#old view of morning runs

[becca-e-barnes]

i miss sub!steve rogers

I really miss him too! I think he'd fit really well with a thought that I just can't shake this week, I'm so wrapped up in the idea of backshots and then taking pictures on a polaroid camera. To the point that I got a fucking polaroid camera this week

I just love the thought of a sub!Steve trying out different positions for the first time and using it as a chance to explore his interests. Particularly because I don't imagine he's tried many.

I think he'd like to start off with the more intimate ones, where he gets to see your face and gets to whimper his pleasure against your hot skin. He can lose control and watch your face while you take it, and you let him give in and ground himself in sensation, rather than thought.

The sight of you on the bed, on your hands and knees for him is one he won't forget though. The way your back curves, presenting your soaking wet, fluttering core to him almost makes the man drop to his knees and delve his tongue deep into your warm heat.

He doesn't do that though. Not on that first occasion anyway. His head is ruled by an uncomfortable, throbbing need in his cock and it's one he can't ignore for much longer. All thoughts of a condom leave his head, he's just so keen to be inside you like this. "Oh my God." He groans with one huge hand on the small of your back, pressing gently to guide you onto his dick, rather than thrusting it inside you.

You gasp at the initial slide. You always do. There's something so delightful in the feeling of him rubbing against your velvety walls and feeling your body accommodate him. Your head almost spins at the realisation that he's now fully seated inside you. There's nothing at all keeping you apart anymore and it doesn't get more intimate than this.

"Fuck, you should see yourself." Steve's voice is almost a whisper, gripping and massaging your ass and groaning at the sight in front of him. This position is a little more than what he's used to but he's entirely convinced it's one of his new favourites.

"Take a picture, Stevie. It'll last longer." You tease but when you look back over your shoulder at him with a fond smile on your face, he does his very best not to fuck you as recklessly as his brain tells him he needs to.

You'd left the polaroid camera on the bed for a reason, he now realises. That's new to him.

Things get just a little bit away from him though. He can't bare to be so deep inside your throbbing heat but not moving so he gives himself a few little test thrusts first.

One turns into two. Two turns into three. Three turns into Steve moaning and sobbing, mesmerised by the bounce of your ass when you fuck yourself back on him. "Oh h-holy shit. God, that fucking ass. Sh-shit, I'm not gonna last." That's fine. In fact, it's essentially a compliment. The slap of skin on skin fills the bedroom, along with Steve's soft whimpers and your moans.

"That's okay, Stevie. Make a pretty mess for me." That's all he needs to hear, just your soft, gentle voice, coaxing him to completion. He knows better than to finish inside you but he's never been more tempted to just press as deep as he can and fill you as he is in that moment.

He resists the urge though, pulling out as he always does, this time cumming over the swell of your ass with a few frantic sobs. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He chants, spurts of hot cum painting your skin, marking you as his.

"Holy shit." He sounds totally spent and you can't help but notice how he lifts the camera with a shaky hand, snapping two photos of his spend glistening over your ass. "One for you and one for me." He smiles, kissing you gently before going to fetch a damp cloth.

#asks answered <3 #anon #becca writes spice #sub!steve #I have an account on tiktok where I post some original poetry #just tugging on recent life events and seeing how my brain manipulates it? Nothing serious #and I woke up this morning and one of my old best friends had viewed the profile #We haven't even properly spoken in like a year #but I know damn well that if I popped up to her now and told her I needed something #she'd be at my house in seconds #so I might run away to avoid the painfully awkward conversation that will no doubt be coming in the next few days #I feel like I have caused chaos this week #and I'm cool with that #I was giving a presentation to 50 something senior members of staff on Tuesday #and then noticed my cousin was one of them 🙃 #mf didn't even ask me any questions #I'll pull him up on that when I see him again #most likely at the family Christmas party

[getodrools]

໒꒰ྀ ྀིᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ DUMP TRUCK DRIVER! TOJI who purposely arrives too early just to watch the lonesome and exhausted housewives — like you — run out in their cute little nightgowns with messy bedhead hair, and no bras to support while running for him…

Toji would chuckle every single time. Catching that confused turned frantic look you always gave through the kitchen window; hearing him haul by earlier than usual forced you in a panic… Shit! You've missed trash day twice already! You needed to get this stench out of your house ASAP but the grimy man crooking a wry smirk pressed on the gas soon as you popped out the front door.

Shit!

“Wait!” Crying out with a waving arm; running barefoot with weeks-old trash hauling behind you in your nightwear was not in your morning routine — but it sure as hell was in his… You wheeze, chasing that green truck like an idiot, you were cursing your husband for always forgetting to take the damn trash to the curb beneath your breath too…

Soon as you were able to get his attention — Well, you've been had it through a small side mirror… but he finally stopped!

His lips are slicked. Admiring the skimpy view of another man's wife's tits heaving and ass bouncing around in baby-blue sheer cloth, even that coffee spilled down your chest which globbed down to your belly from the chase, was his morning coffee…

<– [ BACK ] : PINNED ⊹ ࣪ ˖ [ NEXT ] : MORE TOJI –>

#idk he'd be just as grimy as the trash he's hauling #now which husband forgets to bring the trash out and makes toji a lucky man??? #gojo for sure SIGHHH #🌐 𝐿𝒜𝒱𝐼𝐼 𝒲𝑅𝐼𝒯𝐸𝒮! #ᝰ toji fushiguro! #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk toji

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twelve —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: *hint at sexual assault. please be cautious!* death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Dense mud packs onto the soles of your boots. You shift the near-empty backpack on your shoulder and slip back a few sweat-laced strands of hair from your face. Never before were you a morning person. In fact, you used to purposely sign up for all the afternoon lectures in uni. But now, time and sunlight are precious. You set out to search for the camp this morning with only a sliver of sunrise as your companion. 

You hope Ghost was right.

He suspected that their camp would be situated in a location with easy access to the military base, river, and nearby village so they could draw resources from all three. So that's the direction you're headed in, squinting at nearby landmarks and interstate signs to help guide you. It's quite the hike: grueling, hilly terrain and moist air that you can't distinguish from your own sweat. You've stepped over some interesting sights along the way. An old forest station with CAMP FEES and LEAVE NO TRACE posters still outside. A small skeleton tucked in a bush with only child-sized rainboots left on it. For a moment, you saw Joseph. Toddling around in the puddles outside your sister’s house. You had to force yourself not to look at it for too long; you wiped your eyes, gritted your teeth, and prayed it had been painless for them.

You come to a narrow creek, crossing over a stone bridge that spits you out among dense evergreens. Finally, a faint column of smoke comes into view just above the forest's canopy. 

That must be it.

It's certainly a sign, so you suck in a shaky breath, ignore the rush of blood in your veins, and do what Ghost suggested: climb a tree to get a better look. 

There was a time not long ago when climbing trees was your only means of survival. This time, it feels so much easier to hoist yourself up and grip the bark as your muscles flex to steady yourself on a high branch. Luckily, there wasn't much to bring in the backpack Ghost gave you. For now, there's nothing in it other than your lighter, a roll of gauze, that romance book, and a small piece of dry wood. 

Squinting your gaze, you make out the silhouette of triangular, orange tents and uneven fencing. Definitely a camp. The fence doesn't appear barbed from here, but it's at least a meter higher than the one that surrounds Ghost's place. You're close enough to see a few blue crates in the center that look like those ones from the military medical site. Is that what they're keeping the supplies in? It seems like the only obvious place based on the layout.

What you really want to know is how many people. Soundlessly, you shift your boots to get a different angle and finally spot movement coming out of one of the tents— a sizeable male wearing a leather jacket.

One.

Is that it?

Your eyes stay locked on the stranger for a minute, tracking his movement as he cooks something over the fire. He gives out a long whistle, the high-pitched sound audible even from where you stand nestled in the treetop. Panic seizes your breath: did he somehow see you and is alerting someone else? But no— you're much too far, and his eyes never shifted in your direction. 

Instead, there's more movement, the faint shuffling of paws on the ground, and then a large dog appears at the man's side. He tosses something in front of it, what must be a slab of meat, because the dog is quick to start chowing down with the enthusiasm of a mindless Grey.

"Fuck me," you whisper to yourself, fingertips splintering against the bark. "Couldn't prepare me for that, huh, Ghost?"

The plan he instructed you with is fairly simple and straightforward— you'll just have to stick to it and be mindful of the additional obstacle. You've survived much worse even just a few days ago, so with that in mind, you slip down the column of the tree and purposefully backtrack your steps, gaining a bit more distance between you and the camp. 

You need a ruse, something to draw the man out for enough time for you to grab the ammo. Ghost told you to bring the book to help get a fire started since the twigs and leaves here are damp after the storm, so you find a good spot and start ripping out the pages, crumpling them up. You arrange the piece of wood and paper in such a way that you have a minute or two before the smoke really gets going. You pull out your lighter from the pocket of your jeans, start it, and then head back towards the camp, this time going around so you can approach it from the side. 

You keep your footsteps as light as possible while moving quickly. Once the man notices the smoke and leaves to scout it out, your timer starts. There's another whistle followed by a gravelly bark from the dog. You sneak close to the side of the fence, pausing behind a tree, just when you catch a glance of the stranger shucking a rifle over his shoulder and exiting out the gate. He shuts it behind him with a series of padlocks.

It won't take him long to find the source of the smoke and realize it's nothing, so you muster all your strength and begin climbing the fence, rusty links digging into your palms. You try to do it without making much noise, but the moment you jump down with a thud, the dog's head snaps in your direction. It begins to growl, flashing thick canines under its bloodied muzzle. You break out into a sprint toward the blue crates, but it crosses the span of the camp in mere seconds, clamping down on your forearm before you can even begin to look for the ammo.

The pain is white hot. You silently cry out as the dog shakes its head, tearing through the fabric of your coat and the tissue of your muscle. 

"Fuck."

You tug at your arm, but it doesn't let go. Remembering the piece of squirrel meat you brought as a snack, you dig it from your pocket and wag it in front of the dog's face.

"Come on, let go— please."

It's enough to catch his attention, the bite on your arm loosening once you toss the meat a few meters away and he follows it. You clutch your arm with a ragged breath, ignoring the blood and pain that radiates from it.

The squirrel can only distract him for so long, so you urgently flip open the lid of the first crate. Staring back at you is a mix of what appears to be severed limbs and various animal parts. The pungent smell floods up your nose. You instantly clamp the lid back down, fighting the urge to vomit, and move on to the next one. 

Ammo.

Plenty of it.

Without a second to waste, you sling off the backpack and begin stuffing it with the cardboard packs of cartridges, hoping it's the kind Ghost needs. When you tug the zipper closed, a decision pops into your brain: to keep looking through the other crates for medicine, or to get the fuck out of there. You take a millisecond too long to think about it because suddenly, you notice the dog from the corner of your eye, done with the meat and moving towards you with another throaty growl. 

You tug the heavy backpack on and make a beeline for the closest side of the fence. In the panic, you fail to notice the creak of the gate opening until you are stumbling into a hard chest. A strong hand wraps around your bicep.

Fuck.

He's back.

This is it, then.

"Rocky— sit."

The growling behind you ceases. A whole new fear washes over you as you blink up at a rugged face. The stranger uses his other hand to take hold of your jaw, hard enough that your teeth are forced to grind together. In a heart-pounding silence, he inspects you, bluntly looking you up and down. Then, he takes out a knife and presses it to your neck. Your throat bobs against the icy metal. 

"Fucking bitch," he mutters. "Start a fire to try and steal from me?"

"N-no!" Your brain reels for a lie. "No— I don't know what you're talking about. I-I came here looking for help."

"Try a better lie, sweetheart." 

"I mean it," you stammer, holding onto the fact that he hasn't slit your throat yet. Raw desperation speaks for you. "My… my friends are gone. Someone attacked us a few days ago and killed them. I've been alone ever since and then I found your camp, hoping someone would be here to help me."

This seems to grab his attention. Dark eyes narrow. It's now you realize he's quite young, maybe in his thirties.

"Someone attacked you, huh? Who?"

"Um, some guy. I don't know. I didn't get a good look at him because he was… he was wearing a mask."

"So some guy killed all your friends by himself?" When you slowly nod, cringing at your terrible story, his jaw flexes. "I've lost my friends, too. They went out on a hunting trip three days ago and haven't come back."

"Oh. I'm sorry," you lie, swallowing. "So you… so you believe me?"

"I believe your friends are dead. I don't believe you didn't start that fire to distract me."

His words make your heart race. Again, his eyes trail down, and the knife follows, lowering to the floral fabric of your blouse and popping open one of the buttons. 

"Take it off," he suddenly orders. 

"W-what?"

"The shirt. Take it off. Let me decide if I should kill you or keep you."

You put on a brave face and do as he says, not given much room to protest despite the sick feeling that twists your gut. You drop the backpack, half-inclined to swing it at him, but then what? There is no way you can take him in a fight, especially since he's armed with a knife and gun, and there is no Grey this time to help you out. 

The coat falls to the ground at your feet before you shakily undo the buttons of your blouse, wincing from the movement of your bitten arm. Crisp air greets your bare skin. Your nipples tighten uncomfortably and his gaze darts right to them, intensifying the churn in your stomach. 

He gives a low whistle. "Lucky me."

Your nails jab crescents into the palms of your hands. "Am I… am I worth keeping, then?"

He bears a sick, toothy smile. "Pretty for a thief," he confirms. "Haven't seen someone so pretty in a few years now." His eyes flash to your arm and he reaches to grab it, making you choke. "Hell, Rocky. You gave her an ugly bite, though. Might get in the way of what I have in mind for you."

Half-naked, you are dragged by the arm to one of the blue crates. He slips the knife into his pocket in order to search through it. You notice pills, liquids, and a single glass bottle of what appears to be clear alcohol, which he pulls out along with a cloth.

"Tell me your name," he says, forcing you to sit down on a folding chair. "Before I enjoy you.”

You tell him quietly.

With an eery gentleness, he sits across from you and dabs the bite with some alcohol. The sting is immeasurable, but you roll your eyes to the sky and silence yourself. The feel of his cold, calloused fingers makes you imagine how they would feel touching other parts of your body. You need to think of something quick before he gets the chance to. He still has the gun on him, and the only knife you brought is in the jacket on the ground. Your eyes flicker to the bottle, which he set down by the leg of his chair.

"What's your name?" you ask, looking back at him.

"Leo."

"So, um, Leo— how did you end up here?"

"I was a new recruit in the military when shit started five years ago," he explains idly, fixated on your arm. "Stationed at the base nearby."

"I saw medical tents there," you mutter, clearing your throat. "Did you help with that?"

He chuckles. "For all of a day until some buddies and I decided to take what we could and leave. There was no point in trying to help people. We figured that out pretty quick."

"Oh. Were those the buddies who haven't come back?" 

He nods. "I'm sure they're dead by now. But, one good thing is," he reaches for the gauze, sniggering lowly, "—that means I don't have to share you."

As he begins to unwrap the gauze, you decide he’s distracted enough. It happens in one, urgent motion. You clasp the alcohol bottle by the neck, arch it above his head, and thrust it down. The glass shatters, drenching him with alcohol and blood as a piece slices open his forehead. He immediately drops the gauze and hisses in pain.

"Bitch," he snarls. "I'm going to fucking kill you!"

He leaps to his feet and pulls the knife out again. As he does, you dig the lighter out of your pocket and ignite a flame, bringing it to his soaked shoulder. Instantly, fire flashes up his neck and face in hues of orange and blue, even catching your wet fingertips. It renders him blind as he howls and tries to swing at you, but you immediately run away, rubbing your burned hand against your jeans.

You grab your discarded clothes and backpack before flinging open the crate with medicine in it. You begin stuffing as many bottles into the side pockets of the backpack as you can, breathing frantically.

"I'm going to kill you," he seethes again, and the firing of a bullet somewhere behind you means he must have grabbed his rifle.

But he still can't see, his eyes blistered by the flames that continue to lick his face. Each shot bites the ground as you heave the backpack on your shoulders and take off toward the fence.

The dog barks, louder and louder as he runs after you. You don't look back. You wad your clothes up in a ball and toss them over the fence to free up your hands. Then, you quickly climb up, the muscles in your face tightly clenched as the full backpack weighs you down. 

You're too slow. 

Teeth grab hold of your boot.

You're pulled back down, hands spreading out to break the fall. 

In the mud, you wrestle beneath a snarling jaw, dirtying up your hair and exposed skin. This time, you don't hesitate to hurt the animal. You grab your lighter again and thrust the flame into the dog's eye, making it leap back with a pained squeal. 

Freed, you scramble back up the fence.

You leap down. Grab your clothes

You can still hear him shouting as you run away, weaving through the thicket of trees. Only when the sound fades do you stop to catch your breath, sinking down against a tree and putting your clothes back on.

"Here."

A moan of relief escapes your lips the moment you shrug off the backpack and drop it at Ghost's feet. He crouches down, swearing under his breath when he unzips it and the ammo practically spills out. He grabs a few boxes, opening and inspecting them under the violet light of sunset. The walk back took you hours longer. You were almost tempted to sleep in a tree for the night, but the threat of Greys or any more strangers kept you going. 

"Good. This is good, Twix." There's a hint of disbelief in his voice before he clears it away, zipping the backpack up. He stands and offers a lengthy look from your head to your boots. "How many were there?"

"Just one."

"Just one," he repeats, brow lifting. "And you look this roughed up. What happened?"

"There was a dog," you say dully, lifting your arm up to show him the bitemark in your sleeve. Beneath it, you already bandaged the wound, not wanting to draw attention to its scent. “Just a dog and a cannibal rapist guy."

"What?"

You shake your head. "Nothing. I'm going to sleep."

Before you can take a step past him, warm fingers latch onto your wrist. So warm. You inhale a breath, a burn of moisture lining your eyes.

“Please don’t touch me," you request in a harsher whisper than you intend.

You can no longer see the details of him with how bleary your eyes are, but you feel his touch disappear.

"What happened?" he asks again, voice lowering.

"Nothing. I got your ammo and I handled it. When can we leave?"

There is a pause before he responds as if he is debating whether or not to drop the subject. For now, he does.

"Tomorrow, hopefully."

"Good." The back of your hand smooths over your eyes. "Don't— don't forget our deal, Ghost. Promise me."

A firm nod. "I don't back out on my word."

As if to prove it, he shucks off the jacket and hands it over.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfiction #cod

[poeticmystery]

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ RAY OF SUNSHINE (p.j.)

summary : in which percy jackson feels attached, in some way, to a girl he just met.

w.c. : about 1k

a/n : part 2! thank you for all the support on the firsg part, there will be more to follow!

this is also on my wattpad: poet1cmystery

warning(s) : none!

| riordanverse masterlist | navigation | part 1 |

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

percy awoke near midnight, having slept for almost seven hours. he had been woken up by a nightmare, just like usual. The stars hanging in the sky painted a serene picture for him as he stared out through the small infirmary window, the view calming him quickly. for once, the camp around him was quiet. no bustling demigods, no chattering kids. just quiet. 

the son of poseidon sat up, looking around more. he was never in here for as long of a time as he had been currently. he never noticed how old the withering wood was, its brown shade falling to a reddish-beige. they were surrounded by magic but still couldn't repair the infirmary. huh. he could definitely see the imprints the apollo children had made, even just in the small room he was in. there was an overall sense of brightness, despite the late hour it was. it felt welcoming, in a way. 

he debated on going back to his cabin now or staying here until morning. the harpies would be out, so that definitely wouldn't be preferable. still, could he really stay for this long? y/n had told him to stay until he felt better...

so, he stayed, in hopes of seeing her again. he was still curious about the connection he felt to her. curious about why her eyes felt so familiar. he tried to rack his brain for answer, yet nothing came to mind. there was a faint image of those eyes on a little girl, their e/c being illuminated by a ray of sunshine. but that was where the memory faded. nothing around the young girl seemed familiar, none of the scenery. he couldn’t even tell if the memory was indoors.

percy noticed the lack of movement, even inside of the infirmary. apollo kids had to sleep too. the only sound he heard was the low chirping of crickets, occasionally seeing one of their tiny bodies hopping by, being illuminated by the fading moonlight.

the lack of light was seamlessly replaced by an orange hue, accompanying the rising sun in the distance. it must’ve been closer to morning than what he had thought. well, that just meant he got to see this mysterious girl sooner.

the stars faded slowly, as if running from the intruding daylight.

y/n walked into the infirmary, smiles and all, the view causing a small grin to even grow to his own face. the optimistic attitude she often boar wasn’t new, but still found a way to draw him in.

“oh!” she looked surprised to see him, was that bad? should he have left when we woke up? the wide smile said otherwise, but he was beginning to think it was permanent, regardless of the situation. his mind raced, and he didn’t know why. it wasn’t like this with anyone else that’d help him. why her?

“i didn’t realize you were still here. are you feeling better at least?” she questioned, concern lacing her features.

“uh, yeah,” he swallowed, trying to get the ugly taste out of his mouth, “ ‘m feeling a lot better. thank you.”

“it’s what i’m here for,” she replied cheerily, spinning on her heel and moving away from the open doorway.

 he gave it a few minutes, then slowly sat up. as the blanket fell from his shoulders, a sudden wave of cool air reminded him of the shirt he wasn’t wearing.  his eyes roamed the enclosed area, searching for the familiar orange fabric of his camp-tee. then, he saw it hanging on a plastic hanger, seemingly clean. he took slightly shaky steps towards it, eventually shrugging it over his shoulders, letting it fall past his arms. 

he walked out of the room he was in, slightly zoned out. unfortunately for him, he bumped into the girl he had been trying to figure out.

“ah, shit, sorry y/n,” he said quickly, gently reaching to grab her arm to steady her.

she didn’t seem bothered. “it’s alright, are you going?”

he nodded, releasing his grip from her arm. “i’ll see you around?” he asked, hoping the answer was yes. maybe then he could figure out where he knew her from.

“of course, percy.”

her words made him smile, even if she just meant them half-heartedly. (she definitely did, he could tell.) he stepped out into the now fully-risen sun, its rays beating down on him despite the chill held by the autumn air.

immediately, he was greeted by his short, fast-talking friend. the one and only, leo valdez.

