. The bulge in his jeans is hard against your covered pussy, and you feel his need in the sweat on his skin, the agog look in his eyes and the labored breathing that plagues him as he tugs at your pants by the belt loops. Both of you waste no time in stripping completely naked, panting as his loud rock music thrums in your skulls,

“Y-Y/N please,”

“I’m ready, Hobie.” You groan, your pussy rubbing over his hard cock before he grabs your face in his two large hands and kisses you passionately. It’s a mess—you’re both groaning and moaning, so horny you think you could die. Hobie breaks the kiss. his gaze traveling down to where you sink your hips down and he slides all the way inside you. Hobie squeezes his eyes shut at the feeling—warm, wet, walls clenching his cock and threatening to milk him for all he’s got. Hobie feels his adrenaline race and his arms come around your back, pulling your flat against his chest as he fucks you as hard as he can,

“H-Hobie!” You moan, surprised as he aggressively rams into that sweet spot in you, the sound of sex barely heard over the sound of punk rock. The car shakes and your eyes roll into the back of your head at the sensation of his cock deep inside you, stretching you wide open and leaving you breathless,

“Take it, doll. Take all of it, I know you can—your pussy loves my dick, fuckin’ made for it.” He groans, a mumbling mess drunk on your pussy. He fucks you with a steady rhythm, the cars on the road flying past the both of you with their high beams illuminating the car. Hobie’s eyebrows are pinched, his face warm to the touch and you can what his heart beating rapidly. Your pussy clenches and pulsates, the feeling of being fucked like this leaving you delirious. Your head was fuzzy, and your walls were growing tighter as you neared your orgasm, Hobie dirty-talking you through it.

You feel warm cum spilling out of you as he just beats up your insides. You couldn’t tell how many times you came, all you knew was “Yes!” “More!” and “Hobie~!” Hobie loosened his grip on you just as he was about to cum, moving his head to kiss you while he spills inside you, both of you moaning into each others mouths. It was loud, it was messy, and it was insane. You felt the twitching of his entire length as his warm cum filled your insides, Hobie still pumping into you in your overstimulation. You both had to take a minute to regroup yourselves after that kind of sex, stumbling to sit up and get dressed again,

“Couldn’t help it, you looked so good sucking that straw eatlier.” Hobie confesses as he pulls his jeans on,

You laugh, disbelief al over your face, “That’s what this was about? You fucking pervert!” You laugh, playfully shoving his arm. Hobie smirks,

“I’ll be that if it means fucking you like this.” Hobie says in a deep tone as he grabs your face and kisses you roughly, getting a taste of you one last time before you have to get on the road again.

[hayatheauthor]

Everything You Need To Know About Writing Bruises 

Welcome to the latest instalment in my ongoing series on crafting realistic wounds in fiction. After delving into stab wounds, burns, and gunshot wounds, we're turning our attention to another crucial element in bringing your characters and their stories to life: bruises.

Bruises are possibly the most common miswritten injury in fiction. As tempting as it might be to make the protagonist's skin bruise when the morally grey characters clutches her wrist, scenes like this only serve to ruin immersion and make your readers wonder whether this could realistically happen. 

Unlike the other wound types I've covered in this series, the internet doesn't seem to have a lot of writing advice for bruises. So, here's my comprehensive guide to writing bruises. 

Types of Bruises

Understanding Bruise Formation:

Bruises are a common occurrence in everyday life, from the accidental bump into a table corner to the aftermath of an intense sporting event. But before we dive into the art of crafting realistic bruises in your writing, let's start by understanding how bruises form.

Bruises, also known as contusions, result from the rupture of blood vessels beneath the skin's surface, typically veins and capillaries. When these vessels break, blood leaks into the surrounding tissue. The body's natural response to this injury is to initiate the healing process, causing inflammation and discolouration.

Differentiating Types of Bruises:

Not all bruises are created equal. Understanding the various types of bruises will help you describe them accurately in your writing. Here, we'll explore the common distinctions among bruise types.

Contusions: Contusions are the most typical type of bruises. They often occur due to blunt force or trauma, resulting in pain and discolouration.

Subcutaneous Bruises: These are the most typical bruises resulting from blunt force trauma. Subcutaneous bruises appear as dark, discoloured areas under the skin and can change in colour as they heal, starting with red or purple and transitioning to green, yellow, and eventually fading away.

Hematoma: A hematoma is a more severe type of bruise caused by the collection of blood outside of blood vessels. Hematomas often appear as a raised lump under the skin and can take longer to heal.

Petechiae: Petechiae are tiny, red or purple pinpoint spots that can form when small blood vessels near the skin's surface break. These are often a sign of more severe underlying medical conditions.

Ecchymosis: Ecchymosis is a large bruise that covers a wider area, typically caused by substantial trauma or medical conditions. These bruises tend to be darker and may require more time to heal.

Tattoo Bruises: Sometimes, an object's pattern or texture may leave a distinct mark, resembling a tattoo. These can occur when someone is subjected to direct pressure from an object with an intricate or textured surface.

These distinctions will enable you to convey the type of bruise accurately in your storytelling, reflecting the nature and severity of the injury your character has endured. So, when crafting a scene in which your character sustains a bruise, you can choose the type that best suits your narrative.

Causes of Bruises:

Bruises can occur for various reasons, and knowing these causes will help you craft believable narratives. It's important to note that not every physical interaction results in a bruise, and your characters shouldn't bruise from actions that typically don't lead to bruising. For instance, someone holding another person's arm tightly is unlikely to cause a bruise.

Common Causes of Bruises:

Blunt Force: The most common cause of bruises is blunt force trauma. This can occur from falls, accidents, or impacts, such as bumping into furniture or being struck by an object.

Pinching or Squeezing: Intense pinching or squeezing, especially on delicate skin areas, can lead to bruises. For example, if a character pinches their arm or thigh too hard in frustration, a bruise may develop.

Repetitive Motion: Overusing or repeatedly striking a particular area, like through strenuous exercise or certain work activities, can cause tiny blood vessels to rupture and lead to bruising.

Medical Conditions: Some medical conditions, like blood disorders or certain medications, can make a person more prone to bruising.

Ageing: As skin becomes thinner and more fragile with age, it's more susceptible to bruising even from minor bumps or impacts.

It's crucial to consider the appropriateness of a bruise in your story. Understanding when and how a character can realistically develop a bruise will help maintain the credibility of your narrative.

Characteristics of Bruises:

Accurately depicting bruises in your writing involves considering various characteristics, such as:

Colour Changes: Bruises typically undergo a series of colour changes during the healing process. They usually start with shades of red, purple, or blue due to the initial bleeding under the skin. As the bruise heals, it can turn green, yellow, or brown before fading entirely. These colour shifts can be an essential detail when describing the progression of a character's injuries.

Size and Shape: The size and shape of a bruise depend on the impact's force and the underlying blood vessels' distribution. Bruises can be small, like a fingertip mark, or large, covering a significant portion of the body. Irregularly shaped bruises may indicate multiple impacts or trauma.

Tenderness and Swelling: A fresh bruise is often tender to the touch, and the area around it may be swollen. Describing your characters' reactions to this tenderness and swelling can make the injuries feel more lifelike.

Pain and Discomfort: Bruises can be painful, and the level of pain may vary depending on their size and location. Detailing your character's pain and discomfort can enhance the realism of your narrative.

Itching and Healing: As a bruise heals, it may become itchy. This can be an interesting detail to add, showing the progress of the injury and your character's recovery.

Duration: Mention the duration of a bruise. Some may heal relatively quickly, while others can linger for weeks. Knowing how long a character's bruise lasts can impact their daily life and the story's timeline.

Factors Affecting Bruise Appearance and Healing:

Bruises aren't one-size-fits-all injuries. Their appearance and healing process can vary based on several factors:

Location: Bruises can look different depending on where they occur on the body. For instance, a bruise on a bony area, like the shin, might appear more pronounced compared to a bruise on a fleshier part, like the thigh.

Age and Health: The age and overall health of your character play a significant role. Younger, healthier characters may heal faster and have bruises that change colour and fade more quickly. Conversely, older characters or those with health issues might have bruises that take longer to heal.

The severity of the Injury: The force and severity of the impact determine the size, shape, and colours of the bruise. Consider whether the injury was caused by a minor bump, a hard fall, or a violent struggle.

Character's Skin Tone: The appearance of a bruise can be affected by the character's skin tone. It might be more challenging to spot a bruise on darker skin, and the colours may appear differently.

Treatment and First Aid: The way a character treats a bruise can affect its healing. Mention how characters apply ice, warmth, or topical remedies to their bruises.

