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slut-for-free-will · 2 months ago

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eltingville club headcannons (x reader)

✿˖˚ ༘𐙚 > // my headcannons for the boys + if they were romantic with you. I tried to make it relatively gender neutral on your part, but Bill is written as x fem reader.

wordcount: 4933

rating: medium -> mature-ish (some parts are freaky *cough bill and Peter DiNunzio*)

warnings: unhealthy relationships (ESPECIALLY Bill), themes of child neglect, cursing, misogyny, Bill Dickey, Pete Dinunzio

Jerry

Jerry’s grades are decent, mainly B’s and B+’s, an occasional A.

His parents aren’t really present in his personal life.

Use to get bad anxiety as a kid, especially when his parents fought.

Who am I kidding Jerry still gets heavy anxiety.

Horrible poker face.

Before he even knew your name, the slightest glimpse of you would make his cheeks tingle and butterflies flood his stomach.

When he’s nervous his palms will HEAVILY sweat (When you first start dating, you can’t hold hands bc they’re lowkey slimy)

His room is clean-ish, no garbage overflowing his trash can or anything, but Jerry’s not very organized.

Papers of loose ideas, DnD dice, pencils, and the occasional figurine or magazine litter the floor.

He also liked eating snacks in his room, but he got lectured by his mom upon getting ants and was forced to stop.

The first time he knew you were coming over he PANICKED.

When you went into his room you were surprised — Jerry didn’t seem like such a clean and orderly person.

His bookshelves are crammed with fantasy books, though (he's been dying to read them, but has trouble focusing on pages of a book; most of the time he vies for watching TV and movies)

Thank god you didn’t open the closet — a flood of figurines, comics, magazines, books, plushies and everything else under the sun would have buried you both.

Speaking of plushies, Jerry sleeps with them. They crowd his bed.

And he didn’t invite you to enter his room, you just sorta stumbled in there accidentally (if you had waited for an invitation it would never come — he was way too nervous to offer you into his room).

I feel like his love language would be words of affirmation.

As much as live action is cool, Jerry loves 2D animation much more.

Pretty insecure about sharing his ideas for stories and whatnot. He's nervous about getting insulted — even something small is enough to keep him awake at night.

When you first let him tentatively share a new concept for a DnD plot and praise him for it, his brain short circuits.

Now he's way more than just head over heels. He’s like. Soul and mind over physical plane of existence if that makes sense.

He would die for you, is what I’m saying.

If you have any story ideas/paracosms/OCs, he would LOVE to hear you yap abt them. Since you’re both creative, you might just hang out and worldbuild together.

Loves reading high fantasy books to you

If you read to him his heart would explode (I'm not joking) (this also helps him read the books he's been meaning to get to)

Will actually die if you take him to a ren faire. Will fade to dust if you dress up with him.

If you weren’t into DnD, Jerry would want you to get into it SO BADLY. But he would never push you (even offhand interest would make his heart backflip)

Loves to put inside jokes you two share into his DnD plotlines as easter eggs for himself (even if you aren’t at the club meetings 99% of the time)

Speaking of being there…

He doesn’t like it when you hang around the club (or if you’re even in close proximity with those freaks) and absolutely bars you from following him to their sessions.

The closest you’ll get is maybe a walk to Bill’s front porch.

Most of the time, Jerry does anything he can to avoid you and the members of the club interacting.

Despite all your love for each other, he wouldn't try and stick up for you if you were bad-mouthed by the rest of the club members.

Jerry probably wouldn't tell you what they're saying, either.

He gets so scared you'll stop liking him because of his company, maybe become a victim of their attention, or possibly even leave him.

And god forbid if you ever broke up.

He'd fall into a deep spiral of depression, but wouldn’t ask for help or try and get back together.

Jerry’s one to self blame and retreat inwards; every time you'd get into an argument, he would find some way to lay the blame on and/or isolate himself.

You have to apologize first.

Josh

Gets good grades, but has to put in effort. His family values education quite a bit.

Cat person (would probably dress up his cats if he had any)(his family doesn’t have pets).

Blind as a bat without his glasses, and takes good care of them.

Josh is actually a pretty organized person. His room itself is quite clean, but his desk is cluttered with everything from candy wrappers to half-built figurines.

Uses emoticons instead of emojis.

Listens to podcasts most of the time. In terms of music, he doesn’t really have a set music taste. He says he loves whatever you’re into, though.

On occasion, he’ll stay up late, but Josh is pretty good about having a normal sleep schedule.

Hella scared about opening up personally, but yaps to death about whatever sci-fi thing he’s interested in.

Josh has a few main interests (Star Trek, Star Wars, Stargate, etc.) but beyond that, his outer interests change every week.

One day he’ll be reading a series about warring aliens, the next giving a ted talk on several different space technologies.

Probably reads a lot – and fast, too. (If the club found out about this they’d call him a nerd) (but they’re ALL nerds so that insult doesn’t really go anywhere)

Josh the typa guy to kick his feet and blush into his pillow like an anime girl when thinking about you.

Also the typa guy to think about his parents funeral at 2AM in the morning and start sobbing.

When you first meet, you’re in the library, browsing for a book.

You overhear loud whispers — insults, laughter, and angry comebacks.

As you inch closer, you spot four figures jeering in between the bookshelves. You can’t really recognize them from your spot, hidden amongst the books, but you realize they’re… making fun of someone.

It’s not long before three of them shuffle off, leaving one behind.

You emerge from your place between the shelves, ask if he’s alright.

It’s honest and sweet.

Josh has never been talked to like that.

Soon enough, you’re thriving in his dreams – swooping in to save him from the club’s torment. As time drags on, the club’s appearances in his dreams lessen – instead, it’s just you, you, you.

He asks to hang out often; he’s a quality time fan (can get clingy, expanded upon later)

Josh will get elated if you let him vent – or even just listen to anything he says. All you have to do is just sit there, really.

He’s bothered by comments on his physical appearance, but they don’t typically get to him as much as they used to.

You, on the other hand – your comments would have an effect. He'll brush it off, but think about it later (and by think, I mean have an existential crisis).

Josh gets really insecure when he’s around you.

And he spirals easily; it’s hard for him to keep a cool head.

If you leave him for a moment while hanging out in some public place, a rush of thoughts will flood his head (What if you abandoned him? What if you don’t like him anymore? What if this relationship is just one big joke, and he’s the butt of it?)

You find yourself having to reassure him that your relationship is legit.

Hangouts can be anywhere from your room, to his room, to the park, to honestly even the grocery store.

Prefers being able to see your face — wouldn’t go to a movie theater with you (unless they’re playing some movie he’s really excited to see).

Would love you forever if you gave him a collectible that he’s missing in his collection.

Josh doesn’t get a lot of praise or things he likes in his life – even the smallest passing comment gives him something to smile at for the rest of the week.

He can get really clingy, though. Like SUPER clingy.

He wants to spend as much time as he can with you — every possible moment he has, spending time with you is amongst his top three things of stuff he wants to do.

Josh calls you at least once a day, walks you to every class (even if it makes him late), and wakes you up in the middle of the night through a call or text to ask if you’re ok (he had a dream where you got hurt).

Like Jerry, he doesn’t want you hanging around to the club — but his feelings are way more extreme.

He despises, DETESTS you being anywhere within 100 miles of any of them.

Josh keeps your relationship a secret for as long as possible, and frequently makes up excuses to tell both you and the club to not hang out.

If you end up finding out about the club? Fine! But don’t expect to be invited to any meetings, EVER.

If the club finds out about you… good god.

They’ll probably see if they can get you and Josh to break up, doing anything from spreading rumors to pulling pranks to even staging a “He cheated on you!” scandal.

But you never will break up.

Josh wouldn’t (couldn’t) allow it.

Pete

HOLY MOLY does this boy have BAD BAD BAD grades

Just barely passing his classes, and his parents don’t really care that he’s highkey struggling.

Uses class to mess around, catch up on sleep, or do anything that’s not classwork.

Sometimes has insomnia, other times he’s out like a light and sleeps like a log. No in between.

Complete lack of sleep schedule. Goes to bed anywhere from 11pm to 5am.

I side with the Pete-snores-when-he’s-asleep truthers. He probably mumbles too.

Fan of insect torture as a kid (never grew out of it)

Probably has 5 or 6 siblings and doesn’t get much attention, leading to him locking himself away in his room watching his disgusting movies or hanging out with the club.

Either way, Pete has a lot of free time – the most by far out of the club members.

He likes music he can play loudly (i.e rap and heavy metal).

Won’t do house music, though. He claims “any music that don’t got lyrics ain’t fuck’n music.”

Has a fake drivers license that says he’s 21 (it’s so obviously fake, though)

Pete relates a lot of things in his daily life to horror movies (i.e stalking through the streets of an unsuspecting neighborhood, the pale streetlights a temporary respite from the shadows that ravage silent suburbia is basically him as Michael Myers about to kill some bimbo bitch)

He could talk at great lengths about various assortments of snacks to eat upon viewing different categories of horror movies for exclusive experiences.

You maybe met on the bus — it was your first day at this new school, and you’re blissfully unaware of all the social workings of .

God when you stepped on that stupid, yellow, loud ass, hot and sweltering tin can on wheels, it was over for you.

Pete laid his beady little eyes on you, he went dead silent, right in the middle of terrorizing the freshmen behind him with his gory recollections of whatever blood-soaked film it was.

When you sat in the bus seat directly in front of him, he lost it.

Did you know who he was? Were you aware the neighborhood horror-porn maniac is sitting behind you? And did you know how mouth-wateringly, drop-dead gorgeous you are?

It was all a downhill tumble from there; Pete heaves himself up as the bus starts moving, making remarks about your physical appearance.

Before long it’s now romantic advances like gifts, confessions, reminders that he knows where you live.

And even if you try and change seats he’ll force his way to sit somewhere near you and continue his odd serenade of you.

So now, with this new obsession, Pete will take “bathroom breaks,” consisting of him strolling down the halls, trying to figure out which classes you have and when.

Soon enough, he’s memorized your entire schedule and will pick spots to wait for you that will ensure you two see each other.

The romantic tension is really getting to him. Is it getting to you?

While you can’t escape Pete in school, he can’t escape you, ever.

You infect his dreams, whisper into every aspect of his life, and Pete can’t even watch a goddamn horrible slasher flick without seeing you in place of the final girl, covered in blood, screeching in terror (before promptly having to rub one out).

Honest to god I have no idea how you two would end up together.

Best guess? You go watch a movie (alone, if this is to play out correctly) and that freak ass club ducks into the theatre, hoping to creep into the seats and watch whatever knockoff film was showing, free of charge.

They can’t see shit as the lights click off and the screen turns black, so somehow Pete ends up filing into the same row as poor, unsuspecting you.

From there? Can’t say; perhaps he notices you before you notice him. Maybe he just stares in disbelief for a moment – I mean it’s you, the person who rules his dreams and his mind (and might possibly like him).

Then maybe he gets a bit bolder, lets his hands to the talking, and you sit there and take it because you know you like him back and then he grabs your chin, rough and hungry, and closes in and the two of you are-

Man, who knows.

Love language? That’s a hard one. I’m thinking “wild card” — you have no idea what he’s gonna do for you and when he’s gonna do it, but whatever it is, it’s thoughtful.

And MY GOD is his room RANCID.

There's like mystery wet spots and piles of trash and dirty clothes everywhere.

And crumpled tissues. Let's not think about those right now.

He doesn’t even bother to clean it the first time you come over either. You just have to stand there awkwardly while Pete rants about this one obscure horror film that copied this other obscure horror film.

His parents don't really ask him to clean his room basically ever, and Pete has ZERO sense of personal hygiene.

