#it’s my second day without headphones | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatsnewalycat · 2 months

Text

RUTHLESS

Stepdad Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 5.1k+

Warnings: DDDNE, literally just a fucked up stepdad/mom's bf fantasy, could read "mom" as tess but I don't name her or assign physical features to her or reader, post-outbreak, reader is def over 18 but not by much so yeah age gap, NON-CONSENSUAL, power imbalance, unethical d/s dynamic, slapping, spanking, punishment, orgasm delay/denial, humiliation, degradation, face fucking, anal sex, little to no aftercare

A/N: Category is "That old man would fucking never... but if he did..." Please be mindful of the warnings and don't read if it might trigger you. Sorry, mom. Sorry, God.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

------

Within the secluded world of your big noise-canceling headphones, you scan through silence on the CB radio, pausing for a few seconds on each channel before moving on to the next.

Channel 11: Nothing.

Channel 12: Zilch.

Channel 13: Nada.

When you turn the dial to channel 14, though, you pick up chatter and start transcribing.

Channel 14 7/17/22 19:56

—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew? Over.

Got enough for the kids? Over.

And leftovers. Over.

I’ll be at Margie’s around supper time. Over and out.

The air goes silent.

After a minute goes by with no follow up transmissions, you glance at the clock. 7:58. Almost time for check-in.

You tune the radio to channel 32 and review your transcription.

Many people speak in code, encrypting their messages in seemingly benign conversations. To the untrained ear, they’re normal exchanges, people making small talk about jobs and rations and kids. Goodnight calls and check-ins that use predictable inquiries to convey messages.

—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew?

Most of it you can translate from memory. The drug traffickers that use channel 14 have frequented the same lingo for years. Likely because of the high turnover rate of personnel. There’s less confusion that way. Confusion in communication raises more alarm bells for eavesdroppers than using the same code words across the board.

You flip through your cipher for channel 14, searching for budaydas, but find nothing. Scrunching your nose up, you say the word out loud, “Budaydas. Buh-day-das.”

Carrots, onions, budaydas in a stew.

“Oh,” you nod in understanding, then jot down your translation, muttering under your breath, “Fucking Boston accents.”

(Someone) picked up tranquilizers, benzos (budaydas = potatoes), and opioids. The caller wants to meet up and trade as previously agreed.

The rest of it is easy enough to interpret without the use of a cipher. You probably don’t need to write down the translation, but do it in case your mom or Joel need to reference the notes at a later date.

There’s enough to distribute product across their network of dealers in Boston QZ, plus more to stockpile. They’ll meet at their hub in Area 1, Margaret St, at midnight.

You exhale through slack lips, glancing at the clock as it ticks over to 8:00, then pick up the microphone and hold down the speak button.

“Radio check.”

A few seconds go by before you hear a familiar gruff voice crackle over the radio waves into your ears, “Loud and clear. Over.”

Your nostrils flare when you hear him. Joel Miller. The bane of your existence. Your de facto stepfather, only because you don’t really remember life without him by your mom’s side.

This isn’t to say he’s a father figure to you by any means. The two of you never shared the kind of heartwarming paternal bonding moments you read about in books. That would require warmth and vulnerability, which he distinctly lacks.

Once, when you were maybe 11 or 12, you made the mistake of calling him Dad. The way he looked at you made you feel like dirt. Fire burning behind his dark eyes, he corrected you with one stern syllable that taught you your place: “Joel.”

You sit up straighter and take a moment to gather yourself before responding.

“Did you get your message from Uncle Paul? Over.”

“I did. Over.”

“How’s the weather in Kansas City? Over.”

“Cloudy. Over.”

Fuck.

You swallow around nothing, then clear your throat and ask, “And Grandma, how’s she? Over.”

“Fine, just busy is all.”

You exhale a sigh of relief that melts the tension between your shoulders. Joel continues.

“Anything new with you? Over.”

Tapping your fingers on your notes, you answer, “Rumor has it the market is gonna be busy tomorrow. Harvesting time, I guess. Other than that, same old same old. What about you? Staying out of trouble? Over.”

It feels strange, having a casual conversation with him like this. Even if it’s just a data exchange dressed up as a casual conversation.

There’s a long pause, then he says, “Fine, yeah. Well. See you soon. Over ‘n’ out.”

Stiff as a board. Cold as ice. Joel Miller, everyone. Round of applause.

You snort, rolling your eyes as you unplug the headphones and toss them on the table. It takes a moment for you to re-acclimate to your surroundings.

The dingy two-bedroom apartment is quiet and still. Outside, the setting sun casts the world in a dark golden haze. A FEDRA patrol vehicle roars down the street, broadcasting the curfew alert from a loudspeaker. Faint shouting from a few units down momentarily piques your curiosity before you decide it’s none of your business.

You stand from the chair and reach your hands above your head, lungs expanding in a powerful yawn, then take a lap around the apartment to stretch your legs.

Something catches your eye when you walk by the entry. A note slipped under the doorframe. On the outer fold, your name is written in a familiar scrawl.

Your heart skips a beat.

You pick it up and unfold the paper, revealing an invitation.

I miss you. Come over when you’re done surfing the airwaves. XO, Bert.

Warmth trickles down between your thighs. A smile spreads across your face. You glance up at the door, then to the CB radio and scanner on the desk.

Indecision churns in your belly.

You are explicitly forbidden from leaving the apartment while your mom and Joel are out on runs. A safety precaution you’ve protested dozens of times to no avail. They expect you to stay put and warn them if you notice any signs of potential danger. In return, you receive a cut of the profit and a roof over your head. Security, in short. Which is more than most could say.

That being said… You break this rule from time to time, when the circumstances allow.

Like when the Fireflies and FEDRA have been quiet for weeks and there are no smoke signals in sight. Like when you’re five nights into a seven day seclusion and think you might die of boredom if you don’t get the fuck out of here. Like when your boyfriend slips a note under the door and asks you to come over.

You look down at the paper in your hands, re-reading the words I miss you.

Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Just before midnight, you wander down the hallway to your unit, jelly knees wobbling with each step. As you absentmindedly trace your tingling lips, still puffy from kissing, you unlock the door and push it open, then frown.

The lights are on.

They were off when you left, you’re sure of it. When you step further into the apartment, your foot catches on something. A backpack. This faint buzzing starts behind your ears as you blink at it, wishing it would go away.

Motherfu—

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Your stomach plummets to the floor when you hear his voice. A thick knot of panic tightens around your windpipe as you look up to find Joel standing just a few paces away in the living room.

He stares you down, dark eyes glowing with fury, and questions you again, “Where were you?”

“N-nowhere.”

The blatant lie sits sour on your tongue. His lips purse, so you fumble out another, “I went for a walk.”

“A walk,” he repeats, tone disbelieving, “You went on a walk after curfew wearing that?”

You look down at your clothing. A short skirt and tank top. Your throat bobs in a guilty gulp, then you meet his eyes again and nod.

“And when did you leave on this ‘walk?’”

Your mind whirs as you try to come up with an answer. It feels like a trap. You try to calculate an answer that will provide minimal blowback.

“I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes ago?”

“Try again.”

The electricity humming through you takes on a red, frustrated edge, and you snip, “I don’t fucking know, dude. It was a while ago, I wasn’t paying attention. Where’s my mom?”

“Your mom sent me here to make sure you were alive,” he says pointedly, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, “We’ve been tryin’a reach you for three hours. I got here an hour ago. That’s a helluva lot longer than twenty minutes, ain’t it?”

Shrinking into yourself, you search his face. Jaw set, eyes boring into yours. Waves of anger roll off him as he approaches, and you remember all those rumors you heard about him on the radio. The fear you heard in grown men’s voices when they recounted run-ins with that bitch and her guard dog.

You remember what Bert said about him: He’s fucking ruthless.

“You aren’t supposed to leave the apartment when we’re outside the QZ.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you?”

Your heart thuds against your ribcage.

Joel has never directed this kind of outright anger towards you. Sternness, sure. Contempt, maybe. But this is different. You’re in fucking trouble.

There has to be a way out of this conversation.

You drop your gaze to the floor and ask, “Is my mom ok? Did something happen to her?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Righteous indignation straightens your spine and wills you to meet his eyes again, “I’m not saying shit until you tell me what happened to her.”

“She sprained her ankle, but she’s fine. She’s safe,” he tells you, then takes another step forward, “Why did you leave?”

You respond by rolling your eyes.

“Answer the question.”

With an irritated sigh, you search his face, then tell him, “You don’t know what it’s like to be here. Isolated for days or weeks at a time. I fucking hate it. It’s so lonely and boring, I feel like I’m losing my mind—”

“Oh, cry me a goddamn river.”

You scowl at him, staring him down, “Fuck you.”

“Watch your fucking mouth, you disrespectful little shit.”

Red flashes through your field of vision, hot and angry and defiant. You gather the moisture in your mouth on your tongue and spit at him. It splats on his cheek.

His face twists up with fury for one second before he charges, closing the distance between you. The impact pushes your back to the door with a thud.

He grabs your jaw, fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of your cheeks. His eyes are hot coals, burning into you. The muscles in his jaw twitch, nostrils flaring, breath shaky.

When he speaks, it’s through gritted teeth, “You don’t know what it’s like out there.”

“No, because you won’t let me fucking leave—”

“You should be fucking grateful, you know that? Being here is a fucking cake walk. Your mom ‘n’ I have seen things, done things—horrible things you couldn’t even imagine,” he husks, searching your face, grip tightening so hard it makes you whine. “We keep you safe, and all we ask is that you stay put and keep a lookout for us when we’re gone.”

Even if you wanted to respond, you can’t. The vice grip he has on your face renders your mouth immobile.

All you can do is stare back at him, studying his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Full lips pinched thin as he glowers at you.

You notice how close his broad body is to yours. The heat radiating off his tightly-wound muscles onto your skin. His ragged breath scatters across your face and wafts into your open mouth. You taste the bootleg whiskey on his breath and your pulse jumps.

Warmth drips down your spine and pools at the center of you, a horrifying sensation that makes you squirm.

“Were you with your little boyfriend? Hmm?” he asks, eyes darting around your face, trailing down to your body for a moment before returning, “That boy downstairs? Figure you musta been, on account of how you’re dressed.”

You don’t say anything. You can’t. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s not really a question.

“Abandoning your post to go out and get fucked, is that it?”

A whimper slips from your throat as heat swells beneath your skin.

He wouldn’t be treating you like this if your mom was here. He wouldn’t say these things or be this close to you. Knowing this, you understand that whatever is happening right now is wrong.

You also understand that you like it.

You hate that you like it, and hate him for making you like it, but you like it all the same.

Letting go of your face, he demands, “Answer me.”

“Fuck you.”

Before you even realize what’s happening, you feel a sharp, hot sting on your cheek and yelp.

He fucking slapped you.

“Wrong answer.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you retort, bringing your hand to the welt forming on your cheek, “I’m gonna tell her.”

“Yeah? You gonna tell her I found you sneaking in at midnight, too? That you compromised our safety to go out ‘n’ get dicked down?”

You harden your gaze on him, lips pressing together with disdain.

“She wouldn’t like that, would she?” he asks, the smallest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “She’d probably kick you out on your ass.”

“She wouldn’t. You guys need me.”

“And you need us,” he counters, searching your face, “So what do we do to make sure this doesn’t happen again? Hmm?”

A dozen inappropriate images flash through your head, each more lurid than the last. An electric, tingling feeling shoots out from the base of your spine and works through your extremities.

You swallow hard and shake your head, “I won’t do it again.”

“If I don’t punish you, you will. You’re fucking disrespectful. Selfish. You need discipline.”

Again, a flash of frustration taints the world red. Crossing your arms over your chest, you scoff, “Just because you’re fucking my mom doesn’t mean you’re my dad. I am an adult and you are not the boss of me.”

He sighs and takes a step back, planting his hands on his hips. His gaze drifts around the empty apartment, jaw gnashing back and forth for a moment before he returns to twist the deadbolt closed and grab your arm.

“What the f—” you swat at him and dig your heels into the floor, but it does nothing as he drags you by his steel grip, pulling you stumbling along behind him into the living room.

He sits on the couch and forces you to lay over his bent knees, one big hand securing your wrists behind your back while the other flattens against the swell of your ass cheek. As soon his touch leaves, it returns, a sharp snap tingling across your skin.

Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe the chaos throbbing through you.

“You’re right, you’re an adult. And I’m not your dad,” he asserts, lifting his hand. Your whole body clenches in anticipation. “But as long as you live here, I am the fucking boss of you,” he slaps your ass again, “Do you understand me?”

It surprises you when you hear yourself sob, “I’m sorry—”

He does it again and again, hissing, “Yeah, you’re fucking sorry now, aren’t you?”

Each firm slap he lays down is firm, unflinching. Ruthless.

It overwhelms your senses and becomes the only thing you feel. The universe world narrows down to just his palm on your skin. The reliable and exquisite pain ringing through you. Smack. Smack. Smack.

Every time he draws his hand back, you don’t think you can handle it again. But you do.

Soon, you start to crave the impact. His skin on your skin. You can’t feel the start or end of it. It’s just him and you. Pain and pleasure. Sobs and moans, all blended together.

Far away, you hear him chide you for not wearing underwear beneath your skirt. Then he asks, “Are you fucking enjoying this?”

Too ashamed to admit it, all you do is whimper in response.

Smack.

He sucks in breath through his teeth, then grabs the meat of your ass and rumbles, “You do, don’t you?”

When his grasp on your wrists releases, you pull your elbows beneath you and look over your shoulder at him, watching as he spreads your cheeks apart and stares down between your legs. You’re probably shiny and wet with the evidence of your desire.

His lips form an ‘o’ when he kneads you back together and spreads you apart again. The motion teases all your hungry nerves and makes you moan. It feels so fucking good.

You realize then that he’s grown stiff against your belly, hard cock leaving no mistake.

“You fucking like it, too, don’t you?” you ask him, your voice breathy and amused, “I can feel how turned on you are.”

Slipping a hand between your bodies, you press against his strained zipper. His cock jumps at the contact, and he groans, dragging his fingers through your slick lips.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you nod in approval. He works your clit in steady, firm circles while you smooth your hand along the big bulge in his pants, letting out a string of whines at the bubbling pleasure inside you.

You lose yourselves here, both of you squirming and panting and petting the other. So wrapped up with how fucking good it feels that you forget to feel ashamed.

When he smacks your ass now, you croak through clenched teeth, “Fuck yes.”

He likes that you like it. You can tell by the way he groans and throbs beneath you. This knowledge inspires your pulse to pound and your muscles to tense.

“Joel,“ you whimper, opening your eyes to meet his heavy-lidded gaze, “I’m gonna fucking come, don’t stop—”

“Did I give you permission to do that?” he asks, slowing his touch to a torturous rhythm, “Did I say you could come?”

You shake your head and whine, “Please, Joel, please—”

“Are you sorry for what you did?”

“I’m sorry—”

“Are you gonna do it again?”

“No no no, I won’t, I promise, I’ll be a good girl—”

He groans, tossing his head back as you frantically rub at the bulge in his pants. Your palm chafes against the stiff denim, but you don’t stop. You would do this for eternity if it meant he’d let you find your release.

“Oh yeah, you’ll be a good fucking girl for me?” he asks, touching you just soft and slow enough to twist your nerves ragged, but keep your orgasm out of reach.

“I will, I promise. Please, Joel,” you whisper, holding his gaze as your face gets all hot, “Please make me come, please please—”

“Show me you mean it.”

He doesn’t need to explain what he means. While he takes off his jeans, you scramble off his lap and kneel between his spread knees. His eyes stay glued to yours as you slide your hands up his thighs.

Batting your lashes at him, you wrap your lips around his swollen cock. He fills your mouth. He feels smooth but hard against your tongue. He tastes salty and heady and when you inhale the musk of him, you moan around his girth.

Nodding, he anchors his grip behind your head and bucks his hips, forcing his dick down your throat. When you gag, he doesn’t let up, but thrusts into the sensation, grunting, “Fuck. Yes,” before letting you pull off, gasping for air.

You wrap your hands around him, all shiny and slick with drool, and pump his length for a moment while you catch your breath, then take him in your mouth again.

This time, you sit up taller. You relish the stretch of your lips as you bob up and down. Savor the tug of his fingers curled tight in your hair. Memorize the sound of his huffs and grunts as he fucks your face. The wet squelching gurgle of his cock squeezing down your windpipe.

“Look at me,” he orders, so you do.

He’s all blurred from your watering eyes, but you can make out the dark irises and stay locked onto them while relaxing the muscles of your throat to take him easier. When you make an enthusiastic humming noise, he groans. It’s wanton and lusty and lights a fire in your belly.

Joel has never treated you this hard or soft. His regard for you has always been callous. Closed-off. Indifferent. With your assistance on the radio, he treated you like a tool for survival. Before that, or even in-between smuggling runs, he treated you like some kind of a household pet he had little regard for. Your mom’s responsibility, never his.

For years and years, you ached for more.

When you were younger, you used to sit up nights and wonder if he’d ever consider you his daughter. He wouldn’t, though. He won’t.

But this is something.

Distinctly, you want to please him. Be the best he ever had. You want to sink your claws into his brain and leave your mark for years to come. You want him to look at you after this and feel a flicker of desire and self-loathing. You want him to think of you when he fucks your mom. You want him to hate how you made him feel.

When you pull off him and start to work his soaked length with your hands, you pant, “Does that feel good? Am I doing a good job sucking your cock?”

“It’s good,” he nods, lets out a groan that pinches his eyes shut, then meets your gaze again, “So fucking good, Jesus Christ. Is this what you were out doing tonight? Sucking cock?”

“Not tonight.”

“But he fucked you, didn’t he? That boy?”

You nod, stroking him slower. His eyelids flutter.

“Did he fuck your pussy or your ass?”

The question sends a jolt through your middle. You recall the sex you had with Bert. Barely an hour has gone by since he pulled out of your cunt to shoot his load on the mattress, but it feels like a lifetime ago.

“My pussy,” you answer, then gather a thick, hot wad of saliva on your tongue and spit on his cock. You spread it with a slow churning motion, watching Joel’s face twist up with pleasure.

“Were you bein’ smart about it at least?” he asks, studying you, “We don’t need you getting knocked up.”

“He pulled out,” you shrug.

He grunts in acknowledgment, then sits up and pulls on your arm to join him on the couch, “C’mere.”

You follow his guidance, lying back on the cushions as he strips off his shirt.

The only times you’ve seen him shirtless were accidental and slightly embarrassing for both of you. But now, you notice how his smooth chest glows in the dim light. Now, when you drink in the sight of his big arms and broad shoulders, heat bubbles up your spine.

While you pull your tank top off over your head, he tugs your skirt down your thighs, asking, “You ever taken it up the ass?”

You shake your head.

His eyebrows jump a little like he’s surprised. A sadistic kind of smirk plays across his lips as he pushes your knees up to your chest, then spreads you apart, the head of him nudging at your backdoor.

He doesn’t ask for permission. He doesn’t ask if you want it this way, or if you want him to be the first. He doesn’t even warn you about the initial shock and pain you experience when he rocks his hips forward and breaches the tight hole.

You yelp and try to lurch away from the sharp pain, but he grabs you and holds you there.

Sitting up on your elbows, you cry, “That fucking hurts, Joel.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a punishment if it didn’t hurt a little, would it?” he murmurs, disinterested, watching your asshole stretch to accommodate the head of his cock.

The sensation is overwhelming. Like being stabbed or split open. At first, you hate it. You sputter and gasp and shake your head as he pushes himself in further and further.

Then he pauses the invasion, releasing his steel grip on you to tilt your chin up and meet his gaze, “Just relax.”

His eyes burn into yours, making your pulse jump. You bear witness to his heaving chest and parted lips and feel him twitch inside you. Sparks sizzle across your body, but you still scowl at him.

“It hurts, I don’t like it.“

“It’ll get better, you just gotta relax,” he coaches.

“Why can’t we just have normal sex?”

He grunts, thinks about it for a moment, then tells you, “First off, this is not normal sex,” he points between your chest and his, “This will not be a normal thing, you understand?”

It stings a little, if you’re being honest. But you nod, “I understand.”

Nodding, he licks his lips. He throbs inside you, hips jerking a little in reaction. This time, the friction feels good enough to make you whimper.

“Second, we don’t need another mouth to feed around here,” he says, searching your face, “We’re stretched thin enough as is. You know what I mean?”

“But if you—”

“Pulling out can still stick. This way’s tried and true, trust me.”

“Trust you,” you scoff under your breath and roll your eyes.

“What’s that?”

You meet his hardened gaze, feeling emboldened enough to ask, “Do you fuck my mom in the ass?”

“That’s none of your business,” he warns.

“So, what, you can interrogate me about my sex life, but I can’t do the same?”

“That’s right,” he barks, “Know why?”

In response, you glare at him.

He takes this moment of bitter silence to drag his knuckles up your slick, swollen lips. The light touch branches out beneath your skin and makes your heart pound. You gasp a little, but try to hide it. He clocks it immediately.

“There we go,” he murmurs under his breath, almost as an aside, smoothing the pad of his thumb in soft circles on your clit. Pleasure churns beneath the touch, hot and hungry for more. When you whimper, Joel’s eyes go wild for a second, then he says, “I am the fucking boss of you, understand?”

You swallow a moan as he arches forward and starts to roll his hips. It feels better now. Good. Fucking amazing, almost. Electric and gooey. He fills you so completely with each thrust, you wonder how you can even breathe.

“So if I tell you to be home, that’s where you’ll be. If I ask you where you’ve been, who you were with, what you were doing—you tell me the truth. Understand?”

Nodding, you gasp, “I understand.”

“You don’t get to ask me about your mom. You don’t tell your mom. You don’t sneak out to go get fucked by some boy who doesn’t even know what to do with you—”

“Holy shit, Joel I’m gonna—” you gasp at the pressure building at the base of your spine, spreading thick and hot and delicious across your body.

“And you don’t come without my fucking permission. Understand?”

“I understand I understand,” you cry, literal tears burning behind your eyes at the ache of trying to keep the ecstasy at bay, “Please can I come, please please please—”

“Are you sorry?”

“I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again—”

“That’s right, you’ll never fucking do it again. Why’s that?”

“You’re the boss,” you beg, your voice so raw and pleading it sounds foreign. He pounds into you now, a wet slap that echoes off the apartment walls. It takes all your concentration to keep your pleasure contained, to not spill over the edges, but you hear yourself babble somewhere far away.

“You’re the fucking boss. I’m sorry I’m sorry I won’t disobey you again I’ll be a good girl I’ll do anything just please give me permission to come daddy please please please—”

When he moans, loud and depraved, it just about breaks you, but you manage to keep your resolve long enough for him to pant, “Go ahead, let it go.”

With a choked sob, you untether your pleasure and allow it to expand, growing hot and wide and unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Every muscle in your body tenses up as the sensation swallows you whole, then spits you back up, sending wave after wave across your body.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl,” he grunts, taking his hand from your clit to hold your knees down and fuck your ass hard and fast and ruthless.

It surprises you when heat starts stretching out from the middle of you again. Your heart starts to race as the feeling grows.

“Ffffuuuuck,” you whimper, “That feels so fucking good—”

“I told you, didn’t I?”

“You did you did holy shit,” you meet his eyes and nod frantically, “I love it I love it—please can you come in my ass?”

“Is that what you want? Want me to come in your tight little asshole?”

A feral noise escapes you, and you sob, “Yes—”

“Do you wanna come too?”

“Yes—oh my god, yes, please please please daddy—”

“Come with me, baby.”

You let the feeling overtake you again, gasping out, “thank you thank you thank you,” as it takes you strong and fast. Pleasure pulses through your body, causing you to convulse and strain against Joel’s grip spreading you open. He releases a moan from his belly and gives you a hard, deep thrust that he holds for a shuddering moment. After emptying himself inside you, he pulls out, falling back to his seat on the couch.

Chest heaving, you prop yourself up on your elbows and study him. He pinches his eyes shut and catches his breath before meeting your gaze again.

His expression goes soft long enough for something dangerous to flicker between you.

Then he turns away and starts getting dressed.

“Get yourself together, I’m gonna go get your mom.”

As you sit up, you fold your legs into your body and watch him button his shirt.

“Joel—”

He looks at you, searching your face expectantly, but your brain goes static and you’re not even sure what you were going to say.

“This stays between us, understand?”

His tone is firm but gentle. You swallow hard and nod, “I understand.”

Nodding, he glances down at your lips, then back to your eyes. He rises to his feet to leave, but before he does, he leans down to press a kiss into your forehead.

“Good girl.”

[ NEXT PART ]

2K notes · View notes

zanarkandskylines · 2 months

Text

₊✩‧₊◜ thinking about reader and bakugo’s intense “I’m home!” sex after he gets back from a month long mission. (follow up to this!!)

『 ♡ - k.bakugo x fem!reader 』 ꒰ tags & content ꒱ 18+ MDNI! masturbation, mentions of phone sex, toy usage (vibrator), praise, light dom/sub dynamic, pet names (baby, peach, sweets, good girl, princess - one mention of slut and whore but affectionately!), fingering, minor roleplay (bakugo in his hero gear & reader wears his mask), oral (blowjob), facial, cum eating, lots of dirty talk, nipple play, marking - biting/scratching, a sprinkle of choking, hair pulling, rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, aaand fluff! aged up characters to 22. ⋆ ˚ʚɞ — i didn’t expect this to be as long as it is, buuuut i had a lot of ideas of what they did when he came home...so there's a lot. what can i say? y'all missed each other! the smut immediately starts under the cut and does not stop until the end! 😵‍💫 ｡‧˚ʚ cross-posted to ao3 | word count; ~3.7k ɞ˚‧｡ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist

It's been a long month without Katuski being home. You've done everything you can think of to keep yourself busy while he's been away - played games, read books, hung out with friends and worked overtime to make the days fly by. You called each other day and night, talking for as long as his assignments for the day allowed. Thankfully, they gave him his own room as an accommodation and didn't have to worry about sharing with anyone else.

Boy, did that come in handy.

You two are not shy and foreign to phone sex of all kinds, it was something you actually talked him into doing when you're apart longer than a week for work. FaceTime, voice notes, sexting; the full gambit. You had a private collection on your phone with all his voice notes that he'd sent to you over the years. You used it as "material" for when you're alone.

One folder was all for praise - "that’s my good girl," "go slow sweets, I wanna watch ya take every inch of me," "you’re so cute when you’re begging on your knees, baby," "love watching your soft lips wrap around my cock," "your moans are so fuckin’ pretty, peach," “god, y’have no fuckin’ idea how goddamn wild you drive me,” and more snippets of him coaxing you along to get you off.

The second folder? That was your sacred treasure trove. There were only three files, but they were some of the hottest things Katuski's ever graced you with. They were 10 minute audio clips of him jerking off to the thought of you, vocalizing every detail. Thank god for advanced technology because it allowed you to hear every mumbled ‘fuck’ under his breath, hushed grunts and audible shudders.

You didn’t have any other plans for the day - listening to your boyfriend’s sexy voice while you test out a new vibrator sounded like the perfect solution!

Stripping out of your clothes, you grab a t-shirt from his dresser and throw it over your naked body. It loosely drapes over the top of your thighs, barely hiding the fact you’re not wearing any panties. You grab the vibrator from your nightstand and lay in bed, phone nestled into the pillow next to your head. You decide to choose one of the three files at random. Before you even hit play, your face is flushed and heart is threatening to burst through your ribcage. It doesn’t take long for you to succumb to the gratification, getting lost in his husky moans and the hum of the vibrator.

You’re too busy to notice that the apartment’s front door has opened, along with the commotion of Katsuki dropping his bags in the doorway. He doesn’t say anything as he’s taking off his boots, assuming you could be taking a nap or had headphones on if you didn’t come skipping down the hallway. He didn't tell you he was coming home two days early and wanted to surprise you!

What a surprise it was for him to hear subtle mewls coming from your joint bedroom, immediately catching his attention. He was still in his hero gear, minus his gloves and gauntlets, with his mask settled into his hairline like a headband. As quiet as possible, he tip toes down the hall and peeks around the doorframe. He could hear faint audio playing and a buzzing noise, but couldn’t make out what it was until he got to the doorway.

When he peeked through the crack in the door, his dick throbbed violently as it tented his cargo pants. The sight of you sprawled out on the bed, viciously fucking your new vibrator in nothing but his t-shirt was hot as hell. And you were listening to...his voice notes? He was entranced by your delicious moans and how your legs twitched when the vibrator hit your swollen clit. Part of him jokingly thought you didn’t even need him right now, since you technically did have a version of him, but his selfishness took over instead.

Willpower be damned, he needed you. Now. It took everything in him not to pounce on you right then and there.

Katsuki retreats to the living room and sits on the couch, desperately fighting the urge to start playing with himself to the sound of you doing the same. Instead, he pulls out his phone and clicks on your name to call you. He could hear your phone’s audio shift from his own voice to your ringtone, a startled yelp escaping you.

“H-hey babe,” You answer, panting quietly. “What’s up?”

He almost bursts out into laughter, but keeps it together enough for his little charade.

“Everythin' alright? Ya sound outta breath,” Katsuki teases, but decides to get to the point. “Eh, fuck it. Come into the living room.”

He hangs up and hears your feet padding against the wooden floor instantaneously. Within seconds, you slide into view, overjoyed that he’s home.

“Kats!” You squeal, scrambling over to the couch and jumping into his lap. You’re peppering his lips, neck, cheeks and forehead with rapid fire kisses, giggling as he tries to still your movements to pull you into a warm hug. He nuzzles his face into your neck lovingly, returning your kisses tenfold.

Your excitement briefly makes you forget that you were just in the middle of pleasuring yourself before rushing to greet him. The realization catches up to you when you fully sit on his lap, his erection teasing your exposed slit. A heat pools in your gut at the thought of him catching you in the act - he heard you.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Katsuki says, hands gliding up your bare thighs and grabbing a handful of your ass, grinding your center against his own. The secondary contact causes a gasp to fall from your lips. You don’t respond verbally but lift yourself away from his lap, creating enough space between you two.

“What're ya-,” he’s cut off by you taking his right hand off of your ass and tucking his fingers against your soaked entrance. You take two digits and lower yourself onto them, coating his fingers in all your built up slick.

“I missed you,” you whine as he flexes inside you instinctually, petting your walls with his coarse finger pads. You start to move on your own, gripping his shoulders and riding his fingers to finish the job you started in the bedroom.

Katsuki is speechless, not even a witty remark coming to mind to tease you. His face burns hot when the sounds of your juices sloshing around his fingers fill the room, a heat creeping up the back of his neck. Since you previously wound yourself up, it doesn’t take long until you’re ready to explode. Your eyes are threatening to roll back into your head as you swirl your hips on his fingers. His entire being is pulsing with need as he begins to drills his fingers into you, knuckle deep, and drinks in all your breathy moans. The string in your belly is pulled taut - tighter than its been in the last month, snapping with an intensity that leaves your thighs quivering within seconds.

You come all over his fingers, down his hand and stain the crotch of his cargo pants.

“Hah, good thing they’re getting washed,” you joke breathlessly as you go to kiss Katsuki but stops you - he shocks you with something he’s never done before.

He retracts his fingers from your drenched cunt and swiftly smears it all over your lips before capturing them with his own, sharing your tangy release in ecstasy. He licks your bottom lip before sitting back, breaking the kiss and settling the two fingers back to your mouth. Your lips part ever so slightly at the pressure.

“Don’t ya think you taste divine?” He smirks as he watches you open your mouth invitingly, lazily sucking his fingers covered with your spend. You don't break eye contact with him the entire time, heavily panting like a dog in heat as your tongue leisurely trails the length of each finger. A thin string of saliva sticks to the corner of your mouth as you pull away from his fingers with a soft pop of your lips.

You reach for his mask in his hairline, pushing it back to fall into your grasp. Untying the small knot, you bring it to your own face and secure it around your eyes - just like he wears on patrol. Katsuki's giving you a curious look as you slide off his lap and kneel to the floor.

Oh fuck-

Putting your hands to his hips, you drag your fingers to the hem of his pants - he's scrambling to undo his belt while you yank everything to his ankles. His cock springs forward, bouncing off his clothed abs as it’s freed from the confines of his boxers. You can tell he’s aching for you to touch him, tip leaking pre-spend and blazing hot to the touch. With no hesitation, you edge his entire length into your mouth, tongue sliding delicately along the underside of his shaft and consuming every drop of him.

“F-fuck peach, should'a let you wear my mask ages ago,” Katsuki stutters, thighs trembling at the sight your lips enclosed around him. “’m not gonna…last long watchin’ ya like this.”

You start to slither your tongue around his length, subtly hollowing your cheeks and barely moving an inch. His tip hits the back of your throat as he grabs your hair, shoving you all the way to the base and meeting his soft blonde wisps with your nose. He's unable to control himself - your mouth just feels too good around his cock right now. Katsuki’s only known his own fist for the last month, you’re making him feel like a blushing virgin all over again with how fast he’s accelerating toward his orgasm. You’ve hardly touched - well, blown - him and he's ready to combust.

His grunts have morphed into higher pitched moans as he’s bucking his hips off the couch into your mouth in tandem with your own movements, ferociously chasing the building heat in his gut.

“S-shit, fuck fuck fuck!” he yells while ripping your lips off of him by your hair, endless hot ropes of cum painting your pretty face. His mask, your cheeks, lips, and chin are dripping with white, each droplet slowly making it's way to your jawline. The sight is enough to almost make him come a second time, needing to throw his head back on the couch to avoid eye contact momentarily and pull himself together.

You hum with satisfaction and rise from your knees, straddling him on the couch once more. In the heat of the moment, you grab him by the jaw and plant a messy kiss on his lips, smearing his paintjob in the process. In the lusty haze, he doesn't give a shit that you mimicked his actions. Honestly? He kinda liked his own flavor - it complimented your own, dancing together on his tongue.

“Don’t you think you taste divine?” you purr, repeating his sentiment and licking some of the smeared cum off his cheek. You untie the mask and let it drop from your face, realizing that you may have just ruined his professional hero gear. “This…is washable, right?”

Katsuki laughs. “Yeah, don’t worry ‘bout it. 's gotta be with how dirty hero work gets.”

The two of you get up from the couch and walk to the bathroom to clean up. Once he’s done soaking a wash cloth with warm water, you’re taking his place and bending over the counter to rinse the remnants of his facial from your skin.

Lucky for him, you’re still not wearing any panties. And bent over like that? Your ass and pussy are on full display, still glistening from your previous orgasm.

Katsuki crouches to the ground, kneeling behind you and bites your bare ass with a huff. The sensation makes you jump, water splashing all over the counter and collar of your shirt.

“Katsuki!” You yelp, shutting off the water and blindly reaching for a towel nearby. “You’re insatiable.”

“Like you’re complaining.”

His tongue then traces from the inside of your thigh and stops just shy of your center, a shudder of anticipation wracking your body.

“You’re playing with fire, Kat,” you warn, spinning around and lifting your leg, placing a foot on his shoulder to teasingly show off your messy core. His eyes dart up to meet yours, a salacious grin settling on across his lips.

“Then fuckin’ light me up, princess.”

Something in you snaps - an unexplainable strong hunger captivating your mind. You wanted him to absolutely obliterate you in any and every way possible.

Everything happens in a flash - remaining clothes are strewn across the floor, bodies pressed against the plush of the sheets when you fall against the bed, tangled and relishing in the bare skin contact. The sensation kindles the fire in your veins, begging for more of him - all of him.

"K-Katsuki," you whimper onto his lips, breathless between frenzied kisses. "I want - no, need - you to fuck me like you hate my guts."

Your lascivious request has Katsuki's head swimming in a lewd sea of thoughts, gritting his teeth to hold back the ravenous desire. He can’t help but fist himself in response before leering over you.

“Oh, is that how you wanna play this game, baby?” He growls into the shell of your ear, squishing you further into the mattress. "Want me to use you like a fuckin' toy, eh? Poundin' away at your tight-ass cunt 'til ya can't take it?"

You're too enraptured by the promise swirling in your head to form any logical thoughts as his hands travel to your breast between your bodies, palms blistering hot to the touch as he tweaks your nipple. "When ya can't walk tomorrow, jus' remember y'asked me for this."

The incoherent whine that escapes you is involuntary, a raw reaction to his words. You hear a pleased hum rise from Katsuki's throat as he towers over you once more. He places a few tender kisses to your neck before he fiendishly groans, "I'm gonna fuckin' wreck you."

Not a second passes before his canines are puncturing your delicate skin, threatening to draw blood with how deep he's sinking into the bite on your jugular. Katsuki releases only to keep biting anywhere he could latch on to as he roamed your body - your neck, breasts, collarbone, shoulder, nipples, hips, thighs - eager to mark every inch of you, claim you as his. It makes you squirm and your pussy ache with need, lightning bolts of pleasure coursing through you with each snap of his teeth. Usually when he bit you, he’d soothe the area with a few kisses - but now? He was a rabid fucking animal, carnality overwhelming his ability to think straight.

You're able to get a quick look at his ruddy cock when Katsuki leans back, repositioning himself while gripping your hips. You’re salivating at the sight - thick, swollen and pulsing, spend dripping down his length and coating the skin with a sheen of arousal. He’s heavily tracing circles into your hip bones, his firm clutch on your waist keeping you in place. He’s tugging your center toward his own, teasingly slipping the head of his cock between your creamy folds. You’re about to plunge down onto him when he pulls back, a wicked grimace crossing his lips. A dissatisfied squeak spills from your lips, pouting up at him with metaphorical hearts in your eyes.

“Y’want this?” Katsuki snarls, bouncing his dick against your mound, the contact causing you to inhale sharply. “Beg like the needy slut you are.”

Words are failing you as you attempt to fulfill his demand, the only sounds falling from your puffed lips a succession of jumbled moans.

“Cat got your tongue, princess?” He snorts at his own pun under his breath as he trails his palm up your body, resting under your jaw and fixating on the seductive gleam in you pupils.

“I know how to find those pretty words ‘a yours.”

Katsuki applies firm pressure to your throat under his finger tips, tilting your head upward to face him. Your hips buck up in response, begging for him to spread you open.

He clicks his tongue at your shameless plea. "C'mon baby, tell me what ya want."

His fingers flex over your throat, playfully interchanging how much pressure he's using over the pulse in your jugular. His gaze travels down your newly bitten and bruised body, pleased with how they adorn your features.

With every ounce of concentration, you blurt out everything lingering in your heat-riddled mind. "Break the fucking bed, rip my soul from my body, leave me choking on every word, ravage me until there's nothing left...please, Katsuki!"

You barely finished screaming his name before Katsuki releases the hold on your throat, roughly returning his grips to your hips and ramming his cock straight into your sweltering sex, the burning sensation rolling your eyes back into your head.

"Good fuckin' girl, baby."

He's hypnotized by the way your tits bounce as he fucks in and out of you at a feral pace, sweat glistening over both your bodies. The room's temperature heightens, the humidity only adding to the wild desire you're sharing.

Suddenly, he pulls out of you, leaving you confused and yearning. You don't have time to ask questions as he's rolling - shoving - you onto your stomach, arching your hips into place before resuming his unmerciful thrusts, growling and grunting from behind you. The new position has you crying out, intoxicated by the way his cock is hitting every hotspot along your walls and g-spot repetitively. You're unable to contain the sounds spilling from your parted lips as they harmonize with Katsuki's moans. He bends down to snatch your hair by the roots, forcing your head off the pillow as his other hand reaches around your waist, finger pressing harshly against your puffy clit. The wail that bubbles from your throat is sinful, overwhelmed as the coil in your core is wound tighter, tighter, and tighter.

"I fuckin' love when you moan like a whore, baby," Katsuki barks out between baited breath. "Ya keep screamin' like that, 'm gonna end up stuffin' your pretty pussy full 'a cum."

You flutter around his dick in response, stroking his length with every snap of his hips. "Hah, seems like that's what your beggin' for, isn't it?"

He screws his eyes shut, jaw clenched as he's inching closer to the edge. Your clenched walls coax his release to come rocketing out of nowhere, a guttural moan spilling out of him as he pumps you full of spend. The warmth is inviting - comforting, leaving you floating on cloud nine. Katsuki lets your locks drop from his grasp and removes his hand from your clit, folding over your back with exhaustion.

Imagine his shock when you push back against him, causing him to slide out of you with a schlep and fall back against the bed. You reverse your position to face him, taking hold of his shoulders to pull him into a sitting position and shove his back against the wall.

"Wha-"

You straddle his lap, springing his still-hard cock back inside of you and begin riding him mercilessly.

"One more," you whisper, voice low and demanding. "I know you can do it, my good fucking boy can give me one more."

Your nails are digging into his chest, red scratches left in their wake as you grind your soaked center against his shaft. Katsuki's stuttering, unable to find words as the overstimulation mixed with praise short circuits his brain.

"Ba-mmph-baby, wa-ahh-wait, fuck!"

Numerous beads of sweat roll from his hairline and drip down his cheeks, slack jawed from delirium. A second wave of release is rapidly rising in his abdomen, high pitched whimpers falling from his open mouth.

"Ah-almost!" you shout, fingers tracing his hardened nipples and pinching them roughly. He jolts, a final whine escaping him as the aforementioned wave crashes down, a second round of seed spurting out inside of you. Your own slick rushes to meet his spend, mixing together as it leaks from between your legs and into his lap.

"Holy fuck," Katsuki wheezes, barely able to speak. "Wh-where the fuck did you learn that?!"

Your legs are trembling uncontrollably as you lift yourself off of his dick, falling sideways onto the bed.

"I...just thought to try it," you sigh, "Never thought I'd get you to whine like that. Fuck, Kat. That was ungodly hot."

His face is burning red and heat traveling down his neck, somewhat embarrassed at his reaction of losing himself in the moment.

"Oh no, you don't get to be embarrassed! With half the shit you do to me?!" you tease, kicking his thigh jokingly with your foot. He grumbles, scrunching his brows together and crossing his arms.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop teasing you."

"Good, ya better. Now move your ass over and make room for me."

Katsuki flops next to you, too exhausted to get up from the bed. He wraps an arm around your waist and one under your head, cradling you close as your cheek meets his chest. You can hear his heartbeat thumping away as you close your eyes to the rhythm. He kisses your forehead before laying his head back against the mountain of pillows.

"Guess I should go away on missions more often if that's what I get 'ta come home to, shit. Feels like I just ran a fuckin' marathon."

You can't help but giggle, fighting off the itch to drift into slumber a little longer.

"I'm sneaking into your hotel room next time. No way am I waiting that long again!"

The two of you snuggle close, despite the ungodly amount of sweat coating your bodies and mugginess in the air, too enamored with one another to care.

"I love you so much, sweets. Don't forget that." Katsuki's voice is quiet, the words tightening in his throat as he speaks them aloud.

"I love you too, Katsuki. Forever and always."

He's satisfied with your answer as he closes his eyes, letting the wave of fatigue settle in his bones and lull him to sleep.

tagging @pastelbakugou as a thank you for the idea of a follow up 👀✨ no pressure tags!: @maddietries @slayfics @bkgrl @bub-ss hoping this was explosive enough! 🧡💥

#bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugou x reader #my hero academia smut #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo #☆.rei writes

1K notes · View notes

dreamescapeswriting · 4 months

Text

All Warmed Up ~ BC

WORD COUNT: 2.7K

GENRE: angst with a fluffy ending, chan not realising/ignoring that the reader is sick, sick reader, caring for you, Noway I'd forgive him wihtout some major grovelling tbf though

PAIRING: Chan x Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - January 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

For days this headache had been brewing for you, it had started as nothing more than a dull pain in the front of your head but as time went on it continued to get worse and worse until you could barely stand it anymore. You’d called in sick to work for days now and it was getting to the point where your boss was beginning to get annoyed with you for it, not that you could help it when your body decided to make you ill though.

Normally you weren’t the type to let some sort of bug or flu keep you down but this one seemed to be knocking you down again and again and it was a struggle for you to even keep your eyes open. It was hard for you to even go to the bathroom without feeling so light-headed you were going to fall so you held onto the walls whenever you walked.

“Channie?” You coughed out as you heard him getting up, or getting in you weren’t entirely sure what time it was since the blackout curtains were still drawn shut keeping everything out. It was the only thing keeping your headache somewhat muted at this point and you were doing everything to keep any form of light out of your way. Your phone hadn’t been turned on since yesterday and you were laid in complete darkness, something that seemed to be helping you an awful lot lately.

“What are you doing in bed?” Chan grumbled a little harshly as he made his way over the windows throwing the curtains open and blinding you instantly as you let out a choked whine.

“I’m sick.” You grumbled pulling the sheets over your head but it was as though he’d not heard you as he grabbed his bag and pulled his laptop free from his bag. You knew he’d been working harder than usual lately since their new album was dropping any second but this was somehow different to any other comeback stress you’d seen your boyfriend under.

He’d barely had time to look away from the screen to eat, let alone look at you and see the state that you were in and you didn't hate him for it. The two of you had an understanding that when he was so busy you weren't going to hear from him much, but knowing he was alive and eating was enough for you when he was in comeback mode.

But it annoyed you as to why he was asking why you were home, you’d told him all week that you hadn’t been feeling well, texting him that you were home and for him to be quiet when he came in but all of the notifications were read but never replied to. Hell, you'd even asked him to pick you up some cold patches and he had. Had he forgotten you were sick that quickly?

You didn’t take it to heart since you knew he was busy but it started to grate you that he didn’t even act as though he cared that you were so sick. Not that you were doing it to gain his attention but to know your boyfriend cared wasn't too much to ask, was it?

Chan mumbled something you didn’t quite hear before slipping his headphones onto his head and starting to work on his laptop, you slowly peeked out from under the blankets and groaned as the sun felt like it was burning your eyes into raisins.

“Fuck,” You grumbled reaching to the bedside cabinet for the sunglasses you’d kept nearby for when you had to venture to the bathroom and you slid them on slowly standing up. The clock on the wall said it was almost nine which meant you were once again not going to work and you needed to phone your boss.

“Have you seen my phone?” You mumbled out, searching around the bed for when you last saw it but it was nowhere in sight and it wasn’t even on the bedside cabinet either. You could have sworn you left it near you last night for when you were eventually going to need to use it again.

“Channie?” You asked out before tapping his shoulder and a very annoyed-looking Chan turned to look at you. There were bags under his eyes and you could bet he hadn't slept the night before,

“What?!” He bit out, staring at you and waiting impatiently for you to ask him whatever it was.

“Have you seen my phone? I need to call in sick.” You didn’t even react to his angry voice, you didn’t have the energy to.

“You’re calling in sick again?” Disbelief masked his tone as he turned his head back to look at the screen,

“I can barely move without feeling dizzy and I have this giant headache,” You groaned rubbing your temples a little before Chan pulled his headphones over his head.

Maybe he somehow thought you weren’t going to hear him but the next sentence made your heart break into a million tiny pieces,

“You need to get over yourself, there are people worse off that are still going to work.” At this point, between him not even acknowledging that you were sick and his words it felt as though your heart had just been put through a paper shredder and you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

The response you had for him died in your throat when you saw him going straight back to working on his project. Somewhere inside of you, you knew that he was just acting out of stress but it didn’t stop the achingness you were now feeling inside of you. And maybe he was right? People did go to work when they were sick but you’d never been one of those people, you could barely function when a migraine came on and you would always take time off to start trying to feel better.

So instead of phoning in sick you moved to the wardrobe very shakily, changed into some work clothes and carefully made your way out of the house and into the street. With how dizzy you were feeling you grabbed a cab not wanting to put anyone else or yourself in danger if you were to drive to work.

After a few hours of working in his room, Chan finally slipped off his headphones and smiled to himself pretty proud of how everything had come together. It was done and it was good, perfect even but he would never admit that. Everything was composed and edited and ready to be put into an album for review with the company and he couldn’t have been any happier with how it had gone. Now all he wanted to do was celebrate with you, go out and grab some food and then come back and do nothing for a few days since he would have some time off.

“Yn?! I finished, do you wanna go out and grab some food?” He called out as he walked out of the bedroom expecting to find you on the sofa but the house was quiet and cold and you were nowhere in sight.

“Yn?” He tapped on the bathroom door before opening it and finding it empty and panic began to wash over him, if you weren’t in the house where were you? You should have finished work hours ago and been home long before now. Sprinting back to your shared room he grabbed his phone to check where you were and he had missed calls from unknown numbers and a few from the boys. But there was a blinking voicemail at the top of his screen.

“Hello Mr Bang, this is Doctor Kush from Seoul General Hospital, we have Miss Yln here and you’re listed as her emergency contact, please contact us again on this number.” Dread began to crush Chan like a ton of bricks and he tried calling your phone only it was going straight to voicemail, next he was calling the boys who appeared to be ignoring his calls.

“I’m fine Lix,” You hissed trying to get out of the hospital bed but his hands kept pushing you back to lie down on the bed shaking his head at you. You'd wished they'd not called anyone but you'd been out cold so you couldn't tell them not to call anyone for you.

“I need to go to work, I’m fine.” It was a lie and you knew it but the words Chan had said to you kept bouncing around in your head and you couldn’t stop them. In a sick twisted way, your head was telling you to prove him right, that you could go it and go to work when you were sick and you couldn’t see just how wrong he was.

“I will ask them to sedate you if you don’t lay down right now.” Felix’s voice was stern and you stared at him with his unblinking eyes and knew that he was serious with his threat.

“What were you even thinking going to work?” after the hospital couldn’t get hold of Chan they’d called your second emergency contact in your phone which happened to be Felix who was a little overprotective of you. The two of you were close with one another and had been ever since you'd started dating Chan he was like a brother to you and you adored the relationship you had with him.

“I thought I felt better.” Felix didn’t believe it for one second as he noticed your top lip twitch and your nose wriggle, a clear sign that you were lying to him.

“And the real reason?” Felix stared at you and the two of you failed to notice that Chan was standing at the door and panting heavily out of breath. He'd been running from the car park and up the stairs since the elevators were taking too long for him to even get inside.

“There are people worse off than me that still go to work, so I should get over it and go.” The words drove a knife through Chan’s chest, almost as much as seeing you hooked up to an IV did and he felt as though he was going to throw up.

He hadn’t expected you to hear him and he didn’t even know why he’d said it to you, it wasn’t as though he’d meant it - not to you at least, never to you.

Of all people, Chan knew just how bad your migraines got to you but he’d just been so stressed with work and he’d been hearing people complain about how sick they were, too sick to help him edit the album and he snapped. It was wrong and he was going to make it up to you every second of every day for the rest of his life if you let him.

“Yn, I’m sorry.” You and Felix’s heads snapped in his direction and you quickly looked down at your hands on the bed, you didn't want to face him right now or for a while at least. It pained you to think of everything he'd said back at home,

“What happened?” Chan asked you but you refused to even look at him so Felix stepped in, clearing his throat as he told Chan everything that the doctors had told him.

“She passed out at work and fell down a flight of stairs,” Felix explained and you grimaced a little. You'd just made it inside the building and got to your floor before passing out, part of you was thankful it wasn't in the street since that would have been even more embarrassing.

“What?!” Chan's eyes widened as he stared at you, searching for any signs of broken bones or injuries but you were just laid in bed with an IV in your arm.

“She’s fine, her migraine is worse so they're treating her with acetaminophen and she has a sprained ankle but it could have been a lot worse.” It could have been, Right now you would have given anything to still be passed out so you didn’t have to face Chan but you knew it was inevitable.

“I’ll give you some time alone.” The door to your room slid shut and you slowly looked up to see your boyfriend looking at you with tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry-” Chan tried to say but you didn't want to hear it,

“Save it.” You hissed out, staring at him as he shook his head as if he was trying to find the words to say.

“But I am, I’ve just been-”

“Stressed?” You finished with a scoff, you wanted to shake your head but any movement you made honestly made you feel as though you were going to fall over again.

“I’ve heard the same excuse time and time again Chan and it’s getting harder for me to forgive every time,” Your voice cracked as you got the words out and Chan sat on the chair beside your bed, holding your hand in his as he ran his fingers over your skin.

“I was spiteful and rude. I took out my anger from everyone else on you and it’s not fair.” He admitted,

“True.” You mumbled as he lifted your hand to his lips and softly placed a kiss on your skin, smiling weakly as he thought about it. There were going to be no words he could even express to tell you how sorry he was,

“Everyone at work had been calling in sick when they were fine and I just snapped. It was wrong and nasty but I just-”

“Let the dame break and I was collateral damage?” You mumbled bitterly before looking at him and he nodded at you slowly.

“And I will do everything I can to make it up to you.” You smirked a little at the thought of what you could get out of him and he watched you closely,

“Spoiler for the new album?”

“Anything but that.” He groaned, you knew he would never be allowed to no matter how much you begged.

“Take me home?” You knew he was sorry for what he’d said and it was still going to take a while before you got over it but all you wanted right now was to go home and be in his arms.

“I’ll talk to your doctor.” He whispered before gently kissing the top of your head and walking out of the room to go and find someone who knew your case.

Since coming home from the hospital Chan had been a completely different person toward you, work was wiped completely from his mind and he had been caring for you every second of the day. The night you'd come home from the hospital he'd run you a bath but used a baby thermometer to check that the water wasn't too hot for you to get into and wouldn't let you bathe alone.

The whole time he'd been there, he'd washed your body for you and helped make sure your hair didn't get wet. After that, he'd taken you to bed where he got you a warm hot water bottle to place on your ankle and changed it to ice whenever he needed to.

Now was no different, besides the fact that you felt completely fine and well enough to go back to your normal day-to-day business.

“You know I feel fine now right?” You asked as Chan tucked you into a blanket on the sofa and placed a hot drink on the table that was within arm's reach of you.

“I just want to make sure.” He mumbled as he pushed play on your comfort film and went to go and get his own hot drink.

“Chan, the doctor gave me the all-clear four days ago.” you reminded him but he pouted at you in response making you giggle at him. You knew he was sorry for the way he had treated you and this was one of the only ways he was able to make it up to you so you were doing your best to let him.

“I love you,” You told him as he cuddled up under the blanket with you, holding your hand before squeezing it softly.

“I love you too.” He whispered, holding you close to him not wanting to let you go for even a second.

@chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @toplinehyunjin @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @wolfgurl2600 @just-aelia @choisoorin@straykids5star @minholythighs @midnightfrog625 @beccaskz @compersian @scarletemeterio @alicejustwakeup @halesandy @junhannies @gothic4under4lord @lixie-phoria @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @peachyproductions @lenfilms @elizaschuyler18 @piratequeen-impact @kpopmenace143 @minhosify @loveforred @kpopstuffs @chaeyoungs @delulu18 @stzatzch @b1nn1e-1s-cut3

#skz #skz x reader #skz imagine #skz imagines #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagine #bang chan imagines #chan #chan x reader #chan imagine #chan imagines #dreamescapeswriting

2K notes · View notes

foldingfittedsheets · 2 months

Text

Hands down one of my worst experiences in high school was when the seniors decided to extort the entire school by using tactics that were banned by the UN to get them to pay for the senior party! If that sounds like a wild sentiment stay tuned because this shit got crazy.

I was living in Arizona at the time and I was a freshman. Our campus was largely open air, with walks between class room buildings and some covered outdoor tables. Our event began with a morning announcement. The seniors were collecting donations for the senior party, and when they reached their goal, their fundraising method would stop.

Their fundraising method:

To pipe the entire schools speakers with "If You're Happy and You Know It" on loop. To this day, I cannot hear this song without experiencing a degree of rage and madness that is frankly alarming. One of the worst parts of the entire thing was that the recording they chose had the female singer do a little clap and say "Yay-ha-hey," at the end. So it wasn't just the song, it was this awful little cooldown stinger at the end.

If this sounds a lot like psychological torture you'd be extremely correct! This practice has been banned in some countries, but the good old US hasn't ruled it a human rights violation, and what a fun silly way to raise money, that definitely wasn't damaging to adolescent psyches!

Every morning for 15 minutes before school began, every passing period, every lunch, and after school for another 15 minutes they blasted that fucking song on unceasing repeat through every speaker in the school. Everyone found different ways of coping with this and mine was to observe my classmates descent into madness and categorize the stages.

The first stage was almost completely consistent, and it was a smug almost exasperated eye rolling phase. Often accompanied by derisive comments about the song or the tactic, this phase was extremely mildly annoyed. Most people figured it would blow over soon, and no one anticipated this continuing for a week and a half, creating a miasma of fraught tension.

The second phase was elevated annoyance, starting to snap and be less amused characterized this level of irritation. People would try to cover their ears or put on headphones, humming aggressively to block out the syrupy repulsive children's performer with her loathsome little clap. This phase had people picking their absolute least favorite part of the song. Her inflection on certain words, her timing between verses. I think it's pretty clear already which part I hated most.

The next phase was a bounce back out to absurdity. It became funny how annoying it was and people would sing along as if to challenge the song's authority over their psyche. This paired exceptionally poorly with people in phase two as they'd often lash out at the people giving more voice to their hell.

The fourth phase was a dead-eyed madness. People would stare straight ahead and their lips would silently mouth the familiar words. The song had pounded its way into their very soul and was inextricably linked to auditory output. They often didn't even realize if they began chanting along.

The fifth and final phase was pure uncut pubescent rage. Kids would scream, attack each other, and in a truly epic end to the event hurl a cafeteria chair with such force at the speaker in the cafeteria to irreparably damage the sound system.

The seniors got funding for a party, but some of it had to go to repair the damages, which were substantial.

#ramblies #funny #ffs foibles #high school #when I transferred back to my home state they tried something similar with the song “Blue”. The teachers were threatening to walk by lunch #I'm honestly astonished that none of the teachers rebelled in arizona? It had to be just as bad for them and it played in classrooms

633 notes · View notes

gucciwins · 3 days

Text

harry brings his girlfriend home to meet his family but it does not go as planned

word count: 5896

a/n: enjoy this story inspired by a lovely anon. happy reading, my sweet friends 💜

Y/N was nervous.

She squeezed Harry’s hand, trying to ground herself, but it seemed to transport her to the first time they met at the diner down the street from her apartment.

Going to university in Los Angeles wasn’t glamorous, not when she had endless bills to pay to keep a roof over her head. She had gone to Martha’s Cakes, a small diner ten minutes from her apartment that served the best hot chocolate. The food was good too but the hot chocolate is what she ordered each visit without fail. It’s a place she’d eat when Y/N had a bit of extra to spend on herself. Instead of buying herself new shoes, or another jelly cat bag charm (Otto, the sausage dog, went everywhere with her) she decided on eating a good meal that didn’t consist of ramen or buttered noodles. She came here when she needed a pick me up or simply wanted to have a nice conversation. It was a late Tuesday in the Spring. Where the sun took longer to come down, allowing her extra time at the bar to do assignments and chat with Antonio about the best produce sales. Y/N had her head down working on an essay due two weeks from now. It was based on one of Los Angeles buildings; it could be based on the oldest church to the Dodger Stadium. Y/N decided on the Avila Adobe residence. Known as the oldest standing residence in the City of Los Angeles. Olvera St. was a famous street and was filled with history. It was one of her favorite places to walk through.

As she was looking through photos, taking notes of significant dates, a patron sat next to her. Y/N didn’t bother seeing who it was, simply scooting her scattered papers closer to her, tucking a few under her laptop.

“It’s not bothering me.” A man spoke.

It startled Y/N only because he had a deep British voice. It felt odd to be hearing in such an unknown area.

“Darla would throw coffee on it if she saw I was bothering a customer.”

“I said it’s okay.”

Y/N laughs. “She would say it wasn’t.”

It seems the man lets it drop as he has nothing to reply. Y/N keeps up with updating her notes as she hears the man order a stack of the lemon poppy pancakes. Those were her favorite, Y/N would get them when she was having a bad day because it would without a fail make her smile. Y/N worked in silence over the next half hour when she felt the need to step to the restroom. Y/N did not want to pack up. Usually she asks a staff member to watch her items, but the diner seemed to be a bit busier. She looked around and her eyes landed on the pancake guy who had his headphones on. She hated bothering people, but he looked kind enough.

Y/N tapped next to his plate to get his attention. It worked because in seconds he slipped off his headphones and had turned his whole body to look at her. It gave her the chance to look at him fully for the first time. He had a buzz cut, and it looked really good. He had slight stubble, but what captured her attention were his bright jade eyes. It felt like he was staring deep into her soul.

“Do–uh–Would you please watch my stuff? I have to use the ladies’ room.”

“Course. Guard it with my life.”

Y/N thanked him and hurried away. When she came back, the man had slightly shifted over, his eyes staring intently at the dark screen of her laptop.

“Thank you,” she shot him a smile. Waking up her screen and getting back to her assignment, except she couldn’t get the man out of her head.

The dimples were something she focused on when he smiled, telling her it was no problem. Then his green eyes were so beautiful she felt she had seen them before. Though she could swear she had never met him before. She did have a weird feeling she had seen him before. Once it hit eight o’clock, Y/N knew it was time to call it. Y/N had her rough draft ready and could continue tomorrow. For now, she’d walk home and take a bath to wash away today’s day.

Y/N was packing up and could see the green-eyed gentleman was too. She would hate herself if she didn’t ask him where she knew him from, if she knew him. Y/N had her bag strapped on her shoulder and turned to him for the last time.

“Excuse me, sir?”

He turned, as if he was waiting to hear from her. “Yes?”

“How do I know you?”

The man’s smile dropped. He looked confused, so she didn’t know him.

“Don’t think we’ve met, until today, Y/N.”

Y/N’s frown deepens. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

He pointed to her bag. She looks down at the red stitching displaying her name. Well, now she looked dumb. Of course, he could read. “You look familiar to me. Sorry if that’s weird.”

The guy clears his throat, shaking his head. “I get that a lot.”

That’s odd, Y/N thought.

“I feel like I know you,” she tried one last time.

“Promise we don’t know each other. I would remember someone as beautiful as you.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped (not literally), but her face felt warm. Fuck, she was not expecting this turn of event. “Ha, uh. I want to say me too, but uh, there’s something familiar about you.”

Harry chuckles as if he knows something she doesn’t.

“Can I walk you out?” He asks.

She nods. He leaves a large tip and follows her to the exit. Y/N ways to Sonia, who shoots her thumbs up, but Y/N has no idea why. Y/N and the man linger outside the door, waiting to see who makes the first move.

“Well, uh, can I have your Instagram?” Y/N asks, not knowing if asking for his number was too forward. At least this way she could stalk him for a bit.

“Oh, I don’t use that. I can give you my number,” he counters.

Y/N perks up. “That works.” She hands him her phone where she watches his hands type in his phone number into her contacts. He hands her back her phone, and she looks at the newly added contact.

Harry S.

It seemed that’s all she needed for her to connect the dots. She lifts her head up and Harry has a flushed face. He didn’t look away from her, almost waiting to see what she’d say.

Y/N not sure how to break the silence. “Harry Sanchez?”

Harry laughs, and it’s all the confirmation Y/N needs. “More like Styles.”

“Oh.”

Did she fuck up her chances? She feels like she didn’t. She got his number.

“What can I use your number for?” She asks, wanting to double check. He still wants her to have it.

“Hopefully for us to plan a date.”

“Even after this,” she points between them as if to explain what they know just happened.

“I’d like to see where it could go.”

“Shit, uh. Well–I’m free Thursday.” Harry smirks, making her want to crawl in a hole because now she feels desperate. “I’m going to leave.”

Harry stops her by grabbing her hand. “I think Thursday is perfect. Are you up for a sunset dinner by the beach?”

“Sounds perfect,” she promised him.

“Good. Thursday it is.”

Now she is standing in front of his childhood home, about to meet his mother and older sister. Y/N had spoken to his mother, Anne, on the phone a few times, but his sister was always busy when Harry tried to pass her the phone. Harry promised her it would go well, but she feared the worst. Their story was genuine but to others could sound fabricated but come on, no one knows Martha’s cakes, it’s not even on Yelp. It’s a place once stumbled upon and then shares the magic with people in their life.

Harry said he felt like coffee and walked for a while until he saw people walk out. The smell of coffee is what drew him in, but the pretty girl he sat next to had him stay for hours. It’s something he shared months down the line. Y/N and Harry had now been together for nine months. Because of her Master’s Y/N had no time to travel. Harry visited home often, but Y/N couldn’t drop everything she was doing to go with him. He understood, but she felt his family wouldn’t. Harry met her dad and twin brothers six months into dating because they lived down in San Diego, only a two-hour drive from them. While Harry’s family lived an ocean away and she refused for him to pay for her flight to London. On top of that, she had classes and exams to worry about that did not allow her to hop on a flight for a week. Thankfully, she made it through the winter semester and had a few weeks off from her internship before going back for her last semester. Y/N knew graduation was just around the corner, and thankfully, had little debt to pay off.

Harry held her tight as he led her up the steps. Y/N was walking slower, trying to prolong the introduction. In her mind, she hoped she was simply psyching herself out and that things actually went well with Harry’s family. That they accepted her because they could see how much she loved him.

“You ready, Lovie?” Harry flashed her a dimpled grin.

Truthfully, she wanted to say no, but Y/N couldn’t do that to him. Not when he was bouncing with excitement. “Ready.” She confirmed.

Harry gave two loud knocks and then opened the front door. Y/N stood behind him as he rushed to embrace his mother. Anne was a sweet woman, much shorter than Harry, but by the tight embrace she held Harry, Y/N could tell she was strong.

Anne gave Harry two big kisses, one on each cheek, before turning her attention to Y/N.

“Y/N!” Anne cheered. She said it with so much delight, it surprised Y/N.

In a matter of seconds, someone tightly wrapped Y/N in a hug, which she quickly reciprocated. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Twist.”

Anne waved her off. ��Call me Anne, my dear.”

“Anne,” Y/N repeated.

“Now come in and tell me all about the trip. Did he trick you into going to that fancy lounge where you get free food?” Y/N giggled because Harry indeed took her to a fancy lounge when he said he was taking her to get a smoothie.

Y/N spared a smile at Harry, but it was quick to fall when Y/N met another pair of eyes in the kitchen, looking at her with an intense stare. It dropped quickly because her attention shifted to Harry. Y/N focused back on Anne, trying to brush off the moment as something she imagined.

Y/N tried her best to ignore the pit forming in her stomach. There was no need to worry. Harry talked about wonderful things about his family. She was in safe hands. At least that’s what she kept reminding herself.

Y/N didn’t feel welcome. Anne was a gem, but Gemma was cold and looked bored whenever Y/N said a word. Y/N wondered if Harry picked up on it. He hadn’t said a word. Harry was home and had no time to deal with Y/N’s insecurities. She had to be reading into Gemma, not liking her. Harry spoke the world of his older sister. He said she was his best friend, someone whose opinion he valued. Fear struck her. If Gemma didn’t like her after this visit, she knew that as soon as she got on that plane to go home, Harry would be breaking up with her. At least she’d had several hours to cry about on the plane pathetically.

“There’s no way she didn’t know who you were,” Gemma scoffed, unbelieving of their story.

Harry brushed off her comment as if she said nothing. “Gem, I was bald.”

“Your face didn’t change.”

Harry sighs, “no, but you did a double take when I showed up to your doorstep to show you.”

Gemma frowns, knowing he was right. “Whatever, you were all over twitter.”

Harry is beginning to pick up on his sister’s defense and knows to drop it but will be picking it up with her later. “Anyway. Sitting next to each other, she asked me to watch her stuff when she had to use the restroom.”

“To look you up,” Gemma coughs.

Y/N fidgets in her chair, wanting to be anywhere but here. Harry continues with his story. “She thanked me and went back to her work. Before she left, Y/N asked if we knew each other, but I told her we didn’t. I wouldn’t forget someone as beautiful as her.”

“Charming,” Anne gloats. “My charming boy.”

Harry finished the story, stating it was meant to be. He had loved spending the time in Los Angeles getting to see the city through Y/N’s eyes. It’s a city she’s been living in for a couple of years. There was a lot for her to share with him. Harry had taken a liking to her favorite coffee shop. It had a design resembling a greenhouse and filled with plants, mainly featuring dried lavender. Truthfully, he spent a lot of time there because it was Y/N’s preferred place to study because it never got busy. Y/N called it her hidden gem.

“I’ve never been happier,” Harry shares. Y/N beams at his words but can’t help glancing at Gemma, who can’t help but look sick to her stomach at hearing this news.

Dinner passed dreadfully slowly. Y/N comments when she needs to but honestly hopes to disappear for the night soon, no longer wanting to burden Gemma with her presence. While Anne showed Y/N where she could freshen up, Harry stayed downstairs to share a nightcap with his sister.

Anne comes back to join them, but Gemma bites her tongue until their mother bids them goodnight. Harry gives his mother a tight embrace, commenting on how much he missed her. Gemma was happy her younger brother was home.

“Are you happy, Harry?” Gemma breaks the silence that had fallen between them.

Harry sighs, “never been happier.”

Gemma frowns, because she believes him. “I-I-nevermind.”

Harry frowns because Gemma is never someone to stop herself from saying what’s on her mind. “Hey,” he places his hand on top of hers. “It’s me. Your annoying younger brother, you can tell me anything.”

She removes her hand from under his and places them on her lap. “I don’t think she’s right for you.”

Harry sits back, surprised. “Sorry?”

“It’s clear she’s after something.”

He’s having a hard time believing his sister. “Like what?”

“Your money.”

“Is that all I’m good for?” He asks, baffled.

“No. That’s why I’m telling you. She’s after one thing.”

“How would you know?”

“Come on,” Gemma scoffs. “She goes to a prestigious school with a cost that no one could afford. It’s clear she wants you to pay for it.”

“Gemma, I met her during her last year.”

“Debt doesn’t go away overnight,” she fights back. “She’ll get you to pay off her loans and leave you.”

Harry’s anger is overwhelming him.

“You don’t even know her. Yet you say bad things about her.” It shuts Gemma up, and he uses that to his advantage and walks away.

“We saw the donation you made,” Gemma comments before he can make it up the stairs.

He turns back, trying his best to swallow down his anger. “If you would have asked me, you would know it’s for the music program. I did that for several universities if you would have taken the time to do a bit more research. It grants them a scholarship, plus pays for room and board.”

Gemma has no response. Harry is now standing in front of her and Gemma is nervous. She had never seen her brother this upset.

“What I do with my money is my problem. If she wanted me to send her money for a new car, I would. If she wanted me to buy her a piece of land, I would do it in a blink of an eye. If Y/N asked me to give her every last dime in my account, I would do it without a second thought because I love her. I love her and she loves me. You know, five minutes is not enough to judge her. I do not have to tell you of her financial issues, but I will so you can go home tonight and sleep knowing how upset I am with you. Y/N received the presidential scholarship covering her tuition for the three years she was there. Y/N has applied to hundreds of scholarships to cover her book fees, and has to take on an unpaid internship while working 40 hours a week to cover her rent. Y/N has not accepted a single dime from me for her school because she has gotten this far without me. Y/N only lets me pay for her seven dollar coffee every other day. Y/N would rather give every last dollar to me if I needed it instead of keeping it for herself. Y/N still sends money to her twin brothers for new shoes, or new backpacks, because she loves her family.”

Harry is near tears but keeps going. “I love Y/N. You might not, maybe you never will, but that girl has been the best thing to happen to me. I’ve never been more cared for and loved since she entered my life. So please, don’t bother coming back tomorrow or the rest of the week unless you have an apology for her.”

Y/N is grateful Harry’s room connects to the bathroom because, while she finished getting ready, she thought she would ask Harry for a cup of water and instead stumbled upon a conversation she shouldn’t have. Y/N tries her best to swallow her tears, but it’s no use. They’re more powerful than her. They stream down and Y/N decides to lie in bed, hoping by the time Harry comes in, she’s fast asleep. Y/N isn’t sure how much time has passed, but her tears have dried up and she’s as still as a rock when she hears Harry come in. She wants to tell him that she’s not worth defending if it means he’s messing up his relationship with his sister.

She hears him get ready for bed. Y/N knows he’s folding his clothes and placing them on the chair. He’s meticulous about his night-time routine. He crawls into bed next to her. Y/N tries her best to steal her breathing to make it seem like she’s sleeping, but Harry knows her too well. He scoots right behind her, his hand sliding over her hips and settling on her stomach, right by the scar she got on her eight birthday when she fell off her bike. Harry rubs the lifted skin, where she got four stitches.

Y/N lets out a deep breath, working up the courage to say something, but her throat is closed. She relaxes against him. All her tears dried up. She is beginning to feel better now that she’s with him. A kiss to her temple has her heart slowing down. This is what it is to be protected.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N croaks out when she feels like enough time has passed.

Harry pulls her tight against him. It fills her with ease. “How much did you hear?”

Y/N shakes her head. “I don’t want you to argue with your family.”

“It’s only my sister,” he defends.

“She’s an important person in your life. You’ve always specified that.”

Harry sighs. He leaves a kiss behind Y/N’s ear. “You are important to me, too.”

“You don’t need to be fighting. It’s not necessary.”

“It is when she needs a wack to her head.”

“Harry,” Y/N drags out. “I don’t want you burning bridges.”

Harry understood where she was coming from, but Y/N was not seeing how it affected him as well. “We’ll be fine. She’s my sister. We’ll talk in a few days. All this will be in the past.”

Y/N freezes, feeling as if someone dropped a cold bucket of water on her. If Harry believes everything will be alright with his sister, that means he sees himself forgiving her for what she said but also means he would be getting rid of the problem. Her.

Harry was going to be breaking up with her. This started her tears to fall again, only this time she couldn’t keep quiet. They were pouring out of her at a quick rate. He was quick to sit up bringing Y/N with him.

“Hey, hey,” Harry cooed. “What happened? What did I do?”

“Y-y-you,” she stuttered. Nothing was coming out.

He would not rush her. Instead, he shifted her to straddle his lap. Y/N tucked her head into his neck. Hary felt his neck dampen with tears. He pressed soft kisses to her hair, whispering “I love you,” hoping it would be enough to calm her. He snaked a hand under her night shirt softly running his nails up and down her back. Y/N curled in closer at the action. His sweet girl was feeling overwhelmed, and he felt awful because he wasn’t being helpful.

Y/N pulled away. Her eyes were puffy and tears streaming down her cheeks. Harry still thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hands moved from her side up to his neck, she settled them on his cheek. She caressed his face, calming him down. He hadn’t realized how overwhelmed he was, but it’s clear Y/N could see what he needed even in her moments of sadness.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Y/N voiced. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Harry frowned. No one had said anything about him leaving. He would never dream of walking away from her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But Gemma–”

He cuts her off. “Gemma doesn’t know you like I do. She is looking out for me and I know she meant no harm, but she went about all this wrong. She decided to judge us, judge you before getting to know you.”

Y/N did no wrong. She was nothing Gemma accused her of. Y/N knew that, of course she did, but Y/N hoped to impress his family, not make them upset.

“I know you, Lovie. My mum knows you. Mostly, you know yourself. Your character speaks for you and it has never been anything but kind and loving.”

Harry’s words slowly begin to mend her heart.

“I love you, Harry.”

He connects his lips with hers in a loving kiss. “I love you so much.”

Y/N falls asleep to Harry’s voice as he sings her to sleep. It’s a lullaby he says his mum would sing when he had a nightmare. While Y/N didn’t know how tomorrow would go, she was happy to have Harry at her side.

The morning passed slowly between the three of them. They shared stories with Anne, Harry, catching her up on his upcoming plans. Y/N talked about her looming graduation and told Anne about her thesis project. Anne promised to make the trip for her graduation, something Harry couldn’t stop gloating about how she was top of her class on her way to graduate summa cum laude. Y/N had stepped outside wanting to enjoy all the open land Anne had. The cats happily roamed around Y/N as she settled in the grass. Y/N thought of her dad at home and what he’d have to say about the situation. He’d probably tell her to run while she could, but Y/N knew Harry was her person. Y/N laid down, closed her eyes and took in all the surrounding noise. She heard birds chirping, a purring in the distance and the rush of the wind hitting the wind chimes. It was perfect.

There was a loud band that had Y/N sitting up in a hurry. She looked back and realized it was the back door. Anne had stepped out, Y/N could see Harry in the kitchen, hands moving rapidly, and she knew he wasn’t alone. Anne sat not to Y/N, neither of them saying a word.

“My daughter owes you an apology.”

“Anne–”

She stops Y/N. “No, I raised her better than that. I’m not sure when she got so protective, but it’s clearly not for the best. Harry is nearing 30 he doesn’t need his sister looking out for him. While I’m glad they have each other, this was unnecessary. It caused a lot of hurt that should have never existed.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to talk to her if you’re not comfortable.”

Y/N didn’t know how to feel. She dreaded talking to Gemma, but Y/N knew she’d feel worse if she went home and never talked this out with her. “I’m willing. I-I might need time to forgive her.”

Anne squeezed Y/N’s hand. “That’s perfectly alright. Now tell me about these brothers of yours.”

Y/N spent the rest of the evening with Anne, forgetting about her problems. It isn’t until Harry called them both in for dinner that they realized they spent hours outside.

Harry greeted her with a kiss.

Dinner went off without a hitch, the three of them sharing all kinds of stories. Mostly Harry interrupting Anne to tell her a new story about Y/N he remembered. Harry that night promised he was alright with Gemma. He was feeling hurt. Assured her he loved her, but needed time to move past it.

Y/N woke up early the next morning and decided to go on a walk along the river. Harry told her it felt never ending. They had walked it once every day, but today she went alone, letting Harry sleep in but also have that extra time with Anne. As Y/N walked, she thought of her brothers and how they would love to be throwing rocks in the river. Y/N was sure one of them would even fall in on accident. The weather would pique her dad’s interest. He was a sunshine man. She was sure the gloomy weather would be too much for him to handle.

Two hours later, Y/N came back and was taken aback by Gemma’s presence on the front steps of the house, holding a thermal mug.

“Hi,” Y/N greeted.

“Morning, nice walk?” Gemma asked.

Small talk. It was safe. “Mhm, Harry showed me the trail he liked to walk on.”

“Mmm…coffee?” Gemma offered.

“Uh, I’m okay,” Y/N rejected.

Gemma looked dejected, but continued on. “Do-Is it okay if we talk?”

Y/N nodded. “Sure.”

Y/N approached Gemma sitting on the opposite end of the same step. She wouldn’t be the first to talk, but it looked like Gemma was figuring out her words.

“I’m sorry” are Gemma’s first words. “I’m sorry talking about you behind your back, even more sorry that you overheard.” Gemma looks sincere, and Y/N nods for her to continue. “I love Harry. He’s the best brother, and a person in general. He cares so much that I fear he’s gotten screwed over so much in life because he trusts with his heart and not his head.”

Y/N frowns, because that’s one of the things she loves most about Harry. How welcoming he is with his kind nature and how much love he spreads every day whether it’s through his music or holding the door open for a stranger. It all adds up to show that he’s a person full of love.

“Those are his mistakes to make. His own hurt to go through. Life isn’t all sunshine.” Y/N tells her.

Gemma sighs heavily. “I know. Sometimes I feel like he’s still the same kid who cried when I would go out without him.”

“That hasn’t been him for a long time.”

“I know.”

It’s clear Gemma has something deeper than she has to figure out and talk with Harry about, but it seems that’s a bridge she’ll cross when she is ready.

“I love Harry. I think we have a wonderful relationship.” Y/N knows Gemma might not want to hear this, but it is important he does. “Harry loves communication. I swear we’ve never had an argument that didn’t end in us making up. He gives me my space but makes sure to be near. I’m reminded of his love every second of every day, whether he’s with me or not. I’m not sure if I make him feel loved every minute, but I do my best to remind him in my actions and words. I’m big on writing notes. He’s received a few love letters. I’m sure he’d show you if you asked.” Gemma tries her best to hide her surprise, but it’s written all over her face. “I’ve only heard wonderful stories about you, Gemma. I’m sure they’re all true, but I know Harry thought we might become friends.” Y/N pauses. “Even if that doesn’t happen, I do want you to know I respect you. For however long I’m around, I know that I respect you, even if it might take some time for me to trust you.”

Gemma has tears running down her face. “I’m sorry. I never provided you with an opportunity. I’m not sure why I didn’t. I am really sorry. Meeting the family is always hard, and I fucking ruined it.”

“It’s not okay, but we’ll give it time. Time heals.”

“Thank you for hearing me out.” Gemma tells her gratefully.

Y/N smiles. “Are you joining us for breakfast? Harry promised to make lemon ricotta pancakes.”

“I’d like that. I’ll head in soon. I want to finish my coffee.”

Y/N heads inside, where she finds Harry at the stove wearing an apron. She wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades.

“Morning, pretty girl.”

Gemma looked dejected, but continued on. “Do-Is it okay if we talk?”

Y/N nodded. “Sure.”

Y/N approached Gemma sitting on the opposite end of the same step. She wouldn’t be the first to talk, but it looked like Gemma was figuring out her words.

“Those are his mistakes to make. His own hurt to go through. Life isn’t all sunshine.” Y/N tells her.

Gemma sighs heavily. “I know. Sometimes I feel like he’s still the same kid who cried when I would go out without him.”

“That hasn’t been him for a long time.”

“I know.”

It’s clear Gemma has something deeper than she has to figure out and talk with Harry about, but it seems that’s a bridge she’ll cross when she is ready.

“It’s not okay, but we’ll give it time. Time heals.”

“Thank you for hearing me out.” Gemma tells her gratefully.

Y/N smiles. “Are you joining us for breakfast? Harry promised to make lemon ricotta pancakes.”

“I’d like that. I’ll head in soon. I want to finish my coffee.”

Y/N heads inside, where she finds Harry at the stove wearing an apron. She wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades.

“Morning, pretty girl.”

“Hi, Harry. I love you.”

Y/N knows he’s grinning. “I love you too. Even if you left me alone this morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she defends. “You always told me a morning walk here cleared your head.”

“And did it?”

“Mmm…like magic.”

“Are you okay, Lovie?” Harry turns off the stove. He turns around, setting his hands on Y/N’s waist. His hair makes her laugh as she sees it sticking in different directions.

“We talked. She apologized. Promise I’m okay. It still hurts, but I’ll try my best to forgive her for you.”

Harry tuts his tongue. “No, honey.” Y/N tilts her head, confused. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

“But she’s your–”

“She’s my sister, but that doesn’t mean you have to change how you feel about me. I promise I am with you. She made a mistake, and I’ll forgive her but at my own time. You take your time as well.”

Y/N feels overwhelmed all over again because she really did get lucky with Harry. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more, my love. So much more.”

Harry gives her a kiss. A promise that everything will be alright.

thank you for reading my beautiful friends! let me know your favorite parts

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles story #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst story #harry styles fic rec #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction

414 notes · View notes

wreckedandpolemic · 1 month

Text

white and gold - matty healy

(mdni) in which you become both entangled and enamoured with your father's boss. 13007 words.

warnings (buckle up): 18+, problematic age gap, masturbation, corruption kink, slight exhibitionism, praise, degradation, heavy daddy kink, slight dumbification, unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving), filth filth filth filth filth!

Your heels click against the tiled floor as you stroll across the lobby of your father’s office, giving a winning smile to the familiar security guard as he waves you through. Humming along to the song that plays over your headphones as the lift rises, you wonder idly why your father wanted to have lunch with you today; he had been oddly insistent that morning. The doors ding open and you step out into the office, fairly quiet at lunch hour. Men in suits mill around, their gazes catching on you and darting away so they can pretend their lurid thoughts aren’t painted plain as day on their faces.

Scanning the room, you don’t immediately spot the man you’re looking for. On a closer look, your father’s thinning hair and crisp suit are nowhere to be seen. Strange, again; he’s always here to meet you when he wants to take you out for lunch. Your searching gaze lands on a man heading for the lift, the sight of him arresting, practically rooting you to the spot. Greying curls haloed around a sharp, handsome face, lips plush red. A silver hoop shines in one of his ears, standing out against his dark hair. The designer sunglasses that sit across the bridge of his nose should be obnoxious, but he wears them louche and rakishly charming. He’s younger than your father, but not by much; probably nearing twice your age. You don’t recognise him — you know everyone who works for your father practically inside and out, and you’d never forget a face like his.

Suddenly, he’s in front of you, and you’re blinking dumbly at the material of his expensive suit. “Are you lost?” he asks, his voice low and alluring, wrapping around you like a caress. The sunglasses block your view of his eyes, leaving you unfairly unable to tell whether he’s reacting to you the way you are to him.

You swallow thickly, fighting to find your voice. “No,” you say confidently. “Well… kinda, I guess?” you add with a laugh. “I’m looking for my dad.” You offer his name, and he nods in recognition.

“Ah— My fault, that. Sorry, love,” he says, voice softening on the final syllable in a way that has you biting the inside of your cheek to get your racing heartbeat under control. “Kept him late in a meeting.” You nod absently, distracted as his tongue flickers out to wet his lips and leaves them pink and glossy. Hopefully you aren’t wearing your thoughts too obviously on your face. “Matty,” he offers, holding out a hand.

You take it politely, surprised at the calluses scraping against your palm. He doesn’t look the type for hard work, the very shape of him insouciant, privilege scented on him under the smell of cigarettes and expensive cologne. The weight of his hand in yours as Matty holds your gaze for just a split-second too long feels charged, tension welling between you. After a beat, you give your name and Matty quirks an enigmatic half-smile that you just can’t get a read on. You wonder what kind of picture you’re painting for him; ribbons in your hair, skirt short enough to tease without any promise, socks biting into the flesh of your thighs. Your soft pastels boast innocence, a clean sweetness begging to be ruined where the sharp lines of him are rough around the edges, something dark tightly controlled under his easy smile. The pair of you are incongruous, yet symmetrical somehow, an artist’s rendition of impropriety.

The coolness in your palm when he lets go feels like a physical loss, your entranced gaze lingering on his face for another brief moment. Then he gives a cursory nod and strolls off, the spell breaking and leaving you stock-still as if you’ve been doused with a bucket of cold water. His name rolls around your head as you pick your way to your father’s office; Matty, Matty, Matty, like a litany, the concurrent chime of warning bells going unheard, or maybe just ignored.

Your father smiles up at you when you enter his office, getting up as if to hug you and stopping awkwardly short. He doesn’t know how to act around you, a consequence of the years of long hours and late nights that afford you your lifestyle but cost you a family. You make clumsy small-talk on the drive; he asks you how uni is going, you ask about work, he forgets the names of your friends, you remember the names of his. The same circles you always talk in. It’s never unpleasant, but always stiff, artificial.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you,” he says once you’re seated in a quiet corner of your favourite restaurant. He remembered that about you, at least. “I was in a meeting that ran long.”

You try not to visibly perk up at the reminder of possibly the most gorgeous man you’ve ever met. “Oh, yeah,” you say, feigned casualness layered over your tone. “I met the guy you were with on his way out. Who was he? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.” Your father pauses briefly, and you wonder if you’ve laid it on too thick, showed too much interest. But you know your father couldn’t reconcile the idea of you being interested in one of his coworkers with the image he holds of you as his little girl.

He sits up straighter, adjusting his tie in the way he does because he thinks it’ll lend more gravity to his next words. “It was actually a very important meeting, or I wouldn’t have let it run as long as it did. It was with the VP of the company, Matthew Healy.” He nods self-importantly. “Very nice chap, honestly. I convinced him to allocate us more budget next quarter, which means that…”

You tune out the rest of his corporate jargon, letting the new information you’ve gleaned rattle around your brain. Vice fucking President. The scandal you’d cause selfishly thrills you more, because who could gainsay it, really? Sure, your father would have some choice words, but he’d keep them to himself in public for the sake of his job. You almost giggle picturing the vein that would throb in his forehead, and then remember yourself and focus back into the conversation right as your father finishes talking.

The waiter who has been hovering a tasteful distance away seizes the gap in conversation to take your order. You order without looking at the price, leaning casually back in the booth as you rattle off the name of the dish in perfect Italian. A few minutes later, the smooth, dark flavour of an espresso martini on your tongue, your father finally gets to the point.

He says your name seriously, levelling you with a look that’s laden with meaning over his drink. “I wanted to meet with you today to talk about something.” You nod uncertainly, unable to track where this is going. “Your last year at university is starting in September, and I’d like to know you have somewhere to go when you’re finished. Other people studying your course have been making industry connections and networking for years, and I’m concerned that you’ll be behind when you’re trying to get into work.”

You let him talk, even as you mentally roll your eyes. He’s showing care in one of the only ways he knows how, and you can’t really begrudge him that. Never mind that the idea of trudging to the office every day in a dull grey pantsuit and attending mergers and meetings for the rest of your life gives you the shivers. You open your mouth to bring this up, but pause when he continues. “I know you aren’t sure about using your degree, but there’s a dinner this weekend that I’d like you to come to. Just to see how everything works, show your face, start making yourself a name, hm?”

The refusal sits on the tip of your tongue, balancing there on instinct, but then you consider that this might be your only chance to see Matty again. Of course, he might not even be there, but it’s a risk you’re willing to take. Your thoughts haven’t strayed from him for more than five minutes since you met, he’s a nagging itch under your skin that you just can’t scratch, and you need him. “Okay,” you say, cutting your father off. He goes silent mid-spiel, having anticipated you taking more convincing than that. “Is it black-tie?”

Your father watches you curiously as you sip demurely at your cocktail. “Yes. I’m very happy you agreed,” he adds, the implicit question hanging heavy in the air between you.

With an airy shrug, you set down your glass. “Like you said, I’m not committing to anything. I just get to have a free fancy dinner, basically.” It’s a casual excuse, characteristic enough of you that your father couldn’t even begin to guess at your real motivation. The same waiter suddenly materialises with your food, and you dig in happily.

Over the course of your meal, your father explains the most important figures who’ll be attending, and Matty is among them, thank God. You try, subtly, to pry into his personal life, but come up fairly short; you can’t find a tasteful way to ask if he’s married, although it’s not unlikely, with a face like his. Once your father’s free hour has dried up, he drops you home and you slink off to your room and fall into your bed.

Guiltily, you pull up a private browsing tab on your phone and search matthew healy wife. A grin spreads as you find no results, wider when girlfriend turns up nothing but a string of articles about his latest breakup. Switching to image searching, you scroll through dozens of photographs of him, posed and smiling, this time missing the sunglasses and letting you admire his sweet brown eyes. Then you come across a photo of him giving the camera the eyes, your thighs clenching as he smoulders in a way that feels directed to you, a twin of the look he gave you earlier.

You let your eyes fall closed, your phone thudding against the pillow as your hand creeps under your waistband. The first brush at your clit buzzes bright up your spine, a pleased whine falling from your lips. Instinctively, you dig under your pillow for your vibrator, your other hand tugging your skirt and panties down your legs. You lay in just your blouse and socks, the barest hint of wetness beginning to pool between your thighs.

The sudden pulse of heat as you press the vibrator to your clit is almost too much, your body tensing at the sensation. Your hazy mind conjures up an image of Matty, his spectre watching you touch yourself for him. He’s on you in seconds, the ghost of his kiss almost tangible against your lips, the idea of his calloused fingers running over your skin so real they almost feel like a memory. Rocking your hips, you chase the pleasure that rolls over you, coiling low in your belly. You can almost hear Matty murmuring encouragement in your ear, telling you how pretty and good you are for him.

Body writhing against the sheets, a whimper of his name spills from your bitten lips, pleading as you rub tight circles into your clit. Molten pleasure drips down your spine, sticking in your lungs and melting against your ribs. The phantasm of Matty’s touch trails over you, his hands replacing yours as you thumb over your nipples, moaning at the soft spark of pleasure that flickers under your skin.

It’s not enough.

Your hands are too delicate, too far from the memory of thick veins and scraping callouses that your body craves. Still, you work diligently at yourself, falling into a familiar rhythm. Your motions are perfunctory now, an aside to the fantasy building behind your closed lids. You picture Matty’s sleazy smirk, heat in his gaze as he rubs at you, working you closer and closer, filthy words pouring from his lips. Pleasure burns under your skin, close and electric under the sheets.

The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, ecstasy rippling through your limbs as you bite down hard to keep a scream at bay. Rolling your hips, you ride out your orgasm, chest heaving as you gasp for breath and twist your fingers in your sheets.

Your face begins to flame as the afterglow wanes, the image of Matty fading and leaving a column of mortification in its place. God, how are you supposed to look him in the eyes after this? Flinging your covers off with a groan, you corral your thoughts into shape and march into the shower. Hot water pounds between your shoulder blades and you scrub at your skin until it’s pink and tender; you still don’t feel clean. It feels, suddenly, like you’re wearing a scarlet letter, like the evidence of your depravity is scrawled over your body in bold, dripping ink.

Still, you can’t stand under the shower spray forever, and the endless slog of summer reading you have to do won’t wait for your sudden crisis to be over. Taking a seat at your desk, you crack open a textbook and force yourself to stare at it until the words stop swimming in front of your eyes and you can process their meaning. You type up notes with practised ease, almost automatic and scarcely retaining the information. A chill grips you as you remember that this might be the rest of your life.

A self-indulgent fantasy drifts across your mind, and you snatch at it greedily, rewarding yourself for your work with an unjustified distraction. Is it so much to ask that you want a life of ease? To be spoiled and showered in affection, to have no expectations on you? Maybe that makes you a lazy brat, a typical, self-absorbed princess, but you’ve worked damn hard the last three years. At graduation, you’d have your pick of droning, selfsame corporations if that was what you wanted; you’d have no difficulty following your father’s footsteps, letting your own daughter trace yours.

Truthfully, your private desire is much harder. Men that run in your circles want a woman like you, superficially — from the same stock, with your own family money, barely old enough to know who you are. Under the surface, though, you know women like that. They’re your aunts, the mothers of friends and old boyfriends. Unfulfilled, wearing dead-eyed Stepfordian smiles, finding their only pinched joy in passing snide insults dressed up as compliments, laughing behind their hands when their victim du jour takes the bait. No, being one of those wives would be the only fate worse than spending your decades as a spinning cog.

Without your notice, the sun has sunk beyond the horizon, a moonbeam slanting through your curtains when you switch your desk lamp off. You slip between your sheets, clad in a thin nightdress and low-waisted underwear, the thoughts that circle your brain winding slower and slower until they slip away like a whirlpool draining from the sink.

The next morning, you really are planning on taking school seriously, in line at a coffee shop with scholarly intent before 9:30. Impossibly, though, a familiar head of curls is waiting in the queue only feet ahead of you. Your heartbeat speeds as you debate whether to speak to him, hands clammy with nerves at the sight of him. You step up to the counter to order, and Matty’s head whips around at the sound of your voice.

“Oh! Hello, love,” he grins, and you smile back, hoping you don’t look as nervous as you feel. “Hey, no, I got it,” he says as you pull out your phone to pay. Matty taps his card before you can even react, then leans forward to address the barista. “Can I get mine for here instead? Is that okay? Thanks,” he flashes a winning smile and your heart flutters.

“Thank you,” you say shyly, toying anxiously with the buttons of your cardigan.

He waves a hand, his smile almost dizzying as he looks down at you. There’s a faint dusting of stubble over his jaw, and you have to force yourself not to get distracted by thoughts of it scraping over your skin. “Don’t worry about it. Always happy to do a pretty girl a favour.” Your knees almost buckle, heat flooding your cheeks as you swallow thickly. Thankfully, the barista calls your orders and Matty goes to collect them, giving you a second to catch your breath. “Is it okay if I come sit with you? Just realised I never asked.” He grins sheepishly, and you practically melt into a puddle. “Don’t wanna distract you if you’ve got work to do, or something.”

“God, no, of course,” you say, suddenly a little panicked at the idea of him leaving. “Feel free. I mean, if you have time,” you add, a last-ditch attempt to feign casualness as you slide into a booth.

Matty sits opposite, observing you with an inscrutable look on his face before he speaks. “I’ve got time. I’m the boss, darling, they can wait.”

Your thighs clench, the casual reminder of his status sending a shudder up your spine as you smile blithely. Neither of you speaks for a moment, both taking in the sight of each other, testing the boundaries of this thing blooming between you. “Do you make a habit of taking time out of your busy day to have coffee with girls?” you say, tone teasing to conceal that you’re truly curious about the answer.

He grins. “Like I said, I do whatever I like,” he says with a shrug. “If I wanted to, I don’t know, spend my morning having coffee with a pretty girl, well. Nobody would be surprised, let’s say.” It’s a non-answer, and you swallow down the jealousy that starts to rise in your throat.

“You keep calling me pretty…” you remark idly, pausing to sip delicately at your coffee before you speak. “I’m starting to think you might have an ulterior motive, Mr. Healy.” You tack on the title with a smirk, leaning forward in challenge.

Matty swallows, slightly unnerved for the first time. “I think you’re pretty,” he says simply. “Don’t have to have any motives. Unless you want me to,” he adds with a smirk.

“And if I do? What’s that say about you, sir? Chasing after a twenty-year-old girl? Quite inappropriate, wouldn’t you say?”

He chuckles softly, eyes darkening. A shock of heat sparks under your skin as he takes your hand, gaze searching. “Very,” Matty agrees lowly. “Good, sweet young girl like you shouldn’t be getting mixed up with me, angel.” Something in you flutters at the nickname, the way it rolls thoughtlessly off his tongue.

“I don’t have to be good,” you say, deliberately widening your eyes and biting your lip in a show of innocence. “I can be naughty. If you want.” You lean back and deliberately pop a button on your blouse, a hint of pink lace peeking out from the gap in your shirt.

Matty tips his head back, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, eyes closed and trying to compose himself. “What am I going to do with you?” he mutters, more to himself, unable to drag his gaze up from the sliver of exposed skin.

“You’ll just have to keep playing and find out,” you smirk, purposefully leaning forward as you stand to give him a deliberate eyeful. “Have a nice day, Mr. Healy. Thank you for the coffee.” His gaze burns hot into your back as you walk away, and you make a conscious effort not to look back. You’re slightly annoyed as you wander down the street — that cafe is your favourite study spot, and you’ve effectively handed it away. You’ll never be able to set foot in there without remembering Matty’s smirk, his heavy gaze, the feeling of his hand over yours.

So, despite your best intentions, you find yourself spending the morning dipping in and out of stores instead, smiling blithely as your bank account dwindles. In the end, your evening winds up the same as yesterday, mindlessly copying up text without absorbing any of the information. You’re gonna kick yourself so hard when you have to use these notes to take an exam. Giving up, you shower and get into bed, shutting your phone off to sleep at around midnight.

When you stir, you know acutely that you’re dreaming. The bed is your own, the man sharing it is not. “Morning,” Matty says, in a low, sleep-thick voice that seems so real you can scarcely believe your mind conjured it up. He kisses your nose, your cheek, the hollow of your throat, but never your lips, as if your subconscious is saving the memory for the real thing.

“Hi,” you giggle, savouring the heat of his body against yours, willing yourself still for fear of the barest shift ruining your dreamscape. Matty’s hands run over you, one taking a firm hold of your ass, the other pinching gently at your nipple.

You whimper, and he gives a mocking pout. “Needy, hm?” You nod, eyes wide and pleading, and he cups your pussy, your hips rolling as you chase your pleasure against his hand. Arousal drips out of you, soaking your panties as Matty grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. Your head swims in pleasure, distracted and flailing as the dream blurs around you. Whining, you try desperately to grasp onto the vestiges, convinced that one last touch would have brought you there.

Eyes twitching open, morning light slants through the crack in your curtains, a gentle kiss over your sweat-slick skin. Embarrassingly, like you’re a hormonal adolescent again, there’s a throw pillow wedged between your legs, desire soaking into it through your ruined panties. An experimental thrust of your hips sends a scattered, delicious burst of pleasure up your spine, but you refuse to indulge yourself, already humiliated without feeling that sudden, crushing guilt again.

Once again, you force yourself under a punishingly hot shower, and once again, you can’t scrub yourself free of the sin. It becomes something of a routine; three more nights you dream of him, and three more mornings you try your hardest to melt the flesh off your bones in an effort to forget. The fourth night, the day before you’ll see him again, your sleep is mercifully dreamless, though you still wake with him on your mind. You stand in front of your wardrobe, hands balanced on your hips as your gaze darts between two dresses.

You need to be stunning, fuckable in a way that caters to Matty’s tastes perfectly. The amount of time you’ve spent scrolling through pictures of him with old girlfriends would surely be impressive if it wasn’t embarrassing, but it’s helped you narrow your choices down to two options. There’s a wine-red number, the thigh slit so high it practically bares your ass and the neckline plunging almost to indecency — it’s reminiscent of how his last girlfriend dressed, simple, dark elegance, deep hues paired with bold, striking makeup. Then, there’s a floor-length, pastel-pink silk gown, evidence of the virtue you’ll pretend to possess until you can show him just how dirty you can be.

The second dress speaks to you, more similar both to your own style and that of the youngest girl he’s ever dated. She was still older than you, though, you think wryly, four years ago twenty-three to his thirty. That being said, you wouldn’t be surprised to find he’d fucked every college girl from here to Edinburgh whose father had so much looked at her askance once. The thought sends a ripple of jealousy through you and you shudder, picturing dozens of faceless girls under him until you want to tear your hair out. The man practically has you in a chokehold, and you’ve met him once.

Your rational brain knows it’s crazy, that the idealised version of him built up in your mind means he’ll only disappoint, but you’re almost sure you’ll get a good fuck out of it at the very least. More, if you play your cards well enough.

With ribbons in your hair, silk gloves over your hands and a string of pearls at your throat, you pose in the mirror, practising your teasing pout, your innocent smile, the eyes that say please, sir, let me make you feel good. Your mother shouts your name, and you follow the sound down the stairs and across the foyer, smiling blithely at your parents as they take in the sight of you.

Okay, maybe you’ve laid on the innocence too thick, your makeup subtly widening your eyes and faintly flushing your cheeks. But there’s nothing technically wrong with your outfit, so your mother simply heaves a sigh and leads you out to the car. You arrive perfectly, politely on time, pose quickly for the few cameras and take your seats. Wait staff linger discreetly around, filling champagne flutes thanklessly, as if they exist on a plane below the guests’ notice.

You have to bite back a grin when the placard beside the empty seat at your table reads Matthew Healy; by some magnanimous twist of fate, he’ll be directly across from you, giving you an excuse to gaze at him as long as you like. He’s late, but only fashionably so, smirking and doling out insincere apologies as he saunters to the table. You don’t stand until everyone else has, playing clueless as Matty greets everyone around the table politely.

When he reaches you, his eyes flicker over you in a way that has your knees threatening to buckle, and you finally let yourself take him in properly. He looks fucking gorgeous, dressed in another expensive suit, his curls gelled back with that same smell of cigarettes and cologne seeping from his pores. He leans forward, brushing his lips against the apple of your cheek, and you almost moan at the contact your body has been craving for days. “You look stunning, darling,” he murmurs, so quiet that you could almost be convinced you’d imagined it, if not for the dark look in his eyes when he pulls back.

A half smile pulls at your lips as he sits down, one of the ubiquitous, black-clad waiters coming forward to fill his glass. The conversation quickly turns to business you couldn’t care less about, giving the automated, reflex responses to questions you’ve heard hundreds of times. You pay attention only when Matty speaks, the low timbre of his voice addictive even when he’s not addressing you. Emboldened by his heavy gaze and the significant looks he fixes you with each time his eyes land on yours, you slip a stockinged foot out of your shoe and trace it across his calf. His eyes widen a fraction, and he raises his glass and an eyebrow in your direction, his gaze laden with promise.

There’s still time before any food gets brought out, and after a few minutes, Matty offers to take you on a spin, introduce you to some of the more important people in suits that are clustered around the room. Your father preens, convinced you’ve made such an impression in the bare moments you’ve held your own in conversation that he wants to mentor you, or something. You accept gratefully, his proprietary hold on your arm falling low to your waist as soon as you’re out of your father’s sight, the heat of his palm splayed over your hip hard to believe. “Let me get you a drink,” he says, steering you to the bar. The crowd parts around him, conversations going quiet like he’s some kind of divine figure, taking a nod and a brief greeting like a blessing from on high. “You’ll need one to deal with this lot,” he adds, jerking a thumb at the gathered crowd, still murmuring awed in his wake.

Smiling, you take a seat at the bar, letting Matty flag down the bartender before you speak. “What’ll you have, darling?”

“Surprise me,” you grin, batting your eyelashes teasingly at him. “So, you hate this stuff, huh?”

Matty huffs a surprised laugh as the bartender pours him a glass of top-shelf red and hands you an Aperol spritz. “Is it that obvious?”

You take a long, slow sip of your drink, watching the way his eyes fall to your lips, pursed around the straw. “I don’t think so. Not to anyone here, anyway. They’re all too worried about what everyone else thinks of them to worry about what anyone else is thinking.”

Something shifts in his expression as he takes in your words, suddenly appraising you critically as a person with thoughts, rather than just a pretty face he wants to take to bed. And he does. Want to take you to bed, that is. His eyes are wide, dilated, his tongue unconsciously wetting his lips more often, his gaze trained on your face so it doesn’t fall further. “Beautiful and smart,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair, all at once dropping the intensity and sinking easily back into irreverence.

“I try,” you say with an artfully careless shrug, letting one of the thin straps of your dress fall from your shoulder, enjoying the way Matty’s eyes trace the movement. There’s a dance in this, a skill; overt flirting between the pair of you, a casual, if laden, conversation to an observer.

“I want to do bad things to you in that dress,” Matty says, low and sudden, a bolt of arousal striking you at your core.

You match his tone. “Like what?”

“The kind of things a man like me shouldn’t be thinking about doing to a girl like you.”

“So, why don’t you?” you challenge, a flicker of carefully masked surprise crossing his face as you drop your facade of naïveté. “There’s always somewhere private at a party like this,” you say, implication heavy in your tone, spreading your legs slightly and licking your lips.

A muscle jumps in Matty’s jaw, jealousy and lust warring in his expression as he pictures you crowded up against a bathroom sink, mouth parted and eyes glassy. “S’that what you’re used to? A quick fuck in a bathroom with some pathetic boy?” He leans close, delivering his next words slow and quiet. “I’m not going to do that, princess,” he says with a disparaging scoff, the sobriquet sending heat pooling between your legs. “Have you ever fucked a man, angel?”

Swallowing your moan, your thighs clench as you whisper, “No.”

“Good. Means I get to show you how it should really feel. Because when I fuck you for the first time, I’m going to make you fall apart for me. Piece by pretty, perfect piece. Shall we?” he adds, standing and offering you a hand without giving you any time to process his words.

You swallow thickly, accepting his hand and standing on unsteady legs. True to his word, he introduces you to what feels like an endless string of people. Their faces all blur together, your body working on autopilot to churn out pleasantries as your mind turns over Matty’s words, spinning them over and over like a coin set on its edge.

“Stay right here,” you whisper to him as he starts to head back to your table, and you’re pleased to find when you return from the bathroom that he’s obeyed. As discreetly as possible, you press the scrap of lace you peeled off from under your dress into his hand. The sound of his choked-off inhale is infinitely gratifying, and you savour his gaze at your back as you stride away, a deliberate sway in your hips.

By the time you’re back at the table, a thick wedge of business cards is tucked neatly into your purse to be left there and forgotten about until you shake them onto the floor the next time you need the bag. All but the one sitting on the very top, with Matty’s personal number scrawled on the back. He doesn’t take his eyes off you all through dinner, his hand dipping into his pocket at every free moment, the knowledge that his fingers are running over your panties driving you wild. Your legs cross so you don’t start dripping on the seat as you throw pleading glances at Matty every chance you get.

You practically chase him to the bar as dinner winds down, draping yourself over him as much as you dare. “I need you,” you whine, pressing a hand to his inner thigh, feeling the heat of him through his suit trousers. “I can’t wait anymore,” you plead, as close to begging as you can get without prostrating yourself on the floor in front of him.

Matty laughs, condescending. “Needy girl,” he pouts, crooking a finger under your chin. “If you were anyone else, I’d take you home right now, fuck all of these people. But we can’t have that, can we?” he teases. “Because you’re a good girl, yeah? And what would people think, good girl like you all spread out for a dirty old man like me?”

A pathetic whine slips from your lips, lust overtaking you even as the gears start to turn in your mind. “Take me home,” you beg, pulse hammering in your throat at the very prospect. “I can make an excuse, say I’m meeting friends or something. I’m a big girl, they won’t care as long as they don’t know where I actually am. Please?” you pout, leaning so close that your breath kisses across his lips. “I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

And Matty is only a man, with a man’s self-control. He’s had a few more years to refine it, but he’ll never be immune. “Go on, then, sweetheart. Make your excuses and meet me out front, yeah?” He gives your ass a firm slap as you stand, the brief flash of pain melting into sticky desire that hums under your skin.

You spin a lie to your parents, some story that your friends are in a bar a few streets away, and surely they don’t mind if you slip away just a few minutes early? Honestly, they’re ecstatic you stayed as long as you did, waving you off with unsuspecting smiles. Then, before you know it, you’re in a taxi with Matty, your thigh pressed against his, one of his hands tracing a pattern into your skin. You crowd closer to him, struggling to breathe as lust swallows all the air between you.

He stays teasingly out of your reach, tutting softly when you chase his lips. “You promised to be good for me, princess,” he admonishes, trailing his hand further up your thigh. You obey, squirming as you fall back into your seat, his fingers cruelly close to where you need them. “Good girl. You want me to touch you?” Matty murmurs, leaning in to breathe the words against the shell of your ear, a shudder rolling up your spine at his closeness. You nod, bating your breath as his fingers find the wetness between your legs. “Nice and still for me, yeah, darling?”

Pleasure floods you when the pad of his finger finds your clit, the gentle scrape over your sensitive nerves somehow blinding, your hips rolling as you chase the sensation. “Matty, please,” you moan, pouting pathetically when he takes his hand away.

“You’re not being very good, love. Still, remember? You can sit and keep your hands to yourself until we get home, understand?” You nod, sinking back in your seat and sulking. “Don’t be a brat, princess,” Matty chides, closing his lips around his wet fingers, sucking your arousal off them with an exaggerated moan. “Just a few more minutes and I’ll give you what you need, yeah? Sweet, needy girl.”

You flush at the praise, at the way he can switch from gentle to commanding and back in a second. Your blood is thick with desire, heart working in overdrive to pump it through your body. Then, with no ceremony, the end of the most agonising minutes of your life is signalled by the crunching of gravel under tyres. Matty leads you into the house, his control on a tight leash until the door clicks shut behind you.

He all but slams you against it, crowding into your space, his breath hot on your lips. His smell of cigarettes and cologne envelops you, fills your lungs, dizzying and intoxicating. “Please?” you whine, and he finally, gloriously obliges. Your lips crash together, a messy slide of spit and teeth and tongue that leaves you bruised and begging.

Matty’s hands fall to your ass, squeezing hard at the soft flesh, pliant under his touch as his nails bite crescent-moons of desire into your skin. “Can you jump for me, baby?” he asks, breaking away from you just long enough to breathe the words against your lips. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, your dress hiked up so far that it bares your cunt as Matty grips you by the thighs.

Pleasure spreads slowly through you as you grind yourself against him, his lips falling to your neck as he carries you up the stairs, a squeal escaping you as he tosses you on the bed. He stands at the foot of the bed, breathing hard, greedily drinking in the sight of you. “Take that dress off. Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument, practically puppeteering you, expensive silk crumpled on the floor before you can even react. “Gorgeous,” Matty murmurs, one hand coming up to unbutton his shirt. “Can you touch yourself for me? Wanna see how to make you feel good.”

“Uh-huh,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the inches of skin being revealed, a covering dragged off a masterpiece. Dark ink peeks from the V of his shirt, dissonant from the toned, marble skin surrounding it. Impatient, you dip two fingers into yourself, the familiar stretch sending heat shooting up your spine. Gasping, you pinch at your clit, rolling it between two fingers, hips rocking as you moan wantonly up at him.

“Good girl. Does that feel good, princess?”

“Not as good as you,” you pout, fucking yourself desperately on your fingers. “Daddy,” you add, watching that final thread break, Matty’s eyes going dark as he collapses on the bed above you. He kicks off his trousers ungracefully, tugging your hand up to his lips.

His warm mouth closes around your fingers, sucking the taste of your desire off them with a moan. “Such a dirty little girl, dressed up all innocent like that when you just wanna be ruined by your fuckin’ Daddy.” His clothed cock grinds against your aching, soaked core, the contact achingly close to what you need, and yet agonisingly far. “You taste so good, angel. Want me to eat that sweet little pussy of yours?”

Your mind swims at the thought, his skilled, clever tongue buried between your legs, your hands tight in his curls as he devours you. But that isn’t what you need. You shake your head. “Want you to fuck me,” you say, the simmering well of desire endless in the pit of your stomach. “I need it. Please?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Matty croons, shoving his boxers down his legs. You watch his cock spring free, thudding hot and sticky against his belly. “You want my fingers first, or can you take me all by yourself?”

The subtle condescension sets you on fire, liquefying your brain and sending it flooding down your spine, dripping out of you onto the mattress. You reach down, wrap your hand around him and pump slowly, swallowing his quiet hiss against your mouth. “I can take it, Daddy,” you promise, wide, innocent eyes turned on him.

The stretch when he enters you burns gloriously, your mouth falling open in a perfect, round ‘O’ of ecstasy. Matty fills you slowly, burying himself to the hilt, so deep that you can practically feel him rearranging your insides. “Such a good girl, takin’ all of me like this,” he praises. Discomposed, his accent thickens, rounding the vowels and blurring the ends of his words. Matty rocks his hips one shallow thrust striking a spot inside you that has your vision whiting out, ecstasy buzzing in your heavy limbs. “That felt good, huh? Yeah. I know, I know,” he soothes, swallowing your whines with wet, deliberate kisses, tongue sweeping every corner of your mouth and teeth grazing your lips.

Matty pulls almost all the way out of you, your body crying out at the loss, then slams his hips against yours so hard you see stars. “M-Matty, fuck,” you whimper, back arching desperately as he fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast, the obscene sound of skin meeting ringing out around you.

“Ah-ah. That’s not my name tonight, princess.”

His hips still, the waves of pleasure subsiding in punishment. “‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whine, bringing your hand down to rub at your clit, bright heat bursting between your legs.

“That’s it, angel,” Matty murmurs, pinching softly at your nipple with one calloused hand. “So beautiful all fucked out for me. I’m the only one who can get you like this, huh?”

Subtle jealousy hums in his tone, his kiss turning possessive as you writhe under him. “Yeah,” you whimper breathily. “Never had it this good before.” It’s not a lie. Your body feels at once wound into a coil and loose on your bones, the point where your hips meet your only anchor to your physical form.

Matty scoffs. “That’s because you’ve only fucked boys, princess. Never had a man before, have you?”

“N-no, Daddy,” you whine, rubbing frantically at your clit, Matty’s rhythmic groans warm against your lips.

His lips fall to your neck, kissing and biting against your tender skin, the scrape of teeth a flash of pain undercutting your desire but gentle enough not to bruise. “That’s right, baby. ‘M your fuckin’ Daddy. Wanna be my girl, huh? Could have you like this whenever you want, never let you worry about anything, ‘cept staying all pretty and cockdrunk for me.”

Oh, God. How does he know? Involuntarily, your legs wrap around his waist, the new angle rapturous as his thrusts continue, long and so deep you practically choke on them. “Mm-hmm. Yeah. Could just be your little toy, never think unless you told me to. Want that so bad, Daddy.”

Matty’s eyes light up, wide and liquid with desire, your heartbeat hammering in your cunt as it throbs around him. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl. You wanna be my dumb little slut, huh? Want Daddy to fuck you stupid, turn you into my pretty fucktoy?” The words turn you to liquid, dripping and sticky under his skilled hands. “Yeah, you do,” he grins, arrogant and cocksure, your mind melting into fantasies of being Matty’s kept girl, of bending over with a smile whenever he liked, of spending your days keeping yourself pretty for him, and your nights split open like this. “I can feel how bad you want that, your pretty cunt keeps squeezing me so fuckin’ tight, angel.”

“‘M close,” you whimper, the words choked from your closing throat, desire clamping down on your body like a vice.

“Good girl,” Matty whispers, one of his hands joining yours at your clit, the pressure suddenly dramatically intense, every nerve in your body firing as one. “Cum for me, angel,” he orders, and your body obeys.

You come unglued from yourself, feel it in your whole body, euphoria crushing the air from your lungs. Your cunt pulses, thumping a sick rhythm in tune with Matty’s thrusts into you. Barely conscious, you feel amorphous, a messy string of liquid desire more than a corporeal girl. WIth a final, low groan, Matty spills inside of you, painting your insides white.

A whine escapes you as he pulls out, the loss tangible in your heavy limbs. “Oh, I know, baby, I know,” he soothes, falling beside you and cupping your jaw to kiss you tenderly.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmur shakily, and a soft smile brushes at his lips.

“So polite,” he says reverently. “Such a good girl.”

You pout at him and drag two fingers through your slick, messy cunt, sucking the taste of both of you off your fingers. Matty gasps, eyes wide, and you smile around your wet fingers. “You want more, darling?”

You nod frantically, the fire under your skin still raging, ferocious and uncontrollable. Weakly, you lift your head, transfixed to where his cum trickles out of you, pooling white on the mattress. “We taste so good together,” you tell him, without taking your eyes off your ruined core. “Looks so good, your cum dripping out of me. Want you to finger it out of me. Please?” you add, pouting until he kisses you gently, breaking away to smile against your lips.

“Whatever you want, you’ll get, princess.” His fingers find your hole, teasing at you for a moment before toying with your sensitive clit, a stab of pleasure-pain winding sharply through you. “S’that sore, darling?”

“A bit,” you say, your body lax as he plays with you gently. All the urgency is gone now you’ve both come, the air honey-thick, your breathing slow and deliberate. “Feels good, though.”

Matty’s fingers are broad and thick as he pushes two of them inside you, your soaked cunt accepting him easily. He crooks his fingers, brushing that sweet spot that sets your nerves alight, and begins a slow rhythm. Lewd, wet sounds echo off the walls as you both watch his fingers disappear where you take him, cum leaking out around them.

An orgasm builds slowly at the base of your spine, your body jolting as Matty’s thumb comes up to circle over your clit. He swallows your sudden moan, languid kisses that have your eyes fluttering closed and let you fall into a daydream as he brings you closer.

“Mmm, can I cum again? Please?” you moan, hips rolling down to meet him. Pleasure swims hazy through your head, your blood syrup-thick and heavy with it.

“Can you hold it for a minute, baby? For me? Just wanna watch that pretty cunt of yours taking my fingers a little longer.” You whimper as he curls his long fingers inside of you, trembling with the effort of holding your orgasm at bay. “You make such pretty sounds, princess. Tell me who you belong to and I’ll let you cum, okay?”

“‘M yours, Daddy. Your good little girl,” you promise, words coming out slurred, your tongue too thick in your mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” Matty says, encouraging, grasping possessively at your hip. “All mine, yeah? Go on, princess. Cum,” he instructs, curling his fingers against your g-spot and rubbing a harsh circle into your clit in the same, breathless moment.

All the air crushes out of your lungs, white-hot pleasure melting your brain into liquid. Matty croons reassurances as you writhe under him, the thickness of his fingers visceral where you clench around him. You moan his name over and over in a litany, tasting something divine where the word spills from your lips.

You float back down to Earth, blissed-out and smiling, adoration in Matty’s gaze as he watches you. “There you are, sweet girl,” he grins, warm hand stroking gently up and down your side. “How do you feel?”

“God, incredible,” you answer, stretching back and luxuriating against his pillows. “Best fuck I’ve ever had,” you grin, watching his jaw clench at the reminder that you’ve fucked other people.

“Ruined you for other men, have I?” he says, smug smirk pulling at his lips.

“Other boys,” you correct airily. “Men like you know what they’re doing. Maybe you’ve given me a taste for it. Maybe I’ll fuck my way through the office, get all those men you see every day eating out of my hand.”

Matty practically snarls, silencing you with a harsh kiss. “Those fucking pricks couldn’t make you cum if their lives depended on it. Believe me, darling, I’m the best you’ll ever have,” he promises, and you give a quiet giggle. Your eyes are heavy even as electricity still buzzes under your skin, and you yawn, catlike, and settle against his bare chest. “Tired, angel?” he says, a hint of humour in his tone.

“Right shattered me, haven’t you?” you complain, swatting playfully at him. “Can I stay?”

“‘Course, darling. Long as you like,” Matty says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Want me to make you something to eat? Can’t have my girl going hungry after I’ve worn her out like that.” The casualness with which he flings the words my girl sends your heart racing, one of his hands coming up to cup your jaw then trailing up to play with your hair. It’s all so sickeningly domestic, more intimate than when he had you split open and dizzy under him.

“Sounds nice,” you say sleepily, but whine when he moves to get up.

You pout when Matty tugs on his discarded boxers, and he chuckles softly. “What?” he adds as your frown deepens, watching him pull on a pair of grey joggers.

“Was looking at you,” you say sulkily. “You have a cute ass.”

His head tips back as he laughs, baring the sloping column of his neck gorgeously, his curls bouncing with the movement. “Are you objectifying me?” he grins, mock-affronted.

“Yes,” you say immediately, sitting up and tracing your gaze deliberately over his chest, muscles rippling as he breathes. Your attention falls to the tattoo at his hip, half-hidden by his joggers, and the sudden need to taste the skin there overtakes you. “What else is a big, strong man like you good for? Fucking me right and cooking me dinner, and looking gorgeous doing it,” you tease, sucking in a sharp breath when he crosses the room in two strides and catches your jaw in a harsh grip.

“Don’t be a brat, princess. ‘Cause then I’ll have to show you what I’m fucking good for.”

“Okay,” you breathe against his lips, trailing your hand down his chest and thumbing over the tattoo, savouring the way Matty shudders under your touch.

The air under your hand goes cold as he steps away. “Needy girl,” he grins. “Food first, yeah? You want me to bring it up here? Serve my princess dinner in bed?” There’s that my again, one tiny, thoughtless syllable sending a thousand fantasies flickering behind your eyes. “Or do you wanna come down with me?”

You slip out from under the covers and set your feet on the floor, only for your knees to buckle when you try to stand. “Fucked me so good my legs don’t work,” you say with a weak laugh, smiling softly when Matty comes to fuss over you. “Can you carry me downstairs?”

“Here,” Matty says, handing you a shirt and boxers that are probably too small for him; they dwarf you, the shirt swallowing you while the boxers hang indecently low on your hips. At the sight of you in his clothes, he stops still, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply for a long moment. “Look fucking gorgeous wearing my clothes, darling. C’mere, I can carry you if you want,” he offers, scooping you into his arms.

Nestled happy against his warm, bare chest, you notice for the first time how fucking big his house is. It’s almost brutalist, but still homey, evidently lived-in. Framed photographs and prints litter the walls, slightly wilted flowers sitting in a vase atop a gorgeous upright piano.

“D’you play?” Matty asks, catching you admiring it.

“Since I was a kid. Do you?”

He huffs out a laugh above you. “You think I’d have a fifty grand piano sitting around that I don’t play?”

You shrug as best you can, still wrapped in his arms. “My parents have a baby grand that nobody played until I came along. It’s like a status symbol, or something, I dunno.”

“Yes, I play. The guitar too,” he adds, slowly strolling in the direction of the kitchen.

The realisation dawns on you, and your mouth drops in an ‘O’ of understanding. “So that’s why your hands are like that. I don’t know why I didn’t put that together. You’re hardly the type for hard labour.”

Matty laughs, setting you down on the kitchen counter. “You don’t know,” he teases, pressing a featherlight kiss against your cheek. “I could’ve been a mechanic in a past life.”

The thought of him, sweaty and dripping in grease, bending you over the hood of a car, makes your head spin, and he smirks as your jaw goes slack. “I wish,” you grin as he retrieves a pan from an upper cabinet, flexing the muscles in his back gratuitously with the movement. ement.

“What are you feeling like? Eggs? Pasta?” he offers, setting the pan on the stove.

You mull it over for a moment. “Can you make me French toast?”

“‘Course I can, baby.” You watch his hands as he cracks two eggs in a bowl, whisking them together with cinnamon and sugar. He steps between your legs as the bread sizzles in the pan with a healthy spoonful of melted butter, kissing at your neck and jaw. In the light, the fading hickeys scattered over your skin are visible, and he prods jealously at them. “Who gave you these?” he says, gravel in his voice.

Shrugging airily, you smirk up at him. “Some boy,” you tease, Matty’s nostrils flaring as he fights to control his reaction.

“Did he make you cum?” he asks, nails biting possessively into your hips.

“We didn’t get that far. Just made out on the couch. He was a good kisser, though.” At that, Matty captures your lips, kissing you slow and deep, the lingering taste of red wine filling your mouth. The kiss is hard, almost aggressive, like he’s trying to forcibly erase the memory of any kiss you’ve ever had. He bites gently at your lower lip as he pulls away, not hard enough to sting, but enough for you to read the message in the action. “Careful. Don’t burn my toast.”

A mumbled fuck makes you giggle, and he turns to flip the bread in the pan. “Don’t worry, angel. Still perfect.” He watches you as he speaks, wide brown eyes liquid and luminous, framed by delicate lashes.

Still, if he gets to be jealous, so do you. “Do you make midnight snacks for all the girls?” you ask, swinging your legs back and forth off the counter.

“Can’t say I do, darling.”

The implication of his words thuds hard in your chest, a warm flicker of hope striking to life like a match under your skin. “What’s so special about me?”

“Good girl like you deserves the princess treatment. ‘Specially from a dirty old man like me,” he grins, sliding your toast onto a plate. The sudden reminder of your age gap, of the scandal you’d cause if even a whisper of this got out, sends a shuddering thrill up your spine. Matty hands you the plate, topped with icing sugar and drizzled with syrup, and you tuck in eagerly.

He picks up a pack of cigarettes from the counter, eyebrows going up when you go to reach for one. “What? I’m not always a good girl.”

“Oh, I know, love,” Matty smirks, lit cigarette dangling indecently from his lips. “Can’t have you ruining your pretty lungs, though. Here,” he says, pulling deeply on the cigarette and then pressing his open mouth to yours. Grey smoke curls from your parted lips as you suck in the smoke greedily. He shotguns you half the cigarette, your head light as the nicotine buzz hits.

You drink in the sight of him as you eat, taking advantage of the light to appreciate the finer details of him. The gentle glow of the cigarette where it sits between his plush, pink lips, the joggers obscenely low on his hips, the V of muscle that points tantalisingly down, a light trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

“You wanna go back to bed, angel?” Matty smirks, the air between you shifting as he meets your gaze, eyes darkened.

You scoff. “Bed’s boring. You have this whole fucking house, and you wanna take me back to bed?”

Matty crowds close to you, stealing a kiss and dropping to his knees. “Alright, princess.” His fingers dig into your hips as he eases his boxers off you, dipping his head to kiss at your bare thighs. A filthy smirk spreads wide across his lips as he looks up at you. “You’ve eaten. Now it’s my turn,” he promises, and your giggle turns to a moan when his tongue meets your centre.

He devours you like he’s been starved, lapping at your still-soaked cunt in a toe-curling rhythm. A sudden flash of pleasure-pain strikes sharply where his teeth scrape at the tender flesh of your thigh, sucking and biting hard enough to bruise. A quiet moan tumbles from your lips, and you squeeze your thighs around his head to urge him back to your cunt. Obediently, he wraps his lips around your clit, the pressure at your sensitive bundle of nerves making your head spin. “C’mon, princess. You make such pretty sounds, I know you can be louder than that.”

Matty sets a dizzying pace, tongue-fucking you with fervour. Burying your hands in his hair, you shift so you can rest your legs over his shoulders, the new angle letting him drive his tongue even deeper inside you. Heat roils in your belly, winding around your organs, entangling sweetly with your veins. “Fuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips against his face wantonly. “Feels s’good, Daddy,” you moan out, gasping as Matty curls his tongue perfectly inside you, white-hot pleasure buzzing up your spine.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs and tilts his head up to look at you, his lips and chin practically dripping with your slick. He sucks another bruise into your sensitive skin, kissing over the mark apologetically. Your skin is on fire, tension pulling tight in all your limbs at once. “Taste so fucking good,” he moans, kissing softly at your cunt, his laugh ghosting over your skin as you flutter needily in response. “Could spend the rest of my fuckin’ life between these pretty thighs, darling.”

Your head is hazy, barely coherent thoughts drifting in and out, an incomprehensible plea falling from your lips. Matty won’t let you get complacent with a rhythm, switching between broad, flat strokes over your cunt, deep thrusts into you and sucking on your clit so fast it deliriates you. “‘M close,” you whine, tugging hard on his curls as ecstasy builds at the base of your spine. “Wanna cum for you,” you add, a hint of begging in your tone.

“Say please, darling.” The words vibrate gloriously in your cunt, a shock of pleasure rolling over you.

“Please, Daddy, I wanna cum. Need it so bad,” you plead, whimpering when he scrapes his teeth over your clit, fighting to hold your orgasm at bay until he gives you permission.

“Go on, princess. Cum for Daddy, yeah?” The words are all you need, a string of obscenities interspersed with breathless moans of his name tumbling from your lips as pure euphoria overtakes you. Hot pleasure cascades over you, racing down your spine and along every nerve in your body. You writhe against Matty’s mouth, half-convinced you’ve left your body behind, made of pure sensation.

Boneless, you slump backward, sure you could fall asleep on the cool granite of Matty’s kitchen counter. He catches you, steadying, and gathers you back into his arms. “Thank you, Daddy,” you smile up at him, curling into his chest.

The thump of his heartbeat is soothing as he picks you up again. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs fondly. “Now do you want me to take you back to bed?” he adds, grinning teasingly. He carries you back to his room, laying you softly against the pillows and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Just need you awake for a few more minutes, sweetheart. Need to get you cleaned up, then you can sleep, yeah?” He’s so tender, speaking softly and petting your hair for a moment before he fetches a damp cloth. Running it softly over you, he makes soothing sounds at your pained whimpers. “I know, baby, I know. ‘M sorry. Just a little more, okay?”

You’re half-asleep by the time Matty climbs into bed with you, sweeping your hair off the back of your neck and kissing softly at the skin there. An arm drapes over your waist, the pressure warm and soothing. “I wanna be your girl,” you mumble, more than half-asleep, barely conscious of the words as they slip unbidden from your lips. You’re unconscious before you hear his reply.

You’re sore in the morning, momentarily disoriented by the weight of a body in bed with you, before last night comes flooding back and you smile to yourself. “Morning, princess,” Matty murmurs, voice low and sleep-thick in your ear.

“Good morning,” you smile, stretching out your muscles and arching your back. Matty hisses as your ass meets his hips, his hardness pressing against you. “Oh, very good morning, hm?” Turning to face him, you reach down, slipping your hand under his waistband to palm his cock. He twitches under your touch, a sleepy moan falling from his lips as he rolls his hips into your hand. “Wanna suck your cock,” you murmur, his reaction visceral in your palm.

“Such a sweet girl,” he says, sliding his boxers off as you climb over him. You kiss his neck, the hollow of his throat, working your way down his chest. Indulgently, you bite a bruise into his chest, a twin to the ones that litter your thighs. You trace your tongue over the tattoo at his hip, his body shuddering at the sensation. His cock twitches against your lips as you press a kiss to the head, the taste of salt filling your mouth when you lick your lips.

You mouth at him teasingly for a moment, needy whines filling the air above you. Having power over him this time is intoxicating, and you hold his hips down as he tries to thrust into your mouth. “Not so fast,” you grin. “Keep still and hands to yourself, remember?” Matty swears softly as you repeat his words back to him, hands fisting in the sheets.

Teasing him for a few more moments, you kiss at his lower belly, smirking as he trembles under your lips, cock drooling. The moan Matty lets out when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock is obscene, low and keening, and you dip your head to take him in deeper. “That’s it,” he murmurs, threading a hand gently in your hair. “C’mon, sweet girl, just a little further. I know you can take it, angel.” The encouragement sends a shudder through you, liquid pleasure pooling between your thighs.

Obediently, you relax your throat, sinking further until your nose meets his skin. “Good girl,” Matty says. “Good fucking girl, takin’ me so well. So fuckin’ pretty all stretched out around my cock.” Saliva pools under your tongue, dripping helplessly from the corners of your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, thrusting gently into your mouth. “Such a pretty slut, fuckin’ drooling on my cock.”

You pull off him, a string of saliva connecting your skin for a split-second. “‘M your slut, Daddy. Can go harder, if you want,” you say, wrapping your hand around his cock, spit-soaked and dripping, and pump slowly. You lave at him for a moment, licking messy stripes over his cock before taking him all the way in one motion.

Matty groans, bucking his hips. “You want me to fuck your pretty mouth, huh, angel?” His hand tightens in your hair as he thrusts into your mouth, the stretch in the corners of your mouth gorgeous.

“You can do better than that,” you murmur. “Want it hard. I won’t break. Unless you want me to,” you add with a grin, moaning around his cock as you swallow him back down. Finally, gloriously, Matty fucks into your mouth, sets a deep, punishing pace. He pulls you by your hair, the sting in your scalp divine as he uses you; you let yourself slip out of your body, sinking into the warm, fuzzy feeling of being his toy.

“That’s right, baby. Fucking made to take my cock, yeah? Good little girl just wants to be Daddy’s cocksleeve.” The filthy words wash over you, thighs clenching as arousal thrums low in your belly. Wetness pools between your legs and you slip a hand down your body to rub at your clit. The soft spark of pleasure grants you the briefest relief, and you moan around his cock. He’s losing control, the movement of his hips turning sloppy as your throat burns raw. “Fuck,” Matty hisses. “Gonna cum, angel.”

“You wanna cum in my mouth?” He nods, transfixed by your flushed skin and spit-slick lips. “Say please, Daddy.”

He moans, long and low, as you take him back in your mouth, swallowing around him. “C’mon, princess, I wanna cum in that pretty mouth of yours. Fuck, I need it.” He fucks your throat wildly, heat firing through your body, sensation cascading over you. “Please?” The word sounds delicious falling from his lips, sliding sweetly across your brain as you moan around him. With a final groan, he spills in your mouth, a cry of your name tearing from his throat. His cock pulses in your throat, the salt of him filling your mouth as you swallow obediently. “That’s it, take it all. Such a good little cumdump for me, princess.”

You pull off him, sitting back on your heels with a grin. “Did I do good?” you ask, pouting down at him.

You’re only teasing, but when Matty meets your gaze, chest heaving and eyes lidded, and murmurs, “So good, princess.” A gush of heat floods between your sticking thighs. “Where’d my good girl learn to suck cock like that?”

Falling back onto his chest, you give him a wicked smirk. “I told you already, Daddy.” You shift your hips, grinding your soaked cunt against his cock and whining at the soft buzz of pleasure that lights under your skin. “I’m not always a good girl.”

He groans, rolling his hips against yours. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, baby.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to the tattoo in the centre of his chest. “The elderly and their weak hearts,” you scoff, hissing when he pinches the flesh of your ass.

“Oi. Be nice.” Rolling your eyes dramatically, you mime zipping your lips. His fingers wander between your legs, anticipation thrilling under your skin as he finds your clit, the rough pad of his finger scraping against your sensitive nerves. “So wet, princess. Does being my little cocksleeve turn you on, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur. “Feel a bit gross right now, though. I wanna shower first.” Matty grins, a vision of you naked and dripping wet from the shower playing out so clearly on his face that you can practically see it reflected in his eyes.

You hop up on the bathroom counter as Matty runs the shower, rinsing your mouth out with mouthwash and leaning over the sink to spit it out. Matty does the same, then steps between your legs, and you cross them instinctively behind his back. He catches your lips, mint taste mingling in your breaths as you kiss open-mouthed, hot and messy. Distracted, you lose yourself in the kiss, forgetting why you’re in the bathroom at all until the air is thick and cloying with steam.

Matty breaks away from you and helps you to your feet, tugging his shirt up over your head and discarding it to the floor. He can’t resist a greedy handful of your tit, gazing down to where the flesh spills over his fingers. “Pretty girl,” he murmurs, walking you backwards until you’re stepping into the shower.

You pull him under the spray, curls sticking to his forehead as the water soaks him. His hands trail over your body, grasping at your wet flesh as you press yourself needily against him. His cock is hard against your belly, heat pooling in your core as he pulls you in for a wet kiss. Matty grips your thighs, your head spinning as his tongue sweeps your mouth. “Jump up for me, sweet girl,” he says against your lips. “I’ll catch you, don’t worry.” Something in your chest catches as he smiles earnestly down at you, and you force it down before it bubbles out of control and something incriminating slips from your lips.

Obediently, you jump up, your legs tangling around Matty’s waist as he crowds you against the shower tile, his nails biting at your thighs where he holds you in place. You moan against his mouth as you grind your hips down against his stomach, a soft buzz of pleasure growing where your skin meets his. “Daddy, please. Want your cock,” you whine, steam curling around your bodies as you grasp weakly at his wet skin.

He laughs softly against your lips, angling your hips carefully as he lines up his cock. Torturously slow, he lowers you down, pleasure rolling hot under your skin from the point where his hips meet yours. Your cunt throbs, stretched wide around him as Matty moans against your neck. “God, this fucking cunt drives me crazy. Made for this,” he groans as he bottoms out, hips flush under the warm spray of the shower.

“C’mon,” you whimper, clenching your cunt around him and rolling your hips. “Fuck me. I need it,” you beg, scraping your nails down his back.

His cock twitches inside you, the barest flicker of sensation sending a pulse of heat thrumming under your skin. “Needy girl,” he says, clicking his tongue condescendingly.

“Please, Daddy,” you moan, writhing in his arms, the plea on your lips breaking into a whine as he pushes into you agonisingly slow. Your head thuds back against the tile as your eyes slip closed, hot pleasure coiling between your legs as you clench your cunt around him.

Matty groans as he bottoms out, your legs locked around his waist as you pant into his mouth. “God, takin’ me so well, princess. Look so beautiful while I’m fucking you like this, fuck,” he praises, his words sending heat rushing to your cheeks. His head falls to suck and bite at the flesh of your tits, pain blooming into bliss under your skin as he fucks into you slowly.

You moan desperately, scrambling for purchase against his wet skin. “More, harder, please,” you whimper, rocking your hips as arousal pools in your cunt and drips out over him. He laughs darkly, and you shudder slightly, wondering what you’ve let yourself in for.

“Harder, huh?” he murmurs into your neck. “Whatever you want, princess.” It’s the only warning you get before he lifts you and slams you down on his cock, your hips meeting hard as he strikes deep inside you. He fucks you wildly, the slick heat of his body pinning you to the wall as he mouths at your neck, his breath hot on your skin. Incoherent moans fall from your lips, your head hazy and distant, pleasure welling hot under your skin.

His lips come up to cover yours, swallowing your wanton moans greedily, the faint taste of mint on his tongue as he licks into your mouth. “God, such a good girl,” he murmurs. “Wish you could see yourself, baby. Such a pretty little cocksleeve for me.” Arousal drips between your legs, mingling with the water soaking you, your cunt throbbing at his words. “You like that, princess?” he asks with a soft laugh, subtle derision cascading down your spine. “Little slut. Wanna be Daddy’s pretty toy, yeah?”

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. His rhythm doesn’t slow, your grip on sanity slackening with every pulse of heat in your cunt. “‘M yours, Daddy,” you manage to get out around broken moans.

“That’s right, princess.” He’s practically dragging you up and down on him, using you like you really are a toy. “Gonna be a good girl and cum for Daddy, hm?” Your legs tighten around Matty’s waist as one of his hands leaves your hip to play with your clit. The rough scrape of his calloused finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves is too much, and it barely takes another minute before your world shatters.

Your scream echoes off the tile, cunt pulsing as your blood burns with ecstasy. Heat floods every nerve in your body, bone-deep pleasure swelling under your skin, incessant gasps and whines falling from your lips. Matty’s brutal pace never slows, chasing his own pleasure, silencing your whines with his mouth as you squirm against the overstimulation. “‘M almost there, baby. Just a little more, takin’ it so well, princess,” he assures you, rhythm sloppy and faltering as he gets closer. Your name spills from his lips in a groan as he pulses inside you, ropes of cum dripping sticky down your insides.

“Fuck,” you murmur, whining as he pulls out and gingerly setting a leg on the floor, testing whether they can hold your weight. Matty’s hands hover at your waist, ready to catch you if you slip, and you stretch up to press a grateful kiss to his lips.

Matty pulls you fully under the shower, reaching for a bottle of shower gel and soaping his hands. “Feeling good?” he says, cocky smirk playing on his lips.

“Mhmm,” you sigh happily, settling against his chest as he runs his hands slow and tender over your body. In your blissed-out state, you barely notice your next words as they slip from your lips. “Wish it could be like this all the time.”

Matty croons softly, brushing a thumb over your nipple and kneading at your tit. “Wanna be my sweet girl forever, hm? I’d love that, princess,” he murmurs, the fantasy rooting in your mind despite how obscenely ridiculous the idea is — you’ve barely known him a week, for Christ’s sake. Something about him makes you feel safe, though, secure. Like you’ve known him for years — although, maybe not, given the circumstances. A moan slips from your lips when Matty digs his thumbs into your back, working the tension free from under your skin as your eyes slip happily closed. He cleans your cunt gently, smirking at the cum stringing between his fingers and swirling down the drain. “Can I wash your hair?” he offers with a soft smile.

Your chest feels distended, bloated with an affection you know you shouldn’t be feeling as you nod, the scent of his shampoo maddeningly comforting, sickeningly familiar. Matty’s skilled fingers work over your scalp, a quiet kind of bliss rolling over you as you relax into his touch. Stepping out of the shower, your hair scrunched up in an old t-shirt of his that he swore he didn’t care about getting ruined, you can’t hold back a pout when he wraps a towel around his waist. “Hey, no, what do you think you’re doing?” you gasp, suddenly distracted as Matty starts to bring a towel up to his hair. Puzzled, he stares at you blankly as you snatch it from his grip. “Gonna ruin those pretty curls if you keep doing that,” you tut. “Here, sit down. Let me spoil you for a second, okay?” You’ve never felt so cared for by one of your hookups, even by some of your boyfriends, so you seize a chance to return the favour.

Obligingly, he sits on the closed toilet seat, letting you advance on him with a tub of obscenely expensive hair gel. He smiles softly, leaning involuntarily into your touch as you twist his curls around your fingers, defining them neatly and admiring the way they bounce back on themselves. You straddle his lap to scrunch the gel into his hair, batting his hand away when he tries to grab your tit. “Behave,” you chide, laughing and stepping away to take in your handiwork. With his hair loose and framing his face sweetly, he looks younger, more innocent, a far cry from the man calling you a pretty little cocksleeve not even half an hour ago.

“What are you thinkin’ about, darling?” Matty murmurs, searching gaze heavy on your bare skin.

You blink, shaking your head as if to clear it. “Just about how I could really go for that breakfast in bed right now,” you grin, teasing to alleviate the intensity in the air between you.

He huffs a laugh. “Think it might be closer to lunch by now,” he smirks. “How about I do you one better? Let me take you out for lunch, yeah?”

Your jaw hangs open in shock. Of all the ways you were expecting this to end, this wasn’t it. “Like… like a date?” A date means something, means being seen together in public, means being more than just a dirty little secret.

“Yeah, princess. Like a date.” He smiles fondly. “Here, I’ll call you a car. You go home, get changed, and I’ll pick you up in an hour, okay?” Instinctively, you nod, his tone leaving no room for argument even if you’d wanted to. You open your mouth to ask how he knows where you live, the answer coming to you with sudden, shocking clarity. Right. Because he’s your father’s boss.

Well, fuck. That certainly complicates things.

…But it’s not like complicated has ever stopped you before.

#the instalove is instaloving STRONG here loool #why is this longer than my Actual Novel that im writing so far #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 #writing #smut #white and gold

486 notes · View notes

liivzen · 1 month

Text

Waiting and Watching

Gamer!Gojoxreader

18+ mdni

Content warning: porn watching, soft dom! gojo, tw link, riding, breast fondiling, teasing gojo, very slight voyeurism if you squint, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks)

Wc: 1.4k

note: This is edited but I most likely missed stuff still but please enjoy :)

You’re chilling at gojos house while he’s gaming with his friend Suguru, laying on the bed waiting for attention.

You’re just scrolling on your phone going on social media trying to entertain yourself while your oh so lovely boyfriend keeps playing with his friend. Normally you don’t really care and would just keep doing what you normally do, but today you were feeling a little more needy than other days. Glancing over to your lover, you see that he is very much into his game.

“Oh come on Suguru help me out man!” Satoru shouted at the screen and through the headset he was wearing.

You try to drown out the shouting and get back to whatever you had been looking at on your phone. Getting bored of the app you were on you swipe out and go to twitter. Not really thinking much of anything you start scrolling on your timeline. As you’re scrolling you come across a video that is quite…alluring.

Immediately the video had you hot and bothered. You could feel the throbbing coming from your cunt already, and squeezing your legs together to try and calm it down. It clearly wasn’t working though, as you continued to watch the video on your phone. You look over at Satoru again and see that he’s very much into the game he’s playing still. Huffing you think for a second. You look down at yourself real quick, only wearing a t-shirt from satorus closet and some lounge shorts that were more like underwear with how short they were.

Before thinking about it, you felt your hand creep towards the waistband of your shorts. Reaching past it and into your underwear, your fingers start to circle over your clit. You could feel how wet you were already without even touching yourself. Looking back at the video you start to match thrust with your fingers.

You try being quiet by biting your lips, but you let small gasps come out. You could feel yourself coming close to your climax, but then you felt something grab on to your ankle and drag you to the edge of the bed.

While you were under the influence of your own pleasure, you failed to realize Satoru had stopped playing and taken his headphones and saw what you were up to.

“What is my cute little girlfriend up to hmm?” Satoru questioned you with a smirk on his face and reaching for your phone that was still replaying the video over and over again. Before you could answer him he speaks again.

“Oh what do we have here, you like this video baby?” He flips the screen to you and grabs onto your hip so you stay still. You hand was still down in your shorts and you slowly pulled it out while you answered.

“Um, well, you were busy and It was on my timeline so…” You look up at him with a red face and try and wipe your slicked fingers on your shorts. Before you could, Satoru grabs your wrist and your hand towards his mouth. Without any warning he sticks your fingers into his hand and licks your fingers clean of yourself. All you can do it stare up at him with a wide mouth.

“Well why didn’t you say anything baby? I would’ve gotten off if my baby said she was needy.” He tells you after finishing with your hands. He places your phone down on the bed next to you and sits down on the bed. He pulls you on top of him and you spread your legs across him thighs straddling him. You look up to his face and put your hands on his chest steadying yourself. Your boyfriend smirks looking up at your flustered face.

“Why don’t we recreate that lovely video hmm, whatcha think?” He asks with a wide smiling across his face, squeezing your hips in hid hands.

“Ok.” You reply back to him breathlessly.

Before you can think of anything else, you feel his lips crash onto yours. You feel his tongue pushing into yours and you moan into his mouth. You feel Satorus hands creep under his shirt and grab onto your breast, squeezing it with enough force to make you gasp. He takes this opportunity to start kissing down the side of your neck and grabbing onto the waist band of your shorts. Sitting up a bit, you let Satoru slide your shorts and underwear down your legs, leaving you in just his shirt.

“God you’re so pretty.” Satoru mumbles against your lips before pressing his to them. You moan into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and rolling your hips into his. You could feel how painfully hard he was when you crotch met his. His hands found their way to your ass, giving it a nice squeeze while grinding your crotch against his again.

“Take it off.” You say to him breathlessly, wanting him to take his sweats off as well. Satoru smiles down at you chuckling at your neediness.

“Ok ok, calm down.” He replies to you, grabbing the waistband of his sweats and pulling it down enough to free his cock. Once its free you grab onto it and start stroking it slowly. While you’re doing that you feel your boyfriend reach behind you and touches you between your thighs. You gasp from the his touch and clench over nothing. Satorus fingers inch towards your entrance, feeling how wet you are. You moan at the touch of his fingers. Getting too impatient you whine at his teasing touch.

Giving in, Satoru slides two fingers into your cunt. You can feel his long fingers reaching way deeper than yours ever do, making you gasp out. You quickly feel yourself already wanting to come, Satoru could feel it too. Using this though, he quickly removed his fingers and positions you over his cock. Using your hands that were already on him, you maneuver it towards your clenching hold.

You slowly push yourself down onto him inch by inch, Satoru squeezing your waist and helping you. You let out a loud moan squeezing around his cock, Satoru letting out his own groan into your neck. You quickly set a calm but deep pace, bouncing up and down on Satorus cock.

“You’re squeezing me so hard sweetheart.” Satoru mumbles in your neck, kissing and sucking at the skin. You grabbed onto his shoulders to give you balance. You move your hips in small circles, causing the pleasure to feel even better. Satorus hand crept around to your front and under his shirt to find your clit, rubbing small circles into that as well. You throw your head back letting out louder moans, squeezing Satoru even more than before.

You move your hands from his shoulders and pick up his shirt, moving the fabric out of the way. You can feel Satoru matching your hips with his own thrust, taking yourself closer to finishing. Satoru grabs onto your hips stopping you from doing your own movements, going so fast you can’t even say his name. Before you know it you’re throwing your head back and your body is convulsing with pleasure. You feel Satorus thrust stutter, giving one big final thrust before you feel his hot ropes shooting into you.

Coming down from both of your highs, you collapse onto Satorus chest. He drags his hands up your back, rubbing up and down, calming your heartbeat down.

“You have a really cute face when you cum, you know that?” Satoru mumbles into the top of your head. You look up at Satoru and smack his chest with the little energy you still have. He chuckles down at you and kisses your forehead. You enjoy this little moment, basking in each others presence. Moments like these make you love your boyfriend even more. Before you could enjoy the silence more though, the sounds of moans fill the room again.

You look over to the side of the bed and realize your phone was still been playing the video you had been watching. You’re cheeks flush and you push yourself off of Satorus quickly. Grabbing onto your phone, you pause the video and exit out of the app. You look over at Satoru, who is looking over at you with a grin on his face. He quickly stands up and picks you up, you wrap your legs around his waist to not fall.

He brings you over to his desk chair and sits down with you placed in his lap. You cuddle into his chest while he grabs onto his headset and logs back onto his game. You can faintly here suguru on the other end of the line.

“Are the two of you done?” You hear him say.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk satoru #gojo satoru smut #satorugojo #gojo smut #geto suguru #jjk geto #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen manga #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #twitter links

597 notes · View notes

ajortga · 1 month

Text

for i can't help falling in love with you

pairing: vada cavell x fem reader

summary: not only are you new and in almost all of vada's classes, but the more you get to know each other, the more you hang out. she starts to think maybe your friendship is more than what she thought it was, she's feeling something she knows that you shouldn't feel for a friend.

word count: 10.1k+

a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, this is fluffy and sweet, spent way too long on it but nonetheless, not regretful!

based off a request! this is for my vada <3ers

R transfers, V sees her almost all the time and eventually starts falling for R, V then embarrassingly asks R out for dinner! Just plainly puppy love, literally not much but I find these types of tropes sooo comforting, u can change some up a bit!!

It’s loud, bustling, chaotic every single day in the cafeteria.

As soon as the bell rings around the hallways and into the classrooms for lunch break, everyone slams into each other and sprints to the front of the lunch line. Vada even remembers while she walked with Nick some boy tripped in thin air and fell to the floor. She couldn’t help but laugh a little. That was until Nick and her found out he had to get stitches to repair his nose.

She laughed even harder, she couldn’t help it.

Vada slurped her slushy as she kicked her feet, talking with Nick who was drinking an iced latte.

“In a sense, slurpees are better than coffee. You don’t have to immediately shit diarrhea as soon as you plop on the toilet.”

He agrees, rolling his eyes, “Yeah but who would want slushies every day? They stain your mouth.”

“Well would you rather have a temporary colorful tongue that can be seen as cool, or stay in the bathroom while crying for help?”

It seems like as soon as she said it, Nick gagged as he held his stomach.

“You have 30 seconds before you're going to shit your pants,” she states, looking at him up and down. He wasn’t moving.

“Nick, go!” Vada yelled as she choked on a small giggle, watching Nick run to the bathroom holding his pants up to his sides.

As the baggy clothed brunette watched her best friend race to the bathroom, she clicked her tongue and shook her head. Vada slurped on her red slushy.

She was waiting for Nick until she noticed someone with a jacket wrapped around a tank top with her headphones on and book in one hand. You. She’s never seen you before and it was almost certain she’s seen everyone at least once before to know their name. She was bored, so she just watched.

You were folding a gum wrapper into a heart while you followed Mia into the girls restroom. Mia was always the one to give student tours when she could. You must’ve been new. But then you came back out without your jacket, holding it in the other hand as she saw Mia’s slushie spilled all over your jacket. She could almost hear how she was apologizing over and over again and you smiled it off, showing her how it was okay and you could clean up when you got home.

Then she took you back to her friend group, seeing the way your hair went side to side as you walked. Before she could watch you even more, Nick called out her name.

“I just took the biggest shit of my li- what are you looking at?”

She hears him but doesn’t turn his way,still looking a little, “Just someone who I think is new. Mia is giving her a tour.”

Nick said a small “ohhh..” in response, “Well what’s so exciting about that?”

“Mia accidentally spilled the slushie we bought this morning on her jacket by accident.”

“That’s so not cool, she must be cold having to take that off, was she mad?”

“No, she just brushed it off, smiled in a somewhat assuring way, and gave Mia the gum wrapper she folded before Mia took her back to her friend group.”

“Ooh. She’s patient then.”

“Yeah.”

After lunch passed, Vada realized you were in almost all her periods, well only the ones she attended. Sometimes she was late from Amelia hogging the bus. You kept to yourself, gave shy smiles as the teachers introduced you.

But as the next day rose she was back at school again.

Her favorite class was her film class, it was like a free period and she got to touch cameras and watch movies at least twice a week.

She sits in the corner of the room, she likes the way she can look out the window and see the sight of the sky while also seeing her own reflection.

FIlm class is oddly comforting, music always plays before the period begins. She places her phone on top of her desk.

So for the third time that day, she sees you walk through, with your backpack hung over one shoulder and the other with a book. She wants to feel surprised, almost strange how you end up in her class, but instead she almost feels a sense of gratefulness.

She doesn’t want to stare. But her eyes betray her, because in one second her eyes are on you. New students weren’t regular, well in her core classes, sure. But film? Almost never. She watches the way you wait by the teacher’s desk, waiting, unsure, not knowing if you should tap her shoulder or just wait until she notices you. Usually, Vada and Mia would sit together, but sometimes on bad days, they would have to move from talking and laughing too much. So they stuck to sitting diagonally and passing notes in the back of the classroom. Finally, the teacher notices you and the smile she gives you is almost too happy as she rubs your shoulder and stands up.

“Alright everyone,” she quiets down her music, “..usually during film I’d let the music keep rolling, but just for today I’d like you to greet our new student who just transferred here. Her name is Y/N.”

People around the class say awkward hi’s, random waves, some of the girls stare at you and awe, and even some of the well-known guys look at you, eyebrows raised and Vada can almost feel their want for you.

It makes her roll her eyes in disgust.

You do an awkward wave, wanting to shrink into the floor, a smile tugged at your lips.

“Okay sweetheart, there aren’t many options for seating since this class is more compacted than my others. But you can sit next to Vada.” Ms. Valentina points at Vada, “She’s the one in the very back, the open seat behind Mia.”

Your eyes almost light up when you notice Mia’s in your class, giving a small nod and trying to squish into the back.

Mia waves at you, shaking your shoulders to show her excitement as you sit down. Vada can almost smell the sweetness of your shampoo when you sit. It smells like ripe strawberries with the fulfilling scent of roasted marshmallows. She wants to sniff your hair, but you’re already pulling out your notebook from your backpack.

“Hey girl!” Mia whispers, turning around to face you as you smile.

“Hey slurpee stainer,” you joke, your voice is soft, airy, melodic. Not like anything Vada’s ever heard. Sure she’s heard many voices, but yours sounded like a lullaby to shush a baby to sleep if you wanted to.

Mia giggles, slapping your arm, “I said I’m sorryyyy. I’d say I’d take you shopping on the weekends! Don’t use that against me,” she scolds, and that makes you laugh, you cup your mouth to contain the giggles and Vada can hear an adorable squeak come out from it.

“I know, don’t be sorry, I was just joking, I’ll just wash it when I get home,” you whisper.

Before you two could talk again the teacher spoke, “Okay guys, it was a long day yesterday and I was planning on printing out some papers for assignments two days prior, but our school printer broke and the ink on mine is hanging on for dear life.” She pauses, everyone didn’t know where she was going with this, “So I’m just going to roll a movie, you guys can choose but I really don’t have much. You can talk, keep it low and hey, if you’re sitting around Y/N, lighten up the mood and get to know her.”

There were random okays and suggestions. As Ms. Valentina kept reading aloud the names, it was almost certain that Shrek was going to be chosen. For the third time this month. Until she spoke out a new suggestion, and everyone chose La La Land instead.

As she played the movie off the projector, Mia scooted to you.

“Okay, so no pressure, buttt my dad's gone today and I know you said you didn’t have homework. If you don’t want to, it's completely understandable, but me and Vada,” she gestures to the brunette sitting next to you, with her hands clasped together and looking at you with interest, “We sometimes go on pool runs or just drive to the nearest seven eleven. Honestly, it’s whatever. But if you wanna hang, I can give you a ride back home, let you drop off your stuff, and we can get to know each other more at mine. What are you thinking?”

Your lips tug into a thoughtful grin, telling Mia she doesn’t have to because she accidentally spilled her drink on you. But Vada kept staring at you. The blonde glanced at her, she saw her basically staring at your side profile, then back at you before giving her a light leg nudge that you didn’t notice.

“No no! Don’t feel pressured, just know that” Mia breathes and pats your forearm reassuringly, “..that I think we should hang out more, kay? You don’t know how many people don’t get mad when someone spills something on them. At least you’re someone who's patient as hell.” She makes you laugh as you think again.

“Okay, I’d love that,” you respond, simply.

“Then it’s set! Just meet us at that broccoli lookin’ tree, kay?”

As soon as the bell roars and everyone starts opening the gates like it’s the ones they’ll see in heaven, you squish into the crowd of people and look for this broccoli looking tree Mia was referring to. It didn’t take you long.

The only broccoli looking tree was the only tree that was stranded from all the poofy and leafy looking trees, and you could see her with the other brunette that you sat next to in class. You think her name was Vada. You didn’t want to ask, if you did and Vada wasn’t her name, you might as well crawl into a hole.

Mia immediately greets you.

Vada kicks at dirt beneath her, smiling a little foolishly, she realizes when she thinks how silly she might look to you. Her silly smile slightly fades to a more soft one to try and not seem weird. Instead you feel like she might feel uncomfortable with you, maybe she’s closed to people she meets at first. You hope that it doesn’t stay that way

“Get in!” The blonde smiles, and you swerve into the backseat as you drive off to the nearest seven eleven.

Mia’s car smells like flowers, you almost feel a little carsick from the leather and floral scent mixed together. You smell something else though, sweet plum and fluffy musk. You think it’s Vada, you can almost smell her shampoo from here.

It’s a little quiet, Mia talks to Vada, you try not to disrupt so you pretend you're looking at the window staring at literally nothing. It’s like the blue-eyed girl can see the way you try to keep to yourself and don’t want to be involved when you don’t think you should. So she bumps the music up.

Vada wants to talk to you. She can feel this urge for her heart to make her mouth open and speak. But for some reason she feels nervous. It’s weird, she’s usually open and starts off with teasing. Why can’t she speak now? Maybe it’s because.. Vada doesn’t even have a reason to know, she just doesn’t know.

“Dude, how is there traffic already to go to a fucking seven-eleven? We literally just left school.” Mia murmurs, tapping her shoes to the music.

Vada turns around, to look at the cars behind her, maybe to check how many are behind her.

That’s what Mia thought, but Vada wondered what you were doing. She's never met someone that tries to be considerate, to be polite and not wanting to interrupt anyone at any time

She notices the way you take the opportunity of the slightly opened window to take a breath of fresh air and let that small crack to let the small breeze blow through your hair. She sees the way you twirl your necklace up and down, side to side, then spin it around your fingers. She notices how you don’t notice her, so you don’t look at her, you look at the sky, the small baby cows, the cars.

It’s like a pencil is engraving into her mind to write all the details she sees. But she doesn’t know why.

Your figure slightly leans into the window, closing your eyes to rest. Maybe you’re thinking about Mia and what a good friend she is. Maybe you’re thinking about wanting to get to know her, Vada. Maybe you’re thinking of how long it’ll take for you to blend in into this place. Maybe you’re thinking how your place didn’t have many cows everywhere. Maybe you lived in the snowy mountains, or the coastal shorelines where you could take a dip in cool water every summer morning.

She sees your eyes flutter as the car slowly stops. Her body tenses and turns back to the front, you’re already at seven-eleven.

“It’s honestly kind of warm outside, I can turn on the AC on this thing if you don’t wanna go,” Mia says, finally turning around to look at you rubbing your eyes.

“No, no, it’s ‘kay, I’ll come, gotta exercise these legs anyway.” You say, opening her door and following suite with Mia and Vada. The small concreted rocks crunching beneath your shoes.

Mia obviously wants to check out the candy section, but Vada wants another slushy.

“Hold up, I think they have the candy they didn’t have when I checked the other time. Vadaaa you can just roam with Y/N. I’m not sure if you guys had seven-eleven where you lived.” She peeks into the candy section and with a spin of a corner she’s gone.

Vada stands there, awkwardly. She feels like if anything, you should be the one standing there like that. You stand there, looking at the slushies. Cola, blue raspberry, cherry, mountain dew, honestly you didn’t know if you should get one.

“Do you want to get one?” Vada asks, the first time you really heard her speak.

Your ears perk, turning to face her, “I’m not really a slushy person,” you speak softly, “I’m a little thirsty though.”

Vada smiles at that, “I like the cherry flavor and blue raspberry, but you gotta swirl it a certain way for it to taste the way I really like it, y’know?” She speaks, you nod, noticing her baggy basketball shorts and oversized shirt.

She walks closer, she can smell the same sweetness of your scent. Strawberries and roasted marshmallows. Your scent is oddly comforting, a scent where anyone would hug you longer and never let you go to smell it forever.

She stops before you can process anything, slightly backing away and focusing on the slushy dispenser.

“Okay. So like, I know you’re probably not supposed to do this but I just put my index and middle finger under the dispenser and,” she stops, looking at you, “make sure you wash your hands though,” she laughs. “But if you don’t know what flavor, just lick it off your fingers.”

Vada can almost sense you suppressing your laughter, “Seriously! I don’t give two shits about those security cameras. Honestly we go here so often we could get a free slushy and not pay.” She places her fingers under the dispenser of the cherry blast and presses the button, stopping it and licking it off her fingers.

It’s like she’s teaching you. She likes the way you’re interested and really looks like you want to learn.

“Do you want to try?” The slightly shorter brunette asks, her voice trying not to seem pressuring at all.

You think, looking at her fingers as she wipes it with a random brown napkin and throwing it away in the trash, “Okay,” your smooth voice responds before approaching beside her.

You use your index finger and place it under the blue raspberry one.

“This one?” Vada questions, when you nod she presses softly on the dispense button.

Your giggle from the icy cold makes her feel like the happiness she feels when she makes a small child laugh.

Vada turns to look at you and smiles, taking off her hand off the dispense button and watching you lick your fingers. (they were clean I promise)

“I like this one,” you say, making a small eye contact glance with her.

“Do you want it? I can pay.”

“It’s okay, I’ll see what’s at Mia’s home, I seriously don’t think I can finish the small one alone!”

Vada gets to know you more the more Mia invites you. She notices the way you open up, instead of trying to politely look out the window so you don’t disrupt conversations that you aren’t sure what their about, the car is lively,

Loud.

The music is always turned down now, giggles are filled, sometimes there are jokes about classes, teachers, people, the past.

Sometimes there are questions, family, hobbies.

Vada learns you have two siblings, a much younger and much older one, older brother, younger sister.

You like to read and write, play the guitar, bake, you love going on sunsetty and late night drives, it makes her interested in that part.

When you told her, a part of her wanted to tell you, ‘I like late night drives too.’ Maybe she’ll drive you around the freeway on a summer weekend in the future.

She likes the way you include her, how you always include people to make sure they never feel lonely.

She begins to notice the way your smiles aren’t shy anymore, they’re genuine. She can feel the way you’re opening up to her, from the way you look at her in a way she doesn’t remember. You look at her like she feels like she’s the only girl you’re looking at. She sees how your eyes soften in your irises the more you listen to her speak.

Vada never thought she’d experience jealousy for the first time in her life.

Sure she’s felt it before, when her fists clench when she had gotten second place when she was younger. It was like an ember. But this time, it was much stronger.

It was during some school event her high school came up with, couples day or what not.

You sat next to Vada and Nick during lunch, Mia with her friend group usually at this time. You were huddled up to Vada, munching on some chips with your hair up.

“Omph, I think jazz is better than rock honestly,” you say, muffled with chips in your mouth.

“Mmm, reasonable.”

After taking a long refreshing sip of water, you and Vada stand up.

“Nick, me and Y/N are gonna meet up Mia in the hallway, ‘kay? See you weirdo,” Vada walks along with you as you two laugh with each other over random gossip.

As you see Mia in the distance, wanting to wave her over, your friend Liam grabs you by the waist, his hands gentle, flowers in his hand.

You almost jump. You met Liam around the first week of school, he was sweet, gentle-man like. He offered to study with you in the library after school.

“Y/N, hey,” he says, his voice like syrup. Too sweet for your liking, “Sorry for pulling you away. I just wanted to tell you something.”

You saw how Vada stood on the side, awkwardly, not to mention how she was glaring at Liam.

You turn back to the curled hair blonde in front of you, “That’s ‘kay, what is it?”

Liam hands you the flowers he was holding, leaving you, almost confused, your face heating up.

“Look, I know I didn’t know you for long, but you’re sweet, you know? No one ever has to talk bad about you and to be in this school as a person like that is rare. I kind of, you know, like you. You’re pretty, really smart, and have a personality of gold. I know you don’t really like me, but I’d like to know what you think.”

You stare at the flowers held in your hands, your hands feel clammy.

“Liam.. This is really sweet. I appreciate.. You know, you thinking of me in that silver lighting. It honestly, in a sense, makes me feel proud. Thanks. I, I think I need some time, I never thought of you as the kind of person I’d be in a relationship with. But maybe with time if we get to know each other.. You know.. Gosh I’m sorry.” Your voice trails off, a tight smile on your lips, seeing the way Liam nodded immediately in understanding. You felt bad. Rejecting the sweetest boy you ever knew in this school, you just never saw him as something more than a brother.

“Don’t be sorry Y/N, that’s okay, I know what you mean, I just wanted to tell you before it got out of hand, but hey, now that I told you, as long as we stay friends that’s okay. That won’t change any friendship right?”

“I promise,” you assure, smiling a little.

Liam nods again, flowers in your hand as he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and leans in to kiss your forehead.

He then walks away and you look down at the flowers in hand.

“Okay, that was cheesy as hell,” Vada says, her voice almost annoyed, maybe from waiting to see Liam’s monologue.

“I didn’t even know he felt that way about me.”

Vada rolls her eyes, “Of course you don’t,” you can’t help but feel almost hurt from her words. It’s like she was calling you oblivious, ignorant.

“Why would he even give you flowers? Gosh, he’s going wild for you, you barely even know him. He’s doing too much for someone like you right now,” she scoffed, slightly, not knowing why someone that you haven’t known for a while would give you flowers so early when you didn’t know him that well. But she worded it so wrongly.

Offended, almost wounded, insulted. Did Vada really think you were the kind of person no one would like? Did one of your closest friends find you in a sense, unlovable?

Vada saw the way your figure tensed, your eyes narrowing, before looking like they were about to cry.

Shit.

God she’s never seen you cry before. Vada felt her heart almost shatter, seeing the way your eyes were beginning to fill with tears. She didn’t mean it in a rude way, god now that she thinks about it, that’s one of the rudest things she could say.

She didn’t mean it, Vada doesn’t even know why she said it, maybe she just didn’t think Liam was right for you.

She felt jealousy, and she could feel it herself. Maybe she wanted a sweet guy too.

Or maybe she just wanted you.

“God Y/N, I didn’t mean-” Vada reaches her hand to your shoulder and immediately you shrug it off.

“You don’t think that I’m lovable enough to truly be loved, is that what it is Vada?” You say, your eyes sharp, “You don’t think I’m capable of deserve someone like Liam? How do you even see me?” You murmur, looking obviously, something Vada never wanted in the first place, in disbelief to even feel a tear slip down to your cheek.

“No, I swear I just-”

The bell had rang, and before she could try to apologize, and run after you, you squeezed into the crowd of people, heading for the class Vada knew was the only one you didn’t have with her.

Mia watched from a distance, seeing how tears poured from your eyes as you pushed through the crowds of people.

It’s tense, sort of, when Mia drives to her house.

You’re not talking to Vada, headphones are in, basically screaming that you’re closed off right now. Vada wants to talk to you, but she doesn’t know how to apologize for something she didn’t mean.

You look at the window outside and she feels like this might’ve gone back to stage one, it might take weeks for you to open up again.

But yet again, you’re Y/N, she knows you too well to know that you would never try to ignore her for that long.

Mia has to turn up the music again, something that hasn’t really happened for almost a few months, making small talk with Vada.

When you get to her house, Vada holds the door for you, you don’t look at her, just mumble a small, “thanks.”

“Shoot, sorry guys, if you guys are okay with staying here for half an hour or so, that’d be great. I completely forgot I had to stay after school and drop off one of my friends,” Mia immediately slaps her face, grabbing her bag for dance as she looks back, “Fridge is open if you guys want snacks, remote is in the cabinet under the couch, and all those joints ‘n stuff are in the back. K, love you, see ya,” Mia says, blowing a funny air kiss before shutting the door.

Now it’s awkward, out of all days of course Mia has a practice.

It’s quiet, your headphones are hung around your neck, kicking your feet against the carpet uncomfortably, you don’t know if you want to speak.

“Please, can you talk to me?” Vada pleads, making you almost flinch.

“I’m sorry for what I said today, I swear I didn’t mean it in a mean way towards you. I hope you know me well enough to know I would never mean it, okay? I was just getting a little upset over the fact guys would try asking girls out when they don’t know them that much, you know?.. Um.. Yeah. I guess I got a little overprotective. So I’m sorry. I hate when we don’t talk, it makes me feel like you hate me and stuff.”

You look at her, tugging your bottom lip between your lips, then you breathe, “I don’t hate you Vads. I promise. I just got a little taken aback and I honestly felt a little hurt from your words, especially since I knew you weren’t the kind of person to say those things in a mean manner. I forgive you. I really care about you, it was just weird today. I already felt bad rejecting a sweet boy I met and I wasn’t expecting to have my feelings hurt about it, I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I swear I didn’t, I just didn’t think Liam should’ve asked you so early, I didn’t even think you gave any signs.”

You giggle, making Vada’s shoulders relax from your icy facade beginning to melt, “You sound jealous.”

“Oh, nuh-uh.”

“Mm..” You mutter, not believing her, and making her groan.

Vada quickly changes the topic, realizing how red her face was.

“Do you wanna.. Um, go outside? Take a breather for a bit.”

“Okay.”

As you two close the sliding door, Vada sits down next to you, the silence is now comfortable. Her eyes begin to linger on the pack of cigars in front of her.

“I know you’re not the kind to smoke, but do you wanna share a blunt with me?” Vada asks, softly, it’s a question that you know if you say no, she’ll completely get it.

You hesitate, you never smoked before, let alone want to. But you look at Vada’s eyes and your head nods yes.

“Okay.”

You can see the excitement on her face, she makes a small squeal as she begins to roll the blunt, lighting it up with a lighter, you see her brush off some of the dust.

She places her lips on the cigarette, inhaling softly, before exhaling the smoke and a plethora of smoky fog wafts around you.

Her soft eyebrows raise, her eyes flicking to the blunt and your eyes, offering it to you.

Vada hears you breathe, she can almost feel your breath on her face as you look at the cigarette.

“A little help here?” You ask, voice tiny, shy.

“Okay baby,” Vada jokes, seeing the way your lips try not to smile, but fail miserably.

Vada scoots closer to you, so you two are huddled up and she takes your hand, “Okay, you always spin your led pencil in class, just hold the blunt similarly.” She feels the warmth of your hand and it makes her breath hitch. She puts the blunt between your index and middle finger, in which you make sure to hold with grip. Vada taps on your thumb, “Up,” her voice instructs, in which you support your thumb to hold it.

“Hey, now you got it!” she pats your shoulder, like a ‘yay’

She leans closer to you, your face is mere inches apart as she gently places the end of the cigarette in your mouth. Immediately the smoke fills your senses and you look at Vada, she coaxes you, “Inhale, not too much.” You inhale, wait for a moment, then exhale.

“There you go, you’re making me feel like a teacher Y/N,” she clicks her tongue.

She sees the way you exhale through your mouth, and the smoke fades in front of her face, you take another hit, this time you’re full on staring at Vada, with your doe eyes deep into hers.

The smoke wafts around her again, and when you pass it to her, you lean into her. Hearing how her breath hitches, your body pressed against her.

It goes like that for a while, puff, puff, pass. Where Vada offers the blunt to you, but instead of taking it with your finger, your lips part and your teeth nibble on the cigarette for a moment.

It’s like a game. She doesn’t know if it’s the humor you’ve grown, or the teasing. The teasing. But the way you make eye contact with her while your lips capture the blunt you two have shared makes her stomach stir.

While you smoke and you feel the ease of tranquility wash over your senses, Vada grabs some munchies, cookies, some donuts Mia bought the other day, and some potato chips.

She can’t see you. But she knows you’re staring at her, she can feel the way she senses she’s being watched.

You’re there, staring at her, looking down at her baggy clothing, then looking back up while she puts down the snacks. Your cheeks are flushed, you hear the way the music on your phone is beginning to fade, because you’re here, staring at her.

You think you may have taken too many hits, it’s a different kind of high. You just want to take the potato chips and grow wings. Fly away from this place and go to Italy.

Vada notices, you look spaced out, but you’re staring at her. Not as captivated as you were once before, so she nudges you and you immediately look back up at her. She’s high, she sees a glint in your mesmerizing eyes. A glint that makes her want to pull you closer.

“I feel high,” you state, you don’t notice how you sound till your speech is slurred.

“I think we’ve caught on to that,” Vada laughs, with a roll of her eyes as you snack on potato chips.

“I feel like you're prettyyy Vadss.. Pretty dope and badass,” you say, your fingers showing a peace sign and Vada busts out laughing.

“You have some nasty high that makes you use my kind of slang huh Y/N?”

You’re staring again, except the only difference now is she can tell what kind of stare it is. And this time it makes her feel weird, she can’t put her finger on it.

“Oh yeah, uh huh, yeppers,” you murmur, munching on potato chips and throwing it across the outside couch you sat on, “Can we have a cheese pizza instead with tickling my pickling pickle?..”

Flying. You feel like you’re flying, breathing out and in that smoke. Vada feels like she should be laughing but by the time she feels that she already is.

The cigarette in your hand gets twisted and her footsteps on it, cracking it.

“Think that’s enough for today Y/N, you’re not speaking from the heart.”

“Pickles?”

“No.”

“Dill.”

“No pickles!”

“Yes pickl-No!!!-okay..”

Finally, Vada drags you inside Mia’s house, carrying you to the couch and tossing you on it.

“WeeeEeeEEeEEE,” you’re acting silly. Vada has never seen this care-free, childish side in you.

“I think you’re gonna need to sleep this high off sleeping beauty.”

“I can’t sleeeeeep.”

“Well you need to sleep,” Vada forces, authority lacing her voice. You make a grumble.

“Okay fine,” the small cushion on the couch shifts from you moving around so much. Vada watches you in the corner of your eye, finding it a little cute the way you are right now.

She was going to buy some dill pickles while you closed your eyes, but you seemed like you couldn’t, making Vada sigh and approach you.

“Scooch,” her voice rings in your ears, rubbing your hair softly as you make a tired, grumpy sound and scoot a little, your body wrapped into a marshmallowy blanket.

She doesn’t think she would do this, but if she can make you shut up a little bit, and feel your warmth, maybe it’ll be okay. The shorter brunette feels the way you curl into her body and melt like putty. She doesn’t think much of it, what you two are sharing right now.

Vada feels fond, to let you feel safe in her arms, is something she will always cherish.

Her voice hushes you, pressing her lips to your forehead, while you murmur about pickles. The whispers begin to die down, like the ending of a symphony. She cuddles you, you nudge your nose into her chest, “Don’t go Vads..” your voice is barely heard, but she can hear it, “Stay.”

“It’s okay Y/N, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky,” her pinky raises up and interlocks with yours.

“Okay.”

“Now sleep angel,” her voice is teasing, but part of it she feels like you’ve grown on her, this childish side that she finds sweet.

You don’t respond, of course you don’t, because as soon as she looks down at you asleep on her chest. And by the time she can even process, Vada is asleep with you.

Mia comes home seeing you two sleep together, taking 5 photos and even having the time to take 2 polaroid pictures of you two wrapped into each other.

“Those two are going to be together soon.”

It’s the fourth time you’ve watched Shrek in film class. 4 damn times for 2 months.

Vada is starting to tick, you giggle at it. But she finds Shrek so iconic, she can’t bring herself to hate it. Well for now.

“I fucking feel like I can actually memorize each line by now,” she mutters, it makes you and Mia laugh even harder.

“Why doesn’t Ms. Valentina choose the movies after that? It’s always just Shrek 1.”

Vada doesn’t even know by now.

The lights turn off, the only sunshine you can see is from the warmth of the sun that creeps into the blinds. The best part of having film in this period is that she always has it first on Fridays. Which means when the light switches turn off, it’s the queue where everyone pushes the desks and gets comfy, the desks stay on the side for the rest of the day.

After grunts and small clatter of water bottles falling down from people pushing the desks, everyone crawls to their spot in their own little friend group they have.

Vada already has the couch in the back of the classroom reserved, she doesn’t give no shits, if she’ll fight for it she will.

You find it a little funny, since you remember how people stopped trying to fight, she’s persistent.

She pats the seat next to her and you sit next to her. Mia sits next to you.

And for the rest of the period you three gossip, curl into each other, and chatter.

Once again, at the end of the school day, you, Vada, and Mia are laying together on the couch with several blankets and stuffed animals stacked on top of each other.

“Pass the popcorn please,” you nudge Mia, who’s holding the large popcorn box filled with buttery popcorn (that she kept when she ordered a jumbo sized popcorn box from the movies, that cost 10 damn dollars.) Mia passes it to Vada, which munches on a handful, then hands it to you. Of course with you ending up with some popcorn thrown into your hair.

You happy snack on the popcorn, munching and crunching. Vada and your hands dig into the bottom with the richer buttered popcorn. The brunette’s cheeks feel warm from feeling your hand. Maybe from the blanket. Maybe from the heat of the popcorn. Or maybe something else.

Mia regrets asking Vada for a movie recommendation. As soon as she sees Vada search up ‘Sh’ on the search bar, she groans, seeing how Vada clicked Shrek.

For the second, fucking, time, today.

As the movie begins to roll, the blonde whispers, “If I have children, I’m never gonna let them watch this. It’s been playing way more than enough and I am not risking having to play it every morning when I’m older.”

Vada snorts, “I’m going to tell your children that it’s a great movie, so great that they’ll play it morning and night.”

It goes like that for the next 30 minutes, you two are snug, with a fluffy weighted blanket draped over the three of you as the movie continues.

As the forty five minute mark surpasses, Vada is distracted in the movie. She’s seen it 4 times, yet she’s still watching it. She feels a faint pressure press against her shoulder, she brushes it off, she knows that it’s her brain signaling her to stop watching the movie.

She doesn’t.

But as the minutes pass, the pressure stays, if not stronger.

She feels curious, turning her head away from the projector to find you asleep peacefully on her shoulder. Vada’s eyes soften at the sight of your lips parted, gentle breaths blowing on her neck from your lips and the white of the blanket covering your chin. You’re asleep, and it brings her back to you two asleep on each other the other day. But this time it feels different. You two aren’t high.

You were curled up to her, with your legs tucked and faced to the edge of the couch. She’s seen you asleep before, when you were so tired one hung out that Mia lent you your room. Vada only peeked inside to see you asleep and still like a rock. You aren’t the kind to fall asleep easily, let alone snore. But Vada could hear a soft snore fall from your lips.

Vada can’t help it, but she feels a grin trying to form on her face, as you curl up to her, she tucks a hand around your waist to pull you closer. Now your hair is draped all over her shoulders, she sniffs it, nudging her nose to your hair. Your shampoo smells again like strawberries.

Except this time it smells more intoxicating.

It smells so lightly sweet. But it makes her feel dizzy, her nose to the top of your head, relying on your scent to comfort her.

You shift lightly, a soft murmur being made as your eyes slightly twitch, but fall asleep just as fast when she takes a strand of hair in her fingertips and curls it.

As you're asleep and Vada is focused on you, Mia mumbles against her, quiet enough to not wake you. The TV was already loud enough, plus you were all the way in the corner.

“You like Y/N,” she says, and it wasn’t an opinion, it was a rhetorical statement.

Vada slows down with her fingers curling in your hair, turning to face Mia.

She feels a stutter get caught into her throat, “Uh, w-wait what?”

“You like Y/N,” she says again, her blue eyes looking at Vada, searching for an answer. An answer she already knew, she just needed to hear it from her.

“N-no, what? Mia, what makes you think that?”

It sounds stupid to the blonde, a small laugh coming from her, she speaks quieter so you can’t hear her, although you’re knocked off asleep.

“Well, to start off, since she stepped into our film class for the first day, you couldn’t stop staring at her Vads. And when I invited her so we could get to know her better, I’ve never seen you so quiet with someone until you met her. You’re always so open to meeting new people. At first, I thought you were nervous,” Mia laughs, finding it almost unbelievable when she says it out loud, “and never thought the Vada Cavell would be nervous to meet new people. But you look at her like the missing puzzle piece you’ve taken years to find. You look at her like she’s given you the light to your universe.”

Vada wants to roll her eyes, tell Mia how insane she is, she wants to throw her hands in the air. But she doesn’t want to, she doesn’t want to wake you up, she just wants to press her lips to your forehead and tell you that everything is okay when you wake up.

But it all comes down at her at once. She can’t believe it herself. Well she knew she felt something. The the way she sees things now. Where she’d walk into a library filled with books and think, “Y/N would love it here.” Or when she’d smell the aroma in the air when Amelia and her mother would bake cookies together, and can’t help, but think about you.

Mia herself has a guitar, and when there are days when you can’t make it, Vada spends two hours as her best friend talks to her to practice. So maybe one day, when she sees you pull out her guitar, she’ll say, “I can play it too.”

And when your pretty eyes already reveal the yearn you feel to hear her play, she’ll play all the songs that she’s practiced while she eagers you to cuddle up to her. Then you’ll realize they are all your favorite songs. Because Vada spent every two hours when you’re not there to practice for you.

She hears Mia keep speaking, “You bring her up every time you can, okay? You’re reminded of her everywhere you go, and I’ve never seen you or her look at someone the way you do with each other. Remember that day you two first met? The whole car rode to seven eleven, you were staring at her staring at the window.”

“You’re falling for her day by day Vada,” Mia says, and the brunette can see the way Mia begins to smile, “You just don’t notice it until you realize how much she means to you. You used to refuse to take the extra guitar I had, but when you saw the way she played riffs, you took it and played songs that you knew one day you would want to play for her.”

Mia pauses, then speaks again, “You should’ve seen how shattered she was when you grew over protective of her and said some things that came out wrong. You didn’t see the way as soon as she left for 5th period she was going to cry. Come on, and you two fucking fell asleep with each other. It’s like I’m reading the slowest burn wattpad book in reality.”

The shorter girl is still stroking through your hair, as you’re asleep with soft snores coming out of your mouth every once in a while, still trying to process something she knew was true for a long time.

Vada doesn’t want to admit it, but she exhales a breath she didn’t know she was holding, “I don’t know. I just feel really fond of her I guess. She’s grown really special to me and I think she’s someone I never knew I needed in my life. She’s there to you know, listen. Or be open to whatever..” Vada plays with the string of her oversized shorts while letting you nuzzle to her neck. “I guess she’s more important to me than I thought.”

Mia silently squeals, nudging Vada’s shoulder, “You can’t not convince me she likes you too, okay? Now you better fucking confess or I’m going to do a backflip and crack your neck open.”

Vada hasn’t felt nervous since she met you, but today she was nervous nervous. She bought sky blue, pink, ivory, and sweet apple tulips.

It feels so cheesy, but she’s fucking here for it.

She prepares a basket with everything she knows about you, lego flowers, a cow stuffy with some random coquette bow attached to it, (that she may have not asked your older brother what animal you liked.) As soon as she shopped, the cute little cow with the laced bow wrapped around it was calling for her.

She fills the basket with kisses, tears off the most beautiful, raw pieces of poetry, she read and thought of you. She tears the extra copies of the songs she played on the guitar because of you, and adds it as scraps.

And of course, she adds small fairy lights, then attaches all the photos she has with you. She has never been more thankful for Mia always taking 2 polaroids whenever you take one together, so she can keep one and add it to her memory book.

She’s anxious, picking at her fingers, it’s like when she first experienced the shooting. Except this is a hundred times worse.

Mia drops her off Saturday morning, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “The worst she can say is no,” and by the way Vada clenches the basket she has for you, Mia quickly adds, “Which is a .00001% chance. Trust me, I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

Vada rolls her eyes, clearly not helping easing her anxiety as she closes the door and approaches your door, knocking softly.

When it’s open, she’s greeted with the sight of a newly awoken you, looking sleepy, but she thinks it makes you even cuter.

You’re wearing the plaid pants she lent you, she remembers you couldn’t stop wearing it because it was so comfy. She let you have her extra fourth pair. She found it funny whenever she saw you waddling around in her oversized clothes.

“Mhh..” You keep rubbing your eyes, a yawn escaping out of you, “Vads it’s 8AM on a Saturday morning, what’s going o-” you finally open your eyes to have a nervous fidgety Vada with tulips, some Valentine's day throwup basket and a heart shaped balloon.

Vada takes a deep breath before pushing the tulips towards your way, “Okay, Y/N, I don’t know what to say. But I wanted to tell you for a while now. I notice the way I bring you up everyday, or how long my gaze lingers when you’re in the same room as me. Or how I find a way to bring our friendship up every second I can. I’ve grown the motivation to do the hobbies I’ve seen you once do. And.. I’m not the person to.. Get nervous when I meet people for the first time. But, you’ve been someone who I feel protective over, and you’re special to me in a way where you’re someone I didn’t ever think I needed in my life. But meeting you has really made you be the highlight of my day. I didn’t think it was possible to feel butterflies, let alone these fluttering sparks when you’re near. Or to realize the feelings I felt when Liam gave you flowers and wanted to ask you out was jealousy. It just feels right to have you with me, here. You’ve really distracted me from all the things I’ve found stressful, and no one has ever been able to do that. I didn’t even think it was possible. I-I don’t even know how, but it was like some invisible string tied us when I met you, but I’m so thankful you’re in my life. And it’s so weird to say this now..”

Vada pauses, catching her breath and trying not to make eye contact with you, but she can see your cheeks getting rosy. Your hands are full with her flowers. You certainly don’t look awkward like you once did with Liam. More like, overly shy now. You’re blushing. And this time your hands don’t feel clammy. This time, you’re so desperate to feel her hands on your waist and have your hands tucked around her to hug her.

Vada gulps and blurts out almost too quickly to comprehend, “But I like you. Will you go out for dinner with me this Friday night? I get if you don’t feel the same, and I just want you to know I don’t want our friendship to be ruined at all but-”

“Vada, I’d love to go out with you.” You interrupt, wanting her to shut up and kiss you. To do all the sweet things you thought of when you smoked with her, to fly with her and carry her home.

“R-really? You’re not just saying that?”

“No. I think.. I don’t know, I think we’ve grown really really close, in a way where I never had someone that I could rely on so much. I really didn’t think meeting you could, you know, make my day a hundred times better, and I always felt confused with my feelings, you know? In a way where I feel like friends shouldn’t feel the sweet way I think about you?”

“Yeah..” Vada murmurs, “Yeah,” she says, more understanding.

She turns to you, you look like spring. The season, with your hands filled with flowers, your hair perfectly ruffled and your hair curling in your ends. Vada speaks again, “Do you want to give us a try? You know, I just don’t ever want us to not be friends one day because we didn’t work out.”

“Please,” you whisper, and when you say that she immediately pulls you in for a hug.

This hug is just as comforting as all the other ones she’s given you in the past. But now, the thought of this hug being something more isn’t there anymore. Because it is something more. It makes you bury your nose into her chest.

Mia smiles in the distance, snapping a photo of you two hugging, “Those two love birds, I called it.”

Friday night

Here you are, in a black dress you remember you fell in love with when you went shopping. It was a simple dress where your shoulders were exposed, a laced neck and you put on some hoops.

The dress was not too short, but it stopped a little before your knees.

And of course, a string tying the prettiest bow on the back of your waist, you didn’t want to admit it, but you felt pretty when you looked at the mirror.

Your mother dropped you off outside of the restaurant Vada reserved.

She kisses your cheek goodbye, winking for good luck as you wave and watch her go. Now you kind of regret not bringing a jacket. You should’ve brought the leather one you were thinking about at the last minute, and decided not to.

Your headphones are plugged in, you’re 15 minutes early, and as the minutes tick, you feel colder from the sun beginning to set.

Cologne by beabadoobee is playing, you ruffle your curled hair, till you feel the music abruptly stop and your headphones being wrapped around your neck.

You can hear Vada’s voice, ruffling your hair, “Hi,” she says, not more awkward than you feel right now. You feel her gaze linger on your figure, and suddenly you feel hot, the cold you felt 5 minutes ago was completely gone.

She rubs your shoulders, and you can tell what you’re wearing just made her fall much more for you.

What she’s wearing is not Vada. Not her basketball shorts and oversized tees. This is Vada, in all black with the lightest makeup, you can still see the freckles you love. Her hair is half up half down, and you brush her bangs to the side.

“Vads,” you breathe, and the way you call her that makes her heart pound ferociously, “You look pretty.”

“I tried my best, how do I look, silly pretty girl?” Vada twirls her dress, making you laugh.

“Like something Vada would never wear, but I love it.”

“You’re the one to talk, all soft and shy girl wearing something that I would definitely not stop staring at this whole evening. It’s perfect. You’re perfect, come on Y/N,” she tugs your wrist slightly, noticing how your wrists are decorated with the bracelets you two made together in the past. It makes her smile while she points at it, “Good decoration choice.”

“Only for the best.”

As you two enter the restaurant, you reach for Vada’s hand, she can see the way you’re searching for her. Like a puppy whining for its mother. She drifts her hand towards you and interlaces it with yours.

The place is dimly lit. The only light is from the sunsetty view and the fairy lights that are hung.

It’s romantic.

And you feel all blushy, like some teenage girl in a friends to lovers book.

Vada feels the way you grasp onto her hands, your fingertips squeezing, she can already tell you’re nervous, she calms you down with a circle with her thumb on the back of your palm.

You two sit next to each other, looking at the menu.

It’s getting a little cold, and you shift, “Okay, not to ruin the mood, but I have no clue what in the hell I should get,” Vada laughs, the Y/N humor she knew was clearly showing.

“What about we share some alfredo and their bread? Their bread is so filling and to die for.”

You nod, to go with the flow, “Okay Vads, whatever you think is good must be yummy.”

You two order and spend the time talking, by the next 15 minutes of waiting, you’re cuddled into her, playing with her hair.

“Hey, you’re messing my hair up silly.”

“I like playing with it. It’s very smooth!”

Vada presses her lips to your temple, rubbing your cheeks to make your blush more apparent.

“Stop that.”

“Well I think it’s cute when your face is all pink.”

You make a quiet whine, Vada still smells your toasted marshmallow and strawberry scent. The scent she could never get tired of. The intoxicating sweetness.

A few moments later with cuddles and talks, your food arrives and you share the noodles, digging in. Vada drapes your hair back so it won't fall into the sauce. As you eat and munch, Vada twirls the noodles on her fork and brings it to your lips, looking into your eyes. You look back up at her, feeling tiny as you open your mouth and she feeds you. You feed her back, letting her rub the small speck of sauce on your cheek with her thumb.

“Stop being so shy,” Vada whispers, nudging your nose to hers.

“I’m just nervous, I’ve never done this before,” you whisper back.

“Well, it’s just me, nothings gonna change, I swear, maybe I’ll throw more pillows during pillow fights though,” she jokes, and that makes you nuzzle your nose more to hers.

You press your lips to her cheek and continue snacking on bread rolls and dessert.

“The stars are really bright today,” you say, your hand in Vadas as you two are staring at the scene above you, the sunset long gone and replaced with the light from the moon.

“Wellll, I think that just means that we’re amazing for each other, huh?”

“Maybe.”

“Nope, it’s a yes.”

“Yep.”

The heat you felt when you first saw Vada when your date began was gone, you were cold. No doubt did the girl not notice, seeing your slightly trembling figure. She drapes her leather jacket over you as you make a small noise of appreciation, sniffling your nose. The jacket immediately warms you up, you pull it to your shoulders more.

Her soft eyes look down at you, and she sees the way the stars reflect off your eyes, those eyes. She feels lucky to be able to be greeted by them every single day you’re around.

“Thank you for today,” you finally breathe, and Vada boops your nose.

“Well thank you for always being sweet and silly. I wouldn’t trade this moment for anyone else.”

You boop her nose back, sharing a slurpee that of course you got from seven eleven. It brings her deja vu. To remember how you first politely refused on buying a slurpee when you first met Vada. Then beginning to use the trick she taught you to poke your finger under the dispenser and lick your finger. Then buying your own small slurpee. Then to share it with one straw.

As you two reach her house, she twirls you on the porch and lifts you up, making you squeal and giggle. It’s quiet, comfortable silence as she looks down at your lips. And she knows you want her too. Your legs wrap around her, and you lean and press your lips to hers.

She feels sparks and a flock of butterflies stirring in your stomach when you’re around, but as she feels your soft, warmth of your lips on hers, she feels fireworks. Electricity shocking her whole body. She hears you make a soft moan of longing, something you wanted for so long. She wanted you for so long too. Her lips press against yours more, feeling your desperateness as she leans more pressure onto you. You taste like sweet strawberries, indulging on the way you make a noise of wanting more more more of her lips as her tongue runs over your bottom lip.

You both pull away, panting, cheeks flushed, your body feels like it’s flaming into oblivion, she grabs your waist tightly, then a small smile forms on both of your faces.

“I’m pretty sure you kiss during like.. Your fourth date.”

“Oh,” Vada says, faking to look sad before cracking up a grin, “Oh well, we’re too in love with each other and we broke that! Too bad, so sad.”

You giggle as she twirls you around and brings you into her room, kissing your neck along the way, she tosses you into the bed and you squeal, kicking your legs as she crawls next to you.

“Come here,” she whispers, you scoot closer to embrace and she wraps her arms around you, switching the fireplace on and playing some music in the background.

She spoons you, but you turn your front to be pressed to her chest, feeling her kisses on your neck and her fingers ghosting along your jawline.

“Pretty girl,” she coos, seeing the way you were a little tired, “Sleepy?”

“Yes.”

You bury your nose into her, her sweet, musky, coconut scent comforts you. The way your scent mixes and it just smells so… Your eyes are fluttering before you can come up with a thought. You stir in Vada’s arms, feeling her arms wrapped around your waist and your limbs tangled together.

“Don’t let go, stay,” you whisper, like you once did before in the past.

“I won’t, pinky promise, I’ll be here baby. Go to sleep, okay?”

You both begin to fall asleep, with polaroids hanging off you wrapped around vines around Vada’s bed. There was one with you two holding slushies and showing off your purple tongues, another one with you two in a group photo, one that Vada loved the most, where you two were cuddling.

miaa: you owee meee omg u guys r adorable, update me tmmrw vads

Your pinkies interlock and your cuddle up to her. She can see the way your eyes twitch from closing. She knows you’re asleep when she hears your breathing begin to even out. And she definitely knows she’s your comfort, because a soft snore slips out of you no longer than 5 minutes later.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega imagine #tara carpenter x you #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #vada cavell x y/n

383 notes · View notes

kiwanopie · 1 year

Text

Strawberry Jam

Your best friend has a sweet tooth.

cw: college!bokuto, oral(f!receving), dubcon, manhandling if you squint. 1.3k

“Ah shit!” Bokuto frowns. “I dropped my pencil.”

You absently hum at the sound of his voice from the ledge of your laptop. “Hm-?”

The sound of a skidding chair barely disrupts your line of focus from where it’s locked on your midterm - but the sound of his head knocking a bit against the underside of the table does pull a little chuckle from you. You glance at your keyboard through a few dull taps on your mousepad, but at the very least you’re considerate enough to mumble a quiet ‘You okay?’

Bokuto makes a huffy little whining sound that you opt to ignore in favor of letting your best friend crawl about the carpet like a mouse. Patting his palms against the plush nylon of your bedroom floor as he searches for his pencil, and you’re really no help when you make less than an effort to move your legs as he knocks against them.

The blue light turns the darkening room behind you a washed navy, whatever he just knocked his back against just unplugged the desk light. “You can just borrow one of mine y’know.”

“But this one’s special! It has my name engraved on it and everything!”

“Why would you-“ You spam the backspace bar for a loud couple clicks. “Why would you buy something like that if you know it’s gonna get shaved away anyway?”

“Because it’s cool… And I’ll know if someone steals it!”

Bokuto roots for the little punctures on the outlet through a few messy jabs of his fingers. “Your room eats up all my stuff.”

The fact that you can physically hear him pouting is enough to make you wanna audibly scoff. Especially when his little nest across the hall has already swallowed up a pair of your headphones, a few mismatched socks, and a volume of that manga you’ve been collecting since last spring. And anyways, it’s totally his fault. He’s the one who keeps treating your room like a second bedroom. You can’t even sift through your hamper without finding some of your clothes mixed up with his.

But instead of making that point, you pull a little piece of skin off your bottom lip that tastes metallic when you tuck it under your tongue, switching tabs to double check your sources and mumble a little sarcastically under your breath. “Sorry ‘bout my room eating your stuff.”

The way the room bursts into a warm haze barely phases you anymore than the hollow tap of thin wood clinking just before your feet. If Bokuto’s gasp should mean anything, a number two pencil gets to live to see another day.

“Find it?”

“I found it!”

Bokuto snorts at your halfhearted ‘Hoorah.” as he turns on his knees to crawl out from under the table. Blithely grunting his way through the cramped little space, but stopping on the heel of his palm when he notices something.

“Oh, hey!”

“Hmm?”

He ducks his head for a better view of your skirt. “What’s up with these undies?”

“Hm? Oh.” You lift your back a little, even still your eyes are locked on the screen. “You got a problem with Strawberry Shortcake?”

“No, I like them! They’re cute.”

You blow a tickled breath out through your nose. You should kick him for being a perv and peeking up your skirt. But really you’re just thankful he didn’t tease you for being childish after you just ragged on his special pencil.

Your elbow digs into the desk with a squeak as you rest your jaw in your palm, your voice is an absent drone. “Thanks, they’re strawberry flavored.”

The shift key clicks as you start a new paragraph.

And then your knees are colliding with the table. “Wha- They’re not actually strawberry flavored!”

The way you startledly flinch is hardly enough to deter Bokuto’s hot mouth from the front side of your panties, but the way he hums - runs a thorough lick through your clothed slit and pulls away, makes it hard for you not to outwardly shutter. “They’re not? No way, I totally taste it.”

“Bokut-“ You lay your hand against his scalp when he leans in to dig his nose in. “Don’t just start doing something like that out of nowhere!”

Wow, he’s really slobbering all over those poor things isn’t he? “Y’want me to stop?”

“N-…No, but-”

He digs his tongue in with a fervor.

It’s a few tempered licks before he’s finally reaching forward to tug your panties to the side, molten tongue massaging attentively over your clit as the way he’s all but mushing his head into your soaked cunt inclines you to scoot into your seat. - Although the distance is short lived. You’re helpless to stop him when he uses his weight to push the chair back enough to lift his head freely, and you're all but yanked onto your back as he secures your legs over his shoulders, lifting on his knees to eat you out from a better angle.

The position is a little awkward but the sensation is incredible. This guy is drinking you up like it’s all he knows how to do. The angle opens you up from top to bottom, his tongue doesn’t leave a spot untouched. You’d almost be embarrassed with all the noise you’re making, but his drunken moans are a contest to yours.

“Ko, you’re-“ Oh god, your poor chair. “You’re… making such a mess…!”

He makes a gluttonned sound of indignation. “S’your fault. ‘Pussy tastes so good…”

You whine. That’s your best friend talking to you like that. You don’t even know where this came from. One minute he’s a bumbling teddy bear, rooting around your carpet for his stupid novelty pencil, the next he’s-

“You’re g’nna cum in my mouth?” He noses your clit. “Gonna let me drink your cum? Yeah?”

You claw at the arms locked over your thighs. “Koutarou! K-Ko! Fuck… Oh my god…”

“You taste so fucking sweet. What kind of friend holds out on another when they know they’ve got the-“ The way he spits on your messy cunt makes your pretty eyes roll. “Most perfectest pussy in the whole wide world?”

That’s not a word. But you get the sentiment. Especially when he punctuates it by circling his middle finger around your tight little hole and eases it in with his tongue pressed against your clit. Deep guttural groan that reverberates throughout your entire body at the way your cunt suckles on his finger, gushing for him so eagerly that you start to drip down his arm. Your pretty pussy seems intent on making him fall in love with it. Love struck even when he slides another finger in. And it’s all he can do not go mad when you start to drunkenly hump into his face.

“Oh god, Ko! Fuck me! Fuck me!”

Bokuto moans as your legs lock behind his shoulders, you’re so fucking hot he could die. “Mhm! Mhm!”

He’s rocking into you so thoroughly with his fingers that the chair starts to creek. The way the veins in his arm deliciously pop is enough to send you over the edge. “Ohhhh fuck! Cumming! m’ cumming!”

Bokuto sloshes his tongue over your clit as you spasm around his fingers. Wet noises double in volume as he continues to fuck into you, even when your leg kicks up from the amount of overstimulation. He just barely gives when you start to push his head away.

“Sorry, sorry!” Bokuto raises his head. “You’re just too fucking good.”

He helps you shimmy your sodden panties down your legs as you tiredly upright yourself in your seat, kissing your knee for good measure. “Hey, we’re still friends right?”

You nod. Though your throbbing clit says otherwise. “Yeah, you’re still my buddy.”

“Yay!” And you could almost giggle at how happy-go-lucky he can still look with your cum all over his face.

He holds your soaked underwear in his hand and they squish a little in his palm. “Can I keep these?”

reblog for our specialized pencil sale! now starting at 5.99 30$

#‘you’re best friend has a sweet tooth’ im so smart #hq smut #bokuto smut #college!bokuto #bokuto koutaro x reader #bokuto x reader #hq bokuto #bokuto imagines #bokuto x you #msby bokuto #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#hq x reader #haikyuu!! smut #hq oneshot #haikyuu oneshot

8K notes · View notes

peterspinkrobe · 9 months

Text

Confession - priest!Miguel O’Hara x Reader [part 2]

Word count: 2,270 (oops)

Rating: mature for suggestive content. Mentions of masturbation. You have a dirty mind… tsk tsk. Religious content. Mentions of parental death (sorry for not tagging last time).

A/N: Thank you for your feral support in reading part 1! The art above is again by @Ejpuki on twt. They drew this moment from part one and JUST LOOK AT IT! They also did a pre-reading which I greatly appreciated. Go support them over there <3 I only tagged the people who explicitly stated bc I don’t want to overstep. Also, I guess I should watch Fleabag? Enjoy! part three is cookin’ in my noggin’

// Psalms 32:3-4

When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy on me;

Rumbling sounds drone from the engine in a constant hum as the bus wheels roll down the asphalt, occasionally shuffling the passengers inside. Yourself included.

The wheels in your mind are conjuring images of too much skin, friction, and want. The mental pictures… different positions and other things that you’ve only read about - all featuring the same tall deacon from your small church.

You curse yourself for both your overactive imagination and forgetfulness for having left your headphones at home. Some loud music would drown out the whir of the bus and push out the flashes of lewdness that plagued you.

Reverend O’Hara, you learned that’s what transitional deacons are usually called after inquiring about the proper title on Google the second you got home from that communion, occupied the majority of your mind. He took up residence in your thoughts without even asking permission and you didn’t know the proper way to absolve your sanity of him. It had only been two weeks since you’d met him, two Sunday services, but you were hooked. This trip into the city was supposed to get you out of the house and help clear your mind of its recent inhabitant.

The methods you were currently using were certainly of no help. Nearly every night, for the past two weeks, you’d given into temptation. Allowing the streaking images of what you could only envision his toned body looked like to remain longer in your mind’s eye. His thumb on your lip, the quick swipe across - became more inquisitive of the inside of your mouth in your imagination. You pressed into yourself and thought of those long, thick fingers. You carried yourself away on highs with only his hands in mind. You yearned to baptize him in your waters.

You buried fingernails into your palms to ground yourself as the scenery outside the bus began the change drastically, pulling you out of your daydream.

Your hometown along the Catskill Mountains was enveloped by the natural world - tucked into valleys of the vast countryside. In the three weeks you’d been back home, you had already gotten used to surrounding greenery. You’d forgotten the toll that city expansion was having on the rows of vegetable and orchard farms in the surrounding areas.

Your gaze out the window watched tree lines and grassy hills give way to glimmers of futuristic architecture as the bus entered Nueva York. The rhythm of wheels on tarmac became a backdrop to the din of honking horns, shouting pedestrians, and blaring sirens. You had only recently left a city not too different from this one, but the drastic change in landscape from the mountains made your head spin. The inertia of the bus braking and accelerating over and over on the intersecting streets only added to the motion sickness. You recognize the next stop as the usual one you and your mother used when coming into the city. You quickly get off the bus, blessing the steady ground underneath as your boots hit the pavement.

Towering structures of carbon fiber and glass dominated the skyline, some illuminated by bright neon light displays, others blending into the afternoon sunshine. Advertisements for fast foods, fast money, and fast cars flickered on screens everywhere. You look to where the bus carried you from and, in contrast, the countryside stretched out, calling you back. Despite the slight familiarity in the maze of metal, the sudden change in surroundings made you slightly anxious.

The steady stream of citizens didn’t help your nerves either. You take a moment to get yourself together before following the foot traffic flow up a familiar street.

Your eyes recognize a food spot from a bygone era and you can’t help but smile. You picked up the pace as you headed to the establishment your family used to frequent. Timeless Treats is still here?! You pull on the long handled door and a wave of music, chatter, and sugar hit you at once. Much more pleasant than the waves of anxiety from moments before.

Entering the quaint eatery, you’re transported into a cozy atmosphere reminiscent of an old fashioned diner. A cheerful man at the front waves you in and shouts for you to ‘sit where ya want!’.

You recognized the vintage decor: rusted signs with cartoon mascots and ads for ice cream floats that cost only $2. Imagine! You select one of the smaller retro tables with two stools and hear a jukebox play a song you don’t recognize but tap your foot along to.

There was more to this diner than what it seems at first glance. A few more glances noticed the subtle touches where the diner had embraced the future where it mattered, with high-tech kitchen appliances that helped the staff immensely. A holographic menu pops up across the portion of the table you're sitting at and you slide your finger along the options.

This bakery specialized in delicious treats with a futuristic flare, with many favorites being popular since the establishment opened generations ago. Your eyes fell onto the pastry menu and your curiosity piqued as you ordered the ‘Time Traveler’s Torta.’

All the hustle of the city had occupied your mind until you were sitting alone at the table. Your eyes scanned the other occupants and you wondered what they were all talking about with their sugary sweets. It made you think of him again.

Dammit. A whole ten minutes without thinking of Reverend O’Hara, that’s a record! You couldn’t help the images of Miguel that fluttered now. Only this time you pictured him sitting at the table with you. The two of you share a dessert and you smile at the thought. You visualize his thumb coming to your face to wipe whipped cream from your lips only to plop the finger into his own mouth. That moment as mass replayed in your mind with differing flavors of spice on repeat.

The torta arrives and you gawk at the presentation of the treat. A classic cake with layers of light vanilla sponge, intricately placed swirls of sweet cream cheese frosting, and decadent chocolate sauce. This sweet was the perfect balance of timeless and futuristic as it sat on an oblong, ornate plate.

You savored the flavors as you ate and continued to imagine a date with the deacon. You ask yourself if deacons can even date and the thought pulls you out of your delusions for a moment. Get it together…

As you scooped the last bits of the pastry into your mouth, you pondered your dilemma. Mom always said that confession cleared a clouded consciousness, but there was no way you’d divulge this information to her. Her hypothetical reaction to your crush on a clergy member makes you shiver.

An idea comes to mind that makes you think to yourself that you’ve really gone mad.

The madness pushes you from your seat after paying for the dessert. There’s a slim chance what you’re looking for is actually there considering the cities expansions. That doubt doesn’t stop you from following a semi-recognizable path down the busy streets.

Every tall figure you pass makes you do a double take. The idea of the deacon brushing alongside you making you smile. You turn a corner as your imagination creates sweet scenarios with Reverend O’Hara and stop in your tracks. You cause people behind you to push into your back and spit harsh murmurs at you.

It was still there.

You were surprised for good reason. You were headed towards a relic of past times, nestled between buildings of glass and metal. There was some scaffolding supporting it as the building you headed towards was centuries old. Other than that - the structure you now stood and stared at jutted towards the sky in the old brick and mortar style you were used to seeing in your hometown.

But the Cathedral of Nueva York wasn’t like the humble church in your hometown. The ornate bell tower and large cross atop the chapel in front of you proved that. The only thing to change about the building was the name as the state itself saw many changes a few decades ago - including the name of the actual city.

You find yourself reminiscing on the few times you’d been to the church as you walked inside. Your family used to attend the fancy Easter services and Christmas plays. Those trips stopped after your father passed, and your mother rarely came to the city at all anymore. You remember seeing pictures of them on their wedding day at this very church. Priesthood is a tight knit group and Father Steen knew the head priest, who extended their church for their wedding services.

Given it was a weekday afternoon, there weren’t many souls inside. Despite the numerous options for seating, you sat in your usual middle pew, aisle seat.

You eyed the part of the church that had brought you here in the first place. The confession booth. Its cherrywood exterior made you think of those eyes that bore into yours that day of communion. You shake your head but the visual remains.

The church in your hometown didn’t have a confessional booth. Even if they did - why the hell would you confess there? To the subject of your lustful desires? So many questions and doubts enter your mind.

Could you really do this? Confess to a priest that you pined over a man in his chaste brotherhood? Think of the judgment!

Another thought occurs to you: their whole shtick was that only one entity could do the judging. And it was confidential. If you received some good ol’ fashioned Catholic scolding and Hail Mary’s, maybe that would be enough to get you back to your senses. Reverend O’Hara is a man devoted to God and cannot be hindered by the whims of a degenerate like yourself.

Emboldened by the potential to relieve yourself of your corrupt thoughts, you stand and approach the far right front of the church. The confessional is smaller than it looked from how you remember as a child and teen but it doesn’t stop you from nearly yanking the door open. You don’t even knock.

Thankfully no one is on the confessing side as you burst into the tiny box. The confined space became even smaller as you closed the door behind you quickly. Your mind races towards impure thoughts of the deacon pressed against you in the tight booth space. His height would force him to bend slightly over you and the visual almost knocks you onto the bench which would probably be right at crotch level…

You remember the times you’d done this before and cry out the usual, “Forgive me, for I have sinned and it has been many years since my last confession…”. Who were you even asking for forgiveness? You think for a moment about the last time you were in this booth. You felt so guilty about stealing from the general store all those years back. This was a different kind of confession. This would hopefully absolve yourself of the sinful attraction to the forbidden.

You start light, fumbling over the words, “I’ve gotten drunk and high, uh, a good bit while in college. I lied to my mother and got into major trouble as a result. I’ve been selfish and lazy.”

The anonymity and the release of it all lit a fire under you and you kept going.

“While I’m in this confession booth, and I know it is a sacred and holy place”, you sigh and hear shuffling on the opposite side of the wall, the priest waiting patiently on the other side. “I’ve been struggling with my faith and don’t believe in god…”

You hear the clergyman start to interject but the voice that comes out of you has a fierce tone.

“I’m not done.” Now it was the priest’s turn to sigh and you see movement through the small slits in the partition, but hear nothing else. You continue. The most scandalous part to admit had yet to be said.

“Father, I’ve been lustful over the deacon at my church.” There’s silence on the other end and before embarrassment can take over you continue, “I’m constantly thinking of him and having impure thoughts that drive me to-“ oh god, here it is

“Touch myself. Daily. With this deacon on my mind.” You can’t stop the heat from painting your cheeks a deep red.

“I feel guilty because he isn’t for me to think that way about. From just the two times I’ve seen him, I know he is a good man who does good things. He’s on a path towards righteousness. He’s worthy.” To your shock, you feel tears form and they begin to fall.

“I’m a sinful nonbeliever. Definitely not someone he could be with, unworthy of devotion of any kind. And I’m not good.” Your breathing becomes shaky as the tears fall harder. Despite the fact that you feel your words are the truth, you can’t help but imagine him there now. Comforting you as you cry.

Now that you’ve finished confession, you expect to hear an outburst of disapproval or at least ‘50 Hail Mary’s’ to absolve you of your confessed transgressions.

But that’s not what you heard next.

You hear your name. You hear your name in that sweet music that’s been ringing in your ears the last week or so. This time the musical tone is cautious. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief as your eyes glue to the wall where the music came from.

To confirm your suspicions, you grab the knob on the partition and yank it back.

Through the small window you see a familiar pair of eyes analyzing your face, heavy with worry.

Reverend O’Hara had just taken your confession…

I pray you liked this, dear reader.

Tagged ppl - @friendlynbhdzero @ceoofghosts it won’t let me tag you @hoelychildofgod

#miguel o'hara #fanfic #miguel x reader #priest!miguel #priest au #au fic #across the spiderverse #miguel x you

1K notes · View notes

theonewiththefanfics · 2 years

Text

Ten Things I Like About You (one-shot)

Synopsis: There is one rule for Y/N to accept Jason Carver's advances: if he wants to go out with her, the jock has to name ten things he likes about the resident 'Freak'Eddie Munson. Can he do it?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, Jason being a dick as usual, nothing else I can think of (minimally edited)

Genre: fluff mainly

Word count: 3085

DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE MY WORKS ON OTHER PLATFORMS WITHOUT SPECIFIC WRITTEN PERMISSION!!!

Y/N Y/L/N was an enigma at Hawkins High. Not unpopular by any means, but didn’t run directly in with the ‘it’ crowd either. She was friends or at least friendly with most of the cliques, but even with the ones she didn’t interact with, she didn’t bully or look down on them, simply coexisted without any problems. Eddie thought it was probably why he’d started to crush on the girl.

Typically, she’d be sitting by the cheerleader table, her and the Queen of Hawkins High Chrissy Cunningham being as thick as thieves unless Nancy Wheeler had taken some time off from their newspaper to come and eat a bit, but starting from a couple of months ago, from time to time, he’d find the girl by his Hellfire Club table. She wouldn’t bother them, wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t even look at them, simply sat down and started to push around the sludge-like mashed potatoes or scrutinize the way-too-orange looking mac‘n’cheese on her plate.

At first, Eddie wanted to snark at her, wanted to tell her to get lost, but the day Y/N had first taken a seat at the far end of their table, he’d noticed how she’d closed her eyes for a moment, took in a deep breath and exhaled. And then, when she did open her eyes – it was like a giant boulder had come off her shoulders. And he understood it. Maybe not exactly what or why she felt that way, but he did, and Eddie’d be damned if it didn’t make his heart skip a beat at the thought, she felt safe around him and his bunch, safe enough to let down her guard like that.

Slowly it had become a routine. Seemingly whenever Y/N had too much of something, she’d take a now unofficially assigned seat at the right end of their table and just sit there. She’d throw them a small smile and a wave, then pull out her Walkman and put the headphones on, disconnecting her from the surrounding world, and Eddie had sort of taken it upon himself to make sure Y/N enjoyed her forty minutes of peace unbothered. Maybe he’d sometimes let Robin Buckley or Chrissy take her out of the zen state, but for anyone else, Eddie would give the most menacing and crazy look he could muster, so the person tucked their tail between their legs and turned the other way, leaving the girl alone.

This was one of those days where Y/N needed to get away from the crowd, it seemed, as Eddie watched how her shoulders and back tensed more and more with every second the guys from the basketball team spoke around her while she sat next to Chrissy, before something in her snapped. She placed a gentle palm on the other girl’s hand, squeezed it and stood up, taking her food tray with her, as well as her book bag.

Loud “oh, come on, Y/N!” followed her, but she didn’t even look back, rather gritted her teeth so as to seemingly not let out whatever it was, she wanted to actually say.

With a deep sigh, she dropped the bag on the ground, and a bit more carefully placed the red plastic tray on the table as to not let the questionable meal of the day slip off.

She was wearing a pair of light baggy jeans, some graphic tee of an obscure-looking indie movie printed on, tucked behind the waistband and cinched with a black belt while a knitted patchwork cardigan kept her warm in the still somewhat cool spring winds.

Y/N looked comfortable, and that was also one of the things Eddie liked about her. She didn’t really follow the newest fashion trends. Sure, her clothes were mostly styled in a way that reflected whatever was in at that moment, but she did it in her own way. Eddie was pretty much sure, he’d seen that cardigan on her all throughout high school. She didn’t hide behind clothes to create a persona, she used that and make-up, or on some days none of it, to enhance who she already was.

“Shit,” Y/N muttered under her breath, bringing Eddie out from his thoughts as her fork clattered below the table.

Grumbling, she put her Walkman away to lean down and grab it, but the freshman Mike, who’d Eddie had recruited for the D&D club, beat her to it.

“Here,” the boy mumbled, and Y/N flashed him a grateful smile.

“Thanks. But I probably should get a new one. I don’t think I’m brave enough to put anything in my mouth that’s touched the cafeteria floor. Don’t want to be the cause of the new Black Plague or some shit.” She snorted. “Besides, I’ve made it to the end of my senior year. It’d be quite pathetic to kick the bucket like a couple of months before that.”

“Not as pathetic as repeating the senior year, over and over again,” Eddie chuckled from the head of the table, but Y/N didn’t laugh along with him at his self-deprecating joke.

“Just because someone’s not academically skilled, doesn’t mean they’re pathetic.” She was frowning. “I’ve heard you play, Eddie. You’re amazing. I have no doubt that when you get out of this hellhole, you’ll do big things. Just… just don’t give up yet, don't write yourself off like that.”

Eddie was one hundred percent sure he was blushing like a madman, but the soft smile she gave him made his heart soar at her kind words, let alone at the fact she had heard him play and had said he was talented. The man was just about ready to combust from the love in his chest.

Truth be told, Eddie was also academically inclined, it’s just that whatever the school threw his way couldn’t hold his attention for more than a second. He was excellent at math because of D&D, but when it came to finding the x on a Pythagorean theorem, he was lost because there was no intrigue behind it. He was an amazing storyteller, but his grammar wasn’t the best, and his handwriting was even worse, so most of the time even he couldn’t figure out what he’d written on the page, getting himself a fat D- for the unintelligible scribbles.

“Shit,” Mike muttered, bringing Eddie out from his daydreams and making him look up at the freshman, but his eyes were trained somewhere over Y/N’s shoulder.

Slowly he followed as she glanced backwards, and groaned as they noted Jason Carver walking up the Hellfire table, the whole club growing stiff and frowns etching themselves onto their faces.

“Not one single day of fucking peace,” Y/N mumbled under her breath and rolled her eyes.

“You okay?” Eddie leaned closer to her over the table. “Just give the word and I’ll tell him to fuck right off from here. I have no problems making a scene.”

“No.” She sighed, stabbing the fork into the food with a ferocity, Eddie could only imagine it was someone’s face. Hopefully that someone's that was sauntering their way. “Don’t. The shit he does and says to you is bad enough, so please don’t add any fuel to the fire on my account. Sorry, by the way.” She grimaced. “For all of that.”

Eddie shook his head. “It’s not like you’re saying those things, which by the way, thank you.”

Y/N frowned even more. “You shouldn’t be thanking me for being a decent person. Fuck how low has the bar gotten exactly?”

His snort made her lips quirk up in a smile, but all of it was wiped away when Jason cleared his throat.

For a moment she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, as if gathering her self-composure, before turning around in her seat with a raised brow. “Can I help you, Carver?”

“I just - uh - look.” Jason gave Y/N the most charming smile he could muster. “I know the guys can be a lot with the teasing, but I actually came here to say that honestly maybe we should do it, you know...”

She looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Should what?”

“Go on that date. I mean I think we’d look pretty cute together.”

“Yes, well, some people think hairless mole rats are cute, but you don’t really argue about taste,” Y/N deadpanned and once again Eddie snorted.

Jason threw him a scalding glare. “Something funny, freakshow?”

“Carver,” she snapped. “Seriously?”

The basketball player’s hands balled into fists, but it seemed like he knew throwing a punch at Eddie would be completely counterproductive. “Okay, look.” He averted his eyes to Y/N. “Can you just come back and sit with us? At least away from… them? I know that all of this,” he gestured towards the Hellfire Club. “Is just an act, okay. I know you’re trying to play hard to get, but at least do it with someone of your own status.”

“My own status? Who the fuck do you think we are?” the girl scoffed. “This is high school, Jason, not the Queen’s court.”

“This shit’ll follow you after high school, Y/N.” Jason looked up and down at Eddie as if he was vermin. “I’m just trying to help you make the right choices.”

Honestly, Eddie wasn’t even listening to what the asshole was saying as he watched in fascination as a plan developed in her head.

“You know what, Jason, you are right,” she said. “I will go out on a date with you, and I will never talk to anyone at this table. In fact, I'll never even walk past here again.”

Well, there went any chance Eddie had.

“If…”

Oh.

Y/N’s eyes met his. Eddie gulped, watching her stand up and slowly saunter away. His heart was beating a mile a minute and even though he didn’t have asthma, he was sure this was how an asthma attack felt, breaths coming in shorter and shorter as Y/N stood behind him.

For a second there was non-verbal communication between the two, as Y/N asked with her eyes if he was alright with her touching him, and he gave her a barely-there nod. Then her palms slowly settled on his shoulders before sliding over them and down and down his chest until she had her chin perked in the crook of his neck, her fingers intertwined right below his pecks, and oh, God, Eddie was gonna pass out.

He was desperately trying not to squirm because if there was one place on his body that was ticklish, it was his neck and collarbones area, but Eddie would stay still like the dead if it kept Y/N’s chin on his shoulder.

She was hugging him, her breaths tickling his neck, as his mind whirred, not even able to process any words coming out of her or Jason’s mouth, the rest of the cafeteria background having turned into white noise. All that existed was Y/N’s scent, and her touch, and her body weight pressing against his back and oh god, oh god, oh god.

“ – isn’t that right, Eddie?” Y/N’s voice invaded his ears and he blinked rapidly to get back to reality.

“What?”

“I said a guy should prove himself to a girl before asking her out, right?”

Eddie swallowed, and nodded, his eyes unable to break from Y/N’s gaze. “Right, yeah. Of course. Definitely. One hundred percent.”

“So then.” Y/N looked at Jason. “Don’t you think you’d have to prove to me I wouldn’t waste my time with you?”

Jason had his arms crossed, glaring at Eddie as he sucked on his teeth, probably trying to figure out a hundred different ways as to how to punch in his nose, but reluctantly looked at Y/N.

“Name your price, Y/L/N.”

“You, Jason Carver, have to name ten nice things about Eddie here. And you have to say them like you mean them.”

Jason let out a laugh, and the rest of the gathered basketball team mimicked him. Eddie hadn't even noticed his goons had gathered to watch the spectacle. “What? I meant something I can actually do.”

“I can start.” Y/N shook her head and smiled as if she was oblivious as to what he’d meant. “But obviously you can’t use my examples, you have to come up with your own. For one.” She turned to the side and looked Eddie directly into his eyes. Yep. He was for sure dead. Had to be. Or definitely was going to be because he wasn’t breathing. Was his heart still working? He wasn’t sure. “I absolutely love how you can play the guitar. I think it’s amazing. It takes dedication and skill to keep up with something like that. And well, I’d say it certainly means you’re good with your fingers, which is an added bonus girls definitely appreciate.”

You know what? If lightning struck him then and there, Eddie would be completely fine by it. Was he a massive virgin? Yes, very much so, he’d never even fingered a girl before, but holy shit, he’d play the guitar until his fingertips bled, if what Y/N said was true, especially if that was her opinion.

“Come on, Y/L/N.” Jason let out a chuckle of disbelief, but Eddie could see he was seething underneath, and it was very much so an enjoyable sight. “Stop playing. Tell me what I actually have to do to get you on a date with me and away from these lowlifes.”

Y/N simply shrugged, pressing her cheek against Eddie’s, pouting as she did so. “What do you mean? I already did – name ten nice things about Eddie. It can be about his looks, what he’s good at, how he’s helped someone – anything. Here’s an easy one – his mind is absolutely brilliant. You have to have amazing imagination to come up with such complex Dungeons & Dragons campaign plots, and I think he’d make an amazing novelist if he put those ideas on paper.”

“He’s a freak.” Jason finally snapped, sneering with as much venom as he could muster. Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if he actually was a snake underneath that skin and hair gel.

Y/N snorted and straightened out, but her palms remained rested on Eddie’s shoulders and he couldn’t help himself but settle his own over hers. Their fingers intertwined and she squeezed his palm in response. He was in heaven.

“And what, you’re not?” Y/N scoffed. “Jason, you’re obsessed with chasing an orange ball around a court like you’re a fucking dog who needs to hear ‘good boy’ every time you almost put it in the hoop. You think you’re so nice and all when you’re the most judgmental piece of shit I know. I asked you to name just ten nice thing about Eddie, and you couldn’t even pull some bullshit one out of your ass, but I definitely can name ten things I hate about you starting with the fact that you’re so high up your own ass you can’t take ‘no’ for an answer. I don’t care about sitting next to you, let alone going on a date with you. The fact that you can’t see beyond your own prejudices, makes me know I did the right choice by telling you to go screw your hand the first time around.”

“You’ll regret this,” Jason sneered. “I’m trying to save you, can’t you see? You’ve been sitting with them so long it’s started to corrupt you.”

She raised her brow. “Will I? Because from my standpoint my future looks pretty a-okay. And saved from what? A fantasy game? You think an elf is gonna chop my head off in the real world? Or some orc's siren-like voice will lure me to my doom? Get a grip, Carver, and get out of my face before I smash it in for you.”

Jason was absolutely seething, his face flushed red while his chest heaved up and down, throwing one final look at Eddie who had a satisfied smirk on his own. “Just you wait, Y/L/N, and you’ll see the true nature of these – these Devil worshippers. And when you do, don’t come crawling back to us.”

“Jason, if you had the last glass of water on earth and I was on fire, I’d rather be consumed by those Hellish flames you’re afraid of than go near you with a ten-foot pole.”

And just to add the cherry on top, just to piss him off even more Eddie wiggled his fingers in a ‘bye-bye’ motion.

For a moment, Jason stammered, clenching and unclenching his fists as if readying himself for a pounce, but even with the whole basketball team behind him, he’d been humiliated by Y/N already, and if Principal Higgins came in to see a brawl, he'd surely believe the girl's version of the story, mainly because Chrissy Cunningham would a hundred percent stand by her best friend.

Eddie was sure he’d pay for her sticking up for him later, and no doubt Jason would find a way to make Y/N’s life a hell, but for now, they celebrated, as Carver turned on his heel and stalked away, the whole of Hellfire erupting in cheers and whoops.

“I’m so in love with you,” Eddie breathed out and Y/N threw her head back in a laugh. He swore it was the most beautiful sound in the world before he realized he’d said his thoughts out loud.

“Yep, and you said that out loud too.” Her smile was blinding, as she took the offered seat at Eddie’s side one of the boys sliding further, instead of retreating to the one at the end of the table. “But it’s okay. I – uh – I kinda like you too. It’s what made putting Jason in his place double the joy.”

Fuck it. It was high-time he shot his shot. “So, if I asked you out on a date would you tell me to go and screw my hand or would you give me a chance?”

She rested her chin on her palm, giving him a coy smile. “Well, can you name ten things you like about me?”

Eddie leaned in closer, their noses almost brushing, wide grins on both of their faces. “Baby I have a whole list – would you like to hear it alphabetically or by the dates I noticed them?”

“Your pick, Eddie.”

By the time he walked that graduation stage and flipped Principal Higgins off, he hadn’t even gotten to B yet as the list was ever growing.

So was hers.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstranger

A/N: :)

P.S. Eddie tags are open if anyone wants to be tagged in future stories, HMU or leave a message under the fic :)

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #netflix stranger things #stranger things cast #Stranger Things Spoilers #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fluff #eddie munson fluff

8K notes · View notes