“where have you been?” the boy exclaimed, his head tilting slightly upwards to meet percy’s eyes.

“dude, it’s been like a day,” percy said flatly.

almost on instinct, percy checked his pockets for his trusted pen. no matter how long he had had it, he still wasn’t used to the fact he couldn’t lose it. just like he suspected, it was safely sitting in the back pocket of his jeans.

percy’s gaze wondered back towards the infirmary one last time, before quickly flicking back to leo, trying to listen to what the boy was discussing as they walked further and further away.

he noticed leo looking at him expectantly, and just nodded his head, seemingly agreeing to what had just been said. “yeah, of course.”

“you weren’t listening, were you?” leo groans.

“not at all,” the boy admitted, not wanting to lie to one of his closest friends.

“tell me again?” he offered, smirking sheepishly down at leo, who rolled his eyes. still, the boy repeated what he had said, this time earning a real response from percy.

the two boys conversed, occasionally shoving each other around as they walked over the dirt pathways winding between the camp cabins. eventually, they heard a horn blow, signaling breakfast.

arriving at the pavilion, percy noticed y/n walking towards a table seating annabeth chase, piper mclean, and luke castellan. wait.

luke castellan?

why was she sitting with luke castellan? 

why did percy care? 

he didn’t. right?

no, of course he didn’t. why would he?

taglist : @iamforeverandalwaystired, lmk if you wanna be added!

#percy jackson x reader #leo valdez x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson imagines #percy jackson x you #jason grace x reader #heroes of olympus #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson blurbs #luke castellan #annabeth chase x reader #annabeth chase #heroes of olympus imagines #leo valdez imagines #piper mclean x reader

[pedgito]

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 pt. i ✧ ˚ · . 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: something that is desired all the more because it is not allowed—you find yourself torn between the idea that even though eddie is in a position of authority as your professor, he’s still what you crave the most.

cw: 18+ (minors, dni) teacher/student relationship, age gap (21 & 29), corruption!kink (eddie is well aware of what he’s doing), background ronance, max is readers bestfriend, eddie likes to wear his hair up for class and hates being formal, bratty!reader (sorta), angsty touches, a smutty cliffhanger, ect & lots more to come (pun intended)

word count: 11.6k - part two, part three, part four

The campus was huge and crowded and everything you hated all wrapped into one—but you couldn’t beat the view, the pleasant Indians weather, and all the amazing classes the college had to offer. And normally, first days would be terrifying, crippling your anxiety, but there was nothing but excitement; for now, at least. 

Most of your morning was spent combing through syllabuses and trying to find your classes, which is mostly your own fault, deciding on a major so vastly different from your main course work—by the time afternoon rolls around, you’re forced to walk clear across campus, nearly ten minutes late to your class and faced with a surprisingly unirritated gentleman, who’s three seconds away from shutting the door closed indefinitely.

The man steals a glance at his watch, arm twitching slightly to force his sleeve back. His eyes glance up to you for a moment and back down, “Not a great way to start off your first day,” He comments cooly, face void of any emotion, “is this gonna be a habit?”

“No—god, no,” You respond, slightly out of breath, hand clutching the strap of your book bag, “I’m just getting used to where everything’s at—I didn’t get a chance to visit the campus earlier, I have no idea where anything is or—“

“It’s fine,” He assures, beckoning you into the classroom, surprisingly full, forcing you to the front row, positioned almost directly in front of his desk—this was the beginning of your nightmare, “let’s just be mindful of time, yeah?”

Not that Eddie has ever been punctual a day in his life. But, he’s learned that being a hard-ass is more effective than not giving a shit at all, especially when it comes to his students. 

“Yeah—yes, I promise.” You swear, forcing a thin smile before making an immediate line for your desk, hoping that the further you sink, the more unnoticed you’ll be. Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the case. 

The loud slide of the chalk against the chalkboard as he writes his name across the green slab is defeating, most of the class watching in fearful silence—like there was some impending doom about to descend upon them. 

“Uh, sir—“ You can see him visibly tense at the word, “are we going to be learning how to play any instruments in this class?” The voice comes from a boy who seems naturally quiet and more reserved, mortified by the fact that he even found the courage to raise his hand and ask a question. 

There’s a small roar of laughter from the others, but you look along stoically, watching his face upturn slightly. 

“Don’t call me, sir—please,” He laughs lightly, “it makes me feel old.”

“Professor Munson,” He corrects himself, “sorry.”

“You’re fine,” He assures, “and look—this isn’t an intro to music, it’s intro to musical therapy. We’re not just studying instruments and music, we’re also studying behaviors, the mind, how all of this stuff connects and affects people’s thought process and aiding certain struggles they may have.”

His way of talking is animated and refreshing, a stark change from the usual monotone professors you’ve run into all morning. 

“So, if you’re just expecting to learn how to play the piano or something, this class probably isn’t for you,” He explains, eyeing down about a quarter of the class that makes a collective groan, “hey—I’m just being honest.”

And you knew you wouldn’t see half of those people in a week, jumping at the first chance to transfer, but you couldn’t help being intrigued. It wasn’t necessarily your first choice for a major, but it took you by surprise; your love for psychology and mind studies mixed with your love of music, it seemed like the perfect storm. Plus, your professor wasn’t the worst person in the world—yet. 

He easily snaps open the cuff links to his sleeves, rolling them halfway up his arm, revealing a rather striking depiction of bats, swarming around the expanse of his forearm. 

He definitely seemed like a tattoo guy, but it was still odd to see so openly—his feet tap together as he takes a seat on the end of his desk, scanning the room. You can’t help but notice his lopsided tie, wanting so desperately to fix it—it was bound to drive you nuts. 

“It’s probably best to get most of your question out of the way today,” He says, “so, shoot them at me while you have the opportunity.”

A few hands fly up, he points off to your right, a couple rows behind you. 

“So—are you a therapist?” 

He snorts a soft laugh, shaking his head, “No—I don’t have all the proper certifications, but I assist therapist a lot when they’re looking into doing stuff related to musical therapy. I know enough to get by.” 

The smile he flashes leads you to believe that he’s trying to be humble. 

“Do you play any instruments?” Another student asks freely, the heads of the rest of the class snapping in their direction.

“A few,” He answers, hand waving about in a noncommittal manner, “mostly just guitar.”

He adjusts his tie again, even more lopsided now and you can’t help but stare it down, focused on nothing but the black, shiny material of it—Eddie clears his throat softly, catching your attention.

He’s staring right at you, caught red-handed—quick, think of something—

“Who do you usually work with?” You ask suddenly, “In your line of work, I mean.”

Outside of being a professor, obviously. 

Another laugh, more subdued. “Veterans, mostly, and a lot of children.” 

Eddie claps his hands together very suddenly, startling most of the class, including yourself. “Anyways, let’s go over the syllabus so there’s no confusion—I don’t need you guys bugging me outside of my office hours, as much as I love to teach.”

You sense another jab coming, but it doesn’t.

The syllabus review is a breeze, setting you up for what most of the semester entails, including when he was available—again, making it very clear that he wasn’t available outside of office hours. 

And then he’s adjusting the damn tie again, almost like it’s wringing his neck to death. By the time class ends, he dismisses everyone with a simple wave, a few students lingering around their desks, debating on whether they should drop the class or not. 

The voice that trails from the front of the classroom as you take a step down catches your attention, pulling your head up to look at the culprit. “Staying or dropping?” He asks.

Professor Munson. It felt weird and unnatural as it rolled around in your mind, still not falling from your tongue. 

“Staying,” You answer surely, “I knew what this class was before I signed up—I’m not about playing roulette with taking a college class.”

“Fair enough.” He’s leaning against his desk again, hands shoved into his slack pockets, shiny, gold watch resting on his wrist, and you can’t take it anymore, the frustration boiling from your chest

“Your tie,” You say abruptly, pointing at the material, “It’s crooked.”

Really fucking crooked. 

He takes a glance down, finger slipping in the space between his tie and neck, pulling at the offense piece of clothing, loosening it until it’s snapping away.

He balls up the tie and tosses it behind me, landing messily on his desk. “I never wear those after the first day—hate them. They’re so stupid.” 

“Or, you just don’t know how to tie a tie.” You point on, mouth speaking before your brain can catch up—realizing much too late that this was your professor, not a friend. 

Eddie scoffs mockingly, “And I’m sure you do.” He counters, watching your face drop slightly.

You did, actually—but that wasn’t the point. 

“No one ever taught me.” He tells you, “So I’m wingin’ it.” 

You nod thoughtfully, surprised at how quickly you managed to embarrass yourself. “Oh.” You say simply, it’s all you can manage. 

You save yourself for further humiliation by offering a wave of goodbye, breaking the uncomfortable tension that had grown between you both, excusing yourself immediately.

And if that was horrible enough, your night would be even worse. 

☆.｡.:*

“The Hideout?” You ask curiously, twisting the flyer in your hand, “That place is still open?

Max snatches the paper from your hand, shoving it into the pocket of her jacket, protecting her from the biting cold of wind—the beginnings of Hawkins autumn weather creeping up on you. 

It didn’t help that you were barely covered from the waist down, skirt leaving little to imagine as the slit ran high up your thigh, thankfully the long sleeve top you wore was enough to save your upper extremities. 

“Nancy and Robin swear by that place—plus, they’ll be pissed if you don’t go.” Max explains in her usual ‘could care less’ tone.

The only reason she was going was because of Lucas—a boy she’d met during her first class that day, who she also invited out, despite barely knowing. You couldn’t blame her, though. Max could handle herself well enough, that was for sure. 

The drive is long, further out of town than you expect—hidden on some rundown road on an empty corner, bare except for the small bar, yet the place was packed with cars. 

“Okay, maybe this place isn’t as rundown as I remember,” You take note of, “or everyone really wanted to get drunk tonight.”

Either way, you were definitely heading toward the latter option, following closely after Max. It doesn’t take long for Max to be pulled away though, quickly distracted by the only reason she came here, abandoning you. 

“Have fun,” You remind her, “seriously.” 

You could take care of yourself, settling up at one of the empty tables before the stage, perched on the uncomfortably tall seat, ordering yourself a quick drink as a server passes you. 

“Hey!” A perked up voice yells out from behind you, arms wrapping around in a gentle hug—no one had the nerve besides Robin, who quickly caught you in a fuller hug as you turned to face her. “How have you been? Where’s Max?”

“She’s busy,” You laugh, giving her a pointed look, which she catches on quickly. “Where’s Nance?”

“Right here,” Her delicate voice peaks out from behind Robin, watching as her hand sneaks into Nancy’s, squeezing firmly. 

You smile to yourself, but Robin sees it, shoving you an annoyed look. 

At least those two finally figured it out—almost ten years later. 

“So, you two know who’s playing tonight?” You ask curiously, sipping on the beer that the server passes to you on their way through the crowd. 

“Yeah, he’s an old friend—we haven’t seen him in a while, though.” They both frown at the mention of it, sharing a quiet glance. “We should’ve invited Steve, Nance.” 

“He never wants to leave the house, you know that.” Nancy adds, “His kids keep him busy enough.”

And it seemed like Steve got the life he always wanted, for the most part—but it’s still somber to think about, wishing just as badly that you could’ve seen him once more. 

“Maybe next time.” You offer, and both of them smile. 

“I’ll have to remind him to invite you to his littlest’s party in a couple months,” Nancy says, “he misses you.” 

The feedback startled all of you, pulling you from the conversation and toward the stage, light dimly over the center. The lights around the bar dimmed in contrast, adjusting everyone toward the men gathering in their places on stage.

You squinted carefully, watching the guitarist adjust the microphone, pulling it up to his height. His hair was long, unruly, and obscuring his face as he leaned forward, speaking into the microphone. 

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” He asks with a decent amount of enthusiasm, receiving a hearty applause in return. “We’re Corroded Coffin.”

The name blanks in your mind, not ringing any immediate bells. 

It was definitely a crowd full of fans—or family, at least. They excitement was palpable, everyone leaning on the edge of their seats.

“This is our first show in a couple years, so go easy on us.” He laughs, head flicking up to move the hair out of his face—again, he spots you almost instantly. 

The intake of breath is involuntarily, getting caught in your throat. The blush that creeps up your cheeks is hot and burning, noticeable from a mile away.

Eddie fucking Munson, your college professor—of all the chances and fate in the world this is how your night was going to go?

Eddie clears his throat, immediately averting his gaze. “We’re just doing cover songs tonight—so if you’ve got a request, send it through Gareth.” He instructs, jerking his head over his shoulder. 

And despite how mortifying this all feels, Eddie plays his heart out; you’ve never seen anything like it. He’s a person who expresses himself through his body and his music, clearly—thrashing wildly and putting every movement he can into his playing, bouncing on his feet. He can’t be bothered to stay still, which is a complete difference from his classroom demeanor.

From what you’ve seen, at least. 

“You good?” Robin asks, nothing the ghostly look on your face.

“Yeahyeah, uh—“ You reply distantly, “The lead looked familiar, but I think it’s a coincidence.” 

One hell of a fucking coincidence. 

“Eddie?” They both ask simultaneously, “There’s no way.” 

Eddie Munson. Again, your professor—but also, a friend of a friend, and a complete fucking stranger otherwise. You must’ve pissed someone off well enough down the line to end up in this position; the biggest dose of karma you’ve ever felt. 

“Like I said—it’s probably a coincidence.” You assure them, eyes still locked on him. 

“Yeah—I don’t think we started hanging out with him until after you moved schools.” Nancy supplies, further attempting to assure you.

Eddie catches another glance at you and you can’t help but down the bottle of beer in one go, immediately leaving your seat to ask for another, leaving your friends to congregate at the table.

The song ends abruptly, falling off of a long guitar solo, and you can’t even dare to look in that direction, faced shoved into the drink you gripped in your hand. 

“Come here, come here,” You hear Robin call from behind you, but you know it’s not for you, another rumbling voice slipping through the many others, a weak protest, “Stop being like that.”

There really was no arguing with Robin and Eddie was smart to keep quiet, following her obediently to the bar. The hand that clasps your shoulder is light and gentle and Nancy shoots you an apologetic look as you look behind you.

“Ringin’ any bells now?” Robin asks playfully, holding her hand up under his face, like he was on display. Eddie makes a face, side eyeing her affectionately. 

“No, sorry,” You lie easily, shrugging him off. Eddie seems to relax at that, half-expecting you to out both him and yourself—not that there was anything wrong, it was just another freaky coincidence, “What’s his name again?”

And really, it’s just to poke fun, the slight buzz creeping into your system. 

“Eddie Munson,” Nancy replies, glancing between the both of you, “Edward, if that helps.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at that, hand held up in desperation as he called out for a drink over your shoulder, reaching around you to grab the bottle. You visibly tense at the proximity and he notices, still, he doesn’t try to move away. 

This was too weird.

“Nope, still nothing.” You tell them, sticking to your story. 

Robin shrugs, “Well, I should probably explain—Nancy used to babysit her when she was younger, her and Max and all those crazy little kids that we always told you about—“

It made you wince; babysitter, Nancy, kids. It was the worst sequence of words that could’ve been spoken in history, to your professor, in the middle of a bar, that he was also playing at. 

“Robin,” You warn, “I’m sure he doesn’t care.”

“Nah,” Eddie shrugs, leaned beside you against the bar, metal chain clinking against the counter-top, lifting the beer to his lips leisurely, “It’s nice to meet you.”

And the smile seems forced, but his voice is steady, easy—you almost believe him.

But, then Nancy and Robin are pulled off in a different direction, catching up with another small group of friends and Eddie is staring at you.

And not secretly—very, very openly. 

“I swear I didn’t—“ You start.

“I don’t usually,” He interrupts.

You both take a hard stop, looking each other down. 

“You first,” He instructs, bring the drink to his lips once more, “then I’ll go.”

“I swear I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” You explain, “otherwise I would’ve skipped out.”

He wants to ask why, but the answer seems obvious—no one wants to see their teacher outside of school. 

“I don’t usually make a habit of letting my students see me like this.” He motions to his get-up, hair loose and clothes even looser, aside from the obviously homemade jacket he wore, patches hand stitched and worn at the seams, but the weirdest part of it all—the ripped jeans. It felt out of place for someone nearing their thirties. He catches your gaze, the judgement evident. “My point exactly.”

“So, that’s why you don’t know how to tie a tie.” You challenge, taking a long sip of beer, eyebrow quirked in amusement as you swallow, cheeks puffed out by the liquid. 

He scoffs softly, amused at your comeback. “We shouldn’t even be talking right now, you know that?” He points out, yet he hasn’t moved an inch, still close enough that if you decided to separate your thighs, he’d fit perfectly.

You hum quietly, “Yet, you’re still here.” Another beer down, another slipped into your hand like clockwork, throwing it back easily. “So, who’s fault is that?”

Him being the responsible adult and all, not that it really mattered here. This would be a level playing field outside of any other circumstance. 

“Wait—can I ask a personal question?” And maybe it was the alcohol talking. 

“No—“ He answers quickly, but your brain bypasses it.

“How old are you?” You ask curiously, “You look too young to be a professor.”

Eddie looks stunned, affected by your forwardness, but he takes it in stride. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment—I’m twenty nine, a couple years older than Nancy and Robin.”

You don’t press on the additional information, but nod thoughtfully, taking another quick sip of your beer.

“Sorry—it was bugging me. I have a bad problem with filtering my thoughts.” You admit sheepishly, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, fiddling with the flimsy zipper on your skirt. 

“Clearly,” Eddie laughs, bringing the bottle to his lips slowly, stopping just as his lips pressed the rim, “Are you even old enough to be drinking?”

“Are you going to kick me out if I’m not?” You challenge playfully, Eddie doesn’t bite, looking you down accusingly.

It was as if he suddenly shifted back into teacher mode, judging your choices and feeling the need to scold you.

“I’m twenty one,” You tell him, “don’t have a fucking stroke over it.”

You don’t know why Eddie’s eyes shift, scanning full body, like he’s trying to take all of you in—both of your contrasting styles outside of school are a welcomed surprise; he doesn’t really expect it from you. But, you could say the same for him.

“Wasn’t gonna,” He assures you, nursing the beer near his mouth, forearms leaned against the bar now as he looks toward you, eyes catching the way your fingers fiddled with the label on the bottle, “you cold?”

Your leg crosses over the other, goosebumps riddling your skin—it’s like he’s a mind reader, the entrance door of the bar swinging open, a cold blast of air spreading throughout. “Not really.” You lie, gripping the end of your skirt to shift it down. 

You could’ve been more practical, shown up in jeans and some worn out band shirt, but you wanted to look nice—feel cute and dressed up for once, was that a crime? 

“Hey, there you are,” Max calls from behind you, scattering toward you with a wide-eyed Lucas in tow, “so you met Eddie?”

You turn in your seat, staring the fiery redhead down, a smile plastered on her freckle covered face. 

“You too?” You ask incredulously, glancing toward Eddie, who seemed rather unfazed by it all now. “What the hell?”

“He used to live across from me, back in high school,” Max explains, which makes sense.

You moved after middle school, leaving most of Hawkins in your rear view, aside from the occasional letters to Max—both of you swore that despite the distance, college was your nonnegotiable; both of you applied, both of you got accepted, it was some sort of divine miracle, but neither of you questioned it.

“Small world,” Eddie shrugs from beside you, finishing off the last sip of his beer, “you staying out of trouble, Red?”

“Probably not,” She replies honestly, before turning to you sheepishly, “—do you think Robin will give you a ride home?”

“Max,” You groan, her look switching from hesitant to pleading, “fine—whatever, I’ll talk to Robin.”

“I love you,” She says endearingly, wrapping you into a quick forceful hug, nearly knocking you from your chair, “I owe you one.” 

“Uh huh,” You reply sarcastically, waving her away, “See you tomorrow.”

When you turn, Eddie is slapping a fresh bill on the counter-top, returning his chained wallet back to his pocket.

 “I guess I’ll be seeing you Monday.”

Saying it makes it even weirder. 

“I won’t tell anyone.” You assure him, seeing the way his eyes catch yours, almost thankful. He doesn’t have to say it—he didn’t take you for the type to brag, but still, it’s a comforting confession. “I promise.”

The last part feels like too much, but Eddie smiles regardless, adjusting his jacket over his shoulders, preparing for the crisp, cold air that awaits him.

Robin, find Robin. Your brain scrambled, searching around for your friend—or Nancy, but neither of them are anywhere inside of the bar. 

You’ve got to be fucking kidding. 

“Everything okay?” Eddie asks softly, pulling the hair caught under the lapel of his jacket.

“I think they left,” You frown slightly, preparing yourself to walk several blocks until the nearest bus station, feet already sore and achy from the uncomfortable heels you wore, “Robin and Nance.”

And Eddie has the internal battle with himself for at least half a minute, weighing the odds of how uncomfortable this could be, or how creepy it may come off, but he wasn’t going to leave you high and dry—he wasn’t raised that way.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks suddenly, swinging his keys into his palm.

“Huh?” There was no way you were taking a ride from your teacher, of all people. “—I’m fine, really. I just need to walk far enough to the bus stop.” 

“In those?” Eddie asks pointedly, staring down at the heels that hugged your feet like a vice grip, already sore from only a couple hours of use. “It’s not a big deal—are you going back to campus?”

You nod hesitantly.

Eddie motions toward the door and you follow obediently—your feet could thank you later. You knew there was no harm in a ride home, either, Eddie was far from the normal sketchy men around Hawkins, but it didn’t feel right. It felt like keeping a secret from your parents and doing something that had persistently told you not to, or how often the school system looked down on relations with staff outside of school, no matter the level or severity. It seemed that Eddie was hoping you’d keep this to yourself—he was counting on it.

☆.｡.:*

“Did you enjoy the music at least?” Eddie asks halfway through the drive, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other fishes for his pack of cigarettes; a bad habit he’d yet to break.

“I mean—they were cover songs,” You shrugged, “Metallica is alright, but I prefer Bon Jovi and Quiet Riot—“

“Are you shitting on Metallica, right now?” Eddie asks, shocked by the admission. He manages to wiggle a cigarette out with one hand, tossing the box toward the middle console, “Do you mind?”

Part of you wants to say yes, just to be difficult, but you shake your head. He flicks his lighter opening, lighting the end of the cigarette until it burns a bright amber, ashes falling from the tip.

“You dress like you’re stuck in the eighties, dude.” Eddie seems offended by the comment, but takes it in stride. 

“Says the lady who still listens to Bon Jovi.” Eddie sharks, pulling the cigarette from his lips, smoke billowing from his nose as he breathes, “

You hate how nice it is to watch, his soft lips pursing into a tight line. One more hit at him and he’d probably fail you out of spite, but you do it anyway. 

“Says the guy still singing eighties cover songs.” Eddie winces at the jab, flicking away the ash from the cigarette, held out in the air as he searches for his retort.

“So you hated it?” Is all his brain can muster at a time like this, brain hazy from the amount of beers he consumed—you could say the same for yourself, the alcohol buzz is still ever apparent—you wouldn’t have ended up in a situation like this while stone cold sober, that’s for sure.

“No,” You reply honestly. The music was good, the performance was even better, but still—it seemed he was searching for your approval, like it would make all the difference, “but it’s the mid nineties, you need to get with the times.”

Eddie scoffs offensively, a few more puffs before he’s rubbing the cigarette to its untimely demise, pulling into the quiet campus. 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” He says, coming to a stop, “—I hope this is close enough, the last thing I need is someone catching me dropping you off.”

Then he shouldn’t have offered a ride, which was his first mistake of many. 

It’s offensive how handsome he looks under the dim lights radiating from the inside of his van—an odd choice for a teacher of his salary, but it still makes sense, somehow. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sir.” You retort, throwing the last bit in for fun—he tenses again, visibly. He doesn’t correct you, though, which is even more difficult to understand.

He offers a simple wave, friendly and polite, then he’s gone and halfway across the campus before you can even process what happened. 

It also doesn’t help that the first thing you see in your dreams that night is his face—ungodly in the way he worshiped your body, from head to toe; it was definitely the alcohol talking. 

☆.｡.:*

Monday drags more than you expect, having nursed your hangover during the weekend, it felt like an aftershock was trying to overtake you, your focus lacking. It wasn’t unlike you. 

You replay the conversation with Eddie in your head a few times that weekend, realizing that even through your drunken haze, Eddie was not attempting to be teacherly toward you—he was friendly, a natural conversationalist, it felt wrong. 

It felt even worse when you fell asleep, his head stuck between your thighs as you dreamed that night, “She’s so pretty,” His voice is faded, muffled—like he’s stuck in a tunnel and too far away, “fucking soaking wet, too.” 

And it feels too real as he licks a broad stripe up your cunt, moaning obscenely as his face is coated in your wetness, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit—it’s too much for you to process. 

“Good afternoon,” Eddie’s voice carries through the door to his classroom, satchel and coffee in hand, looking just as worse for wear. His hair is tied back in a loose bun, no tie today, and his slacks look like they’re been worn for a week straight, wrinkles and all, “nice to see the class has downsized.”

It has, nearly half of the original class is gone—which really, it was better for you. You couldn’t focus in large classes and it felt less personal, more disconnected than you liked.

Eddie tries desperately to keep his energy up during the duration of the lesson, but he’s lacking on all fronts—maybe he had a rough weekend? 

When he hands out the first assignment near the end of class, he stops by your desk, leaning on the railing to speak to the entirety of the class, “And don’t freak out—this is just a basis to see where you heads are at in terms of what music you like, how it makes you feel, it’s just a soft introduction into some of the stuff we’ll be covering over the semester.”

It’s a list of various songs, bands, genres—a mix of things dating back to the early fifties, up until more recently. “Go out, rent some of this if you’ve never heard of it, and write what you feel—that’s it. Easy enough?” 

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge you most of the class, which is expected, but disappointing. He seems preoccupied, distracted, clearly bothered by something. But, it wasn’t your problem—the only focus you had now was your course work, which was the first thing you started on that night; a very giddy Max rummaging through your dorm room as background noise, so disorganized it could drive you insane. 

“He drove you here?” She asks.

“Yes—but you can’t say anything, Max. I’m serious.” 

You didn’t have anything to worry about, you knew that.

“I didn’t even know he taught here—or that he was even a professor. I mean, I know he finally graduated but—“

“Finally?” You ask curiously, swiveling in your chair to face her fully, interest fully piqued.

“He had a rough time in high school—he didn’t graduate until he was twenty, I think.” She explains, busy hands now stopped in their tracks. “He’s been through a lot.”

Your eyebrows raise in question, hoping Max would spill everything she knew—you couldn’t help but be curious about him, even if he was your professor.

“He probably doesn’t even know I go here,” She laughs slightly, “His mom and dad were never in the picture, though—at least I never saw them, it’s always been him and his uncle. He hung out with Nancy, Steve, and Robin a lot—closer to when he was graduating, they’ve stayed good friends, I guess.”

You nod slowly, absorbing the information.

“Is he mean?” Max asks randomly and you almost laugh, “My professors are the worst.”

“He’s fine,” You shrug, “It’s kinda nice that he’s not such a dick, you know?”

“What does he teach again?” 

“Musical therapy?” You respond, wondering if that would surface any other tidbits of information.

“Oh—that kinda makes sense. He was always listening to music, then he just disappeared after graduation, but his uncle always talked about how he was helping people, doing something he really liked—I just never bothered him about it.”

There’s a long silence before Max can’t help herself, perching herself on the surface closest to you, pens scrambling to the floor as she takes a seat on the edge of your shared desk. 

“What did you guys talk about?”

“The weather,” You say flatly, not receiving any type of reaction from her, “—-just music, that’s it.”

“But, babe, you love music.” Max reminds, like it wasn’t painfully obvious. 

“And—he’s my professor, it’s fucking weird.” You explain, but even Max doesn’t believe you. “What—why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You two are so similar,” She laughs, “It’s freaky.”

“Maxine—what are you trying to imply?”

“Nothing,” She shrugs, hoping from the desk, “—remember that I’ll be your maid of honor at the wedding, though. We pinky swore.” 

“He’s my professor, Max.” You stress again, Max smiles wide, annoying you further.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, right?” Max asks, realizing that you’d used the same playful jab at him the night before.

“What?” The coincidence was uncanny.

“Eddie used to tell me that whenever I tried to justify doing something I wasn’t supposed to—I’ve grown, obviously,” That’s not entirely believable, but you keep your mouth shut, “the saying stuck with me—it’s kinda fun to use.”

“Whatever—did you get the music I asked about?” You ask, impatiently switching the topic to something less scandalous.

“Everything was spoken for,” Max explains, trying to let you down gently, “I really tried—but I guess everyone in that class had the same idea on where to go, unless you want to take a trip to the store and buy them—“

And it dawns on you, Eddie must have some sort of music collection, “Wait—what time is it?”

Max takes a quick glimpse at the alarm clock on her nightstand, “A quarter past five, why?”

Still open for office hours—you prayed silently, despite your lack of religion, hoping that he was still in his classroom.

“Give me a ride.” 

Max doesn’t question it, being the best friend she is. 

☆.｡.:*

“I’m busy,” He says before you can even knock on the door, your loud ascending footsteps giving you away, “come back in the morning.”

You peek through the window of the door anyways, seeing a perfectly relaxed Eddie reclined at his desk, feet propped up as he jotted something down in a book, tongue poked out in focus. 

“Uh Professor…Munson,” It felt foreign and weird, “I just had a question.” 

His demeanor changes on a dime at the sight of you, unbusying himself completely. It’s a little hysterical, but endearing nonetheless. It makes your stomach flutter at the sight, scrambling to button his shirt higher, seem more professional, not that you hadn’t already seen him outside of work.

The door creaks open, his head popping through as you back away, “What’s going on?” He asks, surprised that anyone would dare to bother him outside of normal class hours. It doesn’t take you long to realize that he only mentioned the office hours out of courtesy, he didn’t actually expect anyone to bother him. 

“I was trying to work on your assignment—“ His eyes softened, and it made you flinch, feeling exposed, “I don’t really have the money to buy any of the music and everything was already rented out—-so I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“Oh,” He wasn’t sure what to expect but he finds himself opening the door wider, welcoming you inside, “Yeah—a few students raided my shelf before class was over but I’m sure there’s some left.”

“Thanks,” You reply shyly, squeezing beside him, watching as he lingered by the door still, hands shoved into fists in his pockets, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, sir—“

“You can call me Eddie—here, at least.” And that definitely doesn’t feel appropriate, but if he’s insisting, well…

“Sorry, it just feels…strange, I guess.” It’s not how you wanted to describe it, but it’s the only word that comes to mind. “I can’t imagine how weird it is running into your students outside of class.”

“Probably as weird as it feels running into your teacher,” He adds playfully, lightening the mood. It’s nice that he’s not so bothered by all of it, “Oh—I’ve got some Elvis in there, a lot of classic rock. I’m not sure about the newer stuff, though.”

“Max has some of it.” You comment without thinking, sifting through the box of music, picking and choosing as you went. 

“Max?”

“She’s—she’s my roommate here.” You answer quietly, unable to meet his eyes as he walks closer, leisurely making his way around his desk. 

“I guess I should’ve put that together,” He says, taking a moment to examine the sweater you’d shoved on, “You two share a closet?”

“Among other things.” You smile, grasping the stack of Cd's in your hand, “How did you know?” 

You share a glance down at the faded sweater, reading off the name of some random skate shop back in rural Hawkins, a place you’ve never stepped foot inside of.

“I got that for Red on her sixteenth birthday, before I left.”

Eddie’s frowning now, nearly unnoticeable, but you see the way his mouth creases, eyes turned down. “It’s her favorite,” You say, in an attempt to make the mood less dark, “but I always steal it from her—she’s let me take residency over it at this point.”

“It looks nice,” Eddie says suddenly, feeling the slip up as it slides off his tongue, rambling even further as he says, “on you—I mean, it’s a nice sweater—that’s why I bought it.”

You laugh softly, bottom lip jutting out as your mouth curls into a smile. “Thanks, Eddie.”

He scratched at his temple, ringed finger shining against the light refracting from the lamp on his desk. You’ve never noticed it before—or them, since his hand was adorned with three, that you could see. 

“Hey, those are cool—“ You point out, finger pressed in the direction of his upheld hand. He stops, views his hand, almost like he’s forgotten he was wearing them, “I’ve noticed them before.”

“I try not to wear them during class hours, the administration thinks it’s unprofessional.” The nature of the rings, not the fact that he wore them—if he had a wedding ring it wouldn’t matter, but the thought of marriage made Eddie want to vomit. 

“Fuck ‘em.” You say crudely, shoulder shrugged In indifference. 

Eddie’s mouth hangs open slightly at the sudden outburst, amusement flooding his face, “I’m still your professor—probably should keep that type of language to a minimum.”

You snort at his indication that he had any type of hold over what you do—he couldn’t be further from the point. 

“Or what?” You say challengingly, “This isn’t high school—it’s not like you can give me detention or tell my parents.”

“I am the one handling your grades.” He counters, hip leaned against the edge of his desk. Your free hand travels to your waist, slipping underneath the sweater to rest against the skin.

“You don’t intimidate me—I hope you know that.” You remind him carefully, eyes narrowing in his direction. “The other’s are terrified of you, but that shit doesn’t work on me.”

And he should know better—you shouldn’t even be here and he definitely should be flirting with a student, if you could call it that. Was this flirting? Was this crossing the line? He’s studied body language for a long time, through the process of his treatment of people, and he can’t help but notice how relaxed you seem, almost enjoying the back and forth.

“You should go,” He says quickly, avoiding any further lines being blurred or crossed or misconstrued; you were his student and it was unprofessional, “my office hours are closing soon.”

“Uh huh.” You nod slowly, adjusting the stack of music under your arm, watching the way Eddie’s fingers drum against the desk impatiently, like he can’t wait to get you out of there. 

If he was really that bothered, he could’ve said something.

“Thanks again, professor.” You say with grandeur, motioning to the stack of Cd's, “It’s greatly appreciated.” 

Eddie tries to ignore the small sliver of skin that shows underneath your slightly raised top that was no longer obscured by your hand, almost like you’re doing it on purpose.

Which, yes, you absolutely were.

You slip by him silently, avoiding the way his eyes follow you. It felt predatorial, but not uncomfortable—and that’s what you hated about it. 

He didn’t look at you as a student—he looked at you like something else; you couldn’t put your finger on it. 

Eddie turns on the heels of his shoes, “I expect those back tomorrow,” He warns, but there’s no sense of actual ramifications behind it.

You don’t answer fully, a small nod that Eddie doesn’t quite notice. He grabs the sleeve of your sweater gently, his fingertips pressing against your covered arm. “I mean it.” 

You look at the hand that gripped your arm for far too long, Eddie still holding on just as hard. “I know.” You appease him, “And if I don’t—you know where to find me.”

The glance to your desk is silent, but done in unison.

“Wanna let go now, sir?”

Eddie hates the way his dick twitches under the material of his corduroy slacks, releasing the bunch of material from his grip. You half-expect him to scold you for the remark, but he’s speechless, for once in his life. 

“Sorry,” He apologizes, feeling like he’s made things uncomfortable, but it’s so far from that—he has no idea, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“On time, hopefully.” 

It’s just another playful comment, but it has Eddie gripping his thigh from the inside of his pocket, muscles tensed in frustration.

You leave with a wordless smile that’s burned into Eddie’s mind for the rest of mankind—and it’s definitely not the first thing he thinks about when he slips his boxers down his thighs that night, cock still half-hard from earlier in the evening.

☆.｡.:*

He becomes a permanent fixture in your dreams as the weeks grow on, unbeknownst to him—not that he can say much for himself either, annoyed by the finite nerve you have to walk into his classroom, skirt pulled halfway up your waist, ass barely peeking out of the bottom of the pleated material.

He knows it’s wrong and going against all of the rules set it place for this very reason, but he can’t help himself. So, he suffers in silence—not that it was anything new to him, he’s done it his entire life; under different circumstances and situations perhaps, but the basics of it still remained. 

“Fuck—spread your legs,” His voice is hushed, quiet against the skin of your leg as he sucks a deep purple mark into the skin, jerking at the touch of cold metal, the outside of his rings grazing your thighs, “wanna taste you.”

It feels too real—you toss and turn in your sleep restlessly most nights, dreaming about your professor with his hands around your thighs and his mouth buried deep into your cunt. 

And with little to no interaction during class, aside from the occasional glance in your direction, he kept his distance—which wasn’t a surprise, he had no idea.

He had no idea that his student was practically pining after him. It doesn’t help that you’ve seen him outside of the classroom, dress downed and free of an inhibitions or rules; it was a special kind of torture. 

It’s late October when Eddie speaks to you directly, alone—he’s got most of the class set up on various different instruments of their choosing, allowing them to feel them out and play freely, and somehow—by some fucked up fate, you get stuck with a six string and not a clue how to play. 

Fake playing wasn’t working, Eddie could spot it from a mile away. You don’t chance the glance up at him, but the squeak of his shoes is enough warning, bracing for whatever remark was going to be sent your way. 

“Have you ever played before?” He says instead and your eyes immediately shoot up to him, all previous restraint thrown out the window. 

“No, not really.” You say truthfully, watching as Eddie pulled up a chair in front of you, facing the back of it in your direction, thigh swinging over the side—his jeans tightening with the action, along with your thighs. You really needed to get your shit together. 

“Here,” His hands come out to rest over yours, adjusting your left hand over the base of the guitar, your right hand around the neck, “This is A,” He presses your finger over the cord, instructing your other hand to strum.

It’s slightly out of tune, but the guitar seems old—probably provided by the college rather than Eddie himself, “That’s good,” He praises calmly, “Now try playing an A sharp,” He guides your hand further down the neck, the warm, rough skin of his hand covering your own. He feels tough and worn and you notice the small cuts around his fingertips at this proximity, breath catching as his hand grasps around the wrist that was actively strumming the guitar, “it’s really complicated at first, there’s a lot to learn.”

“Clearly,” You say, forcing down the smile that threatened to break through, “how long have you played?”

He seems surprised that you cared or even tried to ask.

“Since I was about twelve, probably.” He answers honestly, “More than half my life.”

Eddie still hasn’t moved his hands, either—he can’t be bothered. It doesn’t look as incriminating as you thought, but still, you knew. He helps you play through a few more notes until he’s gotten you to the point of playing a small, five second tone—but it’s all you can really manage. 

“It takes a while.” He assures you, not that you wanted to pick up a guitar again after this.

“Why don’t you play?” You ask sweetly, smiling flashing with nothing but devious intent, handing the guitar over toward your professor. 

“Nono—I’m really not—“ He protests, setting the guitar back on its stand beside you.

“Not what? That good?” You ask curiously, he was worse at lying to himself than he was to you. 

“Are we forgetting how I saw you play that night?” You ask quietly, nothing how his gaze lingered with yours, “Because if that wasn’t you then—“

He gives you a muted look of warning, wanting you to drop the topic of conversation, but you can’t be bothered. He wasn’t in charge of you, not really. 

“You can play a Dio song blindfolded, I bet,” You point out, still keeping enough of a hushed town that only Eddie can hear, “Your eyes were closed that entire set.”

“It was my first time back home in a while,” He defends lamely, “It helps with the nerves.”

“I thought it was really good.” 

Eddie’s eyes light up in a way you can’t ignore, bordering on shock and adoration, it’s the first real smile you’ve seen from him.

The end of class comes quicker than you want it to, forced to pack your belongings back into your bag in a rush, everyone’s already managed to file out before you can even think of zipping your bag up.

“Hey,” Eddie calls out, every other student already long gone, “here, take this.” 

It’s a flyer, similar to the one Max shoved into your hands a few weeks prior. 

A different bar, same band; one night only. 

“I’m probably breaking a thousand rules by giving you that,” He explains carefully, “but maybe you and Max could come out and watch us play—tell her I’ll even throw in some free Kate Bush.” 

Your smile is warm, folding the flyer and stuffing it into your pocket. “I told you—I’m not the type to blab, Eddie.”

You hate how easy it feels to say his name in such a setting, still dressed up in his ridiculous attempt at seeming studious and professional. You knew he hated it, he knew it too. 

“I can ask her—if not, I’ll still show.” You tell him.

He was only inviting Max to be courteous, but that wasn’t up for him to decide whether or not you actually brought her along. Either way, he was appreciative. He knew that a lot of the support he received back home was mostly done out of obligation and sympathy, but with—it felt real. He didn’t know you, he didn’t have anything to prove to you, and more importantly, you were genuine and honest; he hated that you took up this class. Hated it.

“It’s not a big deal if you can’t.” He offers as an out.

There was no way you were going to miss it, not with how Eddie was looking at you now; despite the circumstance, it was so blatantly obvious to you how badly you wanted him.

“Eddie, I’ll be there.” You assure him once more.

And if the smile that spreads over his face isn’t something worth worshiping, you’d surely find something else. 

☆.｡.:*

The bar is small, on the complete opposite side of town—but Max still offers to drive you, but it’s definitely not for your own benefit. She hasn’t shut up about Eddie since you’d told her the situation, the weird looks he gives you, and the horrible filthy dreams you’ve been having; sans the super embarrassing details. She gets it—it’s incredibly amusing to her, but she gets it. 

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” You asks, fingers tapping nervously against the ripped denim of your jeans, frayed material pulled between your fingertips. “He did invite you.”

“Babe, I’m doing you a favor.” Max interjects, halfhearted smirk on her face.

“He’s my teacher—for the last time,” You begin, beyond desperation, the words falling from your tongue weren’t even believable to your own ears, “I’m not trying to fuck him, Max.”

“I did not say anything about fucking him,” She laughs amusingly, turning into the parking lot of the bar, “—it’s just not as weird as you’re making it out to be. I’ve known Eddie for a long time.”

“You’re really missing the point.” You say, rubbing the frustration on your face away with your hands, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

“Oh whatever, don’t tell me you suddenly have some strict moral compass,” Max replies flippantly, “you want to screw him and you know it.”

The suspense is enough of an answer. There was no lying to Max, she knew just about every deepest, darkest secret you carried.

She pulls to a stop outside the entrance, turning toward you carefully, “Also—I can’t pick you up so you’re gonna have to ask him for a ride. I love you.” She rambled it off in one breath, barely giving you time to process. “See you tomorrow?”

It’s the one fight you decide not to pick with her, because for some reason, you know it’s for your own good. 

“Hey—you made it!” The familiar voice calls from behind you—Eddie, guitar case in hand, the rest of his band mates in tow. “Red.” He acknowledges, offering her a nod. “There’s parking in the back.”

“Oh—I’m not staying,” She shouts from the driver’s side, “take care of her or I’ll murder you, Munson.” 

Max is pulling off before you have any last fleeting chance to run, leaving both you and Eddie at a loss for words.

“Pulled a fast one, didn’t she?” Eddie asks after a moment, gathering by your side, following you into the bar. “She’s sneaky as hell, I’ll give her that.” 

“Yeah, you could say that.” You huff softly, watching your step as you crossed the threshold, hit in the face with the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap beer. 

“A beaut, isn’t she?” Eddie asks sarcastically, but despite that, the bar still garnered a decent amount of attention, packed to the brim with older gentlemen—nothing like bars near campus. 

“I think I found your target audience,” You joke lightly, catching the smirk that crosses Eddie’s face as you glance over your shoulder. “I’ll fit right in.” 

Eddie slaps a twenty into your hand, “Here, drinks on me—since I forced you here,” You look at him reluctantly, “I don’t want to hear it.” 

“I didn’t plan on drinking tonight.” You insist, forcing the bill back into his hand, “I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?” He asks, eyeing you carefully, like he’s trying to find a hint or tell, something to figure out what exactly your mind was fighting against—which right now, it was the fact that Eddie looked ridiculous with eyeliner, yet, still criminally attractive.

It’s exactly why you shouldn’t have come tonight, because whatever could happen—you weren’t sure if you had it in you to shut down. 

You nod with finality. Eddie takes the money back reluctantly, stuffing it into his front pocket. He feels terrible that you have to sit there, alone—all to watch a shitty cover band play a few songs.

But to you, it was worth it. 

You sit and wait, forcing away the bartender a few times until he finally gets the message, leaving you be. It’s quiet, aside from the hum of laughter and idle conversation, Eddie and his group setting up silently onstage—that impending feeling in your gut expanding further as you watch him move around, guitar strap swung over his neck, watching shamelessly as he adjusts the instrument against his body. 

He catches your eyes then, sending you a cheeky smile that has you face burning on the spot—at this point, you care less about your professional relationship, if it could even be considered that. 

Eddie plays with all the gusto you expect, belting out lyric after lyric on his performance high; it’s unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. It’s hard not to compare him to his classroom demeanor, more restrained and relaxed—it was forced, that was easy to tell. But this—this was Eddie, unafraid and free to behave how he pleased, it was unfair how attractive he was, both in looks and personality. It felt like you’d know him longer than just a few weeks; months maybe? Years? 

It was like hanging out with an old friend, discovering new and old things about one another; you’d spill your heart to him at a moment’s notice if he asked—and that’s why this felt so dangerous. 

☆.｡.:*

“How was it?” Eddie asks as he rounds the corner, still slightly out of breath and face covered in a sheen of sweat. You hand him a napkin in silence and he laughs, but accepts the offer.

“Good,” You smile honestly, “I really enjoyed the gradual crescendo from Holy Diver into Living After Midnight—“

Eddie could kiss you on the spot, which is such a startling thought that it stops all thinking completely—you were absolutely too good to be true, it was a constant reminder every time you spoke, making him fight with this taboo feeling more and more every day. 

“Do you still need a ride home?” He asks suddenly, interrupting your waterfall of compliments, “I was going to head out already.”

“Well, considering Max left me stranded,” You say with an empty bitterness, knowing that her attentions were mostly good, “yes, I do.” 

Eddie nods a silent direction—and just like the first night, you follow without question.

☆.｡.:*

The foot that isn’t pressed on the gas pedal is shaking insistently, leg bouncing against the leather of Eddie’s seat, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He can hear you humming, mumbling the song on the radio to yourself, another classic—one of Eddie’s favorites, and he really can’t help himself anymore. 

It was just a small, innocent indulgence. Who could it really hurt? You were both consenting, capable adults—and the worst thing you could do was turn him down, which Eddie really hoped wasn’t the case, but he was beyond caring about norms and rules, driven by the pure fact that he just wanted—wanted you, in any sense of the word. 

“What are you doing?” You ask curiously, watching as Eddie searched idly through his stack of music, somehow still managing his focus on the road.

“Changing the song,” He comments simply, pushing the disc into the player—the soft synth of the song pushing through the speakers of his van, “do you know it?”

“Corey Hart, right?” You ask, taking a wild guess. You’d only heard the song once, but it was still catchy enough that it stuck around in your brain, “I didn’t picture you as the type.”

“You’d be surprised.” He comments oddly, turning the volume up slightly. 

He notices the humming again, the small head bop along to the beat. “You like it.”

It’s more of a statement, rather than a question. You catch the side of his face, the small glint in his eye as he focuses back on the road.

“That's presumptuous of you,” You retort, hands twisting in your lap, “it’s alright, I guess.”

“Mind if I do a little study?” He asks hesitantly, breath catching in your throat for half a second.

“Of me?” You ask with a laugh, “I mean—if you want?”

“Your heart is racing, for one,” Eddie points out slyly, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest as the beat picked up, chorus running through the silence that filled the air, “and you’re squeezing your hands.”

“Okay, genius,” You remark, “You’ve got eyes, good for you.”

He’s not really using his degree in this situation, it’s more of an innocent observation of the already underlying tension that Eddie couldn’t help but notice—the obvious body language giving you away. The song was just a secret favorite of his, but you didn’t need to know that, not yet.

“Mind I make one?” You ask, “An observation, I mean.”

What was the harm in it anyways? Eddie nods for you to continue.

“You’ve been shaking your leg since we left.” You point out, the bouncing coming to an abrupt stop, “and I’ve never seen you do that—ever.” 

“It’s the after performance buzz.” He replies cooly, but you can’t be bothered to believe it. “It’s not that unusual.”

“Eddie—you’re making that up,” You tell him, eyeing burning into the side of his face, “what’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah—why are you lying?” It’s a bold question to ask, heart fluttering in your chest. But, the way he looks at you has your legs crossing in frustration, squeezing together to relieve that ache growing between your legs.

“So, you want to pretend I didn’t notice that either?” He asks, eyeing the full expanse of your body before stopping on your legs, still firmly crossed in the seat, hands white knuckling each other under the long sleeves of your shirt. “Uncross your legs.”

“What? No.” You scoff, offended by his forwardness for a brief moment. 

Eddie slips his hand under your knee wordlessly, prying your legs apart. You can’t help but look at him as if he’s lost his fucking mind—that doesn’t stop your legs from following his order. It made the ache that much worse.

“Don’t,” He warns hesitantly, the small shift in your leg giving you away, “it’s not gonna help.”

“Help what?” You reply dumbly, “I can’t cross my legs? Is that a crime?”

Eddie’s gaze lingers for far too long, noticing the flush of your chest and the way it creeps up your cheeks—they felt like they were on fire. In the midst of all the back and forth, it’s hard to keep focus on the main fact at play—teacher, student, your mind screaming, wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

“I can help.” He makes a subtle nod toward you.

It didn’t take a genius to know what he was talking about. You were very well aware of the issue. You want to weigh your options, come up with some stupid reason to wiggle out if the situation—but nothing comes to mind. The way Eddie’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel has you digging your nails into your own thigh—you’re going to cave, you can feel it. 

“Eddie.” You warn, watching as his hands lingers toward the gear shift, resting against the cracked and worn down plastic covering.

“Our secret, right?” He teases, like this whole situation wasn’t built on secrecy. You nod willingly, legs spreading a few inches wider. His fingers trail the seam of your jeans, stopping on the button, popping it open with deft fingers. “Move this way—yeah, there.” 

And when his fingers breach the seam of your underwear, your mind sings a soft praise of release, watching as his hand forces its way into the tight space, leaving him no other option but to cup your cunt with his full palm.

There was no turning back now. 

His middle finger drags through your folds testingly, matching the slow undulating beat of the song, like this was a game to him. You have no idea how to handle your hovering hands, too afraid to touch him, so they wrap around the headrest behind your head, fingers gripped tightly together.

Your legs spread wider, giving him better access—you were rutting into his hand at the shift of position, feeling that familiar tingle of pleasure as it shot through your body, mixed with the feeling of a bite of forbidden fruit, avoiding Eddie’s heated gaze as he shifted between you and the road.

It feels reckless and stupid, but you can’t find the courage to stop.

The first dip of his finger is like heaven, feeling unfamiliar after so long, despite how often you touched yourself, you couldn’t remember the last time there had ever been anyone else but you—not since the first summer after you graduated; freshly eighteen and naive, letting a much older man have you how he wanted—it’s uncanny, the situation your in now. But this, it doesn’t feel like that.

“Fuck—“ Your voice catches, stomach clenching at the curl of his middle finger as it slipped inside of you and back out, pace so insufferably slow, “—need more.”

“There she is,” He smiles to himself, confidence oozing in his tone, “—shit, you’re such a liar.”

It takes you a minute to realize that he’s not talking to you at all—which sends you down a different wave of emotions, pussy clenching around his lone finger, gasping at the way he curls it against the soft walls of your cunt, searching desperately for something out of reach.

“How long has it been like this?” He asks curiously.

Since the moment you met him, is what you want to say. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You reply breathlessly, back arching away from the seat, cunt pressing further against his hand as he slips a second finger inside.

At the lie, Eddie stops without warning, and it gives you a headache, that slow build of pleasure deflating immediately. 

“The truth,” He says, though, it’s more of a demand, “tell me.”

And fuck, if you weren’t putty in this man’s rough, calloused hands. 

“Since earlier,” You reply, rewarded with the soft brush of a fingertip over your clit, you quickly unzip your jeans to allow for more room, “when I saw you onstage.”

Eddie’s groan in response tells you everything you need to hear. He slows to a stop at a red light and it’s the first real glance you share with him the entire evening, both of you seeing straight through each other, bodies overran with pleasure. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” He says, and it seems a little late for a realization like that, you can’t help but laugh, “what—you think it’s funny?”

“You’re the one with your hand down my pants, sir.” You retort, earning a disciplined squeeze as he shoves his two middle most fingers back into your cunt, molding around him like glue.

“Sorry—I know you hate that word,” You say playfully, “But do you mind if I use it? Or, do you prefer professor?” 

It was your turn to play into the guilt he was feeling, though it didn’t seem to be concerning if he still had his hands shoved down your pants so willingly. 

“Shut up,” He forces out, swerving slightly at the way you cunt clenched around his fingers, insides fluttering as he curves his fingers wildly, grazing that sweet spot deep inside of you, “don’t call me that.”

His hands were larger than yours, making up for all the work you missed out on. 

“Too far?” You ask teasingly, knowing that was the least of your worries; all moral lines crossed, blurred, forgotten about entirely. Eddie’s fingers pull back to graze over the sensitive nub, rubbing in small, leisurely circles, “Fuck that—that feels—“

Your moan is so unashamed that it surprises you, hips bucking up into his hands as you nearly leapt out of the seat.

Eddie can’t take the suffering much longer, pulling off onto the winding side road, tucked into a nest of trees. He unbuckles his seatbelt, allowing fuller access as he turns toward you, switching his hands with practiced ease—you couldn’t even open your eyes, face drawn up in pleasure. You knew the moment you looked at him you were done for. 

“Look at me,” His voice echoes alongside the melodic tune of the song, his fingers matching the catchy beat—the damn music aficionado he was, toying with you, fingers strumming against your swollen clit like the strings of his guitar, “—I said, look at me.”

Your body works for you, eyes opening on instinct—his voice was rough, authoritative, leaving no room for argument. 

“Good girl—It’s what you wanted, right?” He asks with a semblance of a smirk on his face, “It’s why you came tonight?”

You laugh weakly at his words, double entendre, unable to go unnoticed, “As far as I’m concerned, no one’s came tonight.”

His eyes darken, shifting toward your cunt, covered by your clothes, his wrist poking out above the thin material of your underwear. 

“You can stop—stop acting like this is my fault,” You hiccup, gasping as he applies heavy pressure to your clit, rubbing steadily, hating how shameful it feels as your cunt clenches around nothing, wishing his fingers were still buried inside you. “Please—fuck, I just—“

All self restraint forgotten, you hand searches for his face, finding its way into his curls, pulling gently at the root, the softest hint of a grunt falling from his lips—the first noticeable sign all evening that he was even slightly affected by this—by you. 

And maybe you’ve gone too far, the idea of touching him is where things go wrong, but you can’t be bothered to hold yourself together anymore. 

“It’s okay,” He assures you, leaning over the middle console, hand working quickly against your cunt, moaning loudly into the confines of the car, ashamed at how wrecked you sound, “I like it.”

He must’ve noticed your expression, lingering on his face—you could do anything and he’d fall to his knees. 

“It hurts—“ You plead, begging for release, “—please?”

It sounds too pretty coming from you, deciding that putting you out of your misery was easier than watching you suffer, on the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm, Eddie’s hands feeling so much better than your own, or anyone that’s touched you before. 

Your mouth hangs open on a wordless gasp, eyes squeezing shut at the force at which your high hits you, his fingers gently coaxing you through the descending pulse of your orgasm, near the point of over stimulation.

“Okayokay—“ You ramble, fingers wrapping around the length of his wrist as you pulled him away, heart skipping in your chest at the sight of his fingers flexing against your stomach as he pulls away, fingers covered in your wetness as a result of what just happened.

Your head rests against the back of the seat, chest heaving rapidly as you try to catch your breath. “Not that I’m complaining—“ Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your hypnosis, “but you might wanna let go.” 

“Shit—I’m sorry,” You apologize softly, letting go of his hair, looking at him sheepishly, hands returning to your lap to fix your pants. 

The song had ended long ago, the gentle rumble of the engine filling the quiet like an ambiance, realization settling between you both. 

Who speaks first? 

He’s quiet, wiping his hands on a black handkerchief that he seemed to have pulled out of nowhere, before stuffing it into his back pocket—where it must’ve been all along. 

“I’m—“

“Should I—“

The stare you hold is long and tense, brimming with even more sexual tension than before, searching for some way to cope with whatever just happened. 

He glanced down at the hard bulge of his jeans, noticing the way your gaze catches. He shifts, pulling at the front of his jeans to adjust himself. “It’s fine.” He lies, not ready to allow this to go any further than it should have. 

“I don’t mind,” You reply slowly, voice hesitant as you lean forward, “I want to.”

He feels himself flex at the thought, the idea of your mouth—or even your hand, wrapped around, he was ruined. But, he’s insistent.

“I need to get you back to campus, right?” He asks, though the answer is obvious. It was a grasping at straw attempt to change the subject. “Red’s probably worried about you.”

Not a fucking chance.

“Yeah—you’re right.” You answer, trying to hide dejection, wanting nothing more than to touch him, as intimately as he had you. “We should go.”

It’s like he’s turning on his classroom demeanor before your eyes—and frankly, it’s ridiculous. He’s regretting every choice he just made and you know it, watching as he flips the gear into place, back on the road with one swift twist of the steering wheel. 

And it could’ve been the heat of the moment or the copious amount of drinks that Eddie had been offered that night, obscuring his rational thinking—but he didn’t reek of alcohol, not a single drop on his breath. So, if anything, it was regret, obvious and plastered over his entire face. 

But to Eddie, it's shame. 

Shame at the idea of breaking so many rules, risking his job at the hands of some young women—who he couldn’t help but be lured by, entranced at how much of an enigma you were. He couldn’t describe it, couldn’t even put it into words. 

And even after he drops you off that night, he comes in his hand, against the soft expanse of his stomach, the image of your face in his mind as you come apart by the work of his own hand. 

He knew there was no going back, allowing himself to fully succumb to the idea that if you were willing to let him have you like that, you’d let him do just about anything. 

It was exactly what you wanted. 

author's note: and an extra special thank you to @hellfirehoe for dealing with my nonstop horny thoughts about this and helping me proofread.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #my writing #1kfic #5kfic

[ashwhowrites]

Can you write an Older Neighbor! Perv! Eddie Munson x reader, where she's new in the town and she just moved in right next to Eddie's house, and he sees her the first time and he's like I want her to be my girl, or smth like that, and he's all flirty and all that with her, and they do end up sleeping together, (but he's a perv!) And after some time, they start dating? (Maybe fluff/smut, please? 🥺)

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting <3

⚠️pretty smutty, Eddie is very dominant and pushy. Trigger warning - Eddie forced the reader to have sex without a condom ( she likes it ) Eddie is a perv!- keep in mind with his dialogue

Oh neighbor

Eddie had been eyeing the empty house next door. He watched as months and months went by and the house still was up for sale. He didn't care too much for his old neighbor, and he hoped the next one wouldn't be as annoying.

Eddie went for a run every morning. He was older and understood his diet of cigarettes and beer wasn't going to help in the long run. His white tank top clung to his sweaty body as he ran up the hill. His music blasted in his ears as he made it over the hill, his house in view. But also, a moving truck in the next-door driveway. Eddie planned to just go inside. Greeting a new neighbor wasn't something he cared to do. Until he saw the neighbor.

A younger girl, grunted as she carried heavy boxes into her new home. Eddie didn't realize he was standing on the sidewalk, his eyes zoned in on her. And on the way she bent over, giving him a glimpse of her breasts. Eddie couldn't help but feel a twitch in his cock, his hand immediately going down and adjusting.

He smiled when she looked up, her eyes meeting his.

"Hi!" She said excitedly. Her voice was sweet and higher.

"Hi." He said, a smile on his face as she walked closer to him. Her breasts bounced as she moved and Eddie loved it.

"I just moved in, I'm Y/N!" Eddie barely heard her. His focus is on her breasts. His eyes traveled along with the drops of sweat that went down the center of her chest.

"Eddie." He muttered out. "Boyfriend coming to help, or do you need a hand?" He asked.

He felt a sense of pride when she checked him out, her eyes focused on his arms. Eddie may have flexed when he noticed, then enjoyed the way she shyly looked away.

"No boyfriend. Help would be lovely." She said. And Eddie agreed, but her bouncing on his cock would be lovely too.

Eddie kept his word and helped her move everything inside. He stayed to help her put up shelves and other things she needed a hand with. Eddie needed her hand for some help.

Even though it was sweaty and tiring work, he enjoyed sneaking glances at her ass when she'd bend over. Or when she reached up high and her thong poked out from her shorts. And he enjoyed it when she hugged him goodbye and her breasts pushed against his chest.

~~~

After that, they became close friends. Y/N enjoyed spending time with him and drinking some beers as they watched sports. She didn't question Eddie's interest in her or question why he seemed to only spend time with her. She figured he was a friendly neighbor.

But with Eddie, he didn't do anything unless it benefited him. Sure, he liked spending time with her. But more importantly, he wanted to mark her off from the rest of the neighborhood. If a neighbor showed up, he was there behind her with a smirk on his face. The neighborhood was filled with old single men. The only type of people taking up a one-bedroom home, except for the young girls just starting their life. Unaware of the preying eyes that lurk.

"Thanks, gorgeous," Eddie said, taking the cold beer from Y/N's hand. Y/N blushed and looked away. Eddie always had that effect on her. He made her nervous and giddy.

She didn't say anything as she sat next to him, she turned on the TV as the game started. Eddie's arm wrapped around the couch, resting behind her head as she moved slightly into his body. Even though he did it every single time, her heart would skip a beat. Then he'd do this thing where he'd reach down and squeeze her shoulder, then return it to the couch. And Y/N couldn't help but love it.

She wasn't a fan of the male gaze and she always tried to hide from it. But the way Eddie looked at her made her feel unstoppable. He looked at her with so much hunger that it made her shiver. No matter what she wore, his eyes were glued to her. Something about his older eyes and rough hands made her crave him.

~~~

It was the Stanley Cup Final so they decided to go out to the bar to watch it. Y/N stressed for hours about what to wear. It wasn't a date and she knew that. But she'd be damned if his eyes looked at anyone that wasn't her.

She grabbed tight jeans and a jersey. Confidence in her bones as she did her makeup and hair. When she felt loved by the reflection in the mirror, she began her walk to his house. She felt her insides warm when he smiled at her. His smile always gave her butterflies.

"Baby looks sexy." He complimented, a wet kiss on her cheek as he passed her to go out the door. He reached behind him, locking the door. She smiled as she felt the roughness of his beard still on her skin and the wetness of his lips. She blushed at his compliment, happily taking his hand as they walked to the small bar down the road.

It was a small town, and that meant sleazy guys at bars who didn't understand no. Y/N moved closer to Eddie when she felt that male gaze that made her sick. Eddie's arm wrapped around her.

"Fuck off, she's taken." He growled as a guy whistled as they walked into the bar. Y/N smiled at the idea of being taken by him. She wanted him to mean it, but he probably said it to help the men leave her alone. Eddie slipped his hand into her back jeans, and Y/N swore she felt his squeeze a tiny bit. But when she looked at him, his eyes were on the screen.

They sat at the bar for hours, laughing and cheering for their team. A platter of onion rings and cheese curds was in front of them next to their cold beers.

"Gonna run to the bathroom before the last period starts," Eddie said, a kiss planted on her forehead and a ruffle to her hair as he walked past her. Y/N groaned as she fixed her hair. Eddie enjoyed that she was young because he felt like he could treat her young. Y/N found Eddie's age a turn-on, but his teasing was so elementary school. Like when the guy bullies the girl he likes. And she loved it. She wouldn't mind if he yanked her hair and ran away.

Y/N peeled the coating off the onion ring as she watched the commercials. A body next to her caught her attention. A random man sitting there.

"I'm sorry! My friend is sitting there." She said politely.

"Why don't I keep it warm until she's back? Pretty young girl like you shouldn't be left alone." The man said, his finger running down her face. She shivered in fear and moved her face out of his reach. When Eddie called her a young girl, she liked it. But hearing it from a loser at the bar made her feel sick. "Been years since I've had young pussy."

"Okay, not happening. My boyfriend is in the bathroom and he wouldn't like the way you're talking to me, and neither do I. So leave." She said as strongly as she could. Praying the man didn't hear the shakiness in her voice and how her leg bounced.

"But I thought you were with a friend?" The man said, smirking as he caught her lie. "So is it a friend or boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend," Eddie said from behind her. Y/N felt all the air return to her lungs when his voice reached her ears. She looked behind him, a terrified look in her eyes. Eddie felt a twig in his heart at how scared she looked. But also felt a twitch in his cock by the way she looked at him for saving. Her scared puppy eyes.

"So beat it or get your ass kicked. Up to you." Eddie shrugged, his jaw tensed and clenched.

The man held up his arms and went to walk away. "Actually, on a second thought," Eddie said. Y/N was confused until Eddie punched the guy straight across the face.

"That's for thinking about her."

Eddie's hand grabbed hers as he walked them out of the bar.

"We don't have to leave! I'm sure he won't bug us now." Y/N said, she knew it wasn't her fault but she couldn't help but feel guilty about cutting Eddie's night short.

"You being comfortable is more important, we can go to my place and finish the game. Just you and I." He said, his hand slipped into her back pocket again.

Once they made it back to his house, she headed for the couch, but Eddie's hand laced with hers and he walked her to the bedroom. She wasn't sure why. He didn't say a word, just letting her hand go as he began to take off his jersey. She tried to move her eyes away from his toned chest. His chest hair and tattoos. Then his happy trail that traveled down to his jeans.

"Got something there." Eddie teased, his thumb wiped away the imaginary drool at the corner of her mouth. She felt her whole body flame in embarrassment.

"Oh, hush." She said, pretending he didn't get her flustered....again. He didn't stop there, his hands on his belt as he removed his jeans. Y/N gulped as his boxers came into view. More tattoos scattered on his thighs and she tried not to whimper. He was always toned, and his arms were always strong and attractive. But she never thought she could find legs attractive. But the black ink and tight muscles did wonders for his body.

"The game?" She squeaked out, her eyes scanning the room. That's when she realized there wasn't a TV. She didn't have time to be confused, in seconds her back was against the bed and his heavy body was on top of her.

"Mhhm, this is my game." He said, his hand skimming down her body to take off her Jersey. She couldn't help but feel so turned on by the way he took control. She shivered as her skin hit the air. He took in the sight of her bra, before moving down to yank down her jeans. She didn't protest, she wanted this in so many ways.

"Ever since you moved in, I've been dying to know what your beautiful cunt would smell like." His words made her shiver. Anything he said somehow was the most attractive thing she's heard.

She moaned when he bit at the small skin above her panties, then his head moved down. His lips kissed her cunt over her panties. She could feel a wet spot growing. And she whimpered when his tongue flicked the wet spot. She wanted to hide her face in embarrassment.

"Wet and gorgeous." He said into her panties. His lips still left small kisses as his nose inhaled her scent. His nose rubbed her clit and she felt her body twitching.

"Smell so innocent and pure." He growled. His hands yanked her panties to the side as he attacked her cunt. His tongue licked between her folds as his nose kept rubbing her clit. She never had someone attack her cunt with so much need. He ate her like he was starving.

His growling and desperation had her dripping. Of course, his tongue lapped all of it up. Her hands were in his hair as he continued his attack on her cunt. She felt powerless in the best kind of way. Like he was on the hunt for her and she was compelled to lay there and take it all.

"I've thought about this pussy since day one." He said in between breaths, then his lips back on her cunt.

"What about it?" She gasped out. She wasn't sure she ever experienced a man being so captivated by her body. Maybe it was an older guy thing.

She whined when his warm tongue left her, but his fingers replaced his nose as he rubbed her clit.

"How you tasted, how wet you can get. How delicious you smell from miles away." He growled, his words doing things to both of them. His cock was aching in his boxers, but his fingers didn't leave her clit.

"How innocent your cunt would be as I completely drilled myself into you. No mercy on how tight your cunt is. Because now it's mine and I'll do whatever I want with it." He said, his fingers gone from her clit, his hand slamming down to smack her aching cunt. She whimpered loudly, tears spilling down her face as she felt herself pulsing and clenching.

"Fuck, Eddie." She moaned.

"Mr. Munson to you." He said, another slap to her cunt.

She whined as he took out his cock. He was so red, long, and thick. The veins travel to his leaking tip.

"Condom?" She gasped out as his tip teased her clit.

"Nope. I'm gonna fill you to the brim with my cum. You're mine now and not going anywhere." He growled, his hands on the side of her head as he pushed himself into her. He shivered as her cunt clenched around his cock. She cried as he forced his cock fully inside of her. She felt the way he dreamed she would. He enjoyed how tight she was and forced her body to take him.

She was so warm and he wanted to keep his cock in her forever.

"Oh my god." She moaned, his thrusts were fast and hard. The sound of his balls smacking against her skin made her cunt clench. She knew Eddie was a dominant guy, but the way he fucked her for his needs made her want him even more. She loved the idea of being owned by him. The condom was the last night on her mind as she felt every vein in his cock rubbing against her.

"See, so much better raw. I can feel every fucking inch of you. Pretty cunt just gripping me, wanting to keep me inside. Greedy little girl." He teased, a smirk on his lips as he kept his eyes on her.

Her brain barely focused on the words he said, too fucked out. But somehow being called a little girl by him felt like she was being scolded and she was surprised how much she loved it.

"Make me cum, Munson." She begged, her fingers scraping down his back. An animal-like growl left his throat as he felt his skin being carved into it. His fingers worked perfectly on her clit, she came with a loud whimper. Her back pushed off the bed as her chest smacked into his. His arm wrapped around her, holding her against him as he fucked into her. He moaned as he felt his pubic hair soaked in her.

"Look at that mess you made." He mocked, yanking her hair and forcing her to see his drenched hair and how wet his cock looked slipping inside of her.

"Squirted all over me." He smirked, his lips crashing down on hers as he emptied himself inside of her.

~~~

A week passed after the best night of her life. And in the best way possible, Eddie was more obsessed with her. She was claimed as his and he made sure to show everyone.

At the grocery store? The second she bent over, his hand gripped her ass. No care about the older couple that gasped and ran.

Getting gas? He had her pressed against the car with his tongue in her mouth.

She lost all control around him. She found herself doing things she never thought she'd do. He had her bent over her car in daylight in the middle of the driveway.

Had her quietly screaming as his fingers pounded inside of her at the movie theater.

"I love you." He whispered into her ear, his arm wrapped around her as they rested in his bed.

"I love you." She said, resting her eyes. Half way asleep until she felt his cock entering her again for the fourth time that night.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson angst #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson smut x female reader #ashwhowrites #older!eddie munson x female reader #older eddie munson #older eddie munson x reader #older neighbor eddie munson x reader #perv!eddie x female reader

[wandasfifthwife]

good girl ₊✩°｡⋆˚ ⁺

—wandanat x fem/afab!reader

༺ tw || SMUT MDNI, discussion on kinks/titles/roles (but not detailed), exhibition & choking kink mentioned, dom/sub dynamic, dom!wandanat & sub!reader, top!wandanat & bottom!reader, R gets needy from a wet dream, oral&fingering (r receiving | n giving), reader is described to be wearing a nightgown, reader is described to be shy, not proofread

༺ a/n || I’ve never personally been in a dom/sub relationship, so if I get things wrong that’s why! If you’re getting into one— don’t use this as a guide/reference

— masterlist ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ 3.0k words₊✩°｡⋆˚ ⁺ next part —

A buzz raps against your bedside table, the sound officially pulling you out of your morning stir. With bleary eyes, you reach across the bed to pull your phone off the charger. The movement brings you out of the warmth and comfort your sheets provide, hence making you shiver once your arm hits the cold air surrounding your room.

After pulling the phone under the covers you shut the alarm off, unlocking it to view the notifications sent since you’ve fallen asleep.

The door creeks open, whoever opening it trying to be quiet but the door’s old age didn’t allow them to do so. Your roommate peeks her head in, eyes landing on your curled position in bed.

“My word it’s freezing in here,” she starts, moving out of the doorframe to check the thermostat, “if I woke you up, I am so sorry—I was going to call maintenance to check in on your room, wanted to come see if it was still freezing.”

As if on cue you shiver again, pulling the blanket higher until it brushes your chin, “it is.”

A grim expression comes into her face, she apologizes again, “I’ll call them now. They should be here tonight.”

You voice your appreciation, staying under the sheets until the numbers on your clock read noon. It was a lazy morning, all movements were slow and relaxed. The shower was turned until steam came off the top, the burning feeling decidedly better than the chill running throughout your entire body.

There were plans written on your phone’s calendar, the moment tonight a result from the events from the previous week. There had been more plans since three first meeting at the cafe, each moment spent together better than the last. Since the cafe, they’ve met you wherever it was that you’d like.

Whether it be at a bookstore, where the two whispered reassurances over your fretting on them paying for your books. Even at times when you three had colliding schedules they still made an effort, it showed in how they took a walk with you by the water. The ocean was rough, waves crashing and pushing against another, but the sound it made was entirely peaceful. You remember where your walk ended, where you three stopped so you could watch the water stretch and collide with the orange and pink sky.

“Beautiful.”

Wanda had whispered close to your ear, body leaned so close to yours, chest pushed up against your back. You had welcomed the advances from her, letting the motion also push you into Natasha until you three were cuddled up together. It brought a smile to your face to experience such a moment. It was when you decided it was best to share the news about signing off of the paper work on Tuesday. This all transpired a day ago on Sunday, meaning that discussion was happening tonight.

Remembering that this event is what you were getting ready for brought a multitude of emotions to run about. Any word within the synonym group to embarrassed and excitement would be hitting the mark on what you were feeling.

You’ve been keeping your friend in the loop, sending her text updates often and feeling thankful for her support. Shes aware of what’s transpiring tonight, her contact information appearing in your phone as you were finishing getting ready.

“You know, your mind doesn’t really know the difference between fear and excitement. So I suggest convincing yourself that you’re only excited.”

“I think I’d only be successful in telling it how scared I am,” you say as you shut your drawer, “because I really can only see how this will affect me negatively.”

“Expand on that.”

There’s a pause in the conversation as you throw on a shirt, “I mean, we’re going to be talking about what I’m interested in doing intimately. What if they find me weird, or they don’t want to do what I’d like to do and get rid of me?”

“First I’ll say that all you’re feeling is valid. Second, you’re being too harsh on yourself. This past week you’ve been getting to know each other, and going off of how you’ve been rambling to me after, I’d say they’re going well. Let tonight play out, be in the moment.”

You hum your response, sitting beside your phone to slip your shoes on, “okay.”

“I’ve known them like what—like two years now? They’re going to work with you, not against you. But if at any point you feel uncomfortable, you’re always free to leave whenever and call me, or security. Your wellbeing comes first.”

“Thank you, seriously.”

Three beeping sounds emit after, your lock screen appearing. There were four numbers glaring back at you, eliciting a response to start walking towards their apartment complex.

The map on your phone was confusing, stating that their location was to the left of you when it was across the street.

Natasha stood at the entrance, holding the door for you to step in. The inside was simple, light blue wallpaper lining the walls. You’ve become awkward, the feeling instigate by the nerves spiking being along with her. She lets you go through the second door first after unlocking it, letting the heavier door swing close behind her, “How was your walk?“

“Cold. It’s rather chilly today.”

Natasha walks in front to lead you up the staircase, “not a fan of the cold?”

“No, I much prefer the 70s, the mix between cold and hot.”

Three staircases later and the numbers 302 are staring back at you. Their door has a wreath outside, one decorated with red florals. Wanda comes to greet the door, letting the both of you in, even moving to hang your coat.

“Glad you got here safely,” she starts, “it gets dark so soon now that we’re rolling into winter.”

You’re entirely too thankful that they’ve begun to tell you where you can go and what you can do. They’ve opened up their home to you, but even then you weren’t sure if it was okay to sit down on the couch yet.

“Would you like a drink? I have water, tea?”

“Oh that’s alright, I’ll be fine.”

She pats your shoulder, “it’s alright if you’d like one, I’m offering.”

“Tea?”

She smiles, moving into the kitchen after. Natasha had sat across from you on another couch, laptop settled on her lap. It gave you a moment to look around, to take in their home for the first time. It was a combination of clean and messy. They had papers thrown over the cushioned footrest, shoes set carefully by the door. A pair of broken glasses were set on the tv mantle, and a tall vase beside it with tulips. Wanda comes in, setting the hot cup on the table in front of you.

“Do you like the flowers,” she asks, noticing where your gaze was transfixed, “natasha got them from a coworker.”

“Any specific reason?”

Natasha looks up from her laptop momentarily, meeting Wanda’s gaze. She speaks up, “I got asked out.”

“Oh,” you say, “at least you got nice flowers.”

Wanda laughs at the way Natasha squirms, “yeah, nice flowers. Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head, waving her off. She leaves again momentarily, the item appearing in her hand that makes you nervous again. The papers.

It was a conversation you wanted to have, you all wanted to have, but the discussion of such intimate acts felt more embarrassing than acting them out. They notice the way you’ve begun to look away, focus set outside the window.

You notice Natasha setting her MacBook away in your peripheral vision.

“Kitten,” Natasha starts, the new nickname rolling off of her lips instantly catching your attention, “are you okay with that?”

You appreciate her asking, the way her tone went soft after witnessing your reaction. It wasn’t unpleasant, it held the complete opposite reaction. The action of you nodding yet again has her speaking up, “words.”

“Yes, that’s okay.”

Natasha smiles at you, the sight easing your nerves. Wanda’s knee lands on the edge of the couch, leaning her body onto it until she’s sitting down.

“You sent these to us a day ago and we’ve reviewed it all, signed our parts as well. We’ll have those papers in my office if you ever want or need to view them while you’re over here,” she explains, setting a few pages down, “how’re you feeling about the next few?”

“Good, shy.”

“That’s alright. Tell if if you need to stop, okay?”

She’s begun to list them off, each one bringing a tinge of red to your cheeks. Your hand has come to fidget with your necklace, agreeing with the statements Wanda was reading off.

“It’s quite funny how most everything lines up with our responses.”

“Really?”

She hums, handing the papers over to Natasha, “you’re interested in all of the kinks we’re interested in, like your exhibition and choking one.”

“Wow,” you say, fingers tugging at your necklace, pulling it until the chain can’t be moved any further out.

“Did that make you nervous just now?”

Natasha asks, noticing the habit of fidgeting with a necklace arising any time a difficult situation arose. You let go of it, moving to hold the warm glass, the scent of the chamomile tea rushing to you.

“It did, but that’s only because I don’t like direct conversations. I’m better when things play out and you’re lost in the moment, but I understand this needs to be talked about.”

“We can call it a night then. If you’d like you can stay over, whatever you’d like. Please let us order an Uber though if you decide to go home, Natasha was having a fit about you walking home the other day.”

Wanda throws a look at Natasha, pressing a kiss to your head as she walks by. Natasha takes the jab, grabbing at her computer again, “and I won’t apologize for that.“

“If I were to stay tonight, where would I sleep?”

“With us,” Wanda says from the other room, “you’re not sleeping on these couches and certainly not the ground—unless you’d like to.”

“Could I stay over then?”

Wanda laughs, “you’re so sweet, of course you can. You can borrow either of our clothes, world knows how uncomfortable it is to sleep in jeans.”

Natasha shows you to the bathroom, clicking on the light so she can set the pajamas you had picked out on the counter. It was small, but larger than the one you had back with your roommates. It smelled like them, their scents overwhelming your senses when you walked in.

“The shower handles weird to use, so I’ll start that for you. I’ll leave the door unlocked just in case, okay?”

The knobs were weird. There were three of them, one for hot water, cold water, and the third to turn the pressure to come from the lower or higher nozzle. You’re thankful for her to figure it out, setting it where it was perfect. The first temperature was entirely too cold, apparently the temperature Natasha showers with in the morning.

She let you be, shutting the door and leaving you alone. All the options you had for soap were theirs. The bottles read “vanilla,” explaining why their scent was sweet. You shivered when the cold air hit, missing the warmth the water provided. The nightgown you chose was comfortable, the silk fabric to blame for that.

Wanda was still in the living room, a lamp on beside her. The room beside her had the light turned on, rustling coming from inside.

“Could you help me?”

“With what?”

“I couldn’t figure out how to turn off the shower, I’m sorry.”

Wanda sets the book down, moving past you, “you’re too kind, don’t worry about that. You can wait with Natasha, she’s already in the room.”

You assume the room with the light on is their bedroom. Natasha was leaning on the side, feet kicked off the side of the bed. She closed the drawer, sitting further back on the bed. You grow nervous again, standing in the doorway awkwardly.

“What’re you thinking about?”

“When will of it will start?”

“Whenever you’d like it to.”

A deep breath comes from you, your finger playing with the edge of your dress, “could we start tonight?”

“What’d you say? Speak a bit louder.”

“Could we start tonight? Start small?”

Her body relaxes, gesturing for you to come closer. There’s a slight tickling sensation as her hand brushes against the back of your thigh, lifting you to straddle her waist.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just relax and only speak if we ask you.”

It’s not difficult to listen to her when her hand brushes against your back in such a manner. Wanda wonders in later, taking to Natasha about something but it all became background noise. It almost lulls you to sleep, your mind on the cusp of falling into the dream world until Natasha had patted your leg.

“We’re turning the lights off, can you lay down for me?”

You rest between them, your back against Natasha’s. Wanda faces you, her hands brushing gently against your cheek. It only took a second for Natasha to begin snoring, her deep breaths hitting your back, making you scoot closer into Wanda.

“She bothering you? If we need to, I can make her sleep on the couch.”

“Oh no that’s alright, I like her here.”

Wanda smiles, leaning to press a kiss to your lips, “me too. Now sleep, it’s late.”

You adjust, finding the most comfortable spot to be resting your face under hers.

𓂃𓂃𓂃•𓂃𓂃𓂃

It’s driving you crazy, feeling her hands rub all over you but not where you need it the most. She’s been kissing you breathlessly, all on purpose so she can hear your shaky gasps of air.

“Please,” you beg, pushing your hips up, “touch me.”

“Where?”

You grab her hand, leaving it resting over your clothed cunt, “here please, I need it so bad.”

Her fingers push your underwear aside, not giving you any warning as she pushes one in, “you’re soaked.”

A whine tumbles from you, hands gripping tighter onto her wrist, “more, not enough.”

She listens, pressing another in, the stretch making you whine louder. You beg each time, grinding down onto her fingers. Each thrust pulling a, ‘more,’ from you, stating how you can take it.

“Does it feel good, kitten? You’re gripping my fingers.”

“Kitten?”

You gasp, eyes shooting open to find Natasha above you. She’s leaning over, using her hand by your head to balance herself. Her other hand was on your shoulder, presumably used to shake you awake.

“Are you alright? You were mumbling and moving around, I wanted to make sure you weren’t having a bad—“

“Touch me.”

“What.”

You clamber back, twisting your body away from hers, “nevermind.”

“No, tell me what you just said.”

“Touch me.”

It was quieter than the first time you said it but Natasha heard it.

“Remember the safe word colors we talked about, I want you to use those, okay?”

Her fingers hold your chin, moving you so you make eye contact with her, “use your words and look me in the eyes.”

“Okay,” you say, voice airy.

The moment she’s leaning down to kiss you, you’re reaching for more. She’s meeting you where you’re at, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. The sounds you make drive her crazy, they’re intoxicating. Her lips move down to your neck, biting at your collarbones to make you gasp.

“Hnn-!”

“Such a needy little thing,” she mouths, pulling your dress down to press a kiss to your nipple, “who knew you’d be so adorable.”

It’s the bare minimum and almost unreasonable for you to be so weak from it, but it’s her. The reason why you’re so reactive and wanting is because you want to feel her touch.

“Oh Natasha please,” you whine, grinding your hips down onto her clothed thigh. Natasha eyes the movement, groaning when she sees the wet patch you’ve left behind.

“Call me by my name and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Daddy, please.”

Your back is pushed into the pillows when she lifts your hips to slide your underwear completely off. You move to take off the dress but she stops you, “leave it on, you look beautiful.”

You really do, and she wishes you could see what she does. The strap handing off your shoulder, the bottom of it pooled around your waist. You moan so loud Natasha worries the neighbors might hear when her tongue licks up your folds.

“Shh,” she presses a kiss to your inner thigh, “be quiet.”

You try, the hand over your mouth your best attempt at keeping quiet. It becomes difficult to with how good she eats you out that you have to bite down on your fist. She praises you, telling you how good you listen to her.

You keen when she presses a finger in, the size of her fingers spreading you more than your dream had. Her hands on gripping your thighs open, amused at how shaky they get once she’s begun to thrust her finger in.

“Ah—! Not enough, please I need more.”

She’s compliant, already pushing another in and oh her view was heavenly. Your back arching, hips pushing onto her fingers. It’s a sight that almost makes her moan. Her own thighs grow wet seeing how you’re squirming from her ministrations. The moment she’s pushing another in, you’re already begging her to

“Oh yes please, please.”

“Fuck, you’re so sensitive.“

Her fingers are rough, pushing against your walls and angling them in a way that drives you closer to the edge. Her name is tumbling from your lips repeatedly like it’s all you know what to say.

“Don’t come without asking me,” she warns.

“Please let me come,” you gasp.

“Please who?”

“Please daddy,” you moan into your hand, “I’ll be good for you.”

“I know. I know you will. Go ahead.”

Her mouth latches onto your clit again, the stimulation being what you needed to reach your high. You pant, lungs heaving to get in air after. A smile making its way onto your face when Natasha slides up the bed to kiss your forehead.

“You did so well.”

“She did,” Wanda agrees from her position by the door, “I’m so proud.”

— masterlist ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ taglist below₊✩°｡⋆˚ ⁺ next part —

@simpforlizzie @maggieromanov @angelbeingatitspurest @cerberus-spectre @olicity-boo @huggingkoalas @wandasbunnyy @babykingslayer @marigoldenblooms @godhatesgoodgirls @evmaximoff @tobiaslut @lzzysfreak @caporaI-nino @mommysfavouritegirl @gemz5 @dorabledewdroop @foxherder @madamevirgo @natashaswife4125 @peaceitsnaee @radcherryblossompainter @sagesayshi

#baby I’m yours series #wandanat x reader #wandanat x fem!reader #wandanat x afab!reader #wandanat x y/n #wandanat x you #wanda x nat x reader #wanda x natasha x reader #dom Wanda #dom Natasha #dom!natasha #dom!wanda #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x you #top Wanda #top Natasha #natasha Romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel natasha romanov #natasha x reader smut #wanda maximoff x you

[woso-dreamzzz]

Prematch

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Jessie Fleming x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: The prematch routine

One day, before a match at home, Morsa gets up early to go to the market. She takes you with her because she woke up to you staring at her from your spot in the middle of the Big Bed.

Magda's not even sure how you snuck in without her noticing but it's enough to get you dressed and out the door before you can wake Pernille.

The market only really happens once a month so Magda always makes time to visit as she picks up various items that she can hoard until the next time it comes around.

You get a bit distracted by the crochet bees at one of the stalls and she has to hold your hand tightly to pull you away to the stall with all the flowers.

"Good morning, Magda," The old woman behind the table says, dipping her head in greeting.

"Morning." Magda pokes around at a few of bouquets.

It's a little embarrassing, she thinks, that she's here so often that the woman running the stall knows her name.

"And who is this delightful little lady?"

Magda rests a hand on your shoulder proudly. "My daughter, y/n."

"Oh, she's beautiful," The lady says with a coo and your cheeks go a little red and you duck to hide behind Magda's legs. "What were you thinking of today?"

"Roses," Magda replies," Pernille's still in bed so we're going to surprise her."

"Wonderful choice."

The woman picks up several deep red roses and spins them together as you watch.

"Morsa," You say," Why are we getting flowers for Momma?"

"Well," Morsa replies," When we really like someone, we give them flowers to show our affection. I really love your Momma so I want to get her some flowers to remind her."

That makes you think for a moment, brow furrowed as you ponder. "Morsa," You say eventually," Do only girlfriends give each other flowers? Or do friends do it too?"

"You can give flowers to friends. We got sent a lot of flowers when you were born."

You don't remember that because you were very little then but you believe Morsa. You tug at her shirt.

"Can I give Jessie flowers? Because she's one of my bestest friends and I want her to know."

"Well, princesse-"

"Here you are, Magda."

Morsa has to stop talking to grab the flowers and pay.

You huff a little, scuffing your shoes in the dirt at the non-response.

"And for the little lady to give to her friend."

You look up to see the woman smiling down at you, holding a second bouquet of flowers to you.

"Thank you," You say as you take them.

"Now," The woman says," These flowers here are yellow roses and they mean friendship and happiness. The pink ones a tulips. Now pink tulips are for affection and good wishes. Perfect for a friend."

"Thank you," You say again, adjusting your grip so you're holding them more carefully.

"No need to pay for those ones," The woman waves off Morsa's attempts," You just make sure the little lady gives them to her friend."

You make Morsa walk carefully back to the house to make sure that Jessie's flowers don't get crumpled. You think that annoys her a little bit but she's very nice about it even if it means Momma's already awake when you get back.

She takes the flowers from Morsa and accepts the soft kisses she's given.

"These ones are for Jessie," You say when she asks," We have to be careful with them, okay? Because they're special flowers just for her."

"Okay, princesse," Momma laughs," We'll be careful."

You remind Morsa how careful she has to be in the car when she goes a bit faster than you'd like and then when she holds the flowers a bit too tight when Momma's helping you out.

The silly social media man is waiting outside for you.

You give him a weird look as he holds something out for you. You take it, turning it over in your hand.

"It's a camera," He says.

"Why?"

"Well, we thought it would be fun if the fans got to see everything from your view."

You lift the camera up to your eye for a moment before smooshing it towards the flowers. "I'm giving flowers to Jessie," You say," Because she's my friend." You look at the social media man. "Like that?"

He nods with a laugh. "The others are out on the pitch if you want to join them."

You look at Momma and Morsa.

"Go on," Momma says.

You scamper off with your flowers and the camera.

"Niamh!" You exclaim when you fast walk down the tunnel and spot the older girl.

She's walking with Zećira and they both turn to look at you. You're not quite running because you don't want to ruin the flowers but you're moving quickly.

"What's that you've got there?" Niamh asks.

"A camera," You say, turning it so it can capture Niamh and Zećira.

Zećira laughs. "I think she means the flowers."

"Oh! They're for Jessie! Morsa got Momma flowers at the market this morning so I got some for Jessie."

Niamh's laughing now too and she leans down to look into the camera.

"Well, as you can all see, love is in the air at Chelsea."

That makes you frown. "What does that mean? Momma and Morsa are still inside."

"Don't worry about it. Here, I'll take the camera and then everyone can see Jessie getting her flowers."

"Okay!"

You move a bit quicker now that you can use both hands to hold your gift safely. Jessie's a little bit up ahead with her headphones in and you reach to tug her hand.

She smiles down at you and gives you a hug.

"Those are pretty flowers. Did Magda and Pernille get them for you?"

You shake your head. "I got them for you." You puff out your chest. "The market lady said they're for friendship and affection. We're friends and we hug. Hugging is affection, Momma says so."

You lift the flowers up to her.

Jessie looks a little caught of guard and you can hear snickering from Niamh and Zećira behind you. You don't pay them any attention though as Jessie takes the flowers and gives you a little kiss on the cheek.

You take one of her hands and receive the camera back in your other one.

Instantly, you're back to talking to it.

"You have to walk the pitch to make sure it's good," You say," But Niamh is always very silly. My Morsa says she only comes out here to socialise and so she can avoid being told what to do."

"Hey!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

[first-edition]

Bent Over

Summary- You may be Bucky’s assistant but your still is pretty wife. When the other board members take a liking to you bucky puts them in their place by showing them exactly who you belong two.

Cw- literally just smut basically, P-in-V, Unprotected, doggystyle, hair pulling, choking kink, Sargent! Authority kink, reader has long hair and wears heels, Afab reader, brief mention of drool, dirt talk, public sex, exhibitionistm kink, dom/sub, Dom!bucky, CEO!bucky, assistant reader, spanking, pet names, brief clit play, bucky fucking you raw over the meeting table with others watch. SLIGHTLY PROOF READ.

A/N this is by far the most….UNHOLY thing I’ve ever written in my 11 years of writing fanfiction and smut so i encourage you to read the content warning above and MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

ENJOY

You've worked for Bucky for hydra company since you were born. You previously worked for your father Alexander Pierce when you turned 14. But when his assistant double crossed him and killed him, that same assistant, James Buchanan Barnes took over the company at 18. At first you hated him having nothing left, not like your father was good. Of course the company should've gone to you..and well it did but at 14 years old it wasn't yours to run. 

You two would bicker and often hand in hand fight regardless of being his assistant. Many year later and many fail assanation attempts on him you married him. You've been James's assistant for 11 years, and you've been married to him for 3. Your bickering had ended in a lust induced fight that led to feeling being expressed at gunpoint then a rough night that left you partially, and deliciously crippled the next morning, which prompted Bucky to make you breakfast in bed and draw you a bath. 

Your work relationship is far different from home. At home he never lets you only want you whether that's wrapping his arms around you for a cuddle or being balls deep in your cunt. 

At work however he's the right amount of distance and so are you. It's become a mutual thing to not let anyone know in the tower that you and the big boss are married. 

You walk into the building holding a tray of coffees and an arm full of files. Your hair up in a ponytail, you wear a black knee high pencil skirt with a fairly loose but classy dark blue blouse, your black stockings paired with the jet black louis vuittons red bottoms bucky bought you last week. 

“I made the coffee run.” you say setting the tray down in the office room. 

Everyone who orders comes scrambling to their order without a thank you as usual. 

“You do a lot around her, don't you miss pierce.” you hear an older man's voice speak and you turn to see one of the board members and the other men on his team behind him. 

“Welcome Mr Cain you are early..i'll have to let mr barnes know.” you say pursing your lips in slight annoyance. 

“Yes well i'm not going to miss a chance at this pretty face now am I?” he says lifting your chin you pull away from him. 

“Excuse Me.” you say before turning back and walking down the hall area. They of course unauthorizedly follow close behind you. You stop at bucky's office doors as the desk girl presses the button allowing the doors to open you step in seeing bucky standing over to the window watching the morning view of the city as he shines up his metal hand, which your father gave him after a coup was sent on him he used bucky as a human shield. 

“Mr barnes. It appears Mr Cain has arrived early.” you says 

“Love the way you say my name sweetheart.” Cain speaks slapping your ass making you jump and wanting you punch the ever living outta him. 

“Hmm.” Bucky hums as he turns to see Mr cain. 

“Are the others here?” he asks you. 

“No sir…they will be arriving at 8. Like you asked.” you say knowing bucky will be pissed off at cain with being early and treating you as such. A small smile forming on your face. 

“You're 15 minutes early Cain. Were you offered coffee or bourbon? " Bucky says. 

“No james-” Cain begins. 

“Good.” Bucky cuts him off. He looks to you and holds out his hands for the files. You walk over to him handing them to your beloved husband. He takes a moment to look through the pages.

“Early Mr Cain but lacking in so many areas, your files aren't in the stock.” he says. 

“I had it transferred digitally.” Cain speaks proudly. Bucky tilts his head to the side slightly and nods a bit before handing the files back to you. You walk to the cabinet and bend down to sort them into the right orders. You hear a crash and a grunt knowing Cain is face down on the table and Bucky is holding him there. 

“Im old school Cain i like the files printed, i also like to be on time, not early, not late…on. Fucking. Time.” bucky huffs cain struggles against the cold black marble desk. 

“Understood?” Bucky asks. 

“Y-yes..sir..” Cain gurgles out. Bucky lets him go and stands up fixing his suit. 

“Good. I'll see you in um….10 minutes. Office room 8. y/n.” bucky says looking at you as you close the files cabinet. 

“Yes sir?” you ask completely unfazed but the situation as Cain picks himself up. 

“Send the maid in to clean up the mess and get room 8 ready for the meeting… also escort Mr Cain out and show twords the room.” he says you nod your heels clicking against the tiled floor as you walk out cain following you. 

—-------

You stand on the side of the door way welcoming the men of the board into the meeting room one by one they all join in and in some way in their own eye fuck you, or get a touch of you in some way. 

They all take their seats and bucky walks in after them. You're about to close the door when he stops you. 

“I'll need you for this one doll.” He says he never calls you his personal nickname at work. 

“S-sir?” you ask 

“Come on love.” he says, taking your hand leading you into the room. He takes a seat at the head of the table as usual and you stand beside him. 

“So I realize that we are gathered here for the section rating. How our router facilities are going and what we are going to do about the one that got taken down. Simply kill the one in charge, the router taken down, and forty the rest." Bucky begins. 

“In the budget.” someone begins. Bucky holds his hand up. 

“The budget is not the problem. The problem is that we have to much money and aren't using it to put more into the structure..but that's not the problem i want to address today no…the harassment and sexualization of my wife is getting out of hand.'' Bucky speaks and stands up pushing his chair back. 

“J-james.” you speak quietly. 

“I don't know what you men think but i think that the only one here who gets to touch her is me…don't you?” bucky speaks undoing his belt, your knees feel of jello and a shiver goes up your spine. 

Bucky pulls you to him and presses his lips to yours deeply he grips a handful of your ass before pushing you back against the table, your back laying against it he pushing up your skirt and rips open the front of your shirt. 

“I think you all need a fuckign lesson about who my assistant is and your gonna sit their like good students and fucking watch.” bucky grunts out as your laced bra is exposed he grips your neck pulling you up to him and gently takes out your ponytail letting your hair fall. 

“What do you think of these dirty old men touching you honey?” he asks you. You bite your lip making a bucky smile knowing what that does to him. 

“Your hands trails down his front to his crotch feeling the bulge already full in his pants straining against the fabric. You pull down the zipper causing him to slip out, you take him in your hand giving his length a few good strokes before he pushes back against the table he moves your panties to the side briefly only to rip them off throwing them in the room. With out warning or prep he enters you roughly you mouth falls open and a moan escapes as he begins to fuck up into you. 

“n-ngh..James.” you gasp out in pleasure. 

“Come on princess, don't hide those pretty sounds from us.” he says a violent blush fills your face but the arousal going on between your legs blurs out any embarrassment. Your husband is fucking you out silly, on the table of the meeting room infront of the entire board and you are loving every second of it. 

“Come on doll you gotta l–let em know who you belong to. You the fuck put tha pretty ring on your finger?” bucky huffs. 

“Y-you did ahh. Fu-fuck.. You did.” you maon out in fragments as he pulls you bra down exposing your tits gripping one and continuing to fuck you his thumb brushing over your hardend bud and the stimulation in you cunt is enough for you cum once. 

“F-fuck james..ah” you grip his hand as your cunt squeezes around his cock. 

“Come on love you cant keep this a secrect you fucking cumming?” he asks, already knowing the answer. 

“Y-y-yes ah..m-more please.” you ask breathlessly. He pulls out of you for a quick moment before turning you on your stomach and taking you from behind. Your nails claw at the table as he pounds into you. 

“Come on honey gotta show em your gorgeous face dont yah.” he pulls you up you back against him his left hand around your neck making your eyes roll back in pleasure and happiness on the dominance he has over you. While his other hand reaches down to your clit rubbing and playing perfectly. 

“Ah! AH” you moan out a broken gasp as your knees merge in over stimulation. 

“Come on… take it like a good girl.” Bucky groans into your ear knowing that the other men can absolutely hear him. 

Your arms reach about your head holding onto bucky as best as you can, your tits bouncing freely, men both looking away and can't take their eyes off the display right in front of them. 

“Come one baby you gonna fucking cum for me again huh?” bucky grunts. 

“Y-yes ah fuck yes.. Please i- i want it so b-bad. Please im your..ah please sargent” you beg. Bucky knowing full well he has you in the palm of his hand now with how cock drunk he's easily gotten you. 

His hold around your neck loosens and he lets you back onto the table pressing his hand onto the small of your back feeling the arch making him groan. 

“Such a good fucking girl for me huh? For everyone here being so fucking obedient.” bucky barks out sending a harsh slap on your ass for you only making  you clench around his cock. Surging pleasure though him. Skin slapping against skin as he fucks you out.

“Fuck.” he huffs. He grips your hair pulling your head back, your drunken expression facing all the men drool dripping as your tongue hangs out. The pleasurable tears stinging the sides of your eyes blurring your vision. 

“I- im gonna c-cum ah- fuck.. Please please ah..” you messily beg. 

“Come on doll cum.” he demands out from you a few more thrusts later he has you cumming for the second time. His thrusts become weaker and sloppy as he curses with a rough few thrusts in you emptying his load into your pussy filling you up. He pushes his hair back as he pulls out of you. Bucky gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before lifting you up against him your fucked you dazed happy expression is glowing for the others in the room. 

“obedience..is taught gentleman respect is earned. Any of you flaccid fucking shit faces touch her again or dare to question my authority with USLESS BOARD MEETINGS… Ill send someone to each and everyone of you and put a bullet or two right between your fucking eyes. Is that Understood?” Bucky speaks. 

“Yes sir.” they all say in broken unison. 

“Get the fuck out.” Bucky says they scramble out gathering their things and falling out the door before it's just the two of you left. You giggle out a tired giggle. 

Bucky tucks himself back into his pants, setting you down gently and brings his chair over. 

“Come here doll. You alright?” he asks you nod looking at him with lust filled eyes. 

A smile fills his face as his thumb brushes against your cheek. He sits you down in his chair. 

He takes off his jacket, placing it around you. “Come on honey imma take you home i don't think you can work today or tomorrow.” he smiles before kissing your lips. 

“W-we should do this again then yeah?” you ask as he picks you up bridal style. 

“Id be happy to fuck you infront of the presedent next week.” he chuckles. Making you laugh.

—-my requests are open—-

#Smut #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky smut #Avengers smut #ceobucky #ceo bucky barnes #CEO Bucky Barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #Bucky barnes x reader smut #ceo

[ladadiida]

𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

once upon a time, you wished for alhaitham to love you back just as much as you loved him. that was years ago though; now as the acting grand scribe for the acting grand sage, you both were widely known for the hate you have for each other.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 love hate, unrequited love (or is it), angst, implied insecurity about physical appearance, inspired from the fountain scene in atonement by ian mcewan. i suggest you watch the video first so you can imagine how the scene would look like!

𝐰𝐜 2.5k

he finally found you.

the swaying grass crunched under the soles of his boots as he slowly and menacingly walked towards you with your back facing him, not aware of what was about to come. he was getting nearer now, and yet you still didn't turn around; it was either because you didn't hear him at all or because you didn't care about his presence. knowing you, the latter sounded more reasonable.

you were sitting on the grass, right beside the crystal clear waterfalls of chinvat ravine, legs crossed and hair tied to keep the strands from blocking your view, but the wind didn't spare you from its wrath. your locks swayed gently along with the breeze, flying and curling like the roots of the divine tree holding up the sanctuary of surasthana, exposing your bare neck to him. even with your long sleeved dress, you bathed in the golden sumeru sunlight, not caring about the heat at all.

though you weren't looking at him at all, alhaitham's heart stubbornly skipped a beat, its pace picking up the longer he stared at you. you looked so peaceful sitting in silence that he almost turned away and let you be in your own quiet world. or maybe he would just sit beside you if you'd allow him to, then the two of you would listen to the singing of the dusk birds together, along with the calming sound of the running water from the waterfalls.

in another time, he would like to spend his mornings, afternoons, and nights with you; but right now, as the acting grand sage of the akademiya, work was priority.

and so, despite not wanting it, alhaitham broke the silence. "if I may ask, what is the acting grand scribe doing here?"

he saw your body tense up, shoulders raising slightly. it took you a whole minute before you decided to glance at him over your shoulder. as he expected, your usually gentle eyes were already narrowed, ready to bite at him. your plump lips were pursed in annoyance, and it took every bit of his sanity to not lean in and swipe his thumb over it. your cheeks were already starting to turn into a shade of red that reminded him of zaytun peaches. it was probably because of anger, or irritation. or both.

beautiful, he thought.

"acting grand sage alhaitham." you greeted him calmly, as opposed to the emotions you had on display. "i can ask you the same question."

alhaitham crossed his arms and stared down blankly at you. "i have some files i need you to arrange, and they should be at my desk tomorrow morning."

without breaking off the eye contact, you blinked twice as if you were contemplating on what to say. then you shrugged, appearing not to care at all. "alright."

he couldn't help but to think that the old you wouldn't act this way. years ago, you would've nod slowly with a soft smile gracing your lips, a smile that was reserved just for him, and a pale pink hue would settle on top of your skin because you were too flustered to even speak a word to him.

but times have changed now. he should not be thinking about the past, for it will only hinder his progress in the present. but how could he not, when the only person he could blame for the reason for your change was himself?

alhaitham tried to hide his growing impatience, both for your stubbornness and your attitude towards him. he frowned and pressed on, "it seemed like you didn't understand. i am asking you to return to your office in the akademiya."

"you already wasted my time by searching for you. i spent a precious hour just walking around the city asking people if they somehow saw you when i could've spent that hour finishing the rest of my work. even katayoun didn't know where you are, so i had to find you myself." he continued, voice sounding more cross in each sentence.

you sighed, not affected by his rants. fully turning around, he saw a writing quill tucked in your ear and some papers stacked on your lap. you took one of the papers and showed it to him. "i'm checking some of the students' research proposals before i can submit them to you for approval."

"and you couldn't do that in your office?"

"unlike some of us, i can't concentrate on my work when i am locked up in an enclosed space." you quickly bit back, glaring at him. "working here is much better. i can breathe in some fresh air and watch the dusk birds if i'm feeling overwhelmed by the never-ending paperwork."

alhaitham thought of what you said and almost agreed with you. from where he was standing, he could see the bright blue sky, and not to mention, the entire view of the city.

but his pride didn't allow him to back down, just like always. he can tolerate you being mad at him and hating him with all your heart, but he can't stand it when you ignore him.

so he added fuel to the fire and lectured you, "while you're at it, do you have more complaints? don't hesitate to inform me if you lack materials or things that you will need. you have a high position in the akademiya now, so it is important for you to have your work done in a proper manner."

you rolled your eyes. "office rooms make me nauseous." you said straightforwardly.

that made him scrunch his eyebrows in both confusion and concern. "nauseous?"

"there's no windows." you grumbled under your breath. alhaitham inhaled sharply, finally understanding the situation. he made a mental note to speak with some of the matra later and make a request to transfer you to a new room. maybe even use some of his sage funds to buy new decorations just for you, so you wouldn't feel lonely and cramped inside your office.

while he was thinking, he noticed that you turned around once again, continuing to check the papers on your own. he watched you write, quick but your handwriting remained neat and pleasing to look at. this was one of the reasons why he chose you to become the scribe.

he wasn't satisfied with just watching you. alhaitham got closer and bent down with one knee. striking up a conversation again, he began, "let me see what you're working on."

you flinched at the sudden close proximity. he noticed it, and he tried to stop himself from smirking.

your grip on your quill tightened. with gritted teeth, you told him, "i'm not yet finished. please be patient."

alhaitham peered at you innocently, making you glower even more at his unaffected state. "i just want to check if you're doing it correctly." he simply said.

"i told you it's not yet finished. and what do you mean by correctly? i can manage just fine on my own!" you defended, now starting to raise your voice. while you were distracted, he took the opportunity to take the paper you were writing on.

you yelped and protested, "hey! stop!"

he lifted up his arm so you wouldn't be able to reach it, looking down on you with a strange glint in his beautiful turquoise eyes. seething in anger, you slightly sat up and pressed a hand on his chest in a rough manner to hoist yourself up without losing balance. you tried to ignore the feeling of his defined muscles against your palm as you tried to snatch the paper from him.

alhaitham froze. for a moment, he thought he forgot how to breathe because of how close you were to him. he could see the flecks of light in your eyes, the number of your thick eyelashes, and the many imperfections on the surface of your skin, yet they looked soft to the touch. and your lips, your heavenly lips, were only inches away from his own. the way they were slightly parted made him think of how they would feel.

he lost all focus that the paper he was holding slipped away from his fingers. your jaw dropped in horror, gaze following the paper in the air as it slowly flew towards the river. you got off alhaitham and tried to chase after it, but you were unfortunately too late. the paper had already met the surface of the water, liquid seeping on its thin composition.

you looked at him in disbelief. "what have you done?"

alhaitham sighed, waving a hand. "don't fret too much. just take the printed copy and submit it to me." he said.

"i didn't print one." you quietly replied.

he turned to you and stared at you like you've grown two heads. "what?"

in a louder voice, you explained impatiently, "that's the original paper. i haven't printed a copy yet."

hearing your words, alhaitham felt a huge headache. it was a grave mistake not to keep a copy of the akademiya's files.

"this is why I told you to always duplicate important files immediately after you receive them from the students in case they are stolen, destroyed, or lost." he spoke carefully, trying to avoid getting frustrated. "these are their research papers, and i'm sure that as a former akademiya student, you know how much value those papers hold."

your hands formed into fists. "do not talk to me like that!" you weakly shouted.

one of his eyebrows raised in question. "like what? like an acting grand sage pointing out their scribe's mistake?"

to his surprise, you started tearing up. bright red then blossomed on your cheeks, signalling the chaos that was about to reach its boiling point.

"like a pompous ass who forced me to become the scribe!" you yelled, and the shrillness of your voice hurt his ears, but he continued listening anyway. "if you're so clever and oh so better than me, then why didn't you just be the grand sage and scribe at the same time? you just have to drag me into your shit so you could embarrass me in front of the mahamata!"

"to embarrass you is far from my—"

you pointed a finger at him in a threatening way, your eyes shooting daggers as sharp enough to kill him. "speak another word and i'll kick you so hard in your groin that your children wouldn't be able to have the same genes as you."

flabbergasted, alhaitham didn't dare utter another word. but when you started to unbutton your dress, he let out a sarcastic huff.

"the water is not safe." he said, trying to prevent you from wading through the fungi infested river. you ignored him and continued to undress.

you were about to pull down the upper part of your dress when you glanced at him, mouth open as if you were going to say something. he held your gaze, waiting for your retort. however, nothing came, and you only scowled at him while you finally slipped out of your dress, the clothing falling down to your feet.

he knew it was improper to stare. he wanted to look away, to give you respect and privacy and also because it was the right thing to do, but he can't he can't he can't—

the lacy camisole you were wearing underneath the dress clung tight to your body. your bra straps were visible, and because the camisole's length can only reach the middle of your exposed thighs, he can almost see your underwear. you were half naked right in front of him, but you didn't seem to care. why didn't you care?

ah, alhaitham thought, realization dawning upon him as you carefully walked towards the river and tested the temperature of the water first before taking a dive. you became nothing but a colorful blur under the aquamarine waters.

it was quiet for a moment. everything was quiet, until a distant memory flashed in his mind.

"you don't pass my aesthetic preferences and ideals for a partner. i consider both character and appearance when it comes to choosing a significant other, should that day ever come." he explained quickly, trying to get out of this awkward situation. more students were gathering around them, and that was the thing he despised the most: attention.

it became even worse when your lower lip started to tremble. just how pathetic can you be? confessing your feelings in the middle of a public place, the feelings that grew within you just by working on a single project together. you brought this to yourself. this was all your fault to begin with.

"are you saying i'm ugly?" you whispered, shaky voice sounding upset.

his gaze on you remained impassive. "i wouldn't use that term. that's too harsh, don't you think? i'd say...you're just not physically attractive, that's all.

"i'm not planning to consider you as my partner in a romantic relationship, today and in the near future. so i advise you to stay away from me to save yourself from the humiliation. have a nice day."

a loud splash interrupted his thoughts.

when you emerged from the water, your hands were clutching the soggy piece of paper, grip gentle as to not rip it off. damp pieces of hair framed your face, and the camisole, now transparent, hugged your wet form. your jaw was clenched, due to the cold or your hostility towards him; he doesn't know.

oxygen was knocked out of his lungs. alhaitham swallowed a lump in his throat and clenched his fist, reminding himself to breathe. you walked past him, not meeting his eye, and picked up your dress from the ground. you dressed hastily, your wet strands drenching your clothing in the process.

after you buttoned up, you turned your head sideways, finally acknowledging his presence but not making eye contact.

"i never wanted to be the acting grand scribe." you said, voice calm once again. "still, i apologize. i, who does not have a single clue about being a scribe because i'm only a librarian, apologize for not knowing what this job entails. but for just one day, can you please stop reminding me that i'm not as intelligent as you?"

he stayed quiet.

"have a nice day, acting grand sage." were your last words before you left him there standing dumbly on the grass. he can only watch as you walked away from him, hair swaying across your shoulders with each step you take. when you disappeared from his sight, he looked back at the water, the roiling surface yet to recover from its tranquillity, almost like you left some of your fury in it. alhaitham placed a hand flat on its surface, thinking about how the water touched your body mere moments ago, its calming arms caressing every inch of your skin. he doesn't want to feel jealous, but that he felt.

it has happened, much to his dread. you, who is possibly the only woman who can ever love someone like him, no longer have feelings for him. it was to be expected, but how can he live on when the only constant thing in his life finally left him for good?

alhaitham can only dip his hand in the water. it was the only closest thing to you that he could touch.

#genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfiction #genshin reader insert #genshin x reader angst #genshin impact x reader angst #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham genshin #genshin impact alhaitham #alhaitham #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x reader angst #alhaitham angst #alhaitham imagines #alhaitham fanfiction #alhaitham reader insert #alhaitham x reader smut #alhaitham x reader fluff #genshin impact x reader fluff #genshin impact x reader smut

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 18

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: extremely soft

A/N: An epilogue to end our story, I'll reblog later with all of my thank yous. For now, this final chapter is dedicated to @mrsmando ❤ and her big giant heart, for whom this story wouldn't exist without.

Series Masterlist

-

FIVE YEARS LATER 

“Honey?”

Placing his keys on the table in the entryway, Joel tilts his head to the side and listens. Silence greets him instead, but it’s a warm one. Peaceful.  

Sunlight streams through the open windows in the living room, and he walks through the beams of soft light towards the back of the house, passing through a scene of domestic disarray: a blanket tossed over the couch, toys scattered on the living room floor, small shoes that he bartered for last week kicked off and tossed on the stairs. Bending down to scoop them up with a sigh, he carries them into the kitchen. Placing them on the table, he looks around for any sight of you. 

The backdoor ajar, he heads into the backyard. 

“Honey?”

“Yea?”

Calling to him from the middle of the garden, he spots you with a smile – right as a small body crashes through the bushes with a shriek. Running straight for him, Joel automatically holds his hands out to catch June, but she looks behind her and screams, dodging his reach instead. Another child comes through and then another; a game of tag that’s crossed borders between the houses. 

“Hey! Stop runnin’ through! Just go around em’!”

You stand from your place in the garden, picking your way carefully through the sprouting plants. Your face and shoulders come into view first, and then your stomach – the soft swell only just beginning to show. At the sight of it, he visibly softens and comes over to help you, lending you his hand. 

“You sound just like a cranky old man,” you tease, brushing the dirt from your knees. Looking up at him with a squint against the sun, you grin and mime shaking a fist. “Stay off my lawn!”

“Well I am an old man,” he says wryly, defending himself. “Besides, all I need is for a kid to get hurt bustin’ through those bushes like that.”

He looks over his shoulder and surveys the damage for a moment; the squall of children slightly muted from the front yard. Bringing his eyes back to you, he steps closer and reaches for your bump, splaying his touch over it. 

“How we feelin’ today?”

“Oh god,” you answer with a sigh. “Tired.” 

Letting your head drop forward, you rest it on his shoulder. His hands glide smoothly from your stomach to your hips, encouraging you to lean into him and you do, pressing your cheek against his chest. Warmth radiates through the material of his shirt, and you close your eyes and breathe him in. Sunshine, sweat, the faint smell of the stables and the horse he rode today while on patrol lingers in the fabric, and your body relaxes against his. 

“How was your day?” you murmur. 

“Good. Tommy n’ Maria wanna know if we can come over for dinner this week. Guess she’s been askin’ for that dessert you made last time, wants to know if you can bring it over again. What was it called?”

“Brown sugar pie.” You burrow even closer against him, and his arms slip around your back in an embrace. 

“That’s the one.”

“I think I have everything I need for it. I can do that.”

“I told him I would let em’ know tomorrow. Got patrol with him again at dawn.”

You look up at him with a pout. “So early again?”

He says nothing, bending to press his mouth to your forehead. 

“I miss you in bed when you leave so early in the morning.”

His kiss drops lower, catching your nose.  

“You know I like curling up next to you. You’re like a human furnace.”

The edge of his mouth lifts. “I know, I like it too. But duty calls and all that.”

Presenting your lips for a kiss, he grants a lingering, full press of his mouth to yours and then pulls back. 

“You need me to carry anything into the house?”

“I don’t need that kind of help just yet,” you reply. 

He puts his hands up in defense with a smirk, taking a step back. “Just askin’”.

You wave him away, turning back towards the garden and he turns to head into the house, calling over his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna take a shower. Is he sleepin’ inside?”

“Yes,” you call back. “Try to be quiet when you go in. He kept me up most of the night, so I know he’s tired too.”

Nodding, he catches the screen door before it smacks the frame behind him and quietly heads upstairs.  

The bedroom is scattered with the same lived-in mess that downstairs is: the quilt thrown back over rumpled sheets, his sweats on the floor, a scatter of items on the dresser. Reaching over his head, he tugs his shirt off in a smooth motion, and tosses it on the bed before sitting down with a soft groan, bending forward to unlace his boots. 

His bare back is littered with long ago healed scars, one of them pulling tight across his flank. Sitting up with a stretch, he rubs at it with his hand, the muscle underneath sore from so much time spent in the saddle. Heading into the bathroom, he tosses the rest of his clothes into the laundry basket and steps into the shower, letting the water beat down on his lower back.

Four years in, and he still lets out a sigh of appreciation every time. 

Done and dressed in fresh clothes, he pads around the bedroom in bare feet gathering the rest of the laundry. A mix of his and yours, a threadbare blankie that needs washing, a sleeper on the dresser. Tossing it all into the basket, he goes into June’s room to do the same. 

Picking up the small guitar she plays with while he practices on his own, he places it carefully against the corner of the wall and gathers the laundry she’s left at the foot of the bed. The room reflects the girl herself: purple walls, drawings taped up on every surface, a butterfly suncatcher that hangs in her window scattering rainbows over the floor. 

Hearing muted babbles from the next room over, Joel grabs a shirt off the floor before heading over to the closed door. Opening it, he’s greeted with a grin. 

“Hey big guy," he says lowly, setting the basket on the floor, peering over the side of the crib. Built by Joel shortly after you arrived in Jackson, he thumbs at the mending it needs on the corner, thinking about how it’ll need to be moved into the bedroom in about five months. 

Still puffy with sleep, the boy’s face resembles yours so much that Joel’s eyes crinkle with affection. “You ready to get up?”

One hand holding the basket and the other one dangling to let his son grasp it, they slowly navigate the stairs together, entering the kitchen just as June comes through the back door with you right behind her. 

“Someone woke up, I see,” you coo, scooping the toddler into your arms. 

“You done playin’ tag, June Bug?” Joel asks, squeezing her shoulder. 

“Yea. The other kids had to go home for lunch. Can you make me something to eat, Daddy?”

Routine takes over, the afternoon sliding into the evening, twilight descending around the house. The picture window in the front is a beacon of light; figures moving around inside. Dinner, playtime, bathtime. A freshly bathed June and Henry – Hank, for Hank Williams – in Joel’s lap on the couch while he reads them a book, the gentle clink of dishes being washed sounding from the kitchen.

After the kids are tucked in for the night, you find him on the porch. Pulling his flannel tight around your torso, you take a seat next to him and he wordlessly drapes his arm across your shoulders, tucking you close. Handing him a well worn mug with an owl on it, he hums with approval when he discovers the whiskey inside. 

“I saw the midwife today,” you say, spreading your fingers over your bump. “She said everything looks good so far, and gave me something for the heartburn.”

“Is it still real bad?” he asks, and you nod. 

“She says that it’s a sign it’s gonna be a girl,” you smile at him, shrugging. “I don’t remember having it too bad with June though, so who knows.”

Watching your fingers smooth your shirt over the small bump with a rub, the action moves in time with the slow rocking of the bench. Another sip of whiskey, and Joel thinks about how much has changed between then and now: a fleeting image of your younger face, a picture of a river, a cabin just beyond.

The comfortable silence between the two of you lets his mind continue to roam, the memories coming in flashes: the trek across the country, the simultaneous relief and on-edge anxiety he felt when the walls surrounding Jackson first came into view. A familiar voice calling through the fog, one he thought he’d never hear again. Favoring his left side due to a deep gash still healing from an encounter with raiders, warmth slipped from his eyes as he clutched his brother tight, unwilling to let go. 

The same brother he saw just this morning, and who he’ll see again tomorrow. 

“You’re so different than the guy I left all those years ago,” his brother said later on, and Joel had said nothing, just lacing his fingers with yours. 

He is different. 

The years have softened him around the edges, or maybe the kids have. Or maybe it’s you.  

Relaxing into him, his cheek comes to rest on the top of your head.

“You tired, honey?”

“Yea.” The word slips out, the edges rounded. “But keep rocking me?”

Fireflies spark and dance in the air, the wisps of a song caught on the wind from the neighbor playing their radio next door. Your profile is highlighted with the softened light from inside, your cheeks plump with health and happiness and enough food, the frown lines from ever present anxiety smoothed away years ago. He gently collects the soft hair at your temple with a soothing stroke and your eyes flutter shut. 

His boot pushing off the wooden floorboards of the porch, he rocks and presses a kiss to the crown of your hair, letting the gratefulness pass through him. 

The old life feels like a dream, or maybe this is the dream – with a wife sitting safe and sound beside him, on the porch of a home filled with his children. 

Everything possible because you imagined it possible. Everything here because of you.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs, and you nod, not moving. 

The edge of his mouth lifting in a smile, he tucks you in closer and rocks.

THE END

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic

[yuquinzel]

[ 2:18 AM ] — itoshi rin.

joining in on the clingy rin agenda with this :P

rin does not like disruptions to his carefully crafted schedule, specifically— his sleep schedule. he has to be in bed by 11 pm sharp and wake up at the first light of dawn for his morning jog. that's how he's always gone about his day, that's how he prefers everything to be— falling perfectly into a rhythmic routine.

but tonight is different, tonight it's almost past 2 am, long since he found himself cozy in the warmth of his blankets— and yet he lies wide awake, eyes heavy with drowsiness but not enough to close shut because itoshi rin can not sleep unless you're beside him.

he wants to blame his comforter for failing to keep him warm, but in truth he's aware that the cold pooling his sheets is only an extension from the emptiness of your side of the bed.

it looks barren, abandoned even.

it's not like you're not home, it's not like you had an argument that didn't end well and hence refuse to sleep next to him, it's not like some college assignment is keeping you awake late into the night. you're just busy watching reruns of your favourite series because it had your favourite actor and rin is too prideful to admit he's not used to falling asleep without you threading your fingers in his hair.

he told himself he can sleep just fine on an empty bed. and he believed it for about three hours.

now you find him hovering like a ghost by the end of the room, all wrapped in blankets as he's taking long and impatient strides over to where you're slumped on the couch.

“bed. now.” he says, almost a little desperate.

you spare him a glance, then back to your tv screen, “rin? why're you still awake?”

“it's cold. i'm cold. come back to bed.” you know his short and quick answers are just a reflection of how tired he truly is.

“you're cold?” you ask, and rin simply nods.

“just two more episodes rin, promise i'll come after that.” you say, eyes still set on the tv screen and rin eyes the way your eyes glimmer with awe when that actor shows up.

and then suddenly your vision is blocked, the fluorescent light from the tv casting white shadows across rin's large physique as he eclipses your view of the tv, “what's so great about him? you can watch these tomorrow, come back, i can't sleep without you.”

you're about to say what the hell rin step aside before the realisation hits, and his words replay in your mind. the gears in your head turn, an amused smile gracing your lips, “are you jealous of this actor?”

rin huffs, kneeling down so he's eye-to-eye with you, “i never said that. i said i can't sleep without you because your side of the bed is cold so it makes me cold.”

you laugh a little, and rin feels a sort of warmth tingle his skin, “but they won't air these old episodes tomorrow, and its only two more, give me like, half an hour?” you bargain, bringing a hand to cradle the side of his face, rin leaning in your warmth even more.

he ponders your words, grumbling something unintelligible as he gets up. you think he's about to leave, before he plops down next to you. adjusting himself on the couch with you with barely enough space to accommodate the both of you, rin manages to bury his face in your chest while you have to tightly wrap your arms around him to keep you from falling.

“we're gonna fall and it'll be your fault,” you breathe, and rin holds you even tighter at your words.

“no, it'll be your fault. you won't come to bed with me.”

“you're such a baby.” you laugh again, your chuckles reverberating through him with your closely pressed bodies, the comfort of it beginning to lull him to sleep like magic. he's a little grateful to the lack of space on the couch in exchange for the intimacy of this moment.

the last thing echoing in his mind before he dozes off is the sensation of your fingers running through his hair, with a light tug at times that relieves him of all his exhaustion.

sleeping on the couch is perhaps much better than the bed.

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

#❀˖° ─ hana writes. #I NEED HELP IM NOT OKAY #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi x you #itoshi rin x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #rin drabble #rin x reader fluff #itoshi rin fluff #rin itoshi fluff #itoshi rin

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hi Good morning...

Could you do Yandere Alastor? If not Could Alastor be possessive?

Imagine Charlie going to heaven to talk to the angels (just like in that episode) but in addition to taking his girlfriend, he also took Alastor along with them... Now imagine Alastor being reunited with his beloved wife (who became an angel after her death and with that they both separated) what would happen? Now imagine having other angels flirting with Alastor's wife or trying to protect her since he is the radio demon...

Oooh… okay. This is interesting. Though, I can imagine Alastor may end up dragging us down to Hell with him since he’d be that possessive. He wouldn’t stay in Heaven, he’d be getting us banished from Heaven so he can be with us! That’s how I view it and this is my first Yandere Alastor and Yandere Hazbin Hotel as well!

Alastor- Yin and Yang, Light and Dark

Alastor is a merciless, intimidating man of extreme power as Hell’s all-around-feared Radio Demon. A figure who had nothing to his own name that others did. Just himself, a blade and so many sins under his belt. Nobody would ever suspected he would ever fall in love, that he could fall in love, that it was possible for such a corrupted mind…

But here is both Charlie and Vaggie, and the entirety of Hell being completely disapproved. The young sapphic couple decided to bring their redemption project’s primary investor, Alastor up to Heaven with them as backup support, incase anything happens. The three demons are greeted with the mighty Seraphim, Sera’s assistant. A beautiful warm-hearted female angel that greets them with a warm smile and a familiar accent

Alastor just stopped in place when he met your eyes, he stopped smirking and snarking through this situation. Stopped even smiling as he couldn’t stop looking at this angel… she reminds him of the wife he had lost. Nobody knew he was married… he almost forgot he was. Alastor approaches this sweet-hearted angel and asks politely to hold her hand. Of course, this angel… or also known as you, is a bit hesitant but does so anyway. Eventually being able to flip your hand to reveal the shiny wedding ring that has remained there for so long, it may as well be stuck in place

Since when did Alastor have a wedding ring?! That’s what Vaggie asks herself when Alastor seems to just manifest a shiny golden marriage band onto his hand in just a flick of his wrist, both of you carefully slide off those rings to check the insides, where writing of each other’s names remain. Revealing to one another that you’ve both been reunited since 1933… since Alastor’s death, many years prior your own

You’re found your husband… after almost seventy years

It was hard to not cry before your guests but pulling back in all your emotions and your questions for your estranged now demon husband, Alastor. You have to lead the Princess, her partner and her close friend over to where Sera and Emily await to greet them. Whilst Emily ends up excitedly distracting Charlie and Vaggie, you’re unable to stop thinking about being able to find your husband. You know that ring anywhere and looking at the Radio Demon more, you can see the dark-skinned Creole man behind the new appearance

You smoothly weave past the other two higher-rank inhabitants of this grand bright cool cloudy realm to take Alastor’s hands, prying one off his staff-like microphone-cane and eventually running fingers through his hair, doing so just makes his tall fluffy deer-like ears pin back. It’s just like when you were both humans and how’d you run your fingers through his fluffy dark brown hair to ease him after a long day of work

“Alastor… why did you lie to me? You said we’d go to Heaven together”

He did promise. Back in 1926, when you two got married. A illegal marriage but you didn’t care at all. Married at only 26 years old, both of you. He promised you’d both die together and fly up to Heaven together, be happy, safe and comfortable together in Heaven but when you died after he did, you never found Alastor

You were devastated, looking everywhere, desperate and heartbroken at being alone, and ending up being comforted by Lady Sera. Who revealed to you Alastor never arrived in Heaven… which was just proof to that that he didn’t go to Heaven but he went to Hell

You wanted to know so badly, for almost seventy years. Why he went to Hell… what did he do? You never saw Alastor commit any wrong. He was a good person, yes, wealthy and influential as a very popular Radio Host but a good man

Alastor, in reality, simply hid his true self, his psychotic ‘disorder’ from you. He had actually fallen in love with a sweet soft angel, a sympathetic harmless woman and was terrified he’d lose you, a genuinely good person, to the fact he was a serial killer… hence why you never saw nor knew how bad he actually was

How he killed every single man who came onto you, how he killed every single woman who dared to give you any side eyes. He was obsessed, possessive, protective, murder-driven

Alastor covered every single footstep and every trace of his bad doings and even when he was reported as the serial killer on the radio upon the Police taking him down… you still didn’t know because you avoided the radio, out of heartbreak pain of your husband being taken away from you and utter disbelief of what anybody said about Alastor back in Louisiana, New Orleans during your old-timey era

Being reunited with you… this beautiful moment has drowned Alastor with not only all those incredible memories of the past as a human he shared with you, but all his unhealthy, what it’s called yandere mannerisms. In an instant, he is determined to get you back at all causes and he is willing to drag you down to Hell with him

He can’t be redeemed, even if seeing you again is a huge motivation to try fix himself and pass by his sins of wrath, he’ll just make you fall through the clouds and land right into his arms after passing through the pentagram above. This is perfect… absolutely perfect and a mere second devised plan is already becoming the Overlord’s obsession

Alastor lifts up the hand combing through his hair away and kisses the top of your hand, making both yours and his heart flutter. Everything you do for one another is reminders of the past and reminders of your secret marriage. His pretty crimson red eyes look down at you before he speaks, his voice dropping the radio effect echo so his organic transatlantic accent coos out, full of love and joy

Mainly because he’s going to make you become a Fallen Angel and come live in Hell with him. You won’t be alone again and he won’t be alone again either

“I know, darling… I was never a good person and I didn’t deserve you. But I am here to change. If you give me some weeks, maybe some months. Give us that time. We’ll be together again. Just like before”

A/N: To say. What would Alastor do if he saw Angels trying to flirt with you or keep you away from him as he visits Heaven with Chaggie is that he’d be planning immense murder and destruction but he couldn’t do anything about it. Politely dragging you away from the angels to talk to you more. He wants to kill but he can’t whilst within Heaven

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel characters #vivziepop hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #romantic alastor #alastor x reader #alastor #husband alastor #romantic alastor x reader #radio demon x reader #hazbin radio demon #the radio demon #radio demon #hazbin hotel radio demon #alastor short story #husbando #romantic yandere #yandere imagines #yandere problems #yandere romance #yandere #reunion #cute reunion #viziepop #yandere alastor

[domain-expand-me]

I've been going bonkers over Megumi x DILF!Reader because I know that boy has some serious daddy issues, having the reader being completely oblivious and doing things that definitely get the boy hot and nervous is MY SHIT.

I would love to see you expand on your writing about DILF/MILF reader with Megumi a bit more

Imagine

Megumi Fushiguro with a DILF!reader

Aged up characters, reader is in theirs 40s, cuz when i say dilf i mean it.

Imagine being the stereotypical dilf. Body broad and covered in a layer of fat, laying on top of strong muscles that comes from many years of physical labor. After moving into the house near the sorcerer campus, maybe after you got divorced, you somehow end up attracting the different sorcerers in the area.

But most of all, Megumi sticks around the most. You don’t truly notice at first, too busy digging around under the hood of whatever junker car you spend your time on, or banging around in your garage or shed like the most stereotypical dilf. But you start seeing him more and more, and at some point, you just start telling him to hand you different tools or help you out with your yard.

The first time you pat him on the back and praise him for helping, he goes bright red and immediately feels how hard he gets. Being oblivious and just thinking hes sticking around to be nice, you just ruffle his hair and move on, unaware of the way Megumi feels like his knees were about to buckle.

The other members from the campus notice pretty quickly where Megumi runs off to each day. Well, maybe not Yuji, but the others figure it out quicker than Megumi wants. Him returning with oil stains and wearing one of your ancient band t-shirts doesn’t help his case though.

Imagine Megumi realizing he has a huge daddy kink because of you. You jokingly say something like “who’s your daddy” after doing some kind of difficult task, and Megumi almost drops the toolbox he’s holding, blood rushing to both his heads, and he has to use the toolbox to cover the throbbing bulge in his pants.

Imagine Megumi coming to you for “dating advice”, since he wouldn’t be able to find it in himself to just make a move on you. Instead, he gets your dating history, and all the moves you pulled to get your ex. When he learns you are also into men, he almost has a heart attack. Maybe you’ve been drinking, having also offered Megumi some, since who are you to stop, and as you a slightly tipsy, you end up describing the best way to go down on someone in bed, and how to make a partner stay just from rocking their world on the regular.

Megumi ends up laying in bed later that night, teary eyed and huffing the shirt you let him borrow that day, his other hand tugging at his aching hard shaft, his entire body shaking and jolting from overstimulation as he made himself come over and over just thinking about you.

Imagine Megumi buying his first personal toy because of you. One day when you are laying by your pool, a pool you built yourself with Megumi’s help, naked as you assume you are alone, and you are too old to feel ashamed of your body. He gets a nice view of your cock, and even though its soft, he stumbles over his feet to hurry back to campus to take care of his very aching problem.

He spends a couple of lust fueled hours finding the perfect shape and size, getting a toy that has your skin tone. The next morning what one might call late post-orgasm clarity hits him. But when Megumi gets the package, he still squirrels it away, ashamed to use it. That is, until you just wind the poor boy up too much, walking around shirtless and sweaty, baseball cap on your head and shorts from your college days.

Imagine Megumi fingers deep in himself as he tries his damnest to suck down the entire length of the toy, tears gathering in his eyes as his gag reflex struggles against the silicone being forced down his throat.

Imagine Megumi clutching the sweaty shirt you had been wearing that day to his nose as he bounces on the toy, his own hard cock bouncing with his movements as he whines and whimpers, licking and sucking at the shirt that tastes and smells just like your sweaty manly musk.

Imagine how lightheaded he gets when he comes, having to choke down the noises he makes so as to not let everyone on campus know what he’s doing. Afterwards Megumi flops down on the bed, his entire frame shaking from the aftershocks of his orgasm as he pants into the sheets. His shaft gives another twitch when he takes another inhale of your shirt, the spikey haired sorcerer pushing himself up again, sinking down on the toy once more even as his insides throb from sensitivity.

Megumi would be too nervous and flushed around you to make a move on his own, at least when you are sober. But if you happen to be a little more than tipsy one day, sitting on your couch, trying to find something worth to watch on the tv, he might find the bravery and balls to crawl into your lap. If you ask about it the next day, he can just act like it was something your mind made up, right? So for now, he could indulge himself, grinding against you like a pup in heat, panting into your neck as your strong large hands grope at his hips and ass, your deep voice rumbling praise in his ear.

#Domain literature #Domain Thirst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro #jjk imagine #jjk headcanon #jjk x male reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen headcanon #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #megumi fushiguro imagine #megumi fushiguro headcanon #megumi fushiguro x male reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro smut

[shanastoryteller]

Happy holidays! Dealers choice?

a continuation of 1

The young Lord de Bois returns with the same uptight lord as before and a young dark skinned man who’s grinning like this is the funniest thing he’s ever seen. They disappear into the blacksmith’s home along with several other men and Mrs. Cole, who’s husband’s been dead for thirty years and who apparently remembers a time two lords past when things were handled differently.

They don’t emerge for the rest of the day, candles bright in the cracks of the shutters to show that they’re working through the night. It’s almost noon the next morning when the village assembles to hear what’s been decided

Merlin still isn’t allowed to look, but he sneaks glances anyway. He wishes he could get a better look at Lord de Bois, but there are several people in his way, almost deliberately keeping him from view. He wonders what his mother promised them to get them to do that.

“My father,” Lord de Bois sighs, “has decided that if I’m old enough to complain about how things are handled then I’m old enough to handle them myself. Ealdor is now under my purview and authority, which means we’re going to have to turn a profit here if it kills me.”

Great. How does he expect to do that here? He might as well just execute people now if he’s planning on starving them slowly. He’d seemed to know better, before, but now that it’s his neck on the line he’s apparently a lot less sympathetic.

“And it might,” says a new voice, probably the dark skinned man Lord de Bois has brought along.

“Shut up, Elyan,” Lord de Bois says, just for a moment reminding Merlin that they’re nearly the same age. “We’ve worked up a new plan for mining for ore and replanting the fields – the soil’s exhausted and it’s all too far from the river. We’re going to have to set up an irrigation system as well.”

They know that. They’ve always known that. It’s just that there’s nothing to be done about when the time lost to start again would mean they lose out on a whole season of crops, since the ground is too cold to do much of anything in the winter and they don’t have the people do any of that and get food in and out of the ground.

There’s stirrings of discontent and it’s Will, of course, who shouts, “Who’s going to be doing all that? We need to eat ourselves, not waste time feeding you too!”

“You little,” hisses the lord from before and there’s again the sound of a sword being drawn.

“Enough, Gregory,” Lord se Bois snaps before addressing them. “Unfortunately, I am now required to put my money where my mouth is. I’ll be covering your taxes this year to the king and providing grain to make up for the lost food while we work out these changes. Your debt now is not to the king, but to me. I’ll be coming back frequently to check on your progress.”

Merlin pinches himself, sure he’s dreaming. Who does this? It’s crazy. It’s ridiculous.

It might actually work.

“You can’t just let them take and get nothing in return,” Gregory says angrily. “Don’t be stupid about this.”

“Too late for that,” Elyan says. “Why don’t you take someone to work at the castle? Their wages can be put to the town’s debt.”

Lord de Bois sighs. “Why would I take someone useful from here when I’m trying to get all this done?”

“Take someone useless, then,” Elyan suggests.

Oh no.

“Alright then. Who here is useless?” he calls out, clearly mocking.

Merlin’s ears burn as he feels the weight of far too many people’s gazes. It’s not his fault! His magic just makes things – complicated.

“Wow,” Lord de Bois says, laughter running through his voice. “Move aside then. Show me this useless person.”

His mother tenses at his side as people shift and then Merlin is staring down at a pair leather boots that are probably worth more than everything he’s ever touched combined.

“Who’re you, then?”

He’s not supposed to move or speak or look at anyone, but surely his mother can’t expect him to ignore a lord. “Merlin.”

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Merlin.” He snaps his head up and is immediately caught up in the brightest blue eyes he’s ever seen. “Are you useless?”

His face burns and he shrugs.

“He’s young, my lord,” his mother says carefully, and Merlin can’t help but feel guilty over the way her voice wavers.

Lord de Bois’s face softens. “You’re his mother, then?”

She dips into a curtsy. “Hunith, if it pleases my lord.”

“Hunith,” he says, “don’t worry. He’ll be fine at the castle. Being my servant isn’t that difficult.”

His what?

“Your servant?” Gregory sputters. “Every time your uncle assigns you one, you fire them for incompetence!”

“Well,” Lord de Bois says, “then he’ll at least be in good company.”

Elyan walks over and claps Merlin in the arm hard enough that he stumbles. “Good luck.”

Lord de Bois rolls his eyes and Merlin considers how his he should really be careful what he wishes for.

He’s going to get plenty of chances to look at Lord de Bois, apparently.

~

His mother lectures him over and over again about keeping his magic to himself, about how they’ll try and control him and abuse him and turn it into something terrible and dangerous if they know what he can do. He really can’t do much of anything, but he nods and agrees and lets her kiss his face.

They don’t have a horse to spare, so he rides with Elyan. Gregory takes the lead, angrily muttering to himself the whole time and Elyan leans over and whispers to Lord de Bois, “We could just make him walk back. He might run out of steam by then.”

“We’re not going to get that lucky,” he sighs.

The ride is shorter than Merlin had feared, which is good because he’s not used to riding. They enter the city just after nightfall and they pull the gates open as soon as they catch sigh of them. Several people brighten and wave when they see Elyan and Lord de Bois, although they duck away from Gregory.

There’s an actual castle. Merlin is being taken to a real castle. It feels fake and he’s walking inside one.

“ARTHUR!” a high pitched, childish voice yells out as the sound of small feet come running.

“Excuse me, my lord,” Gregory says, beating a hasty retreat.

“Is he running from a little girl?” Merlin asks, too surprised to keep silent like he’s supposed to.

“She doesn’t put up with him like we do,” Elyan answers.

What?

“Arthur! You’re back!” shouts a girl who can’t be older than six with brown eyes and curly brown hair.

Lord de Bois scoops her up in his arms. “I told you I would be.”

“You lie,” she says promptly, wrapping her arms around his neck. Merlin finds himself pinned by her narrowed eyes and understands Gregory a little better. “Who’s this?”

Lord de Bois – Arthur, apparently, since now there’s more than one Lord de Bois to keep track of – says, “This is Merlin. He’s going to be my servant. Merlin, this is my cousin, Amabel de Bois.”

Before Merlin can figure out how to greet a child lady, she says, “Hi Merlin. I’m a witch.”

Uh.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Stop telling people that.” Merlin relaxes. “You’re going to be a sorceress, but only if you study very hard and listen to your mother. You don’t think she became a high priestess without listening to her tutors, do you?”

Merlin tries very hard to not make any sort of expression at all.

“Yes,” Amabel says promptly.

 Arthur makes a face. “Well, maybe, I wouldn’t put it past her, but you have to listen. You haven’t even stabbed any of them with a sword, I don’t know why you’re going through so many.”

“She lit the last one on fire,” Elyan says. “Honestly, between the two of you it’s a shock that any of them are willing to step foot in the castle.”

He shrugs. “Well, my aunt and uncle are very scary. Dad’s not, but that’s what he has them for.”

This is so much worse than he’d feared. Keeping his magic a secret among a bunch of nobles was going to be bad enough, but a high priestess? And a kid training to be a sorceress?

Merlin has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #girl-reading2 #merlin

[kiyoomi-levin]

Morning Routine [nsfw]

(Wakatoshi Ushijima x F!Reader)

a/n this is something i wrote and edited today in a single run >.< I wanted to release a haikyuu fluff fic for my tumblr debut but i was just possessed by something this morning and rolled outta bed and just typed this up hehe.. reblogs and comments appreciated!! i have like 12 unfinished works rn and i am busting my ass off to get those finished and published! please be on the lookout for more from me!

summary:: wakatoshi has a bad habit-- his morning routine revolves around you. more specifically, cumming to the sounds of you. warnings:: wakatoshi is highkey a creep/stalker but this fic is fluffy i promise music rec!:: 2fast by superm <AKA the song i listened to when writing> word count:: 1.9k

6:33 AM, the blinking clock reads. 

He doesn’t even need an alarm now. 

Silently, Wakatoshi rolls over, reaches over to his nightstand and grasps the two items he needs most– lube and toilet paper. 

Sighing, he sits himself up, leaning against the headboard of the bed, and, as if awaiting instructions, goes very, very still. 

In a way, he is waiting for orders. You just aren’t aware that you’re the one giving them. 

6:34 AM. A mere minute before you’re up and he can get started with his day. It doesn’t feel right, yet he can’t stop. Shaking his head, Wakatoshi shifts his weight around, impatient. 

I should stop. 

There it is. That nagging voice of reason that scolds him every morning. But really, at this point, he can’t function normally without you. 

There’s a certain amount of stress that comes with carrying the title of ace. All the papers praising his skills, cheering fangirls, and words of encouragement from coach only added to the ever growing expectations that people had for him. 

Luckily, when he was a senior in high school, Wakatoshi had discovered what best alleviates this pressure– not meditation, not Tendo’s comics, but sexual relief. 

Every morning, a quick handjob does the job, gets him into prime condition. He even checked with his primary doctor to ensure it’s safe and healthy to release everyday– “you’ll be fine, Wakatoshi, as long as you don’t consume too much porn,” the old man had advised kindly. 

He took the doctor’s words to heart– since he had discovered this method of relief, Wakatoshi had never viewed porn. Some of his teammates laughed at him when they found out he almost religiously avoids it, but he doesn’t want to contaminate his brain with potentially intrusive or disturbing visions. His imagination has always been enough, after all. 

Until he met you.

In a way, you’re both a blessing and a curse– probably the latter, he admits to himself. Because since he’d met you months ago, the only thing that’s been able to get him up is you. 

He’s never slept so well, his skin has never looked so clear, and, most importantly, his condition on court has never been better. He’s considered the possibility of you being a goddess, or possibly his guardian angel and can only rule those out with the fact that you, like him, masturbate. 

More accurately, masturbate. Every. Single. Morning. 

Then he hears it. The first soft moan. Wakatoshi glances at the time– 6:37 AM. You’re getting a slightly late start today. 

No matter. He lifts his hips, gently rolls down his gray sweats to his lower thigh. He’s already hard. He doesn’t even have to touch himself now to get excited. Your quiet voice and the thoughts of you are enough.

Poor you. You’re unaware that despite residing in a luxurious, single-person room reserved for school athletes, the walls are criminally thin. 

Wakatoshi pops open the lid of the lube, squirting a glob into his warm hand. He throws aside the bottle, barely registering as it bounces off the bed, only intent on listening into the sounds of you and your body. 

When he first grasps his cock, he has to hold back a groan. Despite it being an everyday routine, he still feels the same surge of pleasure as when he first started this nasty habit months ago. 

You're breathing slightly more heavily now, and he hears the sounds of your fingers inserting and exiting your body at a familiar pace. He follows along, carefully stroking up and down. 

He wonders where you’ve learned this from, because you always go at the perfect pace. Somedays, you go slower, teasing yourself, pausing just before you orgasm, but it’s always. 

It’s always exactly what he needs.

God. He knows this is wrong, even as he pumps faster with his left hand to keep up with your quick fingers. It feels so good. 

Next door, you’re beginning to let out soft cries.

He presses his thumb against the tip, holding back a moan of his own as he envisions you jerking him off. 

He’s seen your hand before– extra soft from being in gloves for multiple hours daily as a fencer. 

Thinking about your sport has him thinking about his, and now he’s back to thinking about how wrong this is. But he can’t help it, he’s already tried to give it up once– yielding horrible results. 

The day he held back and skipped a morning fap session with you was also the hardest day of his life. He had found himself unable to focus in lecture, especially grumpy towards Tendo’s typically bearable antics, and worst of all, all his hits were off. 

“Your schedule must be off,” his captain had said, casually tossing a ball high into the air.

“Bad sleep? Rough morning?” 

Wakatoshi had blinked at him wordlessly, wondering how the tall setter had guessed accurately. 

“It’s fine,” the third-year had reassured him, “just get back on track tomorrow.”

With that, Wakatoshi had found himself ‘back on track,’ masturbating with– no, to you– every morning. 

You’re moaning out loud now, almost whimpering. His cock pulses in his hands, veins bulging, growing hotter and heavy. Fuck, he just wants to see you right now. Your cute face, your sexy neck, gorgeous arms... 

He can almost see it now– your smooth thighs shaking and twisting as your small hands would grasp your pillow. He’d make you feel so good, he just knows it. He’d lean against you, kiss your neck and ear before whispering how good you are, how you’re making him cum, how much he loves you! 

You’d cum, and he wouldn’t stop. He’d want to see your eyes roll back over and over again, and he’d memorize every inch of your face.

Wakatoshi holds back another groan. His fisted hand feels so good against his cock, especially as it imagines it’s your tight pussy. 

Contrary to what Tendo believes (the only one to know about this bad habit) it wasn’t just your soft moans and quiet gasps that had him clenching his sheets as he lifted his hips.

He had long fallen for you, since you had first locked eyes with him in the long hallway. 

There was something about you. The way you always smile up at him gently– not in the way that other girls smile at him, as if they want something (usually his number)– but a genuine smile, eyes crinkling slightly.  

This unexpected attraction was only exacerbated when you sat next to him at the first-years’ dinner party. You smelled so fucking good and listened to his words with actual interest, asking him about his family and laughing at his lame jokes.

Unfortunately, he was also scared. 

He had heard about the countless rejections you’d dished out since the first day of university. 

Despite his perceived sexual ignorance, Wakatoshi knew everything there was to know– he was popular, too, in his own right. Tall and lean, there were girls throwing themselves on him left and right. 

But he only wanted you. 

Today, he must be extra stressed (especially with that upcoming psychology exam that he hasn’t studied for yet) because he’s so, so close, yet can’t seem to finish. 

Fine then. 

He leans over, grabs his cell phone. He only does this in emergency cases, which occurs about once or twice a month. 

Swiping up, he’s greeted by his photo gallery, opened the night prior for this cause. 

In his locked gallery awaits dozens of photos of you. 

Obviously none were taken by him! 

Wakatoshi’s a creep, but one with manners and boundaries. 

This gallery is cluttered with headshots of you from the school’s official website, silly photos of you that were sent into the college athlete’s group chat, and his favorite– photos of you from your close friend who sells them to him at fair prices, starting at $10 minimum. 

None are suggestive. But they still rile him up, maybe because the only connection he has with you is through your early morning activities. 

Wakatoshi desperately taps on the newest picture he bought for $40, quadruple the usual price– he can hear your breath hitching, and he knows you’re almost done. 

He wants to finish with you so bad. 

He was going to save this picture for next week, when he knows you’ll be gone for the fencing nationals and he’ll have to cum without you for an entire miserable, dreadful, god-forsaken week–

but he doesn’t care now. Nothing matters. 

It’s a glorious photo– when he heard your friend had it, he had grabbed her by the shoulders and demanded a price. 

You. On the beach. Under an umbrella. Lying on a purple towel.

He had paid an extra ten dollars for the motion picture– so he could watch you go from ass up onto your back, breasts jiggling and cheeky smirk in full action.

That’s enough. 

He holds his fist tight–one more pump and he’s finished, but he wants to make sure you’re cumming first– and he hears it– to his relief, you’re moaning and whispering– “‘m cumming!” 

Yeah, he’s cumming too. His hips lift again, and he drags his closed fist downwards against his wet cock. His vision blurs. 

“Fuck!” 

He can’t help it, today’s orgasm is especially strong, taking control of his full body. He’s shaking, mind barely in control as he continues to slowly pump to ride out the whole orgasm. After all, that’s what you’d do, right? You’d keep riding him, even as he finished and begged you to stop. 

Thank God we came together.

Sometimes, you bait him. More often than he likes, you switch it up, holding yourself back and not allowing yourself to cum before masturbating all over again for an even more powerful orgasm. Those days suck– when he’s already softening, cum all over his large hands, and you’re still going. 

He hears your bed squeak, and he sighs– as soon as it starts, it’s already over.

6:45 AM, his phone reads. Wakatoshi tosses it aside.

Thankfully, he had pulled his phone away in time, avoiding tainting the device with his release. A few times a month, he gets careless and cums onto an open picture of you, causing him to have to run through his shower extra fast so he can leave time to wipe down the device.

Rolling off the bed, he heads towards the shower leisurely. It’s also become a part of his routine to time his shower. It makes him feel even more intimately connected to you. 

Wakatoshi’s grateful you take long showers– you’ve never taken less than 24 minutes to shower, typically, they last about 34 minutes on average. That gives him the time to jump out first and wait to exit his room at the same time you depart from yours. 

Under the heat of warm water, he’s usually consumed with thoughts of you, impossible thoughts, like maybe you know. 

The wall between you and him is equally thin, and your hearing may be as equally good as his…

Maybe you know, and you like masturbating with him. 

And then, just as a precaution, he douses himself with cold water at the end of his shower, and those thoughts dissipate with the steam escaping towards the vent. 

Like everyday, Wakatoshi laces his shoes, sprays on his favorite cologne (that your friend claims you like) and inhales, bracing himself to see you. 

As he hears your feet shuffle, he pushes his door open first, stepping out into the warm hallway.

“Good morning, Wakatoshi!” You greet, eyes brightening. He nods, gulping. That’s an acceptable form of greeting, right?

As the two of you walk towards the elevator in silence, Wakatoshi can’t help but hope that this morning routine won’t be coming to a stop anytime soon. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n and that's a wrap :,) i really hope you liked and sorry the ending is highkey shit LOL as i kept editing i kept adding and removing more and more and honestly that's kind of my biggest weakness:: i'm never satisfied with my work and i'm scared ppl won't like it ... but i'm trying to overcome that!

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu #wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu wakatoshi #hq wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima smut #haikyuu ushijima #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader