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[buckysdecaflove]

Welcome to Bucky's Decaf Love! ˗ˏˋ☕ˎˊ˗

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27yo. | Proudly Mexican. | Introvert forced to be an extrovert. | Bisexual. | Married. |

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If youre following, just letting you this is my main blog! Here you can find my fanfics.🙂‍↕️

[enthyrea]

had the idea for a new riley fancast... welcome to my personal hc ryan gosling

i think its really funny (and sad) if riley becomes sam’s guardian angel and sam cant even see him. but riley’s #1 sam-related stressor (bucky) can. and they're beefing. not to mention bucky’s getting third wheeled by sam’s dead boyfriend like that could happen to Only Him

[singulartoast]

No Good At Movin’ On

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Summary: Some flames still smoulder, no matter how many years pass since they were tended. You’re just not sure if this one should flare back to life. Tags/Warnings: Songfic. No use of y/n. Ambiguously older Bucky and reader. Ex-relationship. Consumption of alcohol but no drunkenness. Little angst and pining. Word Count: 1.3k Currently Listening: “Swore I Was Leaving” by Lady A 🎵 AO3 • Masterlist

A drink was all you came for.

It wasn't often you stepped through the door of Sam's bar, but after shearing the last of your herd in the morning and arguing with the stock agency all afternoon, you'd needed a moment away from the farm to regroup. Maybe to dull your mind a bit.

You hadn't bargained on the lone figure darkening the corner of the bar.

Too late now.

"Sam," you murmured in greeting to the man behind the bar as you dragged out a stool to take a seat. Sam nodded in your direction, his eyes shooting from you, down the bar, and back.

You didn't need your peripheral to know he'd turned to take you in the moment you stepped inside.

The rest of the room hummed with energy, jukebox playing over folks chatting and sharing a meal to wind down the week. But up here it felt electric, like it was just you and him in the whole place, with Sam the only buffer between you.

The scrape of wood on wood was your warning, your spine stiffening as footsteps approached.

And just like that, his warm voice slid over you, dark and heady like the whisky he cradled in his hand.

"Fancy seein' you here, darlin'.”

With one last fortifying breath you turned to him, and your mouth went dry.

The years had been kind to Bucky Barnes.

Everything you had admired about him back in the day had sharpened. Wisened. The worn leather of his jacket hung from his broad shoulders like a lover, the plaid beneath soft and begging for your hands to touch, then delve beneath where you knew he was all hardened muscle and mouth-watering sinew.

With a dusting of salt through his beard and kind lines etched into his handsome face, he was absolutely devastating.

His eyes dropped, taking you in from head to toe in the same way your gaze had perused him, and you swallowed thickly.

"James—"

"You used to call me Bucky. When we were friends."

Blue eyes searched yours, that crinkle of his smile and the sparkle in his eyes stirring up things you swore you'd packed away for good.

"We're friends, right?"

A memory rocked you, his words from long ago echoing through your mind.

No, we can't be friends. Don't think I can take seein' you knowin' where we've been.

"We were never good at just bein' friends." You said the words because you needed the reminder as much as he did. 

He chuckled, a low rumble deep in his chest, and you crossed your legs on the stool.

His eyes tracked the movement.

"I was just thinkin' 'bout closin' my tab. Then you came in here lookin' like that."

You know if you stay this is going to go somewhere you thought you didn't want to go again.

"I could turn back around. I probably should.”

He quirked a brow at you, still standing, his intention clear but still giving you the room to decide.

You sighed. "One drink."

He turned to motion to Sam, but the barkeep only had eyes for you. He hadn't said a word, but still he checked in, making sure whatever this was happening in his bar was on the up-and-up.

You flashed him what you hoped was a reassuring smile and nodded. Only then did he start working on your drinks, and Bucky slid onto the barstool at your side.

His thigh pressed too close and you could feel his presence like a furnace, heat radiating from him and that addictive woody scent he wore weaving its way through your fickle senses.

Conversation flowed slowly, if a little stilted. One drink turned into two, with a bowl of hot chips served between you.

“How’s Becca?” You asked, plucking a chip to munch on. The distraction was good, something for your hands to do. Something safe.

Bucky smiled fondly, his gaze somewhere off in the distance. “Yeah, doin’ real good. She’s got a little one now. I’m an uncle.”

You smiled even as something in your chest twisted. He’d always wanted little ones underfoot …

“Lucky her,” you said, your voice cracking on the words. 

He took another sip of whisky, eyes still not meeting yours, but the way his smile turned wry—you know he heard.

Familiar guitar chords struck up from the jukebox, a melody full of memories and times long past winding through the bar.

Bucky’s eyes found yours. His gaze was soft, melancholy, when he murmured, “Remember this?”

Taking a sip of amber for strength, you felt your cheeks flush hot. Of course you remembered those hot summer nights in this very bar, the town festival in full swing around you as the two of you circled on that dance floor like satellites in inevitable orbit.

“Yeah. I remember.” Your voice was lower than you meant it to be, a husky sound full of what once was.

His hands fidgeted with his glass for a moment, something tumbling around his mind the same way the glass turned in his hand. You were mesmerised by the movement, watching whisky tilt and shift, and ice clink to and fro.

His hands stilled. Your eyes trailed up to meet his.

“It'd be a shame if I didn't ask you for a dance.”

Sliding from the stool he offered you his hand, that charming boyish smile of his setting your pulse racing and your heart fluttering in ways you thought you’d grown out of.

“For old times' sake.”

You couldn’t resist. For old times’ sake.

The chorus started when he drew you close, and the lyrics whispered sweet lies of young love and endless nights. You stood with two hands clasped together and pressed to his chest between you, the other curved up around his shoulder and his wound steady across the small of your back, and fell into an easy sway with the music.

From this close you could feel every shift in his body, every rigid line held taught with restraint, and a soft sigh escaped as you rested your head into his shoulder.

What could have been?

You didn’t realise you had uttered the words out loud until you felt him lean down to you, his lips brushing the curve of your ear.

His voice was barely a breath, but his words vibrated through you to the core. “I know it ain't right to drag this along, but I'm no good at movin' on.”

Your breath shuddered and your heart beat so hard you thought your ribs could bruise. He shifted, lips parting against your skin like there was more, but he said nothing else.

Together you swayed in silence, rotating around the floor until the final chords of the song.

Parting, his hand still in yours, the two of you stood still, captured in the moment. Eyes locked and so much unsaid filled the empty space between you.

You pulled away and reached for your glass, downing another mouthful, hand unsteady when you caught his rueful grin.

"Well,” he started, voice rough. “The bar's nearly closed." His dark eyes met yours and held. "I hate bein' alone and that rock in your glass is half gone."

You swirled the ice in your glass like it was a magic eight ball, hoping to find answers in the amber depths.

All those years ago you’d thought nothing would hurt more than that final touch. Sitting here now, you think leaving with him tonight might do it.

“I have an early start,” you murmured, shrugging, like any farmer here couldn’t say the same.

Including him. Bucky’s smile turned down at the corners, and though you saw a flicker in his eyes you knew he wouldn’t fight you on this. You were grateful you could trust in him, even if a quiet whisper within wondered how quickly you would fold if he ever stood firm.

You offered him a smile. A real one. It was all you could manage.

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

He nodded, smile blooming once more in return, and leaned in. His lips brushed your cheek, soft and bittersweet.

"G’night, darlin’,” he murmured, emphasising the first word. “With us it’s never goodbye.”

I don’t have a taglist! Follow @retoast for updates!

[r0ttn]

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 | dark!eddie munson x f!reader

cw ⸝⸝ 18+ only ⸝⸝ DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT ⸝⸝ mild dubcon (like it borders on non-con) ⸝⸝ stalking ⸝⸝ knife play ⸝⸝ unprotected piv ⸝⸝ possessiveness ⸝⸝ noncon drug use ⸝⸝ restraints ⸝⸝ exes ⸝⸝ abduction ⸝⸝ minor injury ⸝⸝ drug use ⸝⸝ creampie ⸝⸝ toxic relationship ⸝⸝ breaking and entering ⸝⸝ choking ⸝⸝ degradation ⸝⸝ humiliation ⸝⸝ emotional manipulation ⸝⸝ obsessive behavior ⸝⸝ brief blood play ⸝⸝ r has she/her pronouns ⸝⸝ no use of y/n ⸝⸝ brief mention of baby trapping ⸝⸝ 4.4k

synopsis: you thought you’d finally moved on. but eddie munson has never been the type to let go of what he wants — and he’s spent the last few months making sure you never really left his sight.

note: i had originally written this fic like six years ago but decided to try my hand at rewriting it. it's way darker and definitely took on a life of its own. i tried to tag accordingly, so, if i missed anything let me know! if you're sensitive to any of the tags, please do not read ahead. take care of yourself first and foremost. <3

m.list

“hello, sweetheart.”

the silky smooth voice causes you to stop dead in your tracks upon entering your apartment, your blood running cold at the familiar cadence. no, it can’t be? you think to yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat as you step further into the house. you turn the corner from the foyer and enter the living room, your eyes widening. there he was, in all his glory, sitting on your maroon sectional, lit cigarette in hand with his feet propped up on the black coffee table.

it had been months since you had last heard from him or seen him outside of your apartment, watching you at all hours of the night. you figured he had given up on you, had taken the hint that you wanted nothing to do with him, but you were wrong. that became painstakingly obvious when a bouquet of your favorite flowers got delivered to your doorstep with a card that read, “miss me? - e.”

“eddie? w-what the hell are you doing here?”

your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to, shaky and thin. your heart is hammering so hard it feels like it might crack your ribs. seeing him here, in your space, after all these months of radio silence, feels like the floor has dropped out from under you. you’d convinced yourself he was gone for good. you’d almost believed it.

“well, i came to see you, of course,” he says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. he blows a slow stream of smoke from his lungs, those warm brown eyes never leaving you for a second. “love what you’ve done with the place.”

he gestures lazily with the cigarette toward the picture frame sitting neatly on the accent table — the one of you and your boyfriend at the beach last summer. his voice drips with sarcasm, but underneath it there’s something venomous that makes your stomach twist. “i never took you as the domestic type.”

your eyes flick to the frame against your will. your boyfriend's smiling face stares back at you, oblivious and happy, and the sight of it suddenly makes you feel sick with guilt. you force your gaze back to eddie, trying to keep your expression steady even as your pulse races. “there’s a lot you didn’t know about me.”

eddie stands up from the sectional in one fluid motion, taking a few slow steps toward you with the cigarette still burning between his fingers. the distance between you shrinks, and with it, the air in the room feels thinner. “maybe so,” he muses, taking a long drag before letting the smoke curl out between his lips. his eyes are darker now, more intense. “or maybe you’re just lying to yourself.”

he stops a few feet away, close enough that you can smell the familiar mix of smoke and his cologne. close enough that you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his eyes. the way he’s looking at you makes you feel stripped bare, like he can see every secret you’ve tried to bury deep inside yourself.

“i’ve learned a lot about you this past year,” he continues, voice low and almost conversational, but every word lands heavily. “i know deep down you don’t give a fuck about him. because if you did?”

he tilts his head slightly, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“you wouldn’t be moaning my name while you fuck yourself on those pretty little fingers.”

your stomach drops so fast it makes you dizzy. heat floods your face — shame, humiliation, and something far more dangerous curling low in your belly that you refuse to name. he knows. he’s seen. the realization crashes over you in waves. every time you’d touched yourself thinking about him, every time you’d bitten your lip to keep from crying out his name while your boyfriend slept beside you, every filthy, guilty fantasy you’d tried to bury… eddie had watched it all.

your throat tightens. you feel exposed in a way that makes your skin crawl and your pulse throb between your legs at the same time. you hate it. you hate how easily he can still pull that reaction from you. your hands are trembling at your sides and you quickly clench them into fists, trying to hide it, trying to hold onto some shred of dignity even as your eyes burn.

eddie chuckles humorlessly as the realization dawns across your face, stepping even closer, the scent of smoke and his cologne wrapping around you like a noose. “i’m always keeping an eye on you,” he says, voice low and smooth. “what kind of man would i be if i didn’t?”

your heart slams against your ribs so hard it hurts. the walls feel like they’re closing in. you stumble backwards toward the entryway on shaky legs, your breaths coming in shallow, panicked gasps. every instinct screams at you to run, to get as far away from him as possible before it’s too late. you spin on your heel, adrenaline flooding your system as you make a desperate break for the front door.

eddie moves fast.

he lurches forward and catches you before you can even reach the handle, his fingers clamping around your upper arm with an iron grip that makes you cry out. the metal of his rings bites into your skin as he yanks you back against his chest, hard enough that your back collides with him. “where do you think you’re going, baby?” he mocks, the words warm against the shell of your ear. there’s amusement in his voice, but underneath it is something dark and possessive.

“eddie! let me go!” you scream, voice cracking as tears spill hot and fast down your cheeks. you thrash wildly in his hold, twisting and pulling with everything you have, your free hand clawing at his wrist. “please! if you love me, let me go!”

he doesn’t even flinch. instead, his grip tightens, fingers digging in until you’re sure they’ll leave bruises. “oh no,” he murmurs, almost gently. “i made the mistake of letting you go once. i’m not doing it again.”

your pulse is roaring in your ears. you can feel the heat of his body behind you, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back as you struggle. panic claws up your throat. you try to stomp on his foot, try to elbow him in the ribs, but he’s stronger than you remember — or maybe you’re just weaker from the sheer terror coursing through you. he shifts his hold easily, one arm banding across your chest to pin your arms while his other hand reaches into his pocket.

you catch the flash of white fabric a second too late.

“no— eddie, please—!” your voice cracks into a sob as he brings the cloth up and presses it firmly over your nose and mouth. the sharp, sweet chemical smell hits you instantly. you thrash harder, kicking and twisting in his grip, but he holds you steady against him like nothing. your fingers scrabble uselessly at his forearm. your lungs burn as you try not to breathe it in, but your body betrays you — you have to inhale.

the world starts to tilt.

your limbs grow heavy, sluggish. the edges of your vision blur and darken at the corners. you can still feel eddie’s arm locked around you, his breath calm and even against your hair while yours comes in frantic, muffled gasps against the cloth. tears keep falling, soaking into the fabric as your struggles grow weaker, more uncoordinated. a broken whimper escapes you.

eddie’s voice is the last thing you hear, low and almost tender against your ear.

“that’s it, sweetheart… just let go. i’ve got you.”

your knees buckle. the last thing you register is the feeling of him catching your weight easily as everything slips away into blackness.

the room is pitch black save for the pale moonlight filtering in through the open window. eddie sits at the small table next to the kitchen, the faint scrape of a credit card against glass the only sound as he cuts a few lines. he leans down, snorts them in quick succession, then sits back hard against the chair with a low, guttural groan. the familiar burn floods his system, sharp and electric, chasing away the restless edge that’s been crawling under his skin for months. for the first time in a long while, the noise in his head quiets. he tilts his face toward the ceiling, eyes half-lidded, grateful to finally feel something close to peace.

you awaken not long after.

it’s slow at first — a thick fog clinging to your mind. your head feels too heavy for your neck. your tongue is dry and cottony against the roof of your mouth. there’s a dull, persistent pounding behind your eyes and a strange chemical taste lingering at the back of your throat. for a few disoriented seconds you don’t know where you are or why your body feels so sluggish. blinking feels like too much effort. the room spins when you try to move your head.

then the memories slam back into you all at once.

the apartment. eddie waiting in the dark. the iron grip on your arm. the cloth pressed over your face. the way everything had gone soft and distant as you fought to stay conscious.

your stomach lurches with fresh panic.

you force your eyes open wider, vision still blurry at the edges, and glance around. moonlight spills across the room in silver streaks, catching on dark furniture and the edge of a familiar bed. eddie’s bedroom. the realization settles over you like ice water. you’re in his bed. in his apartment. and you have no idea how long you’ve been here.

a soft creak of floorboards pulls your attention toward the doorway.

eddie walks in, his silhouette cutting through the moonlight. the second his eyes land on you, his lips pull into a wide, almost boyish smile — like he’s genuinely happy to see you. “hey, you’re finally awake.”

you turn your head toward the sound of his voice, sucking in a sharp breath as your eyes adjust enough to see him clearly. he’s dressed in nothing but a pair of gray boxers. his wild curly brown hair is slightly disheveled, a few strands falling across his forehead. the sight of him — so casually at home while you’re trapped here — makes your chest tighten with a confusing rush of fear and...

“sorry about the restraints,” he says, almost casually, gesturing toward your wrists and ankles.

you hadn’t even noticed them yet, still too groggy and disoriented to register the pressure around your limbs. but now that he’s pointed them out, you feel them — the bite of rope against your skin, the way it holds your arms slightly above your head and keeps your legs spread just enough to make you feel exposed. a cold wave of dread rolls through you. you test the bonds instinctively and the ropes creak but don’t give. the helplessness hits you all at once, heavy and suffocating.

“a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” you manage, voice hoarse and shaky.

eddie’s smile softens into fondness as he watches you slowly come back to yourself. “i had to make sure you weren’t going to run off when you woke up,” he says simply, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world.

he climbs onto the bed without hesitation, the mattress dipping under his weight as he moves toward you. he towers over you, his body blocking some of the moonlight.

your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it.

one finger traces slowly along your cheek, the rough pad of it dragging lightly over your still-clammy skin. you can smell the faint trace of smoke still clinging to him, mixed with his cologne.

“i missed seeing you like this,” he whispers, voice low and rough. “tied up and at my mercy.”

his finger continues its path downward, gliding from your cheek to the delicate column of your throat. he wraps his hand around it with careful, deliberate pressure — not enough to cut off your air yet, but enough to make your pulse flutter wildly against his palm. “screaming my name while i fuck that perfect, tight little pussy of yours.”

you writhe beneath him on instinct, the ropes biting into your wrists as you twist. you want to disappear into the mattress, to vanish completely. the heat of his body so close to yours, the weight of him hovering just above you, makes it hard to breathe. “what makes you think i’d let you fuck me?” you snap, voice shaking despite the anger you try to force into it. “you’re fucking psycho, eddie!”

he chuckles, the sound low and humorless, and tightens his grip on your throat just enough to make your next breath come thinner. “oh, you will.”

with his free hand he reaches over to the nightstand. the soft scrape of metal against wood makes your stomach drop. he picks up the knife and brings it into view, flashing the blade in front of your face with a lazy flick of his wrist. his eyebrows lift in a mocking little gesture before he catches the handle between his teeth. the sound of fabric tearing fills the room as he rips your dress straight down the middle in one rough motion, the cool air hitting your exposed skin instantly. he discards the ruined material somewhere off the bed, leaving you in nothing but your black lace panties.

eddie takes the knife from between his teeth and drags the flat of the blade slowly along your stomach, the cool metal kissing your skin. he watches every flinch, every sharp intake of breath, clearly reveling in the way you squirm underneath him. your soft, panicked pleas and whimpers seem to go straight to his cock — you can see it in the way his eyes darken and his breathing grows heavier. “shh,” he coos gently, pressing a finger to your lips. “it’s okay, baby. i would never hurt you.”

you push your head further back into the mattress, trying to escape his touch, but there’s nowhere to go. the ropes hold you open and helpless. shame burns hot in your chest as your body betrays you anyway — your nipple tightens under the light brush of his finger, a fresh wave of unwanted heat pooling low in your stomach. eddie smirks at the way you flinch and then arch despite yourself. he removes his finger only to trace slow circles over the hardened peak, watching your face the entire time.

a broken moan slips out of you before you can stop it. tears spill down your temples and into your hair as you squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to block him out and failing. the pleasure feels so…g-.

“hm… so receptive to me even after all this time,” eddie breathes, voice low and rough with satisfaction. he rolls your nipple between his fingers, pinching just hard enough to make you gasp. then he dips down and drags his tongue over it in one slow, wet stroke, keeping his eyes locked on your face. you moan louder this time, the sound raw and involuntary. you bite down hard on your lower lip to try and trap the next one, but it’s useless, thighs trembling against the ropes.

eddie trails the knife lower, the cold flat of the blade gliding over your stomach and down to your mound. the metallic chill makes your muscles jump. with one clean motion he slices through the delicate lace of your panties, the fabric parting easily under the sharp edge. he tosses the ruined material aside without looking, then groans hotly at the sight of you — glistening and exposed under the pale moonlight.

“fuck…” he whispers, almost reverent. “so pretty…”

he slowly drags the blade through your folds, coating the steel in your wetness. you can feel every inch of it — the cool metal parting you, the sharp edge hovering far too close. eddie licks his lips as he watches the way your body reacts. “tell me. how much did you miss me?”

the question hits you like a slap. your chest heaves with every shaky breath. you hate how fast the answer comes.

“so much,” you whine, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. your voice is small, wrecked. you peer up at him through heavy, wet lashes, shame flooding you the second the confession leaves your mouth. “i missed you so much.”

eddie grins wickedly. he gathers some of your slick on the tip of the blade and brings it up to your lips. “prove it.”

your breathing stutters. you keep your eyes on him as you lean up as far as the ropes allow and drag your tongue along the underside of the blade, all the way to the tip. the taste of yourself coats your tongue and a soft, humiliated moan escapes you as you lick it clean, lashes fluttering.

“that’s it,” eddie groans, palming his cock as he gazes down at you. “you always were such a good girl.”

eddie brings the knife back to your cunt, rubbing tight circles against your clit. the cool metal makes you hiss, instinctively swiveling your hips for more friction.

“you love this, don’t you?” he rasps, his tone low and seductive. “you’re fucking soaked.”

you glare up at him, yanking hard on the restraints in pure frustration. the ropes dig painfully into your wrists, but you barely feel it. you hate how easily you turn to putty in his hands, no matter what he’s done, no matter that he drugged you and tied you to his bed like a fucking lunatic. the worst part is knowing it’s always been like this. you’ve always wanted eddie munson more than anything — even now, when you should be terrified, when you should be screaming for help instead of feeling your clit throb with every touch.

“please,” you beg, voice cracking as you look up at him with glassy, desperate eyes.

eddie tilts his head, that cruel little smirk playing on his lips. “please, what? hm?”

he drags two fingers through your slick folds, teasing your entrance with feather-light pressure before pushing in to the first knuckle. the stretch is barely anything, but it’s enough to make your walls flutter greedily around him…then he pulls out completely, leaving you empty and aching.

your mind is a fucking mess. you don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore. for him to untie you? for him to stop? or for him to finally give you what your traitorous body is screaming for? you settle on both...

you squeeze your eyes shut, lips parting on a shaky breath as another broken moan slips free. “let me go,” you whisper, even as your hips twitch upward on their own, chasing his hand.

the second his fingers sink back inside you — deeper this time — your back arches off the bed. eddie curls his fingers immediately, dragging them against that sweet spot inside you with practiced ease.

“you already know the answer to that one, baby,” he says, voice low and laced with malice. “now, tell me exactly what i want to hear.”

“no,” you force out, meeting his eyes with whatever defiance you have left. but the word is hollow. your body is already betraying you completely — hips rolling, thighs trembling, cunt clenching tightly around his fingers. you toss your head back against the pillow, a filthy, desperate moan tearing from your throat as he strokes that spot again. “fuck!”

he smirks, scissoring his fingers inside of you before pulling them out to rub harsh circles on your clit. you moan loudly, the sound vibrating around the room along with the wet, squelching sounds of your cunt. the anticipation of being buried inside of you becomes too overwhelming and eddie can’t take it any longer. he pulls his boxers down in a swift move, pumping his cock in his hand.

your gaze falls on his cock, heavy and hard in his hand. your mouth waters at the sight: tip flushed red, a bead of precum dangling from the slit, prominent veins exposed all along his perfect shaft. your cunt clenches, causing arousal to drip down your thighs to the sheets beneath you.

“tell me you want me,” eddie says, voice low and rough as he rubs the thick head of his cock over your swollen clit. “and i’ll give it all to you.”

you whimper helplessly. your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips as he continues to tease you, dragging his cock through your slick folds again and again. every brush against your clit sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you, and you hate how badly your body craves more.

eddie chuckles darkly at your reaction. “if you say so.”

he lines himself up with your entrance, the pressure making your breath catch. for a moment he just teases you there — rocking his hips so the head of his cock nudges against you without pushing in. then he finally sinks into you with one slow thrust, a hot, guttural groan ripping from his throat as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“goddamnit,” he breathes against your skin, the word shaking with restraint.

you grip the ropes above your head so tightly your knuckles turn white, a long, broken moan spilling from your lips as he fills you. your cunt pulses and flutters around his thick cock, the stretch burning in the best way. he doesn’t give you time to adjust. he pushes himself up on his hands and starts thrusting into you hard and sharp, the force of it jolting your body against the mattress.

“he doesn’t know how to make you feel good like i do,” eddie growls, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. “i’ve seen the way he fucks you.”

his words hit deep in your gut. but you spread your legs wider for him anyway, the movement instinctive and humiliating. “i bet it killed you,” you breathe, voice trembling. “watching another man fuck me. knowing it should have been you.”

eddie’s eyes flash darkly. he brings the knife back to your throat, pressing the cool, flat edge against your skin as he drives into you harder, deeper. the threat of the blade makes every nerve in your body light up with fear and want.

“perhaps,” he muses, voice tight with arousal. “but i know it killed you. remember, baby… i watched you touch yourself after he'd leave.”

he nicks your skin, groaning hotly as you whine in pain beneath him. he leans down and licks the blood pooling at the surface of the wound, lashes fluttering at the metallic taste. “mm…”

you wince as the cut begins to sting. you flick your eyes up at him with a doe-like expression. “perhaps.”

eddie’s lashes flutter as your tight walls clench around him, his wild curls falling forward and brushing against your face. his head hangs low between his shoulders as he groans, “god, i missed your pussy so much. it was fucking made for me.”

you yank hard on the ropes, the coarse fibers biting into your wrists. you’re desperate to touch him…to drag your nails down the smooth plane of his back, to fist your hands in his hair and pull the way you know drives him crazy.

“let me go,” you moan, tugging uselessly at the restraints again. “wanna touch you.”

“you know i can’t do that,” he breathes, voice strained with pleasure. he sets the knife aside and replaces it with his hand, wrapping his fingers around your throat and squeezing just tight enough to cut off your airflow. your eyes roll back instantly, a choked gasp catching in your chest as the pressure builds. the edges of your vision start to blur while your cunt clenches even tighter around him.

“eddie—!” you rasp, his name barely making it out.

he grins wickedly and releases his grip, letting you suck in a desperate, ragged breath. “such a good little whore,” he groans, hips still moving in deep, brutal strokes. “aren’t you?

you’re so far gone, so lost in the overwhelming mix of fear, shame, and pleasure, that the word slips out before you can stop it.

“yes…”

eddie’s eyes darken with satisfaction. he pulls out without warning, pushing your legs back to your chest and you're completely pinned beneath him. he thrusts back into you in one sharp motion, the new angle so deep it punches the air from your lungs. “gonna cum so deep inside you ,” he grunts, smirking down at you with wild possession in his eyes. "gonna..fuck a b-.”

you cry out at the sudden, brutal depth, your body stretched and helpless in the new position. his words barely registering through the haze of sensation, but they send a fresh, shameful pulse of heat through you anyway. your cunt pulses around him as your orgasm builds fast and merciless, every thrust driving you closer to the edge.

“please, eds… i need to cum!” you beg, voice wrecked and shaking. "wanna cum.."

he leans down, his hand wrapping around your throat again as he keeps fucking you deep and hard. “who do you belong to?” he breathes, voice rough against your lips. “tell me and i’ll let you cum.”

“you!” you scream, the word tearing out of you hoarse and broken as your face twists in overwhelming pleasure. the tip of his cock slams into your sweet spot over and over.. “you— fuck— you!”

“that’s right, baby,” eddie moans. his grip on your throat tightens for one more second before he releases it, letting you gasp in a desperate, shuddering breath. at the same time, he buries himself as deep as he can and cums with a guttural groan, pulsing hot and thick inside you. you feel every spurt of his cum flooding your cunt, the heat of it pushing you over the edge.

your orgasm crashes through you violently. your back arches hard against the mattress, legs trembling as your walls spasm around his cock. the pleasure is overwhelming, made sharper by the lack of air and the way he’s still grinding into you through it. tears spill from your eyes as your body shakes uncontrollably beneath him.

eddie stays buried inside you, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against yours as the last waves of his release pulse into you. his hand stays loosely around your throat, thumb stroking gently over your racing pulse like he’s soothing you.

“you’re mine,” he whispers against your lips. “always.”

[hellfirehoe]

happy pride month to the gayest season of stranger things

[stanmarvelous]

Bucky Barnes Strut Appreciation Post

[d0gg0l0v3r]

avengers doomsday leaked scene

happy pride month!

[bodeckerhedron]

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES

[5lutforeddie]

Age Ain't Nothing But A Number

(Silver Fox! Eddie(45 years old), (25 year old reader)

You grew up in a metal and rock house.

Your parents have especially adored Corroded Coffin since the beginning of time, even continually steadying their loyalty to them through the Satanic Panic.

When you hear some exciting news, you rush through your parent's door.

"Oh my God, you won't believe who's coming to town!" You squeal, kicking off your work shoes.

"Corroded Coffin." Your dad spoils with a wicked grin as he does his crossword.

You pout and cross your arms.

"Of course you and Mom would already know."

"And... we're going!!" Your mom squeals, handing you your ticket.

"Oh. My. God. You guys are like...the best parents to ever grace the face of the planet."

You kiss your mom's cheek and go to squeeze your dad who's sitting in his recliner. He nearly drops his book.

"Yeah, yeah, make sure you don't take too long to get ready this Saturday. We've got front row seats." Your dad says through a strained voice.

You let go of him.

"I need to get ready before then! I need to look like a superstar!"

"Don't worry, Sweetheart. I'm sure Eddie Munson will think you're beautiful and snatch you right up to marry you on the spot." Your mom chimes.

Your face flushes.

"Mom, my crush on him was a phase."

It is not a phase. It is a lifestyle.

"How'd you like to renovate your room with some new posters? I'm sure they sell for a pretty penny." Your dad jokes.

"Don't you dare." You jokingly threaten before rushing to your room.

You drop your things down, and look up at one of your posters.

"I see you in four days. Four days too long."

You reach into your bedside drawer and take out a magazine of him, holding it to your chest like a teddy bear.

"This is going to be the best weekend of my life."

The days leading up to the concert feel like a long, slow, dragging hell, but it's finally here.

The most eventful Saturday of your life.

"Come on, honey! Your father and I want to get there as soon as possible!"

You take one last look at yourself before exiting the bathroom.

Your hair is teased for more volume, and your eye makeup is smoky, accompanied with wine red lips.

You're wearing a cheetah print shirt and black leather jacket, with a black leather skirt, fishnets, and black sandals.

Your manicure and pedicure are a vibrant red, and your jewelry consists of small black bangles and black stud earrings.

Your mother gasps when she sees you.

"Nice to see my old clothes went to good use!"

"You look like a million bucks, sweetheart." Your dad smiles.

Your stomach is in knots on the drive to the concert.

Once you get there, it's as you expected. Packed.

After finally getting your ticket checked, you head into the venue.

"Nice to see people still have some taste for the classics." Your dad comments.

"Oh, look! Seems like they're checking to make sure everything is fine." Your mother points to soundcheck staff, and when you look in her direction, your heart drops.

"Hey, guys. Is everything okay?" Eddie asks one of the staff.

Your father looks at you because he's amused by the literal stars in your eyes.

"Just a phase, huh?"

"It's not funny." You say, your eyes not leaving Eddie for a second. He eventually disappears behind the curtains.

"How is he more beautiful in person??" You sulk.

"You'd better calm yourself dear, because you're going to be looking at him for a couple of hours!"

A few minutes pass before the show lights finally kick on, and the crowd goes crazy.

The performance sends electricity through your veins, and you can hardly believe you're here.

Mid way through the concert, you stat feeling very tingly.

Eddie's sweaty all over, and his hair has gotten darker over the years. His dark hair is dawned with a bit of grey streaks, and he has a small soul patch under his bottom lip.

"I don't know about you ladies, but it's a bit hot in here." Eddie teases before smoothly taking off his shirt and throwing it into the crowd, and a few ladies fight each other over it.

"Someone from my team will be bringing one of you lucky ladies up while we perform a new single. Sex After Midnight."

The crowd swoons, including your mother.

"I'm getting my wife taken from me." Your dad fake sobs.

"Oh hush it, you."

Eddie playfully scans around the crowd, and a very anxious part of you hopes he doesn't look your way.

To your surprise, Eddie stops and looks at you.

"I would like her." He says to the staff member, who comes to get you from behind the barricades.

"This sure will be the hell out of those posters." Your dad jokes.

"Dad, I'm losing my mind!" You squeak as you're getting pulled up.

Eddie's standing before you once you're onstage and you feel like your knees are going to buckle.

"You're looking good." He smiles, taking your hand and leading you to a chair in the middle of the stage.

The stage lights go red, and everyone screams.

Eddie puts the microphone to his lips before looking at you and sliding down to his knees in front of you.

If you weren't parasocial then, you sure as hell are going to be now.

The sheer disbelief you have of the situation makes everything feel dizzy.

Eddie's hair is weighed down and stray strands are stuck to his face.

He looks like a dream.

When he whips his hair out of his face by whipping his head, his jawline is more exposed.

You don't know how you're going to get through the rest of show without falling.

Your legs are shaking and you can feel how soaked you are in between them.

When the concert comes to an end shortly after, you rush to the bathroom to collect your thoughts.

You rush into a stall and overhear a few women seething with jealousy at your experience.

When you exit and are on your way back to your parents, someone stops you.

"Miss, excuse me!"

A staff member from earlier comes up to you with a piece of paper.

"Regards from Mr. Munson."

You take the paper from him.

"Oh, thank you!" You smile. He wishes you a good night before walking off.

You open the paper, and it has digits on it, followed by a note.

"Hope to see you again, honey;)"

[defdecaf]

Can I... CAN I HAVE A PART 2?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

[dipdamnderoo]

I made a thing.  Happy pride 🏳️‍🌈

[tackycardiaa]

i present to you, my realistic vs unrealistic kingdon hopes for the pitt season 3.

realistic:

mel and frank have another inside joke

frank laughs at something mel says (she makes a joke and it lands!!) bonus points if he’s the only one who laughs!!

ambulance bay convo after a stressful case for one or both of them

one of frank’s family members comes into the pitt (abby or the kids or both!) and mel either interacts and/or meets them and gets a better sense of his home life

mel facetimes becca and becca asks about dr. langdon

frank shoulder nudges mel in that cute kinda way to encourage her

some kind of indication that mel and frank have interacted outside of work!!

small moment that can be interpreted as frank having marital issues

frank and trinity pulling mel in two different directions and she has to defend them both to one another

someone(s) points out their dynamic duo-ness to them and they’re both like “???” and start looking at each other kinda curiously because isn’t their relationship normal?? (it’s not)

unrealistic:

frank tugs on mel’s braid (I WOULD DIE)

frank and mel arrive to their shift together and there’s implications it’s because they carpooled

mel and frank leave a room (or a makeshift room behind a curtain), both looking disheveled and flushed 😏 and it turns out it’s just from a crazy case, but perlah and princess immediately have things to say!!

kingdon hug!!!!

frabby divorce announcement

close up shot of frank spinning his wedding ring and mel is staring at it and frank’s like “what?” so she pretends she wasn’t looking at it

frank getting jealous as hell over someone hitting on mel. bonus points if it’s trinity or he tells her upfront he doesn’t like it or messes up with some kind of procedure because he’s so distracted 😌

mel meets abby and is visibly distressed about it

mel has her hair down and frank sees it and foams at the mouth and walks into a wall

[defdecaf]

everything is canon, judge

[buckys-boner]

He’s trying real hard

[browneyedz]

The urge to delete everything and disappear is strong today

[ssparkleglitter]

he actually said this btw

[marcidstars]

SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN ♱ spencer reid x unsub!reader

summary: spencer reid wakes up to an unexpected guest all up in his business.

genre: smut (MDNI) | word count: 3.5k

tags: reader is an unsub || DDDNE, dubcon, somnophilia, oral (m receiving), protected p in v, technically a home invasion but it's fine, enemies with benefits, toxic relationship, religious imagery, reader is nocturnal, title from a metallica song: enter sandman, not proofread

notes: another freak fic dedicated to @crime-bunny, my perverted twin. there’ll be a part two to this, eventually; i think spencer ought to get his revenge.

⤷ unsub!reader masterlist ᝰ.ᐟ

"Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship." — ROMANS 12:1 (NIV)

You’re very light on your feet. That’s what you were told growing up; that you hardly made a sound, that you’d one day make an excellent ballerina. A perfect white swan.

You were quick, quiet, graceful. All traits desirable in ballet, equally applicable to serial killing. Though you doubt your parents had that “career” path in mind when they would praise how nimble you were.

Getting into the apartment is an easy feat. The key fits perfectly into the lock. The door doesn’t groan as you ease it open. You’ve already memorised which floorboards creak on the way to the bedroom.

Your flats slot perfectly beside his shoes, your leather jacket gets left on the back of his couch, and you’re left standing in your nightgown, navigating his apartment in the dark as though it’s your own. It isn’t something you’d usually wear to wander the streets of D.C in the dead of night, but flexibility is a virtue, and you’re always willing to make exceptions.

Spencer Reid is an exception. He’s the exception, really; you can’t think of anyone else you’d do this for. Nobody else has burrowed deep into your brain the way he has. Nobody else would make you peel back layers of protection, shed every boundary the way a snake sheds its skin, the way you have for him.

Maybe he’s managed to reach in and sink his fingers into the only softer parts of you that remain. Or maybe you, as a whole, softened for him.

Maybe it’s just a fault. A flaw in your proverbial programming. Your feelings for him aren’t rational, your fixation on him doesn’t make any sense—but what does? 

You’re human, animal, driven by instinct. What is rational is subjective, the definition of sense ever-changing. Logic and reason are little more than facades, costumes worn to make people feel better about themselves, to keep the animal at bay. They ought to realise that life gets a hell of a lot more interesting when they stop following rules, scriptures, telling them what’s right, and instead follow what feels right.

That’s your philosophy, anyway. You’re sure you’d be hard-pressed to find many people that agree with you. 

Not even Spencer agrees with you, but you aren’t sure you can trust the moral rulings of a man who’ll happily fall to his knees at the feet of a serial killer. He’s a hypocrite, forever condemning your actions, calling you sick, all while going along with whatever twisted game you decide to play like a dog on a leash. He’ll bend to your every whim, mould his morals to better suit your desires, but he’ll roll his eyes and moan about it first—like that somehow cleanses him of sin.

Spencer sleeps with his door open—why, you’ll never understand—and you’re grateful, because it means you can waltz right into his bedroom without needing to worry about any squeaky hinges. And you wouldn’t want to wake him. No, that would ruin the fun.

He’s lying on his back, blankets kicked off, all leaden limbs and deep, slow breaths. Tousled hair and parted lips. A true sleeping beauty. It is, perhaps, the most at peace you’ve ever seen him, unblemished by the chaos of his conscious mind, by your presence. You could quite happily linger in this doorway, watch him sleep until the sun rises, treat him as you would an art exhibit; look, don’t touch.

You take your time crossing the room, as though any sudden movement, however silent, may disturb him. Spencer’s a light sleeper, easily stirred, never able to let himself go. It’s no wonder he’s so tired all the time; even in his sleep, he can’t truly rest.

The mattress sinks slightly under your weight as you crawl onto the bed. Your breathing is so quiet, so shallow, that you may as well be holding your breath as you carefully shuffle closer.

A streetlamp bleeds into the room through the blinds. Diffused streaks of pale light stretch across the bed, his face, like half a dozen halos. You tilt your head, taking a moment to admire his face. The sharp angle of his jaw; his brows, relaxed; the undeniable softness that replaces the tension you are so used to observing, and that, to you, seems almost alien.

You trail your fingers, touch awfully light, along his thigh. His pyjama pants are soft, freshly washed, covered in a purple plaid pattern that is just so Spencer. You’d consider stealing them if they were more your colour. Your hand dips to his inner thigh, drawing lazy patterns before grazing his crotch. The contact is so brief, so mild, he probably doesn’t even feel it.

You watch him closely, studying him for any sign of a reaction, before you grow bolder. You cup his cock through his pants, relishing the warmth under your palm, the way it sends a rush of heat straight to your core.

His body responds to your touch without protest. Like it knows you, trusts you. His cock stirs, presses against your hand.

Now you’re actually holding your breath. Biting your lip. Clenching your thighs. Fighting to contain the adrenaline that’s coursing through you as it increases by the second, pushing you to act faster, to lead with a heavier hand. You have to remind yourself to breathe, to take it slow, to control yourself before you wind up waking him.

You palm him through his pyjamas, steadily, movements so languid it’s almost annoying. His breathing shifts. His brows crease. He shifts against your hand, just barely. Yielding to your touch, asking for more.

Precious. That’s what he is. He’s fragile, like this. Delicate in ways he’d never allow himself to be when awake, when with you. When there’s always a game to play, a façade to keep up.

You struggle with his pants, with finding the balance between eagerness and prudence, as you try to get what you want without shattering this moment. His pretty cock springs free, already half-hard, and impatience has you abandoning his pants at his thighs so you can grasp it gently, listening to the way he sighs under your touch.

It’s maddening, almost, the way his erection realises itself in your hand, the way his body reacts, even when unconscious, to your gentleness. He groans, and it’s one of the softest sounds you’ve heard as you work his cock, keeping your gaze on his face, watching the slight twitches in his sleepy expression, manipulated by tender hand. 

Your mouth has run dry. You lick your lips, chew on the plush, as you exhaust the last of your restraint.

You lean down, drag your tongue across the head of his cock, and almost moan at the taste of him—do moan at the little noise he makes when you take him into your mouth. Can something be maddening, if you’re already mad? Is there a limit to insanity? Do you breathe the surplus into him? Every time you fall into bed together, it seems he breaks that little bit more, and you heal. Piece yourself back together with all that you’ve taken from him.

His cock twitches against your tongue. This is another thing you’re taking. Another line you’re crossing. Another thing he’ll hate you for, and love you for. He’s a masochist that way. You wouldn’t take so much if he weren’t so willing to give it. If he didn’t kneel at your altar, present his neck for your knife. You’re both damned.

But doesn’t every relationship consist of rotten priest and innocent lamb? Sinner and saint? Corruption and consecration? That’s how it’s supposed to be, no? You trade places every now and then, wear each other’s skin like shitty Halloween masks, pretend that the sacrifice holds any semblance of power. That’s all the sex is: Spencer, desperately imitating control; and you, holding the knife behind your back, pretending it isn’t there, pressed so deep into your skin you’d never be able to let it go, even if you wanted to.

A jerk of his hips, and his cock hits the spongy back of your throat. You just about hear him gasp over the sound of your own gagging, and then his fingers are in your hair, tearing you from him so fast you’d think you’d bitten him.

You meet Spencer’s awake, wide-eyed gaze with your own deer-in-headlights stare. He’s half-sitting, propped up on one elbow. Mouth slightly agape. Cheeks flushed the same shade as his spit-coated cock.

“How did you get in here?”

And the game’s up. Shame, you were just starting to enjoy it.

“I used a key,” you say simply.

Spencer blinks at you. His grip on your hair starts to loosen, like what you’re saying might, for a moment, make sense in his sleep-clouded mind, but then he returns to his senses. “You don’t have a key.”

“I, uh—” you clear your throat, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before flashing him a smile. “I copied yours.”

“You—” he releases your hair, retracts his hand like you’re something filthy. “You what?”

“Just in case you…” Smoothing out your hair, you sit up. “…needed help, or something. I was looking out for you, really—”

“No.” Spencer cuts you off, shaking his head as he rubs his eyes. “This is— do you have any idea how out of line this is? How on earth could you possibly think this was appropriate?”

You shrug, opting to play dumb as you straddle him. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“You broke into my apartment.”

“I used a key,” you repeat.

“That’s still illegal,” he hisses. “Copying someone’s key for the purpose of entering their home without their knowledge, and with criminal intent, is a crime.”

“Criminal intent?” you scoff, biting back a grin. “I didn’t come here to rob you—”

“No, you just came here to touch me in my sleep.”

You nod eagerly. “And you have a problem with that?”

Instead of answering your (very simple) question, Spencer just leans his head back against his pillow, muttering under his breath. You think you hear “God” slip between his lips. Typical.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” he grumbles, returning his hands to his face.

You click your tongue, trailing your fingers across the front of his shirt. “I can go back out and knock, if that’ll make you feel better—”

“Don’t,” he warns, voice firm. “You are just…so…”

He never finishes that thought. Instead, he reaches over to the bedside table. At first you figure he’s reaching for his glasses, but then his fingers graze the handle of the drawer, just barely out of his reach.

He taps your thigh. “Get off of me.”

“Oh, come on,” you whine.

“I’m not asking.”

“Can’t we just—”

His hands are on your waist and, before you can finish complaining, he’s pushing you away. You land on the mattress with a petulant huff, resigning yourself to staring at the ceiling as he rummages through his drawer. You hear the familiar rustle of his condom box, followed by the softer, quieter sound of his pyjama pants being thrown aside.

“You’re no fun,” you mutter, “you know that?”

Spencer doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even give you a huff, or a sigh. He just rolls the condom on.

He’s sick of you, or claims to be, yet he still yields to you every time. He still plays the game, still entertains your desires even when he knows that he shouldn’t—that doing so is only reinforcing your behaviour.

He’ll complain about you breaking in, but he’ll still fuck you, even though you haven’t asked him to, because the truth is that he needs this just as badly as you do—if not more so. Spencer needs to give just as badly as you need to take, and he’ll pretend it’s the other way around. Utter subservience masquerading as dominance; it’s his drug.

Fingers close around your wrist, and he pulls you back up to meet his lips. He kisses you like he’s starved, one hand tangled in your hair as the other slips up your thigh. He tugs at your panties, tears them off when you lift your hips. Tosses them into the dark before pulling you down on top of him.

You straddle him like it’s second nature, and the two of you slot together like pieces of a puzzle. Him on his back, and you above him. Half cast in shadow, half painted in the subtle glow of the streetlight, whispering curses into his mouth as his fingers find your dripping cunt.

“God,” he breathes, almost groans. He sets his hands on your hips, gives you a gentle nudge so you pull back. “You really were enjoying that, weren’t you?”

You smirk as you sit up, adjusting yourself so you’re lined up with his cock. Grasping the base, you drag the tip along your slick folds, relishing the way you can feel him pulsing under your palm. “We both did,” you tease. “Actually, I think you might’ve been enjoying it more—”

A sharp gasp cuts through your words, followed by a poorly muffled cry as Spencer forces your hips down. His cock pushes into you without warning, and the pain—the pleasure—has tears pricking in your eyes before you can think to stop them.

He throws his head back with a hiss, fingers digging into your soft skin as he sinks you onto his cock, guiding you to take every too-big inch of him, until you’re sat flush against his hips. A choked whimper is all you can muster as your tight walls flutter around his length.

“Fuck—”

“I’ve got you.”

And he has got you. He’s holding you there, keeping you stuffed full of him until your body gives in.

He only lets go once you’ve relaxed around him, once your whining has stopped and you’re making subtle movements of your hips, desperate to keep going now that the discomfort has subsided—and he lets you.

You settle into a rhythm quickly, and Spencer’s even quicker to sink into the mattress, letting his hands roam the plush of your thighs as you take the lead. Your name leaves his lips in a whisper, and you swear the sound is more intoxicating, more addicting than any drug out there. His touch, his voice, the little hitches in his breath every time you roll your hips—it’s enough to drive you fucking crazy.

And when he meets your gaze, you almost come undone on the spot. Because what you find plastered across his pretty face is worship. The kind you can make out even in the dark; broken, but perfect.

Is this something you’re taking, or something he’s giving? Is there a difference? If there is, does it even matter?

His thumb brushes your clit, and your thoughts turn to static. Debating the ethical nuances of such a sinful relationship becomes difficult when you’re like this. Pleasure is pleasure, no matter how rotten.

Spencer could be your sacrificial lamb, the moth to your cursed flame, or just a sick flagellant—you don’t care.  Not when he’s beneath you, biting back moans and telling you just how good you are at taking his cock, acting as the votary to your twisted godhead.

Tension builds in your core, compounded by the attention on your clit. The effortless workings of his hands have you inching closer and closer to the edge, and he isn’t even looking at what he’s doing. He’s watching your face, transfixed. His hand, so perfectly tuned to the needs of your body, is the last thing on his mind; pleasing you is second nature. Like breathing, it doesn’t require thought.

Curses tumble from your lips as your hips stutter. You reach for the headboard to steady yourself, but as soon as you lean forward Spencer’s bending a knee, setting his foot on the bed so he can thrust up into you at a faster, harder pace. His hands grasp your hips, press indents into your skin that are bound to leave a mark, and hold you in place as he fucks you.

You’ve no choice but to surrender yourself, at that point. Back arched, both hands on the headboard, head thrown back as static crackles in your veins, mounts to something that is so dangerously close to catching fire.

“…’m close—”

Spencer mumbles something the same time you do. Equally as breathless. Words laced with an equally depraved amount of need. He’s echoing the sentiment, fingernails cutting into your skin as his leg starts to tremble.

You come undone first. The orgasm hits your hard, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound as you come on his cock. Spencer groans as your cunt clenches around him, hugging his length tighter with each thrust as he fucks you through your release, and his follows close behind.

In the breathless space between moments, your mind moves slower than your body. You allow yourself to collapse on top of him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you try to tame your ragged breathing. And he lets you.

His hand cups the back of your head. The other rests on the small of your back. He keeps you close. Presses his nose to your hair, lips following shortly after. 

Seconds pass before you finally gather the strength to raise your head, to check if he’s lost his mind, but Spencer’s face betrays nothing. His brows are set in his usual frown, but the dark softens his features, and you can infer warmth where there shouldn't be any.

"Do you, um—" You clear your throat, lips curling into that signature sly smile. "Do you want my key, or should I keep it? Save it for a rainy day—"

You hiss as spencer pushes you off him. Instead of complaining, you curl up at his side, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest before he decides it’s time to get up. He doesn't answer your question, and you don't push him to.

He rises to his feet, takes care of the condom, the wrapper—any evidence of what just happened. You think he's going to take care of you, too; drag you out of his bed, throw you out on the street, but he doesn't. 

He glances back at you as he picks your panties up from his floor. He tosses them to you, but not without asking, in a quiet tone, "Are you going home?"

The question gives you pause. It's the inflection, the way his words are weaved to obstruct something else, spoken with a stiffness he knows you'll pick up on.

You narrow your eyes, tilting your head to one side. "Do you want me to go home?"

He grabs his pyjama pants, ignores another loaded question. Because the day Spencer Reid is ever open with you will be the day Hell freezes over.

"There's nothing to do here," you add, seeing right through his silence. "I’m not gonna be able to sleep just because you fucked me. You—"

"I know, but—"

"—aren't that good."

Spencer still doesn't share in your humour, despite how much time you've spent together. He'll break every rule, bend every moral, but he'll never laugh at your jokes. He doesn't even crack a smile, just sighs and pulls his pants on.

"I was going to suggest you read a book," he says, voice flat.

He gets back into bed without another word. Faces away from you. Holds his breath in the silence that follows.

He wants you to stay.

"…okay," you answer, quietly. "I’ll go…peruse your reading material."

All he gives you in response is a low hum.

—

Spencer wakes hours later to the sun streaming through his blinds, head resting on something that isn’t a pillow; pillows don’t have heartbeats. 

His arm is draped over your waist, fingers loosely curled into the fabric of your nightgown the same way yours are curled into his hair. 

Memories return in quick succession, each one adding to the discomfort simmering in his stomach, visceral. His skin crawls at the thought of you spending the night.

So, he raises his head. In the light of day, he sees you clearly: the book lying open across your face, shielding your eyes; your slow, deep breathing; your arm lying limp at your side.

The world goes quiet. He blinks, and the discomfort fades into a memory, the way it always does.

He brings his head back down to rest against your chest, and he closes his eyes.

[enthyrea]

doomsday reunions!

[5lutforeddie]

When Did You Get Hot?!

Summary: You return to Hawkins after being away for four years, and you're surprised to see how much Eddie Munson has changed.

(Reader is 17, Eddie is 18 here!)

You left Hawkins four years ago.

Your proud family decided to make the most of your middle school graduation milestone and move out to a different area.

You vividly remember when you unfortunately had to tell your best friend Eddie.

"What?! The fair maiden is leaving before we voyage on the trek of cliques and strict teachers?"

"I don't want to, but yeah. Hate to miss out on the arena of hell."

Eddie takes off his black guitar pick and hands it to you.

"Here. So you don't forget about me."

"Your lucky guitar pick?"

"I've got another one at home. It's replaceable unlike you."

You and Eddie shared a farewell hug before you had to leave, and you even gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Plans don't always go as expected, so your family is back in Hawkins for your senior year of high school.

Over the years, you and Eddie promised to call each other at least once a week. But of course, life sometimes has other plans.

However, you are still somewhat confident about your relationship with Eddie and hope that he feels the same.

The night before your first day, you decide to call Eddie and see what's up.

The phone rings a few times, and you assume that he's not home or just not interested to talk to anyone. You're about to give up until you hear someone pick up.

"Munson Residence."

"Eddie?"

"Whoa, hey." His voice softens. "What made you call?"

"I'm back in Hawkins." You smile.

"Holy shit, this is the best news I've gotten in a while."

"How's life after high school?"

"I wouldn't know, to be honest. But I can feel it. This is my year."

"You've been saying that since we were kids." You snort.

"Details, details. So, I'll see you tomorrow? I'm the leader of Hellfire Club and Corroded Coffin. I sit with those freaks at lunch and we talk about being the outcasts of society."

"Sure, Eddie. You and I are used to being those, anyway."

"Nice to see the years haven't changed you."

"I can say the same for you. Catch you tomorrow."

"You know it."

You try to calm your first day butterflies, but it's hard when you're wondering what your best friend looks like after so many years. You eventually ponder yourself into sleep.

___________________________________________________

Your first day is pretty much going as expected. Cliques crowding the hallway, teachers assigning introductory assignments, you name it.

You get to your last class before lunch as early as you can to claim a seat that's as far away from the front as possible.

It's quiet when just you and the teacher are there, that is until you hear a few rowdy male voices chattering over each other in the hallway.

One walks, then another guy, and then one who really stands out.

Long, curly hair.

A leather jacket with a vest.

Black ripped jeans with a chain.

Three rings on one hand.

One ring on the other.

A chain bracelet on his right wrist.

A black watch on his left one.

"Easy boys, I know lunch is soon but calm down." The teacher commands.

The guy gives her a salute. "Yes, ma'am."

He scans around the classroom, and comes up to you.

"Whoa, you're finally in the flesh." He beckons one of his friends to sit in front of him, and the other to sit in front of you.

You frown at him. "I'm sorry, I don't think I-"

"Nice joke. It's me, Eddie."

Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. There's no way in hell the dorky guy you knew ended up looking like this.

"No way. When did you get-?"

Eddie tilts his head in confusion.

"When did you get hair?"

Eddie chuckles. "I decided the buzz wasn't going to work out with my manly features."

"You've still got some maturing to do." You tease, which makes his friends cackle.

"Bullying me already, huh? Where's the hug and formalities?"

"Nothing has ever been formal with us, Munson."

When more students settle in and class eventually starts, it's incredibly hard to keep your eyes away from Eddie. At some points in the class, you feel his eyes burning into you. You only muster up the courage to reciprocate it once, but he quickly looks at the board again as if he's shy.

"Okay, class. Make sure to take home the syllabus and bring it back at least before the end of the week."

Everyone scrambles to head to lunch.

"Finally, you get to sit with the freaks." Eddie grins.

"Just like old times."

After getting lunch you head to his table. He damn near trips over himself to get up and hold your chair out for you.

"Thank you, gentleman."

"Of course, fair maiden."

For now, it's just you and him at the table. You don't even start eating because you're subconsciously trying to appear as poised as possible, which was something you've never done in front of him before.

"You seem nervous." He says, snacking on a pretzel.

"Just wondering how you grew up so much."

"I can say the same for you." You go silent because you're shy and unsure what to say.

"You know..." His voice softens. "You don't have to be nervous. I'm still the same freak you've always known."

You can't figure out why the hell you're nervous no matter what he says.

"Sorry. Maybe it's just first day jitters. And we did speak through a phone for most of the time we were away."

"It felt like the phone wasn't even there for most of the time, at least to me." Eddie admits.

"Now that I'm hearing that out loud...I feel the same, too."

You look down at your plate, and notice Eddie looking at your neck.

"You still wear it?"

You look down and take the guitar pick out of your shirt.

"Oh...yeah. I probably wouldn't be able to breathe without this thing."

Eddie laughs. "I thought you would've forgotten about it. Maybe even about me."

"Impossible."

___________________________________________________

The first three months of school are going relatively well.

You're still nervous around Eddie, but you can finally eat lunch in front of him. (Also because he threatens to feed you in front of everyone if you don't.)

Eddie even added two freshmen to the group, and one junior. Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler, and Gareth.

At a band practice you couldn't make it to because you have homework, Eddie's flipping his mind inside out.

"Before I saw her again, I never looked at her like that out of respect for the friendship! But now...shit. She looks incredible."

"Why don't you just ask her out on a date?" Gareth asks, which makes Eddie look at him with a bored face.

"Thanks, Gareth. I should've thought of that sooner. Literal rich boy jocks are asking her out!"

"That she rejected."

"She probably still wouldn't pick me, anyway. She's too... She's too good for me."

"Do you know this, or are you assuming this?" Jeff asks.

"I'm not exactly the boyfriend type. I don't have anything to offer her right now." Eddie scratches the back of his neck.

"It would be better if you just told her instead of assuming what she wants. Besides, you guys have a history. You should be able to talk to her."

Eddie huffs, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Damn it, I hate when you geeks are smarter than me."

"So, you gonna tell her?"

Eddie looks around at all his friends.

"Fine. But if I make a total fool of myself, you'll all never see me again."

Gareth rolls his eyes. "Bullshit, we'd still look for you.

___________________________________________________

After the usual chaotic Tuesday Hellfire Club meeting, you're left alone with Eddie to help him clean up.

"I expect mess from freshmen, but not your old friends." You laugh, chucking a soda can into the garbage.

Eddie's cleaning up the board, and his forehead is sweating from being nervous alone. You notice he hasn't spoken a word since everyone else left.

"You haven't said a word in 5 minutes, Munson. Something must be wrong."

"No, nothing's wrong just...can we talk?"

You stop what you're doing. He sounds serious.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"...What do you think of me?"

"You're my best friend."

"Just your best friend? Anything...else?"

"I'm not following."

Honestly, there's so much you want to say. But you don't because you're just as scared to make a fool of yourself as he is.

"Do you ever think about me in other ways?"

You look down at your feet because of the confrontational situation.

"Eddie, where is this coming from-"

"Please." He pleads.

"When I wake up, my first thought is your face. Or you in general, I should say. Honestly? I get excited to come to school because of you. You make things feel easier."

"...I have something to confess."

You finally look at him. "I'm listening."

"When I first saw you again after all this time I thought you looked good. Not- not that I ever thought you were ugly!- I just... You look nice after all this time. And I...would like to go on somewhere with you."

"I see. Who else is coming?"

You're so oblivious he wants to slap himself.

"Only you. A date. The... romantic kind."

You space out before realizing he's standing there again.

"Oh! Um... I would... I would like that."

"You don't seem sure."

"I am, you knucklehead. It's just... What I have to tell you is embarrassing."

One of Eddie's brows arches.

"When I first saw you again... I thought you looked... hot. And I um... Still do."

You swallow the lump in your throat before going around and pretending to look for things to clean up.

Eddie's face goes red. You think he's hot.

"Oh shit." He says, sounding like he's on the verge of hyperventilation. Then, his high and mighty Dungeon Master ego kicks in, and he grins. "Oh."

You hear the smirk in his voice. "It's not funny, Eddie. I'm gonna kick you in your-"

You turn around to see he's behind you with his hands behind his back, swaying himself like a shy child.

"It's not polite for friends to keep secrets from each other, you know."

"Who ever said we were friends?" You joke, which makes him playfully clutch his heart.

"You wound me."

"Keep talking, and I'll make it worse."

He makes a playful zipper gesture across his lips.

"Duly noted."

You mentally prepare yourself for what you're about to do.

Then, you lunge forward a couple inches to hold his cheek and give him a quick peck.

Eddie's entire body locks up, even when you've pulled away.

"Oh...wow- fucking hell-" He says, his voice reaching a high that it hasn't sense before puberty.

"Just to clear up any confusion." You say before going back to cleaning up the room again.

Eddie watches you with a grin on his face again.

You've still got it, Munson.

[defdecaf]

SO CUTEEEEEEE