#what’s your job even supposed to be if you’re willing to sit and do nothing while students are beaten for four hours?

[melonnade]

absolutely disgusting the way that the violence on my campus this morning is being talked about on the news. reading articles rn and they keep talking about violence on both sides & fighting breaking out ‘between’ the two groups. call it what it fucking was. it’s not two sides being violent, it’s one being attacked by the other. rhetoric matters.

[lijojo]

genshin sugar daddies

premise: you have seven sugar daddies: one for every day of the week. a bit overwhelming, right? however, you somehow find ways to make time for each and every one of them, no matter how emotionally and physically demanding they are. it's just that, now they don't seem too keen on sharing, and you don't know what to do. (modern au)

tw: nsfw, dark content - minors dni

mondays are always harder in more ways than one. mondays are diluc's days, and that means that you're spending a good portion of your nights at angel's share.

on mondays, it's happy hour. which means that you're sitting at a booth in the corner looking pretty while diluc is tending to his customers. you're more than happy to sit back and relax while you wait for him to finish with work. when the drinks are on the house, you're willing to wait as long as it'll take.

periodically, when he's not busy, however, he'll walk over to you and engage in conversation. you act as a taste-tester for new drinks so he's always asking you if you like them. you two will talk about your day, any interesting events, and so on until diluc is pulled back into work again.

then you're back to fiddling your fingers and watching him work. over time, you've learned that he preferred that you not do anything while you were supposed to be with him. that instead, you fixated your gaze on him while he moved about. sometimes you'll catch him looking at you to see if your eyes are still on him.

even while he's dealing with a certain tone-deaf bard, there's something about the way he looks at you so intently that reminds you of a predator.

when angel's share closes, you're there to keep him company while he cleans up. when he's done, he'll sweep you away back to his manor.

you'll fall onto the sheets as he grinds against you. his shallow breaths brush against your throat. the look he gives you is nothing short of intense.

"everyone at the tavern was looking at you, you know," he mutters, running his fingers down your chest, sinking into your pants. he pulls them down effortlessly along with your panties. "didn't you feel it, darling? their filthy eyes on you. they want to ruin you. everyone wants to ruin you."

he throws your legs over his shoulders, his fingers crawling up your thighs. you jump when he suddenly inserts two fingers into your cunt, scissoring you. his free arm wraps around your leg to keep you locked against him. his eyes are glued onto you as he presses a kiss against your calf.

"but your eyes were on me all night, weren't they. couldn't take your eyes off me, could you. you're mine, dear. do you hear me? you're mine."

you don't overlook how tight his grip is. tight enough to make you wonder if he'll ever let you go. in the morning, he does, but you're scared for the day he wakes up and decides that it's for the last time.

tuesdays aren't as bad. when you’re sore from the night before, childe is there to take you out to meals, shopping, and sightseeing. he's not always available to spend time with you on tuesdays, because of his equally-demanding job and whatnot, but when he is free, he never wastes a second.

or a dollar.

childe smirks smugly from his sea. his posture is lax, one hand lazily tracing circles on the chair's arm while the other comes up to rest under his chin.

"how about you twirl for me, girlie? you look so beautiful."

you giggle, observing yourself in the mirror. "why thank you."

you bask in the way the soft satin kisses your skin. the way your newly-own earrings sparkle under the dressing room's light. just a couple years ago, you could've only dreamed of being dressed so prettily.

"do your side-bitches ever treat you as well as me?"

"childe!" you chide.

he laughs, getting up from his seat. but you both know better than to believe his little chuckle is genuine.

he approaches you, sliding his hands around your waist. tucking your head under his chin, he stares at you through the mirror's reflection.

you don't say anything, and childe doesn't either. it appears he's more than happy to enjoy just standing there. his gaze is glossed over, far away.

the two of you sway side to side for what seems like forever until he decides to say something.

"do they buy you pretty things like i do?"

of course they do, you think. although you spend one-on-one time with each and every one of them, they are all aware of each other. it's only right that they did. it was the first thing you said when you brought the idea up to them, that it wasn't going to be exclusive.

but when you see the way he looks at you, you can't really tell him the truth. not when his focus is redirected from his thoughts to you.

"the things you buy me are a special kind of pretty," you reply.

it seems like that answer is enough for him, because he doesn't say anything else. instead he hums quietly, letting the vibration ripple in the back of your head. he slides his hands down your hips and before you can say anything else, he whips his head around.

"i'll buy these sets." he motions over to the closest clothes rack to an attendant you hadn't noticed. "and that one. and the dress she's wearing. how many colors does this come in, by the way?"

the attendant doesn't hesitate. "five colors, sir. they come in bla—"

"great." he shuffles through his pocket to pull out a black card. "pack them up, we won't be here any longer," he retorts.

the attendant looks ecstatic, quickly shuffling out of the dressing rooms towards the cash register with newfound glee.

"childe," you whine. "i don't think these will fit in my closet."

his hands crawl lower, his finger hovering over your clit. "then they'll fit in mine. come over any time of the week when you want to wear one of my special pretty things."

your breath hitches as he rubs slow circles on your clit. he pushes the two of you back into the dressing room and closes the curtains.

"what are you doing, she'll be back any second—"

he kisses the corner of your jaw, pressing his lips close to your ear. "no worries. if there's one thing i'm sure about, it's that no one undresses you faster than i do."

wednesday is when usually everything calms down. kazuha will typically invite you to a new park, scenic route, or gallery. together, you'll write haikus, sonnets, and limericks together. some hours you'll just sit in silence, putting pen to paper. and when the sun goes down you'll exchange poetry.

out of the seven men, kazuha probably scares you the most. he was the first person you decided to do this whole ordeal with, after all. and since he's known you the longest, he also knows about your circumstances more than others. maybe that's why he's so focused on treating you as if you were a fragile cherry blossom petal. his touches feel like ghosts, running down your forearm as he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek.

in exchange for his protection, his money, and his care, you give him honeyed words. you act as his muse for when he's hit a creative block. you're there to listen to him read out verses when the wind can't bear the strength to carry them. you listen to his grief about his best friend, his loneliness when he was forced to leave his home country. as someone many of the locals looked to for wisdom, he too carried the emotional burdens of being someone's rock. emotional burdens that he let onto you (whether purposefully or not, you're unsure). but you listen anyway, hearing him talk about days of poverty, where sometimes he had to worry about things to eat, or how to get proper healthcare.

you can't lie and say you're always stable enough to hear some of the things he has to say, but you try.

even if you sometimes feel like you can't take it, you just smile and squeeze his hand tighter like you're supposed to. sometimes your mind will go on autopilot, and sometimes you'll stand up on the grounds of needing to go to the bathroom. but at the end of the day, this is what you signed up for. this. making men happy so that you yourself won't have to worry about your endless debt.

you peer over your notebook to see kazuha immersed in his own writing. but instead of his usual peaceful expression, he looks somber. his hands won't leave the paper, his eyes glued onto the words that he's drawn onto the pages.

"what's got you so worked up?" you ask curiously. "is it something new?"

it's like your voice snaps him out of his trance. he blinks, looking up at you. there's a smile you know all too well on his lips. "yeah, i suppose you could call it that."

"could i look at it? i want to see what's got you so focused like that."

his lips press into a straight line. "hmmm, maybe later."

his words catch you off-guard. usually he's the one who's eager to share his work, regardless of the quality. "oh? is it something you want to keep secret?"

he doesn't many any hint of an answer. instead, he puts down his pen and stares at the ground in contemplation. he's picking and choosing what words to say.

"i could protect you," he says, shuffling his papers to the side. you turn to him, curious. his expression slowly hardens. "by myself, i mean. i could take care of you."

"kazu—"

"i have the means to make a living for the both of us. i could sell more of my poetry, i know they'll sell well—"

"where is this coming from?" you move closer to him, brushing his hair aside. "kazu, are you worried about something?"

there's something that's stopping him from saying anything. his fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

he purses his lips, before turning away and sighing. "no, not really."

after that, he doesn't say anything else. the two of you bask in silence once again. even though you're used to the quiet, there's something deep down in you that feels nervous. like something in the atmosphere changed. there's a sudden resolved glint in his eye as he get backs to writing so diligently on a piece of paper he won't let you read.

after all these days spent talking about himself, somehow you're scared for the day he suddenly decides to stop.

on thursdays you're usually at tighnari's greenhouse, watching him take notes of other plants while you twiddle your thumbs. once in a while, he'll begin rambling about the plants—what kind of species they are, how rare, their medicinal properties, and the like.

you're more of a companion, than anything. someone who can make his days a little less lonelier. and you appreciate it. it's much more tranquil with him. you can enjoy his sharp quips, especially when cyno comes to visit.

his sex-drive is relatively normal, if not a little below average. just like wednesday, you also expect thursday to be a typical rest day.

except when spring comes.

when spring comes, your routine get a little wonky. for one week, at least. because that's when tighnari's heat hits him like a fucking monsoon.

you can already tell when it's coming when he begins to hover closer to you. whenever you take your hand out to do anything, even the slightest gesture, he's already taking it and dragging it towards his sensitive ears.

the moment you've made your plans set to 'take the week off' and help him out, he's already on you, face pressed into your neck as if it's his oasis.

as you can tell, he takes this week very seriously.

"i bet—shit—those other fucks don't get to hold you as long as i do," he lets out as he fucks into you like there's no tomorrow. his hands hold onto your waist like he owns it, pressing sloppy kisses down your spine. "looking so pretty for me. i wonder what they'd say if you got pregnant with my babies. you'd be so much more beautiful plump with my kids. is that what you want huh? to make them angry with my cum stuffed in your gorgeous pussy?"

some days you almost can't believe how uncharacteristically aggressive he is. he dicks you down like he's trying to imprint his shape into the core of your body so that none of the others can fit inside.

and when he cums, he'll take whatever unfortunate portions slip out and smear it all over your chest. especially where your heart is.

then the process starts all over again.

when it's over, he'll spoon you. as if he didn't almost fuck you to death. his touch is tender, like a ghost's hovering over your skin.

"why won't you leave them all for me?"

you shift a little to look at him and kiss him softy, sweetly, on the line of his jaw. "oh, nari, you know i can't."

his ears droop at your words. "you can't, or you won't."

his words make you freeze a bit.

you think back to last week, and the week before, and the one before that. you think about why you started selling your services in the first place, the endless debt you used to be in, and the progression of the relationship between all seven of your...contacts. even if you wanted to, you don't think you could back out if you tried. you've dug a hole for yourself. one deep enough to cause some sort of disruption if you ever decided to stop digging.

so you just hum. "you know how much i love routine."

as some sort of apology, you give him and open-mouthed kiss, one he's almost desperate to return. he moans, hands cupping your face to bring you closer to him.

you're well unaware how much your words have an impact him.

at the end of the week, all al-haitham wants to do is unwind. it's the only logical thing to do. no late-night drinks with the colleagues, no stressful trips to some tourist trap. on fridays, al-haitham comes home to a meal made with love.

when al-haitham's at work during the day, you're usually running your actual errands. it's when you have time to make those one-in-a-blue-moon visits to your actual home, although it's getting harder to call it that.

when it gets to the late-afternoon, you'll usually head to al-haitham's place to start cooking. if you didn't know how to cook before, you do now. every ingredient is handled with care, measured meticulously just as you knew he preferred.

and when he gets home, tired and stressed out, you're there to welcome him with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

during dinner, sometimes he'll talk to you about work or the latest research he'd gotten himself immersed with. in return, you tell him about some of your childhood memories. your likes, your dislikes, what used to be your hobbies. you do your best to keep your personal matters out of the conversation, no matter how many times he tries to pry into your private life.

sometimes dinners feel like a full on investigation, the way he keeps greeding for more information about you. he watches you eat with calculating eyes. you pretend to pay no mind to it.

in the beginning, kaveh used to join you for dinners. you always liked the guy, the way he bickered with al-haitham and riled him up. but now you've begun to see less of him, as if he never comes home on fridays at all.

after dinner, there are two different outcomes depending on his mood:

outcome one is that you'll spend the rest of the night curling up on his couch, the both of you immersed in your own books. al-haitham leans on your shoulder as he flips through the pages as if they're nothing. you can't help but feel ticklish whenever his hair brushes against your jaw.

somewhere in the middle, he'll move one hand to start fidgeting with the end of your shirt, sometimes crawling underneath to caress your sides.

outcome two is less quiet. the moment he gets home with that solemn face, you know it's coming. his voice is huskier, his responses shorter. it's usually a result of an impending deadline, colleagues being more peskier than usual.

the moment you two are done with dishes, he gingerly takes your hand and leads you up to the bedroom.

his kisses tastes like green tea and dinner. his hands run up and down your torso, trying to imprint the feel of your skin into every inch of your brain. you whimper when his thumbs press softly into your nipples, rolling them around as they harden.

your hands find purchase on his collar, tugging him impossibly close. he groans at the contact.

you let out a yelp when your back suddenly falls onto the bed. your hands are pressed onto the sheets, al-haitham's fingers encircling your wrists. his knee nudges your legs further apart, rubbing at your clit.

"don't look at the ceiling, dear, look at me," he breathes out, his hands leaving your nipples to gently guide your face towards. "that's it. good girl. just me. just look at me. only me."

he smiles.

"now, let me do god's work on your divine body."

saturdays with ayato can sometimes get hectic. some saturdays you're out getting bubble tea together and enjoying the city, and other saturdays you're hurrying to some publicitiy event hosted by the kamisato clan.

on those type of days, you can expect to wear gowns layered with shiny nylon tulle fabric. it's not as revealing as what you'd try on in dressing rooms with childe. in fact, it's a bit more modest.

today you're wearing a light-blue gown to match with ayato. you turn around to get a good look at the cute bow attached at your waist, your diamond encrusted earrings swaying along with you.

it's as if you've put on another costume. another front to wear for the night.

ayato enters the room just shortly after. in his hands is a diamond necklace to match with your stunning earrings. small smile falls upon his lips when he clasps it on.

"you're beautiful," he mumbles. you giggle when he kisses you square on the lips, licking away the tinted color.

"ayato," you press in-between kisses. you place a hand on his chest to gently push him away. "you're going to ruin my lipstick."

he pulls away with a cheeky smile, taking your wrists to wrap around his neck. "you can always put on some more later."

you pout but kiss him regardless. he tightens his hold on you in reaction, moaning into your mouth.

at these kinds of events, you're there as his plus-one. just so that other officials could stop introducing girls to him when he clearly wasn't interested in them. it'd be arguable to say that you might even be there to make the events a little less intolerable.

somewhere along the lines, you'd sleep with him in addition to being his arm candy at parties. sometimes even before: you two rushing to put on your formal attires and fix your hair minutes before the event started.

but beyond that, you started to get to know him better. he'd whisper into your ear about funny stories relating to the guests as you meet them. sometimes you'd run away in the middle of the party to binge out on the food and talk about your other interests. surprisingly, he doesn't talk about the politics behind his duties as the head of the kamisato family. not as much as you expected, at least.

instead he talks about his dreams for a family. how many kids, what their names would be, how he'd raise them. and as he talked, he'd give you this heavy gaze that you're not sure what to do with. as if he was expecting something from you.

you're beginning to believe that ayato has somehow confused contractual girlfriend with actual girlfriend.

when you had met ayaka months ago, ayato introduced you as his girlfriend. you didn't attempt to correct him—that's ayato's business. not your's. but when you're expecting ayato to come clean to his dearest sister, you're sorely mistaken.

instead, while he kisses your lips so hungrily, he subtly slips a diamond ring onto your finger.

sundays are usually kaeya's days off. although the cavalry captain's duties are seemingly never endless, he takes the day off to take a breather.

in other words, he sees you.

at first, it was just candlelit dinners. he'd walk in with a bouquet of roses, complimenting your dress and staring at you as if he was undressing you with his eyes. he'd take you to somewhere fancy, pull out the chair for you and sweet-talk you all through the night.

conversations were fun with him. you didn't have to think much at all, not about how to pay the bills, the six men in your life who seemingly began to want yours to only revolve around theirs, or being someone your not.

kaeya was probably the only one who you felt you could be comfortable with. he made you laugh, he'd tell all sorts of interesting stories, and he never made the silence feel awkward.

at least, that's how you used to be.

you see, usually after these candlelit dinners you'd both go back to his place, with him ripping off your clothes the moment the door closed. but as of recently, he's been asking to come over to your place instead more often. almost too often.

and that's not the only thing that's changed.

the sex used to be rough. heated. almost as if he was consumed by all of his pent-up sexual frustration and was only focused on getting off. he'd slurp your cunt like a man starved but he'd still rail you as if that's the only thing he cared about.

but as time passed, he's been getting more and more...sensual. the sex is much more slower. personal, almost.

vulnerable.

after dinner, he slowly slips off your clothing. one article after another, until your left in your underwear. he first kisses you on the mouth, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach. slowly, he makes a trail of them down your body, as if no skin deserved to be left untouched.

although you made a rule that no one could leave your marks on you, it doesn't mean he doesn't try. as he kisses your lower lips, sometimes he'll attempt to leave marks close to your clit. if you're not careful, diluc will find it tomorrow.

his thrusts were always deep, but now that he's much more purposeful about it. it's rhythmic, as if he's trying to reach a new spot inside you. somewhere no one's touched.

the pillow-talks are much more longer as well. he holds you tighter now, wrapping his arms around your hips as he tangles his legs with yours.

instead of ranting on about the silly incidents he witnessed on the job earlier in the week, he talks about his feelings. towards you. towards diluc. towards himself. some nights you can handle it, some nights are too much.

but you can't say anything. not when he's holding onto you like you’re his lifeline. not when he helps you pay off your debt. and so you let his raspy voice whisper in your ear as he combs his fingers through your hair. you listen to him mumble sweet-nothings.

you're not sure if you like the adoring look he gives you as you drift off to sleep.

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Mafia!Price

No Content Warnings

There are many things to appreciate about your boss, but one of them is his respect for routine. You’ve gotten him on a schedule and now he seems happily beholden to it; appreciates your promptness with tea and pastries and morning “briefings” each day.

He’ll happily sit back in his big leather chair and listen to you chatter out his itinerary for the day. Meetings, reports, phone calls. Trips to the dock, now, bless him.

You try not to stare between glances at your tablet. For a rich bastard, he is unfairly handsome. Good taste in just about everything, classy and luxurious without being ostentatious. Old money vibes, for sure, though you know better than to do more than idly wonder. Helps that he’s also remarkably gentlemanly with you. You’re not one to buy into old stereotypes or gender roles, even the ones that benefit you — but you’ll take a chivalrous boss over your old one any day.

Besides, it’s not like he’s spouting off about what women should and shouldn’t be doing. Or trying to use you as an example of an “acceptable” working woman. So, yeah, you’ll indulge in the door-holding and offered arms.

“Alright, best for last — your reservation for Muse is tomorrow. The restaurant is twenty minutes from your penthouse, so Simon will be downstairs by 7:30.”

You check that off your to-do list as you continue speaking.

“Do you have a suit picked out yet, or should I order something? Green is in season and it would go nicely with your eyes.”

He hums; you glance up. Leaning back, one arm lax on the arm of his chair, black watch gleaming. The other is propped to press his index finger against his lips. Like he’s telling you to keep a secret. The corners of his mouth are tilted up.

Your tablet dings and thankfully distracts you from staring.

Oh, for the love of— the only person more inconsiderate than Philip Graves is his damn assistant.

“Is that the color you’re wearing, then?”

Will need to call later today — as if!

“Hm?” You ask, not having caught it.

He arches his eyebrows; ah, you must have been making a face again.

“Are you wearing green tomorrow?” He repeats.

You blink. Are you what?

“Tomorrow, sir?”

He nods, once. “To Muse, luv.”

When you continue to stare with pleasant obliviousness, his eyebrows furrow a bit.

“You do know one of those seats is for you, yeah?”

You press your lips together for a moment. Well… shit. You take it back. You take it all back. John Price is a terrible, horrible, awful man who is so rude.

“I do now.”

Across the office, you make wide eye contact with Gaz. He grimaces in sympathy and ducks his head, though it’s clearly just to hide his traitorous laughter.

“Of course you’re coming along.”

“Sir,” you say, pleasant and sweet, “remember when I first started here? And I told you that I’m not a mind reader?”

“Of course,” he answers. “You threatened to spit in my tea in the same breath.”

“Only if you told me to fetch it for you,” you correct, before continuing, “I feel you may need a reminder: I cannot read your mind. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you?”

“‘S your job, isnit?” He replies. You give him a dark look; he puts his hands up with a chuckle. “My apologies love, I thought you’d be in my pocket next to my handkerchief. Like always.”

You set your hand on your hip, proper cross now.

“It’s outside usual working hours, sir. How could I have possible expected to be invited to your fancy man party?”

“‘Fancy man party’?”

“Well, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”

You’re already tapping madly at your tablet, looking up a salon willing to do your hair and makeup. God knows what kind of meltdown you’ll have if you can’t get your eyeliner symmetrical.

“Do whatever you need to do, luv,” Price soothes, standing. “I really am sorry for the short notice.”

You wave him off, then pat his arm as he gently guides you towards the door. Absently, you comply, more focused on getting appointments set and rearranging your own schedule for tomorrow.

“I’ll make it work,” you promise, “I always do.”

You let him bring you all the way to your desk, lower yourself into your ergonomic rolling chair.

“I’ll let you know what color I’m wearing by… one o’clock. Yes?”

“Sounds great, luv.”

You glance at the clock. “Also you have a call with the KorTac Group in ten.”

He chuckles and taps your chin. “Cheers, luv.”

—

Simon is the one to pick you up Friday evening. You both pause in the lobby of your apartment complex, staring.

“You look lovely,” he says at the same time you ask, aghast, “what happened to your face?”

He’s got a dark bruises discoloring the skin around one eye. Clearly some ice has already been applied because the swelling is down, but it must be fresh because he didn’t have it yesterday.

He snorts. “My job happened.”

You tut. “I’ve got something for that but we need to get moving. Mr. Price said he needs some help with his suit.”

You grab his arm without hesitation, habit from any of your escorts or drivers always offering it to you. Usually you accept out of politeness, but tonight you could use the extra stability in your heels. Simon doesn’t seem to mind even though this is the first time you’ve done this.

He walks you to the car, holds the door for you. Sleek and spotless, a black Jaguar — your choice for the evening. You hum in delight at the warm interior as Simon slides into the front seat.

“Oh, thank you for the compliment, by the way,” you add as he pulls into traffic. “You look quite smart as well.”

He grunts, but you notice a bit of color to his ears in the passing streetlights. You smile to yourself and busy yourself with your tablet. Double checking the reservation confirmation, answering messages from Farah and Gaz, updating Price on your ETA.

The car stops at a luxury high rise just at 7. You hop out before Simon can get the door and receive a sharp look. He holds up a reprimanding finger; blink in surprise at the sternness of it.

“You pull that shite again and I’ll handcuff you to the door handle, miss.” He warns. “Making me look bad.”

You huff, amused, and take his arm again. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Riley, I’m meaner.”

But you squeeze his thick bicep good-naturedly as he leads you into Price’s building. Your boss lives in the penthouse at the very top; Simon has to swipe a card for access. He’s also got a key to let you both in the door, holds it so you can enter first.

It’s all sleek and modern; not at all what you would expect of your boss’s more classical style. His office has a sort of 20s Hollywood vibe (gangster, you teased once) but clearly some interior designer was paid far too much for something out of a drab minimalist catalogue.

You don’t linger long, heels clicking on the polished floors.

“Sir?” you call.

“In here, luv.”

You grimace at the flight of stairs between you and the loft, but force yourself up them. The whole floor is the mater bedroom and it’s the size of your entire apartment. Walk-in closet, sectioned off lounge with a desk. His bathroom door is open, mirror fogged. It smells like soap.

“Bedroom to your right,” he calls.

You tip-tap in and your mouth instantly dries. Price is standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. Nothing unprofessional, no. He’s wearing slacks, a belt. But he’s also in socks, a white undershirt. No watch or rings or anything yet.

It feels oddly more intimate than it should. Your face warms despite yourself.

“E-evening, sir.”

He turns and you’re utterly unprepared for just how handsome he really is. Freshly groomed, hair trimmed and gelled, eyes bright.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” he rasps. “You’re stunning.”

You clear your throat, know that all the makeup in the world can’t hide how brightly you’re flushing. It’s pure politeness, he’s not looking at you with anything more than friendly appreciation. Mind out of the gutter, now.

“All the flattery in the world won’t save you if we’re late,” you manage, shaking yourself back into work mode. “So let’s see what we’ve got.”

You pick his shirt, a pocket hanky, his shoes. Tell him to get into those while calling Simon up the stairs. He’s there so fast you blink in surprise, then gesture him over. Sit him on an ottoman and extract the little bottle of makeup you’ve started keeping on hand for situations like this.

“Bullshite you had that in your purse,” he scoffs.

“You remember two weeks ago, when Soap came in with that bruise on his jaw?”

They told you it was a “disagreement” at the docks. You didn’t ask further, figuring it was some sort of bar brawl in that part of town. Rowdy boys.

“Ever since, I keep a couple minis on hand for you all.”

They’re so small that you just keep them in a pocket of your purse with the rest of your makeup and the tampons. Good for emergencies like this.

“You sure you’re not a mind reader?” Simon grumbles as you gently dab it over his face.

“How would being a mind reader even help in this situation,” you scoff, patting at it with your middle finger.

Price steps out of the closet with arms out. He’s picked a waistcoat as well that you hum in approval at.

“Which cufflinks are you wearing?” you ask, turning back to Simon. He’s sitting remarkably still and stoic — reminds you of a big dog trying to maintain some dignity while getting fawned over.

“The silver and diamond.”

You make a noise of disagreement. “The gold and onyx would go better.”

A pause. You sneak a glance and are relieved to see him smirking. “I’ll wear those then. Any opinion on a watch?”

You hum again, carding through your mental catalogue. “Oh! The Bulova you wore during that meeting with Kate Laswell. You remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He disappears into his closet again while you lightly blend in the last touches of Simon’s coverup.

“There we are, good as new!” You declare. “Oh, and here.”

You set a couple of ibuprofen in his palm as he stands. “For the inflammation. Take with water.”

“Yes, mum,” he mumbles.

You wince. “Sorry! I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?”

He blinks, then puts a hand up. “No, no. That wasnt — I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

You don’t entirely believe him. Know that you can be a bit much when you’re on a time crunch. Especially for something like this — an important business meeting over fancy dinner. You feel like everyone’s appearance is riding on you; this is your job after all. One thing out of place and everything will fall apart and it’ll be your fault.

“Simon, go take those,” Price orders from behind.

You turn as he approaches, a similar apology all set on your tongue. Instead, he gives you a sheepish smile and offers the cufflinks.

“Bloody useless with these,” he explains. “So unless you want to spend fifteen minutes losing respect for me…”

You laugh, amused by the idea of your hyper-capable boss struggling with a bit of jewelry that cost as much as a week of work. You step in close to thread them through his sleeves, fingers nimble and sure.

“You’re not wearing cologne?” You ask, surprised.

Don’t even realize how that might sound until he arches an eyebrow at you.

“Thought you might have an opinion on that too,” he replies. “And you haven’t steered me wrong, yet.”

He shows you his modest, but impressive collection of colognes. You pluck up one, sniff, and make a face, eyes watering a bit. It’s mostly full; clearly one he doesn’t wear often and you’re grateful for it.

“That bad, eh?”

“Sir, why?” You lament, putting it back.

“Gift from an ex,” he explains.

You store that tidbit of information away for further examination. The idea of your boss in a romance. Right now you’ve got a task to focus on.

“Did they hate you that entire time?” You wonder.

He snorts. “Maybe.”

You shake your head and pick a different one. Blink in surprise and sniff again. Feel your stomach flip.

“That one?” He asks when he notices you hesitate.

“No,” you say a little too quickly, setting it down. This is a business meeting, you can’t afford to be distracted by how he’ll smell with that on his skin.

You settle on one that doesn’t make your head dizzy and your panties shamefully damp. Still feel a bit like you’re shooting yourself in the foot, though. He’s going to smell sinfully good regardless.

You leave Price to his finishing touches and have Simon help you down the stairs. Check through the notes you hurriedly collected when you realized you’d be attending this dinner.

Price comes down too soon for your poor, stupid heart. Looks like something out of a magazine or a novel or a movie or… just too good to be real, really.

“Pass inspection?” He asks.

“Barely,” you tease.

His eyes do that thing where they smile more than his mouth; how you know it’s genuine. You try not to fluster, zero in on his tie, a little crooked and loose.

“Goodness, sir,” you murmur, stepping in close. Yeah, you were right. That cologne is going to be a personal challenge all night. “How did you get along before me?”

“With bad cologne and shitty ties, apparently,” he chuckles.

You grin despite yourself, getting it secure and centered, before smoothing his vest over it. Give him a once over. Feel your stomach flip again.

“If I may say, sir, you look handsome,” you offer quietly.

“Should hope so,” he replies, voice dipping in a way that’s detrimental to the state of your panties. “You dressed me.”

You hum, reach for your usual dry, sharp humor. “I have great taste.”

Instead of scoffing, he hums in agreement. Something flickers through his eyes that you don’t dare allow yourself to daydream on.

Simon, bless him, clears his throat and draws your attention. You check the clock above the stove.

“Ah, we need to get going. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”

You slip your arm automatically into Price’s and try not to obsess over how well you two fit together.

