#the feather things were fun to figure out

[bubblebaath]

Sabellastarte spectabilis / feather duster worm

[softlyspector]

Decaf

Summary: After your first tattoo session with Joel, you can't stop thinking about him or, his touch. And it terrifies you.

Read Honeyed first where: You put aside your touch aversion for a tattoo from Joel.

Pairing: tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~10.1k

Warnings: a smidgen of angst for fun 😌 then comfort, slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, the 'believes they're hard to love, loving them is like breathing' trope, reader has issues with touch and is mostly touch adverse (joel's workin' on that though), tattoos and getting tattooed (the process isn't really described), description of a past abusive relationship and a bad experience getting tattooed, undefined unresolved previous trauma, insecurity, anxiety, loneliness, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this

A/N: This is dedicated to all of you who are also touch adverse. I hope you like this part as much as the first, and feel seen and heard. I love you and thank you for being so kind and open with your love and your own experiences. May you find the patience and love you deserve in your own Joel.

Once again, we’re ignoring canon and pretending like Joel can draw for this fic, thank you. Editing this was a labor, so if there are any mistakes blame my tired eyes. Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!

Joel doesn’t want to walk you home, though he figures he should.

It’s the polite thing to do. The kind of thing his mother and grandmother raised him to do. 

And it's got nothing at all to do with prolonging this very long day with you. No, nothing so self serving and selfish as that.

His little doe he’d lured so close, still so out of reach with hidden tattoos not on her hip. It’s scary, the want that wells up in him, the desire to see you step that much closer to him, until you feel safe enough to nestle in his shadow. 

If you were the deer, he should be the tree, the shade, the haven. 

Rage, incandescent and warm and comforting in its familiarity, wells up in his chest again when your earlier admission plays through his mind. 

Nothing brings his anger, quick and deadly, like those he cares for being harmed. Rarely did he see cause for it to break the surface—not since Sarah was born and he had a better example to set, not since Tommy calmed down and stopped getting in so many fights. 

This, though, with you—the thought of you being harmed, brings it all rushing back. He hopes to never lay eyes on your ex, for everyone’s sake. 

I had bruises for a couple weeks after, you’d said. It hurt. He wanted it to hurt.

Those words had stung on their own, but then you’d continued. 

I think he wanted to brand me. He wanted to leave a piece of himself on me, whether I wanted it or not.

It grates on him, that anyone could hurt you that way, that anyone would even think of it, and get away with it. 

You’re happily finishing the last bite of the quartet of tacos he’d gotten you, unaware of the turmoil that drags taunting claws into the fleshy parts of his chest. 

You nod along to the Cash song still playing over the outdoor speakers, though now at a much lower volume as the night wanes later, a content expression on your face. 

He likes watching you eat, likes it even better knowing you’re eating something he got you. It satisfies something weirdly primal in him. 

The side of your leg is still pressed to his, warm and pliant even through two layers of denim. The buzzing flaxen glow of the sting lights halo over your head; it casts your face in shadow, the long feathers of your lashes spiking down your cheeks.

You seem more relaxed now. The tension in your shoulders has loosened, the crease between your furrowed brows gone as you ball up the used napkins and toss them into the little paper boat the tacos had been on.

He refuses the last few sips of lemonade, and so you drink the rest instead. 

“Well,” you say, your voice a little sheepish and shy, that soft round look coming back into your eyes. He imagines you with the twitching, sensitive ears of a doe, poking through your hair, alert and suddenly wary of the extended hand you’d been so trusting of minutes before. “I should probably let you go. It’s late.” 

You say it like you think you’ve been keeping him there, taking up his time that he’s eager to get back. 

But you haven’t, and he isn’t ready to let you go. 

“I’ll walk ya home.” 

“It’s alright,” you say dismissively, gathering the trash and standing before he can do it for you. “I’m only a couple of blocks over,” you say over your shoulder as you walk away. 

“I’d feel better if you let me,” he admits, following close behind you. 

You toss the trash and then turn back to him, nervously running your palms along your thighs, eyes flicking over him. “This is a safe little town, you know,” you reassure him. “Like, I’m pretty sure my neighbors don’t even lock their door.” 

Joel blinks. “But you lock your door, don’t ya?” 

An inexplicable smile pulls your mouth up at the corners. “Yeah, Joel, I lock my door.” 

“Good,” he says gruffly, shoving down the protective feeling that had been rising in his chest. It’s an insane feeling, one that sets something he thought long dead on fire within him. 

You just watch him for a moment, knowing eyes sliding over him. “Well,” you relent and jerk your head toward one of the side streets. “I’m this way, if you’re sure you have time.” 

Like time had anything to do with it. 

He gestures you ahead of him, his eyes falling down the curve of your spine, the shape of your hips and thighs. He’s still trying hard not to think about the bumblebee and the antlers tattooed somewhere on your body, all the parts of you he hasn’t seen. 

He’s trying hard not to think about a lot of things. 

Like how your skin felt under his hand, dewy and warm. How he’d spent most of the day with his hand covering yours, the hummingbird beat of your pulse against his fingertips. 

He’s trying not to think about how good you smelled that close, raw and unfiltered, how irritated he had been when the sharp smell of disinfectant had chased it away. 

You carried the smell of summer with you wherever you went, like sunshine and coffee, iced sugar and coconut. 

He walks with you through the navy darkness in silence, the flash of amber street light the only thing illuminating your way. It feels nice. He feels like the rest of the world has turned its face away, that it's only you and him and the ghostly eyes of the white glow of the moon peeking through the quickly dissipating clouds.

The Texas dry heat would be back with a vengeance in the morning, but for now the street is pleasantly humid. The air still smells like petrichor, like damp concrete. He should savor it. Tomorrow, the blindingly hot smell of asphalt and dust will return and chase this moment in the dark with you away. 

You seem almost better suited to the dark, to the quiet smooth pleasantness of it, like your fear can’t reach you there if it can’t see you, if you can’t see it. Like a prey animal that only ventured into the safety of night. 

So he lets the silence last, because it's comfortable, and he’s never been one to fill silence with unnecessary chatter anyhow. 

He can’t remember the last time he did something like this, felt the brush of someone else’s fingers through the dark and the accompanying zing it sent up his arm. He forgot how amplified everything could feel, especially in the low light.

The walk to your apartment is short. 

You only live a few blocks from the center of town, and only a few streets over from the studio. He imagines you walking this path each day with the intention of coming to see him, with the intention to walk by the studio, even before you knew him—in the sun, all summer.  

You live above the town’s sole bookshop. It’s cute, like the rest of the town is. It’s unbelievable how idyllic the town is, like it’s cut straight from the pages of a romance novel, or one of those shitty Hallmark movies. 

He stands just outside the circle of the security light that blinks on over the door. You fiddle with the lock for a solid minute, jiggling the knob just so and then twisting the key in a pattern that you seem to know well, until it finally yields and opens. 

Joel clears his throat. “Y’need someone to look at that?” 

You don’t seem to hear the question mark tagged onto the end of the question, or to realize that he’s offering to fix it. “Yeah, I know,” you roll your eyes. “I’ve asked my landlord to look at it a couple of times already but they haven’t gotten around to it—”

“I can take a look for you sometime,” he clarifies. “It won’t take but a minute—” 

“That’s alright, Joel,” you interrupt quickly and dip your head, embarrassed suddenly. “I’ve let you do way too much for me today. Everyday.” Before he can contradict you—because he isn’t sure what the hell you feel he’s done for you, you step back through the door and hover there in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot. 

The security light casts your face in harsh shadows, the dark stairwell behind you reaching black claws out to hook around your frame. 

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. You just linger there, fidgeting with your keys, looking for all the world like you have something you want to say to him, like you don’t want him to go either. 

Joel watches you, waiting for you to say something, to be the one to sever the connection between you and say goodnight. His chest feels tight as he waits for you to decide, waits for you to decide his shade was a place you could be safe. 

Besides, he’s still trying to figure how to say goodbye to you, still trying to figure how he’s supposed to pry apart the sticky want that thrums against his skin. Still trying to figure out what exactly had gotten into him, what had gotten into him in the weeks and months you’d started coming by.

He supposes it's just been a long time. He supposes he’s just out of practice at having feelings for someone. 

It’s been just him and his girls and his brother for so long. 

He must take too long trying to figure things out because you smile at him and glance away, your expression apprehensive and unsure. “You will let me get you back for the tacos someday,” you warn softly. “‘Night.” 

Then you shut the door. He hears you bang up the steps, your footfalls fading until he can’t hear them anymore. The security light flickers out and he’s plunged into semi-darkness, but he doesn’t move until a light finally comes on in one of the upstairs windows a few minutes later, the silhouette of your body outlined behind a sheer curtain. 

It’s only then that he turns away and walks back the way he’d come. He smiles to himself and then feels stupid about it. 

He’s too old, he thinks again, for his chest to be twinging the way it is, to be smiling in the dark, and missing someone he just left. 

He’d see you tomorrow, anyway. 

Just as he always did.

Just like you always do.

Joel is distracted the day after your appointment. 

Your scent lingers in the air of the studio. He mistakes every shadow that passes the front window for you. The image of you under the soft light in the center of town is imprinted behind his eyes. The way you’d smiled, the feel of your skin under his fingers—soft and damp in the humid air that had ballooned after the day’s rain, consumes his every thought, has his eyes shifting to the front window every few seconds. His back gives an unpleasant spasm from how quickly he turns at even the slightest noise, always thinking it's you finally pushing the door open. 

But he sees more than your shadow and the ghost of your silhouette in the window. 

Joel sees all the imagined, soft skin under your clothes where an antler tattoo is hidden. Untouched, unexplored skin that he would very much like the chance to explore and touch, if ever you gave him the chance, if you ever wandered that close. 

It’s a fine idea. 

That you’d come into the studio and lean against the counter and watch him work on a design for someone that isn’t nearly as important as you are. 

But, the day wears on, and you never show up. 

The day after Joel tattooed you and bought you sugary lemonade and tacos under golden light that you etched divine, you don’t stop in. 

You don’t even walk by. 

It isn’t unusual for you to go a few days between visits to the studio. He tells himself that it’s normal, fine, that you have a job and a life and that sometimes you don’t get the chance to come by. He tries not to worry about it. 

On the second day, with your image still fluttering behind his eyes, the weight of your gaze still heavy on his skin, he starts sketching another design for you. It distracts him, at least, because you don’t come in on the second day, either. 

You don’t come in the day after that either, or the day after that. His girls stop by for dinner on Friday evening, and Ellie crashes on his couch for the night to help out in the shop the next day. All that Saturday, all he can think about is you, pushing the door open slowly, pausing in the entryway like you always do with watchful eyes, skin shimmering with sweat from the sun and heat, cups of coffee in hand, one for you and one for him, just like always. 

He imagines you smiling at him, your shoulders loosening when your doe eyes land on him, the uncertainty and trepidation melting away because it’s him. Because it’s just him. It’s just the two of you. 

But the image, the fantasy, never comes to fruition. 

Ellie snaps at him around noon to stop being so fucking weird, dude.

Sundays—the shop is closed, so he doesn’t see you then.  

By Monday, five days after he tattooed you and walked you home in the dark, as the sun sets on a ragingly warm evening, Joel is convinced that you aren’t going to come by the studio anymore. 

He keeps working on your new design.  

Then, a whole week goes by, and then another, and you still don’t drop by, you don’t even walk by, though he catches a few glimpses of you down the road—in front of the boutique, the coffee shop, the record store a few doors down. He sees you at the farmer’s market that pops up every Saturday in the town’s center.

He dreams of you, dreams of the willowy, softly plush curves of your body. Joel dreams of you at home with him, in his bed. He dreams of pushing your shirt up, palming every delicate part of you, tracing his fingers over your hidden tattoos. 

He always jolts awake when the dream version of you pushes him back and kisses him hard, his hands cupped around you, your thighs, your breasts, the dip of your waist and belly. 

It’s distracting, the ghost of you everywhere he looks. He can’t even bring himself to take your painting down from the front window. The doe you don’t see yourself in. 

Adjusting to your absence is hard. He hadn’t realized you’d wormed your way into his daily life so firmly, like an invasive species the environment grows around, and turns when it's taken away. 

In one particularly low moment two weeks on, he takes a stroll a few blocks over, worried that something might have happened to you, that something might be keeping you away. He sees you inside the bookstore you live above, newly purchased novel in hand, feet curled beneath you on a sofa in the window. 

You seem fine, though an inexplicable twinge of jealousy plucks at his heart. He never thought that you might hang around the other shops like you did with his. 

And you never come by.

You don’t owe him anything, certainly not your company. 

He resigns himself to not seeing you until your second session, when he’ll finish your tattoo and probably never see you again. 

Joel scares you. 

His hand lying over yours all day; his offer to fix your door; the way he looked at you intense and heavy and waiting, wanting—it all terrifies you. 

The words to invite him up for something to drink had sat heavy in your mouth before you changed your mind and left him where he stood. You’d bothered him enough, taken up enough of his time. 

You aren’t sure what southern manners had led him to take you to get tacos and lemonade but surely he’s had enough of you. 

I’ve let you do way too much for me, you’d said. And he hadn’t disagreed.

Instead, you lurch up the stairs, let yourself into your apartment and stand breathing hard in the dark entryway, back against the door. Your forearm aches just a little, but in the pleasant way it always does after getting tattooed, instead of in the painful, raw way the one from your ex had. 

The familiar itch below your skin that had started with Joel’s art is now overwhelming, because you know what the shape of his hand feels like. You know the precise weight of his palm over the back of your hand, and against the column of your spine. You can’t forget how his jean clad thigh felt against yours, how nice the brush of his fingers had been through the dark. 

His voice was so low and graveled when it brushed against your skin, it tingled through your whole body, down to your toes, to the pit of your belly. It was low and intimate and felt like everything he said was just for you, like it had brushed against every tiny hair on your body. 

I’m not markin’ you, because it's not mine. It’s yours. It’s for you.

They were words for you, special for you, reassuring to you, spoken so kindly and in defense of you against someone he would never meet, over something that was not his fault and that he hadn’t been around yet to prevent. 

There’s a kinetic energy under your skin that burns, like pages of your story with him are already set aflame. Don’t burn this bridge, you think and lean hard back into the door. You close your eyes and tangle your fingers together, squeezing so tight it hurts, until you pinch your skin. Please don’t let me burn this bridge. 

You like Joel, more than you have any right to. He feels safe and sure and solid; he’s kind. He scares you, but in a way that makes you want to claw your way through the dark back to him, to see if he’ll touch you again, speak low and kind just for you, work on art made just for you. 

When you finally catch your breath, you flip on the lights and toss your keys down as you cross your small apartment. You scrub a hand over your face and take a deep breath from between your fingers.

A moment later, you pluck up the courage to glance out the window, just in time to catch Joel’s broad shoulders turn the corner in the distance back onto Main Street. 

Something in your chest pangs, the strings of your heart pull tight and hard up against your lungs until your throat closes. 

The feelings he planted in your chest, nestled among your ribs and wove between your veins, seem unfair. It seems horribly unfair, harsh even, that you should be left with the tips of your fingers smoldering, hesitantly reaching out for more. 

He’s left a sea inside you, a lonely dark hole. You knew it was there, that black, open emptiness. You’d felt it all your life, but now you know what it feels like when someone sees it, shrugs, and asks to be a part of it. You know what it's like, now, to have someone stand, patient and still on the shore. 

He’s left you wanting, craving something that you’ve feared for so long, that always felt wrong. And when your skin started to go tight and your muscles contracted and pulled, he’d somehow known, heard the pain buried away, and released you.  

You can still feel the ghost of his knuckles brushing against your wrist on the dark walk to your apartment. You can feel his thigh against yours while you ate tacos together and listened to the folks of your small town laugh and dance to old country music. You can feel his palm cupped around your wrist, dwarfing your hand beneath his.

You can still feel his calloused fingertips, catching at your palm and the inside of your wrist. 

He makes you feel safe and seen, like it’s okay that you lingered in his studio for weeks, bothered him endlessly, without any guarantee that you might one day schedule an appointment and actually get tattooed.

You thought the wantneedpull would subside after finally starting the tattoo but its only gown. The pain you waited for, the urge to flee from your own body never came with him. You want him closer, want the warm rough press of his palm against yours. You just want—you’ve never really wanted anyone closer but you want him closer. 

You want Joel so close that nothing else bleeds through. You want to melt into the palms that cupped you so gently, so carefully. 

You want to become carefully molded wax in his capable hands. 

Inexplicably, for the first time in so long, you want someone to touch you. You want to feel Joel’s hands everywhere, anywhere he could reach and even all the places he couldn’t. 

And it terrifies you. 

You mean to go back to your normal routine, but the first morning you try to stop by the studio, you can’t make your feet carry you there. You pause halfway between the coffeeshop and the studio, Joel’s usual order clutched in your hand. 

The gnawing, empty, raw hole inside you has only grown. You look at your pretty tattoo and think of the gently rough hands that had created it, the furrow between his brows while he worked, the scar over his nose, the strong, broad slope of his shoulders, and you feel anxious. 

You want it so badly, and yet—

He’s just your tattoo artist. He probably only put up with you hanging around his shop everyday, bringing him coffee, talking his ear off, because there was the promise of money, the promise of work. 

You’d just done the stupid thing and gotten attached to him, to the studio, to your fucking tattoo artist. You are just a client and you long to melt into him. You long to press yourself against him, feel the crush of his body against yours.

That want makes you wary, phantom pain, phantom aversion crawling beneath your skin right after.

It makes your head spin, it makes you feel crazy, that you can’t even decide what you feel, what you want. 

It’s better if you stay away, give yourself time to forget the itch, forget the feel of his hands, so you turn away and circle the block, back to your apartment where you set the cups on your kitchen counter and take a deep breath. 

Your chest is tight, your mind a snarl of half formed thoughts. 

Tomorrow, you think, will be better. 

But it’s not. 

Each day you think about going over, and you don’t. You feel wound tight, like clockwork left to rust. You dream of Joel, his hands everywhere and nowhere, the warmth of him like a ghost you can’t shake off. 

The feelings you try to avoid, the desert dryness of need and emptiness that the loss of his touch inspired, doesn’t go away. It gets worse; it outweighs the fear, the aversion. 

You only dare to go as close as the record store, checking he was still there, like the whole place would suddenly disappear if you stopped going by, like a witch’s cottage after a botched, half-worked spell. 

You feel cursed, like soot, like a monster waiting to steal the soul of the light. 

You’re burning your bridge and you don’t know how to stop. 

Joel is still there, where he’s always been. His art is still there, though you’re so far away now, you can’t see it clearly anymore. 

But you notice among the still ever rotating collection of art and pictures in the window, one always remains.

You know without seeing it that it's the painting of the doe looking over her shoulder, bees flocking like long forgotten gods around her ears. 

Ellie and Sarah ask about you on the third Friday that goes by without you stopping in. 

The temperature has cooled off a little, the warmth of summer receding just the tiniest bit. The kitchen table is laden with chinese takeout boxes, rice already spilled across one of the placemats. 

“You haven’t been talkin’ about her so much,” Sarah notes curiously. 

“Yeah, and you’ve been way more cranky than usual,” Ellie adds.  

“Ain’t had cause to see her,” he deflects, reaching for the yet un-spilled carton of rice. “Hasn’t been in the studio since her first session.” 

The kitchen suddenly falls silent, the clatter of cutlery deadened as it’s set on the table. “What do you mean?” Sarah, he thinks, sounds mildly offended on his behalf. 

“Just what I said,” he grumbles. 

He doesn’t need to look up from his plate to know Sarah and Ellie are exchanging a look. “Why not?” Sarah ventures to ask, her tone calmer. 

Joel shrugs and finally looks up at his kids. Sarah’s head is tilted to the side ever so slightly and Ellie’s brow is furrowed. “Busy, maybe,” he explains. “Got better things to do.”  

“Bullshit!” Ellie explodes suddenly. “What happened? Did you do something stupid?”

He sighs hard through his nose and shovels orange chicken onto his plate with more force than necessary. “No.” Then he reconsiders, goes over every moment of that day again in his mind. How much he touched you, selfishly, when he knew you were adverse to it. “I don’t know. Could be she was only around this summer to see if we’d make a good fit.” 

There’s another beat of silence before both girls are arguing with him. He lets them go on protesting it for a few minutes before he waves them down. “She’s got a lot goin’ on that you two don’t know. Somethin’ might’ve spooked her that I didn’t realize.” 

“Like what?” 

Your ex-boyfriend and your badly healed tattoo flashes through his mind. The bruises you said you’d had for weeks afterward, how badly it had hurt. The way he’d held onto you all that day.

Guilt pools in his chest, floods his lungs. 

He doesn’t know what might have spooked you. 

Just hopes it wasn’t him. 

“Well, have you tried to talk to her?” 

Sarah peers at him with wide eyes, fingers delicately folded around a pair of chopsticks. “No,” he admits.  

Ellie makes a discontent noise. “Just fucking talk to her, man,” she says. 

“You always do this, dad,” Sarah says suddenly, shaking her head.

“I do not—I don’t—” he stammers. When was the last time he’d had the opportunity to fuck something up? “What are you talkin’ about?” 

They both shrug. “It’s like you don’t ever wanna be happy sometimes. She makes you happy and you always think of everybody else, it's okay to think of yourself sometimes. Maybe whatever’s going on with her doesn’t have anything to do with you. Not everything is your fault.”

He can’t figure a way it's not about him, though, that it might not be his fault. 

Joel clears his throat and looks down at his plate. “All right, tell me what you two’ve been up to this week.” 

“Hey Joel.” 

Joel glances up, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. You’re distorted in his vision for a moment before he reaches up to take them off.

Your shape comes into sharp relief, a balm after not seeing you for so many days. You look cheerful, happy to see him. 

Excited, even. 

He hasn’t seen you in a month.

You’d messaged back and forth with his kid about your appointment, about today.

He hasn’t heard your voice in a month.

Seeing you now, despite thinking about you, dreaming about you everyday, makes some part of him close off, go cold and hard. “Howdy,” he says, his voice toeing the edge of polite and flat. The smile on your face fades a little. 

Though the sunshine is bright as always, the air outside is chilly for Texas. You’re wrapped in a sweatshirt. For the first time since he’s known you, all of your tattoos are hidden, most of your skin is covered. 

You blink owlishly, your fingers flexing nervously around the cups in your hands. “I brought you coffee,” you offer.  

He makes a noncommittal noise and jerks his chin towards the door behind the counter. “C’mon, I’m already set up.” Joel turns. 

“Oh,” you say, your voice following him to the back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I was late.” 

“You aren’t,” he grumbles softly. “Had another client this mornin’,” he says, needlessly adjusting and straightening the supplies he had set out, keeping his back to you. 

He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to get through this with you—ain’t sure how he’s supposed to make sense of how much it hurt that you’d stopped hanging around. There’s a feeble little thread of hope in his heart that you’ll explain it away, that you even noticed you’d changed your routine. A tiny, weak little thing that makes him hope you thought about him too. 

Stupid. 

That painful tug of hope makes him feel like a teenager, like an idiot kid who read into every little thing like it was a sign until reality started to distort.

He’s always been that way, hopeful and goddamn stupid. It’s why he hasn’t really been with anyone since Sarah’s mother left. It’s how he got tangled up with Sarah’s mom in the first place. He gets stupid when he thinks he feels something, and he’s never been good at figuring how to hold onto something like that, something so delicate. 

He always ends up loving too hard, too much. He always crushes the thing before it has a chance to bloom. His girls, they were his only exception, the one thing he was mostly good at taking care of. 

“Guess the coffee was a stupid move, huh?” 

Joel turns at the sound of your voice, pulled away from the half self-deprecating thoughts floating through his mind, and finds you hovering awkwardly in the doorway, fingers fidgeting anxiously around the cups. You look like you did the first time you came into the shop, stiff and unsure, wide eyes peering at him like you’re waiting for him to give you a reason to run. 

 The doe waiting for the snap of the twig beneath a hunter’s boot once again. 

Something twinges in his chest, the sharp pain slicing through bone and tendon. 

He doesn’t want to be the hunter to your doe. 

“No,” he straightens, making an effort to soften his voice. “‘Course not.” 

You step cautiously closer, extending one of the cups toward him. “Well, it kinda is.” You smile a little. “You won’t be able to drink it while you work, contamination and all. I just—I was on autopilot again, I guess.”

He takes it from you, the paper cup warm in his hand, and tries not to think about how autopilot for you meant unthinkingly buying a cup of coffee for him. 

Again, you’d said. Have you done it before? Accidentally bought coffee he never received? 

“Well, thank you, sweetheart.” 

You swallow and glance away, nodding at the ground instead. 

A long silence stretches between you, and unlike all the times you came into the studio before—it's awkward and heavy. He takes a sip of the coffee and finds it sours instantly in his stomach, mixing unpleasantly with the nerves. 

Yeah, he’s exactly like a damn kid. 

And he’s not good at this. He’s never been good about bridging silent gaps. 

Not with words, anyway.

It doesn’t help that you seem to take up the whole room, the smell of sun and coffee and leaves curling on the air. 

He sets the cup aside and goes about washing his hands instead. “Go on and get comfortable,” he directs over his shoulder. “Just like before.” 

When he’s done scrubbing his hands in the sink and putting on gloves and fighting the urge to inhale the scent of you penetrating every cubic inch of air in the room, he turns to find you sitting and stripping out of your sweatshirt. 

He inhales sharply when the shirt beneath lifts with the material, exposing him to a strip of your skin. You tug it back down, hiding skin that he’s dreamed of in the last three weeks, that he’d like to tease his fingertips along, if you let him, if he could lure you that close, convince you to trust him that much. 

It seems like a fucking pipe dream now. 

You look soft and rumpled as you fold the sweatshirt, fisting your hands anxiously around the edges of it in your lap. 

The tendons in the back of your hands flex, bone straining against the flesh. You’re tense, nervous. 

“You’re alright,” he drawls, despite himself. The words come out soft, and your shoulders loosen and slump as you release a breath. Whether you stopped coming around or not, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. “C’mere and lemme see it.” 

You offer your arm to him and Joel takes your wrist in his hand, just like he had the last time he’d seen you. He’d touched you a lot that day, and you had let him. You’d let him touch you even after you left the studio and he hadn’t had a good excuse to keep doing it anymore. 

Now, he relishes the feel of your delicate skin against his again. 

“Looks good,” he says, stepping unconsciously closer to you. “Healin’ good anyway.” 

You glance up, the side of your knee brushing against his thigh. Warmth radiates from your body, and settles into him in the invariably cold studio. A smile tugs at your lips and the tension disappears from your forehead. “You’re allowed to compliment your own work, you know. It’s beautiful. Probably my favorite.” 

He doesn’t answer, fighting the clawing ache in his chest. “I do okay, I guess,” he concedes, turning your arm. “Just glad I didn’t hurt ya.” 

You frown but don’t say anything as he goes through the motions of cleaning your skin and settling in on the stool next to you. You settle back in the chair, a cloud of your scent caccooning both of you, undercut by the annoyingly sharp smell of the disinfectant. 

He covers your hand and squeezes the tight fist your hand curled into until you release the tension and relax. “Good,” he murmurs. “Good job.”

You chest hitches and you glance over at him, the movement sharp, but he doesn’t look back at you and you don’t say anything. 

It’s quiet for a long time, just the buzz of the tattoo gun to keep him company. 

He wonders what it is you’re thinking about. Though your body remains loose, the furrow between your brows is pinched tight in thought. 

Joel doesn’t bother you, focused instead on his work, on monitoring the flex of your hand beneath his. He doesn’t strictly need to touch you like this, but he wants to, and it seems like you don’t mind.

At least, you hadn’t minded a couple weeks ago. 

Maybe that’s what has your forehead so scrunched up. Maybe—

“I didn’t think you would.” 

He glances up, those big eyes he sees in his dreams staring down at him. “What’s that?” 

“I didn’t think you would hurt me. I mean—really, I’ve only had one bad tattoo experience,” you say with a roll of your eyes, dismissive of your own pain, like that’s not one too many times. “The rest of my—the rest of my issues are mine. Even from before that happened.” You don’t look away from him. “Besides, Ellie assured me beforehand that you have a light touch.” 

Yeah, he thought he’d heard her saying that. He’d been both embarrassed about it and warmed.

“Well, I guess she’s right. Never had any complaints.” He leans back and takes his hand off of yours, flexing his fingers and stretching out the pinch in his spine. 

One thing he did not relish about tattooing was the way he had to be hunched over. It makes him feel achy and old even if he knows it’d be much worse if he was still working with Tommy. 

You nod and fidget with the hem of your shirt with your free hand. He watches you for a long moment, still not saying anything. 

Even though things are a little awkward, he feels better, having you there again; knowing for sure that you’re okay because he’s seeing you with his own eyes. His kids might be right, that it’s all right to think of himself for once. Or, as Ellie put it, to just fucking talk to you instead of making assumptions. 

“You ain’t been around much lately,” he offers, extending that metaphorically slow hand to you as he always has, asking for the nugget of whatever truth you held onto so tightly. 

Maybe it was never about him, just as Sarah had said. 

He looks away from your eyes, goes back to tattooing your arm, filling in your piece, the design he’d worked on for a whole summer. Just for you. 

The tattoo suits you. He feels an odd kind of pride that you liked his art enough to trust him with designing something, with putting it onto your skin, and your trust is something he never could have hoped for. 

“No,” you start, your voice a bit hoarse. “I guess not. I—I just figured that I didn’t have an excuse to stop by anymore.” You pause and swallow. Your voice is clearer when you speak again. “And you’d already been so nice about me taking up your time.” 

Joel has to pause again and glance up, just to judge your expression. To see if you’re serious. 

You aren’t looking at him, but staring at the far wall as though the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen is etched there. Your features are tense, like you’re trying not to show what you’re feeling. “Taking up my time?” 

You shrug, the easily startled anxiety threading back into your eyes. “And,” your voice is shaky as you continue. “I was a little—I don’t know. Afraid. I guess.” Something must show on his face, the swoop of his gut visible on his features because you hurry to explain. “I just…I’ve never trusted someone the way I think I trust you. So. That’s scary.” 

There’s a lot of things he could say, a lot of things he should say, but Joel isn’t exactly good at that kind of thing. He just knows he hates when you look at him with trepidation and weariness. 

So instead, he covers your hand again and squeezes tight. He refocuses on your tattoo, on the transformation of your skin. He isn’t sure what to make of what you’d said about trust, or your honesty about it, so he pushes down the feeling that wells up into his gut at that admission. “Well, it ain’t no trouble. Havin’ you here. It was mighty quiet without you around.” 

It’s hard to say, somehow, the words sticky and catching in his mouth. A quiet descends in the wake of his words, the low buzz of the tattoo gun driving him crazy. He wishes you’d say something, anything, but he doesn’t have the heart to look up and see if you’re looking at him with big, startled eyes. 

“Oh,” you say eventually, softly.

And then—“It was quiet for me too. I missed coming by. Why didn’t you ask after me? Ellie could have gotten to me.” 

Joel had considered it. He’d figured you’d had good reason to stay away. And he guesses you had, just not the ones he thought. 

It hadn’t been about him, really. 

“You’re real skittish,” he settles on telling you the truth. “Didn’t want to push you further than you’d already gone.”

He nods, wipes your skin gently with a damp paper towel. “I looked out for ya. Kept thinkin’ y’da come by.”

“Oh,” you say again and this time the word is laced with surprise. “I…didn’t know that. I looked for you too.” 

Joel shrugs in what he hopes is an offhand manner. He cares more than he wants to admit, more than he can admit. 

“It’s just because you missed having someone bring you coffee,” you tease gently when he doesn’t respond. 

He snorts and the lingering tension dissolves. “Don’t do that again,” he says, still not looking up at you. “Coffee or not.” 

Joel shrugs on a dark red flannel before he shuffles you out the shop’s front door. 

The air is chilly but dry, and it burns the inside of your nose. In truth, the temperature is mild, not worthy of shivers or flannels, but compared to the unending heat of summer it's practically cold outside.  

The skin of your forearm feels warm beneath your opposite hand clutched over the fresh ink, safely and carefully wrapped. You can’t stop looking at your now completed tattoo, still smiling to yourself about the way Joel seemed irritated that you not only paid him for his work but tipped him too. You told him to think of it as repayment for the tacos and lemonade but that had only made him frown harder. 

“You don’t have to walk me home,” you say, even though the last thing in the world you want is for him to let you go on alone. 

“Sure I do,” he says, turning away from the door. 

Arguing wouldn’t change his mind, and you don’t really want to anyway. 

Joel urges you down the sidewalk, his gait jilted and slow. 

There’s an inch of space between you as you walk down the lamplit street. The horizon is a haze of orange, casting the wide open sky in shades of lavender and periwinkle as it darkens and evening sets in. You can feel the heat of Joel’s body, so close by. 

It’s nothing compared to his hand over yours, the warmth and all consuming size of it. You don’t know if you’ll ever have cause to feel his hand again, now that he was done tattooing you. 

Joel shifts so his hand hovers at your lower back, guiding you lightly. The gesture makes your skin prickle pleasantly, itchy with heat and that strange want that never went away. You wish he’d put his hand against your spine like he had when he’d gotten you tacos, so you could lean back into it, so you could feel the pressure of his hand. 

He doesn't. Joel walks you along the street quietly, his hand painfully close to you and yet not close enough.

That alone makes you ache. 

You don’t expect him to say anything as you walk along, mainly because you’re the one that’s always nervously chattering at him, half waiting to be snapped at. He tells you about Sarah’s course load for the upcoming fall semester and how Ellie’s nearly done at her apprenticeship. He talks quickly, like he’s trying to catch you up on a month worth of things you’d missed, like it mattered to him that you had. 

He tells you about the clients he’d tattooed, and the designs he’s still working on. He wavers when he mentions the designs and you hope maybe he’ll ask you to look at some of them but he quickly moves on.

When you get close to your apartment he abruptly goes quiet and pulls his hand away from your back. Just like the last time he hovers just outside the halo of the security light over the door.  

You struggle with the door like you always do until it finally pops open with a groan. This time when you hover in the doorway, you pluck up the courage to ask what you hadn’t been able to the last time. 

“Would you like to come up for some coffee?” 

“Late for that, ain’t it?” 

Your heart sinks, breaks somewhere along your ribs. “Guess so,” you admit, gripping the edge of the door. “Thanks for walking with me, I’ll, uh—”

“But I would like that,” he cuts you off. It's so unlike him that you just stare for a moment. “If you’re offerin’, that is.”

You smile. “I am.” 

He gestures you forward, reaching out to catch the door in his hand.  

You slide into the dark entryway and Joel bolts the door shut behind you before following you up the stairs to the landing where you unlock your apartment door without so much struggle. “I can look at that other door,” he offers again, sounding sheepish this time, like he’s sorry for bothering you about it again.

“I’d like that,” you say, and let him in ahead of you. 

You flip on the lights as you move past him to the kitchen, tiny and cluttered and too warm. You sweep your mail off the breakfast table and point Joel into one of the chairs when he starts to shrug out of the flannel. 

Both chairs have jackets hanging from the back but he just drapes his over what’s already there. His shoulders strain at the material of his shirt, bunching around his biceps and under his arms, across the incredibly broad plains of his chest. 

You yank your eyes away from him when you start to follow the vein in his arm, thinking you’d like to know what his skin tasted like there. 

Heat floods your chest at the thought. It’s unlike you, makes you feel shaky in a good way. It’s been years since you’ve thought that about someone, and try as you might you can’t remember if you’d ever looked at your ex and thought something like that. 

You wonder what that bit of skin feels like, how soft and firm the inside of his bicep must be. 

He looks comfortable and domestic in the warm glow of your overhead kitchen light when he sits down. 

You can’t look at him for too long without something in your pulse jumping, a raw little needy nerve that demanded attention. You want him to touch you again, to reach out and hold your hand so delicately in his. 

Instead of dwelling on that thought, you turn to your coffee pot, deftly fixing it to brew before you turn to rummage through your fridge. “I have something stronger, if you want it. I don’t like drinking after getting a tattoo.” 

“You shouldn’t,” he advises. “Ain’t good for healin’. You should eat somethin’, though.”

“I figured you’d have something to say about that,” you roll your eyes and turn to put the blackberry pie in your hands onto the table. “I won’t complain this time as long as you have some with me.” 

He stares up at you, an odd look in his eyes. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it was affectionate. “All right, dear.” 

Dear. That’s new. It makes you feel light, like bubbles are popping in your veins. 

You nod at him, warmth spreading beneath your skin, before pointing to the pie. “From Flu’s. You been to Flu’s? She has the best pie. It’s blackberry.” 

“Sure, me and the girls have been a few times. Coffee’s good there. Blackberry’s one of my favorites,” he rumbles, and you can’t tell if he’s lying or not. You have a feeling that even if Joel hated pie and was allergic to blackberries, you’d never hear a word about it. 

Joel doesn’t look away from you. His gaze slowly shifts from your eyes, to your hand planted on your hip. He slowly reaches out and curls his hand around your wrist. The slow way he does it stills your heart and all the worries shelved inside it. All the room he gives you, to be skittish, as he called it, and afraid, makes your throat go tight and hot. He handles it like it’s not something to fix, just something to accommodate, figure out with you. “Thank you, sweetheart. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get the coffee?” 

“It’s my house,” you gripe softly, no bite behind your words. His skin is fever hot against yours, like an ember pressed against your jumping pulse.  

But just like the last time he tattooed you and insisted on something to eat, he scoffs at you. His thumb slides across the inside of your wrist. “And you were the one that lost blood today. Sit, and tell me where your mugs are.” 

You slowly sit across from him, your wrist still in his hand. “Good,” he releases you and stands. The little bit of praise goes straight to your belly, just like it had at the shop. It settles warm inside you, a good kind of tense. “Cups?” 

You point him to the correct cabinet, exhaustion overcoming you all at once now that you’ve sat down. You watch him pour the coffee, offer to get you cream or sugar even though he doesn’t know where those are either. You have to point him to where the plates, and then the cutlery, are kept. 

It's an odd little hope that flits through your mind, one that wishes for a day when he would be familiar enough with your things that he wouldn’t need to ask. 

He returns to the table and cuts two even slices of pie and plates them before returning to his chair. 

You’re just about to dig your fork into the pie when his hand curls around yours again. He isn’t looking at you when you glance up, glad that he still wants anything to do with you, that he so carefully touches you, gives you the thing you crave and fear and are too afraid to ask for.

“Don’t do that again.” He squeezes your wrist gently, voice that quiet, low drawl, an echo of what he’d said earlier.  

It’s the same thing he’d said at the shop and you don’t have to ask what he means. You wouldn’t anyway, not when the vulnerability in his voice seems to cost him. 

He’s not sure how it happens, how he spends all night at your kitchen table with your trembling pulse beneath his hand. 

He’s too old to be doing this type of shit.

He’s got an ache in his neck now that’s going to get him teased by just about everyone. His girls and Tommy already get on him about being a crotchety old man—between the glasses he refuses to wear besides anytime he needs to read something small and the landline phone and his attitude generally.

Yeah, his neck and back issues are going to be next on the docket. 

But he can’t really bring himself to care, not when he’s gotten to sit with you through the night and listen to your voice, not when your hand is still securely within his and you haven’t given a single indication you’d like him to let go, not when your calves are crossed with his beneath the table. 

He lets himself imagine it better, imagine it more. 

You curled in his lap, head on his shoulder, fingers tangled up in the fabric of his shirt or knotted into his hair. In this stupid little dream of his, you’ve just woken up instead of staying awake through the night. You say good morning and he pours you coffee. 

He thinks, too, of pressing you back into the table, finding what lay hidden on your skin. He’d go to his knees for you, he’d worship at your feet, if you asked him to. 

He wants it so bad he can taste it, but he settles for what he has here with you, the limit you’ve guided him to, hands tangled and legs crossed.

The sun dawns a white gold through the sheer curtains over your kitchen windows. You’d never pulled the heavier drapes closed and the street light had cast your face in shadow when you flipped out the harsh overhead light. 

You watch the sunrise, and Joel watches honeyed light shift over your face. 

He likes your little apartment. It’s cluttered and homey and reminds him of his parent’s kitchen when he’d been growing up. You have art and photos stuck to every inch of bare wall. The blanket over the back of your couch and the shaw over one of the chairs is crocheted. There’s evidence of all kinds of little projects scattered around your apartment. 

Even the little breakfast table he sits at is hand painted.

“You never said you were an artist,” he’d said early on in the night. 

“I’m not,” you’d ducked your head and deflected. “Not like you at least. It’s not like I’m any good.” 

You’re plenty good. “Right,” he agreed. “Not like me. It's better than mine. You could do your own sketchin’ for a tattoo.” 

Even though you’d been embarrassed he could tell you were delighted he thought so. 

Now you turn your face toward him in the comfortable silence that’s descended, half your features in shadow. You smile and your teeth shine. “Good thing today’s a Sunday, right? You don’t have to worry after rushing to open the studio.”

You tug your hand back from his and stand, gathering both mugs before you cross your tiny kitchen to set about starting a new pot of coffee. 

He watches you, absently stacking the plates crusted with blackberry filling. 

Your shirt rides up a little when you reach for the coffee canister, a thin strip of skin showing between your rumpled shirt and your jeans. He’s reminded again of all the places he wants to touch you, to touch the soft curves of your body, trace that line of skin and seek out each of your hidden tattoos. 

Not on your hip, you’d said. 

So where? Where hasn’t he seen?

The velvet of your thighs, the silken skin of your ribs and back, between your breasts, your sternum.  

The kitchen fills slowly with light, orange and red on the far wall, undulating lines of light slicing apart the worn wooden floor. He picks apart the place with his eyes while your back is turned—the paintings and photos you don’t think anything of, the postcards stuck to the fridge, the hand painted, hand knitted-ness of everything, the mismatched mugs and glasses, chipped at the corners, the tiny dish of kibble on the floor—

“You got a cat?” He figures he would have seen a dog by now. 

You turn and follow his eyes before you smile. “Sometimes. He comes and goes whenever he likes. He’s not really mine.”

“How’s that?” 

“How’s what?”

“That he comes and goes?” Joel stands, meanders a couple steps toward you, trying to discreetly stretch out the throbbing nerve in his back. 

“I leave the window cracked in my bedroom.” 

And he hates that, just like he hates the thought of you leaving your door unlocked and he just like he hates the thought of you struggling with the door in the middle of the night when he hasn’t walked you home. “Shouldn’t be doin’ things like that.” 

“Knew you wouldn’t like it,” you smile, repeating your earlier sentiment and he has a feeling it’s going to become a common refrain. “He’s probably sleeping just now.”  

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’ll drive me crazy.”

“This town is the safest place I’ve ever been.” 

“Hate to see where you’ve been before.” 

You laugh and ask him if he wants to get breakfast when—

“Shit,” he slides a hand over his face. “I told my girls we’d have breakfast. Start of the school year tradition, Sarah's first day back is Monday. I gotta drive down to Austin.” 

“It’s still early,” you reassure him without turning, but he can see the way your cheek curves with a smile he can’t see. “I’ll put your coffee in a thermos to go.” 

Joel takes the last few steps toward you and leans against the counter. Your breath hitches and your eyes flick up to his, big and shining bright as they always are. A slash of sun falls over them, lighting up your irises. The coffee pot bubbles and hisses, percolating slowly and you don’t look away. 

Your lips part softly and your breath fans across his chin. “Don’t gotta leave this minute. I got some time,” he says, watching those doe eyes of yours flick across his face, to the corner of his mouth. 

You move a bit closer, your foot slotting between his, and he feels like you’ve finally drifted close enough. Finally come close enough to feel safe, to rest. 

You lean into him first, eyes fluttering closed, shoulders relaxing  against the line of his body. Joel presses one arm around you, slides his fingers along the column of your spine, and for a moment you stiffen in the cage of his arms. 

“You’re all right,” he murmurs and loosens his hold a fraction, but your body suddenly goes lax against him. Your nose slots against his throat, fingers curling gently into his t-shirt. You release a long, slow breath against his throat. “You’re okay.” 

He isn’t sure what he’s trying to reassure you of, but it doesn’t much matter because you seem to know, to get his meaning. 

“I know I am,” you sigh. 

He can feel you breathing, the rise and fall of your lungs, the press of your breasts against his chest. You’re soft in his arms. “Good,” he says, nose against your temple as he slides his hand to the back of your neck, keeping you pressed there. “Good girl.” He feels you shiver and holds you closer, tighter than should be possible. 

Your hand is hot when it slips beneath his shirt, pressed against his lower back for the briefest moment before it disappears and roots down into his shirt again, your breath shaky. 

When he rubs the tense muscle of your neck you make a noise that forces him to stifle a groan and pull back just slightly. 

“You okay?” He asks, ignoring the fire burning low in his belly, trying to temper himself. 

Your eyes are damp, the corners wet. “Sorry, sorry. Yeah, I’m—”

He cups your cheek, tilts your face up, sweeps his thumb over your cheek. 

“I’m just a fucking mess, Joel. I always have been. For a long time, I have been. And I don’t know why.” 

“Why what?” His eyes are on your mouth, then your eyes, the image of the divot in the bottom of your lip lingering in his mind. “Sweetheart?” 

The big, scared, doe-eyed look you send him breaks his heart. “Why it’s so hard. To touch people and be touched.” 

“You’re doin’ okay,” he strokes your cheek again, slides his other hand to your hip. “Seems to me anyway.” 

“For now. I’m work. I always have been. And I’m more trouble than I’m worth.” 

He thinks of your pretty little apartment decorated with your own arts and crafts that you dismiss with a wave of your hand, the way you think you bother him, your insistence of paying him back for his time. You make yourself small, and he thinks you have more scars and worries from the past than you realize. 

“Trouble? You’re the least troublesome person I know,” he says. “My idiot brother, Tommy, now he’s trouble. Still gotta bail him outta trouble sometimes. You? Nothin’ about you is trouble.” You lean into his hand, watching him closely. 

He can’t believe his silent extended hand, his patient hand, has been rewarded with this. “And I don’t mind hard work.” 

You search his eyes for a long time, not blinking, not looking away, as you reach up and hook one hand around his wrist. He can see you trying to convince yourself to believe him. You swallow and place your trust in him again, if not necessarily your belief. “Okay.”

“All right. You wanna get breakfast with me and my girls? I’ve been wantin’ you to meet Sarah.” 

“She won’t mind?” you ask, gently pulling yourself out of his hands, tugging his hand away from your face. 

He lets you go, recognizes the trapped, pained, fearful wanting on your face. You need space. “They think I don’t know it’s more for me than them. They stopping carin’ about it sometime in middle school. Hell, Ellie ain’t even in school anymore. I’m holdin’ on to them bein’ kids, I guess.” 

You nod. “Okay.” 

He stands aside and lets you fix the coffees. He pulls his flannel off the back of your chair when he passes it on the way out and drapes it around your shoulders. 

When you’re in his truck, fiddling with his radio, he catches you clutching it closer, your nose dipped into the collar. 

💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

[wandagcre]

Heyyy there saw our request still open so could I request mommywands dry humping femreader? Thank you so muchhh

do not touch | wanda maximoff 🔞

(Dom!Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x AFAB!Reader)

You've got a debt to Wanda, awaiting to be paid. She decides to claim it immediately.

WARNING: dom!wanda, sub!reader, somnophilia, mommy kink, dry humping, humiliation, choking - no pronouns referred to reader but they got afab parts +18 / men & minors dni. Words: 2k

You looked peaceful. Unknowing. Innocent. All of the things you haven't been as of lately. Usually, Wanda dived with no hesitance to lay beside you in bed. She's eager for the opportunity to stroke your face with feather-like touches, threading her fingers along your tousled hair, and admiring your features. But she wasn’t craving for sweetness, instead, the need to jump on your bones – for lack of a better word – encompassed her frustration for you.

It wasn’t that serious – was all you’d say, Wanda already expects it. But she won’t let it slide, you have been testing her will as though nothing but determined to push her. Therefore, Wanda decides she'll give you a taste of what you wanted. 

It's like an invitation too, given that your shirt rode up and exposed some of your abdomen and your face turned down to the pillow, the lower half caught in a twist so slightly that it gave Wanda a perfect view of your ass.

She hung beneath your resting figure, calculating how the fun part should start. Wanda’s legs were in between, effectively trapping you, and she steadied her weight with hands perched on the bed – right where your head rests, alike to her legs. Your hair keeps away the adorable sleeping face you’ve got. An urge to envelop you temporarily surges to your lover’s chest, you must’ve been tired, much as she was.

But oh one glance was all it took again for Wanda, eyes trailing lower with your back curvatures. So appetizing that she had to wet her lips in excitement. She gives her lower body a tentative glide to your shapely ass. A few more and she's already hooked. Wanda rubs herself with much confidence and better timing this time, sending a jolt of pleasurable force on her now throbbing core. To add, Wanda hummed deep from her chest as she got handsy, her hand already having a palmful of your breast. 

It felt exhilarating to her with your body completely at her disposal and a stimulating pedal to her pleasure. The mattress dipped and the springs started to creak ever lightly as her rubbing of her front against your curve was getting more desperate. A drag of sleepy sound comes out of your pretty lips. Wanda does not slow for a moment, but she gauges if you were being stirred to consciousness. Wanda doesn't care anyway.

"Don't move." A honeyed voice warned you. You let out a confused yelp, heart still racing, though now you realize who it was.

Your throat felt dry. Was she… grinding? “Wanda?” 

“Possibly, yes.” She snarkily replied.

Relief slowly settles over your body. At least it wasn't a nightmare nor a break-in that you initially felt. It was only your girlfriend who had been desperately needy, wanting your assistance even in your sleepy state. She smelled slightly of sun and transportation, but her distinct scent remained. 

Wanda tries to be quiet, yes you've heard of her whimpers and how she initially tried to stifle them. It wasn't fruitful at the end as your girlfriend kept moving her front against the slope of your ass. Moreso, the images of having you in the most sinful ways, being used to her own needs, flashed through her and made Wanda's eyes roll to the back of her head. 

To be frank, you were still trying to snap out of your daze. Once you've gotten a semblance of decent consciousness, your muscles attempt to move, perhaps you should be of help right? 

"Wanda, baby, tell me–”

But the heel of Wanda's palm was firm and insistent on your lower back begs to disagree  – roaming and scratching her nails to the side of your hips, then to your breasts again, like a warning. She wants you as it is. Although, you can’t help but wonder what had your lover all riled up, enough to have you while asleep. Was it the stress under work? 

"You feel so good against me, darling." Wanda uttered all velvety that you almost forgot what you were protesting for.

You find your cheeks roughly pushed on the pillow, left with no choice but to take it. Wanda’s scent draws you in like sweet lullaby, the fig and the musk, even the arousal that awaits her undoing. You take deep breaths, all no longer out of surprise, but rather in familiar adoration of the woman – all while she has you pinned down.

"I want to help!" Your voice embarrassingly cracked as you begged.

"D-Do you now? That's rich coming from you." Wanda's ragged and condescending tone sent a delicious shiver up to your spine. She adjusts, head tilted near your head's side to capture your earlobe with her teeth. "You teased me for how many days. Acted like a real brat when all I did was compromise with you. Remember that?" Displease fills her tone, Wanda’s other hand came to push your head to bury you further against the pillow.

It doesn't alleviate the ache and burning that rattled in your body now with how you can practically feel your lover’s nipples grazing hard against your back as Wanda rubs herself needily, unabashed force against you. A blurb of incoherent sounds tumbled out of your mouth, helpless and quite literally bent at Wanda's will. 

“I’m really, really sorry!” She knows it was an attempt to make amends. Wanda let out a saccharine chuckle.

Despite her cold demeanor, it only amplified the warmth that soon swallowed the room.

You raised your hips up to aid in her languid grinding on top of you. Miraculously, a positive light comes in. Your efforts seemingly were not about to go to waste, as Wanda was pleased by how willing you are so far that she considered your offer.

"You can turn around for me and stay still. How about that?"

"Yes, I-I can do that! A-anything to help..."

"Good. Thought your pretty mouth was going to say something stupid. like, defying my instructions." You whimpered at Wanda's cynical tone and her harsh turnover grasp over your body as she detaches herself, breathing unevenly. "You're surely familiar with that, aren't you?" Wanda sneered and grabbed you by the cheek, making you look dumb as a fish out of water.

Her fading auburn hair curtained as she hovered beneath you. Wanda’s usual green eyes were almost unrecognizable as her pupils dilated, swarmed by pure unadulterated craving and lust. You whimpered, hopeless.

“What can I do, Wanda?” You were all red and pathetic. 

Wanda loved this side of you.

“Funny that you ask now.” She husked out, sloppy kisses placed underneath your jaw. Your toes curled at the sensation. "What's the right title you should use to address me with?"

"Mommy?"

Wanda’s grip now set to pin you again, this time by the wrists placed above your head. Her cunt clenched upon the title that was all familiar and pretty coming out of you.

"Do I hear an answer or a question? Darling, I haven't even fucked you dumb yet."

"No. I'm sorry, Mommy."

A wide knowing grin set on Wanda’s features as she rose up. You can’t help but stare, enchanted by the sight of her. Your lover still wore her work slacks and dress shirt, albeit unbuttoned, making wanda look so effortlessly beautiful even in mess. It worsened the state of your dried up throat that was captivated. Wanda made you hungry for her and she knew it.

All of this just for you to grow wet.

To be complacent was the most you can do after adding to her stress. The price you were paying for came in full stop onto your mind. Recently, you almost walked in topless while she was at a zoom meeting. What were you thinking? Dumb pretty thing. Wanda was infuriated. It didn’t matter if it was accidental on your end – amongst all the other stunts you’ve been pulling.

A slew of moans rang soundly in your ears. Your shared bed was disturbed, shaking lightly. The close proximity did not help your libido that soon spiked, along with Wanda's continuous grinding over the slope of your ass.

Wanda was thrilled with your regret and submission. She slaps your thigh, "Now bring this up for me because I'll be riding you. All you have to do is to not touch – but keep your eyes on me. Is that clear?" She cocked an eyebrow to which you furiously nodded at.

"Crystal, Mommy."

Wanda’s eyes gleamed with mirth. She grinded against you again, wantonly with no shame against your own sweatpant covered thigh. Your wrists still pinned up for good measure as she rocked herself back and forth, absorbing how the wetness provided lubrication to the gnawing burn of pleasure that ebbed as friction of the lightweight fabric did its thing to her core.

Her hips were languid and hypnotizing at each rocking. Soon you were moaning low with Wanda, contrasting your sound with her loud erupting ones.

Her dripping cunt clung and sucked the fabric of the apex material of her slack against your cotton bottoms. Wanda thought for a second maybe she should have ordered you to wear jeans for this session, the rough texture could’ve spurred her further and faster to orgasm. 

“Mommy, you look so good..”

You helplessly ogled her writhing state as she used your body for her own needs. It was exhilarating to witness how determined Wanda was. She did not hold back with her lewd expressions and movement that barely faltered. 

“Y-yeah? Wish you could touch me now, don’t you?” She taunted you with gritted teeth.

“Yes,” You whisper, defeated.

You can’t even squirm as Wanda used you like an instrument for her own playing. And sly as ever, Wanda made sure her knee slotted to your pussy, albeit, it did not lead to anything further than mere accidental bumps.

"Fuuuck, fuck!" Wanda's uneven breathing and eyes rolling back hard with sclera visible, indicated one thing. her panties, slacks and your own sweatpants now soiled with her arousal, she kept going in a faster manner. "So so sooo good! And you don't even have to do anything. Just gonna use you like this, darling. Until I fall apart," Wanda mindlessly uttered and moaned, her accent slipping as she rubbed herself with much force.

She started to unbutton her dress shirt in a frantic manner, almost ripping them off, all to cup and squeeze her own breasts while she rocks on your thigh that she felt contract and tense.

"Mommy, please...."

Wanda groaned, her tummy warmed up and stirred a new sensation over her as she picked up your words crystal clear. She doesn't halt, only slithers her soft hands under your tracheal region. Like a good girl on autopilot and pure desperation, your hands stay as they were, only arching your neck back to accommodate the hold Wanda has on them. 

“Darling, oh god… I-It’s so good!”

She gives your neck a firm squeeze as she cums – your eyes flit to her core that was beyond damp – but so was the cotton material of your sweatpants. Your own pussy began to clench onto practically nothing, as Wanda cried as she fell apart in your thighs, slowing down her movements, dragging it all out.

Oh it was good, alright. Even the scent of her arousal lingered deliciously on your senses.

Wanda was dripping now over you. It was sticky yet satisfying on her end. As she was pleased, yours were aching and begging to be stimulated. Not even touched, you just needed something to ease the emptiness or else you'll lose it. All while your lover was enthralled by the whole sight of you being at the edge of her conniving revenge for tonight. 

“Now let this be a lesson.” She grinned deviously, standing up on her feet. She started to undress from her work clothes. It was jarring for you how Wanda did all that – as though nothing erotic and mind blowing had occurred. “Also, no cumming for a while. Trust me, Mommy will find out.”

You squirm with your legs tightly crossed upon Wanda’s sternness, all authoritative. A pathetic groan comes out again of your pretty mouth, no promise of alleviation to come for tonight’s little show.

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

[lo1k-diamonds]

SX Seoul Series | Jungkook Entry 💜 Bubbles (Part 2)

PAIRING: Jungkook/Reader (You can also read it on AO3)

SUMMARY: You wake up the next morning and feelings you didn't want to stir are brought back to the surface. You think he might feel the same way but maybe you jumped to conclusions too soon.

WORD COUNT: 8.3k

GENRE: Exes to lovers, smuuuuuut, angst, making up

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: exes, explicit, unprotected sex (stay safe!), you guys fight and stuff gets punched and thrown around, lingering feelings, heartbreak, second chances

PARTS: [1] [2]

A.N. I wrote this story after a while of being unable to focus and write so I hope you enjoy it, I think it turned out fun :)

----

You woke up in the morning, yet despite the sun’s rays hitting the floor, you couldn't be certain. Were you truly waking up?

You sighed and pressed yourself further back into a welcoming chest. The sheets had a familiar scent, and this along with the tattooed arm enveloping you and the breath fanning your hair made you sure that you were still dreaming. You moved ever so slightly, you wanted to submerge deeper into that dream, and his legs tangled with yours even better as if to tell you you were not going anywhere. It melted you because it reminded you of so many mornings before. So many dawns and sunsets where you’d be tucked in safely inside those arms, with his hum near your ear, his perfume trickling your nose, and you took deep breaths. That was your safety net, the place you rushed to so you could recover, rest, and gain the courage to face the world.

It was enough for you to search for even more. You were sleepy, dreaming, and on the only fluffy cloud in the sky where you wanted to be. So you turned under his arm to face him and your heart instantly trembled. His eyes were closed, but the soft lines of his face were the sweetest thing you had ever seen. You missed those pouty lips, that round cutesy nose, and the swell of those cheeks you used to tease all the time and that made you fall in love whenever delicate dimples would crease. His eyebrows had always been so expressive and now one had a piercing, which didn’t match the two rings adorning his lower lip except that he pierced the same side of his face. But even that didn’t surprise you; when you first met, he said he always wanted to do something, but didn’t know exactly what. You guessed he had figured it out.

You reached to brush his hair aside and felt the two studs on his eyebrow with a feather-like touch — you liked it. You liked everything about him, always had. You knew then your heart was getting loud and you smirked when it became deafening — because he opened his eyes. And in that moment, you decided that reality would only come knocking if you let it. You could pretend it didn’t exist. You could pretend Jungkook was still yours, that he didn’t hate you, that you belonged in his arms again.

You leaned in to nuzzle him and gave him a moment to move away. You were clear — you wanted to go on that ride again and forget everything else, but what about him?

He brushed his nose to yours once and captured your lips with a kiss that fluttered your heart. It wasn’t desperate or crude, it was gentle and warm like when two lovers said good morning. And that was all you needed.

You snuggled closer, embracing him and stretching and sighing in multiple turns. He returned your kiss and held you close, equally invested in that moment with you, away from any pain, anger, or subterfuge. This made you smile, contentment radiating from every corner of you, and it was as if you were in an alternate dimension. You could feel his love again and adore him back and you wanted to make the best of it.

Maybe it seemed against your better judgment, but you broke your kiss with a mischievous smile and turned your back on him. You pulled his arm firmer around you, in case he had silly ideas, and rubbed your ass on his crotch for good measure. The Jungkook you knew didn’t need any explanations or instructions, and indeed, he grabbed you close, grinding his hardening dick on your ass while breathing in the scent of your skin.

His hand came to cup your breast gently and you grinned, feeling elated with the way he was all over you. When he started playing with your nipple to harden it, you bit your lower lip and failed to contain your whimpers. He knew you were sensitive but it never stopped him before.

He started biting and licking down your neck and you were covered in goosebumps, arching your back to give him better access. He kept his sweet torture, but that wasn’t enough for you — you reached between your legs to grab his hard cock behind you and pull it to be squished between your thighs when you closed them. Then you rocked your hips and melted at the groan behind you.

“That’s it,” you cooed in a whisper, clenching around nothing in anticipation. “You’re so hard for me.”

You knew he loved to be coaxed, the same way you loved to tell him how good he felt. He wasn’t stopping, nibbling down your skin and pinching your nipple gently as he rutted you and you bit your lip.

“And I’m so ready for you,” you sighed. “Wont you check?”

Your tone was needy but you never bothered hiding it. His hand travelled from your chest to your core and instantly felt how you were dripping from your folds.

You whimpered, “See how you slide so well?” You meant at the surface, but his fingers sank into your flesh, pumping wet sounds out of you along with needy moans. “Fuck— You know where to go. You’ll feel so good, I promise.”

You felt his smile on your skin as he busied himself pumping you with two digits and getting juicy noises out of you. You moaned onto the pillow, rocking your hips to feel him better both inside you and in between your legs. You loved those sensations, not just the pleasure, but the scent reaching your nose because you were in his bed. You were living a dream and it was absolutely perfect.

His hand grabbed your hip, knowing well you were leaning forward and tilting your ass so he’d eventually slip inside you. The way he was making you crazy for it didn’t elude you, but you were never beyond begging.

“Fuck, baby. Please let me have you, please.”

He froze and you squirmed to feel him, thinking that was him just making you work harder for him.

He moved quickly enough that you didn’t think beyond it — he reached behind him inside a nightstand drawer and got something. You heard the wrap tearing and waited until he was ready. You didn’t let a single thought cross your mind, not now.

He grabbed your hip again and this time his cock pushed between your folds to get inside you, making you moan and lose all strength. He rocked his hips into yours and you gasped, leaning back. You didn’t expect him to grab your hair and arch you further, but you definitely tensed more around him, barely able to catch your breath.

“Fuck— Fuck, I love it when you do this.”

You could feel his breath down your neck. “Yeah? Love it whenever a guy fucks you like this?”

“No, only you.” Your reply was as natural as breathing, giving him all you had. “Always only you.” You were burning inside out, feeling flush not only on your cheeks but also on your chest, hands, and stomach. You reached to grip his arm supporting your hip in place; you were starting to get sweaty but you doubted he minded. You were just looking for more ways to connect with him. “Are you going to tease me? Make me a good girl for you? I always loved to be good so I could earn you filling me up completely.”

His hips jerked off tempo and you only sighed. He remembered for sure what you were talking about.

His fingers dug at your skin, “Yeah? How many times have you begged for a guy’s cum after that?”

“Never. You’re the only one I ever begged to, the only cum I ever wanted. The only raw cock inside me, the only—”

He stopped and pushed you by the shoulder to face him. You were a bit startled but faced him with all the vulnerability you had been showing so far. His eyes were glistening, almost hurt, and your breath shook. You didn’t want that reality, the one in which you hurt him. You wanted to be back a year before when everything was good and sweet.

His eyes were watering up and he looked down. You thought he was running away from you and you were desperate for him to stay, and you looked down too. Before you could speak, you noticed he had his hand around the base of his cock, just frozen like that.

You teared up, “Do it.”

He looked up at you and you saw tears in his eyes as well. 

You smiled, “I never had anyone other than you raw. If you want to, I’d love to feel you again.”

He didn’t even blink. You were certain it was an impulse as you saw him pull the condom out and guide himself inside you as if he were a dying man and your core was his salvation. But as you both groaned and closed your eyes with the feeling of being connected again, you couldn’t care. You looked at him with a tear sliding down your face into the pillow and knew that it would all just break your heart in the end.

He must have known it too, because his eyes were glistening and red as he thrust into you at a slower pace. You instantly wanted to beg, but he gripped you closer, jerking his hips into you in a hard yet loving way that melted you to the bone.

“Fuck,” you dragged, trying to look up so you could see him above your legs still bent to the side like when you were spooning. You could feel him all over you again, inside and out in ways that felt like your souls were merging and it had you enter that beautiful reverie. You gripped his arm harder and forced his hand on your chest to squeeze as you moved with him. “Don’t stop. Please, please, please,” you said with every moan, scared that he would pull away and leave you. “Only you feel like this, please.”

“Only me?”

He was breathless, you almost didn’t hear him over your prayers. “Only you,” you confirmed, then you trembled and the words dripped out of your mouth. “I’ve missed you so much. So much,” your voice smothered with anxiety, with the tears flowing from your eyes that you squinted shut.

You didn’t fear that he would reject you or mock you or ignore you, you weren’t thinking. Your heart was hurting and you couldn’t keep it in anymore.

He slowed down and you hid your face under your hands, immediately wanting to ask him not to stop when you felt his breath near your ear.

“Me too. I’ve missed you too, bubbles.” His voice was wavering as he reached to kiss every inch of skin in range, soon after releasing his hand from your grasp only to grab it back and bring it to his lips. “I’ve missed everything. I’ve missed this.”

A sob almost silenced you, but you managed to call for him first, “Kook.”

It was a desperate sound you were almost ashamed to let out, so your hands instantly covered your face again. 

He stopped and in a second was pulling your leg under him so he could get on top of you in between your legs and hold you tightly. He leaned down to kiss your hands away as his hips rocked into you gently.

His lips and calls convinced you to uncover your face only to wrap your arms around him and hide in his neck, “I miss you!” You whispered with a lump in your throat. “Please.”

He kissed your red and wet cheeks, down to the salty traces that led into your hairline, “I miss you too.”

Shivers ran down your body as his words emerged a knot of feelings from inside your chest. You were never able to face it, to deal with it, to forgive him or yourself, but his words. The way he was with you, holding you close just like he used to when he loved you. His body was fully connected to yours, maybe even his soul.

You sank your nails onto his back and focused on his weight on you, his soft skin, his scent, and the burning tension in your lower stomach. You knew you would explode soon but you needed to let it out.

“I wanted to see you.”

He kissed your head, “I’m here.”

“I needed to see you,” you tried, but the pleasure sparking inside you was about to steal that chance. So you hugged him closer — a moan was pushed out of you and you could feel your orgasm starting, but you still chirped, “I love—”

You couldn’t finish as you started shaking uncontrollably from the waves of pleasure tensing and relaxing every muscle in your body. You clung on to him, squeezing him so tightly you were surprised he didn’t didn’t break apart. But maybe he didn’t for the same reason as you — he was holding you together.

He waited for you to be done before pulling out and coming over your belly. He didn’t bother separating your bodies and just groaned near your ear as you hugged him close. You could feel the warm substance trickling down the sides of your stomach but you didn’t care. You were never one to be bothered, you were not disgusted by him in the slightest.

He kissed your head and you smiled, waiting and longing for his kiss to travel to your cheeks, then further to your mouth. You tried to control your happiness and kiss him back placatingly, still letting that joy reach corners of you that were dim otherwise.

When he pulled away, you had no idea what would happen, but you were at ease. Because you opened up to him and he missed you back, and even though you weren’t able to tell him properly that you still loved him, you’d surely have another opportunity soon.

That was what you thought and the reason your lips were curved, even when he got away from you to grab wipes so he could clean you. Yet as he did, you noticed he wasn’t looking at you. His jaw was hardening and he didn’t look nearly half as relaxed as you did.

Shit.

He wasn’t done yet when you tried to reach for his hand, but he dodged you and threw the wipe away before putting his legs out of the bed to sit with his back to you. You started shaking.

“Not to ruin your post-nut clarity, but I’d like to talk.”

You chuckled nervously and fumbled with the sheet — everything you said felt risky, and every step you took felt like the ice under you would crack. You feared speaking too soon but couldn’t risk doing it too late. You let those fears drown you once, but not again. At least this time your mistake would be insisting, not letting it slide.

“Nothing to talk about.”

You knew from his tone that he was about to push you away and it made you react. “That’s not true. I said I miss you, and you said it back.”

He didn’t answer; all you could see were his wide shoulders as he leaned forward, supported on his knees, and kept quiet.

You gave him the chance to speak his mind because maybe he needed time and who knew, maybe you did too. But you couldn’t think as you waited, you had no idea what to say. Nothing felt enough, but you wanted to say everything.

He heaved a deep breath and moved a millimeter to get up, and you immediately pushed. “Answer me. Talk to me. Why can’t we have a conversation?”

He scoffed, “That’s rich coming from you.”

You sat up as he got up and searched for clothes in a nearby closet. “It goes both ways.” 

You bit your tongue and cursed yourself for reacting instead of thinking first — you didn’t want to fight, you wanted to talk. 

You took a deep breath and spoke while he put a pair of boxers on, “Do you miss me?”

He scoffed and left the room and you jumped off the bed after him. You could only grab the nearest tee shirt you saw, black as everything else he owned, and scurried after him.

“Answer me,” you insisted, seeing him in the living room putting pants on. Where did those even come from? “Fucking hell, Jungkook, just answer me!”

“What?!” He exploded, anger brazen on his features, but you didn’t step back.

“Do you really miss me?”

“No.”

You raised your chin and tried to not give away how your heart was cracking further. You couldn’t think or you’d start crying. “Well, fuck you too.” Your voice still wavered, “Don’t fucking lie next time.”

You turned to reach the bathroom and get your clothes so you could leave. Your heart was pulsating with sharp pain and you knew you were seconds away from crying. You needed to get out. Now.

“You’re assuming I—”

“Yeah yeah, no seconds,” you spat bitterly, unsure if he heard you. He shut up, so he did. You grabbed your clothes, “You don’t have to worry about that.”

A sudden noise from behind you startled you so before you could strip, you turned around — he had kicked the bathroom door with so much strength you thought it might have popped off.

“What the fuck do you want from me?!”

“How many times do I have to say it? A fucking conversation!”

“I have nothing to say to you!”

“Fine! You’ll lie anyway!”

You turned your back to him, letting the poisonous anger burn your guts while you got a hang of your dress so you could put it on.

When a loud noise came from the door again, you weren’t even surprised. This time, he punched it and something metal hopped over the floor and rolled away.

“As if you didn’t say those things in the spur of the moment!”

“I didn’t.” Tears ran down your face and you cleaned them quickly, refusing to let the cry take over you. “I meant every word I said.”

“Bullshit,” his voice had so much contempt you almost broke down.

“I don’t care what you believe,” was all you said, then took the tee off. “Just because you lied doesn’t mean I did.”

He saw how your back bent and tensed while you put your strapless bra on. He was shaking in anger but he heard you sniffle and you didn’t sound like you were mocking him. He couldn’t handle it if it was true.

“Don’t joke around—”

“I’m not fucking joking.” You sounded angry now and you grabbed your dress to put it on. He clenched his fists. “But it doesn’t matter, it’s done.”

You put your strapless dress back on, adjusting it so it would cover you as much as possible. You had no way of seeing how angry he was getting at the sight of you wearing that again instead of his clothes, but it was something he would never admit.

“You want me to believe you wanted to see me?”

His voice was derisive and you turned to him. “I did.”

“That you needed to see me?”

He scoffed and you grabbed your heels on the floor. “I did.”

You turned back to him, thinking that maybe now you could actually talk, but he was shaking his head. You saw tears in his eyes before he started laughing and rubbing his face.

“It’s funny, is it?” You asked, filled with contempt yourself. “Why, you didn’t even hit the punchline yet.”

He uncovered his face and his whole expression was a warning.

“What?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you’re going to mock me then at least do it well.”

His jawline was tensing again but you couldn’t care anymore.

“Come on, where’s the final question? You heard me. You would be running your mouth if you didn’t.” You scoffed, “Though I couldn’t really say it properly, but—”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

For a second you thought he was scared, but you only smirked, “I don’t? You know what? You’re right. Congratulations, you’re right about something and all you had to do was be an asshole.” You stepped towards him to get out but he didn’t move out of the way. “Let me go.”

He shook his head and you ignored all kinds of emotions on his face.

You pushed him, but he didn’t move. “Let me go.”

“No.”

You pushed his shoulders again, but he didn’t budge. You clenched your jaw, upset, and saw that it didn’t bother him in the slightest. In fact, maybe he liked it. You pushed him once more and he tried grabbing your arms, and you struggled.

He won — he grabbed your forearms, “What did you say?” You scoffed and he pulled you closer. “Tell me what was I supposed to have heard?”

“I said I—” 

You were ready to spit it in his face but your throat blocked as you looked into his eyes. You were both angry and hurt, and you thought you were above it, but you weren’t. If you said it again, it would hurt infinitely more. But then it hit you — he just used you. He was attracted to you and wanted an easy fuck, and that was what that night was. You were hung up on him like a moron.

Your eyes teared up but you made a decision — it would be easier if he just crushed your heart right now.

“I said I love you.”

He released his hold on you instantly as if you burned and you scoffed. You guessed you did — this Jungkook in front of you clearly couldn’t handle something like that. He was a fuckboy now.

You pushed him again and he didn’t resist, falling to the side and letting you pass. You started looking around — you couldn’t recall where you had thrown your purse.

“I said don’t joke around.”

His voice was barely above a whisper and you didn’t stop. You were throwing sofa pillows around, “And I said I’m not joking. And I don’t lie either, contrary to you.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying.”

You pulled your hair back with a sigh; it wasn’t on the couch. “You’re starting to sound like a broken record.” You continued looking around, maybe in the kitchen? “What does it matter anyway? I get it — why you lied. I was being emotional and you wanted an easy fuck.” You huffed; not there either. “You got it, so you want me to leave now, right? Don’t worry, I want to, I just can’t find—”

He roared and punched something that made the coat hanger fall to the floor. “You talk and talk and talk but you still don’t know what you’re fucking saying!”

You got over your shock quickly and threw your shoes on the floor, “It would help if you fucking talked instead of breaking the place!”

“I can’t fucking talk when you’re driving me insane!”

You scoffed, “Me? Maybe you are just insane.”

He stepped to you with a dangerous look, “Watch your mouth.”

“Why? What will you do?” You rolled your eyes when he only took a deep breath in response. When you looked back at him he was closer and you instantly tensed up, and not in a bad way. He was eying you in that way that had you crazy needy but you stood your ground. “You’re not touching me again.” Your lips pulled in contempt, “Not like you want to. No sloppy seconds, right? So surely no thirds or fourths or—”

He stepped forward, ready to grab you, and you gave him your most disgusted piercing look.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me, don’t even think about using me again.”

You were out of breath, spitting venomous words while your eyes were locked, but in an instant, something wet dripped down your cheeks. You breathed, and instantly you recognized the pain searing your heart. It hurt. It hurt too much.

Your sob had you sucking breaths anxiously and you gave him your back. You didn’t want him to see how much it hurt you.

“I’d never use you.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because—” He heaved a deep breath. It was complicated and he was so conflicted he wanted to punch something again. But seeing your shoulders move as you contained your sobs, his mind cleared. “Because I wanted to be with you.”

“Right,” you chuckled despite the tears. “Wasn’t fucking in a dark alley enough? Why did you bring me here?”

“To be with you.”

“Say it properly. To fuck.” He didn’t answer and you sucked in a deep breath, “Or maybe… maybe something worse. Not just to use me, did you want to hurt me? Is this some sort of… vengeance or—?”

“No!” He raised his arms to your shoulders but he didn’t touch you. You didn’t want him to.

You grinned but it was painful, “Lying again? Fuck, I never knew you like this.”

“I’m not lying.” 

“Bullshit,” you almost laughed despite your crying and sniffling.

“It’s the truth.”

“Why should I believe you?”

He gritted his teeth behind you and gripped his hair in frustration. He was never the best at saying things, he always showed you better. He wished he could turn you around and get that stupid dress off you so he could cover you in his tee shirt again. He wished he could kiss your tears and hold you again like there wasn’t a mountain between you. He wished he could have you lying on his bed again saying those sweet things that shook him to his very core. He wished he could see your smile again as you drank your honey oat milk latte just the way you liked it because he made it for you. Fuck, he wanted that and so much more, but none of it would happen. He still hated you.

“Give me one good reason why you even talked to me back at the club,” you asked, more poised now that you had calmed your sobs and cleaned your cheeks. You turned to face him and he looked almost like he was in pain, but you only blinked your wet lashes. Your nose, eyes, and cheeks were still red but he knew you were crying, there was no point in hiding it.

“You looked beautiful.”

You scoffed, “Right… Beautiful enough to fuck easy, ri—?”

“Stop saying that!” Your assumptions were driving him crazy, but you were persistent.

“Why? Cause you can’t handle the truth?”

“Cause it’s fucking bullshit!” He smacked his fist on his palm, then opened both as if he could shake you to your senses, “You think fucking you is easy? You think wanting you and bringing you here was fucking easy? I gave in! I saw you, you said those things, and I had to have you!”

“You didn’t have to bring me here.”

“No, I didn’t!” He agreed with you and it made him swallow and take a breath from his shouting. “I did it for my own selfish reasons.”

“And what were those? If not to use me, not to hurt me or exact some sort of vengeance,” you enumerated with your fingers perhaps a bit pettily, but you wanted to understand. However, he didn’t seem interested in sharing — he had turned his back on you and stepped away to have space. “Then what for?”

He grunted and rubbed his face harshly before turning to face you, “Why do you complicate everything? I answered you already — to be with you. That’s all.”

You frowned and puffed; for some reason that answer just left you even more unsettled. “That doesn’t make any sense.” He threw his hands in the air and you insisted, “You wanted to be with me? Then why not let me finish blowing you?”

He scoffed and shook his head, “Thought you would have figured it out by now.”

Your frown deepened in anger, but it hit you. “Because… you didn’t want to use me?” His only response was a twitch of his eyebrows. “Then why not let me cum? When you ate me?”

He puffed a breath as his nostrils flared, but he still answered you, “Cause I was pissed.”

“Why?”

“Why?!” Your question made it worse. “Cause you spoke to me like I was nobody!”

Your chin dropped, “What?”

“You spoke like it could have been anyone else eating you and making you crazy and it made me want to tear you apart!”

You were shocked, just looking at him, and it infuriated him even more. He tried his best to keep his cool as he paced the living room — why were you making him feel inadequate? Like he was blowing something out of proportion when it meant so much to him?

“That's— I don't get it,” you tried, confused. “I wanted you to know how good you felt—”

“You called me baby!”

He was shouting again and you blinked, “So?”

“So?!” He kicked the back of his couch. “The most fucking generic term I’ve ever heard! Do you know how many people have called me that? Made me despise them every time!”

“But I've called you that before,” you pointed out, still confused. It was one of your nicknames for each other.

“You called me something else.”

His tone was suddenly sober and you instantly knew what he meant. “Kook.”

“Yes.”

He wouldn’t tell you how much he was hung up on it. He wouldn’t let anyone else call him that, he kicked out any women who tried, and just hearing it from your mouth now gave him goosebumps. It was who he was to you, who he wished he had been for his whole life.

You were just looking at each other while you recalled calling him ‘baby’ in the heat of your shared moments. You never meant it in a general way, you meant it endearingly. But you had called him ‘Kook’ earlier, and remembering it twisted your guts. You sighed and rubbed your eyes for a second — you had decided to crush your heart then and there. You weren’t leaving his place without bloodshed so there was no point in hiding.

“I was scared of calling you that,” you admitted, facing him again despite your fears. “I was scared of exposing myself like that.”

“Well, I did,” his grin was a sneer, but you couldn’t understand. Why would what you called him hurt him if he didn’t care? “So that was like a punch to my gut. Or maybe… maybe you didn't even notice that I—”

“Of course, I fucking noticed,” you blurted out, something akin to desperation on your features. “I noticed and it made me completely lose my mind!”

He leaned forward, gripping the couch’s back, “Not enough to expose yourself to me.”

“I was scared! You still hate me, I was—” Your own words hit you in realization, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I was scared.”

He scoffed, “Scared of what?”

“You know what,” you answered, uneasy.

“I do. See why you have no idea what you’re saying? You just blab and assume shit,” he gripped the leather couch and you thought for a moment he could have thrown it around if he wanted to. “The difference between you and me is that I knew who I was choosing.” His features hardened and you fought the urge to look small. “You said you wanted to do this and I took you.”

Your eyebrows twitched, “You’re trying to say I didn’t? Please,” you rolled your eyes. “Because I didn’t call you Kook sooner? You know better than that. I walked up to you, spoke to you, told you I wanted to be with you, came here with you, told you no one is like you, that I missed you, that no one makes me—” You huffed and bit your lip; you weren’t sure about saying any more than you already had.

His eyes were glistening but his grin was almost cruel. “You don’t look so scared now.”

You frowned for a moment before you raised your chin, “No, I guess I’m not. I was until you embraced me this morning and I thought—” Your lips twitched. “But that was fake,” his eyes snapped to yours and you stood still, “right? You lied. You never missed me, so what does it matter if you called me bubbles?” You scoffed but your eyes were filling with tears again, “Why call me that if you never meant it?” You shrugged, “I have nothing to fear anymore. It’s all fucked, I don’t think it can hurt more than this.”

His jaw was clenching hard while you spoke and he walked around. You thought he looked like a ticking timebomb with his biceps rhythmically reacting to his fists opening and closing.

“Well, I fucking wish it did,” he said. “It seems like nothing I do can hurt you, can it?”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m fucking serious!”

“Do I not look hurt to you?!”

“I want you to hurt at least a fraction of what it hurts me!” He punched the couch, but your watering eyes only hurt him more. “But all I managed to do was hurt myself even more!”

“You’re hurt?” You couldn’t hide your skepticism.

“What do you think?! Fuck, you’re so fucking selfish you can’t see anything in front of your nose!”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “Happens with liars. It’s hard to distinguish—”

“Shut up!” He turned to you and you squeezed your arms for comfort. “What does it matter if I missed you? If every fucking word out of my mouth was the truth and I called you bubbles because of what you fucking mean to me? Look at you!” You were shaking now with welled-up eyes. “Acting like a fucking abandoned puppy! You left!”

“What?”

“You left! You were the one who left!”

Your heart shook and you became pale, “That was— You mean—?”

“Yes!”

“But— You—” You were so confused. “You knew I’d leave!”

“What the fuck does that matter?! You said no and you left!”

Your heart instantly halted, “That’s— That’s something else entirely—”

“Yeah, right!” You shook with the venom in his voice. “I was ready, I made my choice, and you broke my heart!”

You were shaking and gripping your hands to soothe yourself, “I wasn’t ready.”

“You said no!”

His tone was accusatory and your chin trembled as you were swamped with old feelings and memories. 

Only this time, you took a deep breath and answered back, “Listen to yourself! That day I told you I was going to the US to work for a year and you asked me to marry you! Does that make sense?!”

He had paced to his desk and as soon as you finished, he grabbed his gaming chair and threw it to the ground.

“You said no! You could have said something else! You could have said not yet or let’s talk or— I don’t know, just anything else! But you said no!!”

“Well, fuck, what was I supposed to say?! I had that job opportunity and you were going too fast!”

He sneered, “Fast?”

“Yes, fast! We weren't together for even a year yet!”

“I don't care! I fucking knew I wanted to spend my life with you! And you said no!”

“I said I love you!”

He kicked the chair on the floor, “And it wasn't enough!”

“No, it wasn't!” You stepped forward, wanting to punch something yourself. “Clearly! You’re fucking mad I said no, but what about you?! You fucking dropped off the face of the earth! You knew the dates of my contract, I forwarded the flight information to you, and you never spoke to me again! You didn’t even say goodbye!”

“What goodbye?! What bigger goodbye do you need than rejecting me when I’m on my knees for you?!”

“Stop being so fucking self-centered!” He started laughing, but you were not done. “I said I loved you. I wanted to be with you and you threw a tantrum like a child!”

“A tantrum?” He was still laughing and you’d recognise that bitterness anywhere.

“Be honest,” you breathed. “Would you have come with me?”

His laughter died. “What?”

“You heard me. And if you couldn’t, would you have waited for me?”

His eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights and you let the tears fall from your eyes.

“I never got to ask,” you continued in the silence. “You never answered me again. I always thought that your not answering was your answer. That you never wanted to see me again because if I wouldn’t marry you like you wanted, then you wanted nothing to do with me.”

He finally breathed, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” You smiled and cleaned your cheeks, “Then why is that the only thing you say? That I said no? I never meant no forever, I never meant that I wouldn’t in the future. But I needed that opportunity to build my career, I needed that sacrifice from you and you turned your back on me.”

“No, I—” His mouth was opening and closing, he couldn’t find the right words. “Because— Because I thought you wanted to just— To just leave me behind.”

“Behind? As if I wasn’t leaving my heart with you? Tell me, did you ever think about asking me? About talking to me?” His lips twitched in hesitation and your lips curved painfully, “Right.”

“I wanted to,” he admitted, but you shook your head in disbelief. “I wanted to but I felt broken. You left me and rejected a future with me, you didn’t want me. What point was there in reaching out to you?”

“I wish you had. Maybe it wouldn’t have worked, but a part of me likes to believe we would have made it. One year was a long time but not the end of the world. For you, I would have done it.”

You nodded and looked at his feet for a moment. None of you would ever know now, but you believed it. You were at peace with at least having voiced that to him.

You looked up at him and saw as clear as day how lost he was. He was gripping his hair with pain across his features, maybe something else. He was still shirtless in front of you, a Greek God in all his glory, yet your eyes couldn’t abandon the soft curls of his hair. Now that everything was out there, you were sort of melancholic. You’d miss him.

“Fuck,” he dragged in a grunt. “Is this what you wanted? To find me again and break me?”

You chuckled, “What the hell are you saying? I never thought I’d see you again. And if I did, I expected to find you married to the woman of your dreams.”

He groaned and rubbed his face before facing you, “You— You’re the woman of my dreams!”

Your lips trembled but you stayed quiet; you had no idea where any of that left you.

“I can’t believe this,” he let out, then scoffed. “No, I’m in too deep now. You could have reached out too. You could have told me all this and asked me before, but instead, you just turned and left. Because you didn’t want me.”

“I called you!”

“For like two days! How long do you think it took to heal my wounded heart?”

“I don’t know! From what I’ve heard, your heart has been more than comforted, you probably healed very fast!”

“Oh fuck off,” he spat with harsh eyes. You regretted letting those feelings surface, but it was too late. “You left me after rejecting me, I was free to do whatever I wanted and screw whoever I pleased.”

“You’re right, forget I said that.”

He laughed, “Nah, that’s just you. Worried about whether I’ve been well-fed or not. Why? Thought that would make it easier?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, to get me crazy again.”

You couldn’t help your lips pulling, “I did drive you crazy.” His eyebrow twitched over a dark gaze and you quickly sobered up. “But that’s not what I meant.”

“You’re fucking incredible, you know that?” He could be spitting those words for all intents and purposes.

“No, I meant that after I called you, I took your silence as—”

“No, no, fuck that. Excuses, all of it. You saw me on my knees and butchered my heart, then left days later for another country. If you cared, you would have done more.”

“You act as if you don’t have arms and legs yourself.”

“And you act like a damsel in distress when you’re anything but,” he had neared you now and you sobered up. “I still hate you, you know.”

Your lips trembled and you looked down with a sour smile. You did realize it, but it didn’t make it any easier. “I know.”

You were focused on mapping your conversation and seeing if there was anything you could tell him that could clarify things when he scoffed.

“No, scratch that.” You looked up and saw him running his hand through his hair. “I fucking hate you and the way you just tried to bring me down to my knees again.”

“I didn’t—!”

“I hate that I brought you here 'cause I wanted to see you here, in my home, as if that could bring back what we once were. I hate that I gave you what you wanted even if it hurt. I hate that I called you bubbles as if you’re still that person. I hate— I fucking hate you, I can’t—”

His voice broke down but you had already heard too much. You couldn’t face him anymore, you were hiding under your hand as your spirit drained in the form of tears.

“I understand.” Your sight was blurry but you knew the way out. You stepped around him, “I’ll leave—”

You weren’t expecting him to grab you and crash his mouth into yours, but you didn’t fight him. You let him kiss you desperately and did the same all while the tears kept streaming down your face.

“Don’t fucking leave,” he whispered to your lips, pressing his forehead to yours. “I can’t stand the thought of you walking out. Not again.”

Your cry was uncontrollable, “But you hate me.”

His hands were firm around your head, not letting you move away, and the only sound you both could hear was you trying to control your sobs. It broke him to see you cry, it always did. He didn’t know what to do. No matter how hard he tried, there was this poison inside him that gushed out every time. It was all breaking apart again, and he wanted everything to go to hell, but looking at you, he knew that wasn’t true.

You sniffled, “If you hate me and I love you then we're not on the same page.”

His heart shook like his world could crumble at any moment. “Don't leave.”

“I have to,” you grabbed his arms and accepted it. “So you can find the woman of your dreams.”

“You’re the woman of my dreams.”

You chuckled sadly, “You hate me, Kook. You’ll find someone better, trust me.”

“No, I don’t want anyone else.”

You brushed his cheek, committing that sweet touch to memory. “You’ll be happy. It’s okay.”

“No,” he gripped you firmly, wrapping his arms around your waist instead. “Don’t leave.”

“Why would I stay?”

“Because I don’t hate you. I can’t,” his voice trembled with tears that didn’t flow down his cheeks, but down yours. “I hate myself for not being able to, for pretending, for even trying when I’m so—”

His voice blocked and you reached for him. “Say it… Please say it, don’t hold back,” your plea shook in your voice and you gripped his shoulders tighter. “If you don’t say it, then I won't know what to believe anymore—”

“Fuck,” he closed his eyes, fighting to the last moment all those conflicting emotions within him. But then you nuzzled his nose, holding him closer. Waiting. You weren’t leaving this time until everything was said and done, and he almost burst it out. “I can’t. I can’t hate you, I love you. I could never forget you but you left me behind and I fucking hated everything. Because I love you, because I lost you, because I was lost and I still am. What the fuck do I do?”

“I’m here.”

“No, you’re not.” He moved away and forced himself to take a deep breath. He turned to you, “You’ll walk out again. I fucked up. We fucked up, but I fucked up. Right? I spent a year trying to hate you, loathing myself for not being good enough. For being so sure you were the one while you discarded me so easily like I was worthless, but I never bothered to hear your side. I never bothered to ask you. You broke my heart… but I broke yours too.”

Your chin was trembling, but you didn’t near him. He seemed to need the space.

“I’m sorry.” He hid his face at your words and your tears treaded down again. “I’m so sorry if I hurt you, I was stupid and immature, and you’re right. I knew my heart was staying here with you, I should have tried to reach out and make it clearer. I knew I hurt you, and after I left, I knew you'd hate me. I should have gotten over myself and told you how I felt anyway. Then maybe I wouldn’t have tried to look for you in everyone else or stayed hung up on thoughts of you and—” He chuckled but it was laced with pain and you shook your hands, “No, I’m not blaming you!”

“I know,” he revealed his face, with red swollen eyes, and wet cheeks. “I’m blaming myself. I spent so long trying to hate you, blaming you for everything under the sun in stupid attempts to make it hurt less. I’m an idiot. And an asshole. Look at how I treated you. I can’t face you without hating my fucking stupidity—”

“Ours,” you stepped forward, hesitant to touch him but with your hands raised nonetheless. “If you want to hate something, then—”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you in, “I won’t pretend to hate you anymore.”

“Then don’t hate yourself either,” you asked as he took your hand to his lips.

“I’ll try… since it’s you asking.”

Your lips trembled into a smile at the way he was gently brushing his lips to your hand. “I’m happy we talked about it. I’m happy to hear that you still have feelings for me though I wouldn’t want to assume—”

“Assume.”

You stayed quiet, hesitantly looking into his brown eyes as he sprinkled kisses on your knuckles.

“Jungkook—”

“Assume, bubbles.” You pressed your trembling lips and he brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers, “Assume that I love you and don’t want you to leave.”

Your heart was shaking; you were hoping, but— “Are you sure?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, “I’m sure. I just don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t want to hurt you, but there’s so much we need to talk about.”

His eyes were pleading and you squeezed his hand, “If you could forgive me, that would be a great start.”

He sighed, “I don’t think that’s the problem.”

“Yourself?”

“Slightly more complicated.”

You smiled, “Same.” You stayed quiet just looking at each other when you decided to tell him, “I wish we could… forgive our mistakes and restart. We could get to know each other again. See if… If it would work.”

“You don’t think it would?”

You supported his hand on your cheek, “I think we still love each other.” He held your gaze and you felt your cheeks burning under his touch, “But maybe that also means it will be difficult to heal our wounds.”

He nodded calmly, observing your face. “Do you… hate me? For what I did? For never replying to you or fighting for you.”

“No,” you instantly reassured him. “I thought you made a decision and that you wanted to move on from me. That’s a rejection, but that's life. You didn’t cheat or lie or anything like that.”

He sighed, “That’s true… maybe that’s why I could never truly hate you either.”

You couldn’t help a smile, “We… We’re both idiots.”

He wrapped his arm around your waist closer, “A mistake. It was all a mistake.” He pursed his lips for a moment, then brushed your hair gently behind your ear, “Your ‘no’... you never meant forever?”

You grinned, “No. Though I don't need a ring around my finger to know who I belong to. Do you?”

“Who do you belong to?”

You smirked playfully, “I think you know him.”

He sighed and let you brush your fingers around his neck in an attempt to tickle him before lacing your arms around his neck.

“I would have waited,” he finally said, seeing closely how your smile wavered and your eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t drop everything to go with you, but I would have definitely made it work and visited you whenever I could.”

Your lips trembled and you tried to contain your cry, but your tears won. He pulled you to hide in the crook of his neck and you squeezed him inside your arms.

“Are you… going back?” He realized he didn’t know. “Or are you staying? In Seoul?”

“I got a position here, I’m starting next month.”

He sighed in relief. “I want to try,” his voice was close as he supported your head and leaned over your ear. “Us. I want to try.”

Shivers ran down your spine as you pressed him to you. “Me too.”

[loveyourownsmiilee]

Like honestly as a Buddie shipper, what the fuck are we supposed to focus on??? What does all of this mean if not Buddie canon???

We get closer than ever this season. There’s a lot of changes in the relationship and how we interact. We’re trying to give the audience what they want.

Well, there’s something brand new for both of us. I can only say that much.

Outside of Christopher, Buck would be the second closest thing that he can have as a relationship.

And then go to Buck and say, 'I trust you with my child, and I see how much you put in for my son; this goes beyond friendship, and I love you to the core. To have that sense of vulnerability is a sense of strength that has been shown.

And the way Eddie navigates that is just kind of a no, that's just who he is. And nothing ruffles my feathers. Even if you break my ankle or maim me, it's fine. That's who he is, and I love him either way. And there's no competition for Eddie.

I don't think that the Buddie fans are wrong.

There is a chemistry there that exists just naturally, so we don't have to try and lean into that or lean away from that. We just let it flow.

Oh, 100%. 100%. I watch certain edits and I think 'Am I Team Buddie?' because there are really talented editors out there. And you know how it is.

Obviously Eddie and Ryan who plays him is obviously an attractive man.

I think with this season 7, we got a lot in store for the audience. You give them what they’ve known and a lot of what they don’t.

There’s a scene in the first episode, where Eddie reveals that he's going — or he mentions a first date, and it in fact ends up being Christopher's first date. And Buck has this moment of "Oh. I thought things were going great with Marisol...' So little moments where I felt like, 'Is there scope to play with Buck?'

They've both become quite embedded in each other's lives. "I think they've kind of bonded and connected on so many levels, whether it be work, their personal lives and then add in that kind of fun dynamic where they clearly do just get on well. I think it's just a nice recipe for a good relationship, however you choose to see it.

There's some really beautiful stuff between him and Eddie and kind of them being open and sharing things with each other that they may have been reluctant to share with—I know how that's going to be taken. But it's true. [They're] there for each other in a very kind of open and nonjudgmental way.

They get to show up for each other in different ways. Moving forward there’s almost like potential for things to come up in a not so great light. But we get to see their friendship persevering, and them being there in ways they didn’t necessarily expect for each other. And I just, it’s a really lovely journey for them this season.

Eddie doesn't really have a sense of direction, so he reaches out for the closest person, and that closest person is Buck.

And Eddie was a mess. I think at that moment, the friendship had a turning point and now has allowed Buck and Eddie to really share as much or whatever they'd want, the scariest things in the world they could share with each other. And we're going to be seeing more of that this season.

As far as [Eddie's] sexuality, I think it's pretty clear that he's tried to fill in this motherly, this wife type role—that's all he knows…"And he's a man [that] first off, he's Catholic. Second off, he's from the military. So those are very straight-edge kind of lifestyles that don't offer too much of exploring. But through the 118, he's had this epiphany each year, like, 'Well, maybe I don't know as much as I thought I did. And maybe I should be exploring a little bit more and maybe I should understand myself a little bit more and even seek a therapist, which is something new for Eddie.

He is actually starting to figure out who he is outside of 'I am an Army man who has a silver badge! ... He's way more than that. He's starting to live in that [feeling] a little bit more, and I think that's freeing to him.

At this point we can’t be reading between the lines or coming to random conclusions when every thing said is so blatantly obvious.

[bangaveragewhitewine]

such a flirt!

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, established relationship)

May 1992

Flirting with Eddie Munson was in your top five favourite things to do. To flirt and be flirted with was written through him like a stick of rock candy. Feeling secure in your relationship, you don't let it bother you too much - you know that no matter how many women (and men) gave him doe eyes and fluttered their lashes, Eddie would be going home with you. 

That being said, you saw red when Crystal showed up. 

A follow-up to crazy-mad for you & I'm yours, all yours. (part of the Happy Hours series)

Word count: 7.9k

Content / Warnings: Jealous!Reader, feeling insecure & spiralling, comparing yourself to another person, mention of being cheated on in the past. A tiny fight (kinda). Female OC. Flirting, turned all the way up to eleven. Bi-panic 😈. This is 18+ if you are not 18 please read something else; semi-public sex, fingering, a hefty helping of dirty talk, slight perv!Eddie and mention of bruises left after sex. Eddie ‘Motormouth’ Munson, a certified menace.

This one is quite introspective, a look into Bartender-reader’s self-doubt and insecurities. 

Author’s note: Well girls, we’re back. I really can’t get these two out of my head. Thank you to bestie @specialagentmonkey for proofreading ♥️ 

Flirting with Eddie Munson was in your top five favourite things to do.

To flirt and be flirted with was written through him like a stick of rock candy. Perfected and fine-tuned over time, Eddie was smooth-talking, honey-tongued and could undress you with a simple glance - all things that had drawn you to your co-worker-turned-boyfriend. To bear witness to his talent (one of many, to be fair) had helped you to up your own flirt-game; figuring out how he liked to be flirted with, what made his pupils blow wide, or his tongue dart out to wet his lip. Flirtation was part of the very foundation of your relationship with the curly-haired rocker. 

Working together made your flirtation extra fun, a tool for extended foreplay while you poured shots and beers, while Eddie checked IDs and did his rounds to make sure no one was bumping coke in the bathroom (again). 

It also meant that you both had seen your other half be flirted with by strangers more times than you could even quantify. It was part of the job, a grin-and-bear-it part that sent Eddie home with more than one feather boa or a smeared lipstick mark on his cheek from a bachelorette party (bachelorettes loved your boyfriend, and you understood why). It also often meant you could make a few extra dollars on tips if and when you allowed it, extra dollars to buy a book or new tape you wanted or pay for takeout on your next night off together. 

You felt secure enough in your relationship to not let it bother you too much, knowing that no matter how many women (and men) gave him doe eyes and fluttered their lashes, Eddie would be going home with you. 

That being said, you saw red when Crystal showed up. 

It had started off as a usual shift; a Friday night in early May; the weather was warming up and the new cocktail menu you had put together was already proving popular. You and Eddie arrive together after an afternoon of lazy sex, reading together in bed and taking turns to make coffee before hauling yourselves up for a shared shower and a pre-shift diner dinner. 

By now you had all but officially moved into Eddie’s little apartment. You spent the odd night apart if you were meeting friends, or if Eddie had a gig, but oftentimes he would come crash at your place instead of going two more blocks home. His little one-bed apartment had begun to feel very much like home. You felt the question might be coming soon after he was a little too interested in your lease agreement and when it was up for renewal. If you had paid a little more attention, you might have noticed the dogeared YellowPages bookmarked with a scrap of paper on a page of addresses of key-cutting places on your side of the city.

You walked in the back door of Jackie’s, Eddie hot on your heels with his fingers dipping into the back pocket of your denim skirt to poke the mouth-shaped bruise he had bestowed upon your asscheek. It was in the tender purple-black stage, and he loved to rile you up by pawing at it.

“Quit it!” you hiss at him, scowling over your shoulder. “You’re a fuckin’ menace, Munson.” 

Eddie’s clever comeback is cut off by a roar of laughter from the bar. The bar doesn’t open for another hour so it’s only the other staff in before you.  

“Weird.” Eddie double-checks his watch to make sure he didn’t keep you late making out in the car or lose an hour somewhere. 

“Definitely weird,” you agree. “Is it someone’s birthday? Shit…” You think through the calendar in your head. Frank’s birthday isn’t for another two weeks… 

Eddie shrugs and cranes his neck as you turn the handle of the staff room door. “Go ahead out, nosy. Be there soon.”

Eddie pauses, makes sure you’re alone, and takes advantage of the distraction in the bar to press you against the doorframe. With an almost predatory grin, he leans in for a slow filthy kiss. Taking your surprised little gasp for an opportunity to slide his tongue against yours, he pulls that little gasping moan that he loves right from your throat. 

“Love you,” he murmurs before grazing your lip with his teeth. “Don’t miss me too much.”

He smacks a final kiss to your warm cheek and gives your achy butt one more squeeze before hot-footing it to the bar to see what’s going on. 

You hear his throaty laugh as he leaves you close to panting against the wall. “Asshole.” 

The staff room door muffles the noise as you scowl to yourself, left throbbing between your legs in more ways than one. As you swipe on some lipstick and tie your apron with a bow, you contemplate just how to get Eddie back for kissing you like something straight out of a smutty romance novel. After a final once-over in the mirror, you head out to join in on whatever is going on. 

Sitting on the bar, holding court, is the most stunning woman you have ever seen. She’s got these shiny green siren-eyes that command attention with hypnotic power. She reminds you of a copper-haired Kelly Bundy with deep red lips and the perkiest tits you have ever seen. 

She’s hot. 

She’s also got her hand on Eddie’s shoulder, toying with the freshly trimmed ends of his hair and twisting the coils around her long manicured nails. 

It makes something acidic unfurl and burn in your chest. 

He doesn’t even look over when you step out from the back, too busy nodding along to whatever the reincarnated Birth of Venus is saying. 

Through the sheer black of her blouse, you can spy ink that will have taken hours to press into creamy blemish-free skin, black and sharp and perfect. She carries an air of ‘your friend's cool older sister’, something utterly unattainable that makes you feel like an awkward teen again. 

Michelle beckons you over, flashing a smile when she sees you. “Hi sweetie,” she squeezes your hand with a little whisper. 

“Who’s -?” you mouth silently, not wanting to interrupt when this siren-woman has everyone hanging on every word. 

Before she can even answer, the goddess has everyone laughing again and she turns her attention on the late-comer to her one-woman show. You. 

“Oh hi! You’re new!” Her voice is sultry and smoky-smooth. “I’m Crystal, used to work here way back. You’re…?”

New? In a couple of months, it will be two whole years since you first stepped foot inside Jackie’s and scored a job the same night. 

You plaster on a smile, feeling tiny as you gaze up at the goddess on her plinth. You tell her your name, eyes darting to Eddie briefly but Frank has his ear while Crystal questions you. 

Michelle wraps her arm around your shoulders. “She’s a superstar. Our cocktail queen! Designed the new menu and everything,” she squeezes you against her and leans her blonde head against yours. 

“Oh, cute! You have to make me something later, okay?” Crystal insists, glancing at the board behind the bar where your carefully curated creations have been colourfully chalked up by Eddie’s artistic hand, complete with little illustrations of cocktail glasses - you had teared up when they surprised you with it. 

Crystal taps Eddie’s shoulder. “Ed, what’s good on the menu? Is there anything better than my Long Islands? You know, I used to make him drinks after every shift.” 

You watch your boyfriend smirk before he catches your eye. “Those were lethal, Crys. There’s not one bad drink on the menu. She worked super hard on it, best sellers all round.” Eddie winks at you, smiling proudly. It should settle then twisting discomfort in your chest but it barely touches the sides. 

“You’re such a flirt, Ed. My god.” Crystal laughs and shoves his shoulder gently before hopping down with her graceful long legs. “You got a cigarette? We better let them get the bar prepped. Friday nights are always so crazy here.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Crystal flashes a smile your way, something playful. “See ya later for that drink.”

Warm-cheeked and grey-matter scrambled, you watch Eddie pat down his pockets as Frank and the other bar staff tell Crystal how good it is to see her again. Jeff is already walking ahead toward the door, playing it smooth and cool though his eyes are hearts on stalks like a cartoon character. 

“Inside left, Ed,” you say, pointing out where his battered pack of smokes were hidden. You had slipped them in there after all. 

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief, a grin on his face - he plans on quitting or at least cutting down but right now, a shift without smokes doesn’t bear thinking about. He’s about to say thanks but you have already turned your back to hide your pink cheeks, ashamed of the jealousy coursing through you. 

It pisses you off more when he doesn’t come over anyway for one more kiss. Your lips still buzz from the swoon-worthy smooch he had laid on you but it turns to a sting as he turns and follows Crystal instead. 

You distract yourself with your to-do list before the bar opens and ponder over the history your boyfriend may or may not have with Jessica fucking Rabbit. 

You’re lucky not to lose a finger with how furiously you chop wedges and slices of lemons and limes, feeling totally on edge when you think about Crystal and Eddie laughing and smoking together. The last time you had seen another girl touch his hair he had very kindly moved her hand and directed her to the bar to buy a drink from you, ‘the hottie bartender, she’s my girlfriend - tell her Eddie says hi’.

Michelle lets you stew a bit as she checks the taps and restocks the straws and napkins. She catches you swearing at an unopenable jar of maraschinos, fearing you may smash the jar and slice your hand if you don’t quit knocking it on the counter. 

“Okay, what’s going on? Did those cherries kill your grandma?” she asks, taking the jar from your lime-juice-sticky hands. 

“Nothing's going on. I’m fine.” 

Liar. You’re actively thinking about how good Eddie and Crystal looked side-by-side and you hate it. Red and black, his favourite colours.

“Do you have cramps? Are you and Eddie fighting or somethin’?” she asks, hand on her hips. 

“No, and no. Just… Ugh.” You know Michelle doesn’t give up until she gets an answer. You love and hate her for it, she’s definitely one of your best friends for life now - especially when she opens the cherries without breaking a sweat. 

“Spill, babe.” She spears four cherries with two toothpicks; one for you and one for her. 

You accept it with a little smile that fades quickly and use the distraction to figure out how to say what you want to ask without sounding like a crazy person. 

“Crystal… Did she and Eddie…?” You brace for impact. 

Michelle raises one thin brow as she chews the sticky red fruit. “Go out? Fuck? Nuh-uh, don’t think so. You’d have to ask him though, babe. She’s just… super flirty. They were friendly, and I think she had a little crush on him.” She shrugs, “He left for tour before she quit, she moved out west.”

You nod, chewing the second cherry without really tasting it. “Yeah,” you sigh. “I guess… I just thought he might’ve told her I was his girlfriend or something.” 

Michelle watches your shoulder slump and pulls you in for a one-armed hug. “Maybe he should’ve. He did hype up your cocktails - he does that when he’s checking IDs y’know, gives out recommendations and everything. Totally whipped, huh?” 

She kisses your head and squeezes you to her side. “Don’t let it get to you. Crys will get bored soon, especially if he’s not flirting back. She’s a Vegas gal now, I doubt we’re to her standards anymore.”

You lean your head against your friend and fold yourself into a hug. “Thank you. You’re the best.” After a few moments, you speak again. “She’s so pretty.” 

“Ugh, I know. Makes my piss boil, she’s so hot.” 

You both break into giggles as you squeeze each other extra tight, pinky-swearing to have a girls’ night the next time you both have the same night off. 

With a little boost from Michelle, you finish setting up the bar and write up the night’s drink specials on the menu boards. You turn the music up to cover the sound of Eddie’s throaty laugh as it carries from inside the door, trying to ignore the twisting feeling in your gut. 

It’s busy from the off tonight and though you had plenty to distract you as you poured and mixed drinks, tendrils of jealousy crept in and coiled around you like boa constrictors. You half-watched Crystal flit and flirt around, distracting the other bartenders when she wasn’t lingering far too close to the door for your liking. 

Why hadn’t he ever mentioned her before? Had he flirted with her like had with you before you got together? Was she going to take her job back and take your boyfriend too? 

If she didn’t seem so fond of your boyfriend, you might just be in awe of her and want to be her best friend. Alas, your hang-ups don’t extend such kindness and instead make you bitterly territorial as you shrink into yourself, feeling like a toe in comparison to her. 

You want to take your overloaded brain out and shake the stupid thoughts out in a chilled silver shaker, strain them away before screwing your head back on so you could be normal about the woman who might have no ulterior motive for hanging around your boyfriend. 

Around nine thirty you step away from the bar to take your turn collecting empties from tables; the crowd is cheerful and you move around them with ease. Crystal isn’t anywhere and you see Eddie chatting to Frank by the door before the big boss heads home for the night. Your shoulders relax a little, hoping that Michelle is right and the redhead had decided to find somewhere a bit more salubrious for the rest of her night. 

It’s almost time for your first break; you need a stone-cold Diet Coke and ideally a joint - but that’s a post-shift treat, so fresh air will have to do. 

The catchy part of En Vogue’s My Lovin’ plays on a loop in your head as you drag yourself to the back door with your fizzing pint glass of Coke and lime. The ice clinks out of tune with your hum-singing. 

You’re almost at the door when you realise there’s someone else out there before you. The rest of the staff is behind the bar and Eddie doesn’t take his five minutes this early (not when the door is peak-busy). You try to spy through the gap in the door where it’s propped open with a crate and see a flash of shiny copper, perched on your stool. 

The click of ice against glass gives you away and Crystal turns her head, spotting you peeking. She’s not even supposed to be out here, but at least she’s not haunting Eddie - small mercies, you guess. You give her a tight smile and step outside.

“Oh, hi. Is it your break?” 

“Yeah. Just my five.” You shrug and sip your drink, leaning against the cool bricks as Crystal eyes you from behind the smoke of her menthol cigarette. 

“Want one?” she asks, offering the packet out. 

You do. You miss the menthol burn from high school parties. “Sure. Thanks.” 

She gives you a little smile and passes you the packet, a new Bic lighter under her thumb to light you up. 

“Is it nice to be back?” you ask, filling the silence after your thank you as Crystal looks at her nails. Up close you can see a few of her tattoos beneath her sheer blouse; a rose on her shoulder, a fierce trad style leopard on her inner arm.

“Oh yeah. Missed the guys, they’re such sweethearts.” She smiles and watches you sip your drink. You feel like a lamb next to her, an elegant lioness. “You like working here?” 

“I really do. They’re kinda like family now.” It’s no word of a lie. 

“Cute. It was one of the best places I worked.” She stubs her smoke under the block of her heel. “You work with Eddie much?” 

And there it is. 

You take a long minty drag. “Yeah, pretty often. We’re usually scheduled on the same shifts.”

Crystal nods her head. “Super hot right? Somethin’ nice to look at to make the night go faster huh?” You watch her lips curve into a coy grin.

Your own smile is a little at her expense. 

“Oh for sure.” You double-fist your drink and cigarette, tapping the ash off carefully. “That’s why we don’t let him behind the bar, leave him by the door to draw in the girls.” You echo Frank and Michelle’s teasing of your boyfriend; his heavy pours and clumsiness with glasses are the main reasons he stays stationed on security, but it’s fun to tease him. 

Crystal laughs at that, head thrown back. “Right?! And such a flirt!”

It’s the second time she mentioned that tonight. It wasn’t a lie - you’re simply used to being the only subject of Eddie’s well-practised flirtation after seven months of being his girlfriend. 

It rattles around your head, clanging like a bell. Such a flirt! There are a few beats of silence before she speaks again.

“Hey, do you know if he’s seeing anyone?” Crystal asks. “I’m flying back out on Sunday. The rockstar thing really does it for me.”

You feel a stone - nay, a boulder - sink in your belly and take another drink as she continues. God, you wish you had spiked this for yourself, smoky-sweet rum or clean sharp vodka. The chill of the ice and menthol can’t dampen the burn in your chest, a heady mix of jealousy and rage. 

“I was going to try and link up with him when he was on tour, I was in L.A. for a bit before the move to Las Vegas. I thought he might stick around out there a while,” Crystal digs around in her purse for her compact and lipstick as she speaks, prettying her already stunning self up for your boyfriend. “Maybe tonight’s my night,” she says, touching up her powder before looking at you for an answer.

You blink a few times, bathing your sticky tongue with cold Coke before you can speak. 

“Sorry, Crystal.” Your voice is surprisingly steady for how all over the place you feel. “Yeah, he’s definitely got a girlfriend. Together almost a year.” You blow menthol smoke into the air, feeling it turn your mouth acrid in a way that can’t be balanced by your sweet drink. You crush the half-smoked cig under your boot and push off the wall to head back inside.

“Guess tonight’s not your night,” you say, shrugging.

It’s a little bitchy and mean when you could just put her out of her misery. Instead, you just turn and head back inside, cutting your short break even shorter. You shut the door behind you, slamming it just hard enough to make a point.

You should have just told her, acted like a grown-up instead of a jealous teenager with a chip on your shoulder. The anxious little worm in your brain had decided for you, calling out ‘don’t tell her, she won’t believe that Eddie would want a girl like you when goddess-women like her walk the earth!’

As you rest your back to the door, you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. 

In for four, hold for four, out for four. 

Eddie isn’t like Connor. He’s not like Eric either. 

Years of hurt and heartbreak, being someone’s number one until someone better, prettier, funnier came along, had made you wary of dating when you boxed up your life and moved to Chicago. You had gone on a few really crappy dates last summer before getting together with Eddie, before he showed you the real him (unexpectedly sweet-hearted, willing to get a bloody nose in a fight for you). 

His flirty nature had made you wary of having your heart broken by a charming ladies' man all over again. But that’s not your Eddie. He had promised you that wasn’t him, showered you with love and promised you were it for him. He never seemed frustrated with affirming his feelings for you, promising you it was the real deal. He loved the heartbroken girl inside you just as much as he adored the woman you are now.

Having a borderline existential crisis on your five-minute break wasn’t the respite you had planned from the busy bar. As you splash cool water on your wrists and spritz your warm cheeks with rose water, you just hope that Crystal isn’t one of the girls who sees a man with a girlfriend as a fun challenge rather than off-limits. 

When you feel a little less shaky - or steady enough to not drop every glass you pick up - you tag one of the other barmen to go on his five and slot back into your pit of self-loathing, hidden behind a smile and the beer taps. By the time you shake up six Appletinis and a tray of Blowjob shots for a table of girls celebrating a birthday, you have convinced yourself that Eddie would probably be better off with Crystal instead of your petty jealous ass. 

You’re so deep in your wallowing that you miss Eddie darting from the door to your side of the bar. His hand is tapping the drink-slick bar top to get your attention before you even see him. 

“Psst. Hey, c’mere. Need to talk to you.”

Are you in trouble? Had Crystal told him about your less-than-friendly behaviour? You plaster a smile on, one that he sees right through. 

“Ed, I’m working. What’s wrong?” you ask, stepping away from your station to hear him better over the music. 

“M’working too, it’ll just take a sec.” Eddie leans forward, smiling cheekily. “You’re my girlfriend, right?” 

Your cheeks heat up. Shit. He knows. 

You nod. “Yeah…”

“Lemme hear you say it?” he tilts his head, batting his lashes a little playfully.

You sigh and roll your eyes, pretending that your heart isn’t beating out of your chest, even though it feels a little bruised. “I’m your girlfriend.”

He looks triumphant and amused and pulls your hand in between his own, holding it like a treasure. “Okay, good. Why didn’t you just tell Crys that?”

The rolling boil of hurt that had been bubbling in your chest all evening and into the night doesn’t evaporate with Eddie’s loving little touch. 

“Why didn’t you tell her, Ed? You could’ve told her fuckin’ hours ago that I was your girl.”

Your heads are close together as Eddie leans in to hear you over Alannah Myles crooning Black Velvet.

Expecting you to be a little more playful, matching his energy, he sobers and frowns, studying the hurt marring your pretty face. “Oh shit. Honey…” 

“It hurt, Ed. You had like two chances right off the bat... How many more did you miss, huh?” 

Eddie’s brows disappear under his bangs. “Fuck, it’s not like that. I didn’t realise… Didn’t even think. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Good.” You squeeze his hand anyway, proud of yourself for not minimising your feelings to just go back to normal. 

“Baby…” “Eddie…”

His Bambi eyes aren’t enough this time. But you know he’s going to feel like shit because he hurt you, which makes you feel crappy for ever doubting him. 

“Can I kiss it better?” Eddie’s pouted lower lip is obscenely kissable. 

A mid-shift kiss is usually Eddie’s reason for waylaying you at the bar, though he can usually hold off until your break together. He leaves Jeff to man the door when it’s quiet so he can claim his sugar tax or borrow your lip balm (he really has an impressive collection of euphemisms for begging a kiss from you). 

You’re usually very forthcoming, and right now you would love a kiss but the opportunity to fuck with him and get a little payback for his romance novella bullshit earlier (getting you worked up before the longest shift of your life) feels too good to miss. Your scheming lifts your mood from the doom spiral, just a little.

Yeah, flirting with Eddie was core to the foundation of your relationship, but so was fucking around with him. 

You meet his baby cow eyes with your own gaze, looking through your black-coated lashes. 

“You love me?”  “To the death.” “Then you can wait.”

Eddie’s jaw drops. One hand clutches his heart as the other holds your hand even tighter. “Baby… You’re really withholding a kiss right now? I said sorry! And I meant it!” 

You roll your eyes, classic drama queen Munson. You fucking love him. 

“I am.” “You’re killing me.”

You smile and lift his hand to kiss the back of it. “Then suffer. I’ve got customers to serve, Ed. See you at twelve - maybe you’ll get a kiss then.” 

You pat his cheek and turn away, hearing the thud of skull versus countertop as he groans like a wounded man. 

He’s going to be insufferably lovely for the rest of the weekend to make it up to you.

Your re-found spring in your step has you back in your usual flow as you pour beers side by side with Michelle. Eddie has dragged himself back to the door to sulk, but not before tossing scowling puppy eyes over his shoulder at you. 

“I should be pissed you’re slacking off to talk to your boyfriend but whatever that was made you actually smile, so I’m here for it.” She grins and bumps your hip with her own, your signature move together as you work in tandem. 

“Just a wee bit of payback. I’ll tell you on girls’ night,” you promise, hearing her laugh as you ring up your customer. 

Spirits lifted, albeit at your boyfriend’s expense, you make it through the peak of the night without spiralling any further. In fact, your distraction is all Eddie Eddie Eddie.

At least until the scent of freshly spritzed Dior Poison wafts over the bar as you catch sight of copper and red next in line for you. Crystal. 

She looks just as gorgeous when she’s a little bashful, giving you a warm smile - a promise that she comes in peace. 

You’re cringing, wishing you could duck behind the bar, but you definitely owe her an apology. 

“Hi.”

“Hey, Crystal. I think I owe you a cocktail…”

She smiles, her creamy cheeks blushing in the dim light of the bar. “What do you recommend? I’ve heard you’re like, the queen of mixology and know exactly what drink people will like.” 

You can hear Eddie’s praise of you in her words; his little alchemist, his sexy potion-mistress. He took his role of taste-tester in chief with the utmost seriousness. 

“Mm, I do my best. You like cherries?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“I do.” 

She lifts her arm to show you a stick and poke cherry tattoo on her wrist. 

“Tequila?”

“Girl… Are you in my brain right now?” 

You grin and shake up a mix of cherry liquor, ginger syrup, tequila and lime juice with ice - adding a little extra cherry syrup just because. You pour the mixed margarita into a chilled glass with salt and sugar rim and a cherry garnish. 

“Don’t even think of getting your purse out,” you say as you slide it across the bar. “I’m sorry for being weird.”

Crystal accepts the proffered straw and slides it into her drink, taking a slow sip. Her eyes blow wide as the flavours of cherry and earthy tequila bathe her tongue, zinging sharp with bright lime. “This is amazing.”

You smile and shrug. “It’s my personal favourite, and… Well, you strike me as a woman with excellent taste too.” 

The thick tension and coiling vines of envy from before are totally gone now as you both share a knowing smile. 

“Sorry for flirting with your boyfriend. I definitely wouldn’t have if I knew…” Crystal squeezes your forearm where it rests on the bar. “Nothing ever happened between us, just friends when I worked here. We flirted back and forth, just for fun. That’s all.” 

You nod, feeling more at peace now. “He’s fun to flirt with, I don’t blame you. We started off just flirting too. And bitching at each other. Just for fun.” 

Crystal smiles and sips her drink again. “He’s crazy about you. You know that right? Only has eyes for you. He’s got it bad.” 

Feeling your cheeks and chest heat up, you nod again. “I do, I’m kinda crazy about him too. Literally crazy tonight, apparently. I’m really sorry I was a total weirdo with you earlier.” 

Crystal extends one hand, long red nails pointed at you, and you take it to shake. “Water under the bridge, babe.”

You wish you hadn’t wasted your time spiralling when you could have been making a friend.

She squeezes your hand, making sure you’re looking at her. “Y’know, I was gonna ask earlier if you were single even if Eddie wasn’t… The hot bartender thing also does it for me.”

Oh, she was good. 

So good that your brain goes static for a few moments. 

The hot girl thinks you’re hot. She’s totally flirting right now. It feels…good?

Crystal fixes you with that siren stare, black lashes sweeping her cheeks when she blinks slowly. Your face and chest flame hot as you become the focus of her flirtation.

“Uh… I… Wow. Really? Sorry… We kinda ruined your night, huh?” Your voice is shakier than you would like, your tongue thick in your mouth, but she finds it endearingly sweet.

“Nah, you made me this yummy drink. And hey, if you two are ever planning a trip, Vegas can be lots of fun. Come find me maybe?” 

Crystal drops you a wink before disappearing into the crowd like a breath of cherry smoke, a napkin with her number left on the bar for you - for you and Eddie. You fold it into your back pocket, another little thing to tease Eddie with when you get on your break with him.

Being flirted with and propositioned while you were working had never been quite so fun or exhilarating. Usually, it made you feel icky, but now you feel like you’re zinging with electricity that helps you power through the thirsty queuing customers cleaning spills and collecting glasses until you’re tagged to go on break again.

You uncap a beer for yourself, shoving lime in the tall neck, and take one for Eddie with you when you head out back to meet him. You pause to swipe more rosy lipstick on before shouldering past the heavy exit door. 

Your brain hurts from the tornado of different emotions you have experienced on your shift so far, but the chill of brick against the back of your head and the cool beer on your tongue helps. 

As always, you hear your boyfriend before you see him. Tonight is heavy boots pounding on stone as he rushes back to you, unable to stand another second of being un-kissed. 

“Medic? We have an emergency!”

For a moment you think he might not be fucking around, but the way his eyes glint when he sees you proves otherwise. 

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit outta me,” you tut. 

“Thank god you’re here! It’s life or death.” His breath comes quick as he stops in front of you, holding your face in his hands. “There’s a dying man, he needs urgent mouth-to-mouth.”

Your brow rises as you fight the urge to grin. “Oh yeah? Poor guy. Sounds fatal.” 

“It is. He was a total idiot and now he’s not got long left.” 

Those baby cow eyes shine with genuine regret, sparkling with a sprinkle of mischief that is so innate to Eddie Munson. 

“Well, maybe I can help. But I don’t think he’s totally in the wrong.” Your hand slips over his shoulder, touching butter-soft leather. “There’s also a crazy woman on the loose - you might have seen her… I think it might be all my fault.”

“Nah. Only saw this crazy-beautiful woman. She looked kinda sad though… Broke my heart a little.” 

You look up into Eddie’s eyes, feeling more than in love as you close the gap between you. Pillow-soft lips press against your rose-tinted mouth, kissing away any remnants of worry and sadness as he wraps you up in his arms. 

“I fuckin’ love you, baby,” he murmurs, barely breaking away to remind you of what is true. “M’sorry.”

“I love you.” Your palm curves, moulding against his neck and you can feel his pulse hammering beneath. You move back slightly, so you can tell him what was bugging you without being waylaid by the need to kiss him. “I got so in my head. It just…”

Eddie’s head rests against yours as he listens. 

“I got really jealous.” It’s barely a whisper when you speak it out loud. “It was stupid because it was all in my head.” 

Eddie runs his nose against yours, lips tracing its path until they press your forehead. 

“S’not stupid if it’s real to you, princess.” Eddie holds you against him, pressing kiss after kiss to your busy head. “I wish I could’ve made it better sooner. It’s not nice to hear that I made you doubt me. I’m not going to hold it against you, I promise.” 

You direct him back to your lips, kissing him when words fail you. 

“M’sorry,” you whisper against his mouth. “I never doubted you, Eddie. I just.. it was me. I didn’t get why you’d want me when Crystal was right there. She’s the hottest woman ever.” 

Eddie scoffs. “Are you jokin’ with me? Baby, you are the hottest woman ever.” 

“Eddie, it’s fine. We both have eyes - she’s hot,” you admit, smiling a little. “Wanna hear something funny?” 

He nods and presses one more kiss to your mouth. 

“She was trying to flirt with me too. I was just too up in my head to realise…” 

Eddie grins, shaking his head. “As she should, you’re smokin’.” 

Your arms wrap around him, hugging tight. “We’re all good now. I made her a drink, she prepositioned me…” you say, totally offhand. 

You brace for Eddie’s reaction. 

A ten thousand-watt grin almost blinds you when Eddie peels himself back. “Oh yeah? That is kinda hot…” 

“Shut up.” Your voice wobbles with laughter. “Don’t worry, babe. She said you’re invited too. If we’re ever in Vegas, that is…” 

Brown eyes blow wide - Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself. “H-whaa?”

Pressing your face against the soft black cotton of his t-shirt, you giggle against his chest. “You heard me. She was crushing on both of us tonight.” 

“That… I… My brain has stopped working…” “Stop imagining it, Edward.” “I’m not.” “You are! I can feel your dick on my leg, dude!”

Eddie takes two steps back, hands on his head as he spins in a circle. “I’m in some parallel realm. Did I die? Oh, I did die… See? This is why you should’ve kissed me earlier! I’m flatlining here! Medic!”

His dramatic ass has you cackling, cheeks hurting as the no-game nerd inside him fails to comprehend what you just told him. You were both interested in exploring with each other in the bedroom and had already broadened your tastes with him, but neither of you had anticipated stumbling across this unopened door…

“So I’ll throw her number in the trash?” you ask, sipping your beer with a pointed raise of your brow. 

The nonsensical goblin-yelp that comes from Eddie’s mouth makes the bubbles fizz up the back of your throat, making you cough and splutter. He’s an absolute dork and you adore him.

He presses pause on the dramatics to check on you, making sure you’re not going to choke on lime-spiked beer.

“Hot.” Eddie laughs as he wipes the fizz from your lip, then pats you hard on the back. He pouts as you pinch your brows at the sting of beer in your nose. “Poor baby.”

“Dick.”

“Yeah, your dick.” His cheeky grin softens. “You’re the only woman for me,” Eddie says, cupping your face again. “I mean it. It’s hot as fuck that we were kinda prepositioned like that, but you’re it. I only want you.” 

You pull him in for a kiss again, deeper this time as his tongue licks against yours. The zing of electricity that runs the length of your spine pushes you closer to Eddie.

“Yeah? Even if Elvira rocks up?”  “She’s my hall pass, baby. Just like you and Keanu.” “Mmmm...okay.” 

Eddie drags you in for another smiling kiss. You feel small in comparison to the breadth of his shoulders, the subtle bulk he carries - you love it. His hand rests on your neck as he presses up close to you, thigh slotted between yours where your skirt pulls tight across the plush part of your legs. The well-loved denim bunches and slips higher as Eddie crowds you against the brickwork - he’s amped up and wound tight too many kiss-less hours and the revelations of the last few minutes. It’s easy to match him, mirror the needy grasp of hands on denim to pull him close.

His kisses soothe any whisper of doubt or fear that haunted you since your shift started.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy, princess. S’hot that you’re crazy for me,” he murmurs against the side of your mouth before diving in again for another filthier kiss. 

Your nails graze the back of his head, fingers twisting and tugging in dark brown curls to draw that pleasured little noise from the back of Eddie’s throat and swallow it all for yourself. Hips shift against the meat of his thigh; silky lace on denim dark enough to mask the damp mark you’re bound to leave there. 

Eddie’s mouth moves down to your neck, seeking out that spot that makes your jaw drop open and your lashes flutter. One big ringed hand dips lower to encourage your hips to roll and rock against him, propped against the wall with his lean strength holding you up. “That’s it, baby. I gotcha.”

It’s easy to forget you’re at work, where any one of your co-workers could come looking for you or Eddie, but when he’s touching you like this and making you burn for him you can’t spare the space in your brain to care. You’re sure that you should both be on some sort of formal warning by now after how many times you have been caught making out and groping each other on your breaks. You had given him a hand (and head) more than once on the clock; some nights were slow and called for a distraction. 

And nights like this? When you need each other so desperately, they were something else entirely. 

“Ed..” Your voice sounds whiny and pathetic in your own ears as you clutch at his shoulders. 

“That’s me, doll,” he murmurs, “M’gonna make it up to you okay? Say sorry for making you jealous’n’sad.” His fingers slip up beneath the bunched hem of your skirt, touching the warm spot on the front of your underwear as his forehead presses against yours. “Can I? Just a little somethin’? Promise I’ll make your head all empty when we get home. Yeah?”   

You’re a weak woman, rendered boneless and speechless as Eddie’s fingertips press there. With a lazy nod, dragging him back for a kiss, you roll your pelvis against his hand. 

“That’s it.”

You feel his smile against your mouth as he pushes your underwear to the side, enough to feel how wet you are as his fingers press and dip and stroke. Eddie drags your slick gloss up, easing the friction as he circles his thumb.

“Oh Jesus,” you gasp, a shuddering breath as he pushes two fingers inside with ease. You hold him to you, clutching the back of his neck.

Eddie spares you a cocky comment in favour of kissing you again, stroking up inside you before beginning to fuck into you. He doesn’t stop his kisses when your jaw slackens, tongue meeting his with lazy strokes as blood rushes in your ears. 

“That’s it, just let me take care of my girl.”

My girl. It gets you every time. 

He feels the pulse and gush, a Pavlovian reaction, and presses deeper. 

A slow pleasured smile spreads on your face as his fingers fill you. Eddie watches, eyes heavy-lidded, before moving back to kiss your neck. 

Motormouth Munson keeps his title as he murmurs filth against your neck, punctuating praise and promises with sucking kisses and scrapes of teeth, soothed by his slick tongue. 

“That’s my girl, I know what she likes. Need it so bad, don’t you?”

“Oh, you’re so fuckin’ soaked for me. Can feel you pullin’ me in, princess.”

“You been so worked up all night, huh? I’m gonna take such good care of you. Not leavin’ our bed tomorrow until you forget your own name. Gonna show you just how much I love you, baby.”

You choke down your moans, quietening yourself to breathy gasps and pleas in Eddie’s name. The fear of interruption, of getting caught, gets you both going. 

Eddie hoists your thigh up to his hip, widening you more more more as his fingers find, then curl and press on your spongy spot. 

Your moan is muffled against his shoulder, still too loud to be decent and louder still in Eddie’s ears. 

“Fuck, there we go. Oh, you’re so fuckin’ close already, huh? Gonna come for me right here?” His voice is low and rough, words ground out as you feel him hard against your leg.

“Yeah,” you whimper, already shaking. “G-uh.. Oh god.” Your back arches away from the brick as his fingers speed up, thumb pressing hard circles in tandem. “Eddie… Fuck, fuckkk!” 

He nods, speeding up just enough, just like he knows you need. Eddie squares his jaw as he listens to the sloppy wet sound of his fingers between your legs. Your jaw drops, brow creases; blissful agony. Eddie steals another kiss, soaking up the little noises you make when you’re close, the noises that make him throb in his jeans. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Come for me.” 

You leave the marks of your teeth on his leather-clad shoulder, biting back your moan as you obey. Eddie makes you come hard, making you drip over his silver rings. Eddie has to hold you up, keep you steady as your body convulses with absolute bliss. You hold on like he’s your life raft; he is your life raft - steady and sure when you falter or fall.

Eddie keeps you close, basking in your glow as you catch your breath. The hand on your thigh moves, cups and cradles the back of your head so you don’t bust it too hard against the wall. 

“Fuck, baby. That was a big one.” He smiles when you smile, pliant and lazy, brushing kisses and praise against your hot cheek. He reaches to prop the stool beneath you to take your leaden weight. 

“There she is, my pretty princess.” When you open your eyes, you can see the flush on his cheeks and the pulse of the vein in his neck. 

You’re so utterly spoiled by this man. You kiss his lips, softer now as you come back to life, to earth. You’re shaky, breathless but you feel alive. You feel loved. 

“That was… Full marks, no notes.” 

Eddie raises a fist, triumphant like John Bender. “I know what my baby needs.”

He makes you giggle and bite your lip as he licks the taste of you from his fingers. “Sweet.”

You pass him your open beer to down as his prize, as you put yourself back together, sliding your ruined underwear off over your boots to use in lieu of a rag. 

Eddie snatches them just as you consider trashing them (not that you were going to, they weren’t cheap). “Mine.” He’s breathless from sucking down the fizzy beer as tucks them into his pocket.

Your laugh is shaky but you don’t even fight him on it. It’s not the first pair he has pocketed mid-shift, nor will it be the last. 

“Pervert.”

He shoves them against his nose for good measure, living up to the accusation. “Oh yeah. That’s the good shit.” He winks before shoving them back inside his leather jacket, right by his heart. A romantic pervert at least. 

“That keep you going for the rest of the night? Until I get you home?” Eddie asks, before starting on the second beer; he shares a few sips with you.

“Mm, just about. You have promises to keep, rockstar,” you say, pulling him in with fingers hooked in his belt loops. “I wanna return the favour but ‘Chelle will kill both of us if we disappear again…”

“I’ll survive. Be strong.” He musters up faux courage as you press kisses to his face. 

“My brave boy.”

Your arms wind around each other, hugging and holding your other half close. 

“Y’feeling a bit better than earlier?” Eddie runs his hands up and down your back; his voice is sincere and sober.

“Mmhm. Much better. Not just ‘coz you made me come. But that did help.” You smile and tuck your head under his chin. 

He hums a happy noise and presses his lips to your head. “Glad to be of cervix. I mean, service.” 

“Ugh. Really?” You can feel him laughing, shaking with it. 

“It’s a good one!”  “Eddie, my love - what’s a cervix?” “It’s like…womb-adjacent.” You can hear his smugness. “Hmm, don’t need to know how you know that.” “Did biology three times.” “Oh. Okay.” 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. You tilt your head to look up at him and smile when he kisses you again. 

“If I help you clean up later we can get fries on the way home. You’re going to need your strength, baby.” 

His eyes glint with that look that makes your tummy flutter. 

“Deal.”

Eddie cups your face and kisses you with a soft sweetness, something like a peach, that contrasts with his filthy promises of taking you apart and putting you back together later. 

He helps you up from the stool, making sure your knees don’t buckle and your skirt is pulled down properly to cover up your lack of underwear. 

Eddie makes you spin for him, admiring you with his kiss-bitten lip between his teeth. “Mm, one more time for me?” 

You roll your eyes at him before tucking yourself under his arm.

“Love you.” Eddie pulls you in for one more peck before opening the back door for you. 

“Love you more, rockstar.” You feel like a girl being walked to homeroom as he smooches one more kiss against your cheek. 

As he backs away, not wanting to be the first to turn, Eddie points a finger at you, “Love you most.” 

You roll your eyes, grinning anyway as he backs around the corner with the Bender-fist raised in the air again. 

Eddie Munson might be a flirt, such a flirt, but he is all yours.

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️ 

Tags: @oneforthemunny @munsonmecrazy @parmawiolets

[myvampyrez]

What's your Vergil Sparda headcanons sfw and nsfw (you don't have to make this one if you don't want it) :)

vergil (n)sfw hc’s 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

omg why did it take me so long just to do simple headcanons 😭😭

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

some curse words, spoilers for vergil lore in general, spoilers for mission 08 and so forth in dmc5, nsfw is labelled before written so read at your own discretion!!

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

❥ sooo, in deep contrast to his twin brother, all know vergil is super serious

❥ i mean, if you spent a bunch of your time in hell, wouldn’t it take a toll on you too???

❥ because of what’s happened to vergil, it’ll be really difficult to actually get through to him

❥ even just small talk or simple touches are uncomfortable for him at the beginning

❥ and in order for him to trust you, you gotta be super persistent to actually stick with him

❥ i feel like vergils too stubborn for things like therapy, i don’t feel like he’d like to admit he needs help

❥ he’d probably keep going until he he overexerts himself or snaps, which would probably take a while considering he can endure a lot before giving in

❥ once you guys are actually together though, you’re essentially one step further to getting to the center of vergil because it means you’ve already broken down some of his walls

❥ vergils the type of guy to love silently, and maybe more distantly than a normal person would love

❥ but whoever said he was a normal person?

❥ he doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings, so he takes up avoiding you as his own way in hopes that you’ll come to him

❥ you walk into a room? he walks out

❥ you sit next to him? he’ll keep his nose buried in a book or his work in hopes that you’ll ‘pester’ him

❥ don’t let his feigned annoyance fool you, he prays for you to approach him

❥ by no means is vergil shy, but when you spend so many years in hell.. you kinda lack social cues

❥ he obviously know what love is, he’s not clueless, but it feels different when it comes to you

❥ it almost feels foreign

❥ vergil loves showing off that your his and he’s yours, he’ll buy you a pendant with a blue gem or something with his name engraved in it

❥ if you whine enough, he’ll ‘give in’ (he’s just acting tough) and read to you at night ‘begrudgingly’

❥ if you read too, he’ll curtly leave a book that he think you’ll like on your nightstand when he comes home

❥ if you eat dinner at the table, he’ll have you sit next to him so he can lock ankles with you or link your pinkies under the table

❥ other than that, vergil’s not rlly into pda?

❥ if anything, he’ll stand next to you or sit close enough to where your legs or thighs touch. that’s kinda like his ver. of pda 😭

❥ if you get along with nero or if maybe v saw how you got along with him before you knew he was vergil, even if he treats nero as a pest, it somewhat confuses him?

❥ maybe even almost upsets him??

❥ it just gives him a glimpse on what he could’ve had, and i guess it somewhat creates a dull ache within him knowing he could’ve been a present figure in nero’s life with you

❥ def an early bird, the type of dude to kiss your forehead before he leaves in the morning because he know you won’t wake up to see him before he goes

❥ ugh just imagine vergil staring down at you for a minute, contemplating his decisions while looking at your serene form before leaning down and placing a feather light kiss to your forehead so as to not wake you up

❥ i need to be contained

❥ he wouldn’t let you see it but he sometimes cracks a smile at just the thought of doing mundane activities, even if they’re such small tasks, he still cherishes the thought of a small life with you even if he’s married to his work

❥ but god forbid you’re around dante though, and if you’re playful n teasing like him?? vergil will never hear the end of dante’s irritating tales told to you of when they were children

❥ it probably ends up with yamato pressed against dante’s throat but it’s all brotherly fun guys don’t worry

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

the familiar coos sung by the mourning doves fell deaf on VERGIL’s ears, only picking up your soft breaths as your chest rose up and down with each one you took. he couldn’t help but admire how comfortable you looked in your sleep—with your lips parted slightly and hair splayed out messily as it stayed trapped under you.

he cocked his head in bemusement at the sight of golden rays dancing on you collarbone, tinting the skin with the early sun of dawn. he was surprised you hadn’t woken up yet, considering the golden hue beamed along your face as well. one upside of getting to work early was seeing your peaceful face in the mornings. vergil studied your face as if he’d never see it again, and in a way, not seeing you again was very possible. due to being a devil hunter, risks were high. but vergil couldn’t bear the thought of doing that to you. he studied your face so carefully, eyes roaming across your skin to commit every single one of your features to memory.

his eyes of silver, once crinkled in pain and alone, now looked at you curiously as they caught every glimpse of you. the way your eyebrows furrowed when your mind swirled with its own concoction of your dreams, the way you changed positions to search for what he could only assume was the cold part of the pillow.

he felt his heartbeat quicken as he watched you stir in your sleep, turning your head over and allowing another angle of your beauty to be silently worshipped by your lover.

as he leaned down, he made sure to bend at the waist in order to make limited noise, cursing the material of his coat scrunching and making a slight sound as it crinkled. and as his lips connected with your forehead, he reveled in the smell of your shampoo from your shower that you took last night as he closed his eyes, holding his lips there in a feather light kiss.

then, just as quickly as they had been placed—his lips left your forehead as he began to exit the bedroom, taking one last glance at your resting form before he quietly closed the door.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

NSFW BELOW ꨄ︎

❥ i know i just wrote that cute ass blurb but now that we’re talking nsfw, vergil is def a quick learner

❥ obviously it’ll take a while to initiate intimacy, and as aforementioned—even just hand holding takes a while for him to digest

❥ but shit, this man has stamina for days

❥ being half a demon definitely doesn’t help, but vergil can actually go so long in the sheets w you 😭

❥ he’ll be awkward at first, unsure of what to do but once you guide him and reassure him that it’s okay to touch you, you just unlocked smth else in him omg

❥ his libido isn’t very high, but on the days that you guys do get intimate, he can last a while

❥ he’ll assure that you both are satisfied by the end of it, likes to know that you’ve finished before him at least once

❥ if you’ve gotten really bratty or you’ve gotten him really into it, you might feel him borderline triggering as his claws dig into your hips a little more and his groans get more guttural

❥ sorry guys—this man will not bottom or be any sort of submissive, and if he does, you will need to be in a committed relationship for at least a year or two

❥ he def has control issues

❥ in terms of talking dirty, he still holds that sharp precise tone when he speaks

❥ i don’t feel like hes much a degrading guy? maybe more possessive talk if anything

❥ this man doesn’t cuss often, but occasionally if you clench around him, he’ll let out a small huff of, “shit.” even if it’s barely audible

❥ i think maybe he teases you a bit, enough just to get you hot and bothered so you’ll be writhing underneath him

❥ being half-demon gives him some package guys, trust

❥ vergil’s lengthier, a small sensitive vein on the underside of him that you could use to your advantage on the off chance you suck him off

❥ when vergils in a certain mood, he’ll kiss on your skin (another form of teasing) and murmurs praises of how divine you look

❥ he loves the way your hands grip at the sheets, or the way they rush to your mouth as you try to cover up those pretty sounds while he’s giving you pleasure—no matter how many times he tells you to let them slip out

❥ not a big fan of marks, either on him or you. he still has to go outside and so do you, he’d probably be pretty embarrassed if someone saw them and questioned what happened

❥ unlike dante, vergil is pretty quiet about his love and sex life, he likes to keep it pretty tame and under wraps

❥ prefers to make it intimate rather than a quick fuck, he wants you to feel every ounce of love in his movements—whether it’s with his tongue, hands, or just his length

❥ he likes to drag it out too, i’m not talking quickies, i’m talking about full on ‘love making’ sessions (yes, he’ll refer to them as that most of the time)

❥ like i said, he wants you to feel every last bit of it with his body, unless you want him to spew some poetry out of the blue expressing his feelings—he can’t express them with regular words for shit

❥ he wants you to see what you’re doing to him, how you affect him, what you mean to him is more important than anything

[king-dumbasz]

can you make something reader x Adam from hazbin hotel? There’s barely any love for this man :((

maybe something like sinner reader going to heaven and they’re totally in awe of heaven and soon the angels in it, including Adam. They wanna touch his wings and he’s like ‘AYO GET THIS SINNER OUTTA HERE’

(This is a au where he doesn’t die because my heart can’t handle that)

Wings

Adam x GN reader | Hazbin hotel

Okay, for what i understood is that Reader is a sinner who got redeemed and they want to touch Adam's wings, if I'm wrong please tell me

Tw: Just bad words

You're a sinner, but you didn't want to be there... Hell was... Hell!

So, as soon as you heard about the Hazbin Hotel and what the princess of hell wanted to do, you immediately went there and tried to get redeemed... And you did giant steps!

You got to heaven in no time. You were almost seen as some anomaly there in heaven, especially from the exterminators.

Emily was SOO happy that you were there, that she brought you everywhere, the ice cream shop with 🌈 rainbow sparkles 🌈 and then the zoo with fluffy animals! Then the toy shop, then the street... the cat café, the playground... She brought you everywhere.

While you and Emily were having fun as your first day in heaven, you see him

Adam. First man to ever be on earth.

That Adam.

Adam was walking while drinking a milkshake with his lieutenant, Lute.

What made your mind blow more was his sassy and cocky personality, but most importantly... His wings...

Emily also had wings, everyone had wings there... But his golden shiny, gorgeous wings were jaw dropping, heart stopping, mind blowing (paraphernalia you've ever laid your eyes upon!) wings you ever saw in your life and after life...

You need to touch them!

You slowly walk towards the first man ever... You reach out for his wings... and when you touch it, it's like the softest thing you've ever touched.

The delicate feeling of his feathers between your fingers.

But...

He felt it too...

Adam looks at your demonic yet angelic figure in a confused way.

Why there's a sinner here? Why are they close to him? How do they dare to touch him?!

"What- HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?? GET THIS FILTHY SINNER OUTTA HERE!"

Adam shouts as Lute points her spear towards you

"How did you get in the holy land, you foul demon?!"

"Adam! Lute! Stop! [Name] is not a demon anymore! Charlie was right about redemption!"

"oh.. well, that's unfortunate.."

"Why?"

"Because now I can't make fun of that bitch Charlie!"

He frowns

He's such a bitch I love him

Sorry for being late with this, but I was very busy these 2 weeks

[impala-dreamer]

Wonderstruck

A Magical Short Story

~ Attending a wedding alone is rarely fun. Add to it a bunch of people you don't know all hidden behind masks, things can get a little shaky. But sometimes, if you're lucky, magic can happen...~

Henry Cavill x F!Reader

3,160 Words

Warnings: Nothing but romance and magic and fluff and mystery!

A/N: Yes, it's me. No, I have not been kidnapped. This was written in part for my personal goal of branching out a bit, but moreover as a Valentine's gift for @mariekoukie6661 and @kittenofdoomage <3

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Her dress was sleek and as dark as midnight; her heels were high and deadly. Her lips dripped with crimson; a silver mask hid beautifully sad and strikingly painted eyes.

She kept to the edges of the ballroom, ducking behind round tables clad in expensive linens and gold inlaid china, skirting billowing gowns as they spun on the dancefloor. She slipped in and out of the shadows with a slowly emptying champagne glass pinched delicately between two fingers.

Despite her annoyance in being there, she could not deny the beauty of the night. The massive room was decorated in glamorous gold and pearl accents. Heavy velvet curtains hung over the windows on each wall, letting in a glimpse of the moonlit garden outside. The floors were marble that had been polished to perfection, and a warm candlelight glow illuminated the room.

It felt as if she’d stepped into a fairy tale.

A fairy tale about a sad girl watching the party from afar, alone but for the bubbles in her glass.

Which, sadly, were now gone.

Y/N sighed heavily and looked across the dancefloor at the long bar that stretched across the back wall of the ballroom. A hundred guests in suits and gowns, feathers and masks, twirled in front of her, blocking the path. Silently, she weighed the pain of entering the waltzing throng over going another moment without a healthy buzz in her head. She took a breath. She took a step.

Her heels clicked rhythmically as she laid her course for the bar. She kept her eyes on the goal, carefully maneuvering through the dancing couples, wondering if they’d all been to some class she hadn’t been invited to. All their steps seemed identical; all the women spun with the same flourish. She shook her head. Life should never be so choreographed.

After nearly tripping over a dragging tail of taffeta, Y/N finally made it to the bar and braced herself on the top. As she caught her breath, a deep but soft laugh hit her ear.

She turned toward the sound and spied a large man leaning on the bar a few feet away. He turned as she did, leaning one elbow on the bartop and kicking a long leg over the other. His tuxedo was immaculate and perfectly tailored; his shoes shined like the stones below. He wore a mask of black with silver adornment, and two crisp blue eyes scanned her form from beneath. She could feel them sneak down her body, lingering a bit in the deep curve of her waist and at the globe of her ass.

She cleared her throat, drawing his eyes up to hers.

“Something funny, Slick?” she asked, lips pursed in clear annoyance.

The man grinned. His lips were full and pink beneath a thin scruff of a beard.

“I liked your dance,” he said in reply.

She was startled by his accent - elegant and somehow too perfectly English, as if he were pretending to be from across the Atlantic. She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure him out.

It was nearly impossible. The masks were a problem.

Y/N rolled her eyes. She didn’t know why, but she felt that he needed to work a little harder to get her attention. Maybe she was bored, maybe the shock of his voice had her aflutter. Whatever it was, she turned up the sass.

“Yeah, well, I was a ballerina in a past life.”

Again, he laughed. A little louder, a little more enticing.

“I can see that. Prima ballerinas often trip over themselves and end up slamming into tables.”

She bit back a laugh and turned back to meet his gaze. “We take a special class for that.”

The man cocked his head towards her champagne flute. “And with an empty glass, no less.”

“What can I say, I’m very good at my job.”

Slowly, he pushed himself up from the bar and took a step closer. “May I buy you another?”

Her eyes slid up from his shoes to the loose, curly mop of black hair atop his head. He was tall and broad, and looked as solid as a statue. Her pulse quickened.

“I’m pretty sure it’s free,” she teased.

He stopped a foot from her side. “Still…” With a quick snap of his fingers, he called for the bartender and ordered them both another round.

“A dirty martini, Mr. Bond?” She smiled at his order.

“Shaken, not stirred,” he replied, lifting his glass.

His smile was as intoxicating as the golden liquid in her glass and butterflies swirled in her stomach.

Each took a sip, swallowing slowly with their eyes locked. The blue crashed over her and Y/N lost herself in the sparkle of his smiling gaze.

Worried that she was staring too hard, she tore herself away and let out a hard breath.

“So… how do you know the bride?” she asked, trying to pry his identity free.

He licked a drop of vodka from his lip. “I don’t.”

She laughed gently. “Wedding crasher, huh?” She leaned closer, dropped her voice to a whisper. “Don’t worry, I won’t turn you in.”

He moved in even closer. A warm scent pulsed off of him, flooding her senses with leather and vanilla and something she couldn’t place. Something spicy that made her mouth water so much she forgot that she was supposed to be playing hard to get.

“That’s kind of you,” he whispered. “I don’t think Charlie will press charges though.”

She smiled. “Ah, you’re on the groom’s side.”

“And you?”

His eyes fell to her lips and Y/N’s cheeks burned.

“I, uh… I work with Chloe, the- the bride.”

He nodded and took a sip of his drink. “Charlie and Chloe,” he said with a light laugh. “So many Cs.”

He was too cool, too confident yet sweet. She almost hated him.

“Who are you?” she asked, confused and irked. She had not come to the wedding to meet anyone, let alone a gorgeous, blue-eyed Brit, who may or may not actually be British.

Another slow sip guided her eyes back to his lips and she wondered if he tasted as good as he smelled.

“Henry,” he said softly.

She laughed. “Of course you are.”

“Why’s that funny?”

“Because of course your name is Henry. With your perfect accent and your sexy tuxedo…”

He stood up, suddenly towering over her, and tipped his head, eyes swiping over her again.

“And what about you? You’ve got to be called Celeste or Audrey or something classic and elegant.”

Y/N drained the rest of the champagne at the bottom of her glass and stood to face him properly. “Well, Prince Charming, why don’t you just call me Cinderella.”

Henry reached for her hand and she gave it jokingly.

His kiss was no joke, landing softly on her skin and making the rest of her shiver. She held her breath and nearly fainted when he looked up.

“Pleased to meet you, Cinderella.”

Her head swam a bit and she wondered if that was what swooning was.

“Charmed,” she said with a dreamy smile.

He held her gaze, swept a warm thumb over her knuckles. His touch was like fire and she wanted to run. Away from him or into his arms - she couldn’t decide. All she knew was that there was magic in the air and she could not seem to tear herself away from the mystery of his face. His eyes were tragically beautiful, as if she was lost at sea on a broken raft, thirsting and alone, but she had the comfort of the blue waves to keep her safe. She thought herself insane. He was just a man in a mask at a fancy wedding. Just a tall, impossibly fit, perfectly dressed man at a masquerade ball. A deliciously gorgeous man who smelled like drinking in front of a roaring fire in a cozy library filled with old books in some ancient castle in Scotland. A man who was still holding her hand and her gaze, stealing too many moments and breaths from her day.

Y/N shook herself and pulled her hand from his.

“I should… go…” She turned toward the room. She had to get away, had to free herself from the captivating stranger and return to ignoring her coworkers and the bride’s overly friendly family. “It was nice to meet you, Henry.”

His frown nearly cracked the earth beneath her feet.

“Don’t leave just yet,” he pleaded. “I… Well, I don’t really know anyone here and you’re…”

She looked back over her shoulder as he hesitated. “Yes?”

He blushed and sought comfort in his shoes. Such a beautiful sight: a strong, confident man instantly melting into shyness.

Blue eyes looked up. “Beautiful and enchanting and… I was hoping that we could dance.”

She nearly fell over, knocked out by his voice and charm. A quick breath steeled her nerves. “Sadly, I cannot.”

He stood up fully but somehow still seemed small. “Dance with me?”

“Dance at all,” she corrected.

He laughed. “Well, how about another drink and some conversation?”

With a sigh, Y/N looked back at the crowd, into the sea of indistinguishable masks and unfamiliar forms. Giving in, she nodded politely and spun around to the bar.

They ordered another round and took up residence at the end of the counter, half hidden in shadow, invisible to the other party-goers. Music soared above their heads but they could barely hear it, so engrossed in each other’s stories.

They spoke of simple things- movies they’d loved as children and that well-worn paperbacks were still tucked into their bookcases. She asked him about home and he talked about the London traffic and how he preferred to stay around the house on rainy days playing games on his PC. He poked her about work and she glossed over her job, insisting that they keep the conversation light and free from day-to-day struggles. They drank and laughed and fell even deeper into each other’s gaze.

It was strange to have a conversation with a stranger in a mask. She knew that he was handsome- his eyes were brilliant, his lips perfectly plump. His jaw was tight and his neck was thick. He was big and sturdy, yet gentle and bashful. Though most of his face was hidden, she knew he was perfect.

Perhaps a little too perfect.

But as the alcohol flowed and the night wore on, Y/N couldn’t find a reason anymore to run. The night had cast a spell around them and there was no escape. There was magic in the gilded accents around the room, in the symphony of violins that danced above their heads, in their true smiles and tentative touches.

Even if he wasn’t perfect, she thought, the moment was.

And the moment was suddenly broken.

A firm hand on her wrist dragged Y/N from her place at the bar and onto the dancefloor. The bride would not be ignored and refused to take no for an answer. Pained by the intrusion and the demand, Y/N reluctantly took Chloe’s hands and twirled her around. The skirt of the massive wedding dress billowed like a cloud around Chloe’s small frame and Y/N laughed as she was nearly caught up in the fabric.

Heart racing and smile wide, she turned back to Henry but was shocked to find his place empty. Their glasses sat abandoned on the bar and Prince Charming was nowhere to be found. She felt a tug in her chest and a dampness behind her eyes.

Before she could shrug it off as just a random encounter and push his blue eyes from her mind, a tap on the shoulder made her gasp.

She spun on the spot and found him there with a sweet smile and open arms.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, dipping into half a bow.

Excitement rushed through her and Y/N bit her lip. “I told you, I’m not a good dancer.”

Unwilling to let her back away, Henry scooped her up and held her close, one hand capturing hers and the other pressing gently into the small of her back. He leaned in and teased his lips at her ear.

“Then let me lead…”

His fingers pulsed against her back, guiding her to move against him. They turned a few times until she was dizzy in his arms, laughing as he whispered into her ear:

“Left… right… back… you’ve got it…”

His breath on her skin was like a gust of summer air, warm and delicious, flooding her body with calm.

“See? You’re not too bad at this.”

Y/N looked up into his eyes and felt the world fade away. They rose up together off of the dancefloor, floating gently above the other guests, impossibly alone in the crowd. She knew she was drunk, knew she’d pay for it in the morning, but she didn’t really care. She didn’t care that her friends were watching, probably whispering about the mysterious man she was dancing with. She didn’t care that she’d twice stepped on his toes or that there was no way she could hide the fact that being so close to him wasn’t turning her into a melted, lustful shell of what she usually was.

The music crescendoed and Y/N held her breath. Henry dipped his chin, blue eyes locked on her hers. The world slowed down, the seconds stretched on forever. She closed her eyes, savored his exhale against her lips. His hand slid gently up her back, fingers wove through her hair. She felt her legs grow weak, her stomach tensed, her heart skipped. He took a breath.

The band stopped short and Y/N startled as the crowd shited. The moment was gone, ripped away once more by the party swelling around them.

A rush of silk; the click of hundreds of heels. Cheers rose throughout the room as a giant cake was rolled out onto the dancefloor. It towered up to the ceiling with beautiful rows of white creme roses and pearls strategically placed to make the fondant glow in the warm light trickling down from the chandelier above.

As the guests closed in, Y/N was pulled out of Henry’s arms and her heart ached as he once again was out of her sight.

Black suits swarmed around her, heavy gowns brushed against her legs. Voices rang loud. Bodies closed in on all sides.

Breathless, she spun, searching for an exit, for a way to push through the throng.

A hand appeared and reached for her. She clasped his fingers and Henry raced toward the big doors to their left, pulling her free of the mob.

They tumbled out into the cool air and found relief as the doors closed behind them, blocking the music and the excitement, leaving them alone in the night.

The garden was dark but magically aglow with warm, golden light. Fairy lights twinkled around them, strung from bushes and topiaries, highlighting a stone path. Beyond, a labyrinth of tall evergreen waited for curious souls to venture inside, daring the branches to keep them from reaching the end.

Wonderstruck by the evening- the dramatic escape, the music, the champagne and Henry’s crystalline eyes- she stumbled. One single step turned her ankle and the deadly heels she never wore took her down.

Her gasp tore through the garden, but Henry was there to catch her fall. She swung in his strong arms and her fear turned to laughter.

“This is just absurd!” she said, steadying herself with a palm over his chest.

Henry was calm and stable, easily holding her upright. “What’s that?”

“I mean… You literally just swept me off of my feet.” She shook her head and with a blushing smile, pushed away. “This is getting silly.”

Away from his grasp, she teetered again and Henry took her hand before disaster could strike.

“Why don’t you sit down for a moment,” he suggested, nodding towards a stone bench not far away. “Those shoes are dangerous.”

“You have no idea.”

She let him help her to the bench and watched in awe as he fell to one knee. Like an actual Prince Charming, he took Cinderella’s ankle in his hands and gently ran his fingers over the thin strap holding the shoe in place.

“You’re not swollen,” he reported. “That’s good.”

When he looked up, concern fading from his eyes, she gave up trying to suppress the enchantment of the night and took a deep breath.

Hands cupped around his face, she leaned in and finally met his lips.

Startled but delighted, Henry pushed up to meet her, taking her once more in his strong arms and kissing her properly.

Tiny lights flickered in the breeze, soft music seeped out into the garden, and Prince Charming and Cinderella found each other in the dark. Lips hungry and hands wild; heat mixing between them like a budding fire.

When the clock struck twelve, it chimed loudly and they broke apart, laughing.

“Seems about right,” she joked, looking towards the wedding. “Party ends at midnight.”

Henry dragged a thick finger over her collarbone. “Does that mean you’ll turn into a pumpkin and disappear?”

She laughed softly. “I don’t know when the last time you read Cinderella was, but… no.”

He licked her taste from his lip. “So you don’t need to go then?”

Her smile fell. “I do…”

“You could stay…” He dipped his chin and looked up through the mask, blue eyes dark in the light. “We could… find a spot-”

Y/N shook her head and reached for his hand. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I have to be back in the city tomorrow for work.” She lifted his fingers to her lips and left him with a final kiss.

Henry sighed. “Pity.”

She nodded and gathered her strength to stand and do what she should have done hours ago- run. Except this time, she was certain she meant it to be into his arms. Only this time, she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry…”

Quickly, she turned, carefully stepping back onto the stone path and away from the mystery man with his intoxicating voice and perfectly engrossing kiss.

He stood and called to her, desperate for one more look at his Cinderella.

“Wait-”

She paused, hand on the big glass door, heart in her throat. “Yes?”

“Don’t I even get to know your real name?”

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “It’s Y/N.”

Henry bowed his head in thanks and when he came up, the mask came off, slowly revealing a face she’d only imagined in her dreams.

He blushed at her shocked stare and laughed gently.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

She sighed, blissful and lost in a dream that she prayed would last the rest of her life.

“You too…”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

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[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Heavenly Seven

This fic will cover my Fumbling, Tickly, Giggling Sex square on my 2nd @jacklesversebingo card.

Summary: Will a silly night out turn into what Y/N has always wanted?

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Sex/making out with strangers mentioned. Kissing. Brief fingering. Oral (f. receiving). Protected PinV sex. Sort of public sex (but not really). Slight overstimulation. Pining. Fluff.

Pairings: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 4,973

A/N: Here is the next request for my second @jacklesversebingo card. It's been a while since I've been able to get to one of these fantastic requests, so I apologize for the wait. This was a fun one from an anon:

I have an ask for the Fumbly, ticklely giggly sex’ square if you would be interested. I like the idea of Jensen or Dean being friends with reader and they are both dating other people. They go to maybe a sex type club as a joke when they are a bit tipsy on a night out, where you can go into separate rooms with strangers in the dark so you can’t see each other and it’s a bit like 7 minutes in heaven adult version. They set it up with their respective others to meet in a certain room but for some reason they get switched and the reader and Jensen/Dean don’t know they are in the room together and start making out and only then realise they have each other in there but take advantage of the fact that they can do it cause they have secret feelings for each other they never admitted and they do take advantage of it!!! 😜🥵 it’s fumbling in the dark and they both think the other doesn’t know but they both secretly do. Maybe their giggling gives each other away but they still go through with it. Does that make sense?

I veered a little bit away from your request lovely anon. It also has more plot that I originally planned on. Lol! But I hope it still gives you what you were looking for. ❤️

A/N 2: This is a slightly younger version of Jensen (I'm figuring somewhere around 30 and in this AU world he isn't famous yet, and he did attend college at UT. He's still an actor though. Also, as always of course, this is a multiverse, single version of Jensen and this is a complete work of fiction.

The beautiful divider below was created by @talesmaniac89

“Okay, everyone! Here are the rules!”

Jensen was talking to his new girlfriend and I elbowed him in the ribs.

“Hey, pay attention to the rules or you won't know how to play. And in this place I feel like that could get very awkward.”

Jensen smiled at me grimly. “Yeah, sorry.”

I shook my head as his latest girlfriend, Stacey, crossed her arms over her chest, definitely pouting about something.

I knew they were already having problems. They’d decided to come to this club as a way to spice up their romance. But their relationship was barely two months old. If it already needed resuscitation, I didn't really hold out much hope for it.

Jensen had begged me to come with them so he’d have someone else to commiserate with if things got too weird. I agreed and brought Ethan along which annoyed Jensen, but I mean, I was sort of dating him.

The club we were in was called 7 Minutes or More. The premise was pretty much the adult version of 7 minutes in heaven. Except instead of a closet, the club offered fully appointed rooms with king sized beds, and a mini bar for…after. If it went that far. 

If you came as part of a couple you had to sign waivers saying that you were there by your own choice, and that the club wouldn’t be held responsible for any “relationship fallout” from what went down while you were there. Ethan hadn’t liked that part, but I shrugged and told him not to worry about it. I was already regretting asking him to come.

The guy running things at the club wore a neon pink feather boa and had a deep, rich voice that sounded like he belonged on the radio or maybe advertising luxury cars.  He held up his hand again to try and get everyone’s attention, finally managing to quiet the hesitant participants.

“Okay, thanks everyone for coming to 7 Minutes,” he paused dramatically, “or more.” He said in a seductive kind of voice while he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. There were quite a few nervous giggles as he continued with a wide grin.

“My name is Eduardo the Extraordinary!” He said with a flourish of his boa. People laughed and he grinned. “Okay, so maybe back home in Pasedena, I’m just plain old Eddie Lakelin, but that’s boring as fuck, so…”

Everyone laughed again and I started to feel a bit more at ease. 

“Now, some of you are here in couples, which, you know, good for you for venturing out of your comfort zone. And to help you along in that regard, we take steps to make sure everyone is shuffled well, and that you won’t end up with the one who brought you! If, however, something gets mixed up and you find yourself accidentally paired with your partner, please let one of our lovely ladies know,” he indicated the five or six women standing behind him, “and we’ll reshuffle your keys and give you new partners.”

All four of us exchanged looks. The friend of Stacey’s that had suggested the club had told her that when you got there you simply chose what room number you wanted, and then you were paired up with whoever else chose the same number. So our stealthy plan to stay together had been for Ethan and I to each pick number four and Jensen and Stacey were going to pick number eight.

But apparently the club went out of their way to put strangers together. I figured that really was more in keeping with the whole, 7 Minutes in Heaven theme. This changed things a bit though. We all chatted quickly, trying to decide if we were all cool with making out with some other person for seven minutes. Stacey was all for it, Jensen and I were on the fence, and Ethan was a no, full stop. 

“I don’t want you making out with some other weirdo.” 

“So you’re saying you’re the only weirdo she can make out with?” Jensen asked and I elbowed him again. 

He’d made no secret of the fact that he couldn’t stand Ethan. He said he was whiny (which he was) and selfish (ditto) and that he didn’t deserve me. Which was very sweet, but I waved off his concerns. 

“Look, I’m not saying he’s gonna be my life partner, okay? But he’s fine. Besides, it beats being alone.” I argued. 

“Does it?” He’d asked and I shrugged. I didn’t add what I was thinking.

Not every guy is gonna be you, Jensen. 

Jensen and I had been best friends for ten years, ever since I was a Freshman at UT and he saved me at a frat party - my very first frat party. He was a Junior, and a couple hours into the party he’d shown up at my side out of nowhere and pulled my drink out of my hand. He smiled at me and pulled me into a dance. 

I was fairly drunk and pretty confused. He told me he wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but he thought the guy beside me (who I didn’t know) had slipped something into my drink. We finished the dance and he asked if I wanted him and his girlfriend to walk me home - which I agreed to and thanked him for.

Even as out of it as I was, though, I distinctly remember being bitterly heartbroken that he had a girlfriend. 

But six months later when they broke up, I was dating Asshole Football Player #1. Within a month Jensen started dating a girl from his acting class, and broke up two weeks later, but then quickly got back together. During their second go around I broke up with Asshole #1 and started dating Asshole Football Player #2. A month later Jensen and the actress broke up for good. But I stayed with Asshole #2 through the rest of college - until two days before graduation when I found out he was cheating on me. 

And had been for a long time.

Jensen was already in LA by then, but I called him to pour out my broken heart and he listened to me bawl and then jumped in his car. It was a twenty hour drive from LA. 

He made it in sixteen, getting there in time to hug me in my cap and gown, clap loudly with my parents when I was handed my diploma, sit through a slightly tortuous dinner with my parents and my extended family, and then take me out to get drunk.

He was my best friend and I knew I was his. But for me things went much deeper. I had been attracted to him from the first moment I laid eyes on him, and sometimes it physically hurt to be near him, to hug him, or cuddle up next to him. But I also wasn’t willing to give up those moments, so I suffered through them. 

I had no idea if, at any point in our friendship, he’d ever felt the same. Our timing was complete shit, we kept missing our windows to even try. I’d never attempted to say anything to him (though what would I even say?) because either he was in a relationship or I was, so the moment was never right. 

Not that he’d ever indicated he wanted to try, but sometimes there were moments where I felt like, maybe? Maybe he did? But I could never be sure. Suffice it to say we had a very complicated relationship. At least on my end.

And now we were here together, dating people neither one of us really wanted to be dating, deciding on whether or not we wanted to try making out with strangers. 

I looked at Jensen and a thought struck my mind. What if I ended up with him? What if he ended up with me? What if we were paired together?

“I wanna do it!” I blurted out. Ethan looked furious 

“No.” He said in an angry whisper.

I thought about trying to smooth his ruffled feathers, cajole him into trying, but in the end I just decided it was just too much work.

“I’m doing it.” I said instead.

“And I’m telling you, I won't allow it.” Ethan growled out at me, getting into my face. "I won't put up with it."

I rolled my eyes, truly just done with his alpha male bullshit. “Then don’t. Bye.” I said and waved him away.

Ethan’s light brown eyes were rage-filled slits as he stared at me. I felt Jensen step up behind me, and knew he’d have my back. Ethan must have realized it too, cause he huffed out a childish whine and took off.

Eduardo the Extraordinary saw Ethan storm away and gave a theatrical grimace and then pretended to whisper conspiratorially to me.

“Probably better off without him, sweetie.”

More nervous laughter surrounded me and I felt a little embarrassed. But I also felt as though a big weight had been lifted off of me. 

Hmm, I thought, probably a sign I really am better off without him.

Jensen pulled me into a sideways hug and kissed the top of my head. I closed my eyes and sighed. It was exactly these moments that I loved and hated all at once. 

“Wanna bow out, darlin’?” He asked quietly, and as always his deep voice and soft drawl made me melt.

I shook my head, still holding on to the small possibility that I could finally get my seven minutes in heaven with Jensen. A voice was telling me that that was a stupid, dangerous wish - but I ignored it.

“No, I’m good.” I shrugged and laughed lightly. “What the hell? Maybe I’ll meet the man of my dreams here.” I looked up at Jensen and tried hard not to let my expression tell him, “It’s you, you idiot! Kiss me!”

Eduardo continued with the rules.

“So the way the game is played is, you'll all be given seven minutes with your anonymous partner. At the end of seven minutes there will be a soft buzzer. If you're finished, just leave. But if you both want to stay another seven minutes, you can have another seven minutes. If after 14 minutes total neither of you wants to come out, then we'll stop buzzing you guys and you can just have the rest of the hour to...get acquainted some more. There are light switches just inside the door, if at any point you want to turn the lights on. But we encourage you to at least try the first seven minutes in the dark. It's fun!!”

“We really all just wanna have a good time,” Eduardo reiterated, “so let's do that!”

There was another round of applause and cheering and Eduardo raised his arms in celebration.

“Now,” he called out over the applause,”you're all gonna leave now and be called back in, randomly one by one, and we'll show you to your door. If you're the first in the room, just wait patiently. Your partner will get there shortly and then your first seven minutes will begin.”

***

I waited in the lobby with everyone and there was a giddy kind of awkwardness in the air as we all just stood there waiting to be called. Out of the three of us, I went in first and as I looked back at Jensen he gave me a smile, but it was a slightly strange smile and I couldn't decipher it. 

I re-entered the room we just left and approached Eduardo. He smiled at me warmly.

“Alright, it’s the little mama who said ‘bye-bye’ to the man-child.” He said with a laugh.

I smiled shyly, still slightly embarrassed by it the scene we made. “Not to worry sweetie,” he said, patting my hand, “because I know JUST who to pair you with.”

He winked at me and handed me a key with the number six on it. “Enjoy!”

“Thanks.” I said quietly, my stomach nervous. 

Can I really do this, I thought? It was so unlike me, I was pretty vanilla when it came to sex and dating. So making out with a random stranger in the dark was way out of my comfort zone. But it was a fun kind of nervousness, like feeling the rollercoaster climbing upwards to that first drop. And in the back of my mind was the secret hope that the man in the dark was going to feel a little bit familiar to me.

It was hard to tell how long I waited before the door opened and someone stepped inside. The room beyond the door had been darkened so that it was almost impossible even to make out a silhouette. 

The door closed and I could feel my heart beating fast and hard. I could sense someone approaching and I bit my lip as a familiar scent hit my nose. I was sure that it was Jensen’s cologne. I’d cuddled into his sweaters enough times that I knew it well. But it wasn’t impossible that another guy wore the same kind of cologne. 

But it made all the butterflies come alive in my stomach. I held out my hand in his direction so that he would know he reached me. My hand brushed against his torso and I squeaked and then tried to stifle my giggle, trying to abide with the ‘stay quiet’ part of the game. 

The man who was possibly Jensen took hold of my hand and brought it to his lips to kiss the fingertips. I gasped lightly at the feel of the man’s full, soft lips. More proof that the man standing in front of me might just be my best friend. The hours I’d spent pining after those lips…I sighed. 

I knew them well.

He brought his hand forward, probably trying to find my cheek, but he overshot his reach and ended up sort of punching me lightly in the forehead.

I let out a small “oomph” and he let out a moan of contrition. I giggled again, and heard his answering chuckle, and I was suddenly sure that it was Jensen. It smelled like him, felt like him, and sounded like him. 

It has to be him, right? I thought to myself as he shifted his hand so it was running down my cheek. 

I remembered Eduardo’s wink and wondered if his years of matchmaking strangers had given him a sixth sense about my feelings for Jensen. Could he have been so kind as to put us together?

Long fingers gripped the side of my neck and pulled me closer to him. I could feel the heat radiating from the hard body he pressed against me and I let out an involuntary sigh. He ran his thumb over my mouth. He may have just been trying to locate it in the dark, but I took the chance to pull the tip of it into my mouth and suck gently.

A harsh grunt issued from the invisible man making my blood run hot in my veins, and it was a sound I’d imagined a million times, a sound I’d heard in so many fantasies, and I felt it shoot straight to my core.

When I let go of his thumb he wasted no time in dragging me tight against him and landing his mouth on mine. He seemed to have no trouble finding it, slotting his mouth around mine and sucking on my top lip before pushing his tongue inside and swallowing the soft moan I couldn’t contain.

I reached my arms up to loop around his neck just as he brought both his hands to cup my cheeks. His hands bumped my arms and knocked them away. We broke the kiss, laughing too much to continue. After a moment he reached out to grab my arms and wrap them around his neck. Then he slid his hands around my waist and squeezed me as he bent to kiss me again. 

His mouth was heaven, no - it was sin. Heavenly sin. He slid his lips over my jawbone and down my neck to suck on the pulse point there and I pushed one hand into his short hair, and gripped the front of his t-shirt with the other. I wanted to feel the warm skin beneath the cotton, but I didn’t want to push him too far too fast by slipping my hand under his clothes.

Suddenly the buzzer sounded and we both jumped slightly. I couldn’t believe seven minutes had passed already. We both hesitated. I was desperate for him to stay, but I wasn’t sure what to say to make it happen. In the end we both said nothing, simply melting back into each other without words.

He took hold of my hands and led me forward while he walked backwards until he hit the bed and fell, pulling me down on top of him. There was more giggling from the two of us as we rolled together so that he laid along my right side. He reached for my waistband and his fingertips skimmed along my skin just under the hem of my t-shirt, hesitating slightly in question. I nodded enthusiastically, hoping he could sense it even if he couldn’t see it and I pushed his hand farther up under my shirt so that his knuckles brushed the underside of my breast. 

He groaned and cupped me through my bra, squeezing gently and making me arch into his big hand and whimper. He grunted at the noise and then used both hands to push up my shirt and wrench down the cups of my bra. He cradled my breast in his hand and dipped his head to pull my nipple into his mouth and suck on it hard. As his lips tightened around the aching bud I spoke without thinking.

“Fuck, Jensen.”

I had moaned his name out in my restless dreams so many times that at first I didn’t realize what I’d done. In the dark, everything felt like a dream anyway, like I’d fallen into one of my fantasies. But as his mouth stilled and he pulled away slightly I was kicking myself. 

Way to go, you’ve just ruined everything! I was yelling at myself.

But before I could spiral too far down the rabbit hole the second buzzer went off. Jensen pulled me up to sitting and he pressed his mouth softly to mine, readjusting my bra and shirt.

“Y/N.” He sighed gently. “Thank god. I knew it had to be you. I know your laugh so well and the way you sigh, I’ve heard it in my dreams a thousand times. It had to be you. No one else makes me hard like this.” He slid my hand over to feel the stiff ridge behind his zipper as he slipped his mouth down to suck on a spot just behind my ear that made me shiver.

“Wait, you knew it was me?” I asked breathlessly.

“Yeah, and I just hoped to God I was right.”

“What do you mean? Since when are you interested in me like that? You’ve never said anything.”

“Me?” He said as he pulled away from me. “What about you?” He gave an exasperated laugh before standing up. “Can…can I turn on the lights? I really wanna see your face.”

“Okay.” I said softly, worried that the harsh light might ruin what we’d created between us in the quiet dark.

But when Jensen flicked on the light, only a soft, golden glow washed over us, romantic and appealing. He stood near the door and seeing him standing there, tall and solid and so fucking sexy, it made me want to jump up and devour him. 

“Goddam.” He said roughly as he looked at me, and my stomach fluttered at the look of heat and arousal that suffused his face. 

I bit my lip and he seemed to take that as hesitancy on my part. He cleared his throat and looked down at the ground. “We can be done now, if you want. I mean, we can…walk out of here and try to pretend this never happened. If you want.”

I felt my stomach plummet. “Is that what you want?”

“Fuck no.” 

His reaction made me laugh. “Good.”

But then I frowned slightly. “Though maybe we should stop. I mean at least until…you know…I mean...Stacey.”

“Finished.” He said, shaking his head. “I broke up with her before we left the lobby to come in here.”

My eyes got round and my heart squeezed tight. “Are you serious?”

He nodded and smiled softly. “Yeah, I just finally realized that I was being a dumbass. Cause I was standing there next to this woman that I didn’t even really like, and hoping and praying to end up in a room with my best friend. You know, so I could make out with her.”

I laughed again and he came to sit beside me on the bed. He reached up to run his knuckles over my cheek. “I’ve wanted you for so long, sweetheart, but you were always dating asshole after asshole.”

I spluttered a bit. “Well, you were too!”

“Only cause you were!”

We both took a big breath to continue the argument, and then let them out in another whoosh of laughter. 

“God, we’re so stupid. Do you realize how much time we’ve wasted?” He asked as he plucked my bottom lip with his thumb.

I shook my head. “Then let's not waste anymore.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He said with a grin.

His eyes softened as he leaned down to kiss me; his lips were barely a whisper against mine, teasing them, brushing so softly that I whined my complaint.

“Jensen. Please kiss me for real. I've waited so long for you.”

He nodded as he breathed against my lips. “Me too, darlin’, me too.” 

He lifted me up, moving me so that I was straddling his lap. He pushed his hands into my hair and held my head in place so he could lick open my lips and plunge his tongue inside. He kissed me thoroughly, tasting every inch of my mouth and then sucking on my bottom lip.

He only broke off our heated kisses so he could pull my t-shirt over my head. He tossed it aside and exhaled slowly, reverently running his fingers across the tops of my breasts. He reached around and easily unhooked my bra and tossed it on top of my shirt on the floor. 

He shifted us on the bed, laying me beneath him, and rose to his knees to pull his t-shirt off. I licked my lips as I looked at his beautiful, naturally muscled torso. I'd seen him without his shirt before - at the beach, or when he’d play “skins” during a shirts and skins pick up game. But this was the first time I was allowed to reach out and touch him like I’d wanted to every time.

I traced my fingers down his ribcage and over his flat stomach. His muscles contracted at my touch and it was probably the hottest fucking thing I'd ever seen. 

He lowered himself down so he was on his hands and knees hovering above me. He kissed me again, aggressively, moaning down my throat and then leaning on his elbows so he could suck my left nipple into his mouth, before grasping it with his teeth and tugging hard.

I arched off the bed and dragged my nails across his wide shoulders.

“Unf, fuck!” He growled harshly as he moved his mouth down my body, trailing hot, wet kisses across my skin. When he reached my waistband, he looked up at me with a question in his eyes.

I nodded. “Yes.” was all I could say. I was desperate to feel him closer, to pull him inside me. 

He unbuttoned my jeans and pulled the zipper down before grabbing them, along with my panties, and peeling them down my legs until I was naked under his scorching hot gaze. He was so unbearably beautiful as he contemplated all of me, his expression ravenous and aching. 

It was more than I ever could have imagined and it made me reach for him and push down his jeans and underwear too, letting him kick them off while I got my first look at his thick, marbled cock. It left me drooling and I groaned harshly as he wrapped his fist around it and pumped himself lazily a few times. 

Then he lowered himself to lay between my legs, his face level with my dripping cunt. 

“Christ sweetheart, you're mouth-watering.” He murmured seconds before he began his oral torture. He began slowly, small kitten licks and nibbles to my pulsing clit, followed by long, undulating swipes with his wide, talented tongue.

He built the pressure gradually, torturously, until I was almost weeping with want, thrusting my hips against his sinful, sensual mouth and begging him to take me over the edge.

His hair stood on end from my fingers gripping it and pulling it. He let me tug and yank all I wanted, but it never made him change the course he wanted to take. If he wanted to slow down and suck ever so softly on my clit, no amount of hair-pulling from me was going to change that.

I was shaking with need, making animalistic noises that had never come out of my mouth before. Then he speared me with his tongue and pushed two fingers inside my pussy to press perfectly against my sweet spot. I screamed and climaxed harder than I ever had before. 

But it was just the beginning. 

Every time my orgasm started to wane, Jensen would just start working me up all over again. I'd desperately pant out that I couldn't possibly come again, but he'd promise me I could do one more. He always got his way, and a few minutes later I'd be screaming again and gushing over his chin.

Finally he kissed his way back up my body, nibbling on my pulse point as he reached into the drawer in the small bedside table and chuckled.

He pulled out a condom and ripped it open with his teeth. “They have thought of everything haven't they?”

I sighed deeply, knowing that I would be eternally grateful to this place for giving me this beautiful man at last. He rolled the condom on and then rested on his elbows as he slid slowly into my swollen, pulsing cunt. 

His teeth were bared as he bottomed out, the veins on his neck bulging slightly. 

“Fuck, fuck.” Was all he managed to mumble as he buried his face in the side of my neck. 

I ran my hands over his perfectly muscled back and felt as though I was floating away. He filled me so tightly, so completely that it was the first time I truly understood the idea of sex being two people joining as one. This was what lovemaking and sex was supposed to feel like: overwhelming pleasure and endless, boundless connection.

It brought tears to my eyes and I whispered in his ear, my voice barely a whisper. 

“I love you, Jensen.”

He pushed up so he could meet my gaze. He saw my tears and gently kissed each of my eyelids before brushing his lips over mine. 

“I love you too, Y/N.” He smiled and it felt like the sun on my face. “I’ve loved you forever.”

“Me too.” I said, voice slightly choked. “And I will keep on loving you forever.”

“Me too.”

He kissed me again, and then we began to move together, our bodies moving in a perfect give and take, push and pull. I ran my fingers over his taut, warm skin, and he pushed his blunt fingertips against mine, dimpling my flesh and finding every sensitive spot to lavish with attention.

He slid his thumb down to press against my clit as he watched himself move in and out of my body. I clutched at his forearms and he pulled me up so I was straddling his thighs and riding his cock. His arm curled around my waist and he helped rise and fall on his cock as we both chased our highs. He was tugging at my nipples and sucking on my tongue and then he pumped his hips deep and hard one more time and everything exploded around me again.

I'd lost count of the number of orgasms he'd pulled out of my pliant and boneless body.

But this time I felt him fall with me. I heard him shout out a short, deep cry of bliss before he turned his head and bit into my neck gently, to quiet himself. His hips spasmed, bucking into me a few more times, slamming me against him and making my whole body quiver. 

Finally we tumbled down to the messy sheets and clung to each other as we tried to catch our breath. 

Jensen pulled off the condom and tossed it in the trash before pushing my sweaty hair off my forehead and placing a kiss there. I wrapped my leg over his hip and began licking and sucking at the salty skin along his collarbone.

A thought occurred to me as our breathing eventually returned to normal.

“They're gonna kick us out of here right away.”

Jensen looked at the clock on the wall and shook his head. “N’ah! We still got like seven minutes.” He grinned at me wickedly. “And I can do a lot to this incredible body of yours in seven minutes.”

“Prove it!” I challenged as I began tickling his side and then giggling breathlessly as he grabbed hold of my wandering hands and slammed them onto the mattress on either side of my head.

He kissed me breathless again and then spoke deep and luscious in my ear. “You asked for it, sweetheart.”

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96 @hobby27

[st-el-la-luna]

Thinking about @bluegiragi Monster AU

Specifically; Crow Harpy Gaz

He's such a sweet little thing, still as cheeky as ever, not one to back down from a fight.

When he sees you for the first time, his eyes widen imperceptibly. He tilts his head to one side, then the next, blinking curiously.

He realizes you've said something and he lets out a tiny coo in surprise before clearing his throat. He offers you a taloned hand and a smile. "Name's Gaz... Lovely to make your acquaintance."

He's definitely got bird like mannerisms. Bobs up and down when he's excited, bouncing from foot to foot. He always calls out when he sees you, unable to suppress the happy crowing when you walk into the room. Usually, just your name or some term of endearment, occasionally accompanied by a horrid melody of chirps and tweets (crows are not known for their musical ability).

His wings were always his pride and joy, but he takes even better care of them now, even when deployed. One day, when you both were back from leave, you complimented his wings.

"They look so glossy and soft! You've been taking care of them, haven't you, pretty bird?"

And oh how he preens. He practically melts.

Pretty bird. Pretty bird. Pretty bird.

He wants to hear you say it again. And again. And again. And again. And-

He gets the best products he can, enlisting the other members of the Task force (yes, even Ghost) to help him with his wing care. The feathers shine like they never have before.

Whenever you're around, Gaz will stand a little straighter. Puff out his chest. Raise his wings slightly and stretch them out just a bit. Feathers fluffing. You never fail to compliment him and he never fails to preen and to coo.

He starts bringing you things. Not to you, not directly at least. But to your barracks. You're able to figure out who it is easily enough.

"When I laid down to sleep last night I found this big rock on my bed, hurt like hell." You say off handedly one morning in the mess hall.

Ghost chastises you for not checking your surroundings. Soap laughs at you and your misfortune. Price asks if you're okay. Gaz deflates a little.

Ever since, the gifts are left on your night table.

You find small things at first. Stray bottle caps, shiny rocks, an old penny. Then, he becomes a little more bold.

Flowers, and berries and seashells and glass. He only realizes what's happening– that he's courting you– when you approach him with a container of brownies.

"What's this for?" He asks as you set it in his hands.

"You're always getting me things," you say with a smile. "Figured it's time I give you something too."

He tries to deny it. Really, he does. Cheeks burning, feathers puffed out. Tells you he has no idea what you're talking about. But then you set your hand on his and offer him a smile that has him weak in the knees.

"No use in lying to me, pretty bird. I know you too well for that."

He caves and accepts the brownies with a smile.

The gifts increase tenfold. No longer left shyly on your bedside. He seeks you out. Presenting you with the gifts like a cat bringing its owner a mouse. His chest puffed out, shoulders back, wings out. He's showing off.

He loves it.

What he loves even more is the way you coo at him and thank him. Your smile is genuine every time.

He starts bringing you things. Expensive things. Gourmet chocolates. Rings. Small jewels.

One morning, at breakfast, he takes your hand in his and fastens a bracelet around it like this is a normal thing to do.

Soap makes fun of him for it. Gaz doesn't even get the chance to be mad at the werewolf. Not when you press a little kiss to his cheek and thank him so sweetly. You tell him he doesn't need to spend money on you. He tells you he wants to.

One day, after a particularly hard mission, Gaz returns to his bunk and all but collapses in bed. There's a plate of cookies and a handmade bracelet waiting for him on his nightstand. And a little note with your sweet words of encouragement.

Immediately his fatigue is gone.

He's out of his room, hurrying through the hallways. Wings fluttering so much he's lifting a bit off the floor.

He slams your door open without knocking. You're lying in bed, reading. You jump, startled, blinking up at him in surprise.

"Kyle! You scared me!"

He's on you in a heartbeat. Arms and wings wrapping around you like they'll never let you go.

If ever you were unsure about his feelings for you, you weren't now. Now with the way he melts against you, pressing so close, so tight, it's like he wants to become one.

"Can... Can I... Can I please?"

He asks, breathless, eyes on your lips. His mouth falls open slightly and he lets out a stuttering breath as your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You nod.

Gaz wastes no time. The kiss starts out sweet, soft and chaste. He peppers these kisses all over your face. Your cheeks, your forehead, your temples, you nose, your chin, your eyelids. Nowhere is safe.

But the kisses soon become demanding. All tongue and teeth. Hot and wet and desperate. Like he needs you like he needs the air he breathes. Like he needs you to live.

"You're mine, right?" He whispers against your lips, voice gentle, eyes pleading. "Only mine?"

"Only yours," you whisper back, a hand stroking the feathers of his wings. "And you're mine... My pretty bird."

Gaz preens as he dives in for another kiss.

Your pretty bird...

Yeah. He decides as he pushes you down onto the bed, tongue licking desperately at yours. Yeah, he can live with that.

Please reblog to support my writing!

Masterlist

[thewriterg]

𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧

Pairing(s): JJ Maybank x gn!reader, Pogues x gn!reader

summary: It didn’t take a rocket scientist or Pope to figure out the chemistry between you and your supposed best friend JJ and finally since you were both eight the tension broke and you were left with bliss

word count: 750+

request: Hey lovely! i will request for JJ a really fluffy morning at the chetau and him telling the pogues she's the one and her kissing and hugging him many times making him blush. thank u for choosing me<3 —@maybankslover—

warning(s): suggestive, morning after type vibe, kisses, everyone is grown up 😊, lots of loving, small mention of jealousy, fluff and language

A/n: —GIFs; @hybridluv— I owe you all so many requests responses please continue to be patient with me 😩 Also happy bhm!

JJ lied awake his head laying on your chest the only thing shielding you and clinging to your body was his T-shirt and your black underwear the blonde found himself rubbing feathered shapes into your skin

You were both covered in a decent amount of marks from the other but JJ upped you quite a bit the once reddish marks beginning to turn purple on his tan skin that seemed to shine under the sunlight seeping through his curtains

JJ found the little strength in his body he had to slip from under your grasp out of the room into the living room of the chàteau

JJ found the little strength in his body he had to slip from under your grasp out of the room into the living room of the chàteau

To say Kie and Pope we’re surprised was an understatement they couldn’t remember the last time JJ had been up before eleven am and here he was awake fully functioning at 10:50am

was he sick?

did he plan on killing someone!?

was he upset?

To say the pair were mildly freaking out was an understatement John B on the other hand didn’t hold the slightest bit of amusement on his face or hidden anywhere in his body language

The blonde maneuvered his way through the kitchen taking a bottle of water and those flip yogurt cups you liked from the fridge his hair tousled

“Have fun last night JJ?” John B called out to his best friend as the blonde looked at him with sheepish look taking his hand and rubbing it against the back of his neck

since when the hell was JJ shy?

“Im sorry man” JJ grumbled while John B rolled his eyes as Pope and Kiara stood confused as the time past

It wasn’t long before JJ turned to walk away and the angle of his body turned into the sunlight that spread throughout the living room hit the littered markings along his chest and torso

Now anybody who was close to the blonde would have thought it was from Luke his malicious father who couldn’t keep his filthy hands to himself off his son but this was different

These marks were pink and purple

not red and blue from bursting veins

And these bruises didn’t mark his face

but rather his collarbones, neck, and trailing down his torso down into the pajama pants he wore which rested on his hips that had faint hand marks that definitely didn’t come from a slap across the face

“You’re together!?” Kie squealed noticing the lack of Your presence around the living room even thought she knew you all came back to the chàteau after the kegger

“Yea and didn’t fail to let me know either going at it like rabbits all night” John B grumbled with the roll of his eyes chugging a water bottle in his grasp while Pope punched his shoulder as The brunette mocked hurt

“I just thought it was time we stopped chasing each other” The blonde shrugged his face becoming warm as he blushed in front of his friends

“Go get them J” Pope encouraged as JJ nodded taking a turn in his step on the way to room he claimed as his

💌💌💌💌

JJ quietly stepped into the room to see you already up scrolling on your phone at the sound of the door your eyes met his blue ones and you couldn’t help but let a small smirk etch it’s way on your face at the markings littering his tan skin

“This is a sight to see every morning” JJ smirked right back at you before handing you the yogurt cup and sitting the water bottle on the nightstand next to his bed before plopping on the bed next to you making your figure bounce

“They know” The blonde simply stated and you just looked over at him before nodding your head the comfortable silence falling over the both of you like a warm blanket in the cool evening

“I want you to know i meant everything I said last night that I loved you, love you more than anything, that we’re in this deep, deeper than the ocean” JJ went from fiddling with his finger to staring at you with puppy eyes filled with admiration

No humor in his eyes

Or mischief

Just pure truth and admiration

“I don’t want you to keep chasing me, we’re in this for real this time” You foreheads rested against one another as you stared into his soul and searched yours

There was no fault

There was no deception

Just pure love

Love deeper than the ocean

💌💌💌💌

I am so Rusty when it comes to writing outer banks 💀 but season 3 comes out on the 23rd! So I’ll have some new content for that

If you would like to be added to outer banks/ or any character from outer banks taglist let me know

[apomaro-mellow]

King and Prince 15

Part 14

We have officially begun the second arc of this fic! Arc 1: Enemies Arc 2: Friends? ....Friends.... (<- You are here!) Arc 3: Lovers

The day before the festivities, Eddie was constantly on his feet and on the move. He had barely a moment to himself. But as the sun set, he took a second to check in on his favorite hostage-turned-guest. But Eddie never did these checks in person. Now seemed to be the time to give Steve as much space as he could. Eddie didn’t know in detail what kind of life he led in his old kingdom, but it couldn’t be anything good. A crown prince should be fighting tooth and nail to get back home. Steve hadn’t made any escape attempts since that last one weeks ago.

Eddie stood by the window of his room and held a hand out to beckon the raven that landed. He stroked its feathers in thanks for letting him see Steve. His eyes became the bird’s eyes whenever he wished, allowing him to see how Steve behaved while he was alone. He never intruded for long, but Eddie wasn’t going to fall to a soft heart and let someone untrustworthy roam without suspicion.

His precaution was starting to appear unnecessary in the end. Because Steve had no plans to harm anyone, not even him. As much as he and Dustin had prodded at the prince to see further than his own nose and learn about what was around him, Eddie had to admit that he too had his own assumptions about him. 

He hadn’t imagined the enemy to be an uncontrollable monster like the other side did. But Eddie hadn’t expected someone willingly lending a hand to some kids, who did manual labor with very minimal grumbling. He hadn’t expected Steve to be, well, nice. He might be the first Harrington who Eddie hadn’t wanted to kill on sight.

One thing his little feathered friend reminded him of was the fact that Steve’s wardrobe was severely cut down from what he must be used to. There was certainly a drop of quality as well, though it was comfortable to wear. And Eddie thought he shouldn’t be left out of the fun when it came to new clothes.

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

The next morning, Steve rose with the sun and had breakfast with the children in the kitchen. Afterwards, he figured his job for the day would be helping out wherever he was needed for the activities around the castle. But when he caught Robin in the hallway, she shook her head at him.

“I don’t have you today. You belong to those kids there”, she pointed to the gaggle catching up from behind.

“Them?”, Steve asked. “But they’re going to-” Their plans all involved the action happening in the town just outside the castle gates. A town filled with this kingdom’s people. People who might want to see Steve’s end, if they knew who he was.

Robin just waved with her fingers as Dustin and El grabbed both of his arms and started to pull him towards the main entrance of the castle. Outside, a wagon was already hitched up to a horse, driver at the ready to take them out. Steve tried to keep the apprehension off his face as he watched the kids get on, then followed after. Obviously the townsfolk couldn’t tell who he was just by looking at him. Even so, what if someone let something slip and the wrong thing was overheard?

His charges were unaware, still talking about all the things to do once they were there. They were already dressed in their new finery, surely with a warning not to get them too dirty before the performance. Steve tried not to feel too disappointed by his own clothing. He didn’t need any eyes drawn to him.

“We’re going to the games first”, Lucas said.

“Who said you’re in charge?”, Max challenged.

“I thought we agreed we should see the market first”, Will said.

“I agree that we should go before they run out of strawberries”, Dustin started. “But we can afford some time to go and see the mechanists first.”

Steve was suddenly struck with why he was put on supervising duty. Without an adult, they’d surely run off in a dozen different directions. They were let out right in the thick of it and Steve was overwhelmed but only for a moment as he clapped his hands and called them to attention.

“Hey. Hey! If one of you gets lost or hurt, that’s my neck on the chopping block!” Steve didn’t want to think of how literal that might be. “I’ll decide where we go and when and I swear to the old gods and new if I hear any griping, you can hop right back on the wagon.”

There was definitely some eye rolling. And the start of groans. And crossed arms. But no one directly opposed him. That left Steve to make a decision. He put his hands on his hips, looking at them one by one as they gazed back expectantly.

“So here’s what we’re going to do”, he began. “You all just ate. We don’t need to go and get berries right now. I promise we’ll go before they run out. It makes the most sense to do the games first. You guys are bouncing off the walls and need something to direct all that energy.”

After which, they’d be in a mood for some kind of refreshing pick-me-up, like freshly picked fruit. And maybe even some kind of meal before seeing what else the people of this town had to offer. His plan was met with minimal protests and for a moment Steve got the idea that they might actually like and respect him. There were games for both young and old, separated by skill level.

Lucas decided to try his hand at archery and Steve felt a twinge of pride, especially when he got a near bullseye on the first try. The next few weren’t as great but he hoped Lucas would remember that first near-win. If nothing else, he might remember the impressed look on Max’s face before she wiped it away, glancing around to make sure no one else saw. Even though the others typically weren’t so swayed by feats of athleticism, they congratulated Lucas.

“You almost got it in!”, Will exclaimed.

“Think of the potential. With an archer, we could be unstoppable!”, Dustin said.

Steve didn’t want to think about what sort of potential they were imagining. He’d thought he’d just follow them around and make sure they didn’t get kidnapped but was thrown off when they dragged him to a different field where there were older competitors.

“I think it’s time you show us what you got”, Mike said, arms crossed.

“What?”

“You talk a big game, but no one’s actually seen you do anything serious”, Max said.

“Lucas was there when Nancy tried to chop my head off”, Steve said in his defense.

Mike shrugged. “Yeah, but she was probably going easy on you.”

“You’d probably be good at that”, El pointed to where a bunch of young adults were tossing spears to see who could get it the farthest.

A simple task, especially given his royal training. Steve thought it almost unfair as he stepped up to compete. But he took the other seriously as he stretched and got ready. He wasn’t surprised when he thrust the spear forward and it fell in a graceful arc leagues further than any other. Still, he was glad that he wasn’t getting rusty up in that castle, locked away. Steve figured he’d proven himself, but then he was pointed to hay bale lifting, then the races, and then a child toss.

“Wait, why am I tossing you guys into the water?”, Steve asked while other people were stretching their legs.

Dustin lit up. “The child toss has a rich history that’s actually hotly debated and only because Eddie won’t tell us what really happened because he thinks its funny how many different stories there are-”

“Just lift them up and throw them in the pond as fast as you can”, Max said.

“As fun as it would be to chuck some of you, not in these clothes”, Steve put his foot down.

Thankfully, they moved quickly to the other games. All things that Steve excelled at. For as much as he was trying to keep a low profile, the townsfolk started to be taken with this talented stranger. It didn’t hurt that many of the events gave them glimpses at his physique. As he promised, once they got their fill of watching him compete, he took them to the market where farmers were presenting the bounties of early spring. It was a good preview of things to come in the following months.

Steve popped a berry into his mouth when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw a man he didn’t recognize. For a moment, he thought he’d been seen for who he was, but he read the other man’s body language. There was something a little nervous about it, especially in the way he seemed to want to look at Steve but not meet his gaze.

“Hey uh, so I saw you over at the fields and uh-”

Ah.

Steve licked some of the juice off his fingers and noticed how intensely he was being watched. He had his fair share of bedmates back home and was familiar with the look of desire. It had just been so long since he'd seen it. Before the man could continue, El was calling for him and Max was grabbing him by the elbow. The girls wanted to go and watch the street musicians while the boys wanted to go and visit the mechanists. Steve finally conceded to a split on the condition that they met up for lunch in half an hour.

“Half an hour is barely any time”, Mike complained.

“It’s all you have if you want to eat before seeing the illusionist. You have to be on stage right after that”, Steve reminded them.

Given that time limit, Will and the other boys rushed off to see the new machines and inventions dreamt up during the winter while the girls led Steve towards music playing. Unbeknownst to anyone there, the king was already present, red hood obscuring his face as he sat on a barrel, playing a cheerful tune for his people.

Part 16

Tag Team

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent @snakeorsquid @ignoremyworld @theclichefortunecookie @goodolefashionedloverboi @just-a-tiny-void @0body0disphoria0 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @samsoble @jamieweasley13 @y4r3luv @xtkxkrzrizir @un-knownperson @greekgeek24 @justdrugsformethanks @potato-of-the-lord @notaqueenakhaleesi @swimmingbirdrunningrock @queenie-ofthe-void @nebulainajar @lil-gremlin-things @nicememerino @robininblue @hornedqueenofhell @anne-bennett-cosplayer @moomkin77 @here4thetrama @bookworm0690 @autumncrocusandladybug @lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane

[credince--writes]

Background Check

NSFW.

Konig x Reader

141 becomes suspicious of König, Soap & Ghost are sent to find out why he rushes off so often. They find out why.

König wasn't stupid.

Anxious at times, yea.

Maybe a little fidgety, sure.

But he wasn't stupid.

He heard the whispers,

partially closed doors.

He knew they were suspicious of him.

Why else would he be soo keen to be taking off leave as much as possible?

Leave as soon as possible.

Get the fuck out of dodge.

His background.

Who he was.

Maybe they even suspected he was the rat.

He wasn't.

But he'd be damned if he let them get off scot-free.

They invaded his personal life.

Found his home.

Found his wife.

There was a reason he tried to keep his life as far away from work as possible. When the veil would be cast aside and he could bathe in the love of the woman he cared about.

He wasn't stupid.

Sometimes Soap was.

Is.

However, he'd like to phrase it in his mind.

Maybe he forgot how tall he was. That when he glanced over, figure looming over the other man, he was able to see the message sent out, tasking none other than Ghost and Soap to go out on a hush-hush recon to see who exactly this König man was.

What was he hiding?

He was hiding you.

...

It was always exciting for König to be coming home, even if it was only for a week.

But it was going to be a week that you'd have him all to yourself.

You'd gone grocery shopping, and you had a plan.

Not really a plan, it was more of a ritual.

He'd finally come back after however many days, and the two of you would hole up until you absolutely needed to go out and get something.

You lived in a pretty little cabin with big windows.

That was a must.

You loved to sit in your living room with the fireplace and stare out the huge windows that cascaded from floor to ceiling, staring out at the forest in front of you.

But the bathroom?

Oh it was heavenly.

König required much larger facilities, including a shower.

Not only that, but after you asked ever so nicely he got you a big tub as an anniversary present.

One big enough for the two of you.

You've lost count of how many times the two of you ended up relaxing in the tub together. The cold outside air encouraged each other into the arms of the other, tangled up into a mess of bodies. On other nights, the two of you would lay still, enjoying the relaxing heat and even seeing some wildlife prance across the dewy grass.

When he wasn't jabbering, he was a very quiet and observant man. You'd scolded him about it before, even with his large size he'd trained himself in stealth. His subconscious steps feather light giving him more and more opportunities to scare you out of your skin.

So any time he was in the room he'd step extra loud, or hum, or say something just to alert you of his presence before his arm would snake around your middle and pull you close.

Really, you appreciated it.

Maus, he'd call you. Gaining your attention as you'd turn your head over to give him a glance.

"Hm?" You'd ask, even if you recognized that tone in his voice, you wouldn't acknowledge it.

You'd make him work for it.

He knew you liked to play hard to get.

That was part of the fun, wasn't it?

Once he called you back into the living area, to climb onto the large couch and to climb under the blanket with him would he start lowering his head down, kissing everywhere on your upper body but your lips.

Whining in irritation- frustration maybe? Were they not the same thing? You had grabbed ahold of his hand, bringing one of his large fingers up to push against your plush lips as you flicked your tongue out, licking up the base of it and sucking it into your mouth.

Groaning, his head would fall back against the couch.

You'd never tell him how much you loved to look up at his face like this, it would embarrass him to no end- loving something he was so insecure over. From this angle you could see perfectly just the little twist in his nose- off to the side. No doubt broken in combat, but it just added that extra flair that made König who he was.

Yours.

Pulling his finger from your mouth, he'd trail it down your top, trying to slip it under the band of your sweatpants and into your core.

Stopping him, you guided his wrist up and over his head, leaning up and grabbing his other arm that was lazily draped onto the couch and pining his arms above his head.

You'd never really be able to hold him down, you both knew that. But there was something specifically grounding of feeling both of your small hands wrapped around his wrists, pushing him down into the soft cushion of the sofa.

Letting go of his hands, you shimmied backward and pulled your sweats down, leaving yourself only in your panties as you there a leg over his chest and ever so slightly rubbed your clothes heat against the rippling expanse of his torso.

His hands left their post, above his head on the couch to grab your thighs and pull you closer to him, mouth opening and exhaling harshly as his mouth cupped over the expanse of your clothed cunt.

"Did I say you could yet?" You scolded lightly, and he shook his head in response.

His hands let up, allowing you to slide backward off of his chin and back onto his chest, hands lacing in with his as you leaned forward.

"How bad do you want it?" You asked grin plastered on your features.

"So bad, Maus." He exhaled out, eyes dilated as he looked up at your face, tinted pink with arousal.

"That's not very convincing." You pouted.

"Then let me convince you." He groaned, hands unlacing from yours grabbing you by the ass and pushing you forward, a long finger hooking your panties to the side as he pulled you up to sit on his face.

He groaned when his tongue came into contact, licking and sucking- biting on the side of your thighs until you thought you were going to melt into the floor, turning into a puddle to be mopped up later.

His arm shot up, slipping under your shirt until his hand poked through the neckline where his hand opened and deliciously wrapped around your neck.

He didn't squeeze, he just allowed you to rest your body weight into it, and additional support to your body sitting straight up and onto his face. Whenever you'd lean forward trying to escape his grasp, his hand around your throat would apply just enough pressure to make the surroundings feel fuzzy.

Ebbing on that feeling of pleasure drunkening your mind.

It was intoxicating really, the long laps of his tongue eating as if he were a man starved, deprived of it all until he was borderline insane. Devouring as if he'd never eat again.

Rocking your hips back and forth, finding that perfect rhythm where your thighs would tense up, pushing into his ears and squeezing his head together as if you were trying to pop it.

It was wet,

sloppy,

foul sounding even.

You were glad you had no neighbors.

You can't imagine having to bare the walk of shame from bringing up groceries with the man tailing behind you to your flat, old woman down the hall peeking out the door to find the mountain of a man who was the cause of the filthy moans and curses late into the night.

Your body shook, stuttering in place and trying to push off your knees to relieve the pressure from his tongue on your clit. His fingers dug into your neck, pulling your body back down onto his mouth as he picked up the pace, throwing you right over the edge into overstimulation.

"Hah- Please- fuck... Too much!" You whined out, hand gripping his hair and tugging his head to the side.

His mouth detached from your pussy with a wet sucking sound, making that fluttering feeling inside you spur off into a frenzy.

He let out a snicker, lip curling up to show that deathly sharp canine he found too much joy in biting down onto the soft parts of your body.

"But Shatz, you taste so good." He said, letting go of your neck and pulling you down to lay on him.

"Hmmm." you replied, setting your head in the crook of his neck.

You glanced at him, and saw him staring out the window, deep into the dark forest.

"What's wrong?" You asked, looking at him for any hint of concern in his gaze.

"Ah. Not anything to worry of Shatz."

You'd take his word for it.

The two of you would lay there for some time, listening to the sounds of each other breathing while the background noise of a movie filled the room.

"Mm.. Let's take a bath..." You leaned forward, whispering into his ear before biting the edge of it ever so lightly. Just enough in the way you knew if drove him mad.

He laughed.

One of those downright evil,

scheming laughs.

The one that made your cunt tighten because you knew just how much you were in for it.

He stood, arms wrapping under your bottom and pulling you up with him as he made quick strides to the glass door that led out onto the back patio that had the large tub. Setting you down next to the tub and quickly starting to tug off any remaining clothing that you had clug to your body.

"Wait- slow down a little." You laughed out softly, reaching a hand up and cupping his jaw stilling his movements. "What's got you all riled up sweetheart?"

"I want you to be loud, Shatz." He leaned in, whispering into your ear.

"Yea? Why's what?" You smiled up at him, kissing the bottom of his chin.

"I want you to tell the world your mine with those sweet little noises you make."

You laughed lightly- nervously, but it died in your throat as you stared up at him.

There was a dark glint in his eyes, the one that barely lingers when he's first walking through the door.

It was feral.

It was pretty hot.

He turned, leaving you for a moment to be surrounded by the cold air of the night. No longer having the body heat he projected everywhere he went filling your space.

You'd protest, but the sound of the knob to the bath turning and the unmistakable sound of water pouring into the tub created white noise.

You turned to him, sucking on your teeth as you grabbed a bottle full of scented soap, pouring it into the cascading water and watching as bubbles started to form in the tub.

Reaching out to him, you grabbed at the hem of his pants, tugging on them. He snickered slightly grabbing the belt and undoing it, then pushing his pants and boxers to the floor.

He stepped into the bath, sitting on the back ledge where various candles and glass containers held salts, soups, lotions, and other various collections of your own you'd use.

His thighs flexed and he stared you down with a hungry, dark look. You could feel heat rising to your cheeks as you stepped into the bath, kneeling down as the water continued to fill around you. Leaning forward, you placed a hand on his thigh and continued to bring your face closer to his crotch. Grabbing hold of his cock, hand wrapping around the girth of it as you enjoyed its weight in your hand.

You loved the outdoor tub, you'd sit out here some nights, staring out into the forest. One night a doe had even pranced it way through the lawn while you sat and soaked.

It was bliss.

You flicked your tongue out, collecting the shiny clear bead of precum dribbled from the tip of his cock, licking it up and savoring the salty taste on your tongue.

"Stop teasing, Schatz." He said, hand placing on your shoulder.

It was a warning.

You looked up at him, giving your best innocent doe eyes as you took the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking and flicking your tongue around the head.

He grumbled something, tossing his head back as his muscles flexed. Hand on your shoulder creeping into your hair as you started to bob your head on his cock.

You could feel his cock brush the back of your throat, slightly adjusting your head to continue to take him further, down until you could feel the brush of his hair against your nose.

"So good to me." He praised, a finger brushing against your hollowed-out cheeks as you continued to take his length down your throat.

Eventually, pulling back and let out a gasp as a long string of thickened saliva bridged from your mouth to the head of his cock.

"Did I say stop?" He asked lightly.

"It's gonna overflow." You laughed, turning around and shutting off the faucet. The look on his face proved your point of him forgetting about the hot running water behind you- tub dangerously close to the edge.

He leaned forward, dipping his lower body into the water until he was sat up to his chest, nipples hovering over the steamy water.

Pushing forward, you climbed into his lap and pushed your chest to his, connecting mouths and sighing into each other, hands slowly exploring and enjoying as the hot water melted away the day's tensions.

He pulled your back onto his chest, snaking a hand around your tummy and dipping it down into your core, a large finger breaching your hole and pumping into you with his thumb teasing your clit while his second hand toyed with your tits.

Your back arched onto his chest, a moan escaping your lips as he continued his onslaught of toying and teasing for what felt like an eternity.

"Fuck me- Stop teasing me." You whined hand grabbing his wrist close to your cunt and giving it a squeeze.

"You want me to fuck you, Schatz?"

"Yes." You moaned.

"Fill my pretty wife full of cum?" He leaned forward, shifting your position as the water sloshed, throwing gallons over the edge.

"Please." You whined.

His hand left your tit and reached up to your jaw, hand easily covering the expanse of it and ring finger reaching up and pulling your mouth wide open. His finger pushed down on your tongue, causing your head to pull down as you felt him move behind you.

Your only retaliation?

Wiggling your hips.

He grunted, bringing a hand down and harshly slapping it on your ass leaving a large red handprint embellishing your skin. He lifted a knee, planting his foot beside you and he trusted upward, pushing his cock into your core.

With his finger forcing your mouth open, the mouth that would normally be reserved, held in by your lips to live in your throat came out breaking the white noise of sloshing water and his pants.

"Braves Mädchen." He praises, snapping his hips forward sending more water sloshing forward.

Keeping his hand in your mouth, a hand slithered down and brushed against your clit as his pace picked up, sending you up and above the clouds, looking down upon the scene as if you were an angel.

You moaned again, whatever words spilling from your mouth coming out messy and in no way understandable. You could feel your walls fluttering with the combined attention on your clit and the oh-so-filling stretch of his cock in your tight cunt.

You choke out a whine and he lifts your hips, pressing himself impossibly deeper into you and he continues his ruthless onslaught.

You could feel a flutter in your gut, the tight cord pulled it its limit.

"Going to cum, Shatz?" He sneered out, that ruthless, demeaning tone as he pressed exceptionally hard against your clit with his rough calloused finger.

You could only whine in response as the motions set in action came to a head all at once.

It was as if white stars danced into your vision, everything in your body seized, tightening while he continued to fuck into you, up until you could feel his hips stutter, that bruisingly strong grip on your hip that you knew would leave little fingerprint bruises in the morning.

His hand left your jaw, turning you around and pulling you close to his chest.

"Ich liebe dich." He mumbled into your hair.

"Ich liebe dich mehr." You replied to him, clinging to his chilled skin as the two of you sunk back down into the heavily depleted water.

He had helped you from the bath, grabbed you a towel, and carried you inside, setting you down on your bed while he walked out to collect his things and drain the tub.

He wouldn't normally clean up, no. But this time he wanted to make sure to emphasize what he wanted to say.

Pulling the band of his sweatpants as his bare feet came into contact with the cold wet wood of the back deck, looking out into the thicket of trees and brush he saw the glint of glass.

A scope.

He grinned, one of the sick, wicked grins no one would see with the veil covering his face on the battlefield. He wasn't scared, he knew exactly who was out there.

If they wanted to know why he rushed home so badly, he'd let them know.

"Hoffe es hat euch gefallen!" He called out.

[phefics]

unconventional

ship: billy loomis x fem!reader x stu macher summary: a tickle fight with billy and stu takes a turn when the boys realize how much they like hearing the reader beg. warnings: dubious consent, degrading names (slut), tickling word count: 1.6k

It’s an unconventional arrangement, dating two boys at once. You certainly hadn’t befriended Billy Loomis and Stu Macher with the intention of falling for either of them, let alone both.

But, shit happens, especially when your two best friends are attractive and fucking inseparable. Dating one of them would end up as a package deal, anyway. 

Kids at school couldn’t quite figure you out. One day, you’d be seen getting carried bridal-style by Stu, the next, you’d be holding hands with Billy. Some people thought you were a cheater, some thought you were a beard to hide a gay love affair.

None of you gave a shit what anyone thought.

Your parents weren’t home, and you had invited the boys over for a movie night. Stu had arrived first, because he lived closer, and although Billy got there only a few minutes later, he walked in on an interesting scene.

You had left the front door unlocked, and as he walked inside, he heard shrieking coming from the living room. He panicked for a moment, thinking Stu had broken the ‘Don’t Kill Y/N’ rule, but as he tiptoed into the room, all he found was Stu straddling your thighs, tickling you.

He couldn’t help but grin at the sight. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

You and Stu both jumped at his voice, so caught up in the moment that you had forgotten he was on his way.

“Billy, help!” you cried, still giggling like mad as Stu’s fingers slipped beneath your sweater, scribbling over the skin of your stomach.

“Help? Sure, I’ll help,” Billy said, giving Stu a smirk as he approached, kneeling down on the floor beside you.

He easily grabbed your flailing wrists and pulled your arms up, pinning them over your head.

“Can’t smack me anymore, hm?” Stu teased. “Thanks, Billy, I was startin’ to fear for my life there.”

“No problem. We couldn’t let that pretty face get bruised, could we?”

While you agreed that Stu had a pretty face, you wanted nothing more than to punch him in it as his fingers creeped higher, tickling your underarms with a newfound vigor, now that you were helpless to stop him.

Your laugh grew in volume, in intensity. “You fuckers,” you gasped out, kicking your legs wildly. “I’m gonna kill you both, cut it out!”

Billy let out a low chuckle, his breath ghosting over your ear. Stu, meanwhile, giggled along with you, clearly pleased with himself for starting this whole thing.

“You want us to stop?” Billy asked. “Cause it seems like you’re having fun…”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re smiling like crazy,” Stu added. “Why would we stop makin’ you smile, baby?”

"Besides, we're certainly having fun."

You whined as his fingers slowed to a torturous, feather-light touch, just ghosting against your skin. “You guys suck,” you said, breathless.

Billy hummed. “Really? We suck? That’s not very nice, Y/N. Stu, I think we need to teach her some manners.”

“I agree.”

And with that, Stu’s hands began tickling you again, dancing over your entire torso, never lingering in one spot for too long. Billy adjusted his grip on your wrists so that he was only holding them with one hand, using the other to flutter over the side of your neck, making you scrunch up your shoulders uselessly.

This was awful. It was torture. But…There was something exciting about it, too. Being held down like this, helpless and pliant beneath their touches as they exploited your weak spots…Stu’s hands brushed against your chest as he went, and you weren’t wearing a bra, and you felt your nipples grow hard at the quick, barely-there contact.

“You gonna apologize to us?” Billy asked.

You shook your head. You had nothing to apologize for. They did suck, you were just telling the truth.

“Always so fuckin’ stubborn,” he sighed, before using his free hand to tickle your armpit, making you squeal.

“Maybe she’s not giving up because she likes it,” Stu said. “She’s such a slut, I wouldn’t be surprised if this turns her on.”

If the tickling itself wasn’t hot, those words certainly were. You felt your pussy throb when you were called that, felt a thrill up your spine.

Billy chuckled. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said. “How about we make a new deal, Y/N? Stu’s gonna pull your pants down, and if you aren't wet right now, we’ll stop. But if you are, well…Maybe we’ll take the rest of your clothes off and keep going.”

The fingers stopped, finally giving you a chance to fully catch your breath. Your skin buzzed with the phantom sensation, your head spun from their teasing words. But most of all, you knew for a fact that you were wet, and your heart pounded in your chest at the realization.

Stu gave you a mischievous grin before getting off your legs and grabbing the waist of your sweatpants, yanking them down to your knees with no preamble, and cupping his fingers over your mound, pressing against your folds through your panties, feeling the obvious dampness that only made his grin grow larger, more devilish.

“You were right,” he said. “Little slut’s getting off on this.”

You opened your mouth and shut it again. What were you supposed to say? Deny the obvious? Attempt to elaborate that it wasn’t really the tickling, it was everything combined? Would that really save your dignity?

Billy laughed. “Fuckin’ knew it.”

You let out a soft whimper as Stu’s fingers rubbed against your pussy, trying to buck your hips to gather more friction.

“So needy,” Stu muttered, almost to himself.

Billy released your wrists and made quick work of pulling your hoodie over your head, the cold air making goosebumps rise on your bare skin. Your nipples hardened even more, and you grew even more aroused as you were stripped.

Stu pulled your pants down the rest of the way, and your underwear, too, leaving you naked on the carpet and blushing like mad.

“Ready for round two, baby?”

You shook your head, squirming wildly as they caged you in between their bodies. “Please, I—”

They didn’t let you finish. If you really wanted them to stop, you knew what to say, and you hadn’t, so they had no reason for showing mercy.

Stu began squeezing up and down your thighs, occasionally scratching behind your knees as well, while Billy dug into your ribs.

The combined sensations made you burst into laughter, slightly hoarse with how loud you’d been the entire time. You thrashed, but they easily dodged your flying limbs and kept tickling.

“So fuckin’ cute,” Billy cooed.

“Fucking adorable,” Stu agreed.

You wailed as Stu ran his fingers over the sole of your foot, toes curling in an attempt to block the feeling, but it did nothing to provide any relief.

“Please,” you managed to say. “I can’t take it anymore, stop it!”

To your surprise, they did. Your begging usually only turned them on more, and you doubted they were truly going to stop.

Stu positioned himself between your thighs, pushing them apart so he could bring his face to your pussy, looking up at you with those sweet blue eyes.

Billy’s hands came to grab your breasts, and you moaned softly as his thumbs brushed over your nipples.

Stu licked at your entrance teasingly before beginning to eat you out, holding your hips and easily finding your clit with his tongue.

Your head lolled back into Billy’s lap, legs spreading even wider to give Stu better access to your aching clit.

All the rough-housing, the name-calling, the teasing had gotten you so worked up, and they were finally going to give you some relief.

Or, so you thought.

Slowly, Billy’s touch became light and ticklish again, blunt fingernails tracing along the curve of your tits, up to your collarbones, down to your sides. You squirmed and laughed softly, trying to ignore it and focus on the pleasure Stu’s tongue was bringing you, but that bastard had also begun to wiggle his fingers against your hips, all while focusing the rest of his attention on your clit, causing a mixture of moans and giggles to spill from your lips.

“So pretty,” Billy murmured. “So sensitive, too. But you take it like the good girl you are, hm? You’ll take whatever we dish out, won’t you, slut?”

“Yes,” you reply, your speech slightly slurred.

“You gonna cum for us like this? Fuckin’ helpless, fuckin’ adorable…”

You whined as Stu’s mouth brought you closer to climax, and Billy’s words were certainly helping. “Yes,” you said again. “Please, make me cum…”

You felt Stu chuckle against you, the heat of his breath making you twitch.

Their fingers were still tickling, in that maddening sort of itch that made you want to crawl out of your skin more than it made you want to laugh. It kept your entire nervous system alert, buzzing like electricity as you drew closer and closer to orgasm.

“That’s our girl,” Billy said. “Begging like a good slut. You can cum baby, cum for us.”

His words were all you needed to be pushed off the edge, legs shaking as you came with a cry of pleasure.

Stu popped up from between your thighs, all wild-eyed and adorable, like he was so proud to have given you that orgasm. His lips were shining with your wetness, and Billy leaned over you to kiss it off for him.

As your boyfriends kissed, you flopped back against the carpet, breathless and spent. Your skin still tingled and you felt high off of adrenaline.

“How ‘bout we get you cleaned up, huh?” Stu said, gesturing at the sticky mess on your thighs.

You blushed. “My shower is not big enough for the three of us,” you said.

“But we could run you a bath,” Billy suggested. “And you could watch us have a little fun…You got us so fuckin’ hard.”

You could see both of their cocks straining in their pants, and grinned. “That sounds like a plan.”

An unconventional relationship, an unconventional sex life…You couldn’t care less if it was strange. It was fucking perfect.

[moongeonight]

Crazy employees part 2

Summary: Lucifer needs revenge, and plans to use Niffty like Alastor did with him, Although it doesn't end the exactly way he wanted...

A/N: Well surprise! I Finally finished the second part... I hope you like it! (This is a tickle fic!)

Here part 1 👉🏼 Crazy employees part 1

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

Lucifer was determined to find a way to get payback, he wouldn’t settle for anything less than that, That being said...he had no idea to how he was actually going to do it... But he’ll figure it out, he always figure it out.

He get up and pace the room, his anger getting the better of him as he tried to think of something that could tick alastor off or better yet… find out if he’s even ticklish in the first place

(Later that day)

Lucifer was walking through the hallways of the hotel, when he noticed that Niffty was cleaning the walls, he did not hold a grudge on her since Alastor was the direct culprit, and also... he knew that she was a little crazy... In fact he had been just a little bit amused by that incident if anything.

As he walked past he gave a small wave with his hands in his pockets as he watched her clean, But then the idea came into his head... If Niffty belonged to Alastor then she must know some things about him right? Maybe she has the answer to his question! He just decides to stop and talk to her.

“Hey Niffty…” He says calmly as he leans on the wall, his hands still in his pockets as he looks down at her.

Hearing the voice of Lucifer made her immediately got her attention as she turned quickly, looking up to him with her usual crazed grin.

“Oh! Lucifer! Hello!” She said in a joyful tone quickly rushing up close to him.

“Hi… listen I have a question... have you ever seen Alastor get any sort of reaction to tickling?...”

Niffty thought for a few seconds before finally replying, her usual crazed grin now a more mischievous look on her face.

“Is this a secret plan for you to get Alastor back after what he make me did earlier? Haha! if you want to get him, I know just the way!” For how Niffty was acting, she definitely had some sort of plan in mind.

“Y-you do? I mean, yes… I am planning on getting back at Alastor, that’s why I need to know that info... So do you know anything about that guy being ticklish?” Lucifer’s interest only grew more.

Niffty’s couldn’t help but giggle as she spoke, being extremely amused with what the two were discussing.

“I do know something!” niffty paused for a second, looking around for anyone possibly listening in before whispering what she knew.

“Alastor is very ticklish in his ears, I was able to get a few giggles out of him by tickling them!"

Lucifer’s eyes widened at that revelation, this is exactly what he needed, The one thing that could get back at Alastor was right in front of him he just needed the opportunity to take advantage of it.

“Niffty would you help this um... What had she called him before? Ultimate Bad boy?"

Niffty didn’t need to think twice before giving him a quick smirk and a nod.

“Oh absolutely! It would be my pleasure to help anyone as handsome as you!”

Niffty laugh to herself in amusement as she gave him a little cheeky grin, knowing full well this was going to be a fun scheme to participate in.

...

Alastor was walking through the hotel probably looking for someone to torment when he ran into Niffty again.

“oh sir! What a surprise!” niffty said apparently very excitedly.

“Oh, there is my favourite little psycho!” he exclaim as he approached the little lady, his grin only growing “What are you doing here now?”

Niffty could only giggled, the moment was perfect; her plans slowly began to form in her head.

“O-oh nothing much, just some light cleaning!... Oh Alastor! You have dirt on your hair!” Niffty said, not waiting another minute before climbing at great speed onto Alastor's shoulder and taking his feather duster out of her pockets. "I have to clean it up!"

Alastor seem stunned for a moment as he felt her climbing on top of him but he quickly recovered.

“oh my, you are eager! Well, i Guess you can go ahead” He said while staying still, as if he was allowing her to do it.

Niffty saw his gesture and wasted no time in getting the chance to get him, she had been planning this for a while.

“Oh! I found the dirt!” niffty exclaimed with glee as she began to repeatedly tickle his ear “Oh how silly of you sir! This was such a dirty spot! Hehe”

Alastor immediately became tense as he let out a loud, distorted giggle that sound more like static as he struggled to hold back his laughs under what she was doing.

"hey! Hehehe...! Hahaha! static sound Stohohop!" he said as he tried to grab her and put her on the ground but every time he did that she just climb onto his shoulder again.

Niffty only laughed as she continued to tickle him relentlessly, the harder his laughs had become, the more pleased she was getting with the situation.

“Hehe, did you say stop? I couldn’t hear you over the loud static! Hehehe!”

Alastor was getting increasingly frustrated, His laughs became more and more deranged and soon it was a struggle to understand what he was actually saying as he kept laughing.

"Niffty...! Gehehet dohohown hahaha! now!" He managed to say between giggles.

Niffty giggled maniacally as she continued to tickle his ear relentlessly, his laughs filling her with absolute joy, she wasn’t going to stop soon.

“Hehe, not yet! I have to make sure I get all the dirt out!” She said as she now used the duster to tickle his neck.

“NO! Hahaha! static you've dohohone enough alreheheady...” He manage to say between fits of deranged laughing and fortunately for him, he managed to grab her by her clothes and pull her out of him while holding her with an accusatory look.

“niffty! Whahahat was tha-”

What Alastor had not realized was that Lucifer has been watching from afar using his bird form as he began to silently fly towards them before he entered the scene.

While still in his bird form lucifer suddenly swooped onto Alastor from behind, going straight for his ear and whispering loudly.

“Well hello there~”

Alastor was cut off the moment Lucifer whispered into his ear, His laugh turned into a more confused sounding giggle as his eyes widened.

Lucifer returned to his normal form to see that his plan had actually worked, Alastor clearly feel ticklish so getting back at him was going to be easy...

“Oh I’m just going to LOVE making you laugh”

What was left of Alastor's laughter stopped as he realized that this was lucifer's plan and just stared at the king of hell with an absolutely furious look on his eyes.

“Y-you... You...” he say but he couldn't manage to come up with a proper insult.

Lucifer only smiled as he saw his face flush.

“Oh did I manage to get a reaction? don't worry I’m not done with you yet” Lucifer said as he transformed again, this time into an octopus, wrapping himself around Alastor's body and tickling him more with his tentacles.

Alastor quickly began to struggle violently as he tried to free himself from Lucifer's tentacles, His face reddened more and more and soon he was screaming in laughter but that only made Lucifer's efforts stronger.

“HAHAHAHA... STAHAHAP STATIC YOU FUCKIHIHING..! HAHAHA!”

He was unable to form an actual sentence at this point, and it didn't help at all that Niffty had now released herself from Alastor's grip again and climbed back up to his head where she tickled his ears again.

Lucifer’s eyes widened from amusement as he saw Alastor struggling.

“hey now Alastor it’s not so funny when someone tickles you is it? Haha!”

Alastor’s body contorted and convulsed so much that it wouldn't be surprising if he'd injure himself with his own movements.

His face showed the most anger someone could've possible felt, but his efforts to free himself were useless against Lucifer who was now using multiple tentacles at once, and it didn't help how Niffty was still laughing her ass off using her little arms to further Alastor's torment.

“FUHUHUCK HAHAHA! I HAHAHATE YOU! HAHAHA!”

“oh! It's fun for me to see you two being ticklish” niffty suddenly said, she was the one who was clearly winning here.

“hey! You're supposed to be on my side here...” Lucifer said not wanting to remember when she tickled him.

During that little distraction from Lucifer, Alastor took advantage of the moment and summoned his own tentacles from the ground as they latched on lucifer's legs and body and started to tickle him which made him return to his normal form.

“Ah!! HAHAHA! G-GET OFF ME YOU J-JERK!” Lucifer said before trying to free himself but was struggling to do so.

Alastor's face was filled with amusement and twisted joy as watching the king of hell struggle against him, He move his tendrils in such a way that made Lucifer's movements completely futile.

“Oh... You thought you'd just tickle me and get away with it?” His grin and his laughter just became more and more deranged.

But his satisfaction didn't last long when Niffty, who was still on top of him, began to tickle his armpits.

“I'm sorry, sir, but this time I have to help the ultimate Bad boy!” She said laughing like crazy.

“WHAT- NIFFTY GEHEHET DOHOHOWN! HAHAHA!” Alastor said as he tried to shake her off, but when she wouldn't stop he had no choice but to let her tickle him, His face reddened even more as his laughs became more desperate sounding.

“Y-YOU TWO ARE SO...! W-WAIT... HAHAHAA... NIFFTY GEHEHET... HIM!”

Lucifer tried his best to get rid off the tentacles latching on him but was unable to get them off of him and was now being double attacked.

“S-STOHOHOP… TICKLIHIHING… ME! HAHAHA!” Lucifer cried out while Alastor was too busy being tickled by Niffty to say anything.

Everything was a damn chaos, niffty was tickling alastor while alastor was tickling lucifer with his tentacles, it could have climbed to something if it hadn't been for...

"Ah! What's going on here?!" a voice shouted and when they realized it was Charlie who had entered the room who was a mess now.

Lucifer and Alastor looked over, both were completely red and breathing heavily from all the tickling that they had had to endure from each other, Niffty was still on Alastor shoulder, looking down and having a big grin on her face.

“C-charlie!” Lucifer says breathlessly obviously not expecting her abrupt appearance.

Alastor decided that everything would end here and disappeared into the on the floor into the shadows, quite annoyed, while Niffty ran out of the room.

“He made me do this, it's his fault!”

Oh lucifer had a lot to explain...