Showers like twice a month. Maybe thrice if he can muster up the want.

Pete likes cold showers. He also likes eating ice cream, outdoors, in the middle of winter (“It won’t fuck’n melt!” he insists, knee deep in snow).

OH, and Pete’s not really that nice to you.

Mainly because he thinks it’s great entertainment to have someone to subject his little spurts of malice upon.

But also, because he doesn’t really know how to convey affection — all he’s learned in the romance sector is from a constant bombardment of his… taste in movies.

If you squirm at gore just know one of your dates is gonna be Pete sitting you down and making you watch a movie among his top ten most horrid tapes. Possibly in some secluded area.

And? And? This ANIMAL loves sneaking up behind you and giving you a scare. Constantly.

If you flinch he’ll laugh a bit, but leave you to scowl at him

But let out a noise and jump? GOD he will tease and tease you forever. And it’s guaranteed he’ll spook you more often, too.

Pete does a lot of things to elicit a reaction — commenting on your body, scaring you like mentioned above, saying absolutely profane shit that makes your cheeks heat instantaneously, when he leans in and whispers what he wants to do to you.

And on occasion, he’ll make threats. Just vague, “I know where you live,” type shit (no duh, you know where he lives too), but sometimes he’ll step a little too far, insinuate a little too much.

But listen – he’s not all bad. Pete does some nice things for you.

Just bet if you ever get bullied, some nauseating note(s) filled with immensely graphic, highly nauseating threats will be nailed to your terrorizer’s front door (fake blood may be included).

Movie dates are typically at your house (both you and Pete prefer it), but he will outright lie to your parents, and maybe even you, about what movie(s) you’ll be watching.

Sometimes he’ll show up unannounced, banging at your window for you to open up in the middle of the night.

On occasion, when he knows your house is gonna be deserted for a bit, he’ll go into your room and snoop around, maybe just lay on your bed.

But uh… Pete gropes. He really does.

It’s like an addiction; it would be easier to prove what comes after death once and for all than make Pete to get his fucking mitts off you.

He’s also into biting. But much less than groping, thank god.

Pete doesn't care if you're around the club (he actually enjoys seeing everyones reactions, especially Bill's, when he rubs it in their face that he's dating this smoking hot, absolutely stunning human being).

If you were being hit on by another person though, I doubt Pete would get jealous or try to defend you. Hell, he might even like seeing you squirm in discomfort.

The longer your relationship drags on, Pete’s intrusive thoughts regarding you become increasingly more disturbing.

One of these days he’s gonna make these depraved fantasies a reality.

Bill

For some god awful reason he has straight A’s without even trying.

Does his mom care when he brings home yet another test he aced? No.

Bill correlates a lot of subject matter with characters, from comics, plots of shows, or whatever else. He can memorize tons of material with minimal effort, while simultaneously keeping up that think-about-comics-24/7 mindset.

Lazy as hell — never does chores or anything he doesn’t have to.

THE bare minimum guy.

Can’t have any pets because he wouldn’t take care of them; irresponsible to the point he could kill a cactus.

His eyesight isn’t as bad as Josh’s, but still takes the care to clean his glasses and avoid getting them scratched up.

His damaged eyes partially because he read comics after bedtime way too much as a kid, flashlight under the covers and everything.

Master of cutting corners when it comes to anything — speedruns his homework, does every other problem/question if he can get away with it, and can’t be bothered with double checking anything he ever does.

I bet he got night terrors and nightmares when he was little — some of his nightmares still traumatize him to this day.

In terms of hygiene, he’s pretty bad at it (duh). Not as bad as Pete, but still, bad.

Showers only at his mom’s orders (once a week, maybe twice).

Bill’s closet is a big copy and paste fest — nothing disturbs the endless sea of graphic tees, dark colored jeans, and flannel shirts/blazers.

Except that one suit that he wore to some distant relatives funeral when he was thirteen. He hasn’t worn it since, but debates using it for some cosplay.

Bill would subtly violate a person’s boundaries, and then brush it off as a joke when he’s called out.

Going off of my “Bill is smart” headcanon, and how his mom doesn’t care for education, he could have done a lot of things, but the lack of value put on education caused him to not give a shit about going to college or whatnot.

Throwing insults at people, media concepts, anything is a favorite of his.

Will find some way to hate on something, no matter how good it is (too long, too boring, not enough naked women)

On my life Bill listens to Weezer. Probably Radiohead too.

Disclaimer: below is fem!reader x w*lliam. Srry boys and other💔

You gotta be insane to want to date Bill Dickey.

You have to have a complete lack of self worth and respect.

I mean where does the attraction even come from? He’s repulsive, abusive, narcissistic. Who would even like this misogynist? (me me me!)

But you are clueless when you first meet. The school’s big, and you’re not too familiar with everything.

Maybe you haven't seen him getting bullied and shoved around just yet.

You approach him with honest, innocent intentions: you’re lost and need to get to your next class.

“He doesn’t seem like he’s a bad guy” is what you’re thinking when you spot him, leaning against a locker and thumbing through a comic book (oh, how wrong you are!)

So you tap on his shoulder and ask him if he knows which direction Mrs. Green’s English class is.

And of course, Bill takes it as something else – a helpless, normie bitch is interrupting his happy world of imagination, asking him for help (to mock him or throw herself at him, he can’t figure out)

He immediately snaps back, commenting how of course you wouldn’t know where your class is, damn woman.

Maybe he insults you some more, stating how you shouldn’t even be in school anyways, idiotic bimbo.

And how do you react?

You stumble off in shock – blaming your burning face on his degradation and not the fluttering in your gut.

But alas, soon enough you find yourself needing major help on some complex subject, whatever it is, so you ask the teacher if they have any recommendations for tutors.

Of course, Mr. top-of-the-class Bill Dickey is first on his list.

So now you’re being tutored by Bill, whose ego is stoked like an inferno at the chance to not only be around a pretty girl for an hour, but get to basically call her stupid every second of the way.

80% of the time he keeps his distance, the two of you sitting across from each other in a quiet corner of the library, but on occasion, when you just can’t get something right, he will march over there, wrestle the pencil out of your hands, and do it for you (you note to yourself that’s the best way to make Bill come over to you).

Holy shit his face is so red when he’s done leaning over you and mansplaining (fuck, you smell good) and you pretend not to notice, blaming his reddened face on anger, frustration.

But some part of you wonders if he likes you the way you like him.

Soon enough, your tutoring becomes a highlight of your day (same with him, but he’d never admit it).

Truth be told, Bill’s a pretty bad teacher, but he can be really funny, relatable, and at least you’re getting somewhere.

He even introduced you to some good comic series (without him actually knowing, you just picked up a copy of whatever he was reading at your local comic shop. What was it, Moe’s? Bo’s? Either way, everyone was staring at you freakishly from the second you walked in to the second you stepped out.)

Sessions are always in the library, but he fantasizes about taking it further, going to his house or yours.

Sometimes he wonders what your room would look like (by sometimes I mean MANY times).

But Bill despises you.

You are literally ruining his life.

You have no idea what you do to him – always looking so fucking innocent, entirely unaware of how you sink your teeth into his heart every time you smile, wave, say “hi” in the halls.

He didn’t really know what a cocktease was – till he met you.

He can't stop thinking about anything to do with you; your body, your voice, your lips. The way you laugh at his jokes and not him, how you come back no matter how many times he berates you.

It’s like you own him without even raising a finger.

He finds his grades dropping because he can’t pay attention in the classes you share — he watches you brazenly like some starving dog watching a butcher’s shop.

He gets worse and worse at tutoring you because he’ll lose his train of thought, completely enraptured by the thought of how fucking easy it would be to simply lean in and smash his lips against yours.

For fucks sake, Bill shouldn’t think so much about a girl; you’re just a carbon copy of all the other whores running around this shitty planet.

He, the man, rules you, not the other fucking way around.

But when you show up in his dreams as a seductive member of his crew, spread out and needy for him, his head is whirling and he loses his typically smooth composure (in his fuckass dreams! really?!)

But he wakes up before anything can actually happen, putting him in a foul mood.

He’s shaken out of it when he takes a cold shower.

Now Bill’s simultaneously angry, shameful, and excited whenever he goes to sleep.

If you ever show up for the club, he’ll scream and shout in protest.

And if you somehow worm yourself into a session? GOD it is torture for Bill.

How the hell is he supposed to get anything done when the girl he LOVES hates is sitting right across from him, getting hit on by Pete.

Needless to say, Bill would be a bit more abrasive during that session (partially in hopes you’ll get scared off, but also because he gets so worked up around you)

Please please PLEASE do not confess to Bill.

He would never confess to you either, but that's not the point.

I mean gosh, imagine how BAD it would be:

In the back of the library you’re packing up, just having finished a (now useless) tutoring session.

You blurt that you love him.

You have feelings of romantic attraction towards him.

There's a brief pause that drags on, and on, and you can’t tell if Bill’s gonna reply at all (he's having an internal meltdown; the only reason he’s not blushing is cause he’s sheet white out of shock)

You’re on the verge of running away, moving schools, never showing your face in public ever again when he just says, “yeah.”

Or maybe he laughs in your face.

Your relationship? More of an ownership, an ego boost for him.

Bill makes you do a lot of things for him, even if he’s more than capable of doing them himself.

But he ensures you don’t stray too far – he wants to see you doing whatever menial task he ordered you to do.

Talks about you incessantly to anyone who will listen.

It’s mainly bragging, though. Even though he treats you like shit, Bill will somehow work your name into every single conversation and club meeting.

And also he WILL beat up anyone who badmouths you (verbally. Bill can't fight for his life)

He’ll also defend you online like crazy (what a sweetheart!), but all with his army of alt accounts.

Hardly even says “I love you,” or anything of the like.

You don’t really go on dates either – Bill just keeps you around and forces you to follow him wherever he goes.

Also HE approaches YOU, not the other way around.

One time you tried to ask if you could hang out and he didn’t speak to you for a few days (didn’t even make himself seen. If you did interact, it’s him making some misogynistic, cruel comment towards you)

Believe me, Bill was probably way more miserable than you were.

He's a MASSIVE freak for physical touch, and majorly touch starved.

Even thinking about skin on skin contact makes him salivate.

Bill will shiver if your hands simply brushed.

Never holds your hand in public but GOD he wants to. Dreams about it all the time (speaking of dreams, you still show up in them. Every time he wakes up, his sexual frustration grows)

He'd love to just. Lay on you. Whether it be lying face down, head between your tits, or draped across you, it doesn’t matter.

Either way, his inward battle of misogyny and emotion has to fizzle out sometime soon.

Once you’re finally in a stage in which he’s more comfortable with the idea of having a… “girlfriend,” he’s gonna start touching.

I swear his hands will never leave your body, touching, groping, brushing.

He doesn’t care for hand holding in the romantic sense so much as the he-gets-to-touch-you-and-show-everyone-that-you’re-HIS sense.

Walking through the halls? Hand interlocked with yours. Sitting next to each other in class? Hand on your thigh. Standing side by side at Joe’s? Probably has his arm draped across your shoulders or resting on your hip.

And Bill likes unexpectedly grabbing you.

HARD.

You’ll be walking side by side in a public space and his fingers will just sink into your flesh with enough force to bruise (this freak gets so turned on if you squeak or squeal in reaction)

I have no idea what compels you to stay with him.

If you guys fight (probably often), he's never gonna say sorry. He’s definitely one of those people who will never admit they’re wrong

He's always gonna find some way to shift the blame on you.

But maybe it’s the fact that he's the only person that you have. He’s isolated you from your friends without you even noticing, and hasn't even realized what a wreck your life is now.

Break ups end with you or Bill crawling back to apologize to one another.

Mostly you. Almost always, it’s you.

#the eltingville club #welcome to eltingville #eltingville x reader #eltingville x you #bill dickey x reader #bill dickey x you #jerry stokes x reader #jerry stokes x you #josh levy x reader #josh levy x you #pete dinunzio x reader #pete dinunzio x you #pete dinunzio #jerry stokes #bill dickey #josh levy

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serinic · 7 days ago

Text

Inkfluence (01) | JJK

pairing: politician jk x journalist reader

warnings: yandere jk, corruption, sensitive topics, deaths, future smut (dub-con).

words: 1.8k+

As vile as it sounds, politics has decayed into a ruthless game—where truth is treason, and those who pursue it are silenced, buried beneath the crushing weight of power. You entered the game with eyes wide open, fully aware there may be no escape. But it turned far more sinister when its master took a strange interest in a mere pawn—you.

“It's raining so hard again. The streets will be flooded soon,” Jiwoo sighed for the third time, gazing out the window. You walked toward her and did the same—staring through the glass that kept you both from getting soaked. You frowned as you watched people on the street, doing their best to avoid the pouring rain. As much as you wanted to help them—you couldn’t. Your landlord would kick you out for letting random people into her apartment.

Your heart ached even more when you saw children—some crying, some praying—probably begging for the rain to stop.

But your sorrow quickly turned into rage when you heard on the TV that the mayor—now former—had left the country and taken the people's money with him. The money that was supposed to be for flood control, which he kept talking about just last month.

You and Jiwoo both turned around and looked at the screen, disgrace and anger evident on your faces. You both knew this would happen—but you didn’t expect him to steal the money so quickly. Our money.

You looked out the window again, back at the people. Another politician had failed them. The man who promised that this city would be better, that the people would have a better life—just months ago.

The same man who, in the end, stole someone’s future, someone’s chance at a better life, and fled to another country to enjoy a life of luxury.

Many politicians have done the same—some even worse—to the point that you’ve grown used to it.

But what angered you more was how citizens still kept voting for the same people who were turning their lives into a living hell.

Had they really not learned?

“It's the people's money, not theirs!” you exclaimed, emphasizing each word—every syllable coming straight from your heart. Jiwoo looked at you sadly and bit her lower lip. “I know.”

“Ms. Y/N, could you please rewrite your work? Choose more appropriate words.”

Your boss placed the article you submitted on your desk. Your eyes widened—what did you just hear? You’re a journalist, for fuck’s sake!

You stood up and spoke firmly, “But we are journalists. We speak the truth and do not sugarcoat words!” You quickly pressed your lips together when she shot you a glare.

“Please, just do what I said,” she replied, flashing you a fake smile and giving a careless shrug before walking back to her office.

You stared at her back with defeated eyes. What’s happening to our profession? Did they really forget our oath?

“You know, the company's just being careful. None of us want to become a target, especially with everything going on right now.” Doa, your co-worker, placed her hands on your shoulders. Her words made your mind drift back to what happened just a week ago.

The police had stopped people from getting too close to the body. A garbage collector was the one who found it and immediately called the authorities.

The head was covered with a black trash bag, and several wounds were visible on the corpse. "Sir, what do you think?" one of the officers asked the investigator, who was crouched beside the body, studying it closely.

"Looks like he was tortured first… then killed. Body was dumped here carelessly," the investigator replied grimly.

Later, the victim was identified as Min Do-hyun, a reporter from CLM.

It was said that shortly before his disappearance, Min Do-hyun had been seen at a press conference held by Governor Kim Ji-hoon. He had questioned the governor about the missing healthcare funds—and it looked like Do-hyun struck a nerve. A week later, he was found lifeless. You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to calm yourself. Looking at Doa, you forced a smile. She nodded slightly and returned to her cubicle. You sat down, fully aware that people like you—too curious, too bold—could end up just like Do-hyun. Once again, anger began to consume you. People in your profession were being silenced for speaking the truth, for trying to protect the public from distortion, disinformation, and evil. You hadn’t spent years honing your craft just to end up as a corpse, unfinished and unheard. You were terrified but your passion to help people burned brighter than your fear.

“Are you all ready?” Mr. Kim cheered enthusiastically. Why the hell is he happy?

The company you work for is one of the few companies invited to the President's party. Ironic, isn’t it? You people were supposed to stand against corrupt people, and President Jeon Jae-won is practically one of them—maybe even the root of it all. It seems like even the company you work for has been bought. They need reporters like you to sugarcoat their names ahead of the upcoming election. You've thought about resigning. But maybe this is an opportunity. An opportunity to observe, to listen, to uncover. The people attending this party might be the same ones funding and enabling these politicians. You need to know who they are. You plan to gather as much information and evidence as you can. You won’t stop until you drag them all down. This country, and its people—deserve a better future.

“Everyone, make sure to smile and watch what you say. We need to stay on the president's good side!” he declared again, the warning in his tone was clear. You bit your tongue to stop yourself from saying something that would get you kicked out of the building on the spot. Money and greed really do change people, your boss is living proof of that.

You stepped out of the car and immediately saw several people—no, diehard supporters of the Jeons—right in front of the building. Almost every one of them held banners and props. You closed your eyes. These people irritate you! The Jeons are literally the worst animals in this country, and yet they still have their support? Are these people even thinking? When you opened your eyes again, something caught your attention—a certain person. Your eyes widened, and your mouth fell open in shock. Jiwoo noticed and asked, “What happened? Are you okay?” You didn’t reply at first, frozen by what you saw. After a moment, you managed to gather yourself and said, “What the fuck? No, I’m not okay! I just saw my mother in the crowd. What the hell?”

Your eyes remained fixed on the female figure. Jiwoo followed your gaze and gasped when she recognized the woman, your mother.

Your mother didn’t seem to notice you yet. You were about to walk toward her when Jiwoo grabbed your hand. Your co-workers and other reporters from different companies were already entering the building. You sighed. You’d deal with her later, you thought, as you and your friend stepped inside. You gasped at the sight before you—the place was stunning and definitely expensive. You tsked quietly. This might be one of the few things the people’s taxes were actually spent on. You and the others took your seats. There were specific tables assigned for particular people and companies. Buffets were set up around the room. You loved food—really, you did—but knowing whose money had paid for it made it impossible to eat.

You were busy talking to Jiwoo, secretly badmouthing those animals, when an uncomfortable feeling crept over you—it felt like someone was watching. You scanned the room but found no one staring. Maybe you were imagining things, or perhaps it was a ghost longing for justice. You tried to brush it off, and after a minute, the feeling faded. You started observing your surroundings. More people had arrived—some you knew, others you didn’t—but one thing was clear: those seated apart from your section were filthy rich. Suddenly, a spotlight hit the stage, drawing everyone’s attention. The host greeted the crowd, but your focus drifted as that familiar sensation returned—the feeling of being watched.

You darted your gaze to the side and looked up toward the balcony. Immediately, your eyes locked with his—he was staring directly at you. Your breath hitched. Jeon Jungkook: the oldest son of Jeon Jae-won, mayor of another city and rumored candidate for the position of governor. You stared at each other for too long, unable to look away. His eyes were dark—so dark that the longer you looked, the more it felt like you were being pulled from heaven straight down to hell.

If it was a sin to look at him, you’d gladly be a sinner. No one knows how long you two held that gaze. The tension became unbearable, and finally, you forced yourself to turn away, focusing back on the stage.

You were just a girl, you couldn’t help but look at him again. But this time, he was gone. Only a dominating aura remained in that balcony. You pinched the bridge of your nose, dismissing both him and your racing thoughts.

You’d been so focused on Jungkook, you hadn’t noticed his father speaking on stage. Soon, Jae-won began introducing his family: his wife, then his eldest son—Jeon Jungkook—who stood beside his father, who looked proud as ever. Once again, Jungkook’s eyes found yours. You quickly looked away and instead watched his brother being introduced. Jae-won had another son, Jeon Jung-hyun, who appeared to be your age and clearly the black sheep of the family, judging by how uninterested he looked in the event.

Jae-won didn’t forget to address his political party for the upcoming election—the highlight of the night. Jungkook was obviously a key member. Once the announcement ended and the stage shifted to entertainment, you excused yourself. You approached a guard and asked where the bathroom was. He gave directions, but they were confusing, and you almost asked him to repeat when another guard nudged him, whispered something, and both glanced at you before walking away. You really needed to pee. You headed upstairs and turned left as instructed. But there were many locked doors. ‘Shit,’ you thought, your bladder protesting loudly. You found another set of stairs and without hesitation, went up.

You opened the first door you saw and gratefully, it was the room you needed. After finishing, you were about to leave when you heard voices nearby. Curious, you cracked the door open slightly and peeked outside. You froze. President Jae-won was speaking with an unfamiliar man. This was your chance.

You pulled out your phone and hit record. “Park Chan-woo was a great man, but he fucked up and ended up jailed in another country,” Jae-won said, lighting a cigarette.

“What should we do now?” the man asked. Jae-won shrugged coldly. His words left you stunned. “It won’t be long before he drags us down with him. Silence that motherfucker before he even gets the chance.”

The president patted the man’s shoulder and walked downstairs. You slowly closed the door, careful not to make a sound. You stopped the recorder and turn off your phone. Anxiety and dark, terrifying thoughts clouded your mind. You felt trapped, scared to open the door as if the devil himself would drag you to hell. Thirty minutes passed. You had to get out. It was now or never. You calmed yourself, grabbed the handle, and opened the door. You stumbled back, coming face to face with the devil himself—Jeon Jungkook. His right hand was in his pocket, while his left extended toward you.

"Give me your phone."

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

#bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #yandere jungkook #yandere #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts imagine

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marscardigan · 1 month ago

Text

red wine supernova

neighbor!ellie williams x reader

neighbor!ellie universe

summary: celebrating your birthday for the first time without your family was hard, but ellie was there to make your special day better.

word count: 4.8k

YOU HEARD the clunk first.

Then came the gurgle. The kind of unsettling gurgle that said hey, I’m broken and probably leaking. You stared at your kitchen sink. The faucet was dripping slowly, then rapidly, and then suddenly it made a soft hissing pop and began a very non-cute stream from underneath the counter. You were already freaking out when you texted Ellie. 'help. the sink just made a sound like a dying animal D:'

Less than five minutes later, you heard a knock on your door, and there she was—smug little smirk, toolbox in hand. "Your handy girlfriend has arrived," Ellie announced, stepping inside dramatically. "I heard there’s a damsel in distress."

You squinted at her. "You’re holding your hammer upside down."

She paused. Glanced at it. "That’s... just how I carry it. For style."

"You sure you know what you’re doing?"

Ellie strutted past you like she owned the place, setting her toolbox on your counter and crouching to inspect under the sink. "I fixed Jesse’s garbage disposal once. Plus I watched, like, a lot of plumbing videos after the shower head incident at my place."

You narrowed your eyes. "The incident where you broke it off the wall and flooded your whole bathroom?"

Ellie’s head popped out from beneath the counter. "Okay, rude. That was sabotage. Gravity was involved."

You sat on the floor beside her, watching her try to identify which pipe did what with the confidence of someone who had no idea but didn’t want to admit it.

"Need a hand, baby?" you asked.

"No, no. I got it. I just.. I’m just surveying. For strategy, you know?"

Unbeknownst to you, Ellie pulled her phone from her back pocket while pretending to stretch and started texting someone.

"No way," you peeked over her shoulder. "Are you texting Joel?"

Ellie froze. "No?"

You blinked. "Why are you lying?"

She groaned. "Okay, yes. But listen. I’m still doing the work. Joel is just... coaching. Spiritually."

You smirked. "Aren’t you supposed to be handy? You know, being a lesbian and all?"

Ellie sat up so fast she hit her head on the bottom of the sink, cursed, then pointed an accusing wrench at you. "Wow. I could say the same, ma’am."

You blinked, but a small smile appeared on your lips. "Touché."

She rubbed the back of her head, then sat beside you on the floor with an exaggerated sigh. "Okay. Real talk? I don’t actually know what the fuck I’m doing. I just wanted to impress you."

"You don’t need to impress me, El. You already do."

She gave you a sheepish little half-smile, bumping her shoulder against yours. "Even if I can’t fix your sink?"

"Especially because you tried to anyway."

You leaned your head on her shoulder, both of you sitting on the floor beside the broken sink, surrounded by scattered tools. Ellie let her head tilt onto yours, and for a moment the silence felt warm, easy. Comfortable.

Then the faucet hissed again. And it made you both jump.

"Okay," Ellie muttered. "Maybe we should call a real plumber before your kitchen becomes a swimming pool."

You didn’t expect Joel to show up with that much swagger. The moment you opened the door for him, he was already smirking like he had three dad-jokes lined up and a plumber's ego the size of Texas.

"Where’s the patient?" he asked, stepping into your apartment.

Ellie, who had been sulking on your couch with her arms crossed, shot you a betrayed look the second she heard his voice. "You called him?"

"You were texting him already," you pointed out, holding back a laugh. "I just… escalated."

Joel chuckled and patted Ellie’s shoulder on his way to the kitchen. "Don’t worry, kiddo. Some people are meant to fix sinks. Some are meant to break ‘em."

"It was already broken!"

You leaned on the counter and watched as Joel got to work. He made a few small grunting sounds, twisted a couple of things, mumbled to himself, and five minutes later, your sink no longer sounded like a dying animal.

You blinked. "Wait. That’s it?"

Joel stood up and dusted his hands off. "Yeah. It was just a loose coupling and a misaligned gasket. Easy fix."

Ellie was standing with her arms crossed now, jaw tight. "Cool. Thanks for making me look useless in front of my girlfriend."

Joel grinned, but didn’t bother to say anything. He just turned to grab his thermos. "So. You two are still comin’ over next weekend?"

You frowned a little, confused. "Wait… next weekend?"

"Yeah, before your birthday, right?" Joel said, totally casual.

You blinked. "How do you know it’s my birthday?"

He smirked as he took a sip of the coffee you made for him. "Ellie hasn’t shut up about it for two weeks."

You looked over just in time to see Ellie’s soul exit her body. "I—what—okay." She stood up straighter, backing toward the door like she was about to physically eject Joel from the apartment. "Thank you so much for the sink, Joel. Appreciate it. Really. You can leave now. Door’s right here. Bye!"

Joel laughed, deeply amused. "Just sayin’. That girl has been stressin’ about gettin’ you the right gift. Keeps mutterin’ 'what if it’s too much?' and 'what if she doesn’t like sur—'"

"BYE, JOEL!"

You were full-on cackling now, covering your mouth as Ellie turned cherry red and started shoving Joel gently toward the door. "Hey, hey!" Joel laughed, holding his hands up. "No need to assault me for being observant."

"Out." Ellie insisted, dragging him by the sleeve.

Joel turned to you, still laughing. "You’re comin’ next week, though, right?"

You nodded, smiling warmly. "Yeah. Wouldn’t dare to miss it."

"Good." He winked at Ellie, who was as red as her flannel.

Once the door shut, she turned around, arms stiff at her sides, eyes wide like she’d just been hit by a truck. You tried not to laugh. You really did. But her face was so red.

"Couldn’t shut up, huh?"

Ellie groaned and pressed her forehead into your shoulder. "I hate him."

You wrapped your arms around her and smiled against her temple. "I don’t. He’s kind of my favorite person right now."

She peeked up at you with a pout. "I thought I was your favorite."

You grinned. "Well, you were. Until Joel complimented my kitchen."

Ellie narrowed her eyes. But you leaned in and kissed her quickly, soft and sweet. "I love you, dork."

Her face softened instantly. "Yeah," she murmured. "Love you too."

Then she sniffed. "… How did he fix that in five minutes?! I was literally googling what a gasket even is."

You laughed again, pulling her close. "It’s okay, plumber girl. Your efforts were adorable."

She groaned into your shoulder. "I’m gonna hear about this forever."

"You are," you teased. "Forever. Just like Joel said."

She looked up again, defeated but grinning. "Okay. Now I hate you too."

THE TV flickered softly across the dim living room. Ellie lounged at the end of the couch, socked feet kicked up on the coffee table. Her hair was a mess, and her oversized t-shirt hung off one shoulder, exposing the faint lines of freckles dancing around her pale skin.

The movie she’d put on was halfway through, and Ellie was narrating more than watching.

"Okay, okay, look— this part? Where Luke flips off the skiff? He actually did that himself, no stunt double. Mark Hamill, certified badass." She leaned toward you, finger pointing at the screen like you might miss it. "Also? Carrie Fisher hated that metal bikini. Like, despised it. Rightfully so."

You smiled faintly, eyes on the screen, but not really seeing it.

Ellie didn't notice at first, she was too busy giving you random trivia in her soft, nerdy ramble that always made you melt a little. But somewhere between the speeder bike chase and the Ewok celebration, Ellie finally glanced over. And paused mid-sentence.

You were curled up at the opposite end of the couch, knees tucked under your chin, blanket tight around your shoulders. Your eyes were dull, unfocused. Your expression that polite, empty kind of neutral you wore when you didn’t want anyone to ask you what was wrong. It was a dead giveaway.

Ellie immediately hit pause. The screen froze on a blurry Ewok mid-jump, mouth open like it had caught the tension in the room too.

You blinked slowly. "Hey, I was watching that."

She didn’t answer. Just turned toward you, her brows gently furrowed. "Okay, spill."

"What?"

"Don’t 'what' me," she said, voice soft but certain. "You’re quiet. That weird, echo-y kind of quiet."

You hesitated, fingers twitching with the blanket fabric. "It’s nothing. I’m just tired."

Ellie tilted her head, unconvinced. "You’re a terrible liar."

There was a long pause. The kind that buzzed in your ears. And finally, you sighed. "It’s just... weird. Thinking about celebrating my birthday without my family, I guess."

Ellie didn’t say anything for a second, and you hated how suddenly vulnerable you felt. You hadn’t cried or anything, hadn’t even planned to bring it up. But there it was, sitting thick in your throat like a rock.

"My parents usually drove," you added after a second, eyes fixed on the paused screen. "Even if it was just for dinner. They’d bring cake and balloons, even when I told them not to. It was… dumb. But it felt good."

Ellie scooted closer, shifting the blanket without asking and tugging half of it over her own lap. Her hand found yours under the fleece, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"I’m sorry," she said, voice barely above a whisper. You blinked fast, trying not to let it show how much that small gesture hit you. "But hey," she added, her lips twitching into a little smile. "I’m not, like, blood-related… but I am contractually obligated to be your emotional support."

You laughed softly, pressing your face into her shoulder.

Ellie pulled you close, kissing the side of your head. "We don’t have to do anything big if you don’t want to."

"I don’t know. It’s just… gonna feel different."

"Yeah," she murmured, letting her chin rest against your hair. "Different doesn’t have to mean bad, though."

"I know."

The two of you sat like that for a while — quiet, bundled in shared warmth, the paused Ewok still mid-celebration on the screen.

Then Ellie whispered, "I, uh… may or may not have something up my sleeve for your birthday."

You lifted your head, smiling faintly. "El…"

"No, no — I’m not telling you anything. This face?" She pointed at her own. "Vault. Steel trap."

You gave her a knowing look. "You’re literally the worst at keeping secrets."

"Hey! I kept the Christmas sweater surprise and the concert tickets last month."

"You told me about the concert while you were trying to buy the tickets."

"Anyway," she said, leaning back dramatically. "This one? You’ll never see it coming."

You let yourself sink back into her side, fingers brushing hers again, more at peace than you’d felt all day.

THE CAR was warm from the sun, windows cracked just enough to let the breeze in, and Ellie’s hand was resting on your thigh in that casual, grounding way that always made your chest flutter.

"You sure we have everything?" she asked, as if the road trip didn’t last twenty minutes.

You held up the tote bag you packed. "I got snacks, water, charger, and gum. I am the ideal road trip companion."

Ellie smirked. "Passenger princess, you mean."

You gasped, pretending to be scandalized. "That’s so rude. I am a navigation expert and playlist curator."

"Yeah?" she glanced at you, amused. "Then how come you opened Google Maps like five minutes ago and already told me to turn down a one-way?"

"That was a test. And you passed."

She snorted. "Sure."

You leaned back into the seat, sunglasses perched on your nose, your legs curled up slightly in the seat like you always did. "Okay, okay, serious now. What playlist do you want?"

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "Do you remember the one we did together?" You grinned, nodding. "Play that one."

You queued it up, and within seconds, the car was filled with music. Ellie hummed along under her breath, her fingers tapping the beat against your leg. You watched her drive for a minute — the way her jaw flexed when she focused, the small scar on her temple, the fact that she had her sleeves pushed up and one tattooed forearm resting lazily on the wheel.

"What?" she asked, catching you staring.

"Nothing," you smiled. "You’re so pretty."

Her face pinked immediately. "Don’t distract me. You want us to crash before we even arrive?"

"I mean… if we crash into a field and get to live off the grid together, I’m not complaining."

Joel’s house at just outside a little forest area, one of those modest country homes with a porch swing and too many bird feeders. It wasn’t far from your apartment complex, but it felt different anyway. When you pulled into the driveway, Joel was already waiting on the porch with two beers and what looked like a glass of lemonade in his hand. You hopped out of the car before Ellie had even turned off the engine, practically bouncing on your feet.

"She’s excited," Ellie muttered, grabbing the bag from the backseat.

"I heard that!"

Joel stood up as you approached, already holding out the lemonade. "Told you she’d be happy to get outta the city."

"I’m always happy when there’s cake," you grinned, accepting the glass. "Hi, Joel."

"Happy early birthday, kiddo." He gave you a side hug and then clapped Ellie on the back. "You two hungry?"

"Always," you and Ellie said in unison.

Inside, Joel had really gone for it: steak, potatoes, cornbread, and now the three of you were settled on his large couch. You were sitting between them, Ellie with her arm casually draped along the back of the couch behind you, her fingers occasionally brushing your hair. Joel had turned on the Western on the old TV.

Halfway through, Joel paused the movie. "Alright. Gimme a second."

You sat up slightly. "Wait, is it… is it cake time?"

"Patience," he grumbled, disappearing into the hallway.

Ellie gave you a look. "Gift time."

"What?"

Before you could say something else, Joel returned with a small box, wrapped in old newspaper and tied up with a small bow. He held it out to you, slightly awkward. "Here. It’s not much, but… I made it myself."

You blinked and took the box gently, heart already swelling before you’d even untied the bow. Ellie nudged your knee with hers, giving you a soft smile. Inside the box was a hand-carved wooden jewelry tray. The edges were smoothed out and rounded, the inside etched delicately with little stars and crescent moons. The craftsmanship wasn’t perfect, but it was personal. It was special.

Joel scratched the back of his neck. "Thought maybe it’d look nice on your nightstand. Ellie said you keep losin’ your earrings."

"I don’t lose them—" you started, shooting Ellie a look.

"—She definitely loses them," Ellie confirmed.

You blinked hard, trying not to spill any tear. And then looked up at Joel. "This is… this is beautiful. Seriously."

He looked relieved. "Glad you think so."

You leaned over and gave him a hug without even thinking about it, arms around his middle, head resting on his shoulder. Joel went a little stiff, then sighed and patted your back. "You’re welcome, kid."

He looked over at Ellie, who gave him a thumbs up, smiling so hard it hurt.

YOU WERE asleep. Deeply asleep.

Tucked into Ellie’s sheets, her warmth curled around you like a blanket of its own — one arm slung lazily over your waist, her breath slow and even against the back of your neck. The world was quiet, the apartment dark and still, save for the faintest hum of the city outside the window and the soft noise of a fan nearby.

"Baaaabe…"

You groaned. A soft kiss landed on your shoulder. Then another. Then one against your cheek. Then your jaw. Your temple. Your eyelid, which made you twitch.

"Babyyyyyy," Ellie singsonged, barely above a whisper but somehow managing to drag the vowels into your dreams like a little menace.

Your eyes fluttered open vaguely. "Ellie…" Your voice was thick with sleep. "Is the building on fire?"

"No," she grinned.

"Did the cat learn to talk?"

"We don’t have a cat."

"Exactly," you mumbled, rolling over toward her, face still half-smashed into the pillow. "Then why…"

Ellie’s face was inches from yours, eyes wide and shining in the dark like an excited kid. "It’s midnight," she said simply.

You blinked at her. "... And?"

"It’s your birthday, dummy."

You blinked again. Then, despite the groggy haze in your brain, you felt something warm pull at your chest. Ellie was grinning like she couldn’t contain it— her fingers gently sweeping a lock of hair from your forehead, her knee nudging yours under the covers.

"You woke me up… to say happy birthday?"

"Of course I did," she whispered, leaning down to brush her nose against yours. "I get to be the first one to say it."

Your heart did a little flip. Even in the dark, you could see the softness on her face. She tucked her face into your neck and kissed you there, just below your ear.

"Happy birthday, baby," she whispered. "I love you so much."

Your breath caught. Even half-asleep, that still made your stomach flutter. You let out a laugh, barely a puff of air. "Oh my god. You’re so annoying."

"Yup." She pressed another kiss to your cheek. "But, hey, birthday rules. I get to be as clingy and chaotic as I want."

"You're always clingy."

"Exactly. So today I will be even worse." She poked your side gently, drawing out a muffled yelp. "How does it feel? Being the prettiest, coolest, most perfect birthday girl in the world?"

You buried your face in her chest, hiding your grin. "Feels like I’m gonna fall back asleep any second."

Ellie laughed and pulled you tighter against her. "That’s fine. I just wanted to be the first. Didn’t even need fireworks or cake. Just… this." Her voice was quieter now, more serious under the softness. "Just you here. With me."

You closed your eyes, heart heavy in the best way. "Thanks for waking me up," you whispered.

Ellie kissed your forehead. "Anytime, birthday girl."

You were already halfway asleep again when she pulled the blanket tighter over you both, her fingers stroking slow, lazy circles against your hip. But then you felt her smile against your skin. And you fell asleep smiling too.

WHEN the sun came up, you started to notice something was with Ellie. She started to... over-explain things. Like when she insisted you really didn’t need to come with her to the store that morning.

"I just gotta pick up a few things," she said, avoiding eye contact. "For… uh. Repairs."

"Repairs?"

"Yeah. You know, the boring stuff."

You stared at her. She fidgeted. "… Ellie."

"It will be so boring. Not worth your time, for sure." She added, pulling on her hoodie string so hard it almost slapped her cheek.

And when you tried to press further, she kissed your forehead and said, "You’re really cute, but no questions," then tripped over the welcome mat on her way out.

Despite the nerves and the obvious attempts at cover-up, there was something endearing in how hard she was trying. She wasn’t that bad at hiding it. Just… twitchy. And excitable. And grinning to herself when she thought you weren’t looking.

It was honestly kind of adorable.

By the time the afternoon arrived, she was barely keeping it together. She texted you five times from her place. The one that was down the hall. Terrible poker face, Williams.

When you opened the door that evening, Ellie was already outside waiting for you, pretending she hadn’t been nervously pacing the corridor for fifteen minutes. She offered her hand with a shy grin and said, "You look good. Like… criminally good."

You raised an eyebrow. "Criminal?"

"Yeah. Like, if hotness was illegal, I’d be a getaway driver."

You laughed despite yourself. She kissed your knuckles and walked with you down the hallway like she hadn’t spent all week having semi-anxious spirals in group chats with Dina and Jesse.

When she opened her apartment door, a rush of warm air, soft lighting, and music hit you first. Then came the voices.

"SURPRISE!!"

And there they were. Not just Ellie’s friends. Not just Dina and Jesse— who were already grinning ear to ear. But your people. A few from college. A couple from high school. A girl you used to sit with in freshman year creative writing. People you hadn’t seen in forever. Faces from every corner of your past life, standing under twinkling lights and hand-cut banners that spelled Happy Birthday! in mismatched lettering.

You turned to Ellie, stunned. She just smiled back, so damn proud of herself.

The night unfolded in a blur of laughter, hugs and stories. You caught up with old friends, shared drinks with Jesse who was aggressively proud of Ellie’s 'romantic little brain,' and danced to terrible pop music that Ellie claimed to hate — but still danced with you to.

At one point, you noticed her standing near the back wall, just watching you with the most ridiculous, soft smile on her face.

"How you did this?" you asked, taking her hand.

She shrugged, ears flushed pink. "You talk about people when you’re happy. I just… remembered the names. Asked around. Dina helped me with the Insta creeping."

Your heart swelled. And you leaned in to kissed her.

As the party wound down, your friends, who were half-tipsy already, floated the idea of heading to a bar across town.

"You two are totally coming," one of your oldest friends said, tugging at your hand. "We haven’t seen you in years, you can’t just disappear now."

You turned to Ellie, who already had that mischief look plastered on her face.

"C’mon," she said, brushing your hair behind your ear. "I’ll buy the first round."

The bar was dim and neon-drenched, full of people and terrible music. Ellie stayed close to your side, one hand in the back pocket of your jeans, laughing at your stories, letting you steal sips from her drink. It was strange seeing your two worlds blur like this. Your past and your present. Your oldest friends watching the way Ellie looked at you, some of them smirking behind their glasses, others giving you subtle thumbs-up when Ellie leaned in to whisper something soft in your ear.

As the night stretched, the drinks became foggy. You weren’t much of a heavy drinker, not usually. But tonight was different. Your birthday, Ellie by your side, surrounded by old friends and new memories. The kind of warmth that went straight to your chest and, okay, maybe your head too.

Ellie had been keeping count. She wasn’t a buzzkill about it, just quietly attuned. Two cocktails, one shot someone handed you during a toast, and a half-glass of whatever suspicious pink stuff was handed to you by a giggling friend. That was your limit. But Ellie knew better than to tell you that. She just hovered nearby, patient as ever.

You stumbled into her at the edge of the dance floor, head heavy on her shoulder, arms winding around her waist. "You’re so pretty," you slurred, eyes sparkling. "Did you know? God, Ellie. You’re so stupidly hot. Like, offensively attractive."

Ellie laughed, catching you by the waist. "Okay, babe. That’s number four talking."

"Nuh-uh," you protested, poking her chest. "That’s just me. I love you."

You clung to her like a very drunk koala, and she steadied you with both hands on your hips, heart swelling even as she rolled her eyes affectionately. "You do love me, huh?" she said, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

You nodded emphatically. "Like. So much. It’s actually disgusting."

She grinned, soft and crooked, the way she always did when she was trying to mask how much your affection hit her. "Alright, babe," she said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Let’s get you some water."

You went willingly, still nuzzling into her side, giggling every time she called you a nickname. The bartender handed over a tall glass of ice water with a straw, and Ellie pressed it to your lips. "Sip. You’re gonna thank me later."

You sipped. And she grinned, whispering a soft ‘atta girl’ in your ear.

"You’re so bossy," you mumbled, cheeks flushed.

"Yeah, and you like it."

"Love it, sure." you whispered, leaning up to kiss her cheek.

Ellie stilled for a second, watching you with that soft, unreadable expression she always got when she was feeling more than she could say. Then she smiled, tucked your hair behind your ear, and gave your forehead a gentle kiss.

"Alright, lover girl," she murmured. "We’re going home," Ellie said firmly, glancing at your friends with a nod.

You whined quietly. "I don’t wanna go yet."

"Yeah, I know. But your eyes say you’re five minutes away from sleeping standing up."

"I don’t want to go to my apartment, El. I wish we could live together. It’s not fair," you mumbled, barely audible. "Can’t wait for you to be my forever home.”

Ellie froze. Looked down at you. And something in her expression softened so completely it nearly melted. "Jesus Christ," she whispered, more to herself than anyone. "You’re gonna ruin me."

You smiled sleepily into her collarbone, not fully aware of the words you just spilled, and how much they affected Ellie for the rest of the night.

After saying goodbye to your friend, Ellie called a cab, half-carrying you inside it, holding your hand the entire ride home while you talked in dreamy, quiet nonsense about clouds and cake and her freckles. When you reached the apartment building, Ellie kept an arm tight around your waist as she guided you down the hallway. You were still humming something that sounded vaguely like a love song, leaning all your weight on her and whispering, "I’d die for you, you know that?"

"Let’s not be dramatic," Ellie muttered, but her heart was a puddle.

Back at her place, she helped you out of your boots and your jacket, guiding you gently toward the bed. You flopped onto the mattress like a fainting Victorian lady.

"God," you mumbled. "You’re the best. You’re actually the best thing in the universe. I’d fight a bear for you."

"Good to know," Ellie said, pulling a blanket over you. "Just, maybe fight your hangover first, okay?"

You reached for her hand, and she took it instantly, sitting down beside you, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Stay here," you whispered.

"I’m not going anywhere."

You were asleep two minutes later. Ellie stayed up longer, watching you, brushing hair away from your face, and thinking about forever homes and just how fucking lucky she was.

YOU WOKE up to the soft buzz of your phone vibrating under your pillow, and the too-bright morning light pouring through Ellie’s bedroom window. Your head was pounding, your mouth tasted vaguely like tequila and regret, and you were about 85% sure you told Ellie you wanted to marry her in the middle of a bar last night.

Ellie was sitting at the edge of the bed when you finally groaned and shifted under the blankets. Her hair was a mess, and she still looked beautiful.

"Morning, lover girl," she said softly, holding out a big glass of water. "Survived?"

You took the glass, sip, and glare at her weakly. "Barely. You didn’t even drink."

"Someone had to be the responsible adult," she smirked, then leans over to press a kiss to your temple. "Also, watching you proclaim your undying love to me in front of your friends was kind of the highlight of my week."

You covered your face with a groan. "Fuck."

"No, no—don’t be embarrassed." Ellie was laughing now. Finally, she leaned in and rested her forehead against yours. "Next time," she murmured, "you propose, can you do it when I’m not holding your hair back in a bathroom?"

You snorted. "Noted."

Ellie pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. "You want pancakes?"

"God, yes. Can we get greasy diner pancakes?"

"Absolutely."

You smiled, rubbing your hands over your face. "You’re the best."

"I know," she said, standing up with a stretch. As she left the room to get dressed, you flopped back into the sheets, smiling into the pillow. Your head still hurt. Your throat still burned. But your chest? Your chest felt light.

It had been a very different birthday, but your favorite by far.

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aurorawritestoescape · 2 months ago

Text

CHERRY LIPS

Clint Flood x f!reader || 4,5 k

Summary: Clint and you have a simple relationship - you fuck each other and go on with your lives. Can it stay that way? What if one night changes everything?

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, age gap (the size is up to you bb), stripper!reader, Cherry is her stage name (mentioned once), Clint is in love, protective!Clint, canon typical violence (not towards reader), bratty reader, lots of banter, praise kink, FEELINGS, mention of m!oral, unprotected piv, creampie, dirty talk, pet names, swearing, alcohol consumption (Clint has a beer). Reader has hair.

A/n: this started as a pwp but as usual turned into something else. I hope you’ll enjoy it❤️ Sweet kisses to @milla-frenchy for coming up with the title (inspired by the song Cherry Lips - Garbage) and for beta-ing! ILYSM!😘 Dividers by @huraxy

MASTERLIST || more Clint

You walk out of the club late at night after your shift and take a deep breath, filling your lungs with crisp air. It’s a little cold outside and a shiver runs down your spine, your skin erupts with goosebumps, but after heavy cigarette smoke of the club you relish the freshness of the night. Besides, you don’t have time to get really cold - a hot flash burns your insides when you see him waiting for you.

Clint is leaning against his blue Chevy, huge arms crossed in front of his chest, broad shoulders straining a black leather jacket. His glare tells everyone to ’fuck off’ and only to you it whispers ‘C’mere’. You bite your lip at the sight, your desire pulling you to him like a magnet.

“Hey, Cherry! How much for a bj?”

You roll your eyes, hearing some asshole shout behind you. Of fucking course. The motherfucker had the pleasure of seeing your tits, so now he feels entitled to trying the other goods out.

“I’m not a hooker, asshat. I’m a dancer,” you throw at him, not turning back, heading to the man you would give a hundred bj’s for free.

Clint’s scowl turns extra threatening when he hears the guy talk to you.

“Hey, Cowboy,” you purr, reaching the car, and Clint opens the door for you to get in, but his eyes are set on the man following you from the club.

“Are you her pimp?” the fucker asks, coming up to the car and getting into Clint’s face.

“Big mistake,” you mumble under your breath, already in the passenger seat. Through the window you watch him show Clint his index and middle fingers and yap,

“Your bitch owes me two lap dances.”

“Don’t call her that,” you hear Clint’s growl, quickly followed by a crunch of bones.

You look away in disgust and then see Clint walking around the car to the driver’s seat. The asshole is squealing on the ground, cradling his broken fingers, and you pop your head out of the window to smirk into his crying face, before Clint drives you off.

“How’s work, baby?” Clint asks as if nothing has happened, giving you a quick up and down look. After watching him stand up for you, there’s a risk of you sliding off the leather seat, but no way you’d show him how much his protection turns you on — you’re a strong independent woman after all.

“Uneventful,” you reply, grabbing a cassette tape from the glove compartment and sliding it into the player. “Well. Until you broke my client’s fingers.”

A song you love starts playing and you bob your head to the beat, humming under your nose. Clint seems to be focused on the road ahead but then he asks,

“Should I apologise?”

“No, he deserved it,” you reply with a shrug. “And I loveeeee when you’re protective of me.”

“Don’t say this word.”

“What? ‘Love’?” You furrow your brows, hearing his growl. “C’mon Cowboy, you said it, I didn’t, what’s the big deal?”

Clint doesn’t reply and keeps silently driving you through the empty streets, but electricity in the air is palpable.

Familiar feeling crawls into your chest - a mixture of guilt and anger, and as soon as it pangs your heart, you get defensive.

“Quit working for the mob and maybe I’ll change my mind. Your life's too messy for me.”

“Messy,” he repeats slowly, his thumb drumming against the steering wheel. ”Yours isn’t? That dick coulda attacked you.”

“I doubt it. But if he had, I would’ve used a pepper spray. And the mess you’re in—,” you pause, pointing a finger at the man, ”no amount of pepper spray would help with that.”

Clint chuckles bitterly, glancing your way.

”You’re too wise for your age, you know that?”

You smirk and turn to him in your seat.

“Oh, I bet you’d want me to be a lil bimbo, huh?” You make your voice higher and squeeze your breasts together between your arms, pushing them out, as you blabber, “Big clever man, please, teach me life, while I’m sucking your fat cock!”

Clint chuckles, shaking his head, but his paw darts down to adjust a prominent bulge in his jeans.

“You’re funny.”

“So what am I? Wise or funny?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Ok. Whatever you say, handsome,” you shrug and throw your shoes off. You put your feet on Clint’s lap and he rests his free hand on your ankle. His warm touch makes you purr like a cat and you melt against the seat.

You two are driving in silence, only music filling the car, both in your own thoughts, until you see his house.

Clint’s place is simply decorated, clean and always dimly lit. You love it- after strobing lights of the club your eyes and mind can finally rest, your soul feels at peace. There you’re always on high alert, your guard is constantly up - half naked, glitter on your skin and in your hair, you can’t help but feel like a prey that’s inviting a predator, grinding on some guy who would have happily taken you by force if not for the security.

At Clint’s house you unwind, relax, take a deep breath of his scent and feel yourself protected, cared for, loved.

‘Loved’.

Clint never says it now, the word alone makes his chest rumble with thunder. He did once and your reaction surprised you both. You laughed. Then you got furious.

You’d been seeing each other for a few weeks and his confession was unexpected but also cruel. Those three little words made your relationship complicated and dangerous for you. Like a rope tied around your wrists, bonding you to him. How long till that rope would be around your neck?

Clint always thought that he was invincible, a warrior no one could fuck with. But what about you? You’d seen too much shit happen to girls because of their men and you didn’t want to be one of them. So you fucked him and went on with your life. He fucked you and went on with his.

“Gonna take a shower. Wanna join me?” you purr, pressing your palms to Clint’s strong chest, when you two step into his place.

”I’m good. I’ll wait for you.”

He leans in and kisses your pouty lips. Soon they part and he hums at the taste of cherry, your favorite lip gloss flavor.

You come back soon wearing his band tee, big enough to cover your ass, and a black thong. Clint’s waiting for you on the couch, nursing a beer in his hand, deep in thoughts as usual. His leather jacket discarded, you bite your lip seeing him in a flannel shirt over a grey Hanley. The broadness of his torso, the spread of his thighs make you gush into your fresh panties.

“How was your day, honey?” you trill with a smile, padding to the cassette player on the drawer. Clint sighs and takes a sip of his beer.

“Fine.”

“Sounds like it,” you mumble and slide the cassette you made for him into the deck. You rewind it to the song you sometimes dance to at the club and smile, enjoying the sexy tune. As if by itself your body starts moving and you turn to Clint, seductively swaying your hips, your hands slowly pulling the hem of your tee up, exposing more of your body.

You saunter to the couch and stop between Clint’s legs.

“You don’t have to dance for me,” he utters, but his eyes take in everything you’re giving him.

“I know I don’t have to-,” you smirk, turning around. “I want to.”

With your back to the couch you bend over, showing off your ass, your palms gliding over your naked legs, your skin erupting in goosebumps. You bring your hand to your covered pussy and trace your seam over the wet fabric. A moan falls out of your mouth, loud enough for Clint to hear even through the music. The man growls, his obsidian eyes set on the place that’s throbbing desperately for him.

You straighten up and turn around, facing him again. Clint licks his lips, his Adam apple bobs, and you feel giddy inside seeing how turned on he is because of you. Making people horny is literally your job, but only with Clint you feel a thrill as if you’re dancing for someone for the first time.

To push him further you lift your bare foot, put it on his denim-clad thigh and slowly drag it up, up to his big bulge. When your foot slightly pushes his clothed cock, you take a sharp breath - he’s rock hard under his jeans.

Suddenly Clint grabs your ankle and pulls you to him, making you fall on his lap with a gasp.

“Bad Cowboy,” you scold him, giggling and straddling his thick thighs. Your nails dig into his shoulders as a punishment but he doesn’t even flinch.

“Quit your teasing.”

He sits up, holding you close with one arm wrapped around you, and places the unfinished beer on the side table. His strong body against yours, the way he holds you like a doll, sends a bolt of lightning to your core, and you bite your lip, suppressing a needy whimper.

Clint leans back on the couch and slides his hands under your tee. They’re so big and warm on your hips, that you purr at the feeling.

Then you bring your index finger to his face and trace a line that goes from the bridge of his nose down to his cheekbone.

“When are you gonna tell me how you got this scar?”

Clint scratches the place that you’ve tickled and gruffs,

“When you behave.”

“Never then. ‘k.” Your laughter lightens up the room and Clint shakes his head with a soft smile.

After a few moments of silence you ask,

“Why do you never come see me dance at the club?”

“I don’t go to strip clubs.”

Your brows shoot up as you remind him,

“Didn’t we meet there, Cowboy?”

Clint shifts his jaw and replies,

”Yeah, but I was working. You know it.”

“Oh, yes!” You tilt your head to the side and reminisce, ”You were so cute. Trying not to stare at my tits when I was dancing for your boss.”

You remember that day like it was yesterday. The pull you felt when you saw Clint for the first time - tall and broad, dangerous-looking. A pair of grabby hands were creeping over your body, no one would dare to stop a mob boss from groping a stripper, but you didn’t care. All your attention was focused on his enforcer, standing in the shadows. You weren’t dancing for the asshole in the chair, you were dancing for Clint.

After the lap dance, you managed to sneak a paper with your phone number into his palm and he called you the next day.

A smile tugs at Clint’s lips as he mumbles, looking almost shy,

“‘Cute’. No one ever calls me ‘cute’.”

“That’s because you’re cute only for me.” You slowly lean down and give him a teasing peck on the lips. When your eyes slide down his chest, you see that his bulge has gotten even bigger. God, you want it inside!

You grab the hem of your tee and take it off, freeing your naked breasts, your nipples diamond-hard.

“Oh yeah, baby,” Clint groans and bucks his hips up at the sight.

Your dance continues as you’re moving back and forth on his lap, bringing your tits closer to his face and then pulling away. Your clothed pussy grazes his bulge, whimpers fall from your mouth at the sensation of the rough material against your heat.

Clint’s eyes are dark as he’s watching you, they trail over your naked breasts, your heaving belly, a small triangle of your thong, stuck to your wet folds. You tease yourself with your fingers and press your lips to his thick neck. Your tongue darts out, his skin salty and hot. Suddenly Clint growls and pushes you to sit up.

“What?” you whine, already missing the feel and the taste of him on your tongue.

He is rubbing your arms up and down and says,

“Lemme look at you first.”

“Perv.” You roll your eyes, and Clint huffs a laugh but his gaze is full of longing, his hot palms trail over your skin with a softness only he gives you.

“Don’t look at me like this,” you whisper, feeling a lump in your throat.

“Like what?”

You leave his question hanging in the air, too hard to answer, to say the words out loud.

A corner of Clint’s mouth rises up but his eyes lack humour. His hand slides from your hip to your back and he pulls you closer. He presses an open mouth kiss to your collarbone, making your heart beat so hard and fast, he surely can feel it on his lips, as they trail down to your naked breasts. He kisses a spot just above your nipple and your eyes flutter shut, your body lighting up at the feeling of his soft touch and scruffy facial hair, his big hand keeping you in place.

Clint tilts his head up, his eyes are dark with lust, but there’s something else there, something warm and real. You push him back slightly, clinging to your power, refusing to accept his vulnerability, but your walls crumble when he murmurs three simple words,

“You’re beautiful.” All of a sudden, you stop breathing as he continues, “Do they tell you that?”

“Who?” You croak and clear your throat.

“Assholes you dance for.”

He leans back against the couch while his eyes are staring into your soul.

“Sometimes.” You’re not lying. Some men shower you with praise when you dance, but their words are tasteless, only Clint’s compliments make your heart flutter.

He hums, narrowing his eyes at you.

Your voice is shaky when you tell him, “I’d love to give you a dance at the club. Wanna show you what I can do.”

“You’re showing it now, baby. Doing a damn good job,” Clint smirks, watching you straddle him. He brings his hands to your tits to cup them and grazes your perked up nipples with his thumbs.

“Could I touch you like this in the club?” he asks, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“No, I’d ask you to sit on your hands, bad boy.” You give him a smile but you don’t feel like laughing - the lust sends hot flashes through your core again and again, your pussy aches to be filled.

“Do you want me to sit on my hands?” Clint’s husky voice makes you shudder and goosebumps cover your skin as you shake your head.

Clint hums in approval, his hands now grabbing two handfuls of your ass and squeezing them. A sudden slap follows right away, not hard but strong enough for your asscheek to jiggle.

“Could I do this?”

He’s challenging you, waiting for you to beg him to fuck you.

“No,” you reply, your voice small, barely audible through the music.

He tuts as his hand snakes to your mound and he cups your heat over your panties.

“What about her? Could I touch this little pussy? So wet,” he adds, massaging it with his paw.

The reply gets stuck in your throat, you’re drunk on him, with the way he’s masterfully playing with your body, with his scent enveloping you, his obsidian eyes focused on you. Clint lightly slaps your mound to get your answer.

“Could I?”

“No,” you mumble, “you’d be asked off the premises immediately.”

He smirks, his thumb slides under your thong, and when he swirls your clit, your needy moan rings loudly in the room.

“Why the hell would I go to the club, then? If I couldn’t make my girl happy.”

“I’m not your girl.” Your whimper has just a trace of defiance.

“Keep telling yourself this,” Clint gruffs, taking in every sign of your pleasure. His thumb begins rubbing your puffy clit under your panties, but his touch is feather-light, torturous, up and down, up and down. “Lie all you want but she can’t. Always wet and warm for me, always ready to take me.”

“Huh, bet you want it to be just you and her right now.“

It’s difficult to tease him when he’s working your pussy like this but you can’t help yourself. Clint’s eyes are set on your cunt as he smirks,

“No, I like you.“

“Oh. Only like me?”

“Not only. But…” His hand leaves your heat and he brings it up to glide his thumb over your lower lip. “Sometimes you make me wanna shove something big in this pretty mouth of yours, just to shut you up.”

Clint’s words set your core on fire, the ache getting unbearable. You dart your tongue out and lick the pad of his finger, tasting your own juices on it.

“What’s stopping you, Cowboy?”

“I guess I’m a gentleman, baby.”

“Huh. So that’s why I’ve been grinding against you forever and you still haven’t fucked me? Cos you’re a gentleman?”

A thunder rumbles in Clint’s chest and he tilts his hips up, his bulge poking your centre.

“No, it's just— you always leave as soon as we’re done and…“

“And you wanna keep enjoying my amazing company?“ You finish his sentence with a giggle but he’s not laughing. It seems that you’ve hit the bullseye and the realization makes you melt.

Who has ever wanted you like that? Fully, unconditionally, sincerely?

You feel tears well up in your eyes and, hiding them, quickly push your face into the crease of his neck.

“Fuck me, Clint, please, just… just fuck me.”

Your hips start to grind against his cock bulge, your pride be damned, you need him with every cell of your body.

A fresh surge of wetness floods your core when you hear his belt buckle clank. You lift your hips so Clint could unzip his jeans, tug them down together with his boxers and pull his cock out.

You’d never tell him but he’s got the most beautiful dick you’ve ever had or seen. Long and thick, two veins bulging on the sides, a wet red tip curved upwards for your pleasure - it looks like it was made for you.

You hover over his length, your hands planted on his broad shoulders, and he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your needy pussy.

“Fuck, these are soaked. She’s less stubborn than you, beautiful. Needs me bad,” Clint smirks, brushing your dripping folds with his bruised knuckles. It’s impossible to deny that you are desperate for him, you both see it.

“Yeah, she wants it real bad, Cowboy.”

“She’s gonna get it, beautiful. I’ll give it to you both nice and hard.”

His big hand darts to grab your waist and he pulls you down. When his hot tip notches your tight hole, you brace yourself- taking him is always a challenge. You begin slowly sinking on his length and Clint grunts through his teeth when your pussy starts swallowing his cock inch by inch. When you take all of him, your ass flush with his heavy balls, a moan falls from his parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m so full,” you mewl, sitting pretty on his cock. Clint leans against the couch and thrusts his hips up, making his dick plunge even deeper into you. You cry out, the dull ache making the pleasure extra delicious. Clint’s hot wet breath fans your tits as he shudders and twitches inside you, his thick fingers digging into your soft hips.

“Haven't had any since our last date, Cowboy?” you gloat, giddy with the idea that you’re the only girl he’s fucking.

Clint retorts through heavy breaths,

“You sucked my dick at the backseat, baby. You calling it a date?”

“Fuck you,” you bite back and, feeling spiteful, rock your hips, massaging his cock with your walls, making him lose his mind.

“Easy, tiger,” he growls but how can you stop now? “Little minx…” Clint gruffs, when you start enthusiastically riding him. He pulls you flush against his chest, wraps his huge arms around your torso, rendering you completely helpless, and keeps you still.

“Ya heard me? I’ve had a hard day. Let me get used to her first.”

“Or what? You gonna bust too soon? Guess it’s normal at your age, Cowboy.”

You playfully kiss his neck but your teasing finally pushes the man to the limit. Clint plants his feet wider on the floor, the grip around your torso tightens, and he starts thrusting his cock up into your cunt with fast and rough strokes. His breathing is hot and shaky against your temple, you’re moaning and whimpering while your pussy is being ruined. You feel the stretch like never before, his thickness splitting you in two, and your eyes roll back into your head, thanks to the divine angle of his pounding. His stiff cock is rubbing the pleasure button inside your wet heat, and you rise so high and so fast, that your head starts spinning.

“Take it—take it—take it,” Clint grunts, his voice husky and strained. “ ‘s all you want, uh?— to be fucked hard?—like I don’t give a shit about you— like I don’t love you…”

You freeze in his arms, his hips still moving, his cock still jackhammering your pussy. For a few moments he keeps fucking you until you wiggle out of his iron embrace and sit up.

You’re both panting, blown out eyes locked, and you lean in and kiss him, his scruffy cheeks in your hands, your mouths desperately swallowing each other’s air. Always knowing what you need before you do, Clint begins caressing your body, his fingers writing confessions all over your skin, your tongues licking into each other’s mouths. His lips leave yours for a moment so he could say,

“Ride me, baby. Take what you need, I got you.”

You know he does. He always does. But you need to feel all of him now. So you push the flannel off his shoulders and Clint hastily takes his Hanley off.

You hungrily take his naked torso in and start dancing on his cock, slowly, sensually, gliding your palms over his broad chest, muscular arms, ruffling up his pushed back curls.

Clint’s hands don’t rest either - they start kneading your breasts, palming your hardened nipples, twitching and pulling them. You drop your head and see how perfectly your pussy is stretched by Clint’s thickness. The sight mesmerizes you, your lips part and you moan watching her swallow Clint’s glistening shaft again and again, your pearly cream sits like a ring around his base.

“Hey, keep your pretty eyes on me.“

Clint pinches your chin and tilts your head up to face him. Here it is again. That look of his that tells you volumes without words, that terrifies you, excites you, makes your heart flutter.

You don’t fight it this time. Don’t tease him, don’t throw a joke to dilute the feeling, don’t shut his wordless confession up. You let his gaze take you to your peak, make your thighs shake and pussy quiver.

You come with his name on your lips, not ‘Cowboy’, not a cold ‘handsome’.

“Yes, baby, like that, doing good for me,” Clint encourages you and bounces you on his cock, prolonging your shuddering orgasm. Then he freezes with a moan and begins exploding inside you, painting your walls with his warm load. You cling to his chest and his arms envelop you again but he’s not restraining you now, he’s holding you close, while ecstasy is rippling through your bodies. Your lips meet and you’re making out lazily, getting down from your highs.

Feeling exhausted, still spasming on his cock from time to time, you put your head on his shoulder and close your eyes with a satisfied sigh. Clint’s gentle hands glide over your tingling skin and soon they put you to sleep.

You wake up when the morning sun is peeking through the drapes in his bedroom. Clint’s on his back next to you, his breathing deep and slow. For a few seconds you’re watching him, his dark lashes fluttering, his chest rising and falling. You take a deep breath, overwhelmed by the desire to kiss him, trace his scar with your lips, run your hands over the vast expanse of his body. You want it so much your chest hurts, but you fight it and get up. Not seeing your clothes, you grab Clint’s flannel off the chair and put it on.

“Hittin’ and quittin’ and stealing my favorite shirt,” Clint croaks behind you and you turn around with a smile. “Bad girl.” His lips are slightly curved too, sleepy eyes sliding up and down your half naked body.

“I need to go. I’ll give it back to you, don’t worry.”

Clint hums and then stretches. He spreads his big arms, huge muscles bulging, and a sheet slides off his leg, exposing his thick hairy thigh. A pronounced shape between his legs makes you salivate and you bite your lip.

“Stay,” Clint says softly. “We can go again.. Or just cuddle.“

Your eyebrows shoot up as you giggle,

“You wanna cuddle?”

“I wanna cuddle the shit out of you, baby.”

Your laugh rings loudly in the bedroom, but you’re hesitant. You’ve never stayed till the morning, never made breakfast for you two, never let him pull you too close. Yet something in you has changed tonight, the strong feeling sits warm and heavy in your belly. You crave all of that now.

The flannel shirt falls on the floor and you jump into the bed. Clint wraps you in his arms with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him and holds you close. And you let him.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! Your feedback means the world💜

MASTERLIST || more Clint

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name

People who were interested in the wip posts (no pressure to read, bbs) @604to647 @toxicanonymity @sawymredfox @yxtkiwiyxt @baronessvonglitter @tateypots

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #clint x reader #clint flood #clint freaky tales #pedro pascal smut #clint x you #freaky tales #pedro pascal fanfiction #freaky tales clint #clint flood x reader #clint flood x you #smut #pedro pascal x you #fanfiction #clint flood freaky tales #clint x f!reader #Clint flood x f!reader #cherry lips fic

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afeelgoodblog · 9 months ago

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The Best News of Last Month - August 2024

1.Negative Power Prices Hit Europe as Renewable Energy Floods the Grid

European power markets are experiencing a notable shift as renewable energy sources, particularly wind and solar, become a larger part of the energy mix. On Wednesday, power prices in several European markets, including Germany, dipped below zero due to a surge in green electricity production.

2. Taiwan introduces ban on performances by captive wild animals

Live performances by wild animals held in captivity, including performances by dolphins, tigers, and other non-domesticated mammals, will no longer be permitted in Taiwan under new Ministry of Agriculture (MOA) regulations.

3. FTC bans fake online reviews, inflated social media influence; rule takes effect in October

The FTC voted unanimously to ban marketers from using fake reviews, such as those generated with AI technology, and other misleading advertising practices.

The ban also forbids marketers from exaggerating their own influence by, for example, paying for bots to inflate their follower count.

4. Chinese drones will fly trash out of Everest slopes

Come autumn, Nepal will deploy heavy lifter drones to transport garbage from the 6,812-metre tall Ama Dablam, south of Everest. This will be the first commercial work an unmanned aerial vehicle does in Nepal’s high-altitude zone.

The heavy lifter from China’s biggest drone maker, Da Jiang Innovations (DJI), will take on tasks traditionally handled by Sherpas. Officials believe it will help reduce casualties on Everest.

5. Swiss scientists have found a way to use the whole cocoa fruit to make chocolate and not just taking beans and discarding the rest.

Kim Mishra (L) and Anian Schreiber (R) cooperated on the new chocolate making process

Food scientists in Switzerland have come up with a way to make chocolate using the entire cocoa fruit rather than just the beans - and without using sugar.

The chocolate, developed at Zurich’s prestigious Federal Institute of Technology by scientist Kim Mishra and his team includes the cocoa fruit pulp, the juice, and the husk, or endocarp.

6. Six-year-old boy found in Vietnam forest after five days

A six-year-old boy who was missing for five days has been found deep in a forest in Vietnam. Dang Tien Lam, who lives in the northwestern Yen Bai province, was playing in a stream with his nine siblings on 17 August when he wandered into the hills and got lost, local reports said.

He was found on Wednesday by local farmers who heard a child's cry while they were clearing a cinnamon field close to the forest.

7. Lego plans to make half the plastic in bricks from renewable materials by 2026

Lego plans to make half the plastic in its bricks from renewable or recycled material rather than fossil fuels by 2026, in its latest effort to ensure its toys are more environmentally friendly.

The Danish company last year ditched efforts to make bricks entirely from recycled bottles because of cost and production issues. At the moment, 22% of the material in its colourful bricks is not made from fossil fuels.

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That's it for this month :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to share this post with your friends.

#best news of last week

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undiagnosedcruelty · 4 months ago

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GAME OVER

Pairing: bf!felix x afab!reader

Summary: Felix has been stuck in bronze all day, frustrated from shitty teammates and losing streaks. You decide to offer him a little… distraction. But what starts as playful teasing quickly turns into payback when Felix reminds you exactly who’s in control.

Genre: Smut —MINORS DNI!

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Warnings: Oral sex (m + f receiving), teasing/dom!Felix, overstimulation, edging, mild degradation, praise kink, spanking, language, slight power play, Felix being a menace, reader being a brat, explicit sexual content.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: the things i have in my drafts are questionable.

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EVERYTHING WRITTEN IS PURELY FICTION──NOTHING IS DIRECTLY RELATED TO ANY REAL LIFE EVENTS.

Felix had been gaming for hours.

The constant clicking of his mouse, the aggressive taps of his keyboard, and the occasional frustrated growls had filled the room all evening. He was tense, jaw locked, golden brows furrowed in frustration as he lost yet another ranked match.

“Are you fucking serious?” he groaned, tossing his head back against his chair. His deep voice carried a rough edge, thick with irritation. “These teammates are garbage. No comms, no awareness—how the fuck am I supposed to rank up like this?”

You bit back a smirk from where you stood behind him, watching the sharp rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers flexed aggressively over the keys. His hoodie had ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of taut, golden skin above the waistband of his sweats. His long legs were spread in his gaming chair, his posture stiff with frustration.

Another defeat screen flashed.

Felix exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his dark roots.

That was your cue.

Padding over, you slid behind him, your hands settling on his shoulders, kneading into the tension gathered there. “Still stuck in bronze?” you teased, voice lilting with amusement.

Felix let out a low grunt, his head tilting slightly at your touch, though his fingers remained glued to the keyboard. “Don’t start.”

“You know, maybe you just need a break,” you murmured, leaning in so your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Or… a distraction.”

Felix stiffened slightly, a visible shiver running through him as your breath fanned against his skin. But he huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. “Babe, I don’t think—”

“You should focus,” you purred, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, feeling his breath hitch beneath your touch. “You're in a ranked game, right?”

He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “Yeah.”

“Then don’t let me stop you.”

And with that, you sank onto your knees between his legs.

Felix froze. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but his entire body tensed as your hands trailed up his thighs, nails scratching teasingly over the fabric of his sweats.

"Shit—"

The game started. His teammates moved. But Felix didn’t.

"You wouldn’t leave your team hanging, would you?" you murmured, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

His breath shuddered. "You little—"

You tugged at his sweats, and Felix lifted his hips instinctively, letting you pull them down just enough to free him. The moment your fingers wrapped around him, his head tipped back against the chair, lips parting in a sharp inhale.

"Fuuuck—"

His cock was already hard, flushed and hot against your palm, and when you gave him a slow, teasing stroke, his thighs tensed beneath your hands. His fingers twitched on the keyboard, barely able to form a response as the chat flooded with messages from his confused teammates.

"Babe, I swear to—"

But his words cut off into a choked moan as you licked him, the warmth of your tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path along his length.

"Fuck, you’re—” He exhaled shakily, struggling to focus, struggling to breathe. His grip on the mouse was completely useless now, his knuckles white as his free hand slipped into your hair, fingers tangling in the strands.

You took your time, lips brushing over sensitive skin, teasing him with feather-light kisses before finally wrapping your mouth around him.

Felix lost it.

His hips jerked, a sharp gasp breaking from his throat as he completely abandoned his game. His other hand shot to your hair, gripping tight—not to stop you, but to ground himself, to keep from unraveling too fast.

"Fucking—" His voice was low, wrecked, vibrating deep in his chest. "You're killing me, baby."

You hummed in response, taking him deeper, feeling the way his thighs quivered beneath your touch. His cock throbbed in your mouth, the heat of him heavy on your tongue, and when you sucked just a little harder, he swore.

The game blared in the background—his teammates pinging frantically, spamming question marks in chat as his character stood idle in spawn.

But Felix didn’t give a single fuck.

His breathing was ragged, his hand tightening in your hair as he fought to hold himself back, but when you flattened your tongue against him and swallowed around his length, his restraint snapped.

"Shit, shit—baby, if you keep that up—"

His voice was shaking, his muscles taut, his head thrown back against the chair as his hips bucked up, desperate for more. He needed more.

“Babe, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m close—” His thighs trembled, his entire body coiled with tension, his grip firm as he guided your pace. His voice was deep, desperate, laced with pure, unfiltered need.

And then, with one last shattered moan, Felix let go.

His hips stuttered, his breath catching in his throat as he came hard, pleasure crashing over him like a tidal wave. His whole body shivered with the force of it, his fingers tightening in your hair as he rode out every last pulse, every last second of bliss.

You swallowed him down, letting your tongue flick over him just to hear him curse again, his thighs twitching as he let out a broken, ruined groan.

His chest heaved, his body sinking into the chair, completely spent. His grip on your hair softened, fingers threading through the strands gently, soothingly.

The room was silent except for the sound of his ragged breathing. The defeat screen blinked on his monitor.

But this time, Felix didn’t even notice.

Finally, he cracked one eye open, looking down at you with a dazed, blissed-out smirk.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he muttered, voice hoarse, fingers brushing over your cheek.

You licked your lips, grinning up at him. “And yet… you didn’t stop me.”

Felix let out a breathless chuckle, tugging you up into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist. His lips brushed over your ear, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.

"Oh, you are so fucked, baby."

Game over.

Your body barely had a second to recover before Felix was on you.

The moment you wiped the smug grin off your face, he had you in his lap, his hands gripping your hips hard as he pulled you close. His eyes—normally soft, warm—had darkened into something predatory, his lips curling into a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Oh, you are so fucked, baby,” he murmured, voice thick, deep, dangerous.

His fingers flexed against your hips, holding you in place as he tilted his head, brushing his lips over your jaw. It was soft—deceptive—before he nipped at your skin, hard enough to make you gasp.

“Thought you could distract me during a ranked match?” he murmured, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, tongue flicking over sensitive spots as you shivered. “Thought I’d just let you get away with that?”

Your breath hitched. His hands slid up beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming over your waist, slow and teasing. You tried to shift in his lap, feeling the heat of him beneath you, already growing hard again despite how wrecked he had been just minutes ago.

But Felix wasn’t letting you set the pace this time.

“No,” he murmured, gripping your thighs and flipping you effortlessly onto the bed. His body caged you in, the weight of him pressing you down, leaving nowhere to run.

Your breath caught as he dragged his fingers down your chest, the teasing, featherlight touch a stark contrast to the dark promise in his eyes.

“You wanted my attention so bad, didn’t you?” he mused, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “So desperate to have me focus on you instead of my game?”

His fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, just brushing over where you needed him most—so close yet still not enough.

“Felix—”

His hand tightened on your waist.

“Oh, now you’re begging?” he chuckled, his deep voice sending heat pooling in your stomach. His free hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. “That’s cute, baby. But I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

And then his fingers slipped lower—deliberate, maddeningly slow.

You gasped, back arching as his fingertips teased at your entrance, pushing your panties to the side, barely pressing inside before retreating. Your hips jerked instinctively, trying to chase his touch, but he tut-tutted, pressing your hips down with his free hand.

“Patience,” he murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to your stomach. “You didn’t let me focus earlier, so why should I give you what you want so easily?”

You whimpered, legs trembling as he kept teasing—dragging his fingers through your slick, never quite giving you the friction you craved.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he mused, pressing the tip of his middle finger inside, barely an inch, just enough to make you ache. “All from sucking me off like a needy little thing, hmm?”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But Felix saw through you—the way your thighs twitched, the way your breath stuttered when he curled his fingers just right.

He smirked, leaning down until his lips brushed against your ear.

“Go on, baby. Tell me how bad you want it.”

Your pride wavered. His fingers stilled, just on the brink of where you needed him, and you nearly lost your mind.

“Felix, please—”

He hummed in approval, finally pressing two fingers in deep, curling them until he found the spot that made you cry out.

“There you go,” he murmured, watching your face as you melted beneath him. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You barely had time to register the teasing before his lips were on yours—hungry, devouring, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl.

And then he moved—his fingers pumping in slow, deep strokes, dragging out every sound from your lips, his pace methodical, merciless.

Your thighs trembled around his hand, heat coiling low in your stomach, pleasure mounting at an overwhelming rate.

“F-Felix, I—”

He pulled away just enough to murmur against your lips, “Not yet, baby.”

His fingers stopped.

You whined, arching against him, desperate for him to keep going. But Felix only smirked, withdrawing his hand completely—leaving you empty, aching.

Your body screamed for release, but he was enjoying this too much.

“You think you can just tease me during my game and not suffer the consequences?” he murmured, his fingers dragging slick, lazy circles over your clit, never enough pressure to push you over the edge.

“I—I can’t—” You writhed beneath him, your body betraying you, every nerve ending burning with frustration.

Felix chuckled, dark and sinful. “Oh, baby, I know.”

His lips trailed lower, past your collarbone, down your stomach, his breath scorching against your overheated skin.

And then, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he dipped lower still—his tongue flicking right where you needed him most.

The first swipe had you jerking, a strangled moan breaking from your lips. But Felix just pinned your hips down with his hands, keeping you right where he wanted you.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured against your soaked skin, his voice wrecked with lust. “I’m not stopping until you’re shaking for me.”

And then he devoured you.

His mouth was sinful, tongue working in slow, agonizing strokes before sucking your clit into his mouth, alternating between teasing and torturing you with pleasure.

Your hands shot to his hair, tugging, desperate for something to hold onto as his tongue curled against you, relentless, merciless.

His hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you spread for him as he feasted, groaning against your heat like he was starving.

And then—just when you thought you might survive—he thrust his fingers back inside, curling them against that perfect spot, his tongue and hand working in tandem.

Your vision blurred. The coil inside you snapped.

You shattered.

A choked sob left your lips as the orgasm ripped through you, pleasure crashing in waves so intense it left you shaking beneath him. Felix groaned in satisfaction, his grip on your thighs tightening as he worked you through it, milking every last drop of pleasure from your body.

When you finally slumped against the mattress, boneless, trembling, Felix lifted his head—his lips shiny, his eyes blazing with pure desire.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking as he leaned up, voice mockingly sweet.

“Now you know what happens when you mess with me during ranked.”

Your pulse still pounded in your ears, your body wrecked—but even through the haze, you found the strength to whisper:

“…Maybe I should do it more often.”

Felix’s eyes darkened.

“Baby,” he murmured, flipping you onto your stomach, his body pressing flush against yours.

“That was just the warm-up.”

#stray kids #skz #skz x reader #straykids x reader #skz x reader smut #straykids felix #lee felix #felix x reader #imagine #smut

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