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Masterlist

[agi-ppangx]

relax (hwang hyunjin x fem!reader)

nerd!hyunjin x cheerleader!reader, secret relationship, heavy make out, suggestive at the end; 1.8k words

author’s note: alrighty so it may not be my best work, but i love love love the idea and i hope you’ll at least like it a little bit lol anyway enjoy and remember that feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated🫶🏽

06:47 PM 

you: meet me in the locker room after the match

you: don’t be late~ 

hyunjin’s phone buzzed as he sat uncomfortably between other students in the stands, praying that the match wouldn't take too long. it was hot and crowded and hyunjin was wondering how people could go to matches every week or so and actually enjoy it. he didn’t want to be there, wishing to disappear or teleport to his room, but he knew he had to endure in order to see you. he missed you - not that he hadn’t seen you the same day in the hallway, but what good is it for him to see you if he couldn't even talk to you? 

the loud sound of the whistle snapped him out of his reverie. the other students started cheering loudly, whistling and shouting when the match started and hyunjin didn’t know what to do - was he supposed to cheer as well? or maybe boo the opposing team? he was completely lost. in this whole confusion, hyunjin tried to find you on the pitch. he noticed a few other cheerleaders before the match, but there was no trace of you. what if you weren’t even performing that day and he was sitting there for nothing? 

the cheerleaders started their chant as the first point was scored and it was only then when hyunjin stood up and finally noticed you. you looked ethereal - your hair bounced with every movement and the cheerleader outfit you were wearing made his head spin. he sighed dreamily - you were absolutely beautiful and he couldn’t get over how it was him who could kiss you and hold your hand and call you his. well, not entirely.

it was hyunjin’s idea to keep your relationship a secret. as he watched you in the hallway, always surrounded by handsome jocks and plenty of your cheerleader friends, he felt small, almost nonexistent. was he even worth being near you? he felt sick at the mere thought of people seeing you together and he didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends. did he feel good about the whole secret relationship thing though? absolutely not, but you assured him plenty of times that you’re willing to wait as long as he needed to finally reveal yourselves. he trusted you, so he just let himself enjoy the moment. 

hyunjin adjusted his glasses as another point was scored. he was bouncing his leg nervously, waiting impatiently for the referee to announce the end of the match. it was getting late and hyunjin wasn’t satisfied with only looking at you from a distance - he needed to be closer. 

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

you breathed a sigh of relief when the match was over, smiling at the team and congratulating them. 

“great job, boys,” you let out, trying to quickly head to the locker room. however, one of the players had a different plan and wrapped his arm around your waist. you stopped in your tracks, freezing uncomfortably. 

“i’m hosting a party tonight, wanna come?” he asked, his lips too close to your ear for your liking. you smiled faintly, trying to break free from his grip. 

“i’d love to, but i can’t tonight, sorry,” you said in an apologetic tone, but he didn’t seem to buy your lame excuse. he removed his hand anyway and ran to the rest of his team, leaving you alone without a word. the rest of your cheerleader team went with the boys as well, laughing at their jokes and drooling over their athletic bodies. you scoffed, but paid no further attention to it as you sprinted to the locker room to get there on time. 

the room was dark when you entered it, a shiver going down your spine as you closed the door behind you. you hoped hyunjin didn’t forget or worse - didn’t change his mind. 

from the very beginning you were completely infatuated by hyunjin, his talent for drawing and loser-like personality. he may have been clumsy and a bit scatterbrained, but it was exactly what made him, well, him. you tried to persuade him to let go and be open about your relationship, but he was adamant on keeping it secret. it made you a little sad, of course, but you accepted his decision regardless. in fact, if you thought about it, you kind of liked hiding in closets and stealing kisses when no one was looking. 

a sudden tug on the doorknob brought you out of your thoughts. you opened the door and saw breathless hyunjin barely standing. you grabbed his shirt and dragged him inside, smiling sheepishly. 

“what took you so long?” you whispered loudly, locking the door and scanning his figure. he raised his finger, taking a moment to regulate his breathing. 

“i tried to avoid the crowd and, um… got lost,” hyunjin mumbled with rosy cheeks, nervously scratching the back of his neck. you giggled, taking a step in his direction and adjusting the crooked glasses on his nose. he brought his arms to your hips - a habit you taught him. he was staring at you with wide eyes and suddenly the air in the room thickened. 

“why are you looking at me like that?” 

“you looked really pretty today. i kinda wanted to paint you,” he whispered with rosy cheeks, his gaze wandering back and forth between your eyes and your lips. you smiled at his words, feeling as your face got warmer. you were sure he was so gonna paint you after today.

“go on,” you said, your voice barely above the whisper. “i know you wanna kiss me.” hyunjin blinked a few times, his brain going haywire. although he had kissed you plenty of times before, usually it was you who initiated it, not him.

he leaned a bit closer, his breath speeding up as you placed your hand on his cheek. he hesitated when he felt your hot breath on his face, but one look from you dispelled his worries and he placed a sloppy kiss on your lips. his moves were uncoordinated, almost random, and you quickly started to get impatient, but decided to let him take control for now. he has to learn, you thought to yourself.

your hands wandered all over his chest and face as he slowly but gradually deepened the kiss, making your head spin a little. his grip on your hips tightened and you were going feral. 

“hyune,” you breathed out, pointing to the shelf standing against the wall. even in his state he managed to drag you there and awkwardly helped you to sit on it. you brought your hand to his hair, tugging at it slightly and earning a quiet groan from him. 

“shit,” hyunjin muttered as his glasses tilted on his nose again. he tried to fix them, but you grabbed his hand, bringing it to your neck instead. 

“leave them be,” you said, parting your legs so hyunjin could stand closer to you. he yelped as you dragged him between them, the feeling of your thighs trapping him made his brain malfunction. 

after what felt like eternity you broke the kiss to catch your breath. hyunjin’s cheeks were as red as a tomato and you laughed at his state. he looked drunk, his tilted glasses only added to the impression. 

“what?” he asked dumbfounded, looking around. 

“nothing, just-” you reached out to adjust his glasses. “there. you looked funny.” hyunjin pouted at your words and you smiled. you felt giddy when you looked at him and you never wanted the feeling to go away. 

“but you told me to leave them like that…” you giggled at his reaction, a pleasant warmth spreading in your chest.

the comfortable silence settled between you two as hyunjin intently scanned your face, taking in every detail for the millionth time. your gaze wandered after his, his brown eyes observing your features like a curious child taking in the wonders of the world. 

“who was that guy you talked to after the match?” he suddenly blurted out and it took you off guard. your face twisted in confusion as you tried to recall the situation. oh.

“it was one of the teammates. he hosted a party tonight and tried to persuade me to go,” you explained, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“oh,” he let out. “okay. do you… do you like him?”

“hyune, are you jealous?” he dropped his head - suddenly your shoes were way more interesting than your face. “hey, look at me,” you ordered him softly but firmly, placing a finger under his chin. 

“sorry.”

you shook your head. “you have nothing to apologise for, okay? i’m sorry that it made you jealous.” hyunjin nodded at your words, a sudden wave of guilt overflowing his senses. “if it makes you feel better, he is a complete asshole. and i don’t like him,” you laughed and he smiled faintly, straightening his back. “now, where were we?” 

you leaned forward and captured his lips in a passionate kiss, your tongue asking for entrance, which made hyunjin’s knees buck under him. he grabbed your shoulders, but you only ran your hand over his back in a soothing manner. though scared, hyunjin let your tongue in - it was sloppy and uncoordinated, because even if it was you who led the kiss, he still felt like a lost child in the wilderness. 

“relax,” you mumbled into his mouth as you sensed his fear. i’m trying, he wanted to say, but he only let out a small whimper, dropping his arms to rest on your hips. with all his might he forced him to cool off. relax, hyunjin, he repeated in his head over and over again and he didn’t even notice when his tongue started to move with yours in unison. 

“i missed you,” you suddenly uttered, breaking the kiss. hyunjin looked at you with wide eyes. 

“really?” he asked and you giggled. 

“of course, dummy. why are you surprised?” you tilted your head. “aren’t my kisses enough proof?” you teased, placing your hands on his chest. his heart was pounding, all because of you.

hyunjin shrugged his shoulders, his breathing speeding up. “no! no, it’s not that, i just… i dunno, i’m- i’m scared that this-” he moved his hand between your bodies. “-is just a dream. and i don’t wanna wake up.” oh. you looked him straight in the eyes.

“you know i’m serious when i say i like you, right?” you asked hesitantly, taking his hand in yours. it was sweaty from all the tension. you rubbed his palm with your thumb to calm him down. 

hyunjin looked at you with a puzzled expression. “y-yeah, i know,” he said with a shaky voice. you placed a feather-like kiss to his cheek, then another one, going down to his jaw and neck, peppering him with soft pecks - a sealing of your words. he melted under your touch, his eyes wide open as he stared into the wall behind you, unable to move. “hey, you know what? i’m kinda hungry,” you said suddenly, bringing hyunjin back to you. he let out a small hm? and you spoke again with a smirk plastered on your face. “wanna eat some ramen with me?”

taglist ! @astraystayyh @laylasbunbunny @l3visbby @like-a-diamondinthesky @hanjsquokka @xichien @xocandyy @minhosbitterriver

[oracle-of-dream]

The Boy Next Door pt2

Minors DNI

Summary: It’s been over a week since Jeno met his new neighbor. You’ve decided playing hard is the best way to get Jeno wanting to see you more and more. When you finally let Jeno see you again, you’re sure things will get interesting.

Warnings: Pet names, Dom!Jeno, big dick Jeno, Male reader, hand job, unprotected sex, breeding, mating press, drinking, drunk sex

Wordcount: 2.8k

You fixed your bag over your shoulder as you shut the door and used your keys to lock the door. You didn’t have class until almost 11 am, but there were no good places to park on campus unless you arrived early. Focused on locking the door, you felt a chill run down your spine as you felt like you were being watched from somewhere… Slowly, you looked over your shoulder to see nothing behind you. Just the door of your next-door neighbors closed. With the chill still sitting on your back, you go down the stairs of your apartment to your car. When you get in, you toss your bag into the back seats and check your phone for a few minutes before leaving.

Knock knock

You look over to see Jeno knocking on your window, he is breathing heavily and his black hair is stuck to his forehead. He pointed at the window, motioning you to roll it down.

You rolled the window down enough to hear him.

“Finally, we’re willing to talk to me,” Jeno sighed.

“Is this going to take long? I’ll miss out on my chance to get a spot near my class. I don’t want to walk super far.”

“Let me in, I’ll ride with you.”

You pretended to think about it, your eyes closed and forehead wrinkled.

“Jesus, Y/n! I’m begging, let me ride with you.” Jeno pushed his body against the car while whining.

“Fine, get in then.”

Jeno rushed to the other side of your car and sat himself in the passenger seat.

Once he was settled, you drove towards the campus. Focusing on the road, you didn’t look over as you said, “So, can I help you with something Jeno? Or did you just want an Uber?”

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but it feels like you’ve been avoiding me…”

“Am I? Or are you just not trying hard enough to catch me?”

“You’ve been leaving early in the morning, being gone all day, and even when you are home you ignore the door. And I know you’re home. I even tried calling you.”

“Oh gosh, Jeno. It’s like I’m a busy student, I am at school for hours, and when I’m home I want to finally sleep after a long day’s work…”

Jeno got silent for a few minutes before getting the courage to speak again. “I, want to talk about the last time we got to… interact.”

“What about it?”

“What was it supposed to be? Like a one-time thing, or something more?”

“What do you think it was?”

“I can tell you what I want it to be–”

You break-checked Jeno, cutting him out of his sentence. “Sorry, what was that?”

“You came onto me, Y/n.”

“And you came in me, Jeno.”

Jeno fell silent again, trying to think of a proper comeback. Before he got the chance, you ended up getting to campus and finding a parking spot rather quickly. 

“Well, I gotta go now. It was nice chatting, I guess.”

Jeno followed you, just a few steps behind you.

You started to speedwalk, moving through large crowds of people and making sharp turns to lose him. But every time you thought you’d managed to shake him, he’d be there. 

“Oh for the love of– Jeno, what is it!?”

“Y/n, let’s be boyfriends or something! I don’t know, I liked us together…” Jeno’s face and ears were a soft tint of pink. To think this was the muscular, motorcycle-riding, bad boy type that you’d sucked off before. Now reduced to a needy puppy who won’t stop following you.

“Why would we be boyfriends?”

“Because we got something going on here!”

“We’ve only met like twice, and the other of those times was more memorable than the other.” You chuckled as you could see his dick twitch in his sweatpants. 

“You said you’d like for us to see each other again!”

“That doesn’t mean seeing each other, Jen.”

“J-Jen?” He stumbled at the sudden nickname.

“Too much? I thought boyfriends would have cute nicknames for each other.” You pretended to make a pouting expression.

“So, we’re boyfriends!? Just like that?” Jeno’s expression brightened with a big smile.

“Now that you mention it, I don’t want things to be too easy. So, let’s find out if this will work. I’ll see you tonight around 7, at your place. Then we can find out if we can be a thing.”

Jeno frowned. “But you seem fine with being my boyfriend already…”

You shot him a cold glare. “You calling me easy?”

Jeno shook his head. “No! 7 pm, my place! I’ll be waiting!” He took off before he could say anything else to turn your attitude.

Finally able to enjoy some peace and quiet, you go through your morning routine. Grab a soda, find a spot in the library doom scroll on social media until class time. After your classes for the day, you had about two hours before you were supposed to see Jeno. Plenty of time to go home and prepare for the night you predicted would come.

While getting dressed and making yourself presentable, there was a knock at your apartment door. You answered it, opening the door wide. 

Renjun was standing in the doorway, dressed in a cardigan and a collared shirt with black jeans. “Hi y/n! Jeno tells us you’re coming over tonight for game night!”

“Game night?”

“Yeah! Jeno and the other guys in our friend group get together every once in a while to hang out and play some games. Didn’t he tell you?”

You raise an eyebrow and smirk, “No, but sounds fun! I can’t wait. Should I bring anything over?”

“Not at all! Just come over whenever, some of the others are here already. Mark and Haechan ran out to get snacks and drinks, I came over to ask if you wanted anything specific so I could pass it on to them.” Renjun pointed at his phone in his hand.

You shook your head. “No, I’m not too picky, I’ll let y’all choose. And I’ll be over in a second, I’m almost done getting myself together.”

Renjun smiled and waved as he went back over to his apartment. “Just come right in whenever the door will be unlocked.”

You spent a little more time in the bathroom, double-checking yourself in the mirror. Then you walked around the hall and let yourself into Jeno’s apartment. 

It was clean, surprisingly, and orderly. There was a hallway with records on the wall leading into a room with voices coming from it.

“Oh? Someone’s here!” A high-pitched voice called.

“Is it Mark?” A deep voice added.

“No, there’s no way they’re back that fast.” You heard another voice.

You saw a buff man in a sleeveless shirt with dark brown hair and black pants come out of the room.

He looked you up and down with an eyebrow raised. “And who might you be? I think you’ve got lost, but we’ve got space here if you wanna stay.”

You shook your head, trying to not look too hard at his pecs peeking from his shirt. “I was invited. I’m y/n.”

He opened his eyes wide in surprise. “Oh! You’re y/n!” He stepped forward and pulled you in for a hug, which was warm and tight. “I’m Jaemin, I’ll introduce you to the others.”

“Where’s–” 

“He’s still getting ready,” Jaemin turned and winked at you. He told me he was looking forward to meeting you at 7 tonight. He’s my best friend but he won’t even tell me anything about you, so I hope we get close tonight.” Jaemin’s voice was soothing and smooth like he wanted to help slide you off your feet and into his bed. He led you into the living room where three others were waiting. “That’s Chenle, Jisung, and I’m sure you know Renjun.”

You greeted the two new faces.

“I’m Chenle!” Chenle’s voice was loud and high-pitched, which was not expected from his face facial features. He has black and red hair, and wore slacks with a tucked white button-up. 

“You a business major?” You pointed at his outfit.

“Yeah, family business. As in, my family funds the Business major program.”

You raised your eyebrows and turned your attention to the other man.

“I’m Jisung,” Jisung was the opposite of Chenle, he spoke softly but his voice was very deep. He had very kiddush features with a knit black and white hat with cat ears, a New York hoodie, and ripped jeans. “I dance.”

You nod, “that’s cool. Dancing is cool. I dance a little.”

Jisung’s eyes glowed for a moment. “Y-Yea… We should dance together sometime, or whatever.” 

You could tell her didn’t mean, “or whatever,” he wanted to dance with you.

The two of them both seem interested in you but are also pretty close to each other. You knew it would be interesting to learn about what’s going on with them later.

Renjun leaned in, trying to speak softer. “So, what’s the deal with you and Jeno?”

You raised an eyebrow. “The deal?”

The others murmured in agreement. 

“Jeno seems to be making a pretty big deal that you were coming tonight, telling us not to say anything too embarrassing.”

“Does this count as embarrassing?” You asked.

Jaemin shook his head. “It doesn’t count when he’s not here. He can’t be embarrassed by what he doesn’t know is happening.”

“I can hear everything, and it is embarrassing!” Jeno’s voice came from a room around the corner as he came into the living room. You turned to get a tasteful look at his outfit, it looked like he’d taken some serious time to clean up. Jeno neatly brushed his hair into a middle part. He was wearing a sleeveless leather jacket, a black crop top, and dark denim jeans with a black belt. He was wearing his pants low on purpose to show more of his toned stomach, small waist, and the waistband of his underwear.

He approached you, “I’m so glad you could make it.”

You dryly chuckled, “Well, I said I’d be here, right?”

He nodded happily. Instinctively he reached for your hand as he moved into the living room. You let him take your hand and walk you to one of the couches so you could sit next to him. He sat first and scooted as you sat down so you landed on his lap.

You turn to him, “Really?”

He had a silly smile plastered on his face, as he felt all his friends examining him and his guest.

Renjun cut in, “Well, Mark and Haechan will be here soon. Let’s chill and we can hang when they get here.”

Eventually, the last two guys show up, Mark and Haechan are attached at the hip. Probably a couple, and if not then it was only a matter of time. After getting settled, everyone started to enjoy the night of eating, gaming, and drinking together. Before you realize it, you end up getting into a drinking game with Jaemin and losing badly. Renjun had to call the competition as it was getting late and people were beginning to pass out. Jisung and Chenle cuddled together on the couch. Jaemin started cleaning up the mess. Mark moved Haechan to sleep in his room before helping clean up. Renjun was the only one who didn’t drink since he didn’t like the taste of alcohol, so he was taking care of everyone. 

You could still understand everything going on, but you were drunk. 

Jeno was only focused on you. “Do you need anything, water or something?”

You shook your head. “Nah, I think I’ll just head home.”

Jeno grabbed your hand gently. “You could also… stay in my room. We never really had that talk, remember?”

You smiled at Jeno. “You want me that badly, that you’d even take advantage of me being drunk?”

Jeno shook his head furiously. “I’d never do that!”

You chuckled as you threw yourself into his arms. “Okay, I’ll stay in your room then. But you’ll have to carry me.”

Jeno picked you up bridal style without a second thought. “I’m going to go put him to bed now.”

Renjun winked at Jeno, “Just make sure to not make too much noise.”

Jeno blushed. “It’s not like that!” He carried you off into his room before Renjun could tease him anymore. He carried you with one hand, as you wrapped your arms around his neck so he could open his bedroom door. Gently, Jeno laid you onto his bed on your back. You looked up at him as he hovered over you.

“Do you wanna kiss?” You asked softly.

Jeno locked eyes with you. “Like so badly. But you aren’t in a good state of mind, we shouldn’t do anything that could lead to that…”

You sighed. “Jeno, you wanna be my boyfriend?”

Jeno nodded.

“Then fine, we’re boyfriends.”

Jeno hugged you tightly, putting his body weight onto you. You felt every part of him as his crop top slid up his torso while he hugged you. 

“Now that we’re boyfriends, we can kiss and whatever.” 

Jeno pulled away, “are you sure that’s what you want?”

You pulled Jeno into the bed and rolled on top of him. His face was initially shocked but moved into awe while he stared at you slip your shirt off. You pick up his hands and place them on your hips, and he takes the signal to let his hands run across your body. You slowly swing your hips, pressing your ass against his clothed cock. 

“It hurts…” Jeno moaned.

You stopped. “I’m hurting you?” 

“No! No, please don’t stop!” Jeno squeezed your hips and moved you the way he wanted. "Mo-more please." He pleaded.

You let your hand slip under his waistband and into his boxers, making direct contact with his cock while you kiss him. You started moving your hand up and down his cock, his hips fucking into your hand. Your body starts to stick as you get faster. 

Jeno throws his shirt aside before coming back to kiss you across your chest, stopping to focus on your nipples. 

You slide down his body, his legs hanging off the bed as you start to unzip his pants and take his belt off.

“Let’s not get too carried away with a head this time?” Jeno laughed.

“You couldn’t handle head and this ass.” 

“I totally could–”

You kiss him again as you slide his underwear and pants off, he does the same to you.

“Hold on, I’ll get rubber.” Jeno lifted you, but you didn’t let him put you down.

“You can skip if you want.”

Jeno looked you in your eyes. “Sex and it’s raw? You’re crazy… and now you’re all mine too.” He slips his finger into your ass which slips in with no resistance. “You came ready for me?”

“Of course I did.”

“So you always meant to be with me?”

“Well duh.”

Jeno laid you on the bed with your legs in his hands as he held your ankles. He climbed on top of you and slipped in his fat cock. He slammed his body into yours with power and sleep, he smirked as he watched your face change from pain to pleasure. Each mean stroke was deep and hard, making you some at a brutal pace. The sounds of skin-on-skin slapping were so loud, Jeno’s grunts mixed with your moans. 

“Am I too big for you baby? You were so confident I wasn’t the one who could handle you. Jeno kisses you again while still fucking you, your body was overloaded with sensation. Your toes scrunched, your legs shook, and you even started drooling uncontrollably. “Cum for me, do it now!” 

Your whole body reacts to his command as you cum so hard you shoot onto your face. You’re body tenses, mostly your ass, making Jeno fuck you through your orgasm feel even better. 

Jeno flipped the two of you over so that he was on the bottom and lifted you up and down onto him, fucking you like a fleshlight. Your hands were holding his pecs for balance, nails scratching him. 

“Please, baby, cum soon. I can’t take much more…” you begged.

That was all that Jeno needed to have one of the strongest orgasms he’d ever felt. He held you down as he pushed himself as deep as possible, shooting into you. Your brain was blank, your body was acting on instinct; hole clenching repeatedly to milk Jeno, your head was thrown back, and your eyes were sealed shut.

Jeno gently helped you lay down on the mattress. “You going to be okay?”

You mumbled back, “I don’t know if I can get up…”

“I can carry you to the bathroom.”

“Don’t bother… Just keep it in me, I’ll deal with it later.”

Jeno moved, pulling out slightly, and it made you almost scream like crazy.

“I told you–”

“I know, I’m sorry baby. I couldn’t help myself. I won’t leave.” Jeno moved back into you, leaving his warm cum and his cock inside of you as you fell asleep. “Goodnight, baby…”

[bbyseok]

this time, i’m thinking about lifeguard!bakugou. i’m pretty sure i’ve also seen a post or two about him, but lemme get my brainrot out cuz he’s driving me insane..

lifeguard bakugou doesn’t give onlookers a show they don’t deserve, but people will take what they can get with his classic black tank tops and those bright red swim trunks that hang loosely on his hips.

and really, he’s only wearing the red trunks to follow the uniform rules and look the part of being an actual lifeguard. he’s taken up the job over the summer for whatever reason.. and everyone eats it up in the end.

whether it’s at the beach or a pool, he’s on one of those tall, white lifeguard chairs designated for people like him on duty obviously. he’s got his legs spread out, his right knee swinging inward every down and then with his form reclined back as he surveys the water and the area.

there are some days he’s got a towel draped over his neck and shoulders for him to wipe his sweat away, or a pair of tinted sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose to hide his carmine eyes from the world.

it’s sight to see most definitely. and you can confirm—as you’re one of the many people who come to the water solely to look at him. okay, well- that’s partially true. you come with your friends often to actually enjoy a bit of swimming—so what if you know exactly when bakugou’s shift starts and ends?

anyways, it’s not like you’d actually initiate anything from your attraction. you’ve seen the way he’s already turned down multiple flirting attempts from the more bolder people willing to shoot their shot—it wasn’t pretty.

“i’m the fuckin’ lifeguard who’s supposed to watch your asses and you’re givin’ me a reason to drown you,” he had snapped at some particular person who thought that they had a chance. “scram.”

the lifeguard team only tolerates his blunt behavior because he’s actually pretty damn good at the job when he needs to be, and let’s be honest—he attracts a lot of people.

it’s another day of lounging by the water with your friends, relaxing on one of those typical white beach chaise chairs. you spend your time alternating between chatting and reading a spare book you had brought—paired with sneaking glimpses at bakugou, of course.

but something’s different about today. ‘cause you swear he keeps looking at you too.

you don’t wanna get your hopes up too high; perhaps your daydreaming’s getting a little too out of hand or something, but it’s a little too difficult to ignore his burning stare.

perhaps there’s something on your face? is something wrong with your swimsuit? it’s nothing too raunchy or revealing—it’s something you normally wear for these kinds of outings. or maybe he had heard you say something?

before you know it, his shift is ending soon. it’s actually so bad how you’ve got it memorized. he gets replaced with this redhead that’s definitely way more friendlier than him—kirishima, you think is his name, and you and your friends usually linger around the beginning of his shift before leaving.

“psst,” one of your friends nudges your shoulder, sitting up from the chair. “bakugou’s totally looking at you. like—he’s staring in your direction.”

you blink and sit up as well. okay so, you’re not imagining things. “what-? really?” you don’t dare cast your gaze to the lifeguard, refusing to make eye contact. “but- but why would he?”

“i dunno. maybe he-”

you finally glance over and catch sight of the the blonde heading down from his towering seat, and he tucks his rescue tube under his arm. your eyes follow him and his movements as he walks and—oh shit. he’s walking towards you.

your eyes can’t help but widen as he finally reaches your chair and tilts his head down at you, blazing eyes scrutinizing and narrowed. you’re pretty sure you almost drop your jaw on the floor. he’s even more stunning up close.

“oi,” he says gruffly, glaring down at you in some sort of expectance. “quit your gawking at me. you do that way too fuckin’ much.”

oh god, did he really come over to you just to say that? “oh- oh,” you stammer out, “i’m so sorry- i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable, i just-” you want to drown out of embarrassment, so it’s a good thing that the water’s right there so you’ll just-

“oh, shut your yappin’,” bakugou dismisses you quickly with a roll of his eyes, and you blink up at him, still a bit embarrassed that he had called you out. there’s a pause that lasts for two seconds before he says, “i’m not gonna be workin’ this shift anymore.”

and now you’re blinking up at him in utter confusion because what? why’s he telling you this? did you make him so uncomfortable to the point that he’s letting you know that he’s altering his work hours? “i don’t understand, i-”

“if you still wanna gawk at me, i’m switching shifts with the dude with the red shitty hair who usually works around this time.” the blonde clears his throat and turns his head away, letting you process his words.

wait. wait. he’s letting you know he’s changing his lifeguard shift with kirishima beforehand because he wants you to. he wants you to be there. he wants to see you there. “o-oh.”

bakugou meets your gaze again. a raspy chuckle falls from his lips then, and you let the image of his small smirk settle into your head as he offers it. “you better be there, pretty.”

(you learn later on that the days he was wearing those tinted sunglasses, he was gawking at you too.)

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 4] Car Ride

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Talks of Abortion

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Toji tries to hand you the bouquet of flowers, but you don’t take them from his hands. Your eyes linger on them, and while it’s a beautiful arrangement, you don’t want to take them. For some reason, you feel that if you take them, he’ll believe you’re accepting to try and work things out which you aren’t willing to do. Even though maybe you should.

You turn your head when you see Shiu drive off, and you roll your eyes. Toji clears his throat and he assures you, “I’ll drive you home.”

“I have to buy a mattress.” You inform him, and he slowly nods his head. He doesn’t mind, you guess. You still can’t help but ask the question, “What about your job?”

“I can leave early, it doesn’t matter.” He responds, and you sigh. Suddenly he can leave early but when you begged to have a date night, he was always busy. He’s putting in so much effort now, effort that he should’ve put in before you decided you were going to leave. “Do you wanna go do that now? We can talk while we go shopping for that.”

“I guess…” You search around to see if you find Shiu’s car in the distance. You don’t really want to talk to Toji, but you also have no other way to go home other than by walking or taxi. Plus you need his help right now. You look around to find his car, and you find it a long way down the road. 

You begin to walk to his car, and he follows behind, running so he can open the door for you. You don’t thank him when he does, you just get in the passenger seat, and you side eye him when he doesn’t shut the door. He throws the flowers on your lap and when he shuts the door, you toss them to the backseat. When he gets into the driver’s seat he asks, “Why don’t you want the flowers?”

“What’s the point of them? Aren’t we getting divorced?” You respond, and he tries to take a deep breath. He turns on the car and pulls out of his parking spot, driving somewhere. You know this route, and it’s not where he’s supposed to take you. You don’t speak about it, it’s your own fault. You weren’t seriously expecting Toji of all people to be cooperative, were you?

“Shiu told me you got a nice little apartment…” He speaks up when he stops at a red light. You hum in response, not really trying to engage in a conversation. You lean your head back, resting it and shutting your eyes. You just want this to be over. Never in your life did you expect to dread being in a car next to Toji. The love of your life sits next to you, and you can’t wait to get out. To run and never have to see him again.

You open your eyes and see that you’re not driving back to Toji’s apartment. He’s taking a detour. At least you won’t have to take a taxi. Your eyes shift to him, his eyes are focused on the road. His hands clench the steering wheel while he bites down on his lip. His eyes finally glance at you, and you avert your gaze to the road that’s in front of you. “So um… What do you do?”

“Nothing cool.” You answer. You hear him exhale. Maybe he’ll stop asking dumb questions to fill up the silence. You’ve gotten accustomed to a quiet car ride, every time that you tried to speak up you’d be shot down. You don’t understand why he’s trying to change now– He already signed the papers. 

“Will you still show up for Megumi?” He asks, and you take a moment to think about it. Should you really? Toji constantly reminded you that you weren’t Megumi’s mother in any way, why should you try? But even then, you and Megumi grew close and formed a bond. Megumi shouldn’t have to pay for his father’s mistakes. You don’t give him a definitive answer though, simply an,

“I’ll try.”

“Why are you like this? Can’t you see that I’m trying?” He finally snaps, making you scoff. You cross your arms, debating if this is even worth engaging. He just wants a reaction out of you. Something that is longer than two words. “I’m just thinking that you wanted a divorce because you’re seeing someone else. If you actually loved me, you would at least try to work this out.”

He succeeds. He gets the reaction that he wants. You’re seething with his words and you yell, “I’ve been the only one trying this entire marriage, Toji! Not even these past two years, our entire relationship! Do you think I just came to this decision overnight? Do you think just a couple days of you trying will make up for five years of your neglect? It’s funny that you’re the one talking about cheating when you–”

“Here you go again with the same fucking shit! That happened years ago and you don’t let me forget. You should’ve just left me then!” He raises his voice as well, frustrated with this whole situation.

“Then why the fuck are you so upset that I’m leaving you now? Tell me, Toji. Like this you won’t have to hear me complain about it!” You respond, and he has to pull over into a plaza to park. It’s best if you get out here and call a taxi. You’ll order a mattress online, and sleep on the floor for the time being. When he puts the car in park and the doors unlock, and just as you’re about to open the car door, he locks them. You hate his car because his side is the only one that has controls to lock and unlock the car.

“That was years ago… I’m trying to become a better man, please. Give me a chance.” He sounds vulnerable, and part of you wants to comfort him. You love him more than anything and anyone, you’re willing to work it out. But for your sake… And for your baby’s sake, you have to leave Toji. He claims that he’ll be better but he won’t. 

“How long will it take for you to go back to being him? The same man that couldn’t even care to share how his day was when I asked him. You claimed that you’d change a couple times, Toji. You did change for a couple of days, but you always went back to your cold demeanor.” Your voice is breaking, and you can’t afford to start crying in front of him. You won’t let him see you so weak again, “I’ve seen the way you looked at her, and I want someone to look at me the same way. I deserve that. I know that you can’t be that same man for me, and I’ve come to respect that. The same way I want you to respect me leaving. I don’t want you to reach out to me just for the sole purpose of getting back together. We need time apart.”

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to think of what he’s going to say next. He won’t admit that he’s at fault for all of this. Toji shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He tries to be rational– To be the mature adult that he’s supposed to be. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “I’m going to unlock the doors. If you get out of the car, I won’t talk to you ever again. All I can say is good luck in your life.”

“That’s not possible.” You mutter, but he hears it loud and clear. Are you insinuating that he’s a weak man? That’s what he’s hearing at the very least, and Toji hates it.

“What are you trying to say? Are you saying that I’ll come crawling back to you? That you’re irreplaceable or something like that, because I have some news for you–” He raises his voice and you feel the tears well up in your eyes. You swallow the lump that comes to your throat before you yell,

“I’m pregnant, Toji! That’s what I’m trying to say, I’m pregnant.” You watch him as his eyes go wide, his breath getting caught up. You’re waiting for him to say the worst, knowing that he doesn’t want this. “I don’t need your help though. I’ll be fine. If you don’t want a part in any of this, then when I exit the car, you’ll be dead to me the same way I’ll be dead to you.”

A smile comes to his face, and you feel sick. You know he isn’t happy that he’s having a baby. You want to fool yourself into thinking that he is, but you know he’s not. He doesn’t care about that. He’s just thinking about– He grabs your hands and brings them up to his lips, kissing them gently before he puts them around his face. “Please stay. For our baby.”

He’s thinking about trapping you. Like this you won’t leave his side. He’s not thinking about all the what ifs and the struggles that come with pregnancy and a child. He doesn’t want this for the right reasons, and you hate it. His face inches closer to yours, and he’s about to kiss you but you pull away.

“Open the car door.” You tell him, your voice stern. His brows furrow.

“We have to talk about this.” He says, and you shake your head. You have to take a deep breath so he doesn’t hear your voice. You don’t want him to hear you on the verge of tears even though your watery eyes are the dead give away.

“No, you think that I’m going to stay with you because I’m pregnant. But I’m not. I don’t have to rely on you.” You respond. 

“Why don’t you just get an abortion then?” He asks, and that’s when the tears that are in your eyes fall. He bites his tongue, quickly regretting the words that just left his lips. “I mean… If you’re so set on being alone, do you really want to have my baby? You know that means we’re stuck together in a sense.”

“No it doesn’t.” You wipe away the tears that managed to escape. You try to reach over to unlock the car door, and when you manage to unlock it, he doesn’t waste a second to lock it back up. He pushes your hand away. “Just forget that I told you anything. You don’t want another kid, and I’m not forcing you to be a father. I can be a mother by myself.”

“For how long have you known?” He questions, and you take a deep breath.

“I just found out.” You confess. 

“And you decided that you’re going to be a single mother? Do you know how fucking hard it is to raise a child by yourself? You haven’t even thought about it for a day.” He points out. You bite down on your lip and think about what you’ll say next.

“I mean… I handled all of Megumi’s issues myself even when I wasn’t supposed to be a parent. And I got used to the idea that if I ended up pregnant, you’d end up leaving. So I don’t really need to think about it more.” You share, and he scoffs.

“You really think I would just leave you?” He questions and you stay silent. That’s his response. “I would’ve never done that to you.”

“I don’t know Toji, you made it clear that the idea of having kids with me was a nightmare and that you only had money and time for Megumi.” You remind him, and Toji finds himself speechless. You sigh. You really hate this. “I’m telling you because it’s my duty. If you want to come around, great. If you don’t, also great. Me and my baby will do just fine.”

“It’s my baby too.” He says. “I guess… You should do whatever you think it’s best. But if we’re not getting back together, you should get an abortion.”

“I’m not doing that, Toji. I’ve always wanted a baby, and this is my chance.” You respond, even though part of you agrees with him. “Just… Let me out.”

“I’m getting you that mattress and then taking you home.” He replies. You take a deep breath watching as he switches the gear to drive. “Then we’re going to talk about this.”

[nexysworld]

Mission: Safeword

Read on AO3 🖤 Make a Request 🖤 Masterlist

Summary: Leon has many methods of getting information while on missions, especially from pretty girls like yourself.

Pairing: Infinite Darkness!Leon x Fem!Reader

Tags: NSFW, MDNI, Dubcon (but reader's into it), Face sitting, fingering, slight knife play, light bdsm, overstimulation, no use of y/n, not proofread

Your fingers quickly scattered across the keyboard, desperately trying to transfer the data and lock the system down. Silent alarms had been blaring and security had given the signal that an intruder – likely a government spy – had invaded  the compound. 

Whoever it was they had been lying low, no obvious break-ins, no knocked out staff, like a mouse. “Come on, come on.” You groaned, bringing your fist down onto the desk in frustration. “Faster you stupid thing. Billion dollar research company and you can’t even afford computers built after 1998?”  Pinching your temples you leaned back in your chair with a sigh, the transfer had been initiated, there was nothing else you could do now but hope that it went through. 

You tapped your fingers on your chair as  you watched the timer continue to recalculate the transfer time. Suddenly the screen went dark, along with the overhead lighting, leaving only a few of the lamps scattered around the office. “What the fuck? No, no this can’t be happening.” You banged the side of the computer, willing it to work again. The backup generators should’ve prevented the lights and systems from going out – this wasn’t making any sense. “Sorry Sweetheart, but I don’t think hitting it is going to fix the issue… on account of me pulling all these plugs here.” The voice pulled you out of your confused rage as you whipped around to see a man leaning back against the wall casually, he lifted the bundle of wires in his left hand to make a point.. ‘When did he get in here, I didn’t even hear the door open?’ You thought to yourself, backing up a little instinctively. 

He wasn’t wearing a standard uniform, instead clad in a black leather jacket, blue jeans, and boots. His well groomed gray-blonde hair framed his face in a way that let you get a good read on his chiseled features – he looked more like a model than a government agent – but you didn’t have time to think on that further. “You’re the spy!” You accused, trying to buy time to decide your next steps. 

“Spy? That’s pretty harsh – I’m just doing my job y’know.” He dropped the plugs and used his right hand to click the lock on the door before making his way towards you. “I didn’t expect that my target would be such a pretty girl.The name’s Leon by the way, nice to meet you.” “St-stay back!” You backed up further, trying to disguise the embarrassed flush as anger. You grabbed the closest lamp to you and lifted it as if it were a bat. ‘Wait – did he just say I was his target?’

He chuckled at your response. “C’mon, you don’t look like a fighter. Just relax and we can get this over with quickly, ok? It’s not my style to hurt pretty women if I don’t have to.”

“I said, s-tay back!” You tried to reaffirm again. When he ignored you, you swung hard, he easily caught you by the wrist and spun you so your back was to his chest. With one arm tucked behind yourself, he squeezed the remaining wrist so tight your hand was forced open sending the lamp shattering at the floor. 

“Knew you weren’t a fighter.” He purred in your ear, you could feel the stubble on his jaw rub against your neck, making you shudder. “Now that that’s out of your system, I don’t suppose we could hurry along to the part where you give me the info I need?” 

“Absolutely not!” You replied, squirming as much as you could against his grasp. He didn’t budge, grip like a vice. A disappointed sigh and hot breath on your neck stalled your movements for a moment as a shudder ran down your body, hyper aware of the muscles under his thin shirt, the smell of his cologne. If this had been some action movie instead of real life, it almost would’ve been seductive – right now though you were frustrated and scared. “So it’s going to be like that, huh? Well, don’t say I didn’t try to play nice.” He cooed before manhandling you over to the office couch that was pressed to the far wall. In a final attempt to get away, you threw your weight to the ground before he could get you on the sofa, and took off to run. 

It was short lived as he grabbed you from behind by your waist, hoisting you backwards and

tossing you onto the couch. Before you could try again, he was straddling your waist with his weight and gathered both wrists into one hand, pinning them above you against the wall. “You really wanna do this the hard way, don’t you princess?” He didn’t wait for your answer as he used his free hand to unbuckle his belt, removing it from his jeans in one swift movement, before latching it around your wrists and tightening it, hooking it to the metal peg built into the wall for keys and coats.

He moved off of you when he latched your hands, leaving you stuck there, hands above your head, wrists sore. “Fuck you! I’m not telling you anything.” There was a noticeable tremble in your voice, especially as he pulled his gun from the holster – which did not go unnoticed by him. 

He tilted his head with a little smirk.“I think that might be a great idea actually.” He set the weapon down on the small side table along with his knife before shrugging himself out of his leather jacket, revealing a tight button up and rolled sleeves. With the jacket off, you had a better sight of just how fit he was, muscles everywhere. You swallowed a gulp, not sure what great idea he was referring to and not fully deciding what emotion you were feeling now – fear, lust, both?

Your body made the decision for you as heat panged between your legs along with wetness. You squeezed your thighs together to alleviate some of it – a small gesture he also picked up on, the smirk on his face growing wider. “I’ll be honest, I’m used to a different kind of reaction when I meet women at work. Gotta say, I’m not complaining.” He separated your legs slightly and dipped two fingers between them under your skirt,, rubbing you gently through your panties. A gasp escaped your lips and you squirmed against the movement. “Atta girl.” He praised, using his free hand to hold you by your chin, making sure you were looking directly at him. 

The coiling pleasure between your legs had your head going a little hazy, eyes locking with his. ‘Fuck he’s handsome.’ Your nipples began to harden under your work blouse, as you took in his features further. 

His fingers sped up their pace, and he tightened his grip on your chin so he could lean in, whispering just against the corner of your lips, teasing a kiss. “Such a pretty, pretty girl.” His lips met your cheek softly, before he slipped his fingers into your panties, dragging slick from your hole up to rub against your clit more easily.

The change in sensation coupled with his words had you spilling over the edge, whining as your orgasm crashed into you, leaving your legs shivering. Leon pulled back, giving you a moment to catch your breath. He crossed his arms over his chest and flopped back against the couch casually. “So….now that we’ve established some rapport, are you ready to answer my questions about project D?” 

In a moment of post-pleasure clarity, your brain had finally processed the situation, leaving you shameful, embarrassed, and aggravated. “Of course not!” You said between pants.

His face morphed into thought before a realization overcame him, like a light bulb went off in his head. “You’re lucky I like ‘em hard to get.” He moved to unbutton your blouse, grabbing the knife off the floor to slice your bra open, both breasts spilling out. “So here’s how it’s going to work.” He made his way down to your skirt, unzipping the side and slipping it down your legs. “I already told you, I don’t like hurting women – but I never leave a mission without getting the intel I need..” He used the knife to make quick work of your panties as well, leaving you in nothing but your button up, slung open and dangling off your arms along with what was left of your bra. “So I’m gonna use another method to get you to talk.” 

You had a good idea of what his plan was going to be, and if you were honest the primal part of your brain was turned on in anticipation.  The working part of your brain still kept your lips sealed. “Try whatever you want, I won’t speak.” “We’ll see about that.” He unhooked you for a moment so he could flip you around, face to the wall. Expecting to hear the sound of his pants unzipping, you were surprised when instead he moved to lay down beneath you, and then it finally clicked what he was planning to do. “The safeword is ‘I’ll tell you.’ The catch is Princess, you gotta actually tell me what I need, otherwise I may have to keep this up.”

You didn’t get the opportunity to protest as his strong arms wrapped around your legs, pulling your wet cunt down against his face, tongue already darting out to lap at your sensitive clit. The sensation of the stubble rubbing against your thighs along with the wriggling muscle against your most sensitive spot made you whimper and moan, wanting to grab hold of something but being unable to in your bound state. 

Already more sensitive than usual from your first orgasm, it didn’t take long before you were grinding down onto his face riding out a second one. Unlike before though, he didn’t give you a moment to rest, holding your thighs in place tightly he continued to lap at your sensitive bud, making you scream. Your wrists yanked against their confines fruitlessly, your legs desperately wiggled, but he kept you exactly where he wanted you, as he continued to eat you like you were the last meal he’d ever have – third orgasm quickly being ripped from you faster than the previous one. “N-no can’t, too much.” Tears spilled from your eyes and stained your cheeks as he didn’t let up, your legs were quivering, muscles tight and sore, his belt digging into your wrists. “P-please….can’t….can’t any–” you were cut off with a choked whimper as your fourth erupted from your aching pussy. Never having had so many back to back, your body felt exhausted, brain not able to come up with any  more coherent thoughts. 

Luckily, he stopped this time for a moment, releasing the bruising grip on your legs and adjusting you so he could talk. You could see the upper half of his face, looking up at you between your legs, which wouldn’t stop shaking with aftershocks. “Look at you, only four in and you’re already sobbing and begging. Such a sweet-tasting girl isn’t made to be so stubborn, are you ready to say the words?” His voice was silk as he rubbed your leg softly adding to the temptation. 

You defiantly shook your head, lip jutting out in a pout, as tempting as it was, you weren’t ready to lose your life or career over this – but your will was wavering, especially between the different sensations of pleasure and pain from the ache in your arms. “Suit yourself.” He said, tucking himself between your legs again, returning to his position underneath you. One arm wrapped itself back around  your leg, but he had different plants for the other one, working it around so he could line his fingers up at your entrance, sliding two of them in until it reached the leather of his fingerless gloves, as he started sucking on your clit. 

Your velvety walls clamped down over the digits, the sensation beyond overwhelming as he began to pump them in and out, pleasuring new spots within you. Your brain finally short-circuited and began to imagine what it would be like with someone else inside of you, stretching you open. “L-leon…” you moaned out his name for the first time as he continued to work your hole, and suck on your too-sensitive pearl of nerves. Skilled fingers easily found that special spot that sent you reeling, curling them upwards to make sure each movement stimulated it.

In tandem with the external pleasure of his mouth, the last of your resolve crumbled. You came for the fifth time, head flung back, chanting his name like a prayer. This time when he didn’t stop, you couldn’t take it anymore, too tired, teary, overwhelmed, and exhausted. “St-stop…stop……I can’t……I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you.” You sobbed out. 

As promised his movements ceased immediately. “You sure?” You nodded in confirmation between sniffles. He slid out from under you, wiping his mouth with his sleeve before unhooking your sore arms from the wall, lying you down on your back, facing him. He removed the belt while you caught your breath, before he massaged the reddening marks on your wrists. “See? I knew a girl like you couldn’t be that stubborn. Now….ready to talk about project D?” You nodded again hesitantly. The next smile that graced his features seemed genuine, and while it was likely a trap you couldn’t help but fall for it, much too empty-headed to think about any potential consequences. 

Immediately you were answering every question he had to your best ability in your dreamlike state, he nodded eagerly and praised you for each good answer as he continued rubbing your body in a massage working from bottom to top, pressing small kisses against your skin as he went. He stopped after placing a brief one to your lips, which you pressed into without thinking.  The actions were effective, so much so you hadn’t even noticed you’d fallen asleep. 

When you woke a while later, the lab was still dark but the computer had been turned back on casting a light over to you. You could see Leon, sitting in front of it, a harddrive plugged in obviously canceling and copying the data transfer. Once Leon noticed you were awake he made his way back over to you, sitting on the end of the couch. “Sleep well?” You didn’t immediately respond, not fully ready to process everything that had just happened – like directly handing over intel to the enemy. “It won’t be safe to stay here now. Why don’t you come with me out of here – with my connections come certain protections. I’ll even buy you dinner so we can discuss keeping you safe.”

“Dinner, really? Do you offer that to all the ladies you go down on during missions?”  

He chuckled, “Only the ones I like” He leaned forward to rub his thumb over your cheek, causing your face to flush again. “Besides,I am nothing if not a gentleman and would never leave a damsel to distress.”  You rolled your eyes at the corny comment, but upon realizing he was right you agreed. “Fine. Dinner.”

“Atta girl.” He gave you a chaste kiss before returning to grab the harddrive from the computer and giving you a chance to fix your disheveled state.

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[wearyeyebrow]

Worthy In Blue

Summary: You’ve been working on a little surprise project for Lucifer involving navy blue rope and a mahogany chair. You know Lucifer has a penchant for ropework, so what if you gave him an evening to put those skills, and your own, to good use?

Tags under the cut.

Tags: submissive lucifer, dominant MC, rope, restraints, MC is in rope, Lucifer is restrained, pegging, cunnilingus, gn MC, afab MC, mutual possessiveness, romance, established relationship, pre-nightbringer

-

Tonight is the long awaited Grimte Banquet where all the noble houses gather. Relationships are maintained, new ones started, and it’s all Lucifer can do to keep his brothers in line. Luckily, he has you to keep Mammon by your side and Beel full of food.

The night drones on spent managing many noble advances. He spares you a weary glance and you wink at him from across the hall. He can’t help the quirk of his mouth, a slight smile amidst everything. You’re impossibly charming.

A few moments later and he hears your voice in his ear. “Meet me in the coat room, I have something to show you.”

You slip away and disappear somewhere in the crowd. Eventually he manages a moment alone, horribly curious as he finds his way to you.

You close the door behind him, nearly hidden amidst coats of all sizes. “Hi gorgeous,” you wrap your arms around his waist.

"A coat closet?" He muses.

“I won’t keep you. Pretty sure Beel is looking for me too… Here.” You hold up your phone, “What do you think?”

You’re showing him a picture of… rope? “This is what you wanted to show me?”

“I could hardly send it to your phone right now, what with the entire royal court surrounding you. Plus, I’d rather explain its implications in person.”

“Implications?”

“Mm. Are you free next Friday night? Around 10pm?”

“I…” he allows himself a small smile, “I might be able to spare you some time.”

“Oh might you?” You smirk, “Well, if you’re too busy I completely understand. I’m capable of appreciating my own hard work.”

He acts affronted, grabbing you by the waist and kissing your hand. “Would a willing participant not please you more?”

“Isn’t that why I asked you in the first place?” He’s captivated by the crinkle of your nose, by the warmth of your smile.

“You’ve caught me,” he chuckles, “I’m all yours.”

“Then it’s a date. Do you like the color?”

You show him your phone again and he hums appreciatively. "Did you get it from Cloven Boutique? I didn’t think they stocked colored rope."

“They don’t, I dyed it myself."

“Truly?” He looks closer, in want of his glasses. “It looks like a professional job."

"Well, I had to get the color just right - I love the look of you in blue."

"Oh?" His tone softens.

“Mhm…” You appreciatively sweep your eyes up his body, lingering the gold peacock tie-clip you got him last month. You reach out and adjust his collar, “I love seeing you in things I’ve bought.”

“You have good taste.”

“Do you really think so?”

He frowns. “I wouldn’t wear something if it didn’t suit me.”

You laugh, “I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“You’re horrible.”

“I’m charming.”

He fondly rolls his eyes. “I suppose both descriptors are accurate. I will look forward to it all week.”

“I think it’ll be worth the wait.” You lean up and brush your lips against his, “Don’t dance with too many nobles now.”

“Haven’t you noticed? All eyes are on you tonight. It’s taken everything in me not to whisk you away.”

“Likewise, darling.” You wink at him again and his heart certainly doesn’t flutter.

-

Lucifer knocks on your closed door, waiting for you to beckon him inside.

The first thing he notices is an old mahogany chair in the middle of your room, stolen from the hallway. It sits odd against your comfortable furniture.

You make a show of locking your door, brushing against his shoulder as you pass by. Then you cast a noise canceling spell - nothing but an emergency could disturb you now.

When you meet his eyes you're delighted by his wanting expression, unguarded and open in his desire. "I wonder…" you walk over to him, "how much you've thought about this night, curious about what I've planned?" You straighten his tie, close enough to see him swallow.

"It has been on my mind." He takes your hand in his own and kisses your knuckles, looking every part adoring.

You chuckle fondly, "Especially in the evenings, when you think of me?"

His cheeks heat up but his gaze is steady. “I won’t deny it."

“Honesty suits you." He goes in for a kiss just as you pull away. "I want to show you something."

He makes a curious sound and you leave him to open your dresser drawer. "Now, you knew I'd be using rope tonight, but for what exactly I didn't tell you." You gather the rope in your arms, "It might not seem like much of a deviation."

"Oh?" He eyes the rope you've picked.

"You still like it?"

He turns the rope over in his hands, "It’s richer than I remember. How did you do it?"

"Blue mangled beetles - kind of like carmine, but the process is simpler. When dried and crushed they make a beautiful dark navy dye that doesn’t bleed."

"You did your research."

You chuckle and take the rope from his hands. "Only the best for you. Gloves off."

He slips off his right leather glove, finger by finger - wait. “Blue?” You look at him inquisitively. His nails are a rich navy blue, perfectly manicured and glossy.

His eyes flicker behind you, cheeks dusting pink. “I painted them a few days ago.”

You're confused for a minute, then it hits you. “Wait - because of me?”

His voice drops, “You - you mentioned-" He clears his throat, "I thought you might like them.”

"I love them, Lucifer…" You kiss his knuckles, his palm, his wrist, before pulling him in for a proper kiss. His hand cups your jaw and he makes a small, plaintive sound. He really had been thinking about your words all this time.

You pull away with reluctance. "It's time I tell you what we’ll be doing tonight. Shall we start the scene?"

He clears his throat again and sweeps his own magic over your door. "Let us begin."

"Any titles are allowed tonight, you can address me however you’d like. Red to stop the act, yellow to pause, and green for all good. Fire if you want to stop the scene entirely."

"Understood.”

“Then…" the glint in your eyes makes him a little weak in the knees. "I know you have a penchant for ropework. And I know how much you enjoy earning my praise. So, I had a thought - tonight I’d like you to use your ropework skills and tie me up, but I want full range of motion, you know, a design strictly for aesthetics.” You pull the rope taught in your hands, “And then, if you do a good enough job, I may reward you with some rope of my own. What do you say?” You hold out the rope to him.

You smile and oblige, settling into the cold wooden seat. He eyes you and then the rope, contemplative, before loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. He circles you, and you admire the focused, pointed look on his face as he carefully plans an intricate design in his mind’s eye. He’s completely in his element and you love to watch him work.

“What an intriguing idea...” He takes the rope from your hands with soft reverence, feeling the rough texture between his fingers. “You really got such a nice shine to it,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. He breathes out slowly and gestures to the mahogany chair, “Please dear, relax.”

“Ah,’ you suddenly realize, “This might help.” You lift up your shirt and drop it next to the chair before shimmying out of your bottoms, leaving you bare before him.

“Yes…” he murmurs as his eyes roam your skin.

You feel a pleasant tingle up your spine when he brushes his fingers through your hair, gently gathering until he can put it up properly above your neckline. Your body relaxes under his touch.

The first knot is an anchor tie just below your bust, he uses four strands and divides them into two, slipping each half over your shoulders and back down to meet your back. The rough texture warms you from the outside in but his careful touch is cool against your skin.

You watch him as he works, loving the interplay of shadow that falls across his sharp features. He catches you staring.

“Am I pleasing to look at, Madam?”

“Yes, very much so.”

Your pact mark sings and you chuckle, bemused at the sensation. “You like it when I compliment you, don’t you, my little black bird?”

His cheeks heat up and his eyebrows furrow, as he’s put off by the pet name, but the humming in your chest only continues. “I can feel it, you know? Honesty really does suit you best - your face is much prettier wearing it.”

The tips of his ears turn pink but he circles you, wrapping his arms around your midsection to finish fixing a knot in place. Suddenly his warm lips press into the crook of your shoulder. The deep undertones of his voice make you shiver as he whispers in your ear. “You will be the death of me.”

You turn to meet his eyes, coy mischief in your own. “I think you’ll survive.” He chuckles and you kiss him once, twice, just to make him simmer. He almost goes back in for a third but you brush your thumb over his bottom lip. “Not yet.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He kisses your shoulder once more.

Time passes in a lovely, hazy sort of way. Lucifer relaxes into the process as you'd hoped he would. It’s a gentle sort of focus where his mind is set on something, a place where nothing else can bother him or tear away his careful attention. He loves taking your direction, easing him out of his mind, constantly wound too tight.

Finally he kneels to finish the job, gingerly maneuvering one of your legs up and over his shoulder to wrap a strand around the back of your thigh. His eyes wander this time, following the line of your body until he lingers between your legs. As if he can’t help himself he kisses your skin, leaving a delicate trail up the inside of your thigh.

You cup his jaw in one hand and he kisses your palm, eyeing between your legs. “After you finish,” you murmur, “You’ll have to earn what you get tonight.” His eyes flicker to yours and he continues moving, finishing the tie he started.

“I believe I’m finished, will you stand?”

You do so, feeling the bend and flex of rope. Nothing feels too tight, everything is snug, hugging the curves of your body. You admire what lacing you can see, particularly the delicate design around your hands and wrists. He truly had taken his time, a glance at the clock proves that an hour has passed.

Finally you turn around and examine his work in the mirror. Your eyes light up at his intricate ropework. You’re beautiful, elegant, fully mobile and yet covered in faux restraints. You admire yourself, making a show of your appreciation. His chest puffs out and the pact mark on your chest rumbles. You gently circle your clit with one finger and enjoy how he shifts uncomfortably behind you.

You want more from him. Your body aches from an hour of foreplay.

You cup his jaw with one hand. “Kneel.”

“Yes Sir,” he murmurs, almost breathless.

His willing, almost eager demonstration of your power over him, of his own lack of control, further spurns you on, and you know he can hold your weight.

"Show me, then, devotion to your work." You prop one leg up on the hard mahogany seat, exposing yourself for him. Rope hugs your thighs, indenting and highlighting what he wants most.

His eyes flicker between your face and your clit. He licks his lips. "Thank you, Sir."

You run a hand through his hair and brace the other on the back of the chair. As soon as his tongue touches your clit you gasp, unable to help yourself. You’ve been on edge for so long now, throbbing at every new rope and delicate detail. You savor his mouth, rocking your hips into his face gently. "Yes…" he sucks and licks as you drip onto his tongue and he moans softly at the gentle tug of your hand in his hair.

You'll come quickly and you know it - you rock against him faster now and he wraps his fingers through the ropes on the back of your thigh before squeezing your ass and petting between your legs.

You look down at him, at his disheveled appearance, tousled hair, and too-tight pants. “Lucifer, darling, you - ah - you don’t have to say anything, no thoughts, no control, just take what I give you."

He groans and claws at the backs of your thighs, pulling you forward against his mouth.

You tilt your head back. "Good man, good job-" he whines and flicks his tongue with renewed vigor, "fffuck, right there…"

You fuck his face, shivering and shaking, chasing your orgasm. He holds you upright and supports your body, grasping at his own ropework. You moan and twitch. A glance at the mirror brings you closer still, “Look baby, look at you, making me feel so fucking good… shit-” Your grip on his hair tightens as you twist your hand, pulling him forward. He moans, high and breathy, harshly breathing through his nose.

His right hand supports your waist while his left squeezes your ass. Just a minute more, a second more, finally, finally his palpable desire sends you over the edge, and god how it fills the air. He takes it all and you don't fall, even as your legs lock and your grip falters. You shake and shiver in his tight grasp, palms holding tight to his shoulders. He keeps licking, just enough to keep you there until tension dissipates and you’re overstimulated. Only then does his grip loosen, following your body as you stand on your own, knees shaking.

There's an unspoken tenderness in his eyes - your baby takes pride in service.

You step away from him when you can, fixing his hair and cleaning your cum from his lips. "Sit on the chair, darling."

His knees crack when he gets up, stiff from his place on the hardwood floor. He sits, bulge straining against his trousers, watching you with rapt attention.

"I think…" you turn around, "You've more than earned your reward - as if there was any doubt in my mind."

“Oh?” He practically glows at your praise.

"And…” you walk over to your nightstand once more, "I'm not done with this yet." He swallows, gaze fixated on the rope in your hands. You smirk, "You like that idea?"

He shifts again. "Yes I - very much."

You reach into your nightstand and pull out a matte black silicone dildo, smaller, elegant even. You hold it up. “What about this? Are you up for it tonight?”

“Yes,” he nods, “I prepared myself for the possibility.”

“Perfect,“ you breathe, already excited. “Then…” your smile is nearly wicked as you regard him and his cock throbs in earnest. “Clothes off. Hands behind your back - hold your forearms.”

He acquiesces, knowing exactly what you want.

Soon he’s sitting naked on the chair, hands held behind his back, willingly at your mercy. Your ties aren’t nearly as elegant, but they restrict his movement and hug his body. You restrain his arms behind his back with a chest harness, carefully distributing the weight of the rope, adding just a touch of flourish. Even in such a simple design he looks lovely. Blue really is his color, you think, admiring him. He catches your eye.

“I was right,” you say, tilting his chin up for a chaste peck on the lips, “You look lovely in blue.” He groans and chases your lips this time. You let him, just once, and deepen the kiss yourself, before grabbing him by the hair, wrenching his head up. “Not yet, darling.”

“As you wish.” He’s breathless and kiss bitten.

You leave him and stack two large pillows on top of each other. You motion for him to stand before grabbing him by the restraints. “I will help you get into position,” you chuckle darkly, “I want you face down.”

His cheeks feel hot but he nods, “Yes Sir.”

“Good man. Lie down.”

It takes a moment since he can’t move his arms but you finally have him exactly where you want him, chest pushed into the bed, hips and ass raised by the pillows beneath him.

He tilts his head to look at you with one eye, eyebrow raised as you appear with more rope.

‘Can’t have you squirming too much, now can I?” He groans into the pillow beneath him and nods.

“Tell me if you’re ever uncomfortable or need to readjust, this position might get tiring after awhile.”

“I’m sure I can take it.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m not asking. Tell me.”

He shivers. “Yes Ma’am.”

“Good.”

You uncap the lube on your nightstand and snap a glove on. He shivers at the cold feeling of your lubed finger rubbing against him, but as your hand warms so does his body and he slowly starts to meet your gentle thrusts as you enter him. You love this part. It’s incredibly intimate, almost more so that the ensuing sex, because anyone else would have been thrown out long ago - he has only ever done this with you.

Once you’re up to two fingers comfortably you withdraw your hand and replace it with your lubed up strap. “Ready?”

“I’ve been ready.” You smack his ass and he gasps.

“What was that?”

“I apologize, yes I - I’m ready.”

“That’s better. One more remark like that,” you murmur, pressing in slowly, “And I’ll rethink your reward.”

He hisses, wiggling his hips, “A-Apologies - it won’t happen again.”

‘I know it won’t,” you smile, “because you love this too much.” Finally, finally you move your hips, slow at first, until finding a gentle rhythm. You use his bound legs as leverage, pushing deep inside of him as his low, desperate moans fill the air.

As his body strains against the rope it holds tight, digging into his skin - this heat, this pleasure, your power over him is dizzying. For a few blissful moments he can’t think, all he can do is feel you surround him and hear your haunting voice in his ear.

It is easy to admire him, Lucifer Morningstar splayed out before you, rocking his ass into your hips, wanting more, more. You grab the rope holding his forearms tight against his back and pull, arching his back against the sheets. He cries out, and you lean down, pushing all your weight on top of him.

“That feel good, baby? Heh, you love it don’t you?” Your hips are slow and deep, grinding on his favorite spot, “You love being fucked like this. Wrapped in my rope, under my hand-” He moans, long and debauched. “I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this, you belong to me, don’t you?”

“Yes-!”

You’re breathless above him. “We belong to each other, right, love?”

His eyes open and he gazes at you in the adjacent mirror, “Yes…” You dip and kiss the back of his neck, soft and sweet, "Hnn…" he takes in a shuddering breath and lets his head fall forward.

“That's right, no one else deserves to touch you, no one else is good enough, worthy enough.” You whisper in his ear.

He gasps your name and pushes his ass against your hips, pathetically fucking himself on your strap. Every slap of your skin sears welts into his body. You grab his hair and jerk his body up.

“Eyes open, look at yourself.” He didn’t think he could get any redder, but the sight of you behind him, fucking his ass with slow purposeful thrusts, restraining him while tied in his own ropework, it's too much, he can’t - he’ll -

You wrench his head up, “Keep looking,” you pant, “look at the face you make when you come for me.”

He can’t help it, he comes fast and hot, hips stuttering, mouth open and gasping. You slow but you don’t stop. He whimpers but dutifully stays, taking it all.

“Good man,” you praise him, “So. Fucking. Good-” you punctuate your words by digging your nails into his back. You slowly drag them downward and tiny specks of blood bubble to the surface. He hisses but his cock jumps beneath him. “You like a little pain, don’t you?” You slap his ass with an open palm. “Answer me.”

“Yes, yes Ma’am -”

“Yes what?”

"Fuck - more, please-!”

“Filthy.” You bite, before indulging him with another slap on the ass.

You run your nails gently over the welts and he sighs in bliss. In this moment of calm you use all your strength to hoist him upward again, until his back is flush against your chest. You wrap a hand around his throat and start to bounce him on your cock. His eyes roll back and he groans, reaching around to grab your hip as he rocks back into you.

“When I cut you loose,” you pant, “I want you to lie down on your back, legs spread, waiting and ready for me again. Do you understand me?”

He swallows breathlessly and nods.

You lean him forward and gently pull out. You untie his legs, and then his arms before dropping the rope next to the bed. His body is tinged red with slight rope burn, just how he likes.

He rolls over onto his back, finally making eye contact with you. You smile at him, gentle, and his pupils pin. “Spread your legs for me.”

Lucifer grabs his own knees, and spreads his legs while you refuse to let him lose eye contact. His red flush is delicious, and so is his twitching cock, clearly enjoying this.

You grab more lube from the nightstand and quickly reapply before holding one of his legs to your chest and slipping back inside. He groans and rocks his hips forward, savoring the feeling.

You slowly snap your hips forward, reaching deep inside him, you keep repositioning until he gasps and then you hold there. Little thrusts of your hips grinding against his ass. He gasps low, moaning sweetly in his deep voice as sweat trickles down his temple.

“Kiss me-” he croaks, reaching for you. You melt into him and grind against him as his hands roam your body. He doesn’t realize he’s whimpering and shuddering, or if he does he doesn’t care.

You continue like this for a while, enjoying his gasping deep moans in your ear, his lips and teeth on your neck. Finally, at your mercy, you gently trace your fingers over the head of his cock. The noise he makes is agonizing, and you have half a mind to continue neglecting him. But he has your heart as you keep up that gentle, light contact, and he doesn’t ask for more. His head is spinning, filled with thoughts of you, you, just you.

You speed up your hand as your hips get tired and he grips your back, rocking into you. Finally you feel him tense, feel his blunt nails dig into your back.

“There you go, my pretty bird,”

He gasps, light and beautiful, shuddering as he comes, keening as each slow, deep thrust of your hips milks another dribble of cum out of him.

You kiss again and again, covered in sweat, cum, and specks of blood, ignoring the passage of time.

-

Darkness blankets your bedroom, barely lit in deep navy shadow. Your fingernails fall up and down rhythmically over the rope burn on Lucifer’s back.

“I heard you were approached last week.” He murmurs.

“At the Banquet…? Oh, did Asmo say something?”

Lucifer chuckles, "He said something akin to "Everyone here is itching for their chance, don't let them out of your sight."

You feign exasperation. "And what did you do, you let me out of your sight. Now I'm in bed with a demon."

Lucifer snorts, "The very same demon you propositioned in a coat closet."

"What can I say? I know who I want," you kiss his temple.

Lucifer leans into you further, draped across your body. "Don't you have plans early tomorrow morning?"

“You yawn again, “Solomon said he has something important to talk to me about. What exactly, I’m not sure… he can wait until I've had breakfast.”

“That sorcerer…”

“He wants you so bad,” you chuckle, “I mean, it isn’t up to me, but I enjoy acting as if it is.”

“Rest assured,” he kisses your shoulder, “he’ll never have me, not like you do.”

Your smile is gentle. “I love you, Luci.”

“And I you.”

Lucifer closes his eyes and relaxes his sore body, satisfied and calm. He resolves to make you breakfast in the morning before seeing you off to Solomon.

Truly, he thinks, there's nothing he can’t face as long as you’re there when he wakes.

[moonlightspencie]

But You’re Friction

Chapter 2 of ‘treacherous’

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Weeks passed, and each one seemed better than the last.

The connection Remus had made for you with the herbologist was a perfect match, come to find out. You got along with Nemora incredibly well, not only in the work sense but personally as well. She was a sweet, older woman with insanely untamable hair and an equally indomitable spirit. Her fire and passion for not only herbology, but the ways in which magical plants could be used for the good of everyone, inspired you entirely.

When she found out you had a similar desire for good, she hired you immediately and put you to work just as quickly. Not that you’d complain; it was nice to have something to do with your days, especially when that something felt more like a fun hobby than work. It was delightful, to say the least.

You were wandering Diagon Alley during one of your days off when things seemed to get even better.

You looked into the shop window, noticing that everything was run down. It hurt to see all of the shops that used to be so lively end up reduced to nothing. But one of your favorite places for a quick meal was back up and running, and you were glad for it.

You meandered around the street, nearing your destination, when a familiar voice called your name. You turned, your face lighting up, when you saw him.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

Remus shrugged. “Just fancied a walk, I guess. What are you doing here? Isn’t much to see, is there?”

You shook your head. “No, there isn’t. It’s so sad.”

He hummed in agreement, nearing you.

“But,” you continued, "a place I’ve always loved that has the best coffee and sandwiches in the world is back up and running now.”

“And what would that be?”

“Have you been to Flora’s?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t.”

“Have you eaten yet?” you asked, checking your watch. Just about noon. “It’s lunchtime now, you know.”

He smiled softly. “Is this an invitation?”

“Only if you say yes,” you added with a cheeky smile.

“I’d be honored,” he nodded.

You smiled again, taking his arm, leading him towards the small restaurant. You made some small talk, sure to thank him for the job recommendation while you were at it.

He opened the door for you when you got to Flora’s, more than willing to let you lead the way in the unfamiliar space. You got in the short line, explaining various sandwiches to him, though ultimately he made you choose for him, claiming he was ‘too overwhelmed’ by the choices. You laughed to yourself, ordering two of the same, though leaving it up to him to pick a drink for himself.

Just as you were about to hand over the money for it all, he shoved your hand out of the way, getting to it first.

You shook your head, leading him to a table by the window.

“You shouldn’t have done that. It was supposed to be my treat to you.”

“We never established that; I think it’s only fair that whoever is the first to get to it should pay,” he said, sitting across from you.

“Entirely not fair. I dragged you here, after all.”

“You didn’t drag me, I agreed to have lunch with you. There’s a difference, you know?”

You made a small noise of disappointment, looking out into the street. A small family passed by, with the toddler swinging from his parents’ hands. You smiled at them, your chin falling into your palm.

“What is it?” Remus asked, noticing your gaze. He looked to where you did, a matching smile on his face. “Ah.”

“That’s so sweet,” you said, watching as they turned the corner. “Have you ever considered that?”

He raised a brow. “What? A family?”

You nodded your head. “Yeah. You seem like the type.”

“I don’t know,” he said, fiddling with his hands. “I suppose I’ve thought about it. I don’t know if it’s for me, though. Nobody has ever seemed to really… Click.”

“Click?”

He nodded. “That connection, the right kind, that would… I don’t know. Feel right. It just hasn’t happened with anyone yet, I suppose.”

“Really? I, for one, have been convinced that you and Siri are secretly together.”

He laughed. “Ah, well. Maybe in another lifetime, but certainly not this one. He is a charmer, though, isn’t he?”

“He sure is,” you said with a small laugh. “I’m shocked he stayed on my parents’ good side, him flirting with their twenty-year-old daughter. Ridiculous man.”

He laughed. “He finds a way to sneak his way into everyone’s heart, even if they don’t want it.”

“It’s a talent, really.”

He hummed, nodding in agreement. You got up a moment later when the barista called your name, taking up your latte and his tea. You set the mugs down on the table, then took your seat again.

“I’ve never had tea here. You’ll have to tell me how it is,” you said, then started blowing gently on the liquid in your own mug. You tried taking a sip, but it was far too hot. “Ugh. I just want my drink.”

He snorted a laugh at the sour look on your face. “Patience is a virtue, you know?”

“One I don’t often have,” you noted with a raise of your brows. “On the plus side, it smells delightful.”

“It does. I can smell it from here,” he said, taking in a deep inhale. “I’m afraid I should probably stay away from caffeine, though, after the three cups I’ve had this morning.”

“Ooh,” you said, “rough night?”

“Long night,” he corrected. “I was up for far too long, enraptured by a book I picked up last week.”

You smiled. “You read often?”

“As often as I can allow time for.”

“Nice,” you nodded. “I’d like to have a large home library myself one day. Even on days I don’t feel like reading much, just the presence of books surrounding me is calming, I think. We always had plenty of old books in my home growing up.”

“I don’t have the largest library, but I do have a shelf full,” he said, looking from his tea to you. “Maybe one day I can have you over to peruse. Or, just sit next to them, if you really please.”

You chuckled. “An enticing offer. I may just take you up on it sometime.”

He merely smiled to himself, looking back out the window.

Weeks passed, and Remus found himself at 12 Grimmauld Place, head in his hands at the dining room table as Sirius talked at him. Sirius was convinced that joining the Order wasn’t a big deal for his ‘sunshine girl’. Remus disagreed.

“Are you sure about this?” Remus asked in a small voice.

Sirius nodded. “You aren’t? You know she’d be phenomenal. I’m sure with all her parents have done for me, Dumbledore would be more than willing to let her in.”

Remus swallowed, shaking his head. Sirius tried meeting his eyes, huffing to himself when Remus wouldn’t look back at him. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is ridiculous. I need someone on my side, here.”

Remus scoffed. “Why bring her into danger like this? Has she even expressed interest in the Order?”

“Yes,” Sirius exclaimed, taking a moment to collect himself after the small outburst. “She has. I don’t want to be the only one advocating for her or making her feel welcomed if she’s sworn in.”

“I just don’t know, Pads,” Remus said after a beat.

“Why not?”

“I’ve already told you why not. It’s dangerous.”

“Oh, and you’ve always been so protective of her,” Sirius scoffed sarcastically. “You’ve had no problem with anyone else joining. Why is she any different?”

Remus stood, hands on his hips, as he started pacing.

“Because she is. You, of all people, should be the one wanting to protect her in this. You should care more about her safety.”

“You think I don’t?” Sirius asked, quirking a brow. “Don’t be ridiculous, Remus. That’s not what this is about, and you know it.”

“What’s it about then? Enlighten me,” Remus huffed, pausing his pacing to stare ahead at his friend.

“You fancy her.”

Remus merely stared for a moment, then scoffed, shaking his head.

“No, I don’t.”

“You can lie to yourself all you’d like, but you’ve never been able to lie to me. Don’t start trying now,” Sirius stated, putting his feet up on the table.

Remus merely shook his head, plopping back into his seat. A silence fell over them for a few moments before Sirius was lowering his legs again, scooting a little closer as his hands clasped on the tabletop.

“Mooney, I need you to support her in this. She’s smart. She’s not the type to run into danger, you know?”

He nodded, his voice quiet. “I know.”

“Please. Her knowledge of herbs and medicine alone could do so much for us at the Order. She’s smart enough in a fight, too,” he said, catching Remus’ eye. “You know I’d never do anything to put her in danger, but the world is dangerous right now. Might as well keep her by our side in it.”

Remus sighed, scratching at the tabletop for a moment before he looked up at Sirius. He nodded slowly.

“Alright. I’m in.”

Sirius paused for a minute, then, “She’ll be here in an hour, by the way.”

“What?” Remus asked, his eyes widening.

“I invited her for tea. So she can see this place, too,” he said, sighing softly. “It was supposed to happen a month ago, but you just had to connect her with that job of hers.”

Sirius smirked, hoping he could lighten the mood a bit. He let out a breath when he saw Remus smile slightly.

“Has she told you about that yet?” Remus asked, still tracing the scratches on the table.

“A bit. Only that she’s enjoying it.”

“Nemora’s really taken a liking to her, apparently. They’ve been working on breeding a new plant species. Some hybrid of… I-don’t-know-what that’s supposed to really help with burns when it’s juices are extracted.”

Sirius smiled a little wider. “Look at that. You know more about her than I do, now.”

“Just about the job.”

“When did she tell you?”

Remus looked up, slightly nervous. “What?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “When did she tell you about all of that?"

“Oh,” Remus shrugged. “We ran into each other in Diagon Alley. Decided to get some lunch.”

Sirius hummed thoughtfully. Remus hated it when he did that.

“What?” he huffed.

“Nothing. Just think it’s funny you told me you don’t fancy her when you went on a date.”

“Wasn’t a date.”

“You two got lunch. Just the two of you.”

“You do that with her, too.”

“That’s different. We’re established friends, and she always tries to pay for herself. Tell me, did you get away with paying for her meal?”

“That’s not important and doesn’t make it a date,” Remus protested. “Nothing romantic between us at all.”

“Except that date,” Sirius teased. “Not to mention the way you look at her every time she walks into a room. Or the fact that I never see you smile like you do with her. Mm, maybe I should bring up the fact that any time we’re in a room, you find any chance you can to be next to her.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I think that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?”

Remus shook his head wordlessly. He decided to give up on arguing, knowing it wouldn’t go anywhere productive. He never seemed to win arguments with Sirius, even when he knew he was right. Though it was much worse when Sirius was the correct one. A know-it-all in troublemakers’ clothing.

He decided to switch topics, wanting to shift attention away from the crush that he was too embarrassed to admit he harbored. It was a bit ridiculous, and he knew it. To start having feelings for a girl who, frankly, he felt could do much better than him. It was part of the reason Sirius’ teasing was especially annoying: he, of all people, should know why it was a bad idea to have feelings like those ones. For someone who had their whole life ahead of them. He shook it off, not wanting to get in his head more than he already was.

Thankfully, Sirius granted him the mercy to move on from that conversation fairly easily.

You walked up to Grimmauld Place that afternoon, knocking on the door and hoping that Sirius would pay enough attention to hear it. It was a fifty-fifty chance, really.

You waited, shuffling your feet a little as you did, until the door swung open.

“There she is,” Sirius said with a cheeky smile and a wink.

You smiled immediately and stepped into his embrace.

“How are you?” you asked quickly.

He broke away, moving around you to shut the door.

“Fine. Good, even,” he corrected himself. “I’ve been having a nice talk with Remus. Remembering a time we pulled a marvelous prank on old Snivellus.”

You chuckled, letting him lead you towards the dining room with an arm around you.

“I’ll never get over that nickname.”

“Quite fitting, isn’t it?”

“It is,” you agreed emphatically. “Remus is here?”

He smirked. “Why? You excited to see him?”

“Curious,” you corrected shortly. “Quit trying to make something out of this.”

“All I’ve done is notice the obvious, my darling girl,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “Can’t blame me for being observant.”

“You’d be surprised at the things I could blame you for,” you stated with a smirk of your own.

He laughed, tugging you along into the room where Remus sat. He stood as he saw you, standing near the dining table.

“Hello,” you greeted, breaking away from Sirius to give him a brief hug.

“Hello to you,” he said back, one arm wrapping around your middle for a moment. “How are things?”

“Great. How are you? Siri told me you two have been joking about Snape in my absence.”

He chuckled. “That we have. It’s terribly easy to do; we just can’t seem to help it.”

“I’ll get the kettle. It should be about ready by now,” Sirius said, tossing you another wink before leaving for the kitchen.

“What else have you been talking about? Anything interesting?”

He sort of nodded, sitting back down. You took the seat next to him, raising your brows in question.

“Talked about the Order a bit.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “Has he told you, then?”

“That you’d like to join?” he inquired.

You nodded your response, leaning back in your seat.

“Yes, he’s told me. Managed to get me on board with the idea, even,” he said, though he didn’t quite look convinced. “You’re sure about this, though?”

“I am. I feel like I’ve really taken to herbology, especially learning about the healing agents of plants. It could be good for someone like me to be around for when things go… If things go wrong.”

“That’s what Sirius said, too.”

“You don’t seem entirely sure about it,” you noted.

“I have my concerns. But if this is what you want to do, I am sure you’ll be brilliant.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that you’re willing to support it,” you said, sighing. “I worry that not everyone will be comfortable with my interest. I know that I’m coming in a bit late to all of this in comparison to the majority of you all.”

“So many of the members already love you. I’m sure it won’t be terribly difficult to convince anyone who has doubts,” he said, nudging your shoulder.

“Plus,” Sirius added, walking in with a tray. “You’re just so adorable, they couldn’t possibly say no to that face.”

“Right,” you snorted a laugh. “I’m sure I’ll just need to give them some puppy-dog eyes in order to sway their acceptance of me.”

“Well, it would work on some of them, I’m sure,” Sirius said, pointedly looking at Remus with a self-satisfied smirk.

He set down the tray, and you immediately started on your tea as he took his seat on the other side of Remus.

“Do you plan on giving me a grand tour?” You asked casually, busying yourself with the tea.

“I do." Sirius nodded. “I’m sure the memories of my terrible childhood will be quite exciting for you.”

You deadpanned. “Siri.”

“Sorry,” he said, though you knew he didn’t mean it.

In some ways, he’d become too comfortable around you. Joking about things like—well, that—had become commonplace with him in the time you’d been friends. Normally you’d laugh around with him, but something about being in the house… It felt different. Scolding him seemed like the only good option, really. At least it deflected your discomfort. He knew that, too. You could tell by the lingering smirk on his face after he’d “apologized”.

You sipped at your tea after Siri’s tour of the house, falling into easy conversation with the two men. You observed them as they bantered back and forth, a smile on your face as they proved their childhood bond to hold true. It was nice to see them both take on that childish way of behaving; you almost wished they didn’t pull you into their interaction after a few minutes of your silence.

“You could always stay here, you know?” Sirius said, setting his cup down on the table.

“As much as I love you, Siri, I also love having my own place.”

He sighed dramatically. “It gets so lonely here. I just know you’d brighten up the place, sunshine.”

You chuckled. “You could always come visit at my flat, you know?”

“Not the same,” he grumbled playfully, then sat up straight. “Consider it, at least. Maybe you’ll end up disliking your neighbors; you never know.”

“Silly man,” you said, shaking your head with a grin. “Why not ask your best friend, here?”

You tilted your head at Remus, raising a brow.

“Already tried. He doesn’t like me enough, tragically.”

Remus scoffed. “I did not say that.”

“May as well have, mate. Living in some run-down cottage—”

“It’s not run down.”

“But it is small. Why cram yourself in there when you could be with me here? I’ve got plenty of room.”

“Well, for one, I’d have to listen to you run your mouth all hours of the day,” Remus smirked.

You chuckle at that, drawing attention to yourself by accident.

“You’ve got no right to laugh. Off living in some one-bedroom flat surrounded by neighbors. You might as well be here, it wouldn’t be that different,” Sirius said, crossing his arms.

You sigh. “Ever heard of a lease, Sirius?”

He rolled his eyes. “You just don’t love me like you say you do.”

“Okay, drama queen,” I scoff a laugh. “If you want me to visit more, all you’ve got to do is ask. But I’m not going to try to weasel my way out of my lease when this is the very first place I’ve lived in alone. You should be proud of me for being so independent.”

He hid a smirk. “I guess.”

“Let the girl live, Sirius,” Remus said, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe if you weren’t whisking her away on little dates, she’d make more time for me, and I wouldn’t have to complain,” Sirius said, raising a brow.

Remus swallowed, glaring at his friend. You, on the other hand, let out a small laugh.

“Dates? When have we dated?” You asked incredulously.

“I know about your little excursion to lunch in Diagon Alley,” Sirius said, looking a little too smug. “Don’t play coy with me, now.”

“That was not a date,” you said, laughing again, though you couldn’t deny the slight heat in your cheeks. “We ran into each other, and I simply invited him to lunch.”

“Still sounds like a date to me,” Sirius said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Remus sighed heavily, dropping his face into his hands. He shook his head a little bit.

“You’re insufferable. You have to know that,” he muttered.

Sirius merely laughed. “Come on, am I not allowed to poke fun?”

“You’re being ridiculous, Siri,” you say, shaking your head with a smile.

“What’s so ridiculous?”

“Please,” Remus said, rolling his eyes again. “I should have never told you about that in the first place. Plus, girl like her, I’m sure she has plenty of people chasing her. Why not ask about that?”

You straighten up. “Plenty? Well, I think you severely overrate how interesting my dating life is.”

You chuckle at that, as does Sirius. Remus merely looks a little confused.

“How do you not?”

“Why do you think I would?”

He froze up a little, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times with nothing to say. He decided on a simple shrug.

“Don’t know. Just assumed.”

Sirius smirked again. “No, please, Moons. Come on, tell us what your reasoning was.”

“Cut it out,” he said quietly, shaking his head.

“Enough teasing him. He’s just trying to be nice,” you scolded Sirius, noticing how uncomfortable Remus had begun to look.

Sirius hummed, then changed the topic completely. You snuck a few glances—maybe a few too many—at Remus until he finally looked up and joined the conversation. He gave you a grateful smile after a few minutes, though you couldn’t help but wonder…

Why had he thought you’d be so busy dating?

Why did he seem to blush whenever there was any indication of something happening between you?

Why even bring up the not-date to Sirius?

More than anything, why did you find yourself thinking so much about him?

Chapter 3 ->

[bizaar]

Endless Summer ✧

Part 1: Our Lips Are Sealed

Cruel Summer Masterlist

- Next

pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader

warnings: sexual content (18+ minors dni), virgin!reader, mentions of drug usage, swearing, bullying, self-deprecation, masturbation (f)

word count: 10k

a/n: so I may or may not have been writing a few chapters of a semi-raunchy little prequel to Cruel Summer, this is the same babysitter!reader at the beginning of her relationship w/ Eddie - reader is hopelessly obsessed in a totally uncool, sweaty palms sort of way and Carol Perkins is the meanest girl in school.

Carol Perkins has been talking endlessly about … something, for the better part of the ten minutes it’s been since you sat down with your lunch tray.    

You aren’t exactly sure what about, because you’re not listening. You’re just sitting there watching her lips flap.    

You might have felt bad about that even as recently as last week, but somehow you can’t seem to muster the feeling today.

Maybe it's because you didn't get any sleep last night and your brain feels like its made of television static.

Maybe it has to do with the recent events that have more or less completely soured your opinion of your so-called best friend.

Maybe it’s just that her conversations these days are not exactly the stuff of edge-of-your-seat intrigue.

You're not listening to what she's saying, but a decent part of you is fairly certain in the knowledge that whatever she is saying is bound to have something to do with her stupid boyfriend.    

Tommy Hagan has been Carol’s singular topic of regular conversation for going on two years now, and you have been bored to tears for just as long. 

Tommy said this, Tommy did that, oh my god Tommy is so funny, Tommy Tommy Tommy.   

Tommy is fine, you guess, if you like snot-nosed bullies who never matured past age twelve.

If you like a guy whose idea of trying to divert attention away from the fact that he’s more into Steve Harrington than he is his own girlfriend is by stirring up drama, and feigning some kind of bullshit interest in you.

If you like a guy who calls you Princess like it's a slur and gives you a hard shove in the back like it's a sign of affection.    

Yeah… Tommy is so not your type.  

Then again, you never would have thought he was Carol’s type, considering her interests have always swayed more Han Solo than anything else — (see: The Empire Strikes Back poster she secretly has taped to the inside of her closet door) — but you know she would go to her grave denying it if you dared to remind her of it.

She'd probably try to take you with her if you did, so you don't, especially not today when you've left more than half your faculties at home in bed.

All you can manage right now is keeping your mouth shut and moving watery canned green beans around your lunch tray with a plastic spork.

Meanwhile, Carol talks and talks and endlessly talks.

You’re on probation with Carol after last week’s debacle in the quad, anyway, so you are not invited to chime in, even if you were listening.

You’re supposed to just sit there and listen to whatever it is she has to say and nod along dutifully without interrupting.

That’s your whole job here, nothing more, nothing less.

That's fine, you don't currently have the brain capacity for anything else.

Still, a bigger part of you than you are willing to acknowledge has started desperately wishing that Tina Burton or Nicole would show up and implore her to shut the fuck up.

Once upon a time, you might have done so yourself, but you haven’t been brave enough to speak so directly to Carol since the eighth grade.     

One too many times getting your head bitten off has conditioned you to wire your jaw shut and tune it out, for self-preservation's sake, which is exactly why you’d just stood there and took every bit of vitriol Carol had to give you that morning last week, like the good dog you are.   

Apparently, someone said something about hearing Tommy talking big in homeroom about some other thing that happened over the weekend at a party you didn’t attend.

Logic would tell you that Carol knows you weren't at this party because she gave you such a heinous amount of shit over it when you told her you weren't going, but logic almost never comes into account when it comes to things like this.

Carol doesn't care about the facts, she only cares about the rumor.  

It was suggested that you’d tried to cop a feel or something. Worse than that was how it was suggested that Tommy was into it, and she went nuclear.    

Not at him, of course.

Never mind that Tommy was the one spreading the rumor in homeroom, all that mattered to Carol was who he was trying so desperately to incriminate.   

Literally anyone else, and it wouldn’t have been such a big deal. If somebody had said that it was Vicki Carmichael or Tammy Thompson or Tina, Carol wouldn’t give a shit.

She’d throw her weight around, make a show of girlie dominance, there would be a very public spat, and that would be that.

But no, it had to be you.   

Why oh why did it have to be you? You imagine she’s asking herself the same question, and you’re not sure if your ears are ever going to stop ringing after the way she’d shouted at you, in front of God and Tommy and practically everyone in school.     

He just stood there watching it happen with that smug little smirk you hate so much plastered across his stupid face.

Everyone just stood there, even you stood there, staring helplessly at your sneakers, waiting for it to end. You were an island unto your own shame... until you noticed a pair of dingy Reeboks appear beside your own.     

“Good God!” A voice as familiar as childhood rang out, loud enough to slice through the air and silence Carol mid-stream.

Like so many meerkats, the whole school shifted and turned toward the intrusion, and like a knight in leather and patchy denim, there stood Eddie Munson.

At first, you couldn't believe it was him, or that this was even really happening.

He was just standing there, like it was the most natural thing in the world to butt in like this. Like this wasn’t the first time something like this had ever happened in the history of cool kids and losers interacting at Hawkins High.

Exactly where you fall on that spectrum was yet to be determined, but what was perfectly understood was that Eddie Munson had come riding in to rescue you from the dynamic duo that is Tommy and Carol.

They were speechless — Eddie was not.  

“What on God’s green Earth is making that awful racket?” He said loudly – theatrically – and then he turned his blinding attention to you, “Sounds like someone’s skinning a cat out here,”

Then, he gave you a gentle nudge with his elbow, like you were old friends and it was some kind of an inside joke, as if you were supposed to have any idea what that meant.  

You stared back at him, wide-eyed and still too stunned to speak, and he winked at you.

You have no idea what you said following that, if you even said anything at all. You're pretty sure you blacked out.

You don’t even remember what Carol said. You know there was some kind of vicious back and forth that occurred between them before a staff member eventually arrived to break up the huddle and cart Eddie off, and you know that Carol was pissed that you didn’t defend her.

Most of all, you know you’re still paying for that imagined slight with a concentrated cold shoulder from most everyone you know a full week later, but you can hardly make yourself care about being so summarily iced out like that.    

Because Eddie Munson stood up for you.

You still can’t wrap your head around that. Nobody’s ever stood up for you like that before, nobody over the age of twelve, anyway.

But Eddie did, and you haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. You haven't been able to stop thinking about him.

You really can’t afford to be thinking about him right now, not while you're so sleep deprived and not while Carol is sitting right there. If she could read your mind she'd claw your eyes out.

Thankfully, she hasn't noticed the way your attention has begun to stray. She’s too busy talking, and it's starting to give you a headache.   

Deep down, somewhere in your subconscious, you know you ought to try and smooth things over, because for as nasty as she can be (all the time, every day) she’s still your best friend. Even though she regularly puts you on probation like this for imagined slights.

Even though your friendship has conditions and stipulations that only seem to apply to you.

Even though you have nothing in common anymore except for the fact that you’ve been best friends since you were eight years old.    

So, perhaps the better phrasing is you know you ought to try a little harder because you used to be best friends.    

Nostalgia is the ancient, flaking paste keeping the walls of your friendship standing, but the paper there has long since begun to peel to reveal the rot beneath.     

Carol is still going on about who said what and who is dating who and all the latest gossip, talking at you more than talking to you. Talking just to fill the air because there's nothing Carol hates more than an awkward silence, and any silence with you is awkward.

You’re doing your best to at least try to pretend to look interested – really, you are – but with your lack of sleep and your headache, and everything else happening in the room, there’s not much you can do to stop the way your gaze has begun to wander…    

Because Eddie Munson has entered your periphery, Eddie Munson is standing on his lunch table – Eddie Munson stood up for you.     

Good God, indeed.    

You couldn't have listened to what Carol was saying in that moment if you tried, not with Eddie standing there, larger than life and violently demanding your undivided attention.

Well, okay... not yours specifically, rather the attention of anyone who just so happens to be bored enough to tune in to his frenetic display … which is to say, you.   

You’re happy enough to let him have your attention, and you tell yourself it's because whatever he’s up to is bound to be vastly more enticing than anything Carol has to say.

No other reason, absolutely not.

You’re not sure you’d be able to resist giving it to him even if you didn’t feel that way, because if you were being honest, you would admit that you’ve been painfully aware of him from the moment you’d stepped into the lunchroom.    

Not because you’re minorly obsessed with him or anything as uncool as that. Certainly not because you’re harboring a bizarre gargantuan little crush on him, or that when you tune everything else out and let your brain switch tracks, it’s him your mind shifts to.   

No, nothing so embarrassing as that.     

He’s a rebel with entirely too much cause, standing tall on the flattop, talking big and proselytizing to his minions about something with all the fire and charisma of a bible belt preacher. You’re hopelessly lost on the context of his sermon, but you’re nothing if not convinced and entirely prepared to convert to the church of Eddie Munson.

Quietly, and so, so carefully, so as not to alert the predators lurking in your circle. Stranded in the lion's den as you are, you're stuck having to worship your false idol from afar, and you're almost content to keep doing so.

Still, your cautious reverence does nothing to ease the shock of chills that wracks your body as Eddie raises his voice.

You can feel it vibrating in the pit of your stomach and you know you must be gawping stupidly at him as the passion of whatever it is that’s got him going today takes him to the edge of euphoria.

It’s absolutely captivating to watch, and almost enough to break Carol’s concentration... almost.

This is not exactly new behavior for Eddie, so most people have learned to tune him out.     

Normally you would count yourself in among that group — you know, like a liar — if for nothing more than that good ol' self preservation.

Then again, you aren't normally dead on your feet after spending a night tossing and turning, restlessly caught in the throes of a decidedly raunchy REM cycle, the subject of which just so happens to be standing on a table across the room. 

He's the reason you didn't get any sleep last night, and despite your bone tiredness, you're suddenly wide awake.

So what if you had a sex dream about Eddie last night? So what if your skin is buzzing where you can still feel his hands pulling at you, the gentle fanning of his breath on the nape of your neck where it had felt so real...

“Sweet Girl,” he’d whispered on heady exhale in your dreams, voice thick and shot full of holes in the way you can only imagine he might sound in the throes of ecstasy.

Just the thought of it sends a bolt of heat lancing through your core and forces you to shift in your seat and, tragically, avert your gaze. 

It's just a little bit too much show for you with tell out of the question, and Eddie, or at least the version of him in your dreams, is driving you nuts.     

You are an island to your own fantasies, feeling your heart throbbing between your legs and trying to be as subtle as humanly possible about the way you’re pinching your thighs together for the faintest glimmer of relief.

You stop that right this instant you dirty slut. A snarling voice in your head warns you, and you immediately obey as cooler heads prevail.

The absolute last thing you need is to go to pieces at the lunch table in front of all your peers. In front of Eddie.

Carol would never let you live it down.

Someone shouts something at him from across the room, and you have to fight not to look for his response.

You're just a little too hot under the collar right now to watch Eddie give someone the finger, especially while you're sitting there wishing he would give it to you instead.

Jesus Christ you are so pathetic.

You force yourself to look at Carol and watch her lips move. You don't hear a word she says, but you're grateful for the distraction and the sudden pang of longing in your heart, if only for entirely selfish reasons.

You hate having to suffer in silence like this.

Once upon a time, you might have been free to share the specificities of your dream in bowed heads and hushed tones, but you are entirely certain that were you to try that now, to lean across the table and whisper conspiratorially:

“Oh my God, you’ll never guess who I had the filthiest dream about last night,” you’d be instantly crucified, socially speaking.    

Carol doesn’t care about the yearnings of your most secret self. Not anymore. Now she only cares about Tommy and who did what at Tina’s party and how embarrassing it was, and quietly sidling up to Steve Harrington.    

She doesn’t care about you, and your secrets are absolutely not safe with her, no matter what the pathetic lingering sense of nostalgia keeps telling you.

You would cut ties if you had a little more self-respect, but high school is hard enough with bad friends, you know for certain it would be next to impossible with no friends.

The concept of starting fresh and trying to make new ones halfway through your sophomore year is a Sisyphean Hurdle you have no idea how to even begin to tackle. So you grin and bear it, and swallow any biblical yearnings you happen to harbor for the town pariah for later.

Besides, if you told her, all she would do is ask you what it is you think you know about anything raunchy before dutifully reminding you that you’re a virgin.   

Actually, the technical term would be “still a virgin” and would be followed up with the demand to know “when you’re going to do something about it” — like somehow the untouched state of your being is so embarrassing.   

You suppose in the eternal tide pool of the high school diaspora, it’s just one more patently uncool thing about you hampering her.

Carol Perkins and her loser best friend who doesn’t put out, has never had a boyfriend, never even been kissed.    

You would remind her that it’s hard to put out when nobody knows you exist.

Who are you but her excessively boring shadow? You don't put out because half the time nobody even notices you're there. But that would feel too much like whining and would only become an agonizing exercise in her rattling off a list of names you’d so much rather eat glass than accompany anywhere socially.     

But you tell yourself it's not all bad, because if you're invisible, then at least you don't have to worry about how poor a job you're doing masking the way you're staring at Eddie.

You can't be embarrassed if nobody perceives you right? You're not so sure.

You don’t really know when your stupid little crush began.

He's always been there if you really think about it, a fixture in the background of the swirling miasma that is your social circle, suddenly much larger than it has ever been since High School has became your habitat.    

Hawkins is a small town, and Eddie’s lived here his whole life, same as you. He’s a year older, but that wouldn’t be enough distance to remove someone from your orbit under normal circumstances, let alone someone like him in a town like this.    

Some part of you has always been mildly obsessed with him from a purely academic standpoint — forbidden knowledge is perhaps the most tantalizing thing to a young mind, and the likes of Eddie Munson has always been completely off-limits to the likes of you.   

Eddie's father was always something closer to a Universal Movie Monster than a real person in your mind.

More like Dracula or the Wolfman than a human man with a substance abuse problem.

When you were growing up, the most you knew about it was that Al Munson was the local boogeyman, and was to be feared by school children and good Americans alike.

Eddie didn't even feature in that conversation until much later, not until the notorious Munson patriarch finally went to prison and everyone could breathe a weighted sigh of relief.

With the streets safe again, life went on, and the good people of Hawkins very quickly realized their mistake.

People start to get nervous when there are no local pariahs to blame all their problems on. Hawkins is cursed, after all, but with Al gone, that narrative quickly began to crumble.

Luckily, they had a Munson to spare, and as soon as he was old enough, everyone was happy to force the son into the void the father left in the cultural zeitgeist. 

Eddie became bad news over night, "just like his father", your parents still used to say and you were are strictly forbidden from socializing with him.

You remember a time when it wasn’t like that.

You remember when your parents spoke about Eddie with a heavy dose of sympathy, because back then it wasn't his fault his father was a monster.    

When you were little, it was “that poor kid,” but as you got older and he started getting into more and more trouble, it became “stay away from that boy – he’s no good,”

Still, there’s nothing so tempting as forbidden fruit – you’ve known that since you were old enough to recognize there was a difference between boys and girls. 

And he is nothing if not strictly forbidden to you.

Even now, sitting in the lunchroom so publicly yearning, you can still hear your father’s lecturing voice warning you that if you so much as spoke to Eddie Munson you’d get instantly hooked on drugs, knocked up, and end up living out of a cardboard box by the time you were twenty.    

Which is stupid, of course, because you’ve gone to school with Eddie since first grade and you’d seen him talk to plenty of people over the course of that time, none of whom had gone on to suffer such a dismal fate.              

Anyway, it's not like he's banging down the door for your attention. You’re fairly certain he doesn’t even know you exist.   

There wasn’t much danger in becoming corrupted by someone like Eddie Munson before Carol got popular and dragged you along with her, and that hasn’t changed just because you won a golden ticket to the cool kid’s table… by proxy — you're more of an unwanted plus-one than anything else.    

Not Charlie Bucket so much as Grandpa Joe.   

But of course, you’ve never personally subscribed to the generalization that Eddie is evil or something.    

He isn’t the boogeyman or Dracula or any of those things that go bump in the night, no matter how badly your raunchy little dreams wish he'd come bumping through your night.   

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie isn’t even all that mean or scary, and maybe that’s just because he’d treated you so sweetly last autumn at Tina Burton’s Not-Quite-Halloween party….    

Except you’re not supposed to be thinking about that, remember? Because last week's dressing down in the quad wasn't actually the first time Eddie came to your rescue.

That memory is not safe within Carol’s proximity, but it is the ambrosia that has been singularly sustaining you for the better part of a year now – a year next week on Halloween, but who’s counting?

It is a shining jewel that you keep tucked safely in the spot behind your lungs, and you just can’t help but pull the curtain back to take a peek at it.   

It was your first high school party.    

You’d never partaken in anything before that night, never even been offered, but suddenly and unceremoniously finding yourself shoved up against Eddie in a game of puff-puff-pass, you let yourself be pressured into playing.   

He must have realized you were nervous — maybe your fingers were trembling when he passed you the blunt, but suddenly, and for perhaps the first time in your life, he was speaking directly to you.    

“Have you ever done this before?” Eddie asked you quietly, a heavy dose of concern shadowing the wry quirk of his brow.   

It was startling, to realize the curse of your invisibility had so unceremoniously been lifted, leaving you suddenly exposed to the one person you were never meant to speak to.

You had to resist the urge to whip your head around and ask, “Who me?”

Yes, you.    

Eddie Munson was looking at you and asking you if you knew what you were doing.    

Like something out of one of those anti-drug campaigns, you suddenly felt the unbearable pressure to perform in a situation you’d been preparing for your whole life: if Eddie Munson offers you drugs at a party, just say no kids.    

Only you could not help but notice how genuinely concerned he looked, how soft and approachable and incredibly fucking normal.

Not nearly as scary or dangerous as McGruff the Crime Dog had led you to believe. In fact, he was entirely too enticing, and you were suddenly desperate to make a good impression.   

You opened your mouth in the fanatical hope of saying something cool and casual — yeah, of course. You’ve done all kinds of shit — and were naturally horrified to hear the truth squeak out.    

“No.”    

Eddie’s brows crept toward one another forming a deep crease of concern between them, and in a bright burst of suddenly onset clairvoyance, you could read his mind - yeah, that’s what I thought, he seemed to say.   

You watched as he stole a quick glance over his shoulder, before leaning in, invading your space almost conspiratorially as the moist pink tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he spoke.

Your heart was beating so aggressively in your chest that you were convinced he must have been able to hear it.    

“You don’t have to breathe it in if you don’t want to.” He said, “Just puff it and pass — you’ll be fine.”    

You still remember the way his lips brushed the shell of your ear when he whispered to you, how the fanning of his breath made you shiver with the tantalizing suggestion of nicotine and spearmint secrets.    

But it was the last little bit that really did you in.    

Not the overwhelming pressure of your peers insisting that just one hit won’t kill you, but the kind assurance from the person who provided the contraband that you didn’t have to partake if you didn’t want to.

It was the suggestion of having a choice in your fate that ultimately lured you out of your field and into the underworld — sickly sweet pomegranate promises, dripping from his tongue to yours.   

You’ll be fine.

Just like your father and McGruff the Crime Dog and all those insufferable after-school specials had promised, Eddie Munson turned his gaze upon you, and you were instantly hooked.    

He passed you the blunt, and you tried not to get too caught up on the way his fingers brushed yours when you took it.

You curled your lips inward as you brought it to your mouth, and you puff puff puffed, doing your best to hold your throat closed against any swirling wisps of smoke that might slip through and poison you.

You hoped it would give the subtle impression that you knew what you were doing in order to escape the humiliation of inexperience before you handed the joint off to the next person.

It still burned in a funny sort of way, but nothing really happened.

You didn’t slip down the rabbit hole, you didn’t burst into flames, and perhaps most importantly no one seemed to notice the wool being pulled over their eyes as you dared to steal another cautious glance at Eddie.    

His lips twitched in the faintest hint of a satisfied smile, and you bloomed under the approval of someone whose attention you never realized you so desperately craved.

You couldn’t believe you’d pulled it off, and you were so pleased to have evidently made Eddie proud that is physically hurt to watch him turn away from you and take the shining warmth of his attention away, leaving you shrouded in darkness.

Tragically, invisible again, just like that.    

If only you could have been so lucky.

Trust Carol to catch you faking when you — a virgin in so many aspects — continued to remain clear eyed and level headed after three rounds of puffing and passing.    

“You’re supposed to inhale, Dummy!” She shrieked, causing everyone in the circle to laugh at your blatant inexperience.   

Everyone but Eddie, you would have noticed had you been able to look, but shame-faced as you were, you kept your gaze fixed firmly to the floor.

When your next turn came around, you inhaled deeply and felt your lungs ignite.

You coughed, of course, and choked on the musky smoke as it filled your lungs and seared them medium rare.

It only took a handful of minutes before you quickly faded into oblivion, backed by the soundtrack of everyone laughing at you again.    

The rest of that night remains a mystery to you to this day.    

You don’t remember what happened after the game or how much longer the party lasted or even how you got home, but there are some things that stand out clear as day.

Somewhere, hidden back in the furthest reaches of your subconscious, you swear you can still feel the press of his body as Eddie held you caged in the crook of his arm, with your head resting on his collarbone and tucked neatly beneath his chin.

You don’t know how, but you swear you know what his lips feel like, brushing the highest point of your cheekbone, and the long line of his nose pressed flat against your temple with his breath gently fanning the side of your face.

You’re sure you can feel the deep rumble of his voice filling you with warmth, a low timber in his chest calling you Sweet Girl as he smoothes your hair back.  

You don’t know how you know all that, only that you do.

You feel it with every fiber of your being in a way that is so goddamn real it can’t just be an effect of your stupid little crush and unchecked libido. 

How else could your dreams be so inexorably vivid?

In a moment of weakness, Eddie promised you everything was going to be okay, and you believe him to this day.        

That night at Tina’s party, academic fascination bloomed into something new, fueled entirely by teenage hormones and the need to be seen.    

Like a door that, once opened, cannot be shut again, you are always thinking about Eddie, one way or another.

Attention is the high you crave like nothing else, and you desperately want Eddie’s attention, his undivided, unfiltered, unwavering attention, fixed solely on you.

Selfishly, you want him to be as obsessed with you as you are with him, and it makes you feel like at any moment you’re going to implode in on yourself like a dying star.    

Your parents would be appalled.   

Carol would be appalled.

But Carol hasn’t noticed, because she’s still talking, and you’re still not listening, because Eddie is still going. And going. And going.   

Eddie Eddie Eddie.

Eddie is suddenly so much closer than he was a moment before.

At some point, when you weren’t looking, while you were too busy thinking about him to notice the direction his tirade had taken him, he picked his was across the lunch tables and crossed the room.

Your stomach does a cartoon flip-flop, and you hold a wheezy breath in your lungs when he vaults down from the end of his table, furthest from his seat and closest to yours.

Suddenly he's right fucking there, and you forget how to breathe.

Your eyes meet briefly as he straightens up, and you immediately avert your gaze — self preservation, remember? — feeling your face flush hot enough that you’re half surprised it doesn’t melt right off of your skull as you shift your focus back over to Carol.    

Carol... what's Carol talking about again? Oh, that's right. Tommy Hagan. Tommy Tommy Tommy.

Tommy is so goddamn boring, but in this instant, with Eddie Munson lurking within enough proximity to feel the pull of his orbit, Tommy is the most interesting person in the world.

You desperately want to know everything about Tommy and Tina and who said what about you and how embarrassing it was.   

Because you’ve changed your mind. You don't want Eddie's attention. Eddie’s attention is blinding, like looking into the sun.

It makes you feel exposed, like he’s a spotlight shining straight through to your innermost self — your secret self.

The one that thinks about him in the wee hours of the morning when sleep eludes you and deft fingers creep their way down your body, edging toward the wanting apex of your spread thighs and slipping past creamy slick barriers to pull soft, lilting breaths and his name — his blessed, cursed name — from your parted lips until you’re going hot and cold clamping your jaw shut to stop the sordid cries of your orgasm from escaping your lips…   

Jesus Christ –    

No, actually, you’re much more comfortable remaining a wallflower and letting someone else get wrapped up in that undivided, unwavering, fixed-solely-on-you attention.

Better to stand aside and make room for somebody built to withstand that kind of heat from someone like Eddie. Someone edgy and cool, who gives the middle finger to the world and dresses the part — not some midwestern babysitter from a town no one has ever heard of.    

Yeah... but he’s from that town that no one has ever heard of, too, you think watching Carol’s lips move and hearing nothing but your own heartbeat.

You gaze wanders without your permission, and before you know it, you're looking at him again – your insides seize and cramp, because this time, he’s looking too.    

Your heart spasms in your chest and scrambles up into your throat, punching an airy breath out of you and flattening your lungs.   

Fuck.    

There’s that blinding light, that feeling of indecent exposure — it’s not the sun, it's a solar eclipse burning your retinas out of your skull, and somehow you can’t bring yourself to look away.    

You’re painfully aware of how you’re staring again, though this time it is because he has your eyes and he absolutely refuses to let go.    

Somehow it doesn’t feel even the slightest bit aggressive, more like an understanding – he sees you.   

He sees you.   

You’re blushing, you know you’ve got to be bright crimson — beet red even — you can feel it.

You're sweating.

Sweet Girl — hands pulling, lips brushing, wandering fingers, gasping, gasping —Sweet Girl Sweet Girl Sweet—  

“Hello? Ground control to Major Tom.”    

Carol snaps her perfectly manicured fingers in your face, breaking the spell and bringing the quiet din of the lunchroom rushing back in on you.    

It feels like getting swamped at the beach, swept off of your feet by the tide, and rolled in the undercurrent. You crack your head on the reef and your brains come tumbling out as you're washed away into oblivion.

You have to remind yourself to breathe.   

“Are you even listening to me?” She snipes, scrunching her nose in aggravation and flattening her bubble gum pink lips into a thin, ugly line.     

You blink stupidly at her as she comes back into focus, but you don’t answer, because you very clearly hadn't and your mind is not working well enough to drudge up an excuse.    

It feels foolish to try and lie about it because Carol loves to remind you that she always knows when you’re lying, and yet the truth is entirely too dangerous.

Your secrets are not safe with her, and your biggest secret is still standing right there.

You can see him in your peripheral vision, poking and prodding you and just begging to be noticed.     

And you can't stop yourself from looking. Of course you can't, who can resist the sun?

When you do, Eddie rewards you with a brief, goofy smile. All crooked lips twisted up to one side, the faintest suggestion of teeth poking out.

It's a startling contrast to the vitriolic injustice of whatever it was that had previously gripped him in such a chokehold, and it’s contagious, that smile.

You can suddenly feel the corners of your mouth twitching in response, threatening to expose you and just daring you to try to resist.    

It makes your insides go tight and squirmy, and you have to clench your teeth to keep anything remotely similar to a straight face.    

The change in your demeanor is unfortunately not lost on Carol.      

She narrows her eyes at you, and you are powerless to stop your own from darting back and forth.

Carol - Eddie - Carol - Eddie - Carol... Eddie always wins.

You feel your heart seize and begin to palpitate as she begins to twist to see what could possibly be so important to hold your rapt attention, and you have to grip the edges of your seat to stop yourself from reaching out across the table.

You could scream stop! and make a scene, but that would only make you look even crazier than you are sure you already do.

There's nothing you can do to stop the collision, and all you can do is brace yourself for the sky to come crashing down on your head.

Unstoppable force? Meet immovable object.

Round two. Fight.        

Carol physically recoils when she sees Eddie. Dramatically so - like he'd been waiting there to douse her in a bucket of ice water.

It takes her a moment to recover, but when she does, she has nothing but spitting, poisonous vitriol for him, much to your unbearable dismay.    

“Take a picture, Freak, it’ll last longer.” She snaps.    

Something indiscernible crosses Eddie’s features as his gaze flicks over to her from you, then back again.

You watch his brows marry in the middle as he pulls a face that is tinged ever so slightly with something that looks a little too much like hurt than you're comfortable with.

The flash of vulnerability makes your stomach go tight, and you’re suddenly possessed with a violent and desperate need to make him understand that you are not with her, despite how stridently untrue that is.

You are Carol's friend, after all, even if lately you've started to feel like little more than an out-of-trend accessory.     

With her, is all that you are.      

The hurt look is gone before it has time to settle, and Eddie wrinkles his nose in disgust.   

For a long moment, they stand staring poisonous daggers at each other and daring the other to be the first to die.

She hates him and he hates her right back — cool kids and losers. Circle of life.

All you can do is desperately hope beyond hope that you’re not lumped into that circle by association. Golden ticket by proxy.   

“Seriously, what the fuck are you looking at?” Carol snaps, and strangely, Eddie's features relax.   

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his shoulders, “Just wondering how Bulimia Barbie got out of her box.”    

Your insides clench and had she been facing you, you’re certain you would have seen Carol turn white as a sheet.   

Eddie turns to make the stilted victory lap back to his seat at the head of his table, electing to take the floor this time rather than the tabletop.

You watch him go, because at this point, you're Pavloved — if Eddie is moving, you're watching — and when he gets to his seat, he gives you one last parting glance.

This time, you muster your courage and hold his gaze, pulling a face that you hope looks at least halfway as apologetic as it feels. 

That went exactly the way it was meant to, according to the strict social hierarchy of Hawkins High, and you feel terrible about it.

Not nearly as bad as you ought to feel for Carol, however.     

There are a lot of ways to get under her skin — she’s never been exactly easygoing, but even you think bringing up the eating disorder she’s been less-than-privately struggling with since the eighth grade is a low blow.

She’d been devastated when word of it got out, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her it was Tommy who’d let that information slip, because they'd only just started dating when that rumor was making the rounds.

Tommy's mean, Carol's mean too, but despite the words still hanging in the air between you, you don't believe that Eddie is mean, not truly.

Carol makes a harsh sound of indignation in the back of her throat.    

“Asshole!” She shouts unevenly, then, “—can you believe that guy?”   

You don't answer, you're still too busy trying very hard to muster those latent psychic abilities you're still waiting on to tell Eddie you're sorry.

Carol hisses your name and you snap to attention.

"— what the hell are you looking at?"   

“Nothing.” You say quickly, doing your best to curl in on yourself so she can't reach across the table to bite your head off.  

Only Carol has not believed a word that has come out of your mouth since the summer between eighth and ninth grade. She twists in her seat again just in time to see Eddie looking away, much to your patent dismay,

“…Oh, gross!” she scoffs, whipping back around to face you, “What, are you swapping eyes with the Freak?”    

The adrenaline of being caught bursts in your midsection like a firework and sends lightning rocketing down to the tips of your fingers.

"No," You lie.

"Liar," she says.

You turn your attention back to moving the bits of your lunch tray back and forth, but you have completely lost your appetite, especially as she admonishes you with a disappointed utterance of your name.

Your cheeks burn with shame.    

“I was just being friendly.” You stress, pressing the plastic tines of your spork into the bottom of the tray until they bend and snap off.   

“With Eddie Munson? Ugh — gag me!”      

The unchecked disdain in her tone doesn’t sit right with you, because it’s not like she’s ever even said two words to Eddie that weren’t hurled as insults, and you can’t help yourself clicking your tongue.    

“...he’s not that bad,” you say, immediately regretting the statement as the mean nickname comes roaring back to slap you upside the head.

Bulemia Barbie snorts out an undainty sound of disgust, you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from apologizing.   

“He’s a freak.” She snarls — so you keep saying, you think — “He worships the Devil or whatever — everybody knows that.”    

Horrifically, there is nothing you can do to stifle the bitter snort of laughter that comes bubbling up out of you.

It is a harsh, sardonic snot of a sound that escapes before you can reign it in.      

A brief flash of hatred colors her features, and you can’t help but feel that the curtain has been pulled back and you’re suddenly looking at her true self.    

"Everybody knows that." She repeats, slowly, forcefully, giving you a hard, cold look as if daring you to disagree.

Evidently, you dare, which is a shock to you.   

“How do you know?” you say, narrowing your eyes and wrinkling your nose in a quiet defiance. 

She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, because she doesn't know. That's just what everybody says, but as far as you're concerned, no one has any actual proof that Eddie Munson worships the Devil.

Your stance gives you the upper hand in this verbal joust, and your reluctance to concede is like throwing gas on a fire.    

Suddenly, Carol is all but shouting at you as her eyes go bright and her skin flushes a blotchy crimson.      

“Oh please, like you know any better, Little Miss Babysitter!”   

She hurls it at you like a slur and you flinch as the violent intention strikes you.   

You don’t know precisely when Carol became so mean, only that it happened sometime between the transition from seventh to eighth grade, right around the time she’d gotten her first training bra and started to notice how boys were noticing her — right around the time Tommy showed up.

Since that day, everything between the two of you has been a competition that she is determined to win, despite how clearly uninterested you are in participating.

You don't want to fight, and yet you feel the strangest sense of righteous indignation rising in you because she doesn’t know Eddie. She's never even tried to get to know him, and here she is condemning him right alongside everyone else just because it’s what’s currently on trend.

You want to ask her how that’s fair, how she would feel if the shoe were on the other foot, and suddenly she became bad news overnight.

You don't, because you don't want to get your head bitten off as much as you don't want to parrot the condescending tone of your mother asking you if you’d jump off of a cliff the same as everyone.

Mostly though, you don't ask because she's right.

You don’t know Eddie any better than she does, not with all your wishing and hoping and fantasizing, and certainly not after the way he’d looked at you at Tina’s party – Sweet Girl…  

“Yeah okay, whatever,” You mumble, because there’s no point in arguing with Carol when she gets like this.   

Your submission doesn’t apparently sit any better with Carol than your challenge did. Her face twists into a displeased scowl as she snatches up the can of coke that is the entirety of her lunch and begins to raise it to her bubblegum pink lips before thinking better of it and setting it back down with a harsh sigh.    

You don’t know what’s got her so flustered, or what you did to embarrass her so badly. All you did was smile at Eddie, it’s not like you invited him to come and sit at the table with you.    

“Why do you care anyway?” She demands then, clearly not done fighting.        

“I don’t,” You say flatly, sitting up a little straighter.    

“Then how come you’re defending him?”    

You cross your arms.    

“I’m not.”    

“You are though.” She insists, like she’s caught the scent of something she can weild against you, and is trying her best to sniff it out. “You’ve got that stupid look on your face like you’re about to get all self-righteous about something. What’s the deal? Do you like him or something?”   

Your heart seizes and suddenly you can feel color bleeding into your cheeks as your armor creaks under the stress of her accusation.

How could she possibly know that?   

Because she’s your best friend, she knows everything about you…   

“No…” you say, though even you are not convinced by the quavering tone of your voice.   

Carol stares at you, briefly uncomprehending before it dawns on her, and suddenly her eyes are blazing with malicious delight.   

Shit.   

“Oh, nasty!” She shouts, then gasps, mouth falling open in scandal, “You do! You totally do!”   

“I don’t – I mean, I don’t even know him.” You stammer, kicking yourself for how your resolve has begun to waver.     

“Doesn’t mean you’re not into him! Oh, that’s so gross!” Carol sneers, she is loving this all too much, “Oh, my God, look at you – you’re blushing!”   

Your hands fly up reflexively to bracket your face, and you hate yourself for the heat you can feel billowing off you, betraying you.

Carol squeals with malevolent glee and you know you must be sweating again for the way she is looking at you, eyes bright, teeth bared, wet, and shining in a hungry grin like a predator getting ready to make a meal out of you.   

“O-okay, that’s enough.” You say unevenly, trying and failing to be firm as you are suddenly unable to keep your voice from shaking as you speak.   

She doesn’t hear you – that or she just plain ignores you because she is getting too much of a rise out of your misery.    

“What are you, like, in love with him?”    

“Carol – stop.”   

“You are! Holy shit, you totally are!” She cackles, “You want to marry him and have a hundred of his freak babies!”    

She is practically screaming and you are this close to panicking about it, glancing anxiously across the room to the table where Eddie is sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, talking and laughing with his friends about something.

You have to force yourself to believe that they aren’t laughing at you because there’s no way they could possibly be clued into your conversation with Carol … who has started play-acting that she is you, moaning loud and wantonly as you are fucked by what you can only imagine is supposed to be Eddie.

It's shockingly apropos in the worst possible way, almost as if somehow she’d found the time to steal away and read the mad scribblings you’d left smeared across the pages of your diary that morning.   

“Oh, God–!” She moans, hands flying up to tangle in her hair and igniting a burst of cold anxiety in the pit of your stomach like a Roman candle, “Oh, Eddie! Don’t stop! Right there – Yes! YES! YES!”     

You could die. You could literally die.    

People have started to look over at you, stare at you, and all of that would almost be fine if it weren’t for the fact that you are currently imploding like that dying star.   

You can’t be certain if its a result of your friend’s whorish display or just the screaming sensation of someone staring at him (because if you weren't watching him like a hawk before, you certainly are now) but Eddie’s attention snaps back over to your table in an instantly, to you, and you nearly pass out.   

You’re on your feet with a loud squeak of chair legs on linoleum – much louder than anything Carol had just kicked up. If people weren’t staring before, they’re certainly staring now, watching you frantically attempt to gather your things and make a break for it before your brain can catch up with you.   

Carol has started to come down by now, and she's leaning back casually in her chair, watching you panic.

"Seriously?" She snickers, like she didn't just publicly humiliate you, again, "You're leaving?"   

“I gotta go,” you say quickly.    

“Oh, come on, I was just kidding.” Carol sighs, “Don't be so sensitive. Where are you going?”    

You can hardly hear her over the blood rushing in your ears. Your heart is hammering so violently against your ribcage that you can barely catch your breath to try and stammer out an excuse.   

“I just remembered,” You begin, your voice hitches and threatens to break, “I have this… thing I have to do for class. Totally forgot. I gotta go work on it.”   

You shove the last of your belongings haphazardly into your backpack and slide your lunch tray into the nearest trashcan – the entire tray hits the bottom of the bin with a loud thump that has the lunch lady shouting indignantly at you from the other side of the room.   

You don’t linger to rectify your mistake or apologize or do anything of the sort, because your frantic attempts to escape the lunchroom have drawn only more attention.   

One cursory glance reveals to you that, devastatingly, Eddie’s entire lunch table has turned to watch you go.

You nearly go stumbling to the ground as you trip over your feet in your frantic attempt to get as far from there as you possibly can, as fast as you can.

“Liar!” Carol shouts after you, “Where are you really going?”   

“I’ll see you later!”    

You twist at the waist and wave when she calls your name again, and, because you're Pavloved, you can’t help look to see Eddie leaning back dangerously in his chair, craning his neck to watch you go in a way that makes your heart seize against your ribs.

His eyes go wide when he sees you looking, and he lurches forward to right himself again, briefly losing his balance and just about toppling out of the chair as he does.  

He saw everything, which means he probably heard everything which means you should probably just go find a corner to curl up and die in.

Like, right now.      

You turn and pick up your pace and blow through the double doors before anyone can get the bright idea to follow you.   

You move through the halls without really knowing where you intend to go, but before you realize it, you’re in the gymnasium, stalking across the empty floor to tuck yourself back beneath the bleachers.   

It’s not the most covert hiding spot, and you're almost surprised to find it empty considering how many people tend toward coming down here to hide and make out.

The braver, hornier couples around campus have even been known to engage in the odd session of heavy petting or dry humping back here where they can get their rocks off more or less removed from prying eyes.

More, being the keyword there. It feels like someone is being busted for that kind of under the bleachers indecency every other week.

You’ve got no such plans to follow suit, despite the ruined state of your panties, as you scramble to slip out of sight with a gentle squeak of Chucks on clear coat.  

Your heart is pounding as you pull your knees up to your chest, face absolutely burning over the way Carol’s stupid play acting has left you slick and throbbing with the memory of your stupid, stupid dream.

You bite the inside of your cheek until it hurts and violently will yourself to get a grip, because what are you going to do about it? Nothing, you're gonna wallow in shame and that will be that.   

You pull your bag into your lap and begin rifling through its haphazard contents, desperately searching for some kind of a distraction – something to take your mind off of the lingering sensation of full lips and calloused fingertips and hot fanning breath – Jesus motherfucking Christ! Get a hold of yourself.    

You need your book. You need to lose yourself in thick text, hard science fiction, and worlds and histories and glossaries of outlandish names… only your book is not here. 

Your well-loved, annotated copy of Dune, whose cover is hanging on by a thread with how many times it has been bent backward as you pour over the familiar text. Whose pages are creased and dog-eared and littered with notes and doodles and all the little lines and themes you never want to forget.   

It’s not here. Even after you dig and dig and dig, even after you dump your bag on the gymnasium floor and spread all your things out in a neat fan in front of you.

Your book is still missing.   

You hardly get the time to stress about it much further than the singular thought before the school bell rings with a shrill, metallic clanging cry. It startles your brain back into an approximation of working action and sends you scrambling to shove all your things back into your bag.   

You’re almost relieved.

Without your book, you’d just been sitting there biding your time until Carol eventually sniffed you out and you would have to brace yourself for round two, but your schedules are thankfully far removed from one another.

She’s got Mrs. O’Donnell for fifth period, whose classroom lies mercifully on the other side of the school from your fifth-period chemistry class, and the ringing of the end of lunch bell is a Godsend, solidifying your escape and requisite safety from another bout of humiliation.   

Your lab partner is a freshman, Gareth Emerson, who just so happens to be a newer addition to Eddie’s roving gang of minions.

Somehow, that is much less terrifying than you’d half expected it to be when you first noticed him in the lunchroom, sitting tucked neatly into the chair at Eddie’s side and hanging on his every word.   

It had just been nice to know that you’re not the only one so affected by his gravitational pull  

Still, you’d often wondered how Gareth was lucky enough to win such a coveted spot so early on in his tenure, considering Eddie Munson tends to be a particularly terrifying entity to the newest additions to the Hawkins High student body.

As you’d gotten to know him, you stopped wondering about that.   

Gareth’s a sweetheart. He’s nice, funny, and reminds you a lot of your neighbor, Dustin, if he were a little older and just a little bit cooler, that is.

It’s no wonder he’s so quickly found himself at a place of honor at Eddie’s side, how could anyone resist him?  

You wish you could hang out with Gareth instead of Carol.

You wish you could sit comfortably at lunch and talk about the things that actually held your interest. That you could make afterschool and weekend plans without a hint of dread, and be safe in the knowledge that a trip to the movies or to the arcade was simply that. No ulterior motives or hidden agendas, no fear of being humiliated or abused for the amusement of the people who were supposed to be your friends.

You wish you could be real friends with Gareth, but Gareth hangs out with Eddie, and the thought of joining them at their lunch table is enough to send your heart into palpitations, so you just have to settle with the friendship you have, limited to the confines of the classroom.  

“Hey,” Gareth says, frowning quizzically at you as you unpack your things and hop up onto the metal stool beside him, “What happened to you at lunch? You looked like you were about to pop.”  

Your insides clench with shame and for a very brief moment, you're afraid you're about to empty them all over the tabletop.  

“You saw that, huh?” You mumble, swallowing hard.

“Everybody saw that.” He scoffs, pulling a face.   

Everybody. The word clangs around your ribs and you have to blink back the image of Eddie leaning so far back in his chair, watching you run from the lunchroom.

Literally run. Like some kind of scared little kid fleeing the monster that lives under their bed.   

Great.  

“What does she think you did this time? Sell her firstborn child for concert tickets or something?”  

You sigh, slumping forward to prop your head up on your elbow and level Gareth with an unimpressed look.  

“Nothing – I don’t want to talk about it.”  

He takes the hint and offers you his hands in a show of surrender before turning back to the blackboard, where Mr. Kapz has stepped up and begun scribbling formulas with a hard squeak of chalk.   

You watch without really seeing, trying to keep your mind from drifting too far with all your classmates sitting around you.

There is a cold lump in the pit of your stomach as a hundred different things whisk around your mind, all fighting tooth and nail for the limited real estate left in your brain with so much of Eddie stuffed up in there.

It’s always like that though, and it leaves you feeling particularly pathetic, thinking about yourself, sitting beneath the bleachers on your own, like the loser you are, hiding from your friends, wishing things were different, wishing you could be the person they wanted you to be, wishing you could be free of them.  

You suck greedily on a sharp intake of air and shake your head to dislodge that line of thinking before it can take root and pivot to a much more pressing matter, for the sake of your own self-preservation.         

“Hey, weird question,” You start, tilting your head down toward your shoulder and speaking in a loud whisper, “But have you seen my book?”   

Gareth’s brows are pulled tight over his eyes when you glance at him, and you are quick to elaborate,   

“Dune." You clarify, "It’s all beat up and annotated…?”    

“Yeah, no— I mean, sure I’ve seen it—” 

"Recently?" You posit, hoping he understands that you've lost it and not just trying to small talk about the sorry state of a mass-market paperback.

"Yeah."

You hardly let him finish.

“Really? That’s great! Where?” 

“...Eddie’s got it.”   

It hits you like a fist to the gut, punching your lungs flat and forcing the air out. Your heart thumps a heavy beat like it always does when someone mentions Eddie and you feel your tongue go fat in your mouth.     

“Ed-Eddie Munson?” You splutter, voice an embarrassing octave higher than normal, and barely manage to get the sound out over the way your throat is closing up.    

You can feel your cheeks heating just from the sordid act of speaking his name aloud.    

If Gareth takes any sort of hint from your bizarre reaction, he doesn’t let on.  

“Yeah.” He says again.   

You blink back at him, waiting for him to elaborate and feeling your chest go tight when he doesn’t.  

“…Why does he have my book?”   

“He said you left it in the parking lot after you dumped your stuff last week—”    

Oh, for the love of God…  

In the wake of everything else that happened that day, you’d almost completely forgotten about that… 

You’d been running late for school, having spectacularly slept through your alarm and been so rudely awakened by the thunderous hammering of two little fists, doing their best to bang down your bedroom door – Dustin, shouting at you to get your ass up out of bed.  

You’d forgotten you were supposed to be carpooling that morning, and you're sure you must have broken some kind of a land speed record with how you burnt rubber to get the both of you to school on time.

Gas pedal to the floor, music cranked up to eleven, you made the distance in five minutes flat.   

After, you’d been too caught up in your sudden prospective future as a Formula One driver to notice how you were headed for disaster. Jogging across the parking lot and trying to stuff your Walkman into your backpack, you weren't prepared for the wall of denim, patches, and studs to come stumbling haphazardly out of the open door of a semi-shitty beat-up panel van and directly into your path.   

You barely had time to look up, let alone pivot to try and avoid the sudden six-foot obstacle before you, so naturally you collided.

You managed to keep your feet and even catch your Walkman with an incredible feat of feline grace, but it came at the expense of your bookbag, which went tumbling topsy turvy and upchucked its contents all over the pavement at your feet.   

Fantastic.  

They stepped into your path, whoever they were. They crashed into you, but still you stammered out an apology, because how could they have been expected to look out for you when you’re running around under a cloak of invisibility?

Then, you dropped to your knees in an attempt to catch your pens and pencils before they could roll away. You fully expected to be ignored, to watch whoever it was that had just knocked your shit into the dirt skip off to class like you didn’t even exist, but when you looked up, there was Eddie Munson, crouched on the asphalt right alongside you with his head bowed toward yours, stacking your books and muttering his own apology.   

It just about damn near knocked the wind out of you, suddenly finding yourself so close to him again after spending so long quietly yearning for his proximity.

Once you got your lungs working and inflated again, you couldn’t help but breathe deep, trying to get a sense of him and refresh the waning memory you still clung to. He smelled just the way you remembered, like camels and spearmint gum standing out over the notes of whatever cheap cologne he’d obviously dusted himself in and Old Spice.

It made your mouth water, and then go completely dry when he looked up at you, turning that honey-warm gaze on you and bathing you in his spotlight. 

You weren’t invisible anymore, you were blushing, and you’d missed whatever it was he’d said to you – fuck. 

You weren’t listening, you were staring into his eyes, at the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, at the plush spread of his lips, and the pink tip of his tongue darting out to swipe a slick sheen of moisture across them.   

Somewhere, distantly, you could hear your Walkman still playing, Ann Wilson imploring you to get a little more lost in him than is rightly wise…  

Oh, he’s a magic man, Mama…  

And he was waiting for you to answer him.

Fuck. What the fuck did he just say?      

“My fault…" Eddie mumbled thickly, "Didn’t see you there,”

Oh, thank God for that.   

“Oh – God, are you kidding?  It happens all the time.” You scoffed, dismissing the notion with a flippant wave.

It was almost a cool, collected thing to say, but then you just kept talking,

“Like. Way more than you would think,”

And talking.

“It’s actually kind of ridiculous how often people bump into me like that–”

And talking,

“Honestly, at this point, I feel like I should start wearing a bell.”   

Shut up shut up shut up already! You screamed, but before you could well and truly condemn yourself for being such a goddamn awkward weirdo, Eddie’s face twisted up in amusement and he laughed out loud.

A little too loud for something that wasn’t even halfway to being a joke – he was obviously high, the whites of his eyes were tinged an angry swollen pink, hooded and nearly closed as he peered over at you with his face split up in that crooked smile of his, but it was still so wildly endearing you couldn’t help but giggle yourself.  

You can’t believe you’d nearly forgotten that, that wonderful almost perfect moment of brushing fingers and traded looks and semi-meaningful silences.

If you really think about it, it makes perfect sense that he has your book. You haven’t seen your it since that day, haven’t even thought about it. It had been all but washed away under the bell-clanging effect of what happened later that morning between classes, with Carol jumping down your throat and Eddie riding in to pull you out of her line of fire.   

Good God!  He shouts in your memory, and you can’t help but agree with him.    

“Didn’t he give it back to you?” Gareth asks, brows marrying over his eyes.  

You give your lab partner an incredulous look because never mind how this new information is ever so subtly breaking your brain, but why on Earth would you be asking after your copy of Dune if Eddie had already given it back to you?  

Why would you even be talking about this?

The lack of logic there seems to dawn on Gareth just a tad too late to save face.   

“Guess not, never mind,” he hums, twisting back in his seat to face the blackboard.   

You sit, staring at nothing in particular as you try and fail to wrap your head around the concept of Eddie Munson carrying around your book.   

There’s something incredibly personal about an annotated book, and you can’t decide if you ought to be embarrassed about that, hoping that he didn’t stop to take the time to read any of the inane things you’d written there.

Suddenly you’re wracking your brain to try and remember if you’d gone and scribbled anything too incriminating in the margins, whether you’d absently scribbled out a dopey “Mrs. – Munson” alongside all your annotations about doomed heroes.

You imagine it written out in loopy script, replete with doodles of hearts and clouds and all the stupid cupid bullshit that is typically kept strictly within the pages of your diary. 

You’re suddenly burning with hot, whorish shame as you think back to the pages you’d frantically scribbled on in the aftermath of the wet dream you’d woken from that morning. Your fingers were trembling as you fought to get it down on paper before the vivid images and sensations slipped from your grasp and left you with nothing more than faint memories of calloused hands and full lips, burning your skin with the suggestion of phantom touches.    

Yeah, you’re going to have to go back and revisit that when you get home this afternoon, thank God you’re not babysitting tonight.   

You realize after a moment that in staring off into space, trying simultaneously to banish the feeling and relieve it, that you’ve actually been sitting, staring at Gareth, watching him wrestle with something like he’s trying to decide whether or not to let more information slip.   

Truly, you’re not sure how much more truth you can stomach here in fifth period chemistry, sitting perched on your metal stool and trying oh-so-subtly to shift over to the edge and give yourself a little relief from the way that your heart is throbbing in your panties again. 

Your guts seize like you’ve been caught red handed when Gareth twists back around to face you and ducks his head conspiratorially.   

For lack of anything better to do, you mirror his movements and hope beyond hope that, if you’re blushing, he doesn’t notice.     

“Okay, so…” he begins softly, “You didn’t hear it from me, but... he likes you,”   

You do your best not to react as your heart leaps into your throat – you don’t dare to hope to know who he means.    

“Who does?” You ask, playing dumb for the sake of your poor, nervous heart, because what if you’re wrong?  

You’re probably wrong.  

“Eddie does.” 

Then again, maybe not… oh, shit.

Gareth continues. 

“Like… a lot.” 

OH SHIT.  

Oh shit oh fuck oh sHIT be cool be cool be fucking cool!    

It takes every fiber of your limited willpower not to react, because honestly, you could scream. This is what it feels like to have your wildest dreams come true.

Eddie Munson likes you, Gareth said, like a lot, he said. 

Maybe it’s just the wrecked state you’ve been existing in from the moment you snapped into consciousness that morning, but suddenly you’re desperate, giddy, feeling the hard push of the urge to run and go find Eddie.

Find him and seize him by the shoulders and shake him and scream and shout and cheer and... and and and... and do what?

Confess your feelings?

Make some sort of grand declaration then drag him off somewhere to hop on his dick?

That’s what your ovaries are currently imploring you to do. Finally do something about that goddamn virginity of yours so Carol will climb down out of your ass.

But that’s ridiculous, right? And not at all practical, fantasizing about running off and trying to consummate what, as far as you can tell, is only a rumor before it can slip from your grasp.  

Where would you even go?  

Under the bleachers, where the braver, hornier couples go to rub up against each other and get their rocks off. 

No, no that’s stupid… and yet? 

You’ve heard the talk about Eddie, how he’s supposed to be easy or something — some part of you is pretty sure he’d be game to take you out to the back of his van if you went over and asked him nicely... just ask him nicely to lift your skirt and help you out with that pesky little virginal problem of yours, Christ, how embarrassing. 

He’d probably laugh in your face if you did. How do you know for sure that he even really likes you? What makes you think that there’s even the slightest chance that your stupid crush on him could ever be reciprocated?

You’re not a real person, remember? You don’t put out because you don’t exist.   

No, Eddie doesn’t like you, you decide in an instant, how could he? He doesn’t even know you.  

Gareth is wrong, and worse still, he’s teasing you – he has to be. It is, after all, the opening line to the oldest joke in the Hawkins High popular kid book: so, Eddie Munson wants to take you to prom…what do you do?   

It makes your chest hurt, and you have to pull your lips into a tight line to keep them from wobbling.    

Ha-ha, real funny joke, tease the loser virgin for the big stupid crush she has on the local Freak.   

“That’s mean, Gareth.” You say quietly.   

“What is?”   

You shake your head because you almost can’t bear to say it.   

“Teasing like that. That’s not nice...”   

He gives you a horrified look, like you’ve suddenly got bugs crawling out of your ears.   

“What? No, Dude, it’s not like that at all!” Gareth stresses, “I promise I’m being so serious right now. Eddie likes you. He really likes you.”     

It feels risky, but you can’t help yourself. Gareth’s a sweetheart, why would he lie to you?  

“…Really?” You ask, ever so slightly embarrassed at how small and hopeful your voice suddenly sounds and trying so, so hard to play it cool.    

“Yes… and it’s super goddamn annoying — no offense,”   

You shake your head, because in the absence of the ability to form rational thought you rely on deep-seeded pleasantries.   

“Oh, no, of course.” You say, “None taken … I think.”   

You suddenly can’t make your brain work, it just sits there like a fat grey lumpy pile of worms in your skull. Part of you is suddenly so sure that you can smell the smoke wafting up off of it as it overheats in your attempt to jumpstart it again.  

Eddie likes you. This is all really happening.  

It takes you a moment too long to realize that Gareth is still talking, and a moment even longer to clue yourself back in to what he’s saying.

“— he’s been going around in circles trying to work up the courage to talk to you, but he’s chicken shit, so he won’t do it unless he has some bullshit excuse to make it all casual — giving you your book back was supposed to be his excuse, but that was clearly a bust,”

And then, “Also, he basically threatened to kill me if I said anything so just do me a favor and be cool, alright? Pretend I didn’t say anything.”   

“…So why tell me?” you ask, almost startled by the sound of your own voice and how far away it sounds.

You’re having an out-of-body experience, that’s what this has got to be, sitting there, floating, watching yourself have this conversation with Gareth.   

Eddie Munson has your book, Eddie Munson stood up for you, Eddie Munson likes you...  

“Because he freaked when he found out we were lab partners and he’s being a huge creep pressing me for information about you, like he expects me to spy on you or something... Anyway, I figured with how fucking weird he always acts around you that you probably already knew.”   

You shake your head and hope to God the movement doesn’t cause your eyeballs to fall out of your sockets. You can’t remember if you’ve blinked over the course of the last five minutes.   

“I didn’t.” You squeak.    

His eyes go wide and you watch the color drain from his face.   

“Oh. Shit,” He says, “— well, like I said, you didn’t hear it from me.”    

You didn’t hear it from anybody. As far as you’re concerned, this conversation isn’t actually happening. Any moment now you’re going to snap out of whatever fugue state you’ve obviously just slipped into, and you’re going to find that this is all a dream – only your thigh is going raw from where you’ve been subtly pinching yourself. 

Still, you still don’t completely believe Gareth isn’t teasing you – this feels like dangerous ground and suddenly your guts are churning because you don’t know what to do with this information.

You don’t know how to make yourself understand that the one person who has always been wholly off-limits to you could suddenly be within your grasp.   

Possibility makes you ravenous and you have to fight to resist the urge to seize Gareth by the front of his torn flannel shirt and shake him, demanding more more more, that he tell you everything there is to know about Eddie and everything he’s ever said about you among the safety of friends.    

With a sharp pang, you realize that you’re suddenly violently jealous about the confidence he has to freely speak about the objects of his affections – evidently, you.  

The thought has warmth bleeding through your abdomen and filling up your chest cavity. You’re floating again, and you’re suddenly so, wickedly pleased.    

Carol would shit her pants if she found out.    

The rest of class comes and goes without incident, and you don’t hear a word of the lesson. 

You’re far too busy fantasizing about all your wildest dreams coming true, planning your future with Eddie, picturing your wedding and your first home together, growing old together, and all the road trips and holidays and milestones you’ll hit in between.

By the last twenty minutes of the lesson, you’re even toying with naming your children.   

You’re disgusting and pathetic and so far gone for him in such a stupid, irresponsible way. Only there’s one tiny little obstacle standing in the way of all of that.

Gareth says he’s not brave enough to talk to you, not without good reason, which is so painfully endearing, but a real problem because that makes two of you – you can barely even look at Eddie, let alone fathom trying to strike up a conversation. 

So, therein lies the problem. How on Earth are you supposed to marry him and have a hundred of his babies, as Carol had so eloquently put it, if neither of you can manage to buck up the courage to have a normal conversation?   

The bell is ringing before you can decide how to become a human being again, you’re still more cloud than girl when you catch Gareth as he begins packing up.   

“Listen, tell Eddie…” You start, feeling suddenly too shy to have his name in your mouth – it feels heavy on your tongue, forbidden, and you chicken out, “Tell him… that I don’t bite. If he wants to talk to me … then he should just come talk to me, right?”   

Gareth rolls his eyes,   

“I told him that, like, a hundred times… but I’ll tell him again. I’ll say you said so this time.”   

The promise pleases you immensely, only there is one glaring issue with that plan. He was never meant to tell you how Eddie supposedly feels about you. You’re not supposed to know he likes you.  

You bite your lip and feel your brows creep toward one another, forming a deep crease of worry between them.  

“Is that gonna get you in trouble?” You ask.  

Gareth opens his mouth to speak, then snaps it shut again as the words fail to come, like he too had very conveniently forgotten that the information he’d just passed to you was decidedly not for you.   

He hums thoughtfully, brows furrowed, and face pulled tight into a mask of displeased concentration.  

What to do, what to do.   

Finally, after a moment that feels like eternity, one you spend fidgeting with your fingers twisting them to the point of pain, holding a breath in your lungs almost like you’re afraid if you breathe he’ll take it all back.

Gareth shrugs.   

“...well, I don’t see why he needs to know that I’m the one who told you… people talk.”    

Truer words have never been spoken.   

A hundred years and a short lifetime ago, you and Carol spent an evening trading secrets and the deepest desires of your heart, and you jumped up and down on her springy mattress, screaming along to the Go-Go's and promising one another that, just like the song said, your lips were sealed.

You can’t help but wonder if she ever really meant it, if she would have laughed and recoiled and teased you mercilessly if you trusted her with your secret feelings about Eddie Munson. Only you had made the same decision and elected not to tell her even back then, even when your secrets were still safe with her.   

Can you hear them? They talk about us, telling lies, well, that’s no surprise.   

People talk, Gareth said.   

“They certainly do.”  You hum, shouldering your bag and following him out the door. 

[writeforfandoms]

Puppy Love 8

Find the series masterlist

Well. Here we are. The last chapter of this fic. I may return to revisit this lot, especially if anyone has any prompts or requests. But this is the last chapter of the main story. 

There is an unspecified time jump here. I’ll leave it to y’all to decide how long they’ve known each other now. 

Warnings: Overwhelming fluff, a teeny bit of spice. 

Word count: 1k

Gaz didn’t even see Ghost coming. He was just minding his business when he got collared and dragged into a side room.

“Need your help,” Ghost said without preamble, releasing Gaz. 

“With what?” Gaz asked, rubbing a hand over his chest, willing himself not to have a heart attack. 

“Need you to keep Price busy today.”

That got his attention, and he narrowed his eyes a little. “How busy?” 

“Busy enough that he won’t notice a visitor.” 

Gaz’s eyes narrowed. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing.” Ghost sounded like he was smirking under his usual mask. “I’m just an accomplice. You gonna do it or not?” 

Gaz huffed out a sigh. “Consider it done.” 

Ghost nodded, clapping his shoulder before striding out of the room. Gaz looked down for a moment before he perked up and trotted off to go get Price. 

Cupid made an excellent distraction. And he had a lot of energy. 

Now he just had to get Price out of his office. 

He grinned as an idea occurred to him. Johnny wouldn’t mind getting thrown under the bus this once. 

–

“You’re sure this is fine?” you asked Simon, yet again, as he grabbed one of the bags from the back of your car. 

“Yeah, I cleared it.” He nodded once, absently patting the top of Sasha’s head when she whined a little. “This way.”

You followed him, one bag in hand and Sasha’s leash held tight in your other hand. You were a little nervous, but just a little. John didn’t know you were here, wouldn’t know until you were ready for him to know. Simon had assured you it was taken care of. And you weren’t going to question his methods. 

The briefing room was mostly empty, with just a few chairs and a single table. That was enough. There would only be five of you, after all. 

You’d come prepared - food was already cooked and kept warm in the insulated bags, and you’d made a pie. (John had commented once that most cake was too sweet, and you’d managed to wheedle his favorite pie flavor out of him. That had been fun.) You weren’t going to bother with decorations. Really, this wasn’t a big thing, because you knew John would hate a lot of people fussing over him.

Especially since you’d missed his actual birthday by a week and a half. Dangers of the job, you supposed. 

Simon glanced at you once everything was set out on the table, Sasha sniffing the air hopefully. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Just need to do this.” You fished something out of your pocket, taking a moment to clip it onto Sasha’s collar where you knew John would see it. Better than attaching it to her harness, at any rate. “Okay, let’s go.”

You kept Sasha on a short leash as Simon led you outside and to the field. John stood with his hands on his hips, Kyle and Soap in front of him and Cupid in between them. Only Cupid was… a lot more white than he should be. You nearly gave yourself away with the hiccuped laugh that tried to escape, Simon flapping an impatient hand at you. 

“Okay Sasha,” you whispered, crouching down next to the Lab, who had spotted her favorite person and was straining against the leash with her desire to get to him. “Go get John! Go get him!” You unclipped the leash from her harness and she bolted, bounding straight for John. 

He didn’t stand a chance.

She slammed straight into him, fifty pounds of pure muscle and energy, and he went down with a yell. She pounced, feet planted on either side of his head as she enthusiastically licked him all over, undoubtedly going to nibble on his muttonchops too. You grinned as you and Simon approached, able to watch as John finally shoved Sasha off enough to sit up.

“Where’d you come from, girl?” John asked quietly, tousling Sasha’s ears. You saw the moment his gaze caught on her collar and, more importantly, the key hanging from a little carabiner. He lifted his gaze, eyes wide, until he spotted you. You twiddled your fingers at him in a playful wave as you sauntered closer. 

You were not expecting John to grab you and pull you down with him, kissing you within an inch of your life (much to the amused cheering and whistling of his team). 

Someone got Sasha clipped back to her leash and the group of you trooped back inside. John didn’t say a word, slanting a look at you, but he didn’t object, either. 

Dinner was everything you had hoped and more. The team devoured practically everything you’d made. The dogs mostly behaved. And Sasha’s collar jingled, reminding you and John both of the key hanging there. 

As soon as dinner was done, Soap and Kyle jumped to volunteer to take things back to your car. Simon already had your key (and you swatted his arm for that) and in moments all three of them were gone. 

Leaving you, John, and Sasha.

“It’s yours, now,” you murmured, pulling a couple treats out of your pocket and getting Sasha to sit. The key caught the light, plain silver. 

“You’re sure?” John took the key off her collar, laying it flat in the palm of his hand.

“Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.” You smiled at him, reaching over to curl his fingers closed over the key. “Happy birthday, love.” 

John pulled you into his chest, kissing the breath right from your lungs.

[ddollipop]

BITE INTO ME HARDER, SINK YOUR TEETH INTO MY FLESH. . . ! — ( KAEYA ALBERICH. )

#. synopsis! — while rummaging about in kaeya’s office, a first-time petty criminal paid off by the fatui finds herself caught a little too red-handed. a shattered wine bottle leads to the knight’s most coveted secret unweaving, and you quickly realize that the “wine” in that bottle is no alcoholic beverage. it’s blood. kaeya alberich is a vampire, and it’s been quite a while since he last fed from human prey. . . an agreement is reached .

#. contains! — f!reader , explicitly nsfw content , vampire!kaeya , petty-criminal!reader , begging , oral sex , blowjobs , vaginal sex , office sex , wall sex , bloodsucking , biting , light sub/dom dynamics , cumming on ass , cum eating , cum swallowing , dirty talk , apology sex .

#. word count! — 4.5k .

#. a/n! — this was obviously supposed to go up on halloween, but yk, took the L on that one. hope everyone enjoys anyway, even if it's roughly three days late lol.

Sometimes, you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do; for yourself, and at some points, for others. A period of financial hardship recently fell upon your family, and though it’s mostly been resolved by now, the lingering fear that it could happen again has surmounted in you taking a rather. . . Foolish deal. Like most citizens of Mondstadt, you’ve been wary of the Fatui’s presence in the nation. They seem to be up to nefarious things that people like you aren’t privy to, and the prying eyes that sit deep behind their masks always unnerve you as you pass them by. Today, however, you were actually approached by one of them, —one who promised you a small fortune for a devious act.

Initially, you were quick to turn her away. Mora wasn’t worth working with the likes of the Fatui, you thought. . . But sometimes, moral sacrifices have to be made. You thought back to your scrambling family, uncertain of where their next meal would be coming from, thought back to the sleepless nights you spent doing odd jobs around the city that nobody else would touch just to be able to afford a few basic necessities. And then, against your better judgment, you accepted her conditions as long as she promised to keep you anonymous from her allies and request nothing of you ever again going forward.

A part of you wonders, even now that you’re trapped in the thick of it, if she’ll truly hold up her end of the bargain. You can only hope she’ll have enough decency to be true to her word.

With uncertain hands, you rummage about Kaeya’s personal office. All it took was a few minutes of begging and a few mustered up tears for you to be let in, —told that Kaeya was currently returning from a mission and would be back soon enough. You kept up the act; played the guards like a fiddle, and had to admit that there was a certain thrill in doing so that you hadn’t expected to enjoy so much. Sniffling, you thanked them profusely for their kindness, (for their stupidity,) and sat alone in the room until you were sure they’d gone on their ways.

That’s when the search began. Maybe there’s a method to Kaeya’s madness, but you certainly don’t get it. Then again, you’re not exactly sure what you’re supposed to be looking for either. It’s possible that the woman had simply approached you to test your limits, see if you’d be willing to commit an act of betrayal against your nation. . . When you think about it like that, it makes you want to run away from it all, offer apologies in advance for something you haven't even officially done yet.

But it’s too late to turn back now, and if the worst comes to pass again, you’ll need the Mora you’ve been promised. At the end of the day, your obligations are first to your family; not to Mondstadt as a whole. So, you continue forth with your rummaging, flicking through useless papers that would likely be of no interest to your commissioner. There were no specific instructions, but the last thing you’d want is to go through all this trouble only to be told that your efforts were in vain. As such, you’re left rifling through documents and letters, stationary items, and other miscellaneous things. Nothing that you would personally consider to be of note, —but maybe the Fatui will have some use for one of Kaeya’s personal letters to someone unnamed about the sweet taste of wine in the fall.

Frustration takes hold, your heart hammering like a drum in your chest as you try to listen for footsteps in the hall. The last thing you need from this is to be caught snooping around in the Cavalry Captain’s office.

With that in mind, —it seems you've jinxed yourself. In your attempt to be swift, you open a drawer much too quickly, and its contents spill out onto the floor. A glass bottle shatters, and with it, your nerves fry themselves into a dish unsuitable for even the wild animals of the forests. The distinct, metallic scent of blood fills your nose, and you reach up, thinking that the fear has left you with a nosebleed. However, you quickly realize. . . That’s not the case.

Rather, the pool of red liquid at your feet emanates the strong odor. You’re no wine connoisseur by any means, —but you’ve never smelled one that reeks of blood. That can’t possibly be normal. . . Right?

You bend down, dabbing the tips of your middle and index fingers into the substance. It clings much too well, feels thinly viscous when you rub it against your thumb, and it stinks of iron. 

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

You flinch so hard that every cell in your body seems to retract at the sound of Kaeya’s voice suddenly piping up from the corner. He stands nonchalantly, arms crossed over his chest, and that characteristic smirk clinging to the edges of his lips. In long, confident strides, he approaches you from the opposite side of the office, reaching out for you. His lithe fingers wrap around your wrist, —both soft, yet firm in grip.

When he brings your fingers to his mouth, you're stunned by the display he makes of licking the pads of them clean. The red liquid stains his tongue before he swallows it down, sucking on your digits for just a moment in what you can only assume is a gesture of good measure. You're too shocked to even think about pulling away.

"Ah," Kaeya clicks his newly cleaned tongue, "it seems we've run into a bit of a problem here, no?"

You swallow roughly, uncertain of what to say or do. You've been caught red-handed, very literally so, and you're at a loss as to where to go from here. A part of you wonders if turning on the waterworks will play out in your favor with Kaeya the way it did with the guards. Somehow, you doubt it. . .

"I'm sorry," spills past your lips before you have the chance to think it through. "I'm really sorry, just please—"

"You're sorry you got caught," Kaeya interrupts, but he doesn't sound particularly upset by it.

He speaks as if making little more than a casual observation.

"I'm sure you've got a tale to tell," he continues, "probably something sad, —a little sob story about your finances sinking into nothingness and a member of the Fatui approaching you with an offer you just couldn't refuse."

You swallow again, and his grip on your wrist tightens ever so slightly. Kaeya can tell by the look in your eyes that he's hit the nail on the head.

"Don't look so surprised," he scoffs, "—you're hardly special. I've met you ten, twenty times before. It always ends the same."

He's said so little, but has eluded to so much, and Kaeya loves the way your hand quivers in his hold.

The knight leans closer to whisper to you, warm tufts of breath fanning against the burning shell of your ear: "I will say though. . . You're the prettiest thief I've ever caught in my office."

He takes note of the way you inhale sharply at his compliment, interpreting it as a thank you.

"Now it's just a matter of how to punish you," Kaeya states. "I could always hand you over to someone else and have them deal with you, but where's the fun in that?"

Fun? Celestia knows that's the last thing on your mind right now as Kaeya's fingers tighten around your wrist again, further cementing his silent point of having no intentions of letting you go any time soon.

"That stuff on the floor," you say in a voice barely above a whimper, "—is it blood?"

He laughs. It's straight from the chest, so genuine and raw that it sends shivers up the length of your spine. To you, this is anything but funny. To him, it seems that he's more amused by you than anything else.

"You couldn't figure that out from the scent?" He questions. "Of course it is. But don't look so frightened. It's not from a human; it's the blood of a boar."

It’s as if he thought that anecdote would make having a bottle of the stuff in his office any easier to swallow, no matter where it originated. 

"And you just. . . Drink it?" You question.

"That's what Vampires do," he nods. "We drink blood. It's in our nature, one might say."

Vampires?

You've long heard rumors about them across Teyvat, but had always chalked them up to superstition and the imagination of parents trying to keep their children in line. Every once in a while, you'd catch wind of a forest animal found somewhere off outside the city with its body drained of blood, —but again, you'd chalk that up to little more than gossip and idle chatter.

"It's been quite a while since I've dranken straight from a human, though."

He could practically smell the surge of anxiety that rippled through your body like the evening tide to the jutting rocks just off Starsnatch Cliff. 

"I-I can fix that," you stammer. "If you agree to let me go, I'll let you drink my blood, and I promise you'll never see me anywhere near your office ever again."

Kaeya laughs again, and it's no less sinister than the first.

"You think you're in any position to be driving bargains?" He snickers.

Even so, it seems to you that he's weighing the options.

"Still," he muses, "I'll admit that I admire your ability to adapt so quickly. So just for that, —lean back against the wall and tilt your head to the side. I'll consider letting you go after I've had a good taste."

You oblige, against your better judgment, knowing that if your family were to find out about any of this, you'd never have the nerve to go home again. It would be bad enough if they knew you'd been speaking with a member of the Fatui, —but to have been driven to steal from a pillar of Mondstadt's community? Completely and utterly unheard of. Just like the real, genuine existence of Vampires is completely unheard of, —but here you are, about to have your blood sucked by one. Today’s been weird, —not that you really have the time to dwell on that right now.

"Don't make any sudden movements," Kaeya warns, brushing some loose strands of hair out of the way to have complete access to your neck. "The pain subsides faster if you keep your muscles relaxed."

Funnily enough, you hadn't considered the pain aspect of it up until now, but there was definitely no turning back. You glance at him, gulping nervously at the brief glint you catch of his fangs that have come out to feed.

"Do it," you whisper breathily, voice quivering as Kaeya's pupil seems to blow, his single iris beginning to swim with a bright, scarlet red color, replacing the striking blue that once resided there.

You barely have half the mind to register the quick breath that graces your skin before he’s sunken his fangs into your flesh. The initial puncture is the worst of it, —something akin to agonizing. It leaves you whimpering, barely able to keep yourself together to remain still. Your back is pressed against the wall, barely able to stabilize you as your knees begin to quake under the pressure and the pain.

Kaeya is quick about the ordeal, no hesitation to be found in his bite. It's been a long while since he's fed directly from a human, and you can feel the eagerness of his mouth when he laps at the puncture wounds on your neck. The rake of his tongue across your newfound injuries soothes you down swiftly enough.

Your blood tastes much better than any forest creature. It's sweet and dulcet, —so velvety as it flows into his mouth and plays on his tongue. Pain soon turns to a sick sense of pleasure, one so intense that it has your eyes rolling around in your skull. Arousal swims in your veins, blood pumping faster and your body in ruins. The wet, warm heat of Kaeya's mouth drowns out all reason and rationale, spreading across your skin like wildfire. 

Pleasure and pain meld together, becoming indistinguishable from one another. A blissful sense of devastation lingers in the wake of it all. The Vampire feeds, getting his fill of you as he listens to the soft moans that fall from your lips every so often. He doesn't need to pull away to see the arousal written across your face, to see the hollow expression of dream-like ecstasy you’re wearing, —although the option is certainly available. Kaeya can smell the surge of hormones running rampant inside you, along with the rampant thump of your quickening pulse. 

Arousal is normal during times of feeding. It’s encouraged by the bite of a Vampire, allowing them to feed faster as blood pumps more rapidly through the heart. 

With your back pressed firmly against a wall in the Cavalry Captain's office, you close your eyes and listen to the silent story of rushing fluid as your blood spills into Kaeya's desperate mouth. He could have easily drained you dry of every last drop, but managed to stop himself before the possibility was even on the horizon. When he pulls away, the corners of his mouth stained red, you watch with half-lidded eyes as he licks it up, making sure that none of your glorious crimson fluid would go to waste.

Lazily, Kaeya looks at you and inquires; “You okay?”

With glazed eyes and a pit burning deep within your stomach, your legs quiver as your back slips down the wall until you're sitting on the floor. They’re practically useless for the time being, thrumming with. . . Something. Whatever this feeling is, you’re wildly unfamiliar with it, and you don’t have the strength to question it. 

"Fine," you answer dreamily, thighs squeezing together irritably.

So fine, in fact, that your clit is throbbing against the soft material of your panties.

Kaeya has seen this before. It’s why he prefers to sustain himself on animal blood, and why he avoids feeding from humans, even when the taste is far superior to the staleness that often lingers in blood that comes from a bottle. Lust after a feeding session is both common and normal; almost to be expected. Some are worse off than others, with people like you being particularly sensitive to the rush of hormones a Vampire’s bite releases.

Moreover, Kaeya rarely indulges in sex. Attractive as he may be, with many suitors ready and willing to rip the clothes off his body and give him the ride of a lifetime, the knight has always preferred to take care of his needs himself. Occasionally, he’ll seek the assistance of a young woman from the city, but even those little rendezvous are few and far between (and never do they entail drinking anyone’s blood.)

Ah, but you. . . There was something special, —something different about you in a way Kaeya couldn’t quite put his finger on. He’d known that the moment you bared your neck to him, offering your blood in exchange for his silence mere moments after learning that Vampires aren’t just mythical creatures of legend. The once clever young woman he’d caught in his office, snooping around through his things, is now sitting on the floor with a pair of puncture wounds on her pretty throat, her eyes staring off at nothing in particular. Far off and dreamy, your legs squeeze together, seeking friction from the little twists your hips make.

Call it instinct or gentlemanly obligation, Kaeya felt it was only appropriate to clean up a mess he had more than a fair hand in creating, —so he gets down on a single knee beside you, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from your eyes.

“You’ve got two options,” he says. “You can take care of. . . All this,” looking up and down your languid body, “—by yourself, or you can ask politely for help and apologize for rummaging around my office without permission. Which’ll it be, darling?”

Your insides ripple at the thought of it alone. It’s absolutely incredible what a Vampire’s bite can do to a lowly human being; one oh so susceptible to the want and need of it all in the fallout.

“I’m sorry,” you all but whimper, mustering up your best pair of puppy-dog eyes in hopes that it would hit any sweet spots the Cavalry Captain could have buried within.

Admittedly, he’s more intrigued by the glaze of lust that hangs over your stare.

“What was that?” He mocks, feigning ignorance as he rises to his feet and takes a few strides back. “I didn’t quite catch what you said there.”

You swallow, ignoring the bitter pricks of pain that have begun to jolt about along your neck.

“I’m sorry—”

“Wrong,” he interjects, clicking his tongue disapprovingly once again. “It’s basic manners to know that one should grovel on their knees when begging for forgiveness.”

The breath that follows his subtle command is shaky as it passes your lips. You give a quick nod before pulling your body forward, suddenly feeling much heavier than before without the weight of the wall to support you. Hands smoothing their way across the hardwood floor and knees trailing behind, you approach him like a scolded pet ready to beg for attention from your master after making a mistake.

“I shouldn’t have come into your office without permission,” you admit, attempting to tune out the incessant thrum of your arousal. “And I shouldn’t have touched your things without permission either.”

“Mhm,” he hums, reaching down to grab your chin.

Kaeya forces you to look up at him from your place just before the space between his long, slender legs.

“And?”

“And I’m very sorry that I did.”

You’re less sorry now than you were five minutes ago. Right now, the only thing you can manage to think about is the heat from the tips of his fingers scorching at your skin, —sending shockwaves through your body that you desperately need to feel alight inside you.

He smirks, a small scoff bursting forth as he studies your pretty face.

“You’re sorry?” He inquires sarcastically.

“Yes,” you reply in a small, needy voice, “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“That so?” His hands fall away from your face to tug at his pants, allowing his half-hard cock to spring free. “Then go ahead and show me just how sorry you are.”

You glance between his sizable length and his one visible eye. Kaeya takes himself into a loose grip, before snapping another command as you move back to sit on your knees.

“Open that pretty mouth up and let me see your lying little tongue.”

He slaps the warm head against your exposed tongue once, twice, thrice, —then smoothes himself over the wetness, cock sliding with your saliva. It’s not long before he bores of this, however, instead ordering you to put in some extra effort.

“Put your lips around it,” he instructs, sighing softly in relief when you do as he says.

With your mouth suctioned loosely around him, you offer a few sloppy licks to the tip. His hand comes down to rest with the flat of his palm against the crown of your head, encouraging you to continue on; to take him in deeper and let him feel all the dips and grooves of your throat. As he relaxes into you, you go off script and follow the beat of your own drum, so to speak. Kaeya barely stifles a moan as you lick a solid stripe from the bottom of his shaft to the leaking tip of his cock.

“Look at me,” he says simply; to which you comply, staring up at him with the best doe-eyed stare you can muster up with a cock stuffed in your jowls.

Even as the effects of his bite wear off and your neck begins to ache, the lust remains hot and heavy, pooled deep within your gut. The burning embers are stoked further the moment you take him into your mouth again, wrapping your lips around his member before sinking down slowly. A tempo rises from the ashes, a sigh escapes past Kaeya’s lips, and you begin the melody: shallow and easy. As the pressure builds within you both, your sluggish, almost lazy movements become much more fervent, and Kaeya’s hand returns to the crown of your head once more. His long fingers press against your hair, the other cupping the side of your face, encouraging you onward.

You establish a steady rhythm, —one that wracks your lover to the core. Kaeya feels his insides quiver as you bob up and down on him, your mouth nearly ghosting the base of his long cock accompanied by tiny gags that leave your throat contracting around him. He gets louder, groaning and whispering filthy words, mumbling sweet nothings about how pretty you are when he’s buried in your maw. Still, the knight seems to be holding onto a small sliver of self-control; one that you’re determined to strip him bare of before this little escapade comes to a close.

The rest is nothing but messy enthusiasm. You feel him twitch against your tongue, only to solidly press your nose against his naval, swallowing around him to tip him over the edge. It works like a charm.

As you pull away, Kaeya leaves you with a mouthful of hot cum. It’s thick, mild in flavor, and all too easy to drink down.

You make a show of swallowing it, and then of wiping your bottom lip clean. He could likely cum again just watching you in the aftermath.

“Good,” he says simply.

Kaeya then removes his shirt and is halfway through stepping out of his pants before he stops to pause, glancing down at you as if to ask “what do you think you’re waiting for?” Suffice to say, you get the hint.

As you stand naked before him, Kaeya’s lips meet yours for the first time. He moves the both of you back until your ass is pressed to the wall again, offering you stability as he attacks your lips in bruising kisses and laps at the insides of your mouth with little care. He’s like a starved lion; fervent in every move he makes and all too desperate, but somehow composed enough to control the situation with ease.

“Turn around,” he growls against your lips, wasting little time in smoothing his lithe fingers over the plane of your shoulders.

His arm encircles your throat, pulling you close to him as he reaches out with the other hand, demanding that you spit into it. He uses your saliva to slick himself up, then presses your shoulders toward the wall, barely offering you any time to find your bearings before his fingers prod at your entrance.

“You’re dripping,” he laughs.

If you had enough humility in the moment to be embarrassed, maybe you would have been; —but this isn’t exactly the type of situation for that. Rather, you arch your back a little further, hoping it might offer him better access (and thus encourage him to fuck you faster.)

It works easily enough.

Kaeya pushes his saliva ridden cock inside your sopping cunt, presses further into your insides all the way to the hilt. He bottoms out, leaving you gasping as your pussy clenches around the thick of him. Maybe it’s all part of a Vampire’s impact; but you’re seeing stars even before he makes any attempt to move, viewing galaxies behind your fluttering eyelids as he digs his fingernails into your hip. Your head’s up in the clouds again. . .

“Fuck,” he groans, —and you love the breathless twinge that ghosts along your spine when his head falls closer to his chest.

It’s all too good the way your cunt moves around him, welcoming him deep inside. He thought your blood was good, —great—, but this is like stuffing his cock into the gates of Celestia itself. You’re obnoxiously proud of the way Kaeya loses himself inside you, as if abandoning his status as Cavalry Captain just to get a taste of what it’s like to be truly human.

He pulls out slowly, as if to tease you even in his blissed out state, before slamming back in with reckless abandon. It’s so intense that it makes your insides quake, —unbearably intense and much too pleasurable, perhaps in a masochistic sense of the word.

The tempo rises once again. It begins as something quick and frantic, but evolves into something much more desperate, sharper and harsher. The distinct sounds of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, likely seeping from his office and into the halls; but you’re too lost in the moment to care, especially when Kaeya picks up the pace. When he angles his thrusts just right, hitting all the sweet spots inside you, the both of you are reduced to little more than loud moans and desperate pants.

The air inside his office is no longer tempered. It might as well have been suffocating, but even breathing itself seemed to pale in comparison as a necessity when pitted against the pounding of Kaeya’s cock. 

A sob works its way up your throat, spilling past your lips excitedly. Your core is thrumming, pussy convulsing around him, —loving the way he fills you up as if his very life depends on it. His every move makes your body weaker by the second, pumping you full of adrenaline and ecstasy. It’s all so overwhelming in a way you simply cannot get enough of. You even love the way Kaeya leaves you struggling for breath, gasping for air in between the hammerings he offers right to your g-spot. 

At the edge, Kaeya reaches between your legs to play with your neglected clit, and without warning sinks his fangs into your neck once more. This time, he drinks nothing more than what spills up to the surface, breathing heavily against the skin of your throat. You’re left trembling underneath him, eyes rolling back into your skull as ecstasy explodes from within. He leaves you mewling, cumming on and clenching around him. 

It’s not long before Kaeya follows in suit, pulling out just in the nick of time to spill his seed along your ass. Your knees give way immediately, forcing you to the ground. It was, frankly, a miracle you’d been able to stand the entire time without collapsing before. His bite and the rippling impact of your orgasm have knocked all the wind from your sails, and you haven’t a clue how Kaeya is still standing tall after all of that.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, smoothing his hair back with a single hand, “—I’d say that apology suffices.”

You don’t even need to look his way to know that he’s got an annoying smirk plastered across his face.

[onmysluttyknees]

Can’t Get Over You

Pairing: Peña x reader.

Rating: E 18+ (minors dni). This is for mature audience only! By continuing reading you agree that you are over 18.

Words: about 7k.

—

“Can we please not do this now? I need to go,” he says, looking at me. The mask of indifference is back in place as he pulls his jeans back on. I thought we had moved past this. But apparently not. What I want and what he expects are not the same.

”I just want to know what I am to you!” I raise my voice louder than I intend to, but it’s so damn frustrating. He wants me, but he doesn’t want to commit to me.

“Don’t do this now; I’m running late.” He huffs, and he pulls his clothes back on. I feel so used. He wants a warm body to fuck when he feels like it. And I want more. I can’t do this anymore.

“You know what, Peña? Let’s not do this ever again. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.” I sigh, get out of bed, and start pulling my clothes on. I keep my body away from him as I do so. If I look at him, I’ll give in, like I always do.

“I thought we were on the same page about what this was, were we not?” He asks, and I hear him moving closer to me, but I don’t turn around.

“And I thought that I meant more to you than just a good fuck whenever you’re in the mood. But I suppose we both were wrong.” I walk into the bathroom and slam the door behind me, locking it to keep him out. I want so much more than what he’s willing to give me. I get that he has a lot on his plate. After coming back from Columbia and taking on the job as the sheriff in Laredo, a lot of people expect him to clean up the town and get the drugs out of here. But when he came back alive, all I could think was that maybe this was our chance at a second chance together.

We had been together when we were younger, before he left for Colombia, and I understood that when he left, what we had was over. I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for him while he went down there, since neither of us knew when he would be back.

But that didn’t stop me from hoping and wishing that he would come back one day, and maybe we could pick up where we left off. How silly of me to think that what we once had meant more to him than what it does now. I was still just a warm body for him to sink his cock into whenever he needed to blow off some steam. And frankly, I’m over it.

A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts.

“Nenita, please don’t be like this. What we have is good, right? Why do we need to make it into something it isn’t?” His voice is like butter on toast. It’s hard to resist him when he’s like that, but I deserve more. I want more from him, but if he isn't willing to give it to me, then I can’t give him more from me. I need to protect myself before I give him more than I already have.

“Just go, Peña; I can’t do this anymore. Please just go.” My voice breaks at the end. I try my best to keep myself together. He can’t see me when he’s on the other side of the door, but I know he can hear me.

“I’m sorry, nenita." That’s the last thing I hear from him before I hear the front door open and then close. He’s gone. Again. Only this time, I will still see him around town. Fuck!

4 months later.

With a glass of rosé wine in my left hand and the music playing loudly, I’m looking through my closet, trying to decide what to wear for my date tonight.

I’m not even sure I should go. I’m still not over Javier, but they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. And since nothing else seems to have worked in the past 4 months, why not try going on a date?

Nick is cute; he’s kind, and he’s been asking me out for a date several times over the years. So here I am, getting ready for a date. With Nick.

My hand drifts over a white sundress with sunflowers on it. I used to wear this dress all the time. It was one of my favourites, and sadly, one of Javier’s too.

“I love the way this dress hugs you, ass, and your titts,” he whispered into my ear, his lips gently grazing down my neck.

“Stop it, Javi; we need to go or we’re going to be late for our reservation at ‘Hal’s’.” I tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but not much effort was put into it since I didn’t really want to step away from his warm body. He pressed his front against my back with more force, making it very clear exactly how much he liked the dress. I could feel him through his jeans as his cock pressed against my ass. A soft moan escaped my lips as he pressed himself into me again, harder this time.

“Are you sure you want me to stop querida?” His teeth scraped gently along the shell of my ear, and his hands gripped my hips tighter as he let out a low groan of pleasure as I rubbed my ass against his growing erection once again. “I say we skip dinner and go straight to dessert instead.”

We never made it to the restaurant that night. Now that I think of it, we hardly ever went anywhere; we were always at his place or mine. I didn't mind because I got to have him all to myself without the other women of the town ogling him, but now, in hindsight, it feels like he didn’t want to be seen with me. Not that that mattered; in a small town like Laredo, everybody knows everything anyway. And people knew, just like they knew the moment we stopped seeing each other. In the first month or two, people would stare, and I would hear them whisper about me when they didn’t know I was in the next aisle, or perhaps they knew and wanted me to hear?

It was always the same comment: “Perhaps he got bored of her." “A man like that can’t be tied down; why did she think she would be able to get him to settle down?”. And it hurts. Far more than I care to admit. Because it was all true. In the end, I wasn’t enough for him.

I shake my head as if to try and clear the memory from it. But I’m not an etch-a-sketch, so the image of us in bed that night and all the other times stays burned into my brain as I try my best to get ready for my date with Nick. I down the rest of my wine, and out of spite or defiance, I don’t know, I grab the dress with the sunflowers. It’s just a dress, one of my favorites, so I pull it on. It still fits nicely, though it’s a little looser around my midriff now than it was before, but that is to be expected. I have been exercising more lately and eating better, so I have lost some weight.

Not that I did it because anyone told me that I needed to, but what else was I supposed to do with all my free time when Javier stopped coming around? Correction: When I told him to leave, he actually, for once, listened to me. I had to find something to put all my time and energy into. So I started running. It’s a good distraction. I keep pushing myself further and harder. The burn from running makes the hurt from not being with him a little bit easier to handle. And it usually tires me out pretty good. It keeps me from making dumb decisions like texting him late at night when I’m lonely.

A loud knock on my door startles me just as I put the last touch of lipstick on. I put the cork back on and set down the lipstick, walking over to open the door, putting on a bright smile as I do so.

“Wow, you look beautiful.” Nick looks me up and down before he settles on my face, a big smile on his lips as he hands me a bouquet of flowers. “These are for you.” He says.

“These are beautiful, Nick. Thank you. Let me just put these in water, and then I’m ready to go.” I take the flowers, and he follows me as I walk into the kitchen to find a vase.

After I’ve put the flowers in the water, I look over at Nick to see where he’s standing in the doorway to my kitchen. He cleaned up nice, in a pair of slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And he trimmed his beard too; usually it’s a bit more wild, but tonight he has it neatly trimmed short. It suits him better. But for some reason, I can’t help but think about how I prefer a defined moustache over a full beard.

“Are you ready to go?” Nick asks, bringing me back to my kitchen and the man standing in front of me. The man that is not him. But that’s the point; Javier didn’t want more, and I do. So I give Nick a soft smile and nod.

The restaurant is nice, although I wish he hadn’t taken me to Hal’s. But the odds of him coming in here tonight are hopefully low.

We order food and drinks, and we talk about everything and nothing. And just as I am starting to relax and enjoy the date, I feel him. I can tell that he is there before I even see him. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot him over at the bar. He just walked in and is ordering a beer. I know he’s already seen me. The way he looks over at us tells me everything I need to know. And he looks pissed.

I try to concentrate on what Nick is telling me, something that happened this week at his work, but honestly, all I can think of is him. Javier is standing less than 10 feet from me over by the bar, but he might as well be standing next to me. The air in the room is electrified, and with every breath I take, I find it more and more difficult to breathe.

“Will you excuse me for just a second?” I get up from my chair and all but run towards the ladies room, not even bothering to think about the fact that I left Nick hanging in the middle of a sentence about whatever he was talking about. I need to get out of the room and away from Javier.

I lock myself into one of the ladies rooms and grip the sink with both hands so tightly that my knuckles turn white with the effort. My breathing is ragged, and I try my best to slow my racing heart. This is not what I had envisioned for my first night out after Javier and I broke up. Well, to be broken up, one would have to have actually been a couple in the first place, which we never were. He didn’t want anything serious, and I was dumb enough to think that if I stayed around long enough, he would change his mind. That he would want me just the same way I wanted him. Sadly, that never happened.

After several minutes of hiding in the bathroom, I pull myself together enough to stand up straight, run my hands down my dress, and look at myself in the mirror.

“You can do this. He is just a man you once knew. You can do this.” I tell myself the same thing over and over as my breathing evens out and my heart slows back down to somewhat normal. With a final, steadfast breath, I unlock the door and walk out, and straight into someone.

“What the...” I stop myself the moment I look up and my eyes meet his. Dark brown eyes I could drown in, if only he’d let me.

“Querida.” His voice is low and strained. He looks me up and down, widening a little when he sees the dress I have on, before he looks me in the eyes.

“You lost the right to call me that, Peña.” I try to sound strong, but my voice is wavering, and I have to look away from his piercing gaze before I do something stupid. Pushing past him to get away from him, just as I’m almost past him, he grabs a hold of my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

“Please, don’t walk away,” he pleads, his hand still in a firm grip on my wrist.

“I’m not the one who walked away, remember?” I turn around and yank my hand from his. When my eyes meet his, he looks lost, even sad. But I can’t break. Not here, not now. “You’re the one who didn’t want what I had to offer.” The rage bubbles up; after being pushed down for months, it’s finally breaking free. I’m done blaming myself for what happened. He made me believe we could be more. He’s the one who made me feel like what we had was more than just sex, with his sweet touch, filthy words, and the way he would look at me. He’s the one who would hold me tight, night after night, as we fell asleep next to one another after we had our way with each other in bed.

“I...” He takes a step closer, but I back up. I can’t. I won’t survive him one more time.

“You what, Pña? You don’t want me. Not really—not all of me, at least. You only want me when you can’t have me. Or am I wrong? You haven’t called me in months. But tonight, the first night, I’m actually out with someone else. Now you care? Just leave me alone; I can’t do this again with you. I won’t survive it a third time.” It’s like my words burned him. He backs up a few steps. His eyes meet mine. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then he closes it again. Just like I thought, nothing has changed. He doesn’t want more, or maybe he isn’t capable of more. It’s only sad that it took me so long to figure it out. Having the man I love break my heart not only once, way back when we were kids, but again four months ago. And in a way, now, all over again, tonight hurts more than I care to admit. But I won’t let him do it again. I can't, and I won’t survive it one more time.

Without saying anything else, I turn and walk away. There is nothing more to say. He doesn’t stop me, either. So if that doesn’t tell me exactly everything I need to know, then I don’t know what will.

I walk back to the table where Nick is still sitting. He looks uncomfortable, shifting slightly in his seat, but doesn’t say anything about how long I was gone or that Javier was gone for a part of that time too. He really is a good guy. And for the rest of the date, I try my best to pay attention to what he says and not look over to my left, where I know Javier is sitting still at the bar, nursing beer after beer. I smile and laugh, and I can almost fool myself into believing that this night isn’t that bad.

The date actually turned out pretty well. When we finished eating, Nick drove me back to my apartment, but I didn't invite him in. I need to do this right this time. So instead, I let him kiss me goodnight. I thanked him for a lovely evening, and when he asked me if I would like to go out with him again, I said yes. And I meant it. I did have a good time.

But the moment I’m alone in my apartment, my mind drifts back to the way he looked at me. Javier, not Nick. Not that the way Nick looked at me was bad. Just the way Javier always looks at me is like a sizzling fire that burns underneath my skin. And the only way to quench the flames is when he has his way with me and pulls orgasm after orgasm from me.

But tonight he looked at me like I was something he had lost, and he wanted it, me, back. But he didn’t do anything or say anything. At least nothing that changes what happened between us or how it ended.

That night, I got little to no sleep. I tossed and turned for half of the night, and the other half I dreamed about the one man I can’t have.

3 months later

I keep running into Javier. Almost on a daily basis, I see him across the street or run into him. I can’t get away from him. I can be in the supermarket, and I turn around, and there he is. Or at the gas station, filling up my car, and there he is. Even when Nick and I go out on dates, he is there. Everywhere I turn, he is always there. Not in a stalker way, though. Not like it's that strange; we live in the same town, but still. It’s unnerving. I’m trying to move on from him, but all I see is him everywhere I go.

It’s late, and I’m getting ready for bed when my phone pings with an incoming text message. So I walk out of my bathroom, one towel wrapped around my body and one towel still in my hand as I’m drying my hair after the shower, when I flip my phone on my bed with the other hand, and I freeze mid-motion.

It’s a text from Javier. I sit down on my bed before I open the text and read it.

I stare at the text. Not knowing what to reply or if I even should reply. I’m with Nick now, right?

Just when I’ve almost convinced myself to not reply and ignore the text altogether, the bubble with the three dots appears, and with anxious breath, I wait for his next text. But nothing appears. No more texts come through. And as I stand there with my hair dripping down onto my bed, my phone dies.

Fuck! I was supposed to have plugged it into the charger when I came home from work, but work had been hectic today, so I forgot. I scramble off my bed as quickly as I can, grab my charger from on top of my dresser, plug it into the socket, and then plug the other end into my phone. It feels like it takes forever for my phone to light up. And who knows how long it takes for it to power back on? Without my damn phone, which is also my clock in my bedroom, I don’t know how many minutes tick by before it actually lights up again.

I open up my phone to see if he has sent any more texts, but no. Only the one from before my phone died. What am I supposed to answer? He misses me? Should I even answer? Before I have any time to think more about it, a loud knock startles me. Looking down at my phone to check the time, 11:43, I highly doubt that it is Nick. We didn’t have plans tonight, and he wouldn’t just stop by unannounced like this, at least not this late. Which means…

“Querida, please open the door.” He’s speaking louder than normal, but not quite shouting yet. But I still don’t want my neighbors to get mad. Having someone half-yell in your stairwell isn’t most people's idea of fun at almost midnight on a fucking Thursday night. So I stumble my way to the door and yank it open.

Javier is leaning against the doorframe, looking worse for wear but still hot as fuck. No one should be allowed to look that good when he looks so disheveled and his hair is a mess. Like he has been dragging his fingers through it over and over for hours. His shirt is wrinkled, and his jeans are dirty.

“Javi, you can’t come here like this anymore.” I don’t even realize I used his nickname until he looks up at me with those big brown, sad eyes.

“You called me Javi.” A soft smile spreads across his lips, and that damn dimple appears on his left cheek. He knows how much I love that damn dimple.

“Slip of the tongue, what are you doing here?” I try to redirect the conversation, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know what he’s doing here. He texted me not that long ago, and now he’s here, at my door, in the middle of the night.

“I’d like to give you my slip of the tongue.” He says it under his breath, with a smirk playing on his lips. He knows I heard him. It’s too quiet around us for me not to have heard him. And his words do things to me. I press my legs together in an attempt to ease the throbbing that's begun to grow. He always had a way with words. He could probably get me off with his words alone. But I can’t let my mind wander too far down the rabbit hole. I need to know why he is here. I don’t say anything about his comment.

I don’t know if I should invite him in or ask him to leave. But I do know that I don’t want to have this conversation in my doorway for any of my neighbours to hear or walk into. So I open the door a little bit more and let him in. He walks past me and straight into my kitchen, where he comes to a stop and casually leans against the kitchen island.

“It’s late; what are you doing here?” I ask again, trying to put some power behind my words.

“Nick isn’t here, I suppose, since you let me in.” He drawls, still with that dimple on his cheek, begging me to touch it, kiss it, and lick it.

“Is that what you came here to talk about, my boyfriend?” I ask, letting a strained laugh out. This is so surreal. My somewhat ex and I are talking about the man I’m currently dating.

“Does he make you happy?”

“What?” I stare at him. I'm wondering where he’s going with this.

“Does. He. Make. You. Happy?” He punctuates each word while simultaneously taking a step towards me with each word. I look around my kitchen, trying to find the words, and maybe even something to look at other than him. His eyes are on fire, and they are burning me with every lingering look. With every caress as he sweeps his eyes over my body, I just realize I’m still in nothing but my towel, and my hair is still damp as water trickles down my back.

“I...he...” I can’t get the words or sentences to form in my mind, let alone get them out of my mouth, when he’s looking at me like that. I am his prey, and he is the hunter. With a final step towards me, he has me between him and the kitchen counter. His hands land on either side of me, effectively caging me in. All I can see is him. All I can smell is him. All I can feel is the heat coming off his body, but that doesn’t stop my skin from breaking out in goosebumps all over. But I doubt it’s because I’m cold. Quite the opposite. I’m burning up, and all I want to do is lean a little bit, close the distance between us, and lock my lips around his.

“I know I said I couldn't give you more. But the thought of not having you at all is killing me. I can’t think, I can’t sleep, and I can’t breathe when I’m not with you. And every time I see you around town, all I want is to walk up to you and kiss you. I feel like you are the reason I made it back from Colombia in one piece, and I will die unless I get to spend the rest of my life with you. I want you. Please tell me it’s not too late.”

“Javi...” I’m stunned. I never expected to get as much from him in words as I just did. I try to think of that to answer him, but no words will come out.

"Words, querida, use your words. I asked you a question.”

“What...what question?” I ask, shaking my head. My mind is a mess from what he just said. He wants me? Why now? What changed?

“Does he make you happy?” His hand softly pushes my damp locks back behind my ear; his fingers move to gently caress my cheek; and I instinctively lean into his touch.

“Not like you do. No one can compare to you.” I confess. There’s no point in lying anymore, to myself or to him. He’s here for a reason. He’s told me as much. He wants me back.

“Please give me one more chance. I'm yours; say you’ll be mine.” His eyes search mine as his hand travels from my cheek down my neck. He can feel my pulse beat rapidly beneath his thumb, where his hand is now on my neck.

Without thinking, I reach up on my tippy toes and kiss him. I shouldn’t be doing this. I know I shouldn't. It’s wrong for so many reasons, but I can’t seem to stop myself. My hands move on their own accord and drape around his neck, pulling him closer to me.

His hands find their way around my waist and pull me in closer. The kiss grows heated, and he drags his tongue along the seam of my lips, asking for entry. I grant it, opening up and letting my tongue slide along his in a battle for dominance. His hands drift lower until they reach the bottom of the towel and slide in under it. Grazing the back of my thighs and up my bare ass.

“Mierda, you’re fucking naked under here?” He asks, his voice strained, before he grabs a firm hold of my ass. He lifts me up and sets me down on the kitchen counter, and in doing so, the towel comes loose, falls down, and pools around my waist. Leaving my breasts on full display. He breaks the kiss to look down at my exposed body. “Fuck querida, you’ll be the death of me.” He growls, unable to stop himself. He leans down and takes one perked nipple into his mouth and sucks on it. Dragging his teeth over it, one hand finds the other and plays with it between his forefinger and thumb, pulling a breathy moan from my lips.

My own moan startles me from what we're doing, and I put my hands up against his chest and push him away. Even though all I want is to pull him closer.

“We can’t, not like this.” I quickly grip the towel and pull it up over my body again as I jump down from the counter.

“You’re right.” He takes a step back but then changes his mind and grabs the back of my head as he pulls me in for another soul-searing kiss. When he finally breaks the kiss, he looks at me dead in the eye with his hand still on the back of my head, not allowing me to look away. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you’re mine, and I’ll wait. I’ll give you anything you want; be anything you want; just tell me you’ll be mine.” His chest heaves, and he breathes heavily.

I stare back at him. He’s finally saying all the right things. The only problem is that I have a boyfriend.

“I need to talk to Nick first.” I answer. “But, yes, Javi, I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. Give me a few days to sort through this, and I’ll call you, okay?” I don’t even know how to sort through this mess without someone getting hurt. Sadly, that seems to be Nick in this equation. But I can’t do anything more with Javi until I’ve ended things with Nick; I shouldn’t even have kissed him. We can’t start this time around with something like that. We need to make this right.

“I get it, but can I come over once it’s over with you and Nick?” He looks hopeful; his hand finds mine, and he interlocks our fingers and lifts my hand up to his mouth, where he lays featherlight kisses on each and every knuckle on my hand.

“I’ll call you. But I need you to go now before we do something really stupid. Like let you bend me over the couch and rail me while I still have a boyfriend.” I give him a soft smile while I gently push him towards the door.

He reaches for the door but turns around at the last second, grabs me by the waist, and pins me to the door. “I do, however, want to do that at a later time. But promise me you’ll call me after.” He leans in and plants soft kisses along the colom of my throat. My knees feel like jelly, and if he hadn’t been holding me up, I would have fallen to the floor.

“Yes, I promise.” I let out a breathy moan. “Now, go, baby; for mine and your sanity, go.” I beg.

“Good night, querida.” He gives me one of his devilish, lopsided smiles.

He moves me to the side, then steps away from me so he can open the door and let himself out. But before he’s out of sight, I notice his hand reaching down to readjust himself in those sexy, tight jeans of his. I can’t help but let the smirk on my lips grow as I think that he is as fucked for me as I am for him. Now I just have to break someone's heart before we can be together for real. And that’s not really something I’m looking forward to. But before I go to bed, I take another shower to cool off.

The next day I call Nick after work; I want to get this over with as soon as possible. There is no need to drag out the inevitable. I asked him to come meet me at a café near North Central Park. He had first asked me to come over to his place, but I thought it would be best to do this in public. If he got upset and wanted to leave, he could.

With my tea in my hand, I sit at the table, waiting anxiously for Nick to arrive. I have no idea how I’m going to break it to him, so I suppose I’ll just rip the bandage off the moment he sits down.

I see him coming down the sidewalk; he looks anxious too. He probably heard it in my voice when I called earlier. Nothing good ever comes after the dreaded line “can we talk” which is exactly the one I used earlier when I called him.

“Hey.” He leans in to kiss me, but at the last moment, I turn my head, and his kiss lads on my cheek. My pulse is racing, and my hands are clammy. I grip my mug tighter in an attempt to ground myself. “Everything okay?” He asks.

“I...” I begin, but I can’t seem to get the words out. Fuck, this is so hard! So I just open my mouth and hope I find the right words. “It was never my intention to hurt you, Nick. Please, you have to understand, and to be honest, I never expected Javi to...well, change.” I’m rambling, and when I look at Nick, he looks almost happy? Is he smiling at me?

“I understand. I mean, how can I compete with that guy? You love him.” I’m at a loss for words. Did he just tell me he understands?

“Say what now?” I ask. I must have misheard him. I stare at him with a dumbfounded look on my face, trying to figure out what’s happening.

“Everyone here in Laredo knows about your story. Kind of like star-crossed lovers, always out of reach of one another. And to be frank, I think the whole town has been waiting and hoping for him to get his shit together and realise it's you that he wants. That it’s you he needs. And judging from the conversation you wanted to have with me today, I can assume that he finally came to his senses?”

“He...yeah, you could say that.” I let out a small laugh. The absurdity of how quickly this conversation unfolded is beyond me. I don’t know if I should laugh or cry.

“And you want him.” He asks. It’s not really a question, more of a statement.

“Yes, I’m so sorry, Nick. This is not what I had planned at all. You have to believe me that I never thought that he would change. It’s not like we haven’t tried before. But I don’t know; something is different this time. He’s different.” I reach out across the table and grab his hand in mine. “Please forgive me.”

“I know you didn’t mean for it to happen this way. And honestly, I’m happy for you. If you’re happy, then that’s all I want for you.” He says and squeezes my hand once before letting my hand go.

I don’t know how he’s taking this so calmly, but I appreciate it nonetheless. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What?” I ask.

“Don’t let him take you for granted this time. You deserve the best, and I hope he realises that.”

“I won’t, and thank you, Nick, truly. I hope you find someone who will care for you the way you deserve.”

He stands up and gives me a gentle smile.

“Thanks; I guess I’ll see you around town then.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you around.” I reply. And with that, he walks away. I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding in. This went way better than I expected.

After Nick leaves, I jump into an Uber and tell him where to drive. I have someone I need to go see. My whole body is buzzing with excitement as the car takes me across town and out to the countryside. When the car stops in front of the house, I get out on shaky legs. What if last night was just a dream, and this is all in my head? Or what if he changed his mind? Maybe he just wanted me when I wasn’t his to have? I don’t have to think about it long, though. The door swings open, and out steps Javi. My Javi, or at least, I hope he’ll be mine.

“You’re here. Does that mean...?" He doesn’t finish his question. Instead, he looks at me intensely, his eyes roaming all over my body before landing on my face. Like he’s searching for something and hopes he’ll find the answer in my eyes.

“I’m yours.” That is all I say. And before I know it, he closes the distance between us and pulls me into his arms.

“Mine.” He breathes as he squeezes me tighter to him. Hands drift down my back and land on my ass, lifting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he all but runs back into the house with me in his arms. Pushing the door open and then kicking it closed behind us, his lips find mine, and he claims my mouth with his. Never once does he let go of our connection as he walks me into his bedroom with me still in his arms. Walking up to the bed, he stops by and lowers me down on top of it softly.

He climbs into bed on top of me. I scoot back further into the middle of the bed, and he follows. Deft fingers start to unbutton my jeans and then pull down the zipper. Leading in, he lifts my shirt up and kisses my exposed skin before he grabs the hem of my top and pulls it up and over my head, discarding it somewhere behind him on the floor. Sneaking one hand around my back, he unclasps my bra and flings it over his shoulder. Next, he grips my jeans and panties off in one swift movement and tosses them to the floor as well.

A deep goran vibrates from his chest as his eyes drink me in; now I’m naked in front of him, in his bed.

“Fuck baby, I can’t believe I almost lost you. I’m never letting you go again.” He says it so low, I almost don’t hear him. But I do, and my throat feels thick with emotions. He never used to be like this before.

“Say it,” I plead. I know he feels it; I need him to say it. “Say it, and I’ll be yours forever.” He knows what I mean. The thing I so desperately wanted him to say 7 months ago. But something I think maybe he didn’t know he truly felt until after he saw me moving on. Or attempting to move on. How can one truly move on if one never lets go of the one they really want?

His hands roam all over my body, moulding me like clay. Claiming me as his. He bends down, locks his lips around mine, and kisses me like his life depends on it. Like only my breath can save him from certain death. Tongues, teeth, and breath mix, and when his hand slips in between my thighs, I can’t help but arch into his touch, and the moan that tears itself from my throat sounds borderline feral when one finger slides in between my slit.

“I love you.” He kisses me again, stealing my breath, when he eases one finger into me. “Fuck querida, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” He asks as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of me at a leisurely pace.

“Oh God! Yes!” I pant. His movements stop.

"No, my love, not God, Javi, I want you to scream my name. I’m the one who makes you feel this good. It should be my name that comes from your lips when you cum. Now, be a good girl and cum for me.” He picks up his pace, adding another finger. My mouth falls open, and moan after moan pours out of me as he keeps hitting that spot inside that I can’t seem to reach myself most of the time unless I use a toy. And even then, it’s not as good as when he pushes his thick fingers inside me.

The waves of pleasure build quickly, and I can feel it coming. I won’t be able to keep it down for long. He knows my body better than I do. Angling his hand just a little and pushing deep inside again and again when his other hand reaches up to punch my nipple sends me over the edge, and I crash into the waves of the oncoming orgasm.

I scream out his name as my walls pulsate around him, but he doesn’t let up. He lets me ride out my orgasm, still pumping his big fingers in and out of me just so until I finally come down from the high.

I open my eyes to find him looking right at me with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on his lips.

“I love it when you scream for me, baby. Now, let’s see how many times we can make you cum before you beg me to stop. I have some time to make up for, don’t I?” He bends down before I even have a chance to respond. He licks me from the top of the slit all the way down to my entrance. Making me arch my back off the bed.

“Oh, fuck. Javi.” I breathe out. His tongue circles back up and flicks my clit, making me jerk in reaction.

“Say it.” He demands. Before he seals his lips around my clit and sucks. Stealing the breath from my lungs. My hands find their way into his hair, a firm grasp on his locks. I grind myself into his mouth as his fingers pick up speed again. Lifting his head back up, his fingers pull out.

I whine in protest. “What are you doing?” I question.

“Say it, say it, and I’m yours. I’ll give you anything you want.” He begs. Javi is not a man who begs. But he’s begging me. I know what he wants. He said it, and now he wants me to say it. How can I resist this man? All I’ve ever wanted was him, so I give him what he wants.

“I love you.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say that, querida. I love you so fucking much.” He replies, then bends his head back down, circling and licking at my clit while he pushes his fingers back inside.

He quickly works me up to another orgasm, and when I come back down again, he moves up on top of me, his moustache glistening with my arousal.

He moves to get up and stands next to the bed as he quickly sheds his cloths, dropping them on the floor where he stands. Before he crawls on top of me again, this time completely naked, his cock nudges against my hip.

“Kiss me, then fuck me, Javi.” My arms wrap around his neck, my legs wrap around his waist, and the heels of my feet push him closer to me.

“For you, my love, I’ll do anything.” And he does. He kisses hard and fast, then slow and soft. Then he lines himself up with my entrance and pushes inside, and I’ve never felt so goddamn good as I do in that moment. I’m right where I’m meant to be. With him.

[slytherinshua]

ANGELS

genre. fluff. angel au. warnings. death mentioned but not in a gory way? heavily implied heaven/hell systems. pairing. angel!heeseung x angel!reader. wc. 2.2k. request. no. a/n. this started out as based on the sacrifice mv, but it turned out so fluffy and so far from the mv that its barely based on it anymore.

You sighed, eyelids fluttering shut from the boredom. Your job was so repetitive. Look at someone's life, add up their crimes, decide whether they deserved to be sent up the stairs or fall down the pit. It was suffocating sitting on your seat every hour of every day, looking at the same landscape that you had known since the beginning of existence.

You had never had any problem with your job before. It was important enough, and as the head angel, who else would do it but you? But you started to wonder if you really needed to be the one for the task. These thoughts had been repeating in your head for days now, giving you plenty of time to think it through.

“Heeseung.” You murmured, gathering the attention of the lower angel who always stood guard by your stairs. He looked up and upon seeing you motion him to come up, he quickly proceeded up the stairs.

“Yes, my angel?”

“You’ve been down to Earth, right?” You asked. You found it ridiculous how you had been around since the start of time, yet you had yet to see that fascinating planet in person. You had your looking globe to see how the little habitat for humans was doing, but you had never really seen it.

Heeseung nodded, “I’ve been there many times.”

“Is it easy to visit?” Came your next question. You watched the angel furrow his brows, quickly coming to the conclusion that you were implying. You knew he would oblige you. He always did. That was what you liked most about Heeseung. He may not have been as glamorous as some of the higher angels, but he listened to you, really listened.

“Do you wish to go down?” He asked quietly, hesitant to raise his voice even though you were the only two people in the alcove.

“Don’t you think it would be… fun?” You pressed, resting your chin in your hand as you raised your eyebrows a little at the angel. 

“I suppose… Are you bored here?” He questioned and it made you smile. He was always so observant of you even when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

“Very. This place never changes. Nothing exciting ever goes on. The most entertainment I get is seeing a particularly gruesome human come and beg to be sent up just to be thrown off the edge. That’s rather sadistic of me, isn’t it?” 

Heeseung chuckled, “Your job is one of the most boring. But it is also the most important. Are you sure you want to leave your post?” He asked. From his eyes you could tell what his actual message was. Will I get in trouble if you’re not supposed to do this and I let you?

“I’ll take full responsibility.” You assured him, a charming smile taking over your features and Heeseung’s breath became unsteady.

Heeseung had never felt this before. It was new, and different, but most importantly, Heeseung knew it wasn’t allowed. Heeseung had witnessed the phenomenon of human emotions firsthand many times. They were passionate and angry and they loved. Angels were only meant to do their job. They had no need for feeling. 

So why did your smile make Heeseung’s heart flutter? Why did he smile thinking about you? Why did he care for you?

Just being around you made him incredibly nervous that he’d mess up or do something he wasn’t supposed to. You stole all his attention without even trying. You were one of the head angels. You could get him cast out with just a word. Letting his guard down was one of the last things Heeseung should’ve done, but he couldn’t help it. With just a smile from you, he was willing to do anything you said.

And that was why he gladly took you down to Earth. He made sure that Jay took over your position for the time you were gone. The other angels would’ve surely noticed if humans stopped being sorted into heaven or hell. Jay was more than capable for the job, and once everything was sorted, Heeseung took your hand and led you down.

As soon as you landed, Heeseung had to tug at your wrist to get you to stop ogling over every human invention you could see. A mailbox didn’t deserve such admiration from you, one of the top angels. Heeseung stepped into the first clothing store he could find and handed you some clothes to change into. 

There was no way you’d be able to blend in as a normal person with your shimmering bright white robes. Though, people would probably assume you were either a cosplayer or were just ahead of the fashion trends, Heeseung realised with a chuckle. You stepped out of the changing room and Heeseung couldn’t hold in his gasp. Seeing you in jeans and a simple jacket took Heeseung’s breath away. You looked so… beautiful. 

“Do I blend in okay?” You asked and then smiled, realising your outfit matched Heeseung’s.

“You look amazing! Not-not that you don’t up there, but-” Heeseung cut himself off when he started to stutter and you giggled. Truthfully, you had never heard an angel stutter before. It sounded adorable, or maybe it was just because it was Heeseung.

There was something about just standing on this planet that made you feel so free. You felt your entire body tingling with excitement as you grabbed Heeseung’s hand, not even thinking about where to go, you just wanted to experience it all.

Your excited speed-walking eventually led you to a small cafe. Heeseung was sure it was the flowers that drew you in to pick this spot and he smiled. You were very consistent and very endearing to the lesser angel. Your giddy smile was so rare to see up there, and Heeseung was quick to try to store the picture in his brain forever.

“Do you want to order something?” He asked sheepishly, breaking you from your trance as your wide eyes were admiring everything you saw in the quaint shop, from the plants to the artwork on the walls to the lights to the people drinking their coffee. Everything about it was just perfect.

“How do you… order?”

Heeseung stifled a laugh, collecting himself a little, “What do you want off the menu?” He asked you, pointing to the black chalkboard on the wall with a variety of foods and drinks written down with their respective prices. You read through it for a second, and Heeseung could practically see the stars in your eyes as you landed on one drink.

“Triple Chocolate Java?” You almost squealed with excitement at how good it sounded. “Can I get that?” You turned to Heeseung and asked, wide eyes practically begging him.

Of course, the cafe did have it in stock, but even if they didn’t, with the way you were looking at him right now, Heeseung would’ve been prepared to go to any lengths just to get you your triple chocolate java chip frappuccino. He told you to find a table to sit at and wait for him as he ordered the drink. He came back soon with the large plastic cup and frozen chocolatey goodness inside. You didn’t waste a second in taking a sip, making the angel chuckle.

“Humans really know how to make dessert drinks.” You gushed, continuing to slurp through the straw as fast as you could.

“Don’t drink it too fast or you could get a brain freeze.” Heeseung warned, staring at you adoringly.

“Can angels get brain freeze, though?” You pondered and Heeseung admittedly shrugged, murmuring that he’d never tried on any of his trips down to earth. At this, you were determined to test the theory. 5 minutes and 1 large triple chocolate java chip frappuccino later, you concluded that angels could, in fact, get brain freezes.

“Oww…” You whined, bumping your throbbing forehead onto Heeseung’s shoulder. He smiled and stood still, letting you cling onto his jean jacket until the pain subsided.

“Are you okay, Y/n?” Heeseung asked softly, and you looked up at him, getting lost in his eyes that seemingly held the whole universe in them, the mesmerising colour of his pupils gently contrasting his silvery hair. He was beautiful. It was the first time he had ever called you by your name. It was always “my angel” before. You didn’t know that it could feel so… intimate. 

You shook off your wandering thoughts and fading brain freeze enough to give him a nod and small smile.

“Where to next?” You asked, already starting to walk in a random direction. Heeseung grinned and jogged to catch up to you, hand accidentally brushing against yours. He tried to pull it back, but you quickly laced your fingers with his and swung your arms gently back and forth.

“People will think we’re a couple.” Heeseung said a bit shyly. You didn’t miss his flushed cheeks and diverging gaze.

“Then let's be a couple for just today.” You said simply in response and continued to tug him along. Heeseung blushed and smiled, giving in to his urge to just embrace the moment. In this world, he didn’t have to be so cautious about the rules. If you wanted to be a couple for the day, he wasn’t going to be the one to stop you.

Your next excursions ended up involving a bookstore, a trip to a petstore where Heeseung had to practically drag you away from the kittens, another stop to get food since “everything on Earth is just so good”, and finally, you two found yourself on a ferris wheel ride. In one hand, you were holding a small bear plushie that Heeseung had proudly won you by winning a game of darts, and the other hand held Heeseung’s as if it was the most natural position to be in. You had gotten quite used to the way his hand fit in yours, bigger and more calloused, long fingers slipping perfectly to fit with yours. You were beginning to realise how much you loved everything about the lesser angel.

“If I stare hard enough, do you think I’d be able to spot my throne?” You asked absent-mindedly, gazing up at the now dark sky and the twinkling stars. You knew it was somewhere up there, though you weren’t quite sure where.

Heeseung hummed, “I think it’s too far away, angel.” You turned to look at him and he gave you another heart fluttering smile. The term was starting to feel more and more like a term of endearment and less a one of status. The way he put extra emphasis on it, drawing it out to describe more than just your power over him.

“What do humans usually do when this thing gets to the top?” You asked, recalling at least one human who had died from falling off the top of the contraption. You weren’t worried about a fall since your wings still existed, and were merely vanished at the moment.

“I think they kiss.” Heeseung answered. 

“Oh.” You smiled at the thought. Human love was expressed in such funny ways. You wondered how it felt to kiss someone or to be loved by someone. It seemed to be all humans ever thought about as soon as they got up to see you. They always brought up their loved ones, some with fond memories, some distraught. It was one of the things that seemed to be so unique about humans, what made them them.

The ferris wheel was creeping closer and closer to the top, and you decided on your decision. Just for today, you wanted to experience what a kiss felt like. So, as your carriage finally reached its highest point, you found yourself slowly leaning closer to Heeseung until you felt your lips coincide with his, slipping into place perfectly.

You finally understood why humans searched for love, why they were so obsessed with it. The feeling of kissing Heeseung was almost indescribable. Like a firework exploding or a flower blooming or clouds parting in the sky to make way for the sun to shine. It felt perfect but somehow so much better than perfect. Perfect was an understatement for the feeling, and even when you both pulled away, you found yourself searching for his lips again, for just one more kiss.

You found yourself eventually running out of breath and pulled away for good. Heeseung’s breath was a bit unsteady, as was yours. When you made eye contact, he smiled, triggering one of your own easily. This turned into laughter and then eventually, another kiss once oxygen had been regained. 

After the ferris wheel, you decided you had stayed for long enough, and you made your way back up. Jay looked unimpressed when he caught notice of your hand still intertwined with Heeseung’s. He didn’t comment on it, luckily, only giving it a quick once-over before he dumped you with the next list of freshly deceased humans.

Heeseung took his spot at the bottom of the stairs again, and you sat in your seat, almost as if the day had never happened. But with the knowing glances and growing smiles that you shared with Heeseung from that moment on, you knew the day would still live on in your memory for the rest of time.

↳  enha taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @yeonjuns-redhair,, @ddeonudepressions,, @skz-minchan-enthusiast,, @delcakoo

[allzelemonz]

Fiction Mirrors Reality: Sean MacGuire X Male Reader

Pronouns: None Mentioned, implied similarities to a man in a book Physical Sex: None mentioned Rating: G/Fluff Warnings: Matchmaker Mary-Beth, mutual pining, fluff, bookworms Summary: Mary-Beth gave you a book hoping you’d make some real world connections.

Finding time to read with Mary-Beth has been a priority ever since you joined the gang. She always has recommendations that make you want to avoid even the excitement of Dutch’s jobs. She also happens to be good company, quiet until something exciting happens and very willing to talk about the books you’re reading.

“What’s that face for?” She asks.

She gave you this book a few days ago. It’s good, but two characters you were hoping would get together have had another frustrating close call.

“They’re idiots.” You sigh, closing the book and tossing it on the ground in front of you where you sit. “They’ve almost kissed six times.”

Mary-Beth picks up your book and reads the title to remind herself. “Oh, those two.”

“It’s like they’re clueless, like they can’t feel it.”

“Wonder what that’s like.” Mary-Beth says in a tone that makes you look at her in confusion.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She blushes, looking down at the fabric covering the dirt you both sit on. “Nothing, nothing at all.”

“You’re not getting away with the shy girl routine, Miss Gaskill.” You lean forward, interested now. “What’s so interesting.”

She looks up at you. “I… I may have given ya the book because they remind me of some people in camp.”

You knit your eyebrows in confusion. “Who?”

There’s no one in camp that comes to mind. Most of the feelings in camp are out in the air and have been long dealt with or avoided at all costs.

She waves her hand dismissively. “It’s nothin’ ya gotta worry about-”

“Yes it is.” You urge. “You gave me the book and put me through all of their annoying pining, so who in camp-”

“You and Sean!” She blurts, covering her mouth right after she says it.

You have to process for a minute before you laugh in disbelief. “Me and Sean?”

She nods, hand still covering her mouth.

“Are we talking about the same Sean?” You ask, raising a finger to point at her. “Words this time, Miss Gaskill.”

She sheepishly lowers her hand and places it with the other in her lap. “I’m sorry! I just read the book and they reminded me of how you to are always runnin’ around actin’ like ya don’t wanna fall in love-”

“Us?” You stifle a laugh. “I’ve always thought you were a funny girl, Mary-Beth, but that has to be the funniest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Ya don’t see it, just like Edward.” She sighs. “And Sean keeps playin’ around, pretendin’ it ain’t real, just like Elizabeth.”

You shake your head. “I think you’ve finally lost your mind.”

“I have not!” She tosses the book back to you. “You keep readin’, you’ll see.”

You scoff. “The day I see anything like that about Sean is the day you can put me out of my misery.”

“Just read, you!”

You open the book again and continue with the story. Now that Mary-Beth has brought it up, you can’t stop imagining yourself and Sean in place of the characters. Sean is just as annoying, loud-mouthed, and stubborn as the girl and you happen to fall very much in line with the man. All of it makes you think back and you do see it. All the times you’ve come shockingly close to kissing Sean, every stupid smile that you recall having a flutter reaction to that you wrote off as sickness, that annoying bounce Sean has in his step and the silky look of his hair.

“Damn it.” You mutter.

Mary-Beth is smirking when you look at her, hardly paying attention to her book. She can see Sean over by the fire as he occasionally glances up from his whittling to look at you. Straight out of her romance books.