Character's Pain Tolerance: Some characters may have a higher pain tolerance and can bear a bruise without much discomfort, while others might find even a small bruise painful.

Clothing and Cover-Up: Characters may conceal bruises with clothing or makeup. This can impact how they are perceived by others.

By understanding these factors, you can tailor your descriptions to create a more authentic portrayal of bruises in your writing.

Healing Process of Bruises:

A key element in writing realistic bruises is depicting their healing process. Here's how to effectively describe it:

Gradual Changes: Highlight the evolving nature of the bruise over time. The progression of colours—red to blue, green, and yellow—is a visual cue that indicates the bruise's age. This chronological shift in colour offers readers insights into the passage of time within your narrative.

Concealment and Exposure: Address the issue of concealing or revealing the bruise. Depending on its location, characters may need to don concealing clothing, apply makeup, or use other means to hide or reveal their injuries. Such choices can significantly impact the character's interactions and relationships.

Medical Care: Mention whether the character seeks medical attention for their bruise. Medical professionals can provide insights into the severity of the injury and the potential complications that might arise during the healing process. Additionally, you can explore any treatments, remedies, or advice offered by healthcare providers.

Impact on the Character: Describe how the presence of a bruise affects the character's daily life, activities, and interactions with others. A prominent facial bruise, for instance, can influence the character's self-esteem, social interactions, or how they are perceived by those around them. Emotions and psychological effects should not be overlooked.

Varied Healing Timelines: Recognize that the healing process can vary from one character to another. Factors such as age, overall health, and the severity of the injury can affect how quickly the bruise fades. This variation can add depth and authenticity to your character's experiences.

Scarring and Discoloration: Note that severe injuries may leave lasting scars or discolouration on the skin. Explore any permanent marks or changes that remain after the bruise has healed.

By incorporating these aspects into your narrative, you can create a nuanced portrayal of the healing process of bruises and its impact on your characters.

I hope this blog on Everything You Need To Know About Writing Bruises will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[queenimmadolla]

A little sneak peak of a request! I was trying to finish this one before I got smashed but SOME PEOPLE did not like certain details, so I have to fix it. BUT this is proof that I do indeed be writing, I swear, I just grow very intensely annoyed when something doesn't turn out perfect and the way I want it immediately, so I throw it in The Vault! Just know, everything in The Vault will be released :)

𝐃𝐚𝐝!𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫!𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭!𝐌𝐨𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - angst, hurt/comfort 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 ♡

You’d expected it to be dramatic.

  Your water breaking that is, but as you stared down at your toes, barely visible past your baby bump, pants darkening around your crotch and the liquid trailing down your leg to gather in a small puddle beneath you, you almost felt nothing, save for ennui. 

  Your last two pregnancies had been quite the spectacle; your first being dramatic in itself for the sole reason of being your first time bringing a child into the world. The second time almost killed you and your baby.

  You’d been wary of having any more after that, fearful you wouldn’t be able to carry to term and the possibility of losing your own life. It would mean you wouldn’t get to see Penny and Wayne grow up.

  It brought both you and your husband a sense of responsibility with your sex life that you hadn’t quite possessed before. There had been almost a four year gap between your oldest and (now) middle child and the gap between he and this baby would be even longer at about six.

  Pretty good luck, considering you hadn’t wanted to get pregnant for a third time, at all. Yes, you had been wary before but now, with things between you and your husband as they were, it seemed irresponsible and senseless to bring another child into the picture.

  Hell, conceiving your baby alone was a miracle. All you did was fight and ignore each other, made easier with the fact that Eddie was always away. Always missing school awards, always missing dance recitals and shows, parent teacher conferences, always missing out on your family. 

  Ever since Corroded Coffin broke through mainstream music, you and your children had to share your husband with the world. More often than not, it was the world who got to have him.

  It led to fights, vicious ones. Words and insults thrown out, screaming, accusations ranging from spite to infidelity, and magazines thrown around with their intentionally triggering headlines featuring pretty women in the same vicinity as the man who shared your vows. 

  The man who once was just a boy you greatly admired in school, sat a couple of desks ahead of you. The boy who approached you and then followed from then on. The boy who was the first to make love to you, not fuck. The boy whose heart you had broken in the past. The boy who welcomed you back with open arms. The boy who asked you the most important question of your life while surrounded by a sea of high school graduates, caps and gowns. The boy whose baby you had a year after that.

  You’d dreamt of a life with him, at his side while he pursued music with his band. And then life happened, and you were both surprisingly at ease with putting those dreams to rest, in favor of the new ones you welcomed in little bundles of blankets, smelling of baby powder.

  You never let Eddie fully give up on pursuing music, he still played shows whenever he could, waving and blowing kisses from the stage at the tiny people in your arms with large headphones over their sensitive ears to protect them.

  But that had been small venues, overnight trips at best.

  Fame was an entirely different monster.

  Fame was weeks away, and on occasion, months. When you had imagined your future with Eddie as a teen, traveling the world with him, there hadn’t been a family in tow. Kids.

  You had them now, and you couldn’t imagine your life without them. Wouldn’t want to. It was unfair of you, and completely untrue, but you thought Eddie might.

[rustedhearts]

everytime (steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: despite your break up two months ago, you can't seem to stay away from each other. when you need him, he's there. but how long can this really last?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the steve collection ♡

tags: steve + reader are college age (early-mid 20s), alcohol consumption, angst, hurt/comfort-ish, reader may have a bit of a substance abuse issue (it's heavily implied), accidental casual dominance? (steve really just takes care of her)

"every time i try to fly i fall without my wings, i feel so small. i guess i need you, baby. and every time i see you in my dreams, i see your face, it's haunting me. i guess i need you, baby."

—everytime, britney spears (ethel cain cover)

hawkins, indiana 1999

For your first date, Steve took you to Harvey's: a little retro milkshake diner off the interstate with the soggiest salted French fries and the smoothest strawberry shake you'd ever had in your life. He kissed you against the tin wall, right beneath the neon crimson exit sign. He held your hand on the drive home and kissed your knuckles at stop signs. You're so fuckin' beautiful, he told you on your porch.

That was senior year, three years ago.

For your last date, Steve took you to Enzo's: the fanciest Italian restaurant in town with bitter sauce and crunchy breadsticks. He didn't kiss you on the way there, nor the way back. You barely looked each other in the eye during the entire meal. When the check came, Steve slid it into his lap and turned to your hand, limp and empty on the tabletop. This isn't working anymore...is it? he asked you.

That was two months ago.

Your relationship had been on the outs for a while. All you did was fight, and not the fun, witty banter you used to have. The arguments turned explosive: doors slamming, engines revving, broken picture frames. Steve accused you of flirting with every man you came in contact with. You accused him of insecurity and projection. The pair of you made a scene no matter where you went, and soon it became exhausting just to be in your presence. You were bitter and bitchy, no longer the sweet girl he loved to make giggle. You became resentful and mean, and he became passive and silent.

It wasn't working, and it hadn't been working for a while.

You moved out of the apartment and in with a friend from college, taking the tiny spare bedroom she'd been using for storage. Most of it lived in the closet now, but the space was yours. The move was difficult—you'd lived with Steve since the day after high school graduation. You were gonna get married. You were gonna move west to California when you were done with school and abandon Indiana together. The pair of you had dreams bigger than this town, and now that you had gone your separate ways, they felt out of reach.

But you hadn't really gone your separate ways, had you?

You spoke on the phone a few nights a week, murmuring in the darkness about your days. Though it always went unspoken, I miss you bled through every phone call. When he inevitably sighed, and the receiver crackled with his shuffling, you had to bite way tears. I should get to bed, he'd say, and he'd say it like an apology. You soaked your pillow, wishing you'd told him you loved him a little more than you did when you had the chance.

Because you always loved Steve, and you were certain you always would. Nobody had ever been so kind to you, so sweet and understanding. Steve saw you for who you were, and never wanted you to change. But you pulled away from him, pushed him out when he tried to get in. Nobody bothered to stick around as long as Steve did. And that scared you.

Now here you were, crying yourself to sleep.

♡ ♡

One thing you didn't lose in the breakup were your friends. They refused to pick sides, insisting that there was no need to choose one or the other when they could easily split their time. More often than not, you found yourself waving to Steve through Eddie Munson's apartment window as he got into his car and drove off—like switching shifts, alternating between your visits and Steve's. He'd wave back, a stiff palm in the air directed your way in the windshield, paired with a tight-lipped, solemn smile.

Tonight, Eddie was hosting a party with his girlfriend, Gwen, and you knew the crowd would be absent of Steve. The only reason Steve ever attended parties was because you wanted to. He much preferred staying in and reading, or going to dinner just the two of you. He hated crowds and loud music, the 'sloppy drunks and fuzzy potheads' as he called them. He hated Eddie's other friends, and he hated you around them. You were always a little too eager to guzzle alcohol and puff a joint—it was the topic of many of your arguments.

He wasn't wrong, and that's what pissed you off the most.

Because here you were, on your third rum and coke of the night, sipping from a tiny red straw and chewing on the plastic. Eyes hazy and rimmed pink, cheeks flushed with warmth, sweating down your spine. The apartment was crammed with people like sardines in a tin can, and you stumbled through them on your way to the kitchen for some sort of snack. There, you found Robin and Gwen leaning against the sink, eyeing you pitifully as you fell between them with a sigh.

"What's up, girls?" You were out of breath and slurring your words.

They shared a look over your head, cringing. "How many have you had, babe?" Gwen asked.

You hummed, rubbing at your eye and smearing glitter across your cheek. "Uh...like two? Three. Definitely three."

"Three and?"

You huffed, tipping your head back exasperatedly. "Three and, like, one fucking hit. How many have you had, Robin?"

Your tone was mean. It always got a little sharp and cruel when you had too much to drink. The words always came flying out before you could swallow them, and you always woke the next morning with a massive headache and a ball of regret the size of Canada sitting in your throat. You felt it, a pang of guilt stabbing your gut, when you saw your friends' faces fall. You felt it, wringing your heart like a wet washcloth when Steve would stomp off.

"Hey. We're just looking out for you," Gwen interjected, brows furrowing at your tone.

Your cheeks flamed, teeth digging into the fleshy interior of your cheek to stop the tears of humiliation from springing forth. You turned around shakily and took a warm cheese cube from the platter on the counter.

"I know. But I'm...I'm fine. Okay?"

The girls sighed, and Eddie came shuffling into the kitchen with a beer and a cigarette in hand. He wrapped an inked arm around Gwen's neck, pulling her in by the crook of his elbow to plant a loud kiss on the top of her head. She fit into his side and nuzzled his neck, smiling in greeting. You swallowed, throat coated with thick warning. You were going to cry, and you sure as fuck weren't gonna do it here.

"Hey, what's up, scholar?" Eddie asked you, smacking your arm playfully.

You refused to turn around, knowing if you did the whole kitchen would see your glossy eyes and wobbling lip. But this just made you mean again, and as you plucked more cheese from the counter and poked at limp peppers, you pulled in on yourself. Eddie turned to his girlfriend and Robin, who shook their heads dejectedly.

"You okay, honey?" Robin reached out to rub your arm, and you curled away to wave her off, keeping your face angled toward the floor.

"I'm fine. I just...I'm gonna...go wash my hands."

You hurried off, refusing to meet their eyes as you went. You staggered through a sea of people, dizzy and foggy-headed, struggling to breathe. Gwen and Eddie's bedroom was the last door on the left, and you burst into the room with an urgent gasp of breath. The door slammed after you, and you had half a mind to sink onto the floor and lie there for the rest of the night until you stopped crying—but then you saw the phone.

You didn't even think about it.

You knew the number by heart. You dialed the numbers like second nature, lifting the phone to your ear to cradle the cool plastic with shaky fingers. You sniffled to clear the snot, swiping at the tears dripping down your cheeks. The dial tone droned. Once, twice, three times. You sank onto the floor against the bed, leaning your head back against the soft mattress.

"Hello?"

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Stevie?"

It was quiet a moment, and then another soft sigh. "Honey...why are you callin' me? Is everything okay?"

His voice, so soft and smooth like it always was, felt like a security blanket. It wrapped around you, tendrils curling around your bones to hold them tight like he used to. And you wanted nothing more than to hear that voice murmuring in your ear, with his arms around you to keep you safe. Everything's been so off-kilter since he left. Since you left each other. Every day feels like finding your footing all over again. Naked and bare, you weren't sure which direction to go in unless he was there to guide you.

And as selfish as it sounded, you wanted him to guide you again.

"N-No. I'm so fucked up, Steve—it's so fucked up."

Shuffling crackled through the receiver, and you imagined Steve sitting up in bed and rubbing his tousled hair. He sounded tired when he spoke again. "You been drinkin', baby?"

You nodded, sniffling nosily. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Stevie."

Keys tinkled like wind chimes in the distance of the other line. "Where are you, honey? Hmm? Do you know?"

You sighed, snot rattling in the back of your throat. Your hand fell to the itchy carpet beneath your legs, rubbing your palm to scratch it. You hated how this sounded like a routine. Like he expected you to call, all fucked out and lost. You wished you were better for him.

"M' at Eddie's."

"Oh, okay," Steve sounded a little relieved. "Stay where you are, alright?" He was coming to you.

"Steve...you don't have t' come, m' sorry. M' sorry, just...I'm all over the place."

"I'll be right there."

The line clicked, and you carefully placed the phone back in the cradle. The tears started up again, full force and breathless. You gasped for air and hiccuped like an infant as you clawed your way onto the bed, sprawling out on your back. You were grateful the room was dark. You didn't want to see yourself like this.

You listened the songs change while you waited to calm your cries. The room hadn't stopped spinning, and your throat felt so tight. Your chest hurt with a hollow ache that hadn't gone away since your last night at Steve's. You slept in the same bed, facing opposite walls. In the morning, you slid your key across the table and kissed his cheek. He carried your boxes to the car and stroked your cheek with his thumb against the passenger door. He smelled like hazelnut coffee and sleep.

Four songs passed before you heard familiar voices murmuring outside the door.

"Jesus, Steve, you can't keep coming to rescue her," Robin huffed.

You wiped your cheeks, lips downturning. Tough love really hurt when it came from your closest friends.

"Mind your business."

"This is my business. I care about both of you, and this is just...this is unhealthy!"

"Get out of my fucking way, Buckley."

The door handle jiggled, and you turned your head to watch it open. A streak of yellow light sliced through the blue darkness of the room.

"You don't know shit," Steve muttered, and then he was standing in the room.

The thump of music became muffled by the door once more, light clamped off to return the pair of you to darkness. A strip of moonlight beaconed over his face as he stepped closer, hands in the pockets of his jeans. You could hear his keys jingling as he fidgeted. He tipped his head at the sight of you lying there.

"Hi," you whispered. It was the sweetest you’d sounded in months.

Steve swallowed, trying not to rush over and kiss you. He had to fight the urge each time he saw you, even in passing. It felt wrong to part ways without a kiss goodbye. Even when you fought, you always stopped to kiss each other before going to work or heading to bed. It became one of Steve's favorite habits. He felt empty without it.

"Hi," he murmured back.

You sniffled, carefully turning your head away to look toward the ceiling. You were disappointed to see it was still swirling. You suddenly wished you were sober. Maybe he'd see you differently.

"You didn't have to come."

Steve shrugged in your periphery. He was wearing one of those collared polos that you loved. Three buttons always left undone, tight white t-shirt underneath. You wanted him closer. You wanted to smell his cologne again.

"But I'm here."

You shuffled to your elbows, groaning softly. Something lurched in your stomach, coiled tight in your belly. You were gonna be sick, but you didn't want to be in front of Steve. Pushing off weakly on your palms, you sat upright and wiped your cheek, smearing more makeup in the process.

Steve inched closer, waiting for his cue to step in. It came when you stood and wavered on the carpet, reaching for a steady surface.

"Alright, easy, honey." He swooped in, arm wrapped around your waist to guide you toward the bathroom door.

He pushed it open and flicked on the light, propping you against the sink like a Barbie doll. With an open palm on your stomach, he kept you upright as he rummaged through the drawers for a rag. You played with the brown leather band of his watch as he ran the rag under warm water, a pout embedded on your mouth.

"Wanna hop up there f' me?"

You braced the cold counter with the heel of your palms, lifting on wobbly arms to sit on top. "Atta girl," Steve mumbled under his breath, and even in your bleary state you flushed with warmth.

Resting against the mirror, you watched Steve lather powder white soap onto the wet cloth until it bubbled, bringing two fingers under the pink cotton to wipe against your cheek. His eyes were steady on his own ministrations, watching his hand clean away the smeared mascara and tears.

Your eyes, however, could only focus on him. His big sad eyes, swampy green and brown flanked by long, curled lashes. The mocha-colored freckles grazing his cheeks and collarbone, sprinkled along his neck. The pout on his plump pink lips, taken between his teeth in concentration.

When he switched the cloth to the other cheek, you exhaled shakily and caught his wrist. His eyes flicked to yours, finally catching your gaze. He blinked, another one of those toothless, tight-lipped smiles breezing over his lips. It was painted with pity.

Wrapping both hands around the warmth of his forearm, you tipped your cheek into his palm and the soapy, damp cloth encompassed around it. Steve sighed, chest deflating beneath that handsome polo. In the fluorescents of the bathroom, he looked prettier than ever. You were smaller than he'd ever seen you, crumpled and disheveled.

"You drank too much again." He said it the way he orders a cheeseburger in the drive-thru: casual, predictable, cool. He expected this.

That's what always hurt you most.

Your mouth opened to utter a reply, but all that came was a shuttered breath. Your lip downturned, jutting out in a petulant pout that made him ache. He swiped two fingers, cool from the cloth and scented of clean soap, across your temple and into your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

"Just felt sad," you admitted lowly, rubbing your hand along his arm.

Steve placed his hand against your other cheek, suddenly cradling your face. His thumb made circles in your sticky skin—firm, tender, just the way you used to like it. Your eyes fluttered closed, head falling deeper into his hold.

"About what?" His voice was so soft, so small. The rest of the world fell away outside of his tiny, outdated bathroom.

You scoffed humorlessly, head shaking. You opened your eyes again as you fiddled with his watch. "You know what."

Steve's gaze rolled over your face, swollen and pink, stuck in a defeated frown. He wondered if you'd remember this in the morning, or if it'd be another night you fell fuzzy on.

"Yeah...yeah, I know, baby."

You huffed, breath hot and laced with liquor across his arm. "M' sorry. M' sorry I made you come out here, and...m' just...m' just sorry—"

"—hey, come on—"

"—no, Steve...m' a mess. Everyone's right about me."

The pads of Steve's fingers scratched at your scalp, and you hated how easily you purred like a kitten at his touch. Your neck craned, and if it weren't for his hand holding your head up, you might've lied down right there on the sink. Inebriation had its claws in you deep.

"Hey," he cooed, urging your head up with his wash-clothed hand. "Don't talk like that."

When you did nothing but continue to frown and sniffle, Steve sighed and steadied you upright. "C'mon, lemme finish cleanin' you up."

Your shoulders slumped, head bobbing gently. "Okay."

Steve chuckled, rubbing your other cheek with the soapy cloth. "Okay."

You were pliant to his pulling and prodding, allowing him to clean you without complaint. He tucked your hair behind your ears when your face was washed, and filled a Dixie cup with cool water for you to drink. He rested his hands on your bare knees as he watched you gulp it down, patting them when you were done.

"All done?"

You nodded, handing him the paper cup. He tossed it in the trash bin, nudging your chin up with two fingers. "Hey. You with me?"

You nodded again. "Mhm."

"I'm gonna take you home, okay?"

You grasped his hand, pushing your fingers through his. "Okay."

He helped you off the counter, but he didn't drop your hand. He held it as he guided you through the dark bedroom and into the hall, using it to pull you into his side to fit through the crowd. When you made it to the kitchen, you were stopped by your friends, and you pressed your head to Steve's firm back as their voices melded into a yell.

"Oh, fuck off, Munson, seriously, this is none of your business. Last I checked, our relationship only involved the two of us."

"What relationship? You broke up—weeks ago, by the way, in case you forgot—"

"—I didn't forget," Steve hissed, side-stepping and pulling you with him to avoid Eddie. "And for the last time, it’s none of your business.”

You peered back at the group of your friends huddled near the sink as Steve steered you toward the back door. You knew they were disappointed—you could see it in their empty eyes and pursed lips. You could see it in the way Gwen had to rub Eddie’s arm to calm him down. Because the two of you were making a mistake, and you’d never move on if you kept crawling back to each other every chance you got.

But maybe you didn’t want to move on, and maybe Steve didn’t either.

Steve took you home that night, and sat you on the end of the bed. He pulled your dress down your legs and replaced it with a big t-shirt: sunshine yellow, drenched in Steve. He tucked you under the blankets and kissed your head. And then he crawled in beside you, and held you the whole night.

He took you home, where you belonged: with him. And he didn’t know if you’d wake the next morning wondering where you were, or happy to see him nuzzled in your neck, but Steve was willing to roll the dice. For now, he could pretend this was how it always was, and that you never left.

[chaewonshoney]

berries and kisses - p.js

박종성 x fem!reader ⭒ cw: skinship. wc: 758. LIB!𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ۪ genre: fluff, est. relationship. songs to listen while reading: You(=I) by BOL4 a/n: this one pretty much sucks and wasn't supposed to end like this, but i think I got carried away, so anyways, enjoy!

The sun is still rising over the horizon, allowing its warm light to peek through the curtains, casting a cozy aura over the space, you slowly open your eyes as the warm ray of lazy sunday sunrise welcomes your sleepy self. The smell of freshly cooked pancakes and warm maple syrup filled the room, filling your nose with happiness. Getting rid of the warm comforter, you walk towards the kitchen. Your soft footsteps break the warm silence, which was already broken by the birds' chirping. You peek at your boyfriend standing in the kitchen, gently flipping the fluffy pancakes. His hands are carefully crafting each one with care and precision, ensuring all of them turn out perfect. He notices your presence, tiptoeing behind him, your tiny hands curl around his torso, soft smile across his face as he turns to you, tucking his arms around your waist, "morning, honey. Slept well?" you hum in response. "Mhm, yup..."

You relax into his arms, enjoying the warm embrace. The smell of freshly cooked pancakes lingers, the subtle sweetness filling your senses. "...Smells perfect. Can I help?" He shakes his head with a soft peck on top of your head, placing you on the kitchen counter, "No, princess. I'm almost done." "Ooh, I get to sit here and admire the view of you? I'm all for it!" you say with a smile.

He chuckles softly at you, his hand drifting lightly over your hair. "I wouldn't have it any other way." He hums softly as the light hits him, the rising sun reflecting beautifully off his skin and into your eyes.

"Shouldn't these be about finished...?" you ask playfully, pointing to the pan of delicious smelling cakes. "You'll have to wait just a while longer, babe." He teases, smiling playfully as he flips the last remaining pancake in the pan. "Come on."

He lifts you off the counter with ease, then sets you on his hip, and starts walking to the table. Frowning jokingly, you speak up, "I'm not a human bagpack, Jay." "No? But I do need to transport you somehow..." he teases, his eyes laughing. He carries you to the dining table, placing you on a chair, he steals a few kisses, making you giggle. He then steps back, admiring your beauty, the sun playing off your skin. "Awfully cute for someone who wakes up so grumpy, babe." he teases fondly. "Just because I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, doesn't mean I'm grumpy!" you respond in protest, the corner of your mouth lifting up in a small smile regardless.

"Mhm, keep telling yourself that." he chuckles lightheartedly, walking over to the stove before grabbing a serving spoon. He proceeds to scoop out several pancakes onto your plate, the delicious smells tempting your nose. "I know you better than you know yourself," he chuckles, putting a fork full of pancakes in your mouth. "Mmm..." your eyes close in delight as you taste the delicious food. The warm and fluffy texture on your tongue makes your mouth water with joy.

He chuckles again, this time a bit smugly. "There, was that so hard?" He playfully pats your head after you chew. "Mm...nono! I- mmf!" you complain jokingly, his hands around your waist giving a squeeze, tickling you. Your laughter fills the room, his arms pulling you to him. "Awwh, someone's ticklish~" he chuckles amusedly. You squirm away from his hold, giggling playfully. "No, nooo, stop it!" He wraps his arms around you again in hopes of getting a few more kisses, holding you hostage in his arms, "Never! I need more kisses! You can't escape!" he chuckles back, teasing playfully as he leans into your face, wrapping his arm tighter around you. "Mmmm...I won't kiss you!" you giggle, the corners of your lips trying to lift up. "No?" he questions, raising an eyebrow. "Then I guess I have to make you." his hands move to your hips when you squirm, slowly pulling you closer to him, your words are cut off by the sensation of his warm lips on yours. The kisses start slow at first, his arms around you still, but his free hand joins in, moving your hair out of the way, allowing the kisses to deepen further. His hands move with more urgency, holding you tightly while he wraps his other arm around your waist, you moan softly as the sensations overwhelm you, his breath caressing your skin. The touches of his hands are intoxicating, and you find yourself wanting more.

©chaewonshoney 2024, all rights reserved. Reